Global Citizen

I have been known to get stuck on choosing the best label for something that I see as defining some aspect of my identity.  I say "stuck" because rather than allowing me to fully immerse myself in whatever the given aspect is, I feel as though I must first establish an identity marker before I proceed, so that I can associate whatever activities, behaviors, or beliefs with said label. 

It's not all my doing, mind you.  I've had people tell me that I shouldn't call myself this or that, and so I'm hyper-vigilant about it now, because the last thing I want is to be accused of being disingenuous.  But why bother with labels at all?  Good question.  I know that everything is transitory, and that we are not who we think we are.

I've become aware of this after my recent trip "back home" to Poland.  I remember myself at the age of 7, preparing to emigrate with my mother.  I remember myself "back home" at the age of 11, on my first trip back for the summer.  I remember myself "back home" turning 18 in my hometown.  (I took great pride in knowing that I "became an adult" in the same town where I was born.  I even made sure I was "independent" - going to visit the recent grave of my great-grandmother on my own - at the precise time marking the anniversary of my birth.)  It gave me some joy to become engaged to Alex in "my home country" as well, at the age of 22.  A few additional trips "back home" and I grew to expect the feeling of "coming home" at every subsequent trip to Poland.

During my most recent trip back, Alex, Maya, and I (plus my parents) stayed in a hotel instead of with family, as was our usual set-up.  Perhaps that was the single biggest mistake, albeit unavoidable considering there were five of us showing up to surprise my grandmother on her 80th birthday.  But try as I might, in the two and a half weeks we spent in my hometown, with my closest extended relatives, I never felt "at home".  In my grandmother's house, where my mother and I lived for a couple of years leading up to our emigration, we were mere visitors.  We were waited on hand and foot, treated quite hospitably to be sure, but I did not want to feel like a guest.  I wanted to feel at home, among "my people", and I never did.

I digress this much to say that upon my return, I realized that I cannot go back to my childhood, that what I remember of my hometown is mere memories, accessible only through my own mind, with some assistance from old photographs, perhaps.  I realized that who I am today is no longer who I was when I left Poland, or even who I was at each of my subsequent visits.

I say all of this why?  Because "who I am" is transitory.  It makes little sense to assign a label to a moving target.  And yet, it is the nature of our ego to insist that it is "the real me".  Hence, my apparent need to label various aspects of my identity.

My nationality identity has been taken care of.  My recent trip solidified what I had already suspected.  I have a hyphenated national identity (Polish-American), and I no longer fight with the fact that most others who self-identify this way don't speak Polish and/or have never visited Poland, much less lived there or were born there.  I used to pride myself on being "more Polish" than Polish-Americans, though I wasn't quite as Polish as the Poles of Polonia (the Polish diaspora that my parents identified with for a time) or obviously the Poles still living in Poland. I have made my peace with this, and I'm happy to focus on the American identity over the Polish identity.  The former is who I am now, whereas the latter identifies where I come from.

If anything, I now see the Polish-American identity marker as a spectrum, with those who can awkwardly spit out the words "pierogis" (with the inaccurate English plural marker "s" at the end of the otherwise Polish word) on one end of the spectrum, and recent immigrants on the other end.  With time, I have slowly slid down the spectrum, away from the recent immigrant end and closer to the middle.  I still speak Polish and am literate in the language, and I have many fond memories of the country.  So I'll never be at the other end of the spectrum, but I no longer feel any need to lord this over those who, by circumstances of their birth and ancestral heritage, do find themselves at that end.

I may hold dual citizenship, but my dual identity is anything but equally weighty on both ends.  Polish is where I come from.  It has had an inescapable influence on my upbringing, values, thoughts.  For better or for worse, I did not have an American upbringing.  I cannot identify with my native-born Anglo-American peers, because we come from different cultural home bases.  But I am no longer immersed in the Polish culture.  I do not live in a Polish neighborhood, I do not worship regularly at a Polish church, I do not cook traditionally Polish food (generally speaking).  I do speak Polish to my daughter, Maya, but honestly, it's not so much to link her to her mother's heritage, but rather to give her an edge linguistically (since knowing a second language at an early age makes learning subsequent foreign languages later on that much easier, not to mention the broadened horizons of being able to learn about the world from the vantage point of a different language and culture).  I also speak Polish to Maya for the sake of the few Polish relatives that are still in my life, primarily my mom.

I don't expect Maya to identify as Polish-American, and I think this realization has helped me distance myself from the label as well.  After all, how can my daughter and I not share the same national identity?  Then again, that's precisely what happened between myself and my own parents.  They retained a lot more of our mutual Polish roots (How could they not?  They were fully adult by the time of our migration.) whereas I was also heavily influenced by my American peers growing up.  Perhaps this is another reason that, until I had my daughter, I tried desperately to emphasize the Polish in Polish-American so that I would have that generational link to my parents.  But now, I find myself emphasizing the American in Polish-American so that I can have that generational link to my daughter.

In the end, none of these labels ought to matter, because patriotism taken to an extreme breeds racism, hate, and international violence.  Deep down, I consider myself a citizen of the world, with no one country holding my loyalty without question.  Yet, to be fair, at least for me, I'm only able to see myself as a global citizen because I've had the advantage of being exposed to people and ideas from around the world, something truly uniquely American.

Spiritual Dry Spell

I seem to have finally gotten an inkling as to why I've been going through a spiritual dry spell these last several months.  For one thing, motherhood has been exhausting all of my energy, energy that I was previously able to devote to philosophical reflection and time with a faith community.  For another thing, as an introvert, I require solitude in order to recharge.  In spite of the daddy-and-me time Alex and Maya spend together at least once a week, those two or three hours just aren't enough for me to get into a frame of mind that would require true spiritual pondering.

For one thing, the first twenty minutes or so of such alone time is generally spent taking a shower without worrying about a crying baby.  Then there are "computer errands" as I like to think of them - things I need to get done that I just can't do while caring for my daughter because she insists on "typing" right along with me.  So balancing our budget, updating blogs, or organizing family photos, these are the sort of things that simply cannot be done when I'm "on" with Maya.  And they seem to essentially siphon most if not all of the alone time I'm given in any one sitting.

I long for a spiritual retreat, as was my habit, where I have time to slowly, at my own pace, purge the worries of daily life and ease into a quiet awareness of God's presence in my midst.  Yet at the same time, the thought of leaving my daughter for even a weekend makes me miss her right away.  I miss her the moment she and Alex step outside for my weekly alone time!  How could I concentrate on my spiritual interior life if I'd be distracted by thoughts of what my daughter was doing and how I want her near me.

Essentially, I think I'll just have to ride this out until Maya is old enough to play alone quietly by my side, so that we both get all that we need - physical closeness but also time to do something that doesn't require the other's direct involvement.

For now, I'm going to try to "fake it till I make it", as bad as that sounds.  I have to accept that I can't figure out such grand questions as the nature of God "in my spare time".  If I hadn't definitively figured that out in the 35 years I had to myself before giving birth to my daughter, what makes me think that I can figure it out now?  Besides, if I was content with the limited amount of understanding I had about my faith before, why is it all of a sudden not enough anymore?  

Perhaps I'm feeling the pressure to do right by my daughter, and I want to believe what I am teaching her on the faith/religion front.  I don't want to just let her figure it out on her own.  I'm not ignorant of the fact that we made a big stink over baptizing her into the Catholic church for a reason.  I did not think all of God's truth was found in the Catholic church when I chose to stick with the faith of my upbringing.  That was because I do not think truth can be captured in its entirety by any human institution.  And while I'm pretty confident that I know what I do believe, I find it disheartening to not have a community of like-minded believers where I can strengthen that belief and pass it on to my daughter.

Ok, so I'm thinking baby steps are in order while I wait until my daughter is old enough for me to get sufficient alone time to start to recapture my previous fervor for faith.  For starters, I need to increase my prayer time.  I generally reach out to God each night with a request to keep my baby safe, and to thank Him for her and the other blessings of my life, but that takes all of a minute or two.  The rest of the time, God is merely a constant fixture in the background of my mind.  I know He exists.  I believe that He has been there for me when I needed Him most.  Yet I find it incredibly difficult to relate to Him right now because I am getting such conflicting ideas of what He's like from the various belief systems that are out there.  They all seem to make a little bit of sense.

I've written off the idea of attending a Unitarian Universalist church because, having attended a few UU services, I find them to be mere social constructs of well-meaning people gathered for the sake of gathering in a community, but with no concrete unifying belief holding them together.

And I'm on the fence about Quakerism.  I've only ever met one Quaker I didn't particularly like, and that was because he made an off-hand remark about Catholicism.  Otherwise, I know what Quakers stand for, and I am 100% in agreement with them, yet there is still the fact of the various "types" of Quaker meetings.  There's those who are essentially evangelical Christian in nature, and there are those that are more generic spiritually, and presumably everything in between.  I find it funny that I was put off by the idea that atheists can attend and feel a sense of belonging in the more liberal Quaker meetings.  But why should I?  How is this any different from in-name-only Catholics sitting next to me in a pew at Mass? Or maybe I make traditional faithful Catholics uncomfortable, because they see my presence as watering down their tightly held beliefs?

I am going to attend another Quaker meeting.  I think it will be what I need to reconnect with God.  I don't feel God's presence at Mass anymore.  Perhaps because part of the time I'm distracted caring for my daughter.  Perhaps because I'm fixating on the literal words I hear at the pulpit, provided for ease of digestion for the masses, when a more metaphorical understanding may be in order (like I'd be exposed to at a retreat).

I'm going to revisit this idea with Alex.  We have talked about truly honoring the Lord's Day, and so I think we should go to Mass as a family, and then they should drop me off at a silent Quaker meeting while they have daddy-and-me time.  Perhaps that hour of silence, planned into my day with no other errands or priorities to distract me, may be just what I need to kick start my spiritual life once again.

My Understanding of Catholicism

The Eucharist is the celebration of Christ's eternal ongoing sacrifice made manifest in our midst. God is the great I AM, not the "I was in the historical past". What God did on Calvary, He does every day and everywhere, in anyone who succumbs to God's presence and will over their own ego. The self dies and the Christ within lives through us. The Eucharist is poetry personified.

The unbelievability of a given teaching ought to be seen as a koan (think, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"). Certain truths of the faith, probably the most important ones, can only be experienced, never explained or described or understood literally with the mind.

Jesus desires for us to be one with him the way he is one with the father. The father revealed his name to be "I am". Jesus used the same name referencing himself. Likewise we are also "to be". If we allow our ego to die and invite Christ to live in us instead, then we shall say also that we/Christ-within "are", ie "I am". 

We must repent because otherwise our past interferes with our present, our being "I am". We must also forgive for the same reason. Without forgiveness or repentance, we remain slaves to the past.

The kingdom of God is here and now, at hand. In the eternal present. This is the only way a little child knows how to be, in the present moment. Thus Jesus said the kingdom of God belongs to "such as these".

When I cross myself, I point to the forehead, chest, and both shoulders.  Since the traditional definition of God-the-Trinity only serves to confuse and not inspire, I've taken to thinking of a different trinity when performing this ritual. For instance, when crossing myself at church, I point to my forehead to open my mind to what is being preached at the pulpit.  I point to my chest in order to activate my heart's response to the message of the day.  And I point to my shoulders to represent the concrete work that ought to be done in serving God, based on what I learn from the homily.

There's much more to be said of the various ins and outs of Catholic tradition, but these serve as a succinct summary of my changing religious viewpoint.

What Do I Believe?

Alex and I recently engaged in a dialogue with a couple of Mormon missionaries.  During our first visit, I felt uncomfortable that I was putting forth a Catholic front, thinking that if I were to tell them I was Catholic, I had to go with the official version and not my understanding of it.  After the girls left, I felt badly about misrepresenting Catholicism and being disingenuous to myself. This motivated me to put on (virtual) paper what I really do believe, so that I can be confident in letting them know, if need be, that/why I am not interested in converting, but I welcome continued religious dialogue.  Below is what I came up with.
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I believe that God is not bound by the dogmas or precepts of any organized religion.  All religions attempt to define and describe God within their own cultural and linguistic environment, and due to such human limitations, all fall short.

I believe that God can only be experienced and understood on a personal, individual level.  Truly knowing the real “I AM” transcends all religious rituals and beliefs.  It is not something that can be taught.

I believe that for someone who believes in a transcendental experience of God, converting from one religion to another would be like changing brands of shampoo; it’s beside the point.

I believe that the reason Christians claim the truth is the same reason Muslims claim the truth is the same reason Jews, or Buddhists, or Hindus claim the truth.  Their prophets or gurus have indeed experienced God as they say, and they did indeed grasp some aspect of the truth through the lens of their experience.  But to say that no one else knows what they’re talking about is arrogant at best, and downright intolerant at its worst, resulting in religion-motivated wars.

All religions worth any salt have ethics at their core. These ethics may be motivated by different theological mythologies*, but taken as a whole, the point is to give humans what we all seek deep down – happiness and peace.  For some, that comes with the promise of an eternal earth-like heaven; for others, a cessation to reincarnation.  Some see God as an authoritarian figure from whom all the world’s matter and goodness comes.  Others see God as containing all matter and goodness within Godself.  God is personified by some religions, while others see God in the abstract. None of these details matter when it comes to getting their faithful to live by basic ethics, ethics that even non-religious people are able to abide by.

And yet, throughout history, people and nations have waged war against each other in the name of their mythologies, forsaking their ethics in the process.  If every religion switched their focus, putting ethics in the foreground and mythology/theology in the background, everyone would see how similar we all are to each other in our belief systems, and there would be no excusable reason to go to war. 

But of course, it’s not to appease God that any religion wages war, but rather to maintain or coerce power, control.  The fact that such egotistical motivations are done in the name of God is downright blasphemous. And I don’t just mean war at large.  I mean also bigotry, the kind that causes people to judge others based on religious affiliation.

If everyone actually lived their lives according to the core ethics taught by their very own religions, we would bring about the Kingdom of God that Jesus spoke of in no time.  But alas, we are too busy getting hung up on interpretations and legalities and technicalities. 

There are several websites (see below) that I have read through that have been instrumental in forming my current views, and most recently, I finally felt a breakthrough when I realized that I was no longer bound by my self-imposed label of “Catholic”; I feel free.  Yes, I am still Catholic as far as the style in which I choose to worship God, but I no longer need to have that identity confirmed by other Catholics, nor do I need to be a slave to the label in order to have a fulfilling spiritual life.  I am at a cross-roads, and I’m excited about how my spiritual life will develop from here on out.

Sources of inspiration:

http://followingjesus.org/

http://justicebeforecharity.org/

http://tassos-oak.com/readbook.html

https://sites.google.com/site/livingwithoutmoney/

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* By "mythology", I am referring to a collection of  "traditional stories, especially concerning the early history of a people or explaining some natural or social phenomenon, and typically involving supernatural beings or events."  I am not using it in the sense of a "false belief or idea". (Definitions taken from googling "myth definition".)

Allegorical Faith

So far on my spiritual journey, I've come to realize and accept that there isn't one religion which will fit me perfectly, and that's OK.  Since one of the aspects of religion that I find life-giving is the emotional response I have when entrenched in it, I decided several years ago that I will stay within Catholicism, since this is the faith that I grew up with, it's the faith I'm most comfortable with, it's the faith I understand most (not to say that I understand it totally!  I don't think anyone does!), and it's the faith that brings me the most comfort emotionally and spiritually.

So when I came around the bend of my most recent crisis of faith, I knew that my resolution would not involve converting into any other religion, or even joining any other (non Catholic) church.  I still looked into different faiths, as I have in the past, but with a different motive in mind.  I long believed that at their core, all religions are one.  In high school, I presented my insights to a friend of mine by having her look at a doll and describe it to me, while I did the same while sitting on the opposite side of the doll.  Not surprisingly, we had different perspectives, and yet the doll was one and the same.  In various Eastern religions, the story of the blind men and the elephant accomplishes what I tried to accomplish with the doll.  (You can find the original story here.)

Several years ago, I came across a website that so enthralled me that I read its entirety with captivation, and then contacted the author to thank him.  Unfortunately, since there wasn't follow up in the form of an in-real-life community where I could continue this angle of the Christian faith, over time it lost its grip on me.  I never forgot it, but it has been hard to apply it in my daily life.

Maybe I'm going to have a second chance now to unearth a meaningful version of Christianity.  I recently have been reading through another website which reminded me of the first website encounter and built on it.

The nutshell version of what I've taken away from both of these websites:  What Jesus taught and what became orthodox Christian dogma are not one and the same.  What Jesus taught is simple: compassion.  In essence, it's the goal of every religion.

With this in mind, I realized why I've been having such a hard time settling comfortably for a longer stretch of time within any one religious expression.  If it's not the dogma, then it's the practice that just seems so busy, so chaotic, so messy and confusion.  Underneath it all, I know it's as simple as "I Am".  Perhaps it's my own fault for wanting to assign labels to experiences and to put words where only silence comes close enough to the truth.

On Justice Before Charity, I was stopped dead in my track when I read these words about the Trinity, the very concept that has been giving me the most trouble on my quest for "pure monotheism":

"Basil's teaching of the Trinity was not meant to explain and define God, but rather to emphasize that God could not be explained and defined. God is a mystery. How can there be one infinite God with three separate, infinite parts? This teaching was not created in order to limit God, but rather to liberate our conceptions of God from the Arians who wanted to constrain God to a distinct, describable being. The Trinity is not literally true--it cannot be--but is a beautiful reminder that any conception we have of God--however helpful--ultimately falls short of describing God."  (emphasis mine)

Believe it or not, this wasn't new information.  How many times have I heard that God is a mystery?  And yet I kept hearing the Trinity discussed so nonchalantly, as if it really were a literally true expression of God.  Seeing the above words, in context with all of the other information I was picking up on this and the other website, finally helped me distinguish between "what is" and "what is taught".

Organized religion developed with the masses in mind.  Some would say it was to help the common person relate to God.  Others would say it was to enable the powers that be to control the masses.  I'm convinced it was both.  Understanding religion as a historical and sociological phenomenon liberates me from the literalism that has plagued my spiritual faith development.

Therefore, I'm embarking on recontextualizing the tenets of my faith within an allegorical framework, where I no longer allow them to hinder me, but rather allow them to accomplish what they are there for in the first place - to point me in the direction of truth.

A Buddhist teaching about the purpose of religious practice (which can be found here) goes something like this:

"A person is with a small child who has never seen the moon before. The person points towards the moon, and says, "Look, the moon." The child could very well conclude that the person's finger is the moon. But the child should look to where the finger is pointing to see the moon for himself."  (emphasis mine)

The first obstacle that I had to overcome before finally coming face to face with this conclusion was that I have been brainswashed with the ultimate guilt-trip.  Even writing this here now stirs in me the words I heard so frequently that were meant to put me on "the right path".  What are these words?  "Jesus died for you and me."  Think about it.  If someone DIES so that you may LIVE, then you are forever indebted to them and eternally grateful, right?  Or at least that's the decent thing to do.  This concept is so emotionally charged, that it was difficult for me to dig through all of the implications and insinuations and finally ask myself: Is this even true?

I'm not questioning whether Jesus was a historical person or whether he was crucified for threatening the sociopolitical status quo with his teachings.  I think these are facts beyond contestation and don't require faith.  It's when his suffering and death are directly linked to me, when I am essentially blamed for this horrible death Jesus endured, that the guilt reflex is activated.  I think the guilt reflex is what keeps a lot of people from questioning or seeking beyond what they are told.

During my most recent research, I kept telling myself (as if to force myself to believe it) that I love Jesus, that I want to follow him, but that I just don't believe God has one unique incarnation.  Either we focus on God being supreme and hence above our human existence, or on God being universal and thus within us all. (Hence my issues with the Trinity, since I kept taking it literally.)  Finally, I took an honest look at my life and thought; how can I say that I love someone that I don't really know?

Now, I know plenty of Christians who would agree with this last point, and stress the importance of a personal relationship with Christ.  I know the drill - read the Bible, pray, and mingle with like-minded individuals in order to reiterate that this Christ I say I have a relationship with is indeed a real person, since my fellow Christians also know him and love him and follow him.  With all due respect, I'm not convinced that simply reading about a person I've never met, and then attuning myself to his spirit is the same as truly knowing someone.  I can know "of" him.  I can say that I like him based on what little I do know about him.  But can I really say that I "love" him in the same way that I love a relative or even a good friend? 

I'm getting side-tracked.  The point I was making is that I paid lip service to wanting to follow Jesus because I love him when in fact I don't know him.  I know of him, and I like what I do know about him.  And I do want to follow his teachings, because the teachings I'm aware of that have been attributed to him really resonate with my inner sense of morality.  But I can't say that I want to follow him "because I love him".  That's not being honest with myself.  I also can't say that he is more to me than a good teacher.  The argument I've heard is that Jesus EITHER is who he (supposedly) said he is, OR he was mentally unstable, OR purposefully deceitful.  Now I see that there is one other option: the information we have about what Jesus actually did say (about himself and everything else) is incomplete and/or has been skewed in the process of being written down.  This last option finally frees me from the guilt reflex and allows me to indeed claim Jesus as my teacher without necessarily buying into Christian orthodoxy.

Smaller Spaces

We recently sold our house and downsized to an apartment within minutes of Alex's work. We are now on one level, as opposed to three in the house. This is  proving to be easier for us, as before it was a bit of a hassle navigating back and forth between the kitchen, front door, laundry area, and the upstairs bedrooms. The first couple of months after our daughter was born, we realized that we were only using the upstairs as our living space. There was no need for all the other square footage. If we could just get the kitchen and laundry on the same level as the bedrooms, we would be set. And so we are. But in addition, we're finding the more intimate space, well, more intimate.

We tend to want to put things back where they belong right after use, where before we could just find more space to move to, and things tended to pile up. It's also been easier to clean up, especially the bathroom, which is now the only one we have, so there's no excuse of cleaning "only the guest bathroom". 

Of course there have been a few sacrifices. While I can't complain about laundry access, our washer is tiny compared to what I'm used to. What used to be a single load is now two or three. But even this isn't all bad. I used to bemoan the "wasted" wash cycle on our whites or Maya's cloth diapers, but now they are just the right size for a single load.

And since we are in an apartment on the second floor, taking the dogs out is a proper chore. We can't just let them out in the fenced back yard anymore. So we, especially Alex, are finally forced to walk them, thus getting some built in exercise. What's more, we are facing the community dog park, so not only does it not have to be a planned monthly trip in the car, we can take them to socialize with other dogs when we see someone there. Alex enjoys this excuse to get to know our neighbors.

Too much stuff.

Time to dig ourselves out.

Alex with our dogs at dog park.

 Some people may question our choice to forgo home ownership. I have to admit that I, too, have entertained the thought of losing some sort of sense of subconscious superiority. But we have walked to a restaurant for lunch, and then stopped to get some groceries on the way home. Alex has come home for lunch to get an extra baby fix with Maya. And he regularly gets more sleep and uses less gas during the week. Our quality of life is better in this smaller space. We like to  think this is a Franciscan attitude, simplicity and all. 

Perhaps that has been the biggest obstacle for us...finding a new church home. To be fair, after experiencing the community of St. Francis, the bar for any new church has been set pretty high. But we are open to where God wants us to be, even if it is easier for one of us (Alex) than for the other (me). As long as we have each other, though, we will reap the full benefits of downsizing and moving, soon.

Maya being welcomed into our faith community by Fr. Kevin, at our old church.

Breastfeeding Frustrations

After going through all the pain and tears of the early weeks of trying to breastfeed, I thought that if I could just get to a point where it doesn't HURT for Maya to latch on, I'd be putting her on the boob all the time.  I actually said that to my lactation consultant, who assessed Maya and told me her low palate and lip tie are contributing to a shallow latch, showed me some positioning adjustments, and recommended OTC supplements to help clear out the suspected yeast infection caused by 3 weeks on antibiotics that my midwives all but poo-pooed.  The next day, I kid you not, I started nursing Maya more and more, without pain.  This past week, we went all 7 days without formula, and with only one or two bottles of expressed milk each day.  Success, right?

Yes and no.  Apparently, by getting what I wanted, Maya is loving the boob, prefers it over her binky, and wants to get on every hour all day long.  (Thankfully, she is sticking to her two longer stretches of sleep at night, which I LOVE.)  For three days now, I have gotten very frustrated at not being able to complete anything on my to-do list because Maya doesn't let me put her down.  Even her favorite swing that she loves so much is no good in the day time.  I can barely fix something for myself to eat, never mind finishing laundry, getting through all the dishes, or anything else.  She doesn't even want to be in the Moby carrier for some reason, unless we're dancing, which perhaps is good in that I only have about 10 more pounds to lose to be back at my pre-pregnancy weight, but still, if I'm dancing, I'm not doing chores!

And so I've had to really consider WHY is breastfeeding so important to me?  What IS the big deal?  Have I totally been brainwashed by the La Leche League subculture that, to be fair, is only trying to return breastfeeding to its rightful place in society?  Do I subconsciously feel like less of a woman if I don't breastfeed?  Am I worried about being judged? 

Perhaps the idea to breastfeed started with the most common reasons to do so:

1. it's free  (it hasn't been, it's cost me over $500 in medical bills (copays for breast surgeon and antibiotics), lactation consultant fees, nipple cream, nipple shield, nipple shells, supplements for yeast, breast pump, rental of baby scale and breast pump, and one nursing bra and one nursing tank)

2. it's easy/convenient (it hasn't been, it's been first and foremost painful, damaged my nipple, then my breast from the abscess, not to mention the frustration of it all)

3. it's environmentally friendly (this it is, unless you need the help of pumps and bottles and various other gadgets, like I've perused.  Then, is it really any different than formula feeding?)

4. it helps you bond (it didn't in the beginning, when I would nurse in tears, dreading the next feeding.  I distinctly remember when I broke down to supplement with formula in a bottle the night after a nipple piece went missing and mastisis set in, that I said to husband that I don't want to miss enjoying my daughter because I'm so fixated on trying to breastfeed).  Although I will say that now that the pain is under control, even if my supply doesn't get taken care of, I do enjoy comfort nursing with Natalia.

5. immunities/antibodies - this is probably the only one I can't argue with, but I don't consciously feel it as a big enough motivator to go through everything I've gone through.  Maybe subconsciously it is? 

Or is it possible that subconsciously I am wanting to connect to womankind on some primal level, knowing that by breastfeeding, I nurture my child the way women throughout the world and throughout history have done so and continue to do so?  Do I see it as some great equalizer that I am wanting to tap into?  Maybe.

As it stands, I am considering dumping all preconceived notions of why other women breastfeed, why the "experts" say that I should breastfeed, even why I used to want to breastfeed, and simply look at the future of breastfeeding in my home.  Since I already have a breast pump and bottles, it adds no cost for me to continue using them.  And since the inability to put my daughter down and get anything done is anything but convenient, I'll take the "hassle" of warming up and cleaning bottles that are so bemoaned in circles where exclusive breastfeeding is highly encouraged.  That will be a whole heck of a lot less inconvenient than what I've got going on right now.  And without the frustration of trying to live up to some self-imposed ideal, I'll be better equipped to bond with my daughter.

So perhaps my plan going forward will be to pump my breast milk and give Maya bottles, which will ensure she is getting the immunity she needs, but also a decent amount of milk in one sitting, reducing the number of feedings.  Nursing can be reserved for nighttime feedings, since after several hours of no feeding or pumping, I generally have enough milk to satisfy Maya for several more hours, during which she sleeps! And let's not forget comfort nursing, which I can offer to her now that pain is not standing in our way. 

After all, there has to be a reason, and a good reason at that, to breastfeed one's child. If the cons outweigh the pros, the purpose of breastfeeding has lost its meaning.  I didn't have a child to breastfeed.  I had a child so that I could parent, and nourishing my daughter is only one of the many ways that I parent her.  Put another way, breastfeeding has become an idol of sorts for me, and it stops today.