Aftershock

Is there anyone out there? Will anyone stay? I pick up the phone to just put it down. It was easier two weeks ago. But life goes on for everyone.  My life remains still. 

I'll say what I want on this.  A piece of media that no one knows exists. I barely exist as it is.  I'm certainly not the same person I was 21 days ago. I'm a shell of that person but I have been robbed of everything I once loved.

Auggie had just been born.  My precious son that gave me such joy.

We didn't mean anything to him. 

He said he felt like we had lost something.  But he didn't tell me anything.  He didn't communicate with me.  All he had to was talk to me.  He admitted all the porn didn't help.  But what did I do that chased him into another woman's arms?

Nothing. I did nothing. 

But he went anyway. 

How do I get over this? How do I get over the fact that he had me leave our home with two kids on a trip to see my family? Convinced me he couldn't go with me all so he could sleep with another woman in our first home? How do I get over that he kept it from me for four years? And that he kept secrets after secrets for nearly 10 years? How do I believe he ever loved me? How do I believe that if I continued on the lies wouldn't just continue?

Why after everything do I still love him? Why do I miss him? Why do I feel like I need him? What's so broken in me that these are my feelings?

I know I deserve better. 

I really wish everything could end. 

Stumbling through Darkness

"There is so much contradiction in my soul. Such deep longing for God, so deep that it is painful, a suffering continual, and yet not wanted by God, repulsed, empty, no faith, no love no zeal". -St. Teresa of Calcutta

Mother Teresa wrote the above in one of her letters in her book "Come Be My light" that I just adore. I have friends that mention to me that they're going through a dark season and essentially waiting out the storm. They know things will get better.  But what if that's not the case for me? What if my season of darkness is just the life God gave me? My disposition has never been sunny and it took me years to accept that about myself.  I don't feel joy as others feel joy. But despair? I only hope others don't feel it as intense as me.

You may call me dramatic but I have never really seen it that way. Oh sure, I can be as dramatic as they come but its more than that.  My life has never been easy.  I've suffered in countless ways and I'm honestly not even complaining right now.  I'm just reflecting and trying to find a way to draw strength.

I received a promotion on Tuesday. Then Tuesday night I could've sworn I was going to die. My vision was like there was sand in my eyes.  My head spun out of control and I couldn't stop my hands and body from trembling violently, yet in slow motion.  Then my legs lost feeling except this dull tingling sensation.  Everything happened so fast yet so slow. My face was frozen and not cooperating. At one point I lost the ability to speak. But my mind! My mind was all there.  It was screaming.  It was crying.  It was in total fear.  It was thinking and analyzing but no one could understand.  Frustration welled in my heart as doctors, nurses,  paramedics,  and family all made assumptions and projections and I couldn't do a thing.  I just slipped in and out of consciousness and finally gave in to sleep.

Nearly a week later and my body is frail.  My muscle weakness terrifies me. I'm tired.  So very tired.

The goals I set for myself are fading further away.  I begin to panic if I think too much about it.  I was working hard.  I was going to work harder.  But now....

I am incredibly blessed.  I've dodged death multiple times.  My children are beautiful.  My husband fights his own demons heroically and the potential of our marriage has yet to be reached.  I owe God everything.

Yet here I am,  walking in the darkness. The torment in my soul in unparalleled. But I'll still stumble praying one day on this side of Heaven, I'll see some light.

Sleepless Nights

I wish I could sleep.  I'm caught up in the desire for morning to come so I can just busy myself in my work and drown out the noise.  But I also want time to stop moving so I can get some much needed rest. I'm so tired. I'm so very tired.

What do we do when we stop pointing fingers and take a good long look in the mirror? Does truth make a habit of hiding? Or are we all just naturally terrible at finding it?

When do you give in and realize you can't stop the bleeding? When do you stop, take a deep breath and call it? When is it too late?

Take deep breaths.  In and out. When you ask me to count to 10, who are you really asking for?

Good Enough

I'm really good at pushing through the darkness. Until I'm not.

I'm great at putting my head down and getting the job done.  Until I'm not.

I'm incredible at ignoring my demons and fighting past everything they say. Until I'm not.

That is the repetition of my life.  Read my previous blogs and you'll see it.  Close to 30 years of just running in circles.  Thirty years of gasping for air and swimming in currents I have no business swimming in.  I'm a fighter.  I'm a survivor.  But I'm also weak. I'm frail.  I'm broken.

I used to blog a lot.  I've always had a lot to say but could never really speak it out loud.  It was a release. An escape. A coping mechanism. But slowly life got in the way.  Cancer happened.  Love happened.  Unexpected pregnancy. Motherhood.  Marriage.  The already low on the totem pole of my self care became increasingly smaller.  I just retreated further into my head until all the words stayed there. Every now and then I'd blurt something out.  Just like now, things would get bad enough that I couldn't just hold it in.  I'd wave the white flag for all to see just to realize no one was really looking anyway.  I flew under the radar and I wondered if I should be proud of my invisibility or mourn from it.  It's a tricky life when all you've ever wanted was to be noticed and cared for but you're constantly running away.

My thoughts don't make much sense these days.  Perhaps they never did.  I could romanticize the anguish that lives deep inside my heart daily but I think I'm too old for that bull shit. Days get shorter, years move quicker and I'm still so much that little girl crying next to an Aquafina machine every day at school.  But there I go again selling myself short. I'm more than that, I know this deep down.  But she still lives there and knows what buttons to push.

Easy they come, easy they go
I jump from the train, I ride off alone
I never grew up, it's getting so old
Help me hold onto you
I've been the archer
I've been the prey
Who could ever leave me, darling?
But who could stay?

Make fun of me all you want but that Taylor Swift has always spoken to my heart.  I have no scares.  Only more questions.  Uncertainty is the state of my existence.  My type A personality is screaming and I have no idea how to shut her up.  Chaos. It's all chaos. 

I'm losing the game friends. I've been losing for a long time.  And my best isn't good enough anymore.

When Pregnancy Isn't Beautiful

I love my children very much. They have given me a purpose and meaning to my life that I always sought. From the very first moment that I saw the word "pregnant" on the stick in the bathroom of my first apartment it was an instant change. Even with the swirling fear and panic that wrecked my body and mind there was a quiet voice that calmed me. It was a simple whisper of "You're a mom" and that's all I needed to do this. My vocation to be a mother is very precious to me and I would not trade it for the world. Pregnancy, however? I might trade that.

Every morning as I struggle out of bed and wince through the stabbing, piercing pain shooting through my pelvis I question everything. I wonder how many days can I possibly last. I wonder why I even wanted this and for heaven's sake even planned for it. I shake away the crazy thought that this isn't even the last time I'll endure such pain. I half walk, half fall into the bathroom and pee for the hundredth time. As I stand to wash my hands I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and I nearly break. There is no "glow" in the person staring back at me. All I see is tired eyes, a fat face and a body that I cannot recognize as mine. I force away the urge to cry and scream and walk out the door. I just tell myself I'm another day closer.

I go to work and I'm surrounded by women. Women in all stages of their lives. Women with brokenness enveloping them. Women with hopes and dreams as bright as the Arizona sun. Each and every one of them different from the next in lifestyle, circumstance and appearance. Yet all I see is beauty. All I see is potential and radiance. All I see is their God given dignity on display and I feel called to help them see it, too. But I can't find it within myself. I watch the pregnant mothers come and go with their perfect round bellies and no weight any where else and my heart just sinks. I can't compete and I never will.

For someone who has struggled with eating disorders and battled constantly with the person on the other side of the mirror, pregnancy is a nightmare. Stepping on the scale every month is torture. Getting dressed every morning and not finding anything that fits right is soul crushing. So many days I just want to disappear. I don't want another pair of eyes to see me. I don't want to face the world in this foreign body. As my child grows my body only gets wider. My face just gets rounder. My legs, feet and hands only swell more. There is nothing beautiful about it. It's just agonizing.

I get home from work and my two children swarm me. Starved for my attention they hug and kiss me and begin demanding I do this or give them that. I take my shoes off and reveal my balloons of feet and stumble to the dining room table. I just want to get undressed, eat and put my feet up. I feel like a bad mother because although I missed them, I just want them to go away. I want a second to catch my breath but it never comes. Even if I get the opportunity to lay down, I'm never alone. My son lays half sandwiched on the couch and half on me. My daughter dances around asking me to help her with her Harry Potter game or to tickle her and then I have my unborn son leaping in my womb trying to punch through the scar tissue of my gallbladder surgery. The contractions I've had off and on all day become stronger and more consistent and I wonder if this is it as I battle feelings of hope, fear and guilt of the prospect of having my son earlier. My maternal instinct wins over my selfishness to reclaim my body and I do what I can to calm myself down. Eventually night approaches and the chatter and energy filled chaos of my two children ceases and I have a minute alone. But at this point I just want to sleep myself and another night of tossing and turning as I'm squished between my husband and 5 year old ensues. Every turn I make I'm startled by the intense pains that shoot through my body. The urge to pee is ever constant but the struggle to get up is oh too real so I just beg sleep to take over. Sleep barely notices my pleas and most of the time the urge to pee wins. Morning comes and it's the same tape all over again. With bonus aches and pains added daily.

I don't like being pregnant. Even more so, I hate this particular pregnancy. My pregnancy isn't beautiful. It isn't flowery. It isn't what dreams are made of. It's hard. It's exhausting. It's painful. It's anxiety filled. It's humiliating.

But it's worth it. Isaac is worth it. He's worth my already delicate self esteem shattering with my pregnancy related body. He is worth every ache, pain and uncomfortable feeling. He is worth all the tears and instability caused by my hormones. He is worth every sleepless night and all the ones to come. He is my son and it is my privilege to grow him within me and I would do it all a hundred times over just to get to the end result of holding him one day in my arms.

And that, at least for me, is what makes pregnancy beautiful.

Empty Well

I remember my first authentic prayer. I often speak about it and it certainly was a catalyst to my faith journey. There were a lot of things about that night that were very movie-esque. It was pouring, I was crying - all very dramatic. All very real.  One of the things that still strikes me is the ugliness of that night.  I was in utter despair, cold, alone and screaming at the sky. This is where God found me.  He found me hurt, angry, scared, and lonely.  I was broken and He reached down and held me.

A lot has changed in the 16 years that have passed since that night. But there are still things that linger. In many ways I'm still hurt, angry, scared and lonely. I don't know how to shake that part of me away.  I don't know how to find the healing that I probably desperately need.  Years pass along and that weight still drags me down. Insecurities creep back in and I'm immobilized by my demons. My desire to reach out for help is extinguished by my fear of a safety net. Too many times have I set my heart in hands that were careless. Instead I retreat further into myself and end up falling into a web of spiral thoughts and low self-esteem. It's ugly and terrifying and mostly fought alone. Much of the outside world is oblivious to the storm raging within me and I'm okay with that. Until it's too late.

This story gets old. I am married with two kids and a third on the way. I don't want my family to be a causality to my depression. But my well is dry. I have nothing to give.

So what now?

True Freedom

"Jesus said to those Jews who believed in him, 'If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples,
and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.' " John 8:31

As I reflected on this Gospel from Wednesday I found myself pondering the concept of freedom. As someone who, if it had not been for medical reasons, would have joined the Air Force, the idea of being an American and free has always been dear to my heart. I've always felt like I knew the value of freedom and the sacrifices made for that freedom.  But as far as my relationship with Christ, I realized that I struggle with true freedom. Freedom to be comfortable with the person God created me to be. Freedom to cast away the chains of depression, anxiety and loneliness. It begs the question to what enslaves me? As it states further in the Gospel "everyone who commits a sin is a slave of sin". How many times do I sever myself in my relationship with my God? But does my enslavement go further than my sins? Or perhaps it is a ramification of my past sins. I walk around and go through so many days just going through the motions feeling like an empty shell of who I am called to be. My prayer life becomes stagnant.  I long for true and authentic friendships but fear rejection and abandonment that have plagued my childhood and early adulthood. I question my worth as a wife and mother. It's a downward spiral of negativity and I struggle to swim upstream. Where is this freedom that Christ's speaks of? What does it look like? How does it feel? Perhaps even more alarming, would I be able to recognize it if I found it?

This Lent has been a struggle for me. I have felt like I am walking in the desert. I have felt desolation and despair. I have had days where I'm consumed with loneliness and the fact that I have to be a functional human being every day is nearly more than I can bear. Yet there is still hope. In the recesses of my heart way beneath the brokenness is this flicker of light. It allows me to move forward. It keeps me from crumbling. The light of Christ sustains me. It is my responsibility to fan that flame and surrender. Freedom will always be purchased with a price and that price is to surrender to His unending mercy and love. To let go of my pride, allow Him to guide my entire life and stop seeking control. 

As we approach Holy Week my prayer is to unite myself with Christ. To not only die with Him but most importantly, to rise with Him. I pray that the joy of the Resurrection penetrates my life and I can be a living witness to his merciful love.