If You Don’t Have Something Nice to Say, Say Nothing

Today I got called a hypochondriac for the first time. She called me such a name because I revealed to her that I bought a stethoscope to attempt to hear my baby girl’s heartbeat at 15 weeks. I was at the chiropractor’s office. My chiropractor happens to be a doula as well. Double care I suppose, but I walked out feeling lower than when I walked in. I hid my tears from my kids under my sunglasses. It stung to be called something I truly don’t believe I am. How is me caring about my baby girl’s heartbeat leading my chiropractor, for whom I’m paying, to call me a hypochondriac?




Doesn’t she know that we’ve suffered from a miscarriage in the past, that I am 41 (considered advanced maternal age), that I opted to have surgery (breast implants and a lift) when I had no clue I was pregnant (which makes me feel guilty as hell often), that I have crippling anxiety, and my low dosage of Zoloft only does so much per day to curb my anxiety?




If you trust Mother Nature and never worried a single day during your 9 month long pregnancy… I admire you. If you can let unsolicited comments slide off your back, I applaud you. I wish I was that way and have worked hard my whole life not to let others comments creep in and hurt me.




She lectured me on and on about how I should not get an ultrasound because it’s too invasive. The radioactivity is not good for the baby. The beeps disrupt little one. Perhaps I should have known this, but I have never heard of this before.  I did not ask for unsolicited advice. My kids, and myself, are simply here to get weekly adjustments and leave. She went on to tell me to have them just use a Doppler instead to assure baby was ok. Look, lady, I wanna see my babydoll nestling ever-so-gently in my warm amniotic sac. It provides relief that all is well. Call me selfish, but maybe it would put my occasional horrible, and super vivid, dreams to rest. One ultrasound a trimester is just fine with me, but thank you for making me feel like a piece of poop for getting an ultrasound.




If you have had a zillion ultrasounds, like I did my first two pregnancies, good for you! You were doing what you thought was best and I admire you for checking in on your peanut. Can we be friends?




Don’t get me started on vaccines. But they have mercury. But they have toxins. But they cause delays. But they cause autism. But they cause asthma later on. But they cause eczema later on. But they lead to food allergies. So, don’t vaccinate my newborn? So I’m not a good mom because I did what my doctor recommended? So now I messed up my kids and that’s now why they have asthma, eczema, etc. I’m the reason? Thanks, I feel really really good about the kind of mom I’ve been to my seemingly perfectly fine kids. Really, lady? Sure, send me multiple and horrifying YouTube videos that I did not even ask for, from 1902, about how horrible vaccines are because that will help lessen my anxiety. I did my frickin’ best and I followed what my doctor told me to do, but apparently, that was not what I was supposed to do. Really? Can’t win. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.  Look, we’re vaccinating our baby. I know you may not agree, but I will be doing so. Ok, lady?!




Will you still like me if I do so or will you run the other way & pretend not to know me? Or… will you do that thing where you are nice to me during my appointment & then talk shit on me when I leave?




If you don’t believe in vaccines, good for you, as you are doing what is best for your babe in your eyes! I applaud you for following your instincts! Can we be friends?




I talked about working out and how I was holding 5 pounders during my lunges.  I work out 5 days a week. I worked out zero days with my last two and gained 50 pounds both times. It was uncomfortable. I am choosing different actions this time.  The fact I’m working out at all during this pregnancy is a miracle! Her response: “Oh, you should be holding 45 pounders in each hand during lunges. Big muscles, big weights.” Maybe it was a joke. Maybe I took it wrong. You know what… F YOU! I will hold whatever weights that make sense for me. I may not hold any at all. Hell, I may never do lunges again. Whatcha gonna say then?




If you are killing it in the gym, while pregnant, and rocking heavy weights, I think you’re a badass. I applaud you for pushing yourself to be stronger.  & if you are a regular at Bosa’s donuts & Arby’s, like I was with Hope (7) and James (5), and opt to not workout at all, good for you for doing your best and taking care of yourself as best you know how. Can we be friends?




Stop this ‘should’ business. I will do what I think is necessary and you can shove it if you don’t think what I’m doing is enough.  Enough is enough with the ‘should-ing.’ Stop it! Stop right there! It makes people feel bad about themselves. Not all of us have resilience to unsolicited advice. Some of us, meaning me, emotional and sensitive me, allows these comments to penetrate deep into my heart and hurt me. I am working so hard to not be that way. Can we be more careful with people? Can we remember that we have hearts, souls, and feelings? Can we treat one another as we would our very best friend? Can we treat strangers that way, too? Can we see hearts, first, and say the comment to ourselves, first, as a way to test if it is kind or not? If you would not want it said to you, don’t say it aloud to another human being. Isn’t this common sense? Empathy, sympathy, apathy, compassion, love, and kindness, FIRST. Be fragile, be ever-so-careful with people, as you do not know their story or their truth. If you knew, you’d be ever-so-compassionate. Be ever so careful with your words.




Do you & I’ll do me. It will look differently. I’m not here for your entertainment. I’m doing my personal best. & you are, too. It’s tough enough living in this world, at this time, in these shoes. Look for ways to be kind.




& you, too, have to do what works for you. I dress up and I’m too ‘dressy.’ I dress down and I’m too ‘sloppy.’ I speak my mind and I’m a ‘bitch.’ I remain silent and I’m a ‘doormat.’ I’m over this shit. It’s too much work. It’s too hard trying to please the masses and so I aim to please me instead.




You will never win. Stop playing the game. Stop trying to be better than your neighbor. Stop trying to keep up with the Jones’! You are you and there is only one you. Be you. Be a better you than the day before. Stay in your own lane. Stop trying to get others’ approval because it will never ever come. Someone will pull you down for trying hard and someone will pull you down for not trying hard enough. You can’t win. Just do your best.