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sithsecrets · 4 years ago

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five intimate moments | din djarin x reader

A chronicle of five moments that shaped the Mandalorian’s relationship with his one and only crew member.

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3.5 k words

Mentions: illness, hallucinations induced by a high fever, minor injury to the reader character, NO SMUT!

(This is my first attempt at a Mando fic so please have mercy!!!)

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When the Mandalorian says he wants to hire you as his first and only crew member, you’re taken aback to say the least. Your first impulse is to laugh and tell him that his joke is very funny, because what else could an offer like that be from a man like him? He’s entirely self-sufficient from the look of things, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the credits to buy services from others when he needs them. But one long look into the darkness of that visor tells you at once that what Mando’s said is no jest, tells you that he’s serious.

He tells you that he’ll cut you in ten percent if you help him out a little bit. It’s standard stuff, really, just ship repairs, navigation, and taking care of the baby. You’ve learned a lot under Peli over the last several years, you’ve definitely sat in the pilot’s chair a time or two, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a soft spot for Mando’s weird little baby— so why not? Working for him would get you off this planet, and it would be a change of pace for sure.

Doubt sets in the night before you’re set to go off with the Mandalorian, though Peli waves your feelings off pretty readily.

“You’re being stupid,” she tells you bluntly. “He’s a Mandalorian. Just do as you’re told, help him with the kid, and let him keep to himself if he wants to. Everything’ll be fine.”

Peli’s words are of some comfort, though anxiety is still fluttering in your gut the next morning. You say your goodbyes to your mentor and the droids, and then you’re flying off in the Razor Crest on the way to somewhere.

The first day is strange as you try to pick your way around your new home, and you spend much of your time feeling as though you’re snooping around in someone else’s space. The Mandalorian is just as quiet as you thought he’d be, clanging around in his armor doing this and that while you try to make yourself busy. You run out of tasks quickly, however, and it makes you skin itch to sit idle like this.

You watch for nearly an hour as Mando fiddles with the mechanics in one of his arm guards, cursing under his breath through the modulator as he picks at this and that. You think you know what the problem is, but you’re not sure you’re brave enough to tell him that. Finally, though, you can’t let him struggle anymore.

“Let me see,” you declare, cringing as you realize your tone was more commanding than you’d meant for it to be. But Mando says nothing to this, letting you take hold of his arm without uttering so much as a sound. Just as you thought, there’s an issue farther up the guard, one he’d overlooked. A little soldering here, a change of wires there, and then the thing’s good as new again.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, and you can feel his eyes on you through the visor.

“It’s what you hired me for.” You laugh nervously then, suddenly shy under the attention. “Gotta show you I’m not completely useless somehow, right?”

The Mandalorian stands, headed for the ladder on the other side of the room.

“Don’t call yourself useless.”

This is said without so much as a glance over his shoulder, and you find yourself rushing to explain for no apparent reason.

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did.” The Mandalorian pauses with one foot on the first rung, finally turning to look at you now. “You’re not useless.”

The Razor Crest’s interior, in the grand tradition of spaces owned and maintained by single men, is in desperate need of a tune-up. There’s a bit of clutter here and there, and the walls and surfaces and well, everything else could do with a good scrubbing. It’s a big project to say the least, but you think you can tackle it given enough time and supplies.

The perfect window for such an undertaking opens up just a few days after the idea strikes you. Mando’s got another assignment, and it’s brought you to a relatively safe planet nearer to the Outer Core. He’ll be gone a few days, or so he says, and you know already that the market in town will be the perfect place to get what you need.

You set about your task the same day the Mandalorian leaves to set about his, the baby secured to your chest in a makeshift sling. It’s a good thing you brought him, too, because his charm helps you score several bargains along the way.

Organizing everything takes almost a whole day by itself, but after that, the cleaning is easy. You scrub and dust and mop until everything sparkles, and then it’s time to do laundry and see if you can make some functioning garments out of the scraps you find in Mando’s small closet. The clothes he wears aren’t rags by any means, but a little patching here and mending there gives him two more shirts and another pair of pants to work with.

It takes two more days for Mando to come home after you’re done, and he notes the changes immediately. He stops dead in the little hall between the main hull and the place where he keeps his carbonite-contained quarries, looking to the left and then to the right very slowly. You can’t tell if he likes what you’ve done at first, his expression obscured by that damn helmet like it always is.

“I didn’t touch your weapons,” you declare, holding up your hands as if to ward off whatever anger Mando’s about to level at you. But he doesn’t get upset, doesn’t cuss or ask you what the hell your were thinking, so you think it’s safe to go on.

“I scrubbed the whole interior, organized some of the stuff you had laying around, and made myself a better place to sleep.”

You gesture to the pallet you’ve made for yourself on the floor, proud of how you’ve managed to tuck it out of the way. That was the problem with your old spot— Mando had to step around you a lot, and it was becoming impractical. This new space comfortable, too, plush thanks to some cushions and blankets you managed to score in the market. You even have pillows now, but this is something you delight in privately.

The Mandalorian stands silently before you, and you prattle on, showing him this and that.

“I got the baby a couple of outfits to wear, one for colder weather and one for warmer weather. I mended some of your old clothes and washed everything that was here, so that’s done.” You shut the door to the little wardrobe and go to Mando’s bunk, pushing the button so he can see inside. “The woman that sells upholstered goods in the market really liked the Child, so she gave me a great deal. I managed to get you a decent mattress, or something close to it, and a couple of new pillows. She fixed up your old quilt for me too, so I hope it’s warmer now…”

You trail off, words escaping you under the intensity of Mando’s gaze. He’s staring you down properly now, the visor trained right on your face.

“Why did you do all of this?” he asks, gesturing to his bunk, the wardrobe. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps you should have asked before you messed with his things, his sleeping space, and a wave of something not unlike embarrassment sweeps over you.

“I— Mando, I’m sorry, I should have—”

But the Mandalorian still isn’t cross, cutting you off before you can finish apologizing. “Don’t apologize for anything. This is… This is…” He stares at his bed for a long moment, searching for his words. “Thank you.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flutter, though you can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

The cough is innocuous enough when it starts, just a tickle in the back of your throat that comes on one afternoon. You brush it off as allergies, even telling Mando you’re fine when he asks about it that night.

Two days later, you’re bedridden.

Mando insists you’re absolutely burning up even as you shiver and shake beneath a virtual mountain of blankets, so cold that you think you’ll never be warm again. He forces you to sip on broth and water, though it all settles like sludge in your stomach. It must be bad, whatever you have— you must look bad— because the Mandalorian’s façade is slipping. He’s having full-blown conversations with the baby now, asking the little green infant if he thinks it’s a good idea to cut this hunt short, if he thinks you can be left alone for even just a few hours while he collects the last quarry. And though your body is aching, though you can practically feel the fever cooking your brain at this point, you tell him to finish the job. He made an agreement, and you know it’ll kill Mando not to honor it— you’ll be fine by yourself.

The two of you touch down on some planet in the Outer Rim, and then Mando’s practically running out of the ship. He promises to be back within the day, the sincerity in his voice managing to pierce the haze clouding your mind, and the ache in your bones makes you hope he means it.

Sometime later, you begin to hear a voice coming from the ‘fresher, one that taunts and teases you. It speaks nonsense on and off, but the clearer messages are frightening nonetheless. The voice says that Mando’s not coming back, that he’s left you here forever. Why else would he have taken the baby, hm? He doesn’t care for you, he’s not going to help you.

“Yes, he is,” you retort weakly, becoming more and more upset with each passing hour as this faceless thing continues to fill your head with words and threats. Somewhere in the very back of your fever-addled brain, you know that none of this is real, that all of this is a fever dream. But still, you weep and twist in your bed, scared that the Mandalorian really has abandoned you.

True to his word, though, Mando’s back in record time. You cry out for him the minute you hear footsteps inside the ship, and even the quarry grows quiet at the sound of your voice. Things are hazy after that, but you know that Mando comes to you after just a few minutes, promising over and over again that you’ll be better soon.

You and the Mandalorian and the baby fly somewhere together, this much you know, and Mando comes to sit on the floor with you once the Crest is in hyperspace.

“We’ll be there soon,” he tells you, voice tense and nervous through the modulator. He shushes you when you become upset all over again, emotions stirred by more taunting from the voice in the ‘fresher.

“Make it stop,” you cry, so very weak, “please make it stop. It’s so mean, Mando.”

“Hey, hey,” the Mandalorian cuts, pressing a gloved hand to your forehead. “Nothing can hurt you while I’m here, I won’t let it. I’ll stay right here until we get you to a doctor, I promise.”

And that’s enough to calm you for a few hours, it’s enough to help you fall asleep. You only wake again when you feel arms around your body, when the plushness of your mattress is no longer underneath you.

“Come on,” Mando says, talking to himself as much as he’s talking to you. “The medic will fix this. He’ll fix this, and everything will be fine.”

The medic the Mandalorian takes you to does fix this, but things are touch and go for a few hours there. Your fever breaks in just a couple of hours, thank the Maker, but you’re still very weak from being so sick for so long. You spend two days confined to a medbay bed before you’re deemed well enough to be discharged, and even then, it takes about a week before you’re truly feeling like yourself again.

It’s not until much later that you realize Mando never left your bedside once, and not for the first time do you find yourself wondering what something like that means coming from a man like him.

Mando’s been gone nearly two weeks, and the baby’s beginning to lose it just the slightest bit. He doesn’t talk, of course, not in a way you can understand, but you know he misses his father. If the Child isn’t in a sour mood, he cries, and you’ve caught him playing in Mando’s clothes more than once. It’s stressful, taking care of the baby when he’s like this, but you understand how he feels. You feel strange and almost embarrassed to admit it, but you miss the Mandalorian too. The rational part of you knows it would be best to chalk it up to proximity, but you know in your heart that it’s a little more than that. But just because you know this doesn’t mean you accept it, and you tamp down the feeling at every turn, focusing instead on getting the Child through this rough period.

At the sixteen-day mark, the baby refuses to sleep in his pram entirely, insisting instead that Mando’s bunk will do much better. And you would be fine with that, all things considered, if he wasn’t insistent that you climb in there with him as well.

“Bug, I know you want Mando to come home, and I know you like sleeping with me when he’s not here, but I’m not getting in there with you.”

The baby makes a most discontent noise, pulling on your fingers so hard that he tumbles back onto Mando’s mattress when he lets go. You tell him once again that you won’t be invading his father’s space like that, and then the Child is crying, sobbing so hard his little shoulders shake beneath his baggy outfit. I’m too tired for this, you think to yourself, and you finally give the baby what he wants.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, climbing up into the bunk with a sigh. “But we’re not telling him about this.”

The Child is soothed at once, snuggling down beside you in Mando’s blankets as if he was never upset in the first place. You lie beside him in the dark, eyes already growing heavy as you breathe in the scent of the covers around you, the scent of the pillow beneath your head. All at once, you realize that this is what Mando probably smells like under all the armor and the weapons. Something about that only serves to make this whole thing feel even more like a violation, but you force that thought out of your mind.

At some point, you do drift off, only the be woken hours later by the feeling of a hand on your ankle. And there the Mandalorian is, standing before you in the flesh (and beskar) after all those days away.

“You’re in my bed,” he says to you, though there’s no edge to the words. It’s a simple statement of fact, a plain observation.

“We missed you,” is all you have to say in explanation, though it takes you about three seconds too long to realize which pronoun you chose to throw out in the front there. Now properly awake, you go to cover the mistake, but Mando cuts you off as he is so wont to do.

“I missed you too,” he says slowly, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Both of you.”

You realize that Nevarro may not be as safe as you thought about three seconds after a man with a vibroblade demands you hand over all the credits you have. You try to flee on impulse, your mind focused on protecting the baby—

Right up until the man catches your shirt, using the natural momentum of the action to propel you right into his clenched fist. Searing hot pain blooms behind your eye, spreading across the entire side of your face and into your nose. You’re completely stunned, unable to so much as form a coherent thought as your attacker moves to hit you again.

It’s like everything happens in slow-motion after that. One minute, your assailant is bearing down on you with murder in his eyes— the next, he’s grimacing, falling to the ground with thud. Two voices urge you to follow them now, and there are hands on your shoulders, your back. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a moment to realize that there are two fucking Mandalorians in your face, but when you do, the urge to fight back leaves you immediately.

Neither Mando is your Mandalorian, but you follow them anyway. They usher you into a tunnel system beneath the city, telling you to turn this way and that, and you do as they say without question. For some reason, they know you— they know your name, and they certainly know the baby because they ask about him the moment the lot of you are concealed. About a thousand questions swim around in your mind as you follow the Mandalorians deeper and deeper into the tunnels, but you aren’t given a chance to ask a single one.

Finally, you’re allowed to stop in a smith of some sort, coming to stand before a Mandalorian woman sheathed in maroon and gold. She regards you for a long moment, pausing over her work to take in the sight of your face, the way you clutch the baby protectively against your chest.

“Fetch him,” is all that she says, speaking to one of your saviors, and they turn and leave without a word.

A period of time elapses before you hear movement in the hall, though you can’t be sure how long. What you are sure of, though, is that you hear Mando’s voice drawing near, and the wave of relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’re safe here, of course— anyone would be, surrounded by this many Mandalorians— but… but they’re not him.

“What happened?”

It’s the first thing Mando says to you, picking up the pace once he lays eyes on your injuries. You’re taken aback by how he crowds you, how he lets his gloved hands linger on your cheek.

“She was attacked by a chakaar,” says the Armorer, speaking from workspace. “He will not be bothering anyone again, though.”

Mando is satisfied by this, thanking his brothers and sisters for protecting you and his child. You thank them as well, though it’s hard to tell if the sentiment lands with the Mandalorians. The Armorer is the only one who responds at all, saying, “You are our brother’s cyar’ika,” she explains, confusing you with a word you don’t recognize, “we as his brothers and sisters must protect you. This is the Way.”

“The is the Way,” intones the group, and then you’re being ushered from the room, tucked under Mando— your Mando’s— arm.

The walk back to the ship is a quiet one, though the Child coos happily. He seems largely unaffected by all of this, even dozing off in his pram as though he’s had an uneventful afternoon. You’re glad he’s asleep, knowing it’ll give you and Mando some time to talk. You want to ask him about what the Armorer said, what that word meant. Mando’s cyar… cyar’ika? Is that what she’d called you?

But you don’t get the chance to speak a word, because Mando crushes you against him the moment you get the baby settled. His arms are strong around your back, the sensation of being held by him effectively knocking the air from your lungs. When he finally lets you go, every question you had stuffed in your mind is gone.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” the Mandalorian says to you, sounding more distraught than you ever thought possible. You shake your head at that— how could he possibly have known?

“I’m fine, Mando,” you press. “Don’t worry about my face, it’s—”

“I should have been there.”

The both of you just look at one another after that, and the Mandalorian doesn’t flinch away when you lay your hand on the side of his helmet. You know at once that everything is different now, but you need to hear it just to be sure.

“That woman—”

“The Armorer,” Mando corrects.

“The Armorer,” you begin again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “What did she mean when she said what she said about me? What is a cyar… cyar’ika?”

Mando’s hand comes up, and his glove is cool on your uninjured cheek.

“’Beloved,’” he says softly, “’cyar’ika’ means ‘beloved.’”

You think your heart’s going to beat right out of your chest, but you force yourself not to be calm.

“If you’re going to call me your cyar’ika,” you whisper, afraid you’ll shout if you don’t, “then what should I call you?”

“Din. You can call me Din.”

#my writing #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #cw: illness #tw: illness #cw: hallucinations #tw: hallucinations

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terrialaimo · 4 years ago

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What Makes A Male Cat Spray In The House Super Genius Useful Tips

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Can I Spray My Cat With Lemon Water

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Best Medication For Cat Spraying

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#What Makes A Male Cat Spray In The House Super Genius Useful Tips #Stop Scratching Cat Spray

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ungracefulswan-blog · 6 years ago

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How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

My mom bottle-fed my sister and I when we were babies. This on its own wouldn't be remarkable, but an undiagnosed cornstarch allergy caused my sister to become dangerously ill as an infant. Instead of the nutrients she should have been receiving from formula, the allergy was causing her to lose her hair, break out in rashes, have stomach problems and sleepless nights, and be malnourished. This went on for months before doctors or my parents discovered the culprit. When my parents realized that cornstarch was the common denominator in all the baby formulas they used, my sister stopped drinking them and was was able to improve.

This horror story-and my meager finances-is why I decided to breastfeed once I was pregnant with my first child. I was lucky enough to be gifted a portable breast pump and milk storage equipment from baby shower guests, and I was also incredibly determined to make this work. I had very complicated feelings about motherhood because of my relationship with my own mother, so I couldn't allow any failure on my part. I started off motherhood extremely sleep deprived. Breastfeeding wasn't fun, and-to be real-my nipples were not prepared for the nightmare they were about to endure.

Still, the six weeks I spent at home lazily nursing my sweet, little son were more blissful than anything else. I'd lie in bed with him-tracing his delicate features with the tips of my fingers while he slept-and when he was hungry, out came his food source. I'd let him eat until his tummy was full and then get back to cuddling.

Pumping was simple during this time too. While his dad or grandparents were busy fawning over him, I pumped. I wasn't making as much milk as I hoped, but it was enough to start freezing some to prepare for my return to work. I knew that if I kept at it, it would get easier.

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

I had my pump, I had my milk storage equipment, and I had my plan. As much as I loved being with my kiddo, I was itching to go back to work and was prepared to take breastfeeding to the office. Millions of moms do it every day, so how hard could it be?

Apparently, ridiculously hard. Before my baby was born, I was a workhorse. I dealt with HR issues like hiring and discipline as well as day to day operations. I worked through breaks and lunches. I stayed late and came in early. I multitasked like a pro.

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

I found myself pushing my pumping breaks to later and later in the day. My breasts would swell and become engorged with milk. I started wearing breast shields to prevent leaking through my shirt whenever I heard or saw a baby. There was no dedicated place to pump at my job, so the bathroom or my car had to make do. While there's nothing more natural than feeding my child, it felt totally unnatural to sit in the bathroom stall, listening to the loud, rhythmic suctioning noise of my breast pump as it extracted his next meal.

This less than ideal situation eventually caused my milk to dry up. After nine weeks, my son had to rely heavily on formula. I wasn't anti-formula at all, but I mourned that lost time with my son. The intimate moments, the skin-to-skin contact. Losing these interactions-along with increased sleep deprivation and the stress of returning back to work-threw me into a horrible case of the Baby Blues.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My second pregnancy wasn't any easier. I felt extra guilt because my doctor ordered light duty and bed rest during a bulk of it. Once my daughter arrived, her birth was followed by the same blissful six weeks and eventual chaotic return to work. I tried hard to redeem the devoted employee reputation I had before pregnancy. I didn't even want to make time for pumping, so when my milk finally dried up, I was both relieved and, once again, guilt-ridden.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Disgusted by that feeling, I approached breastfeeding my third child with renewed vigor. Our time at home was like a waking dream, and my two older kids were able to share in the experience. The bonding we experienced during that time is irreplaceable.

I also hoped that work might improve, too. With the introduction of the Affordable Care Act, dedicated pumping rooms were now a requirement-I'd no longer have to sneak away to my car . I was even taking my regular breaks to pump. I passed the nine week mark and felt a sense of success. I could do this. It was hard, but I could do this.

But a week later, after a particularly terrible day, I had to push back all of my breaks. I was swollen, sore, sad, and in desperate need of the pumping room. Exhausted, I settled in, set up, and started on my first breast, finally finding relief.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

The pumping room's light switch was outside the door, and someone had turned it off. Defeated, I pumped in the dark, breaking down into tears as the suction continued its rhythm. Shortly after, I decided to stop breastfeeding. I took a prescription medication to help my milk dry up.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

Breastfeeding is hard. It's emotionally and physically draining. It's time consuming and demanding. It's inconvenient and messy. With the necessary equipment, it can be expensive. Society doesn't always accommodate breastfeeding parents, and mothers are forced to adapt to ridiculous standards.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

I'm still working through the depression and anxiety I live with. The mommy guilt will never go away, but when I think back to those breastfeeding days, my thoughts focus less and less on the misery. Instead, I remember sleepy days in bed, cuddling three little babes, and giving them all the love they needed. Breast or bottle, I think any mom can relate to that.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

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theinternetismylyfe-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

gayyogurt-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

inkundu1 · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

cowgirluli-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

dragons-in-bowties-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

fuckyeahslightlyamusing-blog · 6 years ago

Text

How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression

PhotoAlto/Getty Images

When I returned after my maternity leave, I felt pressure to live up to those same work standards I held before the baby.

This postpartum depression would go untreated for years.

My guilt over no longer breastfeeding my daughter added to the depression I'd been ignoring since my first pregnancy. What was a beautiful experience became a burden.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Months later, I took a medical leave for extreme anxiety and depression.

TEK IMAGE/Getty Images

Baby's bottle.

When I saw a therapist, she discovered that my untreated postpartum depression was a factor in my mental break. The stress and guilt I felt from failed breastfeeding only added to it.

But it's also fulfilling. It's warmth and bonding. It's love and comfort. It's touch and memory. It's a time that I would not trade for the world, and would give an awful lot to get back.

The post How my breastfeeding struggles contributed to my postpartum depression appeared first on HelloGiggles.

0 notes

sherristockman · 7 years ago

Link

Have You Ever Tried Mangosteen? Dr. Becker By Dr. Mercola It seems the American public is becoming more aware of the health advantages of eating plenty of plant-based foods and so is discovering more types of fruit than the typical bananas, apples and berries people usually choose when they’re shopping for food. One that’s been gaining an upsurge in interest in recent years is the mangosteen (Garcinia mangostana), known in Asia as the “queen of fruits.” Common in the rainforest areas of Malaysia, the Philippines, Sri Lanka and Indonesia, this fruit looks a little like a giant plum on the outside. The rind, aka endocarp, comes in muted shades of dark red or purple topped with thick “petals” known in botanical circles as a calyx. Under the skin is a thick, reddish endocarp layer and inside that, the pure white fruit is sectioned similarly to an orange, but that’s where the likeness ends. Besides eating them raw as fresh, thirst-quenching fruit, described as “delectably sweet” and “like a combination of strawberry, peach, vanilla ice cream,”1 they’re relatively low in calories. Mangosteen fruit can be preserved by canning them as jelly, preserves or jam, sometimes spiced with cloves or ginger, but the process may alter the flavor somewhat. The rind is rich in pectin, the twigs are often used as “chewsticks” in Ghana and China, and the rosin is used to tan leather, according to the horticulture department at Purdue University, which adds: “Mangosteens are usually eaten fresh as dessert. One need only hold the fruit with the stem-end downward, take a sharp knife and cut around the middle completely through the rind, and lift off the top half, which leaves the fleshy segments exposed in the colorful ‘cup’ — the bottom half of the rind. The segments are lifted out by fork.”2 Because the trees can grow up to 60 feet high, traditional harvesting methods in the tropical regions where it’s grown involve going after the fruit with long, telescoping poles with nets or baskets attached, although farmers sometimes climb the trees or use tall ladders. Once purchased or gathered, they should be placed in a cool well-ventilated place for up to two weeks or refrigerated to keep them longer. Nutrition and You3 notes that scuffs or cuts to the mangosteen’s outer skin can “leak” the flavor of the skin’s “bitter latex” into the fruit itself, which renders the whole fruit bitter and inedible. The traditional harvesting methods may be a labor-intensive process, but are worth it, both for the food and flavor profile, as well as for the nutritional aspects, which, as you’ll read, are considerable. So What Makes Mangosteen Beneficial? People in the areas they’re grown find them useful for treating skin infections, acne, wounds, chronic diarrhea and cholera.4 Dried mangosteen is used in China for such maladies as dysentery and to make an ointment for eczema and other skin disorders. A broth of sorts made from the rind is also used for cystitis and gonorrhea, as well as to treat thrush and urinary disorders. In Malaysia, an infusion is taken to regulate menstruation. Besides the aforementioned xanthones, other compounds in mangosteen include terpenes, anthocyanins, tannins and phenols. Modern clinical uses for extracts of mangosteen include to make essential minerals, green tea, aloe vera and multivitamins, and by cancer patients as a dietary supplement. Tellingly, mangosteens have been tapped to make one of the world’s top-selling plant-based supplements.5 Just one 3.5-ounce serving provides more than 5 grams of fiber, which is one of this fruit’s most valuable components. Fiber is the nutrient that bulks up the food you eat to move it through your colon for disposal as a waste product in a timely manner, which is crucial for good health. Additional vitamins and minerals include vitamins A, C, an array of B-complex vitamins such as thiamin, niacin, pantothenic acid and folate, and minerals like copper, manganese, potassium and magnesium. As for the benefits the compounds in mangosteens impart, there are several diseases, disorders and conditions they positively affect: Blood sugar6 Neuropathy Obesity Improved skin7 Macular degeneration8 Arthritis9 Improved vision Blood pressure10 Accelerated healing Boosted immunity From Alleviated Histamine Intolerance to Improved Brain Function One of the problems mangosteen is noted for improving is fungal infections, including Candida albicans, which is often due to the consumption of too much sugar and grains, high stress levels and coming into contact with certain parasites, fungi and viruses. Fungal overgrowth, in turn, can lead to histamine intolerance. The Alternative Daily11 lists a number of symptoms below, and further explanation: Itching or sudden rash after eating certain foods A runny nose after eating Multiple food allergies Eczema Sugar cravings Frequent fungal outbreaks Fatigue in spite of eight hours of sleep Candida and/or yeast overgrowth Constant illness for no apparent reason Moodiness or anxiety after eating certain foods “These situations can lead to an overgrowth of yeast in the body which our good bacteria cannot compete with. One of the side effects of fungal overgrowth is known as histamine intolerance. Histamine intolerance is not as heavily discussed today as other reactions to fungal overgrowth, such as jock itch, athlete’s foot, etc. However, it is more prevalent than many people realize, and it is often mistaken for something else. The body can experience symptoms of histamine intolerance when the immune system has been weakened by yeast, or a health issue such as an autoimmune disorder.” In studies, mangosteen extracts also protected the brain from damage done by glutamate, an excitatory neurotransmitter in the brain. When there’s too much, it can result in neurological injury, aka nerve cell death and the production of more free radicals in the brain. That’s another reason why mangosteen is lauded as “a promising therapeutic compound” for neurodegenerative inflammation such as the kind that causes Parkinson’s disease,12 similar to Alzheimer’s disease; it has a protein named alpha-synuclein that causes buildups and subsequent damage, Wellness Resources continues: “In Parkinson’s disease, the protein damages dopamine-rich parts of the brain which leads to its classic symptoms of depression, flat affect, fatigue, constipation, tremors, balance and gait problems.”13 Recent studies show that xanthones impede the buildup of amyloid beta protein that leads to neurodegeneration and Alzheimer’s disease, but also occurs in concussions and traumatic brain injury. All together, these and other phytonutrients neutralize harmful free radicals and help the body fight infection. Studies have shown that mangosteens have the potential to slow the growth of cancer cells and may be chemopreventive. Additional Information on Problems Improved by Mangosteen Wellness Resources notes a number of other dramatic changes the xanthones and other compounds in mangosteens made in other areas of health, including the prevalence of deadly bacteria (“nightmare bacteria”) superbugs and staph infections, one of the most prominent being MRSA (methicillin-resistant S. aureus). One reason they’re so dangerous is that they’re resistant to antibiotics, recur alarmingly often in hospitals and kill more than 23,000 people in the U.S. annually. Further: “These bacteria are now being found in healthy individuals, but occur without symptoms. Rather, the healthy individual is a carrier who unknowingly transfers the germ to another individual. That person may be immunological susceptible and develop into an infection which can quickly transpire into a life-threatening situation. These killer bacteria can quickly evolve and mutate to avoid antibiotic treatment success.”14 Biofilms are a type of dental plaque that contain a slimy buildup of bacteria on the surfaces of your teeth. One type is staph aureus, which includes MRSA. Mangosteen extract damaged the bacteria’s cell membrane, leading to its destruction.15 Xanthones in Mangosteen: Antioxidant, Anti-Inflammatory, Chemoprotective Health-wise, the mangosteen has been found to contain valuable phytonutrients such as powerful antioxidants, the principal one being xanthones, which scientists identify as chemopreventive. Researchers from China and the U.S. cooperating in one clinical study noted that, although new cancer strategies are continually being developed, “The treatment and management of malignant tumors still remain a formidable challenge for public health.” The study authors note that xanthones in nearly every part of the plant are antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, antibacterial and antifungal, as well as being antiviral and perhaps most importantly for their research, antitumor, potentially exerting chemopreventive and chemotherapeutic activity in all the stages of carcinogenesis, including its initiation, promotion and progression. As the study observes, xanthones are recognized as the controlling factors in cell division and growth, apoptosis, inflammation and metastasis: “Multiple lines of evidence from numerous in vitro and in vivo studies have confirmed that xanthones inhibit proliferation of a wide range of human tumor cell types by modulating various targets and signaling transduction pathways.”16 One of the most potent aspects of xanthones is the antioxidant strength they exert when they come up against the excessive reactive oxygen intermediates (ROI) produced by carcinogens, including those involved in the development of cancer, including hydroxyl radicals (OH•), hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) and the superoxide anion (O2−•), according to the study. Additionally: “Aerobic organisms possess antioxidant systems that function to scavenge ROI. These systems include enzyme-based antioxidants, such as superoxide dismutase, glutathione peroxidase, catalase and glutathione reductase. Tissue damage, however, can arise from an imbalance in free radicals and antioxidants, resulting in the development of a variety of degenerative disorders.”17 The researchers listed numerous cancer types that showed remarkable suppression of cell proliferation when exposed to the xanthones in mangosteens. Those exhibiting the highest activity were against breast cancer, leukemia, lung cancer, tongue cancer,18 liver cancer, pheochromocytoma (a rare tumor in the adrenal gland) and colorectal carcinoma. Mangosteen Recipe: Mixed Spring Greens with Champagne-Citrus Vinaigrette If you’d like to give mangosteens a try, here’s a healthy recipe that’s perfect for lunch or dinner: Mixed Spring Greens with Champagne-Citrus Vinaigrette Ingredients: Mixed spring greens or spinach 2 mangosteens, peeled and segmented 1/4 cup chopped almonds, toasted Natural salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste Champagne-Citrus Vinaigrette: Ingredients: 1 tablespoon Champagne vinegar 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed mangosteen juice 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard 1 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated orange peel 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1/2 teaspoon each of sea salt and black pepper 1/2 teaspoon honey Procedure: Use a sharp knife to cut around the outside middle of the mangosteen, about half an inch deep. Using both hands, use your thumbs to pry open the fruit and remove white fruit segments (not unlike an orange) at center. Spread chopped almonds in a single layer on a baking sheet and toast lightly in a 350 degree oven (about five minutes). Combine all but the oil in a small bowl. Whisking constantly, drizzle in oil until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste. Place spring greens in a large salad bowl, toss with vinaigrette and sprinkle with chopped almonds. Makes 4 servings.

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