Holidays

This time of year is tough. 

Thanksgiving and Christmas. The time of year when families gather together and eat, talk, laugh, maybe quarrel a little. There's dysfunction and everyone knows it. Some more than others. But overall, people enjoy the short time with their families.

This year I am between families. Not quite knowing where I fit in. There's my dad's house but I don't live there anymore. There's the home I live in now but I'm not technically part of their family. It's hard. I love both of my families, but it is hard.

Thanksgiving day will be spent in my step mother's cousin's house. With all of her family who are still kind of strangers to my siblings and me. I'll answer the questions, "where are you working? Oh, so you just stay at home and babysit all day? When are you going to get a REAL job? (to which I'll want to but not have the courage to respond, "Please, switch jobs with me for a day and take care of two 2 year olds and two 4 year olds and then ask me about having a REAL job.") Are you going to go back to school? How much money are you making? You won't make much money with your degree" about 15 times. They mean well. But I'm going to need some serious supernatural strength because these days if anyone asks me ONE of those questions I politely finish the conversation then walk away and cry. So much uncertainty.

I feel lonely. Not good enough. Unwanted. I want people to love me for who I am, and not wish I was someone better. 

I want people to tell me that it's okay to be sad, and to want my old life back. I try not to dwell on it for too long, but the holidays are brutal. I miss my mom. All the time, but especially in November/December. I do not enjoy this time of year and I usually fail at pretending I do. And for that I am sorry. I do my best not to take anyone else's joy. 

My birthday is December 5, and guess what. That's the day my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I don't really like my birthday. I don't really feel like I should be allowed to celebrate it. 

I love that people love the holidays. I love the season. But please, when you ask about my Thanksgiving and Christmas, try not to be too surprised when I'm not super excited about it. Tell me about how much fun you had and I will rejoice with you. I will try not to let you see my sadness. If you do, do not apologize for you're amazing holiday. Give me a hug and tell me it's okay to be sad. 

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A Bad Day and My Ugly Heart

I've been waiting to post until I have something fun or positive to write about, but I just don't.

I am tired. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.

My job is hard. I love my babies, but my job is hard. Every day I chase after four little ones. Sometimes six. I change diapers, make sure clothes stay one, and wipe bottoms. I kiss booboos and resolve conflicts. I wipe noses and clean up messes. I correct and discipline. And on days like today, I fail miserably. I am impatient and quick to anger. I get frustrated when the toddlers have dirty diapers. I raise my voice. I am slow to listen and quick to send everyone to time out. I become tense and rigid when the girls try to hug me. Or even worse, I tell them I don't have time for that. Who says that to a four year old? Who makes a toddler sit next to them when they are just trying to sit on their lap? I did today. Because my head hurt and I didn't want to change another diaper and I was tired of listening to all the arguing and kissing fake booboos and being covered in snot and cleaning up urine from the accident that no one told me about two hours ago and, and, and.

And then one of the girls comes and says, "I've been a little bad today, haven't I?" Out loud I say, "No, you've been pretty good today." That's all I say to her. But my heart says differently.

My heart says this: "Sweet girl, you are never bad. Sometimes you make bad choices. Sometimes you choose to disobey. But you know what? I make bad choices and disobey sometimes, too. Today you have obeyed. You see my bad attitude and have tried extra hard to make good choices. Choices that please me. Today I am making bad choices. I have been impatient with you for being FOUR. I have told you with my actions that I don't want you to be around me. My job is to care for you and love you and I have not done that. You know that my biggest rules are to be kind and respectful. I have been unkind and disrespectful to you, and that is not okay. I am so very sorry. Please forgive me."

I think tomorrow I will sit her down and tell her that. Because she needs to know that she is not bad. She needs to know that I make bad choices and I will admit it. I am supposed to be the example.

So right now I sit here and cry. Because I was ugly to my precious babies today. I did not love them they way they needed to be loved. I put my own feelings above theirs. I have been sad and lonely lately, but that should never ever come out on them.

Never have I been more thankful that His mercies are new every morning.

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Forgiveness. Joy. Peace.

Forgiveness is not usually something I struggle with. Most of the time when someone hurts me, I'm upset for a minute and then life goes on. Then I screw up. I say something that offends someone. I complain. I create some scenario in my head where I think I've done something. And I am this awful person. I apologize and people forgive me. But I cannot forgive myself. I do not know how to forgive myself.

I am a hardcore rule follower. Always have been. If I break a rule it's probably because I didn't know it existed. Does that make me a better person? Absolutely not. I have plenty of struggles and weaknesses. They just aren't as obvious.

But sometimes I mess up.

I say something that is insensitive or unkind. I forget about commitments and end up having to cancel on someone. I am impatient with the girls. I whine and complain. And then I ask for forgiveness of whoever I've offended and they move on. And I'm stuck. I beat myself up and replay the scene over and over again. It goes on for days and I can't make it stop. I am sick of it.

I had a lightbulb moment this week. I will never be happy until I learn to rest, trust, and surrender to Jesus. It took me long enough to figure that one out, and yet people have been telling me that for years. The problem is, I don't really know how to do it.

The deepest desire of my heart is to have a relationship with Him. I want to consider Him a Friend. A Father. A Counselor. I want to learn to love others and myself the way He does. I want to be able to be a light to my sweet baby girls and point them to Him. I want to live for Him, and not people. I want to find Joy.

I do not want the girls to look back on our time and remember me as irritable, crabby, or more concerned about keeping the house clean than spending time with them. I don't want to be impatient with them. I want to love them well. I want to love myself. Because honestly, right now I do not like the way I feel. I do not like the way I look. I do not like the way I am. That is not a message I want to send to those girls.

So, for all two of you who may read this, please pray for me. To find joy. Peace. Forgiveness. I cannot do it on my own.

Lord, 
Thank you for this life you have given me. Thank you for the family you have given me. Please help me to draw close to you. Help me to love my job and consider it my mission field. Help me to love those babies the way you love them. Let me love myself the way you intended. Teach me to forgive. Please give me joy and peace. God, you have given me a desire to be close to You, but I don't know how to act on it. Most of the time when I pray, I feel like I'm talking to myself. Please give me a desire to spend time in Your Word daily. I love you, Lord. Help me to surrender. 
In Your name I pray, 
Amen.

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I Miss Her

I remember crying so hard and thinking on several occasions that this must be how toddlers feel when they throw tantrums. They do it because they think that if they cry hard enough they'll get what they want. That's pretty much what I did. I'd cry and kick and, if I were home alone, scream. I'd get so upset that I would throw up. And then I would wear myself out and fall asleep.

I've accepted the fact that my mom is in Heaven and it will be what feels like a really long time before I see her again. There is nothing I can do to change that. But man, it sucks.

I miss her when I feel like I have no friends.

I missed her when I went to small group knowing only one or two people. I wanted to call her after I went to The Grove with the girls I didn't know and tell her that I wanted to run away, but I stayed. I wanted her to be proud of me. Because that was hard. Really hard.

I missed her when I went to see my fourth psychiatrist in as many years. I wanted her to be with me because I was scared. I wanted her to be my advocate because I'm not good with words. I wanted her to jump in when I couldn't quite get out what I wanted to say.

I miss her when I'm sick and home alone. I want her to come watch movies with me and just sit close to me and hold my hand.

I wanted to call her and cry to her after Evie choked on a mint at church. After I had to do the Heimlich and she was completely fine but I was shaking and terrified and people around me kept saying, "well, she shouldn't have had that anyway. She's too young for that."

She was so kind. She KNEW me. She understood me.

One of my favorite stories about my mom took place when she was very sick. I was watching TV in the room next to hers. She had been sleeping but called me into her room. She asked me if I wanted a popsicle. I knew she wanted one so I told her that I didn't, but that I'd be happy to go get one for her. She said, "Oh no, that's okay. You don't have to go downstairs just for me. I'll get one later." (You better believe I ran downstairs to get her one anyway)

I want to be like her. I want to be kind and selfless. I want to put others before myself.

Tonight I am sad, but I am not without hope. I cry, but not tears of despair. I miss her. I will never understand why God called her home so early, but I know that He worked through her. And I hope He'll work through me, too.

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Trapped

I wish something as simple as having a conversation would come more easily. I wish it were easier to say "hi" and introduce myself. I wish I wasn't so overwhelmed just sitting in a room full of people. I wish being late didn't stress me out to no end. I wish I were more approachable. I wish I could enjoy myself at social gatherings. I wish I didn't wake up feeling like I was hit by a truck after said social gatherings. I wish I valued myself more. I wish I were more confident. 

I'm caught in a sea of lies. Lies that say I'm not good enough. I know they're lies, but I believe them anyway. 

"Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you." -Isaiah 43:4

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Untitled

I was thrilled to graduate from college. College was not the fun, easy, time of your life experience for me. It was hard. Every second of it. Most of my classes were hard. I registered for speech class six semesters and dropped it on the first day for the first five of those semesters. {side note: my last speech was a celebration speech. I chose "The Last Day of Speech Class" and my professor loved it.} Music is hard. It is more than just sitting around playing music all day.

As hard as it was, I had friends and professors cheering for me, encouraging me, and challenging me every day. Someone was near me almost all of the time. We became a family, as cheesy as that sounds.

The last semester was the student teaching experience. I was no longer surrounded by my family, but by 1,000 elementary schoolers and a mentor teacher who did not need to have a student teacher. Needless to say, I was done. Ready to get out. Ready to start my job caring for "my" sweet little girls. I was so excited.

Then I graduated. I have the best job. It is hard but there's nothing I'd rather do. I live with a family who has become my family. But if you know me, you know that change is one of the very long list of things that I S.T.R.U.G.G.L.E. with. Even if it's good change. I no longer have the safety net that was school.

During my freshman year, a psychiatrist diagnosed me with clinical depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I am SO much better now and I'm thankful for all the people who helped me through that time.

I still struggle. I am fully aware that I have it easy compared to so many people. But the thing is, depression is real. Anxiety is real. And it can be sneaky. It can be debilitating. I may overthink a situation. Then I get anxious about it, which leads to depression because I cannot stop thinking about something that I may have said that may have been misinterpreted. I get angry with myself because why do I have to be so darn sensitive? Why do I not run to God during every hard time in my life? Why can I not just choose to be happy? And what the heck do I have to be depressed about? My life is good. There is nothing for me to be sad about.

Sometimes I am so anxious that I dread going to hang out with friends. Not because I don't want to see them, but because I am scared. Sometimes I am afraid to make a phone call. I am afraid to ask questions. I am afraid to reach out to anyone to say, "Hey, I'm hurting. I need a friend."

Growing up I was indirectly taught that depression is sinful. Medication is sinful. Anxiousness is sinful. I need to trust God. Trusting Him will make it better. Those things are not necessarily true.

I believe that God is good. All the time. I believe that He allows us to walk through difficult times for a reason. We may never know that reason. I would like to believe that He has used me to encourage someone else or even bring someone to know Himself. I do not, however, believe that if you just trust God, life will be all better. I believe it's a process. One that I am still trying to work through and will for the rest of my life.

I have hope. I love the Lord. I believe that He is good. But right now I am struggling. I am hurting.

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