What I Need....

My husband has been having some serious issues with his heart the last few weeks. He goes in for a hearth cath procedure tomorrow so the doctors can determine what exactly is wrong. The last few weeks he has been pale and gray. He's had no energy. He hasn't slept well. He's had chest pains, bradycardic episodes, dizziness and shortness of breath. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital one morning because he thought he was having a heart attack. He wakes up feeling sick every morning. He can't handle much activity. We went fishing for his birthday and walking to the pier and back to the car was about all he could handle. 

He's not himself. I'm beside myself. 

At the moment, I'm stoic and numb and in survivor mode where I get shit done and handle business because there's no time for me to have a breakdown right now. 

People keep asking me what I need, and it's a hard question to respond to because I know exactly what I need, but they aren't things I can ask of anyone. Unless someone dumped a load of cash in my driveway, I wouldn't get 80% of the things on this list that I need. So what do we do when we know what we need but there's no way of getting it?

I haven't found the answer to that question. In the meantime, I've got my big girl panties pulled up and I'm trudging through one difficulty after another because life is a big shit-show. 

What I need is rest.

What I need is to catch a fucking break.

What I need is for my husband to be okay and make it through all of this terrifying cardiovascular crap and feel healthy and normal again.

What I need is a friend. A real life one that shows up and loves me in spite of my flaws and inconsistencies and knows that life is a big fat mess, just like me. And one that doesn't walk away - no matter what.

What I need is for life to stop costing so much money.

What I need is for someone to fill my pantry and my fridge with all of the food so I don't have to think about groceries or spending money on groceries. And if someone wanted to come and cook all the food for my entire giant family, that would be pretty great too.

What I need is for someone to clean and organize my entire house, because I am too exhausted and overwhelmed and my house feels like chaos which leaves me with no real place to retreat to.

What I need is just a moment to fall apart. Completely.

What I need is for someone to mow my yard and make it look pretty so I don't get ugly letters from the HOA.

What I need is for someone to come do all of the laundry in my house and then fold it, put it away and hang it up.

What I need is a sleep study and a mammogram and a trip to the gyno and the dentist and all of the things I need to do to take care of my own damn body.

What I need is more therapy.

What I need is for people to stop telling me to hang in there. 

What I need is for people to stop telling me that God is preparing me for something or He's at work making me more like Christ. Just no. Stop it. I get it and I don't necessarily disagree. BUT STOP TELLING ME THIS. Like, seriously.

What I need is someone to take all of our kids this weekend so I can recover from this week's emotional rollercoaster.

What I need is for something - anything - to go right.

What I need is money. I'm missing work. My husband is missing work. We have less money coming in and more going out. Don't even get me started on medical bills. I couldn't bring myself to even open the mail yesterday as the stack of mounting bills was an invitation to a sob fest I wasn't up for.

What I need are new shoes. New bras. New clothing. A new pillow for my bed. I haven't bought myself anything from anywhere because everyone else comes first.

What I need is a very long vacation. Preferably at the beach.

What I need is a pedicure and a massage and all of the pampering so I can feel some physical relief and comfort.

What I need is Jesus - the real, physical, flesh and blood Jesus - to come to my house and hold me while I cry until I don't have any tears left. I need Him to look at me with how I imagine His understanding Jesus eyes to be, and tell me that He still loves me and all of this neverending hardship isn't a punishment for my sins because that's what everything feels like.

When your marriage is in the garage

It was supposed to be my space.  I wanted a little nook with a comfy chair and a small table with a lamp where I could retreat to.  A space to read and write and journal and cry without policing my children’s play or having to stop and search through Lego’s to find Batman’s helmet for the 127^th time.  Todd built a room divider for me and it seemed to be the best choice to make something from scratch as room dividers cost a lot of money.  We came up with the idea to use fence posts that would be screwed together with hinges so it could bend the way it needed to and give me the privacy I wanted for my little nook. 

He made it exactly the way I wanted.  The posts were painted the creamy white I liked with dark hardware on the outside.  I only got to admire it for a short time before it went crashing down to the floor and broke.  His solution was to brace the bottom of it with a larger piece of wood because the balance was off somehow.  He took raw wooden blocks and attached them to the bottom and I was immediately upset with it, because now the divider didn’t look pretty.  It was awkward and these weird stabilizing blocks on the bottom weren’t even painted.  In a matter of days, it only took a slight bumping of my elbow to the divider and it went crashing down to the floor again.  One panel broke completely off again, wooden splinters sticking out from where the screws were ripped from it in the fall. 

He told me he would figure out a different solution and propped the broken panel by the other pieces that were still standing.  I suggested calling someone, looking up a video, asking someone for help, like his brother who is a pretty talented carpenter.  He wouldn’t ask for help.  I guess he didn’t think he needed any.

Several weeks went by and I got angry every time I walked into my room and saw the broken divider.  He even got the equipment he needed to fix it, but it stayed by the door in our entryway and the dividers stayed as they were in our room.  Broken. 

I got angry about them yesterday. Really angry.  Angrier than a person should get about a faulty made-from-scratch room divider.  I told him the dividers were broken and to just get them out of our room.  He attempted one last time to fix them somehow by taking more raw wooden braces to try and fix on the other side.  The fix made the piece look even more unattractive.  I told him it was a bad idea.  The fence posts weren’t going to work.  It was broken.  I wanted them out of the room.  I was done looking at them.  I was done with the idea of even wanting to have them any longer. 

He was noticeably hurt from my demands, but he said nothing, and silently took them apart and put them in the garage.  And I cried later.  I cried a lot.  More than a person should cry about a faulty made-from-scratch room divider. 

And I realized that I wasn’t crying over the divider.  Somewhere along the way, the room divider became a visual of our marriage.  It’s off balance.  It’s awkward.  It’s been attempted to be repaired with quick and sloppy fixes.  He says that he will do things or fix things and doesn’t follow through in what he says he will do and the room divider was a tangible reminder of what feels broken in our relationship.  My heart looks much like the splintered wood where the screws had been ripped out after the fall.  And I don’t know the condition of his because he doesn’t it show it to me. 

All I know, is that our marriage feels like it’s in the garage.  It’s out there with the toys and clothes my boys have outgrown, the bicycles we never ride and leftover paint from other more successful DIY projects.  If it doesn’t get fixed, it will probably get tossed out as most things in the garage usually do.

Girl Friday

The thing about loneliness is that it's so lonely.  It's especially lonely when you're a married working mother and you think that having a family and keeping a semi-full schedule means that loneliness should never find you.  I think regardless of how many friends we have or how many children need something from us or how loving our husbands are, loneliness comes with the territory of being a woman that is full of unspeakable longings.

For the last several months, I have to come to absolutely dread Fridays.  Life right now means that Todd either works late and then drives for Uber every Friday.  Or he takes a nap after Friday evening dinner and then heads out to Uber until I'm already in bed.  Saturdays look similar as we need the extra income right now.  All of this had added to my loneliness as my weekends are wrapped up in being alone with my boys with nothing else to do or look forward to or be with.

I've discovered that between work and mothering, I get depleted of all delightfulness.  I'm a wrung out sponge with nothing to soak in. And don't get me wrong - I love, love being a mother.  I love my boys so much it hurts.  And I'm also tired and discouraged and weary.

Last weekend, my youngest was slamming his door open and closed over and over again because he did not like the consequences I set in place after he acted out repeatedly.  At one point he was in his room screaming that he hated me and I burst into tears because he is three.  He ended up being put to bed earlier than usual and I cried as I sang him his lullabies because mothering him has felt so hard lately and I feel like I'm failing at it and failing him and I don't know what to do about his anger anymore.  

Motherhood feels disappointing right now and I don't like the mother that Jacob's anger invites me to be.  I have a passionate, emotional, strong-willed child and he takes all that I have.  I'm ashamed that my oldest has to see these parts of me.  I am aware of all that I try to shield him from seeing or knowing - wanting to spare him from the death and the wounds that I have known from my own mother and trying to be everything for him all of the time.

My Friday self feels sad and broken. She feels done with life and children and everyday stresses.  And she's so lonely.  She blames herself for that loneliness as if it's someone's fault, and thinks of those in her past that she's hurt and excluded and left behind and believes that she deserves to feel this alone and this miserable.  My Friday self usually turns to Netflix and vodka.  Time to numb out, to forget and to stop feeling.

It's Friday morning. As another weekend was approaching I knew I had to do something different this day.  I asked my boss yesterday if I could come in a little bit late today and he gave me the okay. Right now I have the house to myself.  Hot coffee beside me, window open because it's cool and gorgeous outside.  I spent some time journaling and reading and praying.  And crying too.  Being close to God and taking some time to soak up something my soul has been so desperately needing.  

I don't know if I feel any less lonely. But a couple of hours on a quiet morning, sipping coffee and doing some writing without having to referee playtime or change someone into a Batman outfit is good for the soul.  I'm reminded that I have a choice of what kind of Girl Friday I'm going to be.  I get to choose if I'll numb out, if I'll rest, if I'll feel how hard and lonely and desperate it all is instead of run from it.  I get a choice to find moments to take care of myself when I can.

Kindness in September

According to calendars and Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte availability, fall has officially arrived.

September is depressing when you live here. Day after day of ninety-something degree heat, and then factoring in humidity that adds insult to injury, summer is long and fights to the death to stick around.  The only sign I really have that the seasons are changing is the way the sun shines through my living room window.  It happens every September and nothing is more glorious than this autumn light.

See?  Glory.

When you live in the south, autumn is a season that you have to make yourself, something that must be created.  The other day, I put out all of my pumpkins, fall foliage and warm colored decorations.  The pillows were changed, the shelf above our TV got its seasonal face-lift and my kitchen was spruced up for the season reminding us of the themes of harvest, gratitude and thanksgiving.  Even my six-year old noticed it the moment he walked in after being gone.

"Yay!  It's fall!  I love when you decorate for fall.  It's so pretty!"

My decorations signal the things he has come to count on this time of year:  Pumpkin pie.  Our annual pumpkin carving party.  Being tortured at the pumpkin patch so I can get cute pictures. Dressing up for Halloween.  Getting in the car and possibly not getting third degree burns from sitting on black leather seats.  But even he knows, autumn is something we create, something we do and make together, because it certainly does not feel like fall.

If we don't usher it in ourselves, it's almost as if the season won't come. We are in the throes of Christmas and holiday cheer before autumn truly arrives with it's quietness in December.

I was actually reluctant to decorate for fall this year, which is unlike me.  Usually, I take things out before the month begins and start it off with all of my pumpkins and ritualistic September watching of You've Got Mail.  But I've been in something of a funk for longer than I care to admit. And I knew if I waited to decorate until I felt like it or was in the mood or the weather finally shifted and cooled here, I wouldn't be true to myself or what makes me who I am.

So I decorated out of hope, that my heart would follow me into autumn.

Last October, I completed a half-marathon.  It was one of the best and hardest and most fought for things I have ever done in my entire life.  The whole experience grew my faith and love for Jesus, but after it was over I didn't know what to do with myself. I had just experienced something huge for myself and for my faith, but I felt off and empty.  Two months later, Sarah's mom died.  I wasn't able to go to the funeral and I felt like I should have been there.  I coudn't make it work and I was lost in my grief of both losing her and that I had to be absent while those I loved honored her without me.  Sandy wasn't just my best friend's mom, she was my friend and a mother to me too. A routine check up at the end of the year, left me feeling shamed and humiliated by a nurse I didn't know well as my doctor was not able to be at my appointment.  Voices of accusation and lies about my identity and who I was, or rather who I wasn't, were loud that day and I believed every one of them.  After the new year, my RA became aggressive and very active again.  I both started and failed an intense diet where I had worked up the guts to see a doctor about it.  I started out brave and ended as a coward.  I'm still ashamed of myself.  Two months ago, I started a heavy medication which resulted in my husband needing a vasectomy.  We weren't necessarily planning on more children, but the finality of closing that door left an ache in my soul.  And then our church split and God called us to stay where we were.  And this world - I feel incredibly weighed down by current events, an overall darkness and sadness of the state of our world.

I can hardly breathe writing all of that out.  I've been spinning in all of these places, taking horrible care of myself and having little regard for what my heart, my body and my soul are needing.

The day the light came through my window and I sat in its familiar warmth and glow, I felt like I was able to calm down.  All of these things I have been living and believing and struggling with suddenly halted in a few quiet moments with the beauty my Savior gave to me.  I realized how I could always count on this moment to come.  This silly infatuation I have with the light and my window in September.  I count on it.  It always comes.  And how many things can we always count on?  How many things really don't ever change?

He doesn't.  He never changes.  Yesterday, today and forever.  Jesus is the same whether I'm training for a marathon or if I'm lazy on my couch.  He is same whether I choose to have a salad for lunch or a cheeseburger.  He is the same if my friend lives or if she dies, whether my disease is active or in remission.  Even if our world changes or grows darker or scarier - He is the same.  And I forgot this.  I forget His consistency.  I forget that He is faithful and unchanging and unwavering in His love and presence and affection for me.

I give my feelings more room and space than they deserve.  I give them so much power that they take over and dictate what I'll do, where I'll go and how I'll show up to others.  And for the last ten months, I've let my feelings rule my everything, forgetting how much they deceive me.

Maybe it's a silly analogy, but if I waited to decorate and usher in fall until it felt like it outside, I would miss the whole thing.  If I wait until I felt ready to pick myself back up again or when everything that felt out of place in my heart was tidied up, I might never get back up.

Sometimes you have to do things because it's time, not because it feels like it.  Sometimes you have to do what is necessary and trust that your heart and feelings will follow.

That's where I've been this week as I've made my green smoothies for breakfast.  Last year, it was a small and easy way to add greens and other nutrients to my diet and something I can easily do again that doesn't make me feel like I'm dieting or being punished for where I'm at right now.  I'm choosing to take the boys outside and walk the block and play in the sunshine in the afternoons, even if I'm slow and my back hurts from the weight I've gained.  I'm choosing water over soda and taking my vitamins.  I'm saying no to the things in church that I really want to say no to.  I'm being honest with my friends about where I've been and where I would like to be.  I'm discovering again who my really, real friends are - the ones that stick around after changes and hurts and awful church splits.  I'm accepting my husband's pursuits of me when he leans in to kiss me and invites me to intimacy.  I'm choosing to write over watching TV because I can't numb out when I'm writing since it's one of the places I feel the most alive in.  I'm choosing to cry and let feelings pass rather than inviting them to stay.

I often mistake violence for pleasure, and indulgence for need.  I'm discovering how to choose kindness for myself all over again.  It's amazing how quickly you can forget how to be kind to your own soul and body and heart.

I decided not to wait until I feel better or until I've somehow graduated out of this ten-month long funk.  I'm trusting the One who doesn't change.  The One who always sends magical sunshine through my windows in September.  The One whose kindness is so great, it leads me to repentance even if I don't feel like repenting.

That's the thing about God.  He can be found in every season.  I'm grateful where He reminds me of His faithfulness in something like autumn colored leaves - even if I bought them at a store and put them in a vase to look at.  I'm thankful for where He continues to invite me to Himself, using September skies lit up to remind me that He really is always there.

I am choosing kindness for myself, in hopes that my heart follows me into autumn.

Seen

Maybe it's silly to have ever thought this was possible:  I thought I could be a fun enough or awesome enough or cool enough mom for my kids to never notice this.  I thought I could make up for some huge flaw of mine by being amazing and exciting and super-loving.  Yet I've learned that I couldn't.  My child still saw me.

I knew this day was going to come.  I should have expected it.  But I was caught off guard and going through my morning routine when out of the blue, those huge words were spoken and they knocked the air out of me just like I always knew they would.

We were having normal morning conversation.  Talking about school and breakfast and the silly dream I had the night before about Ironman.  Todd was putting his shoes on in the living room and I was making my salad to take for lunch at work. 

"That Ironman suit would be too skinny for you mom."

"What?" I said, not completely hearing or understanding what he said.

"That Ironman suit would be too SKINNY for you.  I mean, you still look like you're pregnant."  

And in a matter of seconds, my heart felt like it had shattered all over the floor.  I felt embarassed and angry and so hurt.  I started crying and realizing that these tears were going to be exponential, I ran to my room and sobbed everywhere.  I could hear Todd scolding Tommy for his words.  And all I could do was cry.

I remember wondering a long time ago what it might feel like to have my own child, my own flesh and blood, say something negative about my size.  I have known that if and when it ever happened, it would devastate me which is why, just as I have my whole life, have been trying to get this whole weight thing under some kind of control.  And it continues to be an exhausting battle and a thing I can't seem to get rid of.  I am beyond frustrated and angry with myself and my body and with God about all of it I could scream - and sometimes I do. 

Most of the time I feel shamed and misunderstood and judged by others.  I feel like I have let others down because I have been a disappointment - unfixable by any help they ever tried to offer.  I have changed here - so much - yet my body doesn't reflect those changes.  I have seen a doctor about it recently and the diet I tried was the WRONG one and I haven't had the guts to seek out another doctor because I've been sitting my feelings of failure here.  Just as I have every other time I have tried anything new. 

I feel so exposed to the world.  YOU can see my struggle.  YOU can see what I hold and carry.  YOU can see that I have a problem.  And because YOU can see it, you often try to fix it or help or something. And I am really only left feeling wounded by YOU.  And the One person who I have turned to again and again and AGAIN doesn't seem to hear me.  Or help me.  Or give me whatever strength it is I need to stick to a healthy way of living.  And my stupid RA has slowed me down and ravaged my body and made exercise more than difficult. 

There is so much anger here. Mostly at myself, but perhaps equally, with God.  I am pissed at Him.  For giving this thing to me.  For letting me be set up to have it in the first place.  For not helping me overcome it when His scripture tells me that I'm more than a conqueror and I'm free and all of the things that says we don't have to live stuck in a place like this.  And I'm really pissed because of His silence.  He doesn't speak to me here. 

For the last few months, I've been ignoring Him.  Being silent back.  Because I just don't know what else to do anymore, and I don't know what to do with a God that doesn't help me with something I keep bringing to Him.  I've been discouraged in my faith because I've let this shake some of the things I believe and I feel like I've failed somehow as a Christian.

On a regular basis, I talk with Tommy about how different people are.  How some people are tall or short, big or small, different colors, or in a wheelchair, or wear black lipstick.  And how we don't want to say anything negative about people's differences because really, we are all the same.  We are all human and we have hearts and we all feel and we all desperately need Jesus.  And there is no reason to be afraid or hateful or ugly about how anyone is different than we are.  We talk about the importance of being mindful with our words so we don't hurt anyone's feelings.

Even in these conversations, I know I was trying to prevent his words from ever hitting me.  Trying to make sure that he would never point out what makes me different.  What I'm teaching him is true, but I have been trying to protect myself in the midst of it.

I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that my son wasn't trying to be negative.  He is very logical and blunt and I think he was stating something that felt like a fact to him.  It wasn't until he saw my reaction and received a talking-to from Todd that he realized what he said was "bad."

And more so, he learned that there was something "bad" about my body.

Tommy came back to my room to talk to me.  He was crying too, devastated that he had hurt my feelings and not knowing that he had.  I tried my best to cover his little heart.  I tried to say all of the things that he needed to hear.  I told him it was okay.  I told him I know he didn't mean to hurt my feelings and that I know he loves me.  I told him that the size of my belly was something that made me different, and because of it's size, it's something I don't like about myself.  I told him that when he said what he did, it reminded me how much I don't like how big my belly is and that's why it hurt my feelings.  I told him I loved him and that nothing he could ever say would change how much I loved him.  And that he was a kind boy and I knew he didn't mean to hurt me.  I grasped for all of the perfect words because I didn't want him to feel like he had to carry any of my shame or struggle or feel guilty for any of it. 

He didn't say anything that wasn't true.  I would not fit in the Ironman suit.  And the size of my stomach does make me look like I'm still pregnant.  He was right.

And sitting there crying with my almost 6 year-old, I felt so incredibly exposed and vulnerable.  Having to admit to him that there was something about myself that I don't like.  And now he knows what it is.  And my head began reeling with the thoughts of what he could be gathering from all of this.

It was hard to bounce back that day.  I still haven't completely recovered from it.  If anything, I'm only angrier.  And it's clear, that anger is getting me nowhere. 

I'd like to say that this story has a happy ending.  Or hearing these words from my son was the motivation I needed to get my ass in gear and stick to a diet program.  But, it hasn't been that. 

If I have any hope (and hoping in this place feels almost ridiculous) it is that I could grow from it.  To realize that I can't really love my boys by hiding the things from them that I don't like about myself.  That I need to be more honest and transparent and real in this place to my children.  To encourage them in healthy ways of living that I wasn't pointed to.  And to take the best care of myself that I can so I can continue to be here for them. 

As for God, I want to not be angry anymore.  I want to make peace with Him here and let go of all of the things I am blaming Him for and where I hold Him responsible.  Because maybe that's the problem.  I'm holding on to so much in this place, that there is no space left to receive anything, not even a word or His voice.  I wish I could figure out how to let it all go.

December's Ending

It's already that time of year again.  The time when I do my usual end of year self-evaluation.  If you've ever had a job review for work, I can almost guarantee you that it's got nothing on how I tear myself apart and scrutinize, criticize and obsess over all I did or more importantly, didn't get right.  And each year, I promise myself I won't do this because I know it's this horrible thing.  I look for ways to beat up on myself or give myself this stern talking to.  All because I want to be better, to get better, to do something, everything better.

This is a familiar pattern for me.  One that goes back to high school, maybe even my pre-teen years.  It's as if I give myself this report card.  I'm graded on my appearance, my performance, my spiritual growth, the status of my relationships, my finances, my home, my job.  I could go on.  And up until November, I thought I would be finishing my year "on track" for once.  And then December happened and I was kicked down hard by grief and sorrow and anger even, and at the moment, I still feel trapped under the weight of it all.

I can literally feel this shift within myself as the end of one year approaches and the beginning of another is about to start.  I look forward to the feeling of a fresh start every single year.  But I realized it's because I'm looking for another chance to get something right.  I am never quite satisfied enough with my progress or where I am at on my journey because I feel like I'm still missing something.  Like I'm not where I belong or I'm running late in life.

Just today, I did a major toy-purge and deep cleaning of Tommy's room.  He received every Star Wars toy under the sun for Christmas and I went through his space trashing the junk, making room for the new, and giving him the choice on things he was ready to let go of.  The result was a well-organized, clean room.  A place for everything and everything in it's place.  I realized that his room was a reflection for how I want to both end my year and begin a new one.  I desperately want to create some order out of the chaos or to have something to show for myself for what I've done or achieved or gotten right this year.  Unfortunately though, a person's life and heart are much different than their bedroom.  Sorting through feelings, addictions, struggles and every day life isn't as easy as going to Walmart and buying a plastic bin and throwing those things in a box where they belong.  Oh, how I wish it was.

Earlier this month, my best friend's mother died after a two year battle with cancer.  But she wasn't just the mom of my best friend.  She was a woman who impacted my life greatly, someone who loved and nurtured me when my teenage heart needed it most.  She made me a part of her family and my life was literally changed because of her care. 

With her death, I found that the usual cloud of sorrow that normally comes for me on Christmas day, came weeks early.  I didn't expect it and the very first weekend I found myself in this horrible place, Todd was gone on a hunting trip and being alone turned into a weekend of bad choices and attempting to cope with food even though I know it doesn't work anymore.  One weekend alone turned into two more because Todd has the crappiest work schedule ever and I sat alone and with food and with hard feelings.  I became angry and bitter and other life things stirred up more of the same. 

I tried writing about it, about her, the impact she had on my life and heart but all of my words felt stale and I decided that sometimes words simply can't do some of the things that happen or the people in our life, justice.  As carefully and thoughtfully as one can compose a sentence, there are some things that just can't be written until much later perhaps.

But it's the end of December and I'm sitting in this familiar place of self-grading and evaluation and looking at this year that is nearly behind me.  In so many ways, it was a great year, an epic one even.  And yet, all I can see are the failures and disappointments of my December, and how I am ending my year in the last place I wanted to be at.  Fat, angry at God, discontent, broken.  I'm finding it hard to rest and even harder to give myself a break.  I guess I don't think that I deserve one.

January

January has come with wave after wave of some kind of sickness around here.  Ear infections, tummy bugs, random rashes, and allergies.  We have all turned a curve and are on the mend, but after going through countless tissue boxes, a few trips to the doctor, and one anti-biotic, I'm done with all of this under-the-weather business for a while.

Our neck of the woods isn't spend covered under blankets of snow like the rest of the country seems to be.  Though the city did shut down due to some ice and a dusting of snow on the ground.  Be though as it may, winter is and always has been my least favorite season.  Bare trees, dead grass, gray lifeless skies, and high utility bills I begrudgingly turn on my heater.

Most every January, I can usually feel winter settle into my heart.  I become quiet and introspective and there is this sorrow that follows me around.  This gnawing thing that begs my attention and tears and feelings.  Something about the deadness of winter highlights the places in my story and my life that need to be grieved and felt and talked through.  The the process of talking through it leaves me feeling undone and that's my most unfavorite feeling of all.

I want to have it all together.  And I want you to think I have it all together.  Why it's so important to have it all together, I'm not really sure.

On top of my usual January funk, it's been hard to write here.  I've been hurting, I've been angry and I've been struggling.  And sometimes, I have an awful way of allowing my words to drip with contempt so I can passively lash out at others, even if I know they aren't coming here to read.   I'm not proud of that fact, but it's true.  It has felt kinder to be quiet and to take some of those words to a more private space.

This winter as I have not been consistently kind to myself, I've discovered that taking care of yourself and being kind to you is easier said than done.  It's far easier to care for and find kindness for others.  I don't believe it is our natural inclination to be kind to ourselves.  It's almost as if we are more at home when we beat ourselves up.  Perhaps it's a more natural, fleshly inclination to point out our own faults, to look at the places we have failed or dropped the ball rather than giving ourselves a break and some grace because we are frail and human and so needy.

The thing about winter, just like any season, is that it never lasts forever.  It always, always gives way to spring, to life, to fresh and new.  As I sit with the places that have frozen and chip away at my icy anger and hurt, I'm remembering that is season is like any other.  One to be lived in, one that only lasts for a time.  Today, I am holding on to the promise of spring.

New Year, Same Me

Rarely am I kind to myself at the ending of one year and the beginning of another.  I suddenly begin spinning with all that I have in my mind that needs to be done.  I recall all of the things I got wrong in the year that I'm in and all that I want to get right in the one that's ahead of me. 

This year - this will be the one that I'm fit and healthy.  That I'm organized and clean.  That we are debt free.  This will be the year that I have more patience and kindness and over all loveliness.  This will be the year I overcome some of my "issues" with God - the year I can really trust Him and rest in Him.  This will be the year that we take a vacation.  That Todd finds a new job.  This will be the year I remember to send birthday cards to everyone, and write notes and be the most thoughtful friend ever.  This will be the year I journal everything.  That I do the cute things on Pinterest, like making a jar of happy moments or writing something in a calendar about every day of the year.  It will be the year I craft with my kids and try new recipes and coupon and run four miles a day.  This will be the year that I meet all my goals, that I live a fabulous life, that I do and finish everything I set out to.  

It will be the year that I'm the best version of myself ever EVER!!

Seriously, I have this conversation with myself every single year.  I've decided it's getting old.

Even in the church bathroom last week, I found a little advertisement for women's ministry.  Something about "A new year, a new you."  Guides for meal-planning, budgeting, meeting your goals with prayer and accountability and focused time for Bible study and scripture.  I see that message plastered everywhere as if that's the ultimate goal - being a new us.  We are supposed to change ourselves, better ourselves, improve ourselves.  We are told from TV commercials and self-help books and even pins on Pinterest that it's what the new year is all about.  Somehow the fresh start of a new year comes with this insane to-do list of thing we must do, overcome, change and get right.

Ya'll.  This is exhausting.  It's discouraging.  I'm worn out before the new year has even arrived.

I'm already on a mission to undecorate my house - to take Christmas down and get life back in some kind of normal order.  Then I want to purge and get rid of things we don't need.  I want to clean my house from top to bottom.  I want to rush off to the store and fill my fridge with fruits and vegetables and healthy snacks, and buy a new pair of tennis shoes for all the working out I'll be doing.  I want to buy a crispy new journal and devotional for all the time I'll spend with God and what an amazing and disciplined Christian I will be this coming year.  I want new things and I want to be new and do new things and new, new, new, new, new.

I have the exact same patterns every single year.  For me, they center mostly around my health and organization.  Places I feel most out of control.  Places that need the most help.  Places that I feel most like a failure.  Places I am grasping for control.

As the end of the year has drawn near, I find myself in the familiar place of looking back.  I get quiet and introspective.  I tend to beat myself up for the places in the life lived behind me that didn't go as I had hoped or I dropped the ball.  My tendency is to feel like a failure and wallow there.  I give myself a mental and emotional ass-kicking and tell myself that I will do better in the new year.  I will be this woman that I've built up in my head that I'm supposed to be.

This year I haven't been the mother I thought I would be.  I've struggled with my weight and with food after being in a better place with it.  I've sat in disappointment over the job Todd left in North Dakota and what that has meant for us.  I've felt like we've been floating through our marriage and life together - because, Jacob.  I've felt too busy and full to experience real intimacy in friendships and relationships - I've beat myself up over what a bad friend I've been, who I've had to cancel on, who I haven't had time for.  I've struggled with anger and contempt, with feelings of rejection and old hurts and places where my heart has been broken.  I've felt absent and stuck in a daze.  And sad - so sad.  Depressed even.  A lot about this year has felt disappointing and I feel guilty for admitting that because I have a beautiful baby boy and we got to keep our house and I have so many things to be thankful for.  Yet disappointment - it's there. 

And at the end of a disappointing year, I feel like it's my mission to make the year ahead of me the best ever.  As if I can control or orchestrate that. And here I am again managing my heartache and disappointment through control. 

I know there is nothing wrong with setting goals.  There is nothing wrong with cleaning our homes and striving for good things and taking care of ourselves, especially for health and wellness.  But often times, I believe, new year resolutions aren't kind.  They're almost dangerous because we are so focused on ourselves that we forget what is really important.  We put ourselves on centerstage - we both beat ourselves up and build ourselves up.  For me, I've recognized this pattern where the new year puts me as the central focus of life and living.  And when I do that, where is God in all of these places? 

How does He fit in to all of the meal-planning, budgeting, organized bin-making, and dieting schemes I have planned?  Where is my Jesus, my Savior who loves me, accepts me and is pleased with me just as I am?  Disorganized, overweight, grouchy, stressed, wretched and all?  I think maybe He is right here in front of me.  Asking me to lay down these huge expectations for myself at His feet and just come to Him and rest. Because if we change, if we are healed, if we can accomplish any good thing or reach any lofty goal - isn't it because He has done in it in and through us? 

All this to say, there's a new year just around the corner.  I have hopes for the new year.  I have goals.  I have desires and wants and longings.  There are things I would love to see change especially in myself.  There are places I need help and things I need to do to take care of myself mind, body and soul.  It's not that I'm not going to do any of those things, but I don't want to make the new year about goal-setting and change-achieving either.

Because I realized something.  No matter what I resolute or what goal I set, I am still the same me.  The new year isn't suddenly going to usher in a new Jennifer.  I can change habits and behaviors and rearrange furniture and organize the heck out of my kitchen cabinets.  But I'm still me.

I'm still going to get behind.  I'm going to cancel on plans with friends because I've had an overwhelming day and I need to be home.  I'm going to struggle with food.  I'm going to have glorious moments as a mother, and plenty of not-so-glorious ones too.  I'll continue in ups and downs with Todd because that's what marriage is. I'm going to set goals and not meet some of them.  I'm going to hope for things and see some of them never come to fruition.

But overall, I want to be kind to myself in the new year.  I want to stay close to Jesus even if it means only having five minutes to myself before kids are awake or the only time to pray is in my car on the way to work.  I want to remember that I can't really change or control the things that I believe I can.  That I can't change my body or my junk drawers or my messy garage or even my attitude, overnight. 

I want to remember that the start of every new year is a promise from God that life continues to hold the opportunity for possibilities and change.  To do and experience things we are dreaming of.  To know Him and experience His love more deeply.  To hold both joy and pain in our hearts knowing that we won't really feel or have what we want most until we are present with him. 

Mostly, I want to remember that the clean slate of a new year isn't an invitation to work and stress, accomplish this great to-do list and to get everything right and be some better version of myself like Jennifer 6.0.

It's an invitation to enjoy a fresh start, to acknowledge the One who loves me as I am, and to dance in the freedom that is already mine.

New Year.  Same me.  And that is perfectly okay.

December Tears

I cried today for the umpteenth time this month. 

I cried because I wanted to make the dinner I had planned, but I was so exhausted that I accidentally fell asleep while taking a few moments of quiet in my room to wake up and find that, hello - it's 7:00pm. 

I cried because the box I've had packed with goodies for my Auntie is still sitting in my room and it's almost Christmas and it was supposed to be a gift for fall and I feel like I've let her down.

I cried because I started the laundry and didn't finish and this only creates more work, because I have to re-dry all the shirts that need fluffing so I don't hang them up wrinkly and unwearable.  I cried because wrinkly shirts and unfinished laundry make me feel like I can't keep up.

I cried because I can't keep up.

I cried because Jacob needed me to hold him and rock him to sleep.  And I cried because I want to enjoy it.  And I don't always enjoy it. And they always say enjoy every moment because they're not this small forever.

I cried because I don't want him to be small anymore.  And I cried because it hurts to be that honest about my baby boy.

I cried because of the guilt, because of my tiredness, because it's just damn hard to be a working mother of two right now.

I cried because I realized we don't have childcare for a party we were hoping to attend on Saturday and now we can't go.  I cried because small disappointments feel like very large ones for some reason right now. 

I cried because I feel like I'm sinking and failing at everything and everyone that I really care about it.  My husband, my boys, my friends, my family....

I cried because I'm not in North Dakota.  It makes me sad to think of all that could have been  - and even with temperatures in the negatives and all the snow, I've realized how much I never grieved what we lost in our dream that ended so abruptly.

I cried because it's December and I want to be enjoying it and dancing through my holiday season covered in flour and wrapping paper and going about my Christmasy ways.  Yet I'm just feeling disconnected and lost. 
 
I cried because I feel like a failure.  Because I feel guilty.  Because I feel stressed.  Because it's my favorite season of the year and I'm crying through it because I'm not liking this version of me right now, nor am I liking this season of life much either.

I cried because words like guilt and failure aren't words that should be floating around during the holidays.  Not now, not in December.  Not with twinkle lights and Christmas cheer and egg nog and merry-making and Hallmark movies where everyone gets a happy ending and a white Christmas and a miracle. 

I cried because it's December.  Because I'm struggling.  Because I'm just trying to get by and get through and it feels so very discouraging to be here.

I cried because I'm ready for a January.  And I am never, ever wanting for a January.

Striving

Halloween has come and gone and I've been in a flurry of November glory.  Reflecting on places of gratitude and thankfulness, especially about God's plans and the adventure we were on earlier this year with trusting and North Dakota and His great giving and taking away of things.  And I've been enjoying fluttery open windows in our Texas autumn and cooking up steamy, warm comfort from-scratch things in my crock pot.

But even in the few and fleeting moments I have had for reflection and beauty, I still see where I have this tendency to get in a rush this time of year.  The calendar goes from zero to sixty in no time with holidays and special events and lists of things to-do, to-buy, to-cook, to-get-done.  I usually find myself getting caught in the middle of wanting to do everything and knowing that I can't.  Finding a "balance" or whatever it is that you're supposed to find so that it appears that you're both managing it all and not doing it all at the same time.

And seriously, I say no to things all the time.  Just ask the children's ministry director at my church.  I'm not one of those people that over-commits to things and signs up for every Bible study or group.  We have one weekly function mid-week.  Yet there is still so much on my plate and my mind and my heart.

Thanksgiving planning - I'm hosting this year (which I'm crazy-excited about).  Christmas cards.  Christmas presents.  Poppy's birthday party.  Gramma moving into a new house.  The second job across town.  Youth group.  Friends.  Bills.  My weight and food struggles.  Marriage.  Extended family that I hardly ever get to see.  The crazy things happening in our nation and our world and with healthcare - all of it invites me to worry.  So many things vying for my attention, my time, my heart.

The biggest part of life that feels challenging at the moment is one little bundle of eight-month old cuteness.  I have this precious, adorable baby boy who I dearly love, but who is attached me like white on rice.  If I'm there, if I'm home, and he's awake - he needs me.  All of me.  All of my attention.  And I'm not handling his attachment to me well.  Most of my time home is spent on the floor playing, keeping him from giving himself another black eye as he thinks now is a good time to try and pull up on things and attempt to walk everywhere - as gracelessly as possible.  He is adventurous, stubborn, strong-willed, loud and so incredibly joyful.  A completely adorable handful.

Oi.

I've felt myself feel nearly desperate for alone time.  Just some silence to breathe.  To read and write.  To clean something in my house.  To pee in peace for gods sake.  To run away alone to the beach for some solitude.  The moment he goes down for a nap or off to bed for the night I'm trying to stay on top of life.  The laundry.  The bills.  The everyday tidy and clean-up and the sweeping the kitchen floor again because if there is anything there, Jacob will literally face plant on the linoleum and lick it up regardless of what it is.  And writing, blogging, journaling, taking a walk - ha.  The things I enjoy the most are the things that always come last.

I love my boys, I love being a mother - I really do.  But some days, being a mom to a baby again, plus a million other things, wears on every nerve in my body. 

Earlier this week some old hurts surfaced for me.  I'm still not sure what to do with them, but it became very clear to me that it was time to find some care for myself again.  Some sit-with-a-counselor and be faced with some heart questions is something I need to do.  Yet, as Todd and I talked about this last night on a short and very late date-night, my main question was - where do I find the time?

While much of me enjoys a good amount of energy and activity and life-living, I am honestly just very tired.  I'm working less, I've trimmed down my calendar of obligations and weekly night activities.  Yet, I constantly feel on the go and just slightly behind on everything.  I feel like I'm always letting someone down.  I'm not there enough for my family.  I'm not present enough for a friend.  I'm struggling in areas that I can't seem to get a grasp on. 

Does any of it ever even out?  Will it?  Is there some magical balance I will manage to achieve where I can work, mother, have a social life, a clean, organized and beautifully decorated home, be a living example of a Godly woman and wife, have a thriving sex-life and marriage, lose weight and be healthy and just feel caught up with life in general? 

All of that feels like some distant, impossible dream.  For some reason, being that woman is who I am always striving to be.  And I'm wondering if I'm striving for the right thing....

Regardless, I'm left here hoping this is a season - one that will be moving on quickly.  Or if at thirty-two I'm supposed to have this whole "balance" thing figured out.  Do all women go through a season where they're just trying to keep their heads above water?  Knowing they need more, that they need something for themselves  and not being able to get it?  I guess I'm afraid I'm missing something or doing something wrong.  So much of me wants to live life fully, to do everything, be everything, and get everything right and "figured out."


And with that, my baby awakes and my time to write and vent and spill my guts to the world has come to an end.  It's time again to play on the living room floor.

Hello September

I was overjoyed to flip open my calendar to a brand new crispy, clean, fresh month.  Oh September, you're finally here. 

August is behind us - and it wasn't just the overwhelming heat that made the month challenging.  It was a struggle to get through it.  Fighting old demons, feeling old feelings.  Death and loss.  Chaotic childcare arrangements.  Excessive working-mom guilt that plagued me.  Too many tired nights that required take-out or bowls of cereal for dinner.  A baby boy who is only truly happy in his mama's arms - sweet yes, but a bit exhausting.  Tense relationships, missed conversations.  Disconnected, disappointed, disheartened. 

Boy, was it ever an August.


To celebrate it's end and looking forward to a new month ahead, I cut my hair this weekend.  I didn't go drastic, but I took some of the length off and added in some layers.  It's a bit sassy and a bit classic too.

It's amazing how pretty a new haircut can make you feel.  When it bounces and feels perfectly silky after leaving the salon - I left wondering why I don't pamper myself this way more often.  

This last month felt like day after day of having hard days in front of the mirror.  Despising what I see, sitting in self-contempt - it was time for an identity check.  I did some journaling, voiced the things I have been keeping inside, and picked myself back up again.  I treated myself to a haircut, cleaned out my closet and made some new plans for taking better care of myself - body and soul. 

Sometimes, it takes a really long, hard August for you to find your grounding again.  And when you do, you wake up and find that it's finally, finally, finally.....September.

Sentiments and Stickers

I am the queen of sentiments.  There is an entire box in my garage that stores treasures from my childhood which I used to think I would keep to show my kids some day as proof that I was once a teenager.  And some of it is just downright silly - like gum-wrappers and candy hearts and tops of soda cans.  But as I've grown older I've realized that I need the proof for myself, as at times, I feel farther and farther removed from my youth and have a harder time remembering heartbreak and boy craziness and all of the insecurities that came with being seventeen.  I swore I would never forget, but being in a stable, loving relationship, and a home I've made my own, having my own family and becoming a mother myself - it makes you forget some of the past and the heartache of teenagerness.  I think it's supposed to.

This morning, I awoke early.  Something I would have never done in my teenage years.  It seems as a thirty-something, my body is programmed to awake at 6:26am, unless I actually NEED to get up at that time in which case, I could keep on sleeping of course.  I made a pot of coffee and cracked open my Bible to enjoy at least 30 minutes of solid quiet before anyone was stirring and my day would officially start.  And I needed, needed some quiet time.

I typically go to the Psalms when I'm down and in need of encouragement.  Next to Philippians, it's my most favorite read, probably because it's all about feelings and song, poetry and rich writing.

My week has been rough, emotional and overwhelming.  I've almost felt bombarded on all sides - old insecurities, old problems, places that were blatantly pointed out to me where I still manage my heartache through control.  I try to make life work on my own - and how distant Jesus becomes for me when I live this way.

This morning, I read about how God leads us to a rock.  How he plants our feet firmly on that rock.  And that He IS our rock and our refuge.  I love that He leads us to Himself, plants us in Himself.  I was reminded of all of the things that feel like shifting sand, where circumstances or feelings or just life feels wavering and unsteady, uncertain and full of questions.  But God, He is never those things.  This morning, I found myself clinging to my Father as the rock He promises to be for me.

And it was only fitting that these truths opened to the place in my Bible where I've been holding on to an old sentiment.  A heart sticker my sister gave me over ten years ago when we went to a small church together.  After I left college and came back home, when I had known deep tragedy and I simply felt lost in life, I went to the same little place with my family.  She got the sticker in Sunday school and wanted me to have it. I left it in my Bible, and even after I had it rebound, it has stayed in the exact same spot, reminding me of her care for me, even as a little girl.

I have felt a little lost this week.  I have been face-to-face with struggles that could swallow me whole if I were to let them.  The quiet this morning, the Psalms, the sticker - all of it brought me a little bit closer back to home. 

To the Rock.