I Don’t Want Your Pity

Let me paint a picture for you: It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. The temperature is in the mid-60’s, the wind is blowing, the rain is pouring. Cold rain. It’s the parking lot of a grocery store and you see two women standing next to a black car. The younger woman is slender, wearing a baby in a baby carrier, pushing a shopping cart filled to the brim with food and a toddler – food that she and her family desperately need because they were running low. The other woman, also pushing a cart, is assisting the woman. You can tell by the chaos as the women rush to get the children in the car and stuff the bags into the back that they don’t know each other. The younger woman is apologetic beyond belief to the older woman, who has on no jacket, no hood, no nothing and pushing a cart with just a few items. The older woman is insistent, telling her not to worry about it, it isn’t important. After packing the car, they part ways. The last image you have of them is the young woman rolling down her window to yell out one last thank you the parting back of the older woman. The older woman, by the way, was just in there to get a few last minute items for a bake sale before heading off to church.

I don’t know what all you’re envisioning when you read that paragraph but I’m sure by now that you’ve already guessed that I was the young woman. That that was my Sunday this past Sunday and that, by the grace of a stranger, I was able to get home relatively quickly and not too badly soaked. Why on earth was I out in that kind of weather with two children by myself? Because we needed food. Why didn’t I wait for Gordon? Because we needed food. There was nothing to cook for supper. We needed food to get us through the week. Gordon was hard at work at the other house, getting it more ‘move-in-ready’ so we can finally sell the other house (we hope). And she really was just a kind stranger. As I left the store with Henry and Emma, their little hoods up over their heads, my hood up over mine, and I watched the rain come pouring down I lamented. I lamented that the store was a chain that didn’t bag the food for you. I lamented that there were no ‘extra’ employees to smile cheerfully and assist you out to your car, helping you load it and your precious cargo safely in. I could have gone to another store with all of those lovely amenities but I didn’t because I was able to get so much for so little. I pinched a penny for us without skimping on our needs. It wasn’t a ‘one or the other’ it was a ‘both for the same price as one or the other at another store’ kind of place. And I’m not sorry for that.

What I am sorry for is that I got this kind stranger wet.

Because as I stood there, hoping for a break in the rain so I could dash to my car with my children and my groceries, out came this woman (who had been in line behind me) and asked me where my car was. No amount of ‘No no, I’ve got it’ would sway her. She was intent on helping me. And I was more than a little grateful. I could have practically kissed her. She helped steer my cart through the onslaught as well as juggling her own. She put Henry in his car seat for me while I unbuckled Emma from her carrier and placed her in her car seat. She even managed to get the straps on him and snap him in for me! Then when I tried to tell her I had it, that I at least had a hood, she should go before she was soaked, she just shushed me and asked what needed to go in my trunk first. Then we started bagging things up in the reusable grocery bags that I had stupidly left in my car and I was home before I knew it.

I tell you all of this situation to let you know I’m not super mom. I’m not even close. I realize that and more than once I’ve had to rely on the kindness of strangers to help me out in a pinch while I juggle both children and some other task (like grocery shopping). And I am grateful. So very very grateful that there still is kindness in the world today and I’m not too proud to take it.

But what is a hit on my pride is the comments like “I don’t know how you do it.” “I couldn’t do it.” “Boy you’ve got your hands full.” And other such comments. I know it’s hard. Believe me I know it’s hard. I don’t want you looking at me, judging (and misjudging) my age, complimenting my children, and then commenting on how hard it must be. You may mean it with the best intentions but all I hear is the pity. I don’t need your pity. I don’t want it. It has no place in my life. I would rather celebrate my children, celebrate myself and my imperfections as wife and mother. Why? Because I chose this life. I could have terminate either pregnancy and I didn’t. I chose not to. I could have chosen to not get married but I did and I love my husband. These are my life choices, I made them and these two wonderful little people are the cause and effect of them. I love them so very much – why can’t you just enjoy them, see my joy in them, and not pity me? I’m doing great! I may feel like I’m drowning sometimes – and sometimes I am – but please, don’t pity me. Help me but don’t pity me. Lift me up, bolster my confidence, or just leave me alone.

Closing a Chapter

Dear Emma,

I must admit that I thought I would be writing this to you well before now. But as always, dear girl, you have surprised me. I knew going into this that you and I would have a battle ahead. There was nothing you could do about it. You just happened to get the luck of the draw with me. I had breast reduction surgery back in 2010. It wasn’t just for looks – okay, it was partly for looks. But mostly it was for health reasons. Your great grandmother, my mother’s mother, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Not once, not twice, but three times. She had several other forms of cancer that ultimately led to her passing away well before you were born. It was something that effected me deeply because of how much I loved her. I wish you could have met her. I hope I’m able to raise you and your brother in a way that would have pleased her. She meant the world to me.

Because of her diagnosis, my mother, aunt, sister, and I have all been very vigilant in our look out for any signs of breast cancer. I know momma (your grandmother) has had to have a few minor surgeries to have lumps in her breast tested after they came back abnormal on her yearly mammogram. Thankfully nothing had come back as being positive for breast cancer but I wanted to try and avoid that. When I decided to have a breast reduction surgery, it was with you in mind. Well, not you specifically since this was well before your time, but my future children. I know how much it hurt my mother to lose her mother at a rather young age – your great-grandmother was only in her 70s when she passed away – and I didn’t want you and your brother to be in the same position someday down the line. I was also tired of having constant back pain from the strain of supporting breasts that were too large for my slender muscular frame. Hopefully this little genetic ‘blessing’ will pass over you and you won’t have to suffer as I did.

Before the surgery, I went over everything with my doctor. I was adamant that they do whatever they can to leave as much healthy breast tissue behind as possible. I had goals, even then, before I knew your father and I would marry and eventually have you and Henry, that I wanted to breastfeed. Maybe not exclusively – I’ve never been gung ho about exclusively breast feeding – but it was something that I definitely wanted to do. I was assured that I would still be able to breastfeed although the doctor couldn’t guarantee how much. In my book some is better than none but even if i hadn’t been able to produce any after the surgery, it was still worth it. Though the road to recovery was more than a little rough at times (I remember at one point having to pull out my ‘dissolvable’ stitches because they itched so much and weren’t dissolving), in the end I was grateful. I am glad that I went through it and at such a young age because I was able to bounce back from it faster and will be able to enjoy the benefits of it longer.