We can be mean. When done anonymously it is worse.

This post gave me the little nudge to do what I have been planning to do for months now: 

Write you, my readers an apology and tell you a story. Now which first? story or apology?

I suppose an apology:

I like to write. 

So I write.

Sometimes its funny, most of the time its boring. But all of the time its me, and guess what? I am a human being. I think judgmental things, I say stupid things and then sometimes the stars align and I write stupid judgmental things. And amazingly enough, my thoughts and opinions are constantly changing. Just because I wrote it yesterday does not mean I subscribe to that belief today. 

BUT... I do write from the heart. I appreciate discussion (even argument) if through that we all become more well rounded. I have often felt over my life in groups of women, that we are so much more capable of intellectual discussion than our chit chat over baby sleep habits, husband nit picking and self body shaming makes us out to be.  I have made up for that on my blog, apparently to the detriment of my friends. For that I am sorry.

In order to get over the initial blank screen of a beginning post I write to one person and one person only: ME. The me that was afraid to nurse in public. The me that had early breastfeeding sabotaged by pediatricians. The me that weaned my first born at nine months old because it was a little strange to nurse such an "old" baby and work full time. The me that had FOUR BAD HOSPITAL births because I was afraid of birth without drugs. The me that had TWO AMAZING homebirths without said drugs. The me that used to spank that now tries not to, the me that raved about babywise and now practices attachment parenting. The me that fed rice cereal to a three month old and now lets my seven month old feed herself.  The me that hated her body. 

I am sorry if what I wrote was so inflammatory that it hurt women and specifically other mothers deeply. This job IS HARD. Its about more than afternoon crafts and eating habits. If my bloviating on parenting topics hurt your heart please at least consider my attempts to assure you I am sorry. 

Now if it makes you so mad you want to hurt me, then consider this:

In a nutshell: This blog is my blog. If it bothers you I have a very simple idea- Don't read it! If you want to engage in a discussion about it: comment, email or call me. 

Don't send me an anonymous letter by snail mail.

Now for a little story. January 25th I was laying on my bed breastfeeding my youngest daughter when my oldest daughter came running upstairs crying hysterically, holding a letter in her hand. She thought it was maybe a letter from her teacher or something and had read this letter directed at me full of irk and vitriol.

And she was beside herself in tears, she didn't want me to see it, wanted to protect me from reading the words. It took a long time to calm her down, distract her with other thoughts and activities and get to read myself, and this is what I read:

No return address, no signature. So for over three months now I have had to wonder in every conversation, with every person "did you send me that letter?"  Is it you? Is is her? I am not quite as angry about the letter itself as I am about the anonymous aspect. 

It is cowardly and rude and makes me want to say this

I had to calm my daughters fears that not everyone is this thoughtless. And there is always worth in sharing your thoughts even if it causes something like this letter.

There is no tidy end to this post. I still don't know who it was. I don't think about it much anymore. It was months ago.

I have this fantastic job as a Childbirth educator for Birth Boot Camp now and I get to teach couples about how to have an amazing birth, how to breastfeed, the joys of attachment parenting. I have an outlet for my thoughts. Has the letter inhibited my writing here? Maybe a little, but its ok, blogging, like life waxes and wanes. The letter did help push me into finalizing another BIG decision so for that I am tremendously grateful.

If it was you and want to clear the air....

you know my address.

-janie