all posts, community, mental health, miscellaneous, nature/the environment

the night school (part 1)

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I like finding free things to do online (21 days of yoga, weekly journal prompts, etc). I don’t always carry through with many of them, but I enjoy the challenge and the game of setting up something to do, and usually am drawn towards things that involved a lot of self reflection.

This particular project is called The Night School by Maia Toll. I am doing the “part-time” option, which means I will be focusing on the weekly writing prompts (because I don’t have the time or attention span to watch the discussion and ritual videos… I’m still not super into watching videos that require intense focus). But even so, just doing the weekly prompts includes readings from her book (see below) and some general context and discussion points. I look forward to seeing what comes of doing it for the “semester”.

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This week’s assignment was: What in the world feels alive to you and what feels lifeless? Why? Examine your preconceptions.

What feels alive to me? I think I define aliveness too literally, but the email also goes into detail about the energies of things which I find easier to relate to. When I was growing up in Maryland we lived near a small woods. The woods were cool because you couldn’t really get lost in them (it was fairly easy to run out into some neighborhood), but if you knew your way, you could walk through the woods to get all the way to the C&O canal without having to pass really anyone’s homes. I often went into these woods when I was annoyed or upset, or just when I wanted to bike/run through, and if it was getting later in the day and darkness started creeping in (as it always did in the woods before the neighbors since there were so many trees) I remember at some point I started talking to the woods asking for safe passage. I specifically would say the same phrase every time, in French, because I thought the language was older and thus more likely that the trees would know it. Now it’s also interesting because I never had the feeling that the woods were hostile or required me to ask for safe passage, but I always felt it deserved the respect of the question anyway, and that more likely the woods would protect me from something else. In other way, I never had anything bad or shady happen to me in the woods and I continue to visit it when I visit my parents.

Now living in the city where I do I have become much more anxious than I used to be. Part of it was working through my own neuroses of being a stay-at-home mom in a culture where that is very unusual (I am also a young mom in this particular city culture). But even as I work through that hurdle, I realize the city itself makes me anxious. It has such haphazard energy all the time. It is alway noisy during the day (July and September seem to be when all the road construction happens), but it’s also a tiny city that has narrow streets and crazy road patterns, and yet the same 1/4 mile strip of street will be shared with 3 separate road construction projects, 50+ cyclists who have to weave into car traffic to pass one another or to turn, pedestrians that no one can see due to parked cars, standing aside cross walks that have varying degrees of visibility (from electronically lit up to make shift single cones denoting the spot on the sidewalk where they should start to cross). The energy is impatient. People are constantly walking around, no smiles to spare (I often try to say hello to humans on principle and get a range of results). Though the speed isn’t always fast, the tempo varies abruptly as though the very act of having to engage with one another is a burden. And the chug of cars is never-ending. We have driven at all times and find that 3am to 8am is a pleasant time to drive on a weekend in the city. On a weekday, it’s more like 3am to 7am. The weather can be obnoxious, from sun beating down at all angles (it’s literally always directly in our faces when we drive in any direction in the morning) and the winds pick up strong enough to blow away our baby on account of the various wind tunnels created by lots of buildings and few trees. It feels chaotic and it often makes me agitated to encounter it. It took me a long time to realize that this pulse of energy existed and how it impacted me but over time it has become more clear.

Now that is not to say there aren’t pockets that are more peaceful. I keep finding some but the problem is they are hard to get too or fleeting in nature. For example, I jogged through the tree-part of the city to get to an open house for a toddler music class, and minus the fear of being late, the whole adventure was quite relaxing. It had the iconic early fall feel and the class was very cute. That kind of energy emitted a peace that I crave often, and as such, I’ll definitely be taking Fi back, but always by foot if possible.

Examining my preconceptions… well in a nutshell it would seem to follow the standard assumption of city = bad energy, and woods = good energy. But it could be argued that the reason I enjoyed my parents’ woods was because it was near enough to civilization that I never had to feel lost or in real danger. And it could be argued that there are cities that can exude a good time of peaceful energy, particularly ones that are not so jammed with traffic, have more explicit community, and dedicate more time to their green spaces equally across their land. And I know I personally wouldn’t enjoy living in a large woods all alone. I like people- or well, I like community. I think both extremes: alone in a large wood and emotionally alone in a dense city have the same energy to me, fearful. There is something I find primally terrifying about being alone. And not in a “I’ll have to do things for myself kind of way” but in a “no one will have your back if something goes wrong” kind of way. So resonant energies that feel good to me have to leak some kind of energy that feels communal. A crowded Boston T train doesn’t feel communal because everyone is looking out for themselves, usually annoyed to be on the train, and avoiding eye contact with one another, pretending they are alone while sandwiched like sardines. The idyllic memoirs of people traveling in European trains not so long ago had more of the communal feel, with older adults looking out for young children traveling alone, with space on trains to sit and eat, with an impetus to reach out and connect to your neighbor if for no other reason that to pass the time (and that was not unique to Europe, I just happened to have read a French memoir more recently).

Anyway, I’ll stop there for now. My brain has travelled off on to other things.

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all posts, miscellaneous

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I’m combining all my other blogs’ content to this site. Please bear with me as I post older content.  🙂

 

I am a romantic of old:

I dream with eyes open,

I remember life by specific scents and vivacious colors.

But straddling the line of before and after, of life pre and post infinite connection,

I find myself falling more towards the latter side, the untethered,

and further away from the screen-lite kind of life.

I have forgotten how to thrive in the recesses of my own mind,

with no eye to the audience,

pure expression, without the likes and follows.

And yet, I am not and have never been, by any means a purist.

Though I long for past eras, of strong communities, non-virtual,

I love (or am addicted to) the appeal of the always available.

There is always more to learn,

experiences to witness that I didn’t know of

and life to try.

Though, do I want to?

Is it that I now desire the domestic,

or that I long for stable roots from which to grow?

Is the constant creeping cloud of worry due to not knowing how to say “my experiences are enough”?

From wanting, when sharing occurs, for it to be from others via their own lips,

or some other slower, less show-y manner?

Can I not just miss out on what I don’t know,

the fear of regret assuaged by the realization that what makes for a good life,

is still yet the most subjective of all?

So perhaps if I just follow my ephemeral heart and gut,

they won’t lead me astray.

all posts, miscellaneous, community, nature/the environment

the man who tamed the birds

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I’m combining all my other blogs’ content to this site. Please bear with me as I post older content.  🙂

There are moments when we see something amazing, something that is out of the ordinary or just generally impressive. In these moments, it’s often the case that what we are seeing is Time.

As a new mom, with the privilege of choice to stay at home (which in itself is a misnomer of a phrase because the babe and I often venture out of the home ), I have an unprecedented view of Time. That isn’t to say that I have more time than anyone else, but that I am in a unique position to view it.

Often I must wait it out with Time as my babe sleeps. Time waits for no man, or so they say, but it does cozy down with a parent waiting on a sleeping child. Time and I, we sit and drink tea, and read books, and very often daydream in the quiet stolen moments of when the baby slumbers.

When the baby is awake we sometimes accompany Time on his off moments, the pockets of space where others are ensconced in their own busyness, to head out as a mother-daughter dyad and explore the world. We meander along aimlessly, especially if the weather is fair.

On one such occasion, walking down what I consider a confused highway (Mass Ave), the baby and I encountered Time as he followed along beside an older Asian man. This man caught my eye as I walked by because he too, clearly had noticed Time and abruptly but unalarmingly, stopped not too long after passing me and the baby by.

But what really kept my attention were the birds. They, these pigeons of the city, noticed the man’s approach and quickly behaved like their feral-er cousins and flocked, in rolling bumbling waves, towards the man until they were crowded opposite to him, separated by the chains of an open air lot.

The man, clearly practiced, produced a black pouch from his person, opened it deftly, and began methodically tossing measured handfuls of some sort of seeds to the bird crowd. The pigeons continued their rolling bumble over one another as they entropically scattered to maximize their collection rates.

All through this, I had slowed down myself, intrigued by this fellow Time companion, and smiled as I thought about how after this gentleman must have routinely stopped with Time to have these birds now recognize his approach in earnest.

If you ask me, I can generically say where I was (though I never know what road it was save for off Mass Ave, but I have no recollection of the hour or day. I have seen him once again since that first encounter. This second sighting, in which I paused my husband to witness as well, all I can recall are he man and his black pouch full of seeds. Other than that, Time has rubbed away any other specifics from my mind, because indeed those specifics don’t matter.

all posts, eczema, miscellaneous

healing skin, hormones, and hot nights

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It’s currently 3am and I’m awake despite the little one actually having been asleep since 830ish.

“Why on earth are you awake?”, you may be asking yourself, and rightly so.

Well let me tell you, internet reader. I am hot.

Now though the ambient temperature in the room feels cool, I know I set my thermostat a bit high (in my defense, with the skin disorder I’m usually always freezing, and the baby likes it warm too). However, I am not sweating. I’m just really warm. Warm enough to sleep in just a t-shirt and underwear, which I haven’t done since before my skin declared mutiny on my body (circa 20013?).

So as I’m over here pondering my existence in a semi-lucid state at 3 in the morning, the question that keeps popping up on the forefront of my mind is: this heat, what does this mean?

What does this mean? I’ve got a few theories.

  1. My skin has shown an unprecedented amount of healing lately. I have soft skin on my face, stomach, back, and thighs. Perhaps I have done the majority of my topical steroid withdrawal pemance and am finally seeing the results, aka having skin of normal thickness and elasticity and with the ability to retain heat and moisture.  Maybe. Or, maybe,
  2. I have finally hit the point where, despite still breastfeeding (which can delay this), my hormones are kicking back in, and I am soon to rejoin the ranks of menstruating-aged women. In which case, hormones could be the culprit for my heated sleep body. Or, perhaps,
  3. My circadian rhythm is so butchered from having to wake up at all manner of times during the night shift for the last 7 months (more if you count pregnancy months too) that my body doesn’t know what to do with un-externally regulated sleep interruptions, and so in a desperate attempt to keep its new status quo, it’s driving me awake via continued thermoregulation fluctuations. Maybe that’s it.

Or maybe it’s some culmination of the three of those things because as is often the case with complex systems like humans, we don’t always have a simple solution.

At any rate, I’m enjoying the fact that my little one is getting so much sleep, and that I’m getting some silky smooth patches of skin. I’m not stressed and as I am awake I am making sure to hydrate, so I’m sure in time I’ll learn to sleep again. So c’est la vie et bonne nuit (that’s life and good night).

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memory blast from the past (the “invincible” days)

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When you’re young you fly on this invisible tether, unaware of the fleeting nature of your adventure, how you will not always be there, balanced confidently but precariously.

I often think back on my journey living with severe eczema and immediately I remember the onset of the first cascade of knocked-me-off-my-feet-and-never-found-solid-ground-again topical steroid withdrawal symptoms and think that was where it all began. But it’s just not true. Even when I was young (under 14), active and energetic, there were moments when eczema was already blossoming under the surface.

I remember hiking the presidential range with my uncle, his girlfriend (now wife), his cousin, an uncle-esque family friend, and my sister. When we reached the last cabin closest to Mount Washington, I recall the cold as a storm rolled in and remembered vividly when I washed my face in a cold bathroom in the morning with chilly water, I felt the creep of a growing itch under my skin.

Nowadays I know that there can be many triggers for eczema including temperature changes, but then, eczema was a weird seasonal rash that showed up only on the insides of my elbows, not on my face. I think my thoughts at the time were something along the lines of “oh, I must have eaten something that was contaminated lightly with peanut fragments”, because in my head, face itching had to be a sign of an allergic reaction.

It’s also non-humorously funny to look back and realize I was already becoming paranoid of food allergies (and sensitivities) as the culprit to my skin woes.

I also recall having (and to some extent still have) the belief that because I possessed any abdominal fat, therein lied the reason I had eczema. It wasn’t yet possible to accept that I wasn’t infinitely healthy and majestic, that my body wasn’t perfect, that I had my own personal dis-ease I would have to reckon with that would change my whole game plan. It was easier to think that I was just eating too much and therefore making myself less than perfect.

It’s interesting because I can still so easily transport back into that mindset and remember how vital I felt, how alive, how healthy. I didn’t feel disappointment that my body had betrayed me yet.

Now don’t get me wrong, I can still get optimistic about my skin’s healing progress and feel I have come a huge way along the path of recovery. But my confidence of almost immortality that I had once before, is not there.

Part of that makes perfect sense. I have grown up and matured, and since realized essential concepts like that my body is no longer growing up, that I have to maintain health by eating right and moving and controlling stress or I will grow outwards in a horizontal direction. I get that. But there is also this, I think what I used to call “the Peter Pan effect” that I recognize is gone. It was akin to the moment I turned 12 and had to firmly accept the idea that I was never getting into Hogwarts, not because it was fictional, but because I had aged out of my chance. I adjusted to change of aging in asymmetry, non-smooth block jumps.

I think that’s the hard part of it all. You have to accept that time moves forward and one day you are on the other end of the growth curve, in what I now like to call the maturation phase, giving in to the adage of us ripening well like rare vintage wines. But it is hard to accept that where you were once full of epiphyseal (growth) plates, you now have the potential for osteoporosis; where hyaline cartilage once ran amok, we now see arthritis. I don’t know, I think sometimes the reality of aging, even if it is done amazingly, is still a bitter reminder that our lives are meaningful because they end, and so it’s important to accept the ride and always strive for better and better days, even if there are road bumps, like severe eczema in my 20s; here’s looking to flawless skin in my 30s!

all posts, community, miscellaneous

featured on social media…

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I forgot to mention that Dove’s Derma Series featured one of my Instagram posts this past December.

I love sharing my story and trying to help others understand what it’s like to live in my body and also be a mom, so I was thrilled this happened.

Here’s the link to it if you’re curious.

 

all posts, eczema, miscellaneous

hello 2019!

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Hello hello and welcome to a new year!

I promptly abandoned my blog for a few weeks because things got crazy. We found an apartment in the city (the city proper! I’ve never lived in a city city before), got all the background checks done, hosted my parents and Jake’s parents and my sister for Christmas, packed up the house and moved out (more or less), moved into our new place, and have been rearranging and unpacking and cleaning it since. It’s a bit of a downsize from our house (but that’s not saying much as our house was huge for us) so we’ve had to get rid of lots of stuff. It’s shocking how much extra junk you accumulate just because you have the space. We are taking measures to not repeat that behavior in the apartment, and its smaller size should help.

How have you all been? How is your skin fairing?

For me personally I had a few waves of flares but now I am officially in another flake out phase. I got some idiopathic hives the other day, which according to this study, are signs of healing, along with excessive sweating. I am finding myself to be sweatier at night and sometimes randomly during the day so hopefully that bodes well. Also my skin is getting more soft and skin-like again. Even Jake has noticed. This feels quite exciting!!

I’ve been thinking a lot of about healthcare and treatments for eczema, and medicine as a field in general when I came across this article from 2014 done by the National Eczema Association that embodied some of my thoughts about the care around topical steroid withdrawal (or topical steroid addiction, TSA). The discussion section of the paper brought up a lot of interesting points, including:

Some patients believe their eczema will heal only if they never use TCS. In fact, this healing may happen because atopic dermatitis has a tendency of self-healing, and possibly TCS use may disturb this self-healing process… Did the number of patients with adulthood atopic dermatitis increase after dermatologists began to prescribe TCS several decades ago?

This is so important to think about because it does make you wonder if topical steroids are necessary to treat eczema early on (when it’s acute and not severe). Or have we as a species been warped into this idea of needing flawless-looking skin, causing us to apply whatever to our skin to make it look good, regardless of the consequences? If you think about it, we are the same species that has invented spray-on tans, skin whitening creams, chemical blemish removers, etc to use even when our skin is functionally perfect but does not meet the notions set in our head of what we believe we are dermally supposed to look like.

And the question of whether or not the number of people with AD has increased since the advent of TCS prescriptions is dead on with what I have been obsessed with trying to figure out. Now, I admit that I straddle a weird line in my head between being totally into medicine and its innovations for human health, and being a completely off-the-charts ‘let’s return to nature, cuz nature knows best’, roll -around-in-the-mud-to-build-up-your-immunity type person. Yes, it’s a confusing place in my mind, but in reality it just makes me question anytime anyone on either end of the medicinal spectrum (allopathic to holistic) tells me “this is the right thing to do”.

As such, I still wonder if our species’ conquest to protect ourselves from the baddest of bad germs, and our inventions of things like pasteurization and homogenization, have unintentionally messed us up because we are now too sterile and our bodies don’t spend the necessary time attacking pathogens, and instead have all this time to turn on us, and find fault in things they shouldn’t find fault with, with each successive generation feeling it worse and worse.

But how do I reconcile these kinds of thoughts in my own head? Do I only drink raw cow’s milk, and refuse to drink anything commercially produced FDA-approved milks? No. Does it mean I try to create a balance of bacteria by including less commercial and sterile food and drinks in my diet (e.g. kombucha, kefir, sauerkraut, yogurt)? Yes.

With the skin stuff, a similar attitude prevails. Lots of sources say you shouldn’t take hot or long showers/baths, and that you shouldn’t even bathe daily especially if you are trying to let your skin heal (since bathing is innately drying to the skin). This goes against the common cultural attitude that we as humans should be bathing everyday and it’s gross if you don’t. Does this mean I question when people tell me I need to shower daily, even after I’ve done nothing but sit on a couch for a day and haven’t sweat at all? Yes. Does it mean I refuse to shower for days at a time, even when I know I smell bad or have exerted myself and sweated? No.

I personally do shower daily these days, mostly to help rid myself of dry skin that’s flaking off. However, I rarely use soaps (too harsh on my skin), and instead I bathe in various things a few times a week (apple cider vinegar, really diluted bleach, epsom salt, etc). Actually, I’ll tell you a secret. Neither me nor my husband uses shampoo or conditioner anymore. I’m mixed race, so my hair is dry anyway and shampoo has always been a cultural no-no, but my husband is white and at first his hair was greasy when he discontinued shampoo. But now, it’s not. Over time his hair adjusted as his scalp stopped producing so much oil since he wasn’t constantly washing it away. Neat huh?

Also, though I won’t flesh out the details unless it happens, I also have something new in mind for the Feral Scribbler. Call it a New Year’s resolution… though it’s not tied to this year and isn’t a new idea, and I don’t really do new year resolutions… but besides all that, it is definitely something exciting. So cross your fingers for the surprise to be realized and stay tuned. My only hint is it would potentially address an idea from within today’s post.

And with that mystery instated, I bid you adieu and wish you well into our new year.

 

REFERENCES

Fukaya M, Sato K, Sato S, Kimata H, Fujisawa S, Dozono H, Yoshizawa J, Minaguchi S. Topical steroid addiction in atopic dermatitis. Drug Healthc Patient Saf. 2014; 6: 131-138.

Sheary B. Topical corticosteroid addiction and withdrawal – An overview for GPs. Australian Family Physician. 2016 Jun; 45(6): 386-388.