Not a Punishment

Though sometimes it feels like it is. What, you might be asking, am I talking about? Pain. For so long, I have often caught myself wondering what I did wrong to deserve the pain I have felt at times in my life. Because something that hurts so deeply must surely somehow be of my own making. I must have done something wrong. I must not be grateful enough. I must not be forgiving enough. I must not... I must not... I must not... I must not be enough.

Recently, I found myself in that dark place once again. My depression and anxiety have been much more difficult to keep in check recently, and I've been struggling. Then one of my fears that I had been anxious over became a reality, and I sunk into the depths of despair. I was completely crushed, and the situation seemed to be telling me that all my fears and negative thoughts where founded in truth... I wasn't good enough. 

I didn't know what to do. It was a situation that I felt I couldn't take to the involved because it would probably have the opposite affect of the outcome I wanted. I didn't want to cause more hurt or create a larger gap in the relationship, especially because I believe it was unintentional. I was so angry at first. My gut reaction was to find a way to cause hurt in return, but I knew that wasn't help for anyone. Eventually after working through the initial emotions, it boiled down to heartbreak and pain. I felt shattered.

I went to God asking Him to help me forgive the hurt and to find peace. I'm getting to a place where I know it's not about me. It's not about anything I did or didn't do nor anything I do or don't lack. I'm having to make some hard choices and look at what really matters. If nothing changes, how will I care for me and my needs? Can I bring awareness and increased closeness? If so, how would I go about that? Do I need to seek out other ways to fill the needs I had hoped would be met through this particular relationship? How do I see this continuing in way that is beneficial for all involved? 

I'm so grateful for a husband, a mother, a sister, and a God that listen, understand, and support me. They were my safe places in this situation where I could talk, cry, vent, and process all of my feelings without judgement. We all need those kind of safe places. I hope I am also a safe place for others. 

As I was moving through this experience, I ended up awake in the middle of the night after one of my kids needed me and was unable to go back to sleep. As I stared into the darkness, a poem started to form in my head. I've had this happen on occasion, but I usually don't write it down. This night, I decided to act on the words starting to form and flow because from experience I wouldn't be able to remember most of it come morning. So by the light of my cell phone, I started writing. By the end, I knew my heart was mending. My healing had begun.

A few days later, I sat down with the poem and edited. This is the final product from those early morning stirrings.

 

This was my reminder that pain isn't a punishment. Pain like any other emotion is meant to tell a story... our own story. It is meant to be an aide and tool to help us grown and learn. And though I'm still in the healing process, and it still hurts. I'm not afraid of the pain anymore. I embrace the pain as my teacher. I hope I walk away a dutiful student. Learning lessons of forgiveness, compassion, love, and kindness. And if I learn, even in a small measure to be better than I was before, then the pain has purpose.

It's NOT all about the Thanks, no Troubles

I want to be a blogger. A blogger that talks about life and health and mental wellness. A blogger that isn't afraid to speak truth... to show the dark side of life and thoughts, so together we can find the white light... the gifts, the goodness, the lessons learned that wouldn't have been gained without the struggle and the darkness. But here is the reality of it, I'm still figuring it out. Intellectually, I know what I want to do, and what I need to do to accomplish my goals. But as any human knows, sometimes our fears and doubts block our own self. I get in my own way. And though I've been quiet on here, please know I haven't forgotten the blog or any of you.

SO I have to admit that I hate most quotes regarding gratitude. Not that they aren't good quotes. Not that I disagree with what they are saying. (In fact, I usually agree). Not that I don't think gratitude is important. (It absolutely is). "Why do you hate them then?" you ask. Easiest answer. GUILT. When I read these quotes on reminders to be grateful, I often feel that the anxiety/depression I feel must somehow be my fault. If only I were more grateful. I must not be a grateful person. Maybe I'm not counting my blessings enough. Maybe I'm not enough.

Lies. Lies. Lies. ALL. LIES. Here is the truth. Control of your mental illness or the difficult situation you are going through is not contingent upon your level of gratitude or your ability to express that gratitude. Now don't get me wrong, it's an important part of overcoming and healing, but you can have a grateful heart and still struggle.

Let me give you a brief example. Almost a year ago, my oldest son nearly drown. Finding his body and living those few minutes where I thought I would have to live without him where awful... to say the least. Part of the results of that experience was PTSD. It has been one of the most challenging times in my life. Even a year later, I still am living with some of the residual effects of that emotional trauma though I am working through them. But the flip side is... this is also a time when my heart was overflowing with gratitude and awareness that God was/is in the details. I won't list every single blessing that came, but know they did come. Here are a few though. 1) I knew I needed to look for Gavin. 2) We were able to revive him poolside. (They said he wouldn't have made it otherwise.) 3) I was with family, so I knew the rest of my kids were safe as I left in an ambulance to be with Gavin. 4) I literally felt the power of prayer on our behalf by I don't even know how many people... so many. 5) SO many generous loving people that aided our family with calls, food, gifts for Gavin, and more. 6) Kind, non-judgemental medical staff. 7)The life of my son.

It is possible to grateful and to be hurting too. It just is. So here's my suggestion... instead of thinking that gratitude is an instant fix and life is suddenly cheery and bright, we need to realize that gratitude is a tool. A process.

How gratitude really works (at least from what I've experienced):

The Bandage - At first, gratitude is first aide ointment and a bandage. If the wound is small enough, the ointment and the bandage may be enough. For most day to day things... a little time and gratitude truly can be enough. For larger wounds, it takes away the worst of the sting and covers the pain, so we can start to heal and maybe even forget from time to time that we have a wound. Gratitude is the aide not the wound. The wound can still hurt even when the ointment and bandage are present.

The Magnifying Glass - When a wound hurts so much that a little bit of first aide isn't enough, we have to find a new way to use gratitude as a new tool. We need to get to the heart of the wound and ask ourselves what do I need to heal? Gratitude, love, and truth come to our aide to help us examine the lies and false beliefs that we tell ourselves. They help us find ways to help us get help, heal, and change, and it is tailored just for us. Maybe it's being outdoors, meditation, yoga, running, exercise, medication, prayer, service, therapy, art/creativity, music, or any other number of things or combinations thereof. It isn't a quick fix. Sometimes the healing of a wound can be just as painful as the infliction of the wound. And more than likely there will be a scar.

The Catalyst - Scars seem to generally carry two responses: bragging rights or shame. Gratitude can be the means to change our perception of the scar from one of shame to a badge of honor for overcoming our battle. We can share the stories of our scars with love for ourselves and find that in coping with the wound, we have worked and strengthened other parts of body that wouldn't have been otherwise.

The Scale - It doesn't change the fact that it happened. It doesn't change the fact that we felt pain. It allows us to find balance. To find purpose in the darkness, pain, and suffering. Sometimes wounds never heal. Sometimes scars can hurt. And in life we often end up with more wounds or more than one wound at a time. Pain, suffering, and despair are part of the human experience. But so are hope, joy, and love. Gratitude is our friendly reminder that in spite of hardships and trials, darkness and pain that there is goodness and joy, light and healing. And most importantly, no matter what, we are enough. We always have been. We always will be.

Dear Birth Mother

Ben and I are supposed to be working on our profile. I'll be honest though... we haven't done much with it yet. Not because we don't want to, but for me anyway, I'm not quite sure how to go about it all. The facilitator says speak from the heart, and don't stress over it. But hello!... this is how the birth mother will first decide if she wants to connect with us. It's kind of a big deal. These pictures and words are a big deal to me because I'm well aware of the impact that they will have on changing my family. I know once I start the words will come, but why is it that starting is often the most difficult part?

The one part of I have thought a lot about is the letter to the birth mother. It's supposed to be a short letter telling her what we have to offer her baby in our family. When I was at my health coach retreat, we talked about writing a vision statement. My vision was bringing my little girl home. And the more I've thought about it, the more it has turned into the letter to the birth mother. But again those doubts come in, and I wonder if I'm approaching it in the right way. So any feedback would appreciated.

Dear Birth Mother,

Home. I'm home. We're home. The boys are finally asleep. They were so excited to finally meet their little sister today. They just wanted to constantly love on her and hold her. I'm climbing into bed myself now. Ben wraps his arms around me as we settle in for the night. As I listen to her sweet sleeping breaths in her little bed next to mine, the tears start to flow. I am overwhelmed with love, joy, and gratitude. And I think of you.

Her tiny cries wake me, and I tend to her needs and hold her close. As she falls back to sleep, I watch her beautiful face in wonder. And I think of you. As the hours pass... I think of you. As the days pass... I think of you. She is learning so many new things. Her brothers adore her and protect her, but they also teach her how to be fearless and brave and strong... it about gives me a heart attack some days! Her daddy is smitten, but then again so am I. I love watching him be a daddy to a daughter. It pulls at my heart strings in the same, yet different ways. And all the while... I think of you.

Years pass. And I still think of you. We all do. I know. She knows. We all know. We couldn't be the family we are without you. She was always meant to be a part of our family. And you were always meant to be her mother. We love her with all of our hearts. And we love you just as much for bringing her into this world. We think of you. Often. With love. With gratitude. With respect. Thank you.

So the answer came...

As some of you may know, I wrote a post about feeling a very real loss for the little girl I never had. If you haven't read it, you can read it here if you're interested. That post stemmed from the exciting news my sister was having a little girl. I'll be honest. I was an emotional mess. I just didn't understand. I thought I had made peace with my desire to have a baby girl. I have 5 babies... shouldn't that be enough to fill my heart?

That breakdown made me really evaluate myself, as well as start some deep heart-felt conversations with God. I needed to know why I felt the way I did. I needed some answers from within and from God. I needed peace. What I didn't realize at the time was that God was breaking down my walls, so He could build the life He knew I needed to create.

One night, I had boys up off and on, and I was laying in bed exhausted, but wide awake. I tried without success to fall asleep for 20 minutes or so. When that didn't work, I decided I'd head out to the couch to ponder, pray, meditate... I thought maybe if I could address the thoughts in my head I'd be able to finally get some sleep. And it was a whole spectrum of thoughts... the am I making the right choice, what do I need to do/learn, why didn't I have a baby girl, what part of the picture/plan am I missing, etc. kind of thoughts.

As I sat there seeking answers in the quiet of the wee hours of the morning, they came. Several. Actually. Answers of assurance and peace that reminded me to not only have a little faith in God, but more than that to have a little faith in myself. Answers about things I need to do... finish the children's book, I wrote words for when Landon (my third son) was a baby. And adopt. We are supposed to adopt.

When morning came, Ben and I were saying our good byes as he was getting ready to leave for work. I told him, I felt like we were supposed to adopt. His response was OK, and he left for work. I wanted to be like Sally from Cars when she questions Lightening McQueen on what he means by OK... Do you mean OK? or OK? or OK? (each said with a different inflection). Life went on, and it didn't really come up again right away.

We arranged with my MIL to babysit the boys one morning so we could go to the temple. We hadn't been in a while, and we enjoy the peace we find there, so made plans. We got the boys up early and dropped them off with Grandma. As I found my seat, I had a prayer in my heart that the Lord would help me to learn something. That He would help me know what I needed to know.

 I spent most of the two hours holding back tears or in tears. With all those tears, my poor husband was concerned for my well-being. I reassured him I was fine, but until the session is over there isn't much time to talk. Once it ended, we had a chance to sit and talk in the peace of the temple.

Basically, I came to realize that God knew I would only be able to biologically have 5 children of my own, but He also knew our family wouldn't be complete until there were 6 kids. If I had had a girl earlier in that line up, we would have been content, and we wouldn't have considered adopting.... which means our family would have never been truly complete. God planted the desire for a girl in my heart from the beginning, so when the time was right I would realize I needed to go and find that baby girl. My sister finding out she was having a baby girl was what needed to happen... as painful as it was... so that my thinking would shift and adoption would become a reality. And my sweet baby girl chose to come to earth through another mother because she knew we would come find her and make her a part of our family.

As I was telling Ben, I was a little worried he would agree to adopt because it was what I wanted, and he loves me enough to support me in whatever I'm passionate about pursuing. But in the case of adoption, I wanted us to be on the same page and both of us just as passionate about it. I shouldn't have been worried because just like in the case of us getting engaged, he was on board way before me, but was waiting for me to be ready and the time to be right. We came home that day knowing we were without a doubt going to adopt.

Since then, we have researched our options and started on the path to adoption. Some doors have opened and some have closed. We are being lead. There are still a lot of uncertainties, a lot of hurry up and wait times, a lot unknowns, but there is also a lot of faith and one known that overshadows all the rest... Our baby girl is waiting for our family.

 

Self Awareness

This last week was a long one...all my babies were sick with hand, foot, and mouth. If you don't know what that is be so grateful. But basically it's a lot like really nasty chicken pox located on the hands, feet, and mouth of the child instead of the trunk of the body. Super yucky, super contagious, super miserable.

So when it came time for me to leave for my super team health coaching event, I was more than ready to take a break from daily life. What I didn't realize was how much I would really grow from the whole experience. Sure I thought it would be nice to meet other Take Shape for Life Health Coaches. Sure I thought I would learn more about our business. Sure I thought I would enjoy the time away. Sure I thought I would be uplifted. But I didn't realize how it would touch me to my core... to my soul.

As I drove to and from Midway, Utah, I listened to a book on CD. It was Julie De Azevedo Hank's book The Burnout Cure. Whether you share our faith or not, I highly recommend her book. Seriously... I think I might buy a copy for everyone in my family. It's about staying emotionally healthy, so we don't become burnt out. I've been doing a lot of reading/talking/researching about emotions. Emotions just are. They just are a part of us. They just happen. They are neither good nor bad. They just are. And I'm learning to embrace that I am human being created to feel a whole spectrum of emotions and that's perfectly fine and perfectly normal. But I am also becoming aware of how I can train my brain to choose to act in a positive, healthy way to any emotion that I feel. Sometimes the emotion and the reaction to the emotion are so intertwined, habitual, and hard wired into my brain that it feels like I don't have a choice other than the reaction that occurs. Part of the reason why I liked her book so much is that she asks introspective questions that help the reader to be more thoughtful and become more aware of his or her whys and beliefs held. Without understanding where we have been we can't fully understand how to get to where we want to go.

When I got to the Homestead Resort Friday morning, I texted Ben and told him I was out of my comfort zone. His response... It's good for you. I rolled my eyes at him, not that he could see, and texted back that it was probably true. The morning got under way and our speaker, Dave Blanchard, was introduced. As he began to speak to us, I felt like he was speaking to me and to my heart. Some times it amazes me how everything lines up so well. That this thing lead to that which lead to this which lead to this which lead to that which lead to me being here listening to him speak. I just felt like so much of what he had to say was a culminating point that needed to happen so I could shift my thinking and be ready for what's to come.

One of the first things he talked about was our shells we create and the load we carry and drag behind us. So me... my little introverted self, likes my shell... Lachelle likes her shell! It feels safe there because I'm not putting myself out there to take a risk. And if there is no risk, there is safety... no pain, no hurt, right?


And for a long time, I have carried a bag full of weight around. At times I felt like certain things dictated who I am to a certain extent... not so much that I couldn't choose for myself, but more that the cards were stacked against me and I couldn't escape them.  Things like my family genetics, how I was or wasn't raised, my past mistakes and choices, etc. all weighed on me heavy at times. 

But I've been learning that I am not the past and I am not my past. I am not the obstacles. In fact, as Dave said the obstacles are often the way. The very thing we have been resisting is often the way and the answer. Life happens either way. Hard things come no matter what. That is how we grow. That is how we change.

As I spent Friday morning listening to Dave Blanchard, he put so many of my recent thoughts into eloquent words, and I was once again reminded I always have a choice. As I cultivate awareness about myself and where I have come from, I can do two things: One, use it as an excuse and let it turn me into a victim of my circumstances. Or two, embrace it, and use it to serve the lives of others. I'd much rather be serving and loving another than feeling sorry for myself. I'm also starting to think I'd rather have a say in what risks I place my heart in, instead of waiting for life to deal out it's own lessons on my behalf. ;) Not to say we always get to choose (cancer, death of a loved one, loss of a job, and many other events in life are not by choice), but I'd rather actively choose what I can instead of always waiting to react to what is dealt. 

This picture symbolizes so much of my thoughts and feelings for the weekend.

I am choosing to embrace all of me.. all of my past and history, all of my emotions (past, present, and future), all my strengths, all my weaknesses, all of the physical, mental, and emotional sides of me... all of me. Then with the self awareness that comes when I am truly honest with myself and embrace ALL parts of me, I am given more power to choose. I know where I have been so I can make a plan for how I'm going to get to where I want to go. I can choose to love it, leave it, make peace with it, forgive it, forget it, change it, fix it, rewire it, rewrite it... to create it. I'm giving myself permission to create the best me, to create my best life, to create what's best for my family. 

I loved this quote that Dave Blanchard shared.

Just watch... I'm going to create. And I hope with all my heart that as you view my journey, you'll view yours, and you'll give yourself the same permission. You are meant to become and to create. And as we let go of what we are dragging, let our shells and walls down, we'll share our heart of hearts and take each other by the hands and together we'll create a better world... one that is based on true love for one's self and for others. Or as a Dave likes to say, Agape love. 

Loss (a mini series) Part 3

Hey! You threw off my groove!

I'm sorry. You threw of the Emperor's groove. 

Disney's The Emperor's New Groove

Does anyone else feel this way about Spring Break?! Seriously. Love my kids, but the routine gets thrown for a loop, and things don't get done. Some of which... I am totally OK with. But a few things like this post I really wanted to get done.

And here it is... another week has come and gone, and I've yet to get this done. Last week, was just off for me in a lot of ways.  And I'm not practiced enough at this being a blogger thing to have it fine tuned and part of my schedule and life yet. I'm working on it. I'll get there. Please be patient with me in the mean time and keep coming back to read when I do manage to sit down and write because I write for you.

I've left names out to be respectful. This isn't about them. This is about me, so if you know me well enough to know names please also respect the privacy of the other parties involved and leave their names out of comments too.

Heartbreak... the romance kind. Most everybody will experience this in their lifetime. Opening our hearts and letting ourselves be vulnerable enough to love, also opens us up to possibility of being hurt. There is a dual nature in all things... a benefit and a risk. Luckily, in most things the benefits far out weigh the risks. Such is the case with loving another.

Growing up I had my crushes. A few in elementary school. A few in high school. I cared about each one, but the relationships were short lived and never developed into something more. Most of the time I felt like the "nice" girl that was friends with the guy that then proceeded to help them with the girl they liked, or the "smart" girl to try copy homework from. Sometimes it was hard. I often felt alone or left out because I didn't have a boyfriend. A little seed of jealousy would creep in from time to time because even my younger siblings seemed to be more lucky in the love department than me. The next two siblings in line had their first kisses before me. And even my youngest brother was wooing the girls in preschool and probably also beat me in the first kiss department!

When I got to college, I thought things would be different. They weren't. I had a huge crush on a guy my freshman year, and we were really good friends, but eventually he told me he was dating someone. He put off telling me because he knew I liked him, and he didn't want to hurt my feelings.

Finally my sophomore year, it changed. I was a RA that year. And so was he. There were two other RA couples that we would do things with.... murder mystery dinner dates, thrift shop clothing dates, a fancy dance (the first time I had been really asked to one... my first prom was with a boy who had just broken up with his girlfriend so we went as friends and the second was with a group of girls), and just lots of happy memories and fun things. We would talk on the phone or instant message (didn't have texting yet... I know, I'm old!). We went for walks and spent time talking about our hopes and dreams. He had a cute pet name for me. He did and gave thoughtful little things for me and our little anniversaries. I learned a song in Spanish for him (He was Latino.) At 19, he was my first kiss and my first love.

That year I went down to Texas and met his family at Thanksgiving. They were so sweet and treated me so well. I continued to fall harder for him. As things progressed we naturally started talking about getting married. I just knew I was going to marry him. We went for a walk and stopped at a special spot to us. I thought he was going to propose. He didn't. Instead, he told me he couldn't marry me. I was shocked, surprised, hurt, angry, sad, blindsided, and so much more. I cried and asked why. I just didn't understand how it could be happening. We walked back to our dorms and said good night. I went in and sobbed. My girls on my floor looked after me that night instead of the other way around. I was heartbroken.

Knowing now I that I struggle with depression, I would say that I was in a true, deep, dark depression episode. We had a class together, and he tried so hard to remain my friend, but I couldn't do it. I'm sure I hurt his feelings because he didn't understand why we couldn't just keep being friends. It was too hard. It hurt too much. I needed space to heal. And in some ways, his continued kindness made it even more difficult. I couldn't be angry or hate him or tell myself he was a jerk and I deserved better when my heart knew and his actions proved otherwise. It took me a while to cope. It then took me even longer for my heart to heal.

Valentine's Day came, and I was walking to campus for a class. I was feeling sorry for myself and lamenting yet another lonely Valentine's Day. As I was contemplating, I started having a conversation with God.  I decided to make Him a deal. Crazy.... I know. How many people try bargaining with God? I must have been pretty desperate... OK so there is no must have been... I was feeling very desperate and lonely at the time. I said, "God, I have never had a Valentine, a real genuine Valentine (I wasn't counting the boy I bought something for in sixth grade ;).) Fine. Whatever. But here's the deal God, I will go without a Valentine, if when I do finally have one, he will be my forever Valentine. It will be your sign to me that I will marry him. Deal?"

It took 5 years. 5 years of being the "nice" girl. The "friend." Having my heartbroken a couple of more times in the process. I even tried to "force" God into the bargain by making sure I celebrated Valentine's Day with someone I was falling in love with and could see myself spending my life with, but he wasn't really my Valentine. Looking back I know it was a lot more one-sided and not really a healthy situation for me personally. But I wanted to be loved. I wanted someone in my life.

After that relationship ended, I kind of gave up on finding someone. Which, to be honest, I think is what God was waiting for from me anyway. In giving up the idea of needing to be loved by another, I learned to love myself better. By this point, I had graduated from college. I found a job teaching and made some really good friends with my fellow teachers. I had the opportunity to live with my sister again as adults, and it was awesome for our relationship. I made peace with myself. Did that really change my desire to find someone? No, but I was OK to wait in the mean time. I found purpose and happiness in my life.

Soon after I met a cute boy with dark hair and beautiful green hazel eyes. I liked him, but there was also another girl in the picture that really liked him too. I just figured he'd end up dating her because that's how it went. But much to my pleasure, we began dating. I really began to like him a lot... to maybe even love him, but I was feeling hesitant. I didn't know if I could open my heart again. Valentine's Day came, and I heart attacked his room. He surprised me with dinner. He'd made it all himself... including dessert. I then started panicking! Does this mean I'm going to marry him? God, are you keeping your end of the deal? Aaaah! Worry... Worry... Hopeful... Hopeful... Panic... Panic... Good grief. I was a mess!

Needless to say he became my forever Valentine.

I'm not much a country music listener with a few exceptions, but I've always loved Garth Brook's song Unanswered Prayers. As hard as loneliness and heartbreak were, it was what had to get me to where I needed to be. He left unanswered prayers because He was working on answering other ones. I needed to make peace with myself and my own heart. I needed the opportunity to teach school and reach out to others. I needed to wait for the man that would be my counterpart... completing and complementing each other in ways that we both needed and didn't happen in other relationships. I needed to wait for someone that needed me as much as I needed him, so we would be equals. Is it what I wanted at the time? No. Did I know what I really needed? No. But God did, and He still does. In spite of and even sometimes through the hard, difficult, terrible, heartbreaking, lonely times and trials, He is orchestrating a more magnificent plan than we can imagine possible. And that's the beauty of it all... He may not give us what we want, but He will always give us what we need.

Stop. Wait a minute.

Don't worry I'm not going to bust out into the chorus of Uptown Funk. Though my boys love the song.

Nope, instead I'm going to talk about baggage for a minute. Baggage. We all have it. To some to degree. In some form. Emotional baggage. Physical manifestations of our baggage. Baggage.

This week I was working on lightening my load. Because really my baggage doesn't affect my past or the person I thought shoved it into my bag, it affects me now and into the future. Including the future generation.

So anyway, I was given homework. Good thing this homework is a lot more enjoyable than other school work I've had in the past! Along with some reading assignments, I was given two tasks. First, keep a gratitude journal of some sort and write down the little things. Second, do something self-care everyday.

I have been practicing paying more attention and expressing gratitude for the little things around me, but I'm terrible at regularly recording it. I don't know why, but I get stuck and just can't manage to put the words onto paper or screen. So I'm embracing that challenge because there is something to putting down in words. And here's how I'm going to do it... I desired something easy. I don't necessarily want to sit down at the computer to blog it each night, but I wanted to share my day to day with you too. To share my little stories and not just my big ones. So I'm headed to Instagram with this goal. Each day I am going to stop and wait a minute and notice.  I'm am going to start by finding 3 things each day, and at least one of which I will snap a picture of or of something that represents it. Then at the end of each day, I will post on Instagram (and I'll share with Facebook too). I will hashtag all of my pictures with #mindfulmoment (it does already exist). So then you can look them up and see them. AND anyone so inclined to join me in this challenge, please do! Add the same hashtag, and I'll be sure to check in on you too!

I'm terrible about taking a few minutes for me. It really is something I need to work on, and I'm guessing most of you do too. So each day I'm going to do the same thing with a little snippet of what I did to take care of myself... whether it was a shower (Don't worry I'm totally G rated, with maybe an occasional borderline PG... what can I say, diaper bums are cute!), wearing make up (hello, blue moon), reading a book, enjoying a cup of tea (Good Earth Sweet and Spicy, anyone?)... or whatever. I will hashtag all of those #selfcare (again already a hashtag). Hashtag it up with me and share what you do!

Let's share all of our story... the big and little moments. Help keep me accountable. Join me on Instagram at lachellebarnes. Let's find the light to dwell in together.

And the next post in my mini series is coming. Loss shows up in the form of relationship heartbreak. Check back soon and thanks for journeying with me!

Loss (A mini series) Part 2

I'm not sure how so much time has passed since I last posted. SO this is very over due. My first post on loss lacks hindsight. I still don't have it at this point. I don't know the why or the lesson I'm meant to learn yet, but I know eventually I will. But now it's time to rewind the clock and talk about some other losses. Losses that have changed me and have had enough time that I can see the purpose in the pain. It doesn't lessen the loss, but it brings peace, healing, and truth from the loss.

And in advance, I want to thank my dear sweet Aunt RaNae for sharing her pictures and allowing me to tell part of her very personal story as I share mine.

It was December 1988. I was 6 soon to be 7. Not much younger than my second child is now. My Aunt RaNae gave birth to a baby girl, Mary Celestia. A baby girl that would not live. Mary's life was but a few fleeting moments.

My Aunt and Uncle with Mary

From the Hospital

They knew she wouldn't live. From the ultrasound, there was not a shadow of doubt that her body was not built to remain here on earth. When the tragic news was passed on. My grandparents went to work. Grandpa built Mary's little box. And Grandma, a master crocheter, made a blanket for Mary.

Grandpa and Mary's little box

Grandma crocheting Mary's blanket

Once she arrived from and then returned to our Father in Heaven. A funeral was held at our local church building. This is where my memory begins. I come from a big family. My dad is 4 of 13... I'm in the beginning of the grandchild line up. And cousins and family were a big thing growing up. Even in a tragic loss, it was about family. I remember going to the viewing. It was just before the funeral service. I remember climbing up on a little stool or maybe being picked up (but I'm pretty sure there was a stool for us little kids), so I could look into her little box. I remember her lying there in a little white dress and a little white bonnet. Mary was tiny, peaceful, perfect. I remember thinking she looked like a doll. I remember my mom holding my little sister up and telling us about how Mary's body didn't form the way it was supposed to and how she went back to be with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

The funeral services followed. I don't remember words said. But during the short service, the children came to the front of chapel to sing. We sang two songs... Families Can Be Together Forever and Did Jesus Really Live Again. (Click to hear the songs or read the lyrics.) I remember standing there and crying my eyes out. I had a few people beckon me over to them to let me know it was OK if I didn't finish the songs. But in my heart I knew I had to finish. I wanted to finish those songs for her. I needed to finish them for me. I refused to sit down. I remember shaking my head no. The last two lines of Did Jesus Really Live Again are, "Did Jesus really live again After he had died? Oh yes! And so shall I!" As we finished singing the last few words... Oh yes! And so shall!... My heart knew. My soul knew. I was singing the truth. For me, it was a very powerful. I don't think I grasped the magnitude on which I was affected at the time, but I knew. I knew that Mary was back in Heaven with God and that like Jesus Christ I would be resurrected, Mary would be resurrected, we would all be resurrected, and I could and would be with all of my loved ones again. Since then every time I sing that line... that same witness comes. It is real. It is true.

I don't really remember grave side, but I was there. I'm the little girl in the light purple coat and the white stocking hat. I do, however, remember the gravestone eventually placed. It has a little lamb on it. Growing up it was always one of the sites we visited on Memorial Day.

Graveside

 

Mary's resting place

Her death continued to affect me through out my life. In 5th grade, I'm not even sure how, but her death was on my mind. It was feeling hard. I was sad. One of the 5th grade teachers, Mr. Webster, noticed. The teachers had a walk in closet in their rooms, and he also had a sister named Sally that played guitar, wrote music, and sang. He sent me into the closet with one of Sally's songs and some paper to draw and be by myself for a little while. I don't remember much about the song or the picture... I wish I still had the picture. I have no idea what happened to it. The part I do remember was crying and drawing Mary as an angel in Heaven watching over me. I am so grateful for this teacher who was so aware of my needs. I think that is when I truly started processing and letting go ALL of my emotions surrounding her death.

As I continued into teenage life, my Aunt RaNae was an important part of it. She was a leader over the young women at church and was kind of a second mom at times. As I heard her share her stories surrounding Mary and her death... the good and the hard, it helped to fortify and to solidify my own faith. This horrible tragic loss of a innocent baby became one of the pillars of my faith.

It's still hard. Mary would be 28 now. She's still missed. She will always be missed until the reunion. But I'm grateful for Aunt RaNae and Uncle Jim who were willing to bring her into this world anyway. I'm grateful for Mary choosing to come to earth for just a short time to such an imperfect body that couldn't stay. What a huge hard sacrifice for all. But in their willingness to sacrifice so much, my heart was changed and forever altered for the better.  I wouldn't be all of who I am without the experience that Mary brought to our family. So thank you Jim and RaNae. And thank you Mary. You truly have been my little angel watching over me all these years. One of these days, I'll tell you in person. Until then... know that you are loved.

Loss (A mini series) Part 1

I have experienced very few physical, mortal losses in my life. I have never had a miscarriage. I have never had a stillbirth, or lost a child. I have never lost a parent, and all but one of my grandparents are still living. There have been deaths in my extended family, but I don't live close to them. So though, I was sad and heartbroken, it probably didn't feel as raw as it probably should have because I wasn't in the midst of it.

So you're probably wondering why I would write about loss. From the outside, it sure appears that I don't really know much about it, but looks can be deceiving. We all experience heart wrenching, aching, hole in our soul making loss. It's so real; it's almost tangible. It comes in forms common to every human, and yet, it also comes in forms completely unique to an individual. We all experience loss, so let's talk about it. Let's find relief in knowing we are not alone, even when we feel lost in loss.

As I was thinking about doing this, I was going to start my mini series with my earliest memory of loss... true loss. Not just my favorite stuffed animal's disappearance. (Though as a kid that kind of loss can be just as real, so don't brush it off or down play it. Validate the feeling.) It was something that I knew I wanted to get to, but because of events of the day, I'm going to start with where I am at now. Here's me being raw and real in the moment.

Her name is Annalynn Catherine. Aly Rin for short. Originally, we thought about calling our daughter Elizabeth. But as time went on, we decided to give her two family names (all of our boys have family names for their middle name). Annalynn is the combination of the two grandmothers'. My mother-in-law's name is Ann, and my mom's middle name is Lynn. Catherine is her great grandmother. Grandma Cathy as my husband new her, passed away when he was only 5. Though I have never met her, I have always felt a really strong connection to her. I just new she was in heaven watching over our boys and little girl until they could come be in our family.

You're probably thinking... Now wait a minute... HOLD up. I thought you said you have never had a miscarriage or lost a child... It's true. I haven't. So tell me then why my heartbreaks for a child I have never had? I never knew you could experience loss so deeply for someone that hasn't even been conceived, especially when I have not dealt with infertility by any means.

I have 5 amazing, beautiful, wonderful little boys that light up my life. I wouldn't trade the world for them, and yet, I would give up the world for them. Each and everyone is meant to be part of my family. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind. But each time we got pregnant, I thought maybe it would be my little Aly. And though I always knew that each baby boy was meant for us... I feel like a selfish jerk saying this out loud, but I always felt a little disappointed it wasn't a girl. Each time, I would tell myself... well, maybe next time. But here's another truth... we won't be having anymore biological children (unless there is some major divine intervention because it shouldn't be possible anymore.) It would not be healthy for me (and hence, my family) physically, emotionally, mentally... you name it, to have another baby. So now... there is no maybe next time. At this point in time, financially adoption isn't an option either... though I've thought about it... lots.

I even had a dream after I knew my last baby was another boy and few months before he came. I was at the hospital, I delivered a beautiful healthy boy. Then the doctor says, wait! There's another baby. As he delivers the baby, he announces that the baby is a girl! I am so excited, but then we realize she is a stillbirth. Even in my dreams I wasn't allowed to keep her. I have only told a very few people about this because it was so vivid, and I woke up with the weight of the dream on my heart. It was too personal and too raw to share, but I'm sharing it with you. It was horrible.

 

My sister has one little girl and 4 boys. One of my sister-in-laws has one of each. And I'll be honest, I'm always a little jealous. In my house, we have a square kitchen table that seats 8. There are 7 of us, so with the empty chair my boys will say from time to time that we need one more baby... That they need a sister to sit there. It's like a little knife wound to my heart each time. Even walking past the cute little baby girl clothes can be hard.

I am even beginning to dread the questions, are you going to have more kids, and are you going to try again for a girl? Seriously, don't ask about family status of any kind unless you're the person's bff, and even then proceed with caution. A second piece of advice, don't try to reassure by saying, well at least... fill in the blank. Because I am also really tired of people telling me, well at least you'll get 5 wonderful daughter-in-laws, and you won't have to deal with teenage girls.  Look, I get it. I know no one is intentionally trying to be rude. They are trying to soften the blow and find the positive in the situation. I'm not trying to be offended... and I'm actually not. I appreciate the gesture. But here's the thing... It still stings. IT. IS. NOT. THE. SAME! Even with a really good mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship (which I have with mine... LOVE her!), it is not the same as a mother/daughter relationship. It. just. isn't.  

So today one of my other sisters went in for a gender ultrasound for her first baby. She called to tell me the happy news! A beautiful, healthy little girl. I am genuinely so happy for her and her husband. Having a baby is such a miracle. But as I said good bye and hung up the phone with her, I broke down. Luckily, it wasn't too long after that my husband walked in from work because I needed him to hold me. Not only have the tears flowed off and on this evening, but the chatter in my head has begun again.

I know the chatter isn't truth. Isn't reality. But it comes so easily once it starts. The jealous thoughts of why couldn't I have a girl, and why does she get to be lucky enough to get a girl. The unworthy thoughts of God didn't think I was worthy of one His daughters, that He must not trust me enough, that I wouldn't be a good mom to girl because I wouldn't be strong enough (because He only gives us what we are strong enough to handle, right?). The pleading with God thoughts to understand because I was sure eventually she would come. And she hasn't.

Here's the truth. The real truth. My heart yearns for this little girl. There is a hole where she should be. For whatever the reason, she isn't a part of my story on earth right now. And it's not because of my worthiness, my skills as a mother, any unluckiness, or any other darkness that my mind tries to overshadow me with. The reality is... it is all in God's hands. I find hope in that. I find glimmers of peace in that. Which I desperately need. Because the reality is also, that it hurts. Some days, it's just an ache. Other days like today, it hurts so bad.

I'm hoping that maybe someday something will change. Maybe eventually another mother will bring her into the world, and I will bring her home and love her as if she were my own because she will be. She will be the missing piece to my heart that I lost before it was ever found. She will be my Aly Rin.

An Important Part, but Not ALL

If from the last post, you assume I don't find motherhood fulfilling, I want to clarify. Being a stay-at-home mom was what I always wanted to do, even when people told me I was wasting my degree and my abilities. Being a stay-at-home mom is still my ultimate goal in life. But my perspective has changed. It is an important part (and the main part) of what I want to do with my life, but it isn't ALL of whom I am, who I want to be, or what I want to do.

Motherhood is magical, wonderful, awe-inspiring, miraculous, amazing, fulfilling, and all those other positive associated emotions. But motherhood is also tiring, boring, tedious, monotonous, disgusting and smelly (Oh children and their bodily functions...), lonely, and all those other negative associated emotions. Motherhood like any human experience or any job can range in a whole spectrum of feelings and emotions. My fellow CEO and I don't always see eye to eye. My little co-workers can cause drama. Sometimes my lunch mysteriously disappears from the break room... even as I'm eating it. Some times though, things click, and a project goes really well and on time and on budget. Overall we are a successful little business, but we're a start up. We're still figuring things out. We're not perfect. And in those moments it's easy to get lost in the day to day and not see annual returns starting to create a profit.

I also used to think that being a wife and mother had to be my only venture. I was supposed to give it my all (and I still think I should), but that if I desired more than that, it was selfish of me.

For example, when I first got married, I taught school. My husband was still in school. He worked part time, but I was the major breadwinner in our family. When I chose to stay home, it was an adjustment. I was no longer financially making a contribution to our family. I struggled with that and continue to struggle with that.

I want to help create financial security and abundance for my family. But I feel like that through our culture, my culture, I've been subtly taught that I'm selling myself short for wanting to be a mom, and that if I do become a mom, being at home with the kids should be enough. I shouldn't work. I shouldn't make money. I shouldn't want to do those things. And then I feel guilty. Why, because I am a woman, have I been made to feel guilty about earning an income? It is still possible to be an active, involved parent and work... my husband does it. In fact, he needs that part of his life. We've discussed people we know who have "retired" their husbands. That's awesome for them, but it's not what we would choose to do in that situation because he needs the work outside of the home to help meet some of his needs. Yet no one blinks an eye when he is providing for his family and finding validation in the work he does outside of our home and outside of his role as a father.  But why do women get looked down upon when they search out ways outside of the home to meet some of their other needs?

Do I think there are benefits to my staying home? Absolutely. Do I want to work outside of the home full time? Not really. I do help teach preschool twice a week in the morning, and that's plenty for me. Do I want to create other opportunities to use my talents and earn an income? Yes. But that does not mean that I have to put my motherhood in jeopardy to do so. Will sacrifices occasionally have to be made? Of course, but that's life. Finding balance is a continual act that shifts and changes with the tides and the seasons of life. I don't expect to "have it all", especially not all of the time. But why does it have to be all or nothing?

  

I am learning that it is perfectly fine to want to be a successful mother AND a successful person. And I have some great examples of mothers doing just that. A sister who is successfully nurturing her blog into a profitable business. Friends who balance mommy-dom with side businesses of photography, Etsy shops, essential oils, health businesses, and more. And there are others who work full time, some from need and some from choice, and they are good mothers too... Sometimes accomplishing more in their shortened time with their children than I do in my full day with mine. Do any of them do it all perfectly? No, but I don't either. No one does... male or female.

I am grateful I have the privilege of being a stay-at-home mom. It isn't possible for everyone. My family is truly my world. BUT I'm also grateful that I am beginning to understand that I shouldn't have to feel guilty about wanting to expand my world. As I expand, grow, and beautify my world, if God and my family are at the center, then my family benefits too. So tell me again how that is a bad thing?

Advocacy

My oldest spent the day yesterday being sick to his stomach and sleeping, so I stayed home from church with him and thought I would put my time to good use while it was quiet.

I am the oldest of six kids. You know all those stereotypes about the oldest child...? They are totally false. OK, I'm lying. They are actually quite accurate for me... I'm sure my siblings would agree.

I have always been very independent and responsible. I often helped with my younger siblings. My parents bought a house that had to be completely gutted and remodeled. So when my parents went to work on the house in the evenings and on weekends. I stayed home and watched siblings most of the time. When my youngest sister was born, I was 15. I mothered her enough that the poor kid called both me and my mom mom for a while. And I remember one at least one occasion, talking loudly about going to find mom because of the dirty looks I got from people thinking I was a teenage mother. I often babysat for other people to earn money. I was good at it. I prided myself on being able to make even the grumpiest kid into my friend eventually.

I grew up wanting to be a mom. I sure thought that with my experiences, motherhood was going to be so easy... but that's for another post. I grew up wanting to be a teacher. I went to college knowing that I was going to get my education degree. I was a Resident Assistant in college. I got help new freshman while helping myself at the same time. It was great. A lot of my choices in life have been centered around helping other people. Not to say that I am never selfish, but reaching out to others has been an intrinsic part of me.

I graduated in elementary education and taught school for two years until I had my oldest son and choose to be a stay-at-home mom. Over the next 8 years, I had 4 more little boys to reach out to and to care for. Along the way we also began to find out and realize my oldest son has special needs. For the most part, nothing in the special needs world comes easily.

Over the course of these 8 years, I was doing what I thought I always wanted to do... be a mom and raise my family. But I had lost myself. I had lost myself to depression and anxiety (pregnancy and postpartum hormones compound the problem 10 fold.) I had become mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted with life with 5 small little boys. I had become mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted trying to figure out all the details of my oldest son's needs and how to meet those. It was overwhelming. I could find happiness and even joy at times, but it was fleeting. I was like a young child trying to catch a butterfly, so close, yet so far. I was lacking focus and purpose.

Though my life hasn't changed in huge ways. I'm noticing a shift occurring. I'm not sure exactly when it began, but I know God has slowly been setting things into place and changing me, to get me to this point where I'm seeing the shift, and I'm ready to change with it.

Over the course of the last couple of years, I've started to learn to be more comfortable with my reality. To learn that I don't need to hide the hard parts of my life. And as I've been more honest and more open, it's given others permission to do the same. I've been able to help some of my siblings, a friend of a friend, a dear close friend, an old college friend, and maybe others with finding help with their anxiety and depression. I've been able to offer advice and experience when it comes to meeting the special needs of a child. I've started trying to expand my vision of how I can be helpful and useful. This blog is the result of that. I've also decided to take a leap of faith and try something else new, but you'll hear more about that later.

I'm still a stay-at-home mom with small children. I am still a perfectionist struggling with anxiety and depression. I am still just me. It's still overwhelming. The doubts, fears, and insecurities still plague me, but I'm ready. I'm ready to set them to the side and step out into the unknown. Not because I am brave and my fears are disappearing, but in spite of them. I'm ready to move forward. Because the vision of who I am supposed to be is coming into focus. From the beginning, God has been laying the pieces of me and of my life into place... Here a little. There a little. I am finding my purpose in the life I have and in the life I want to create. I am meant to be honest and real and to help people to the best of my abilities. And hopefully, with God's help, to help others beyond my own capabilities.

I am meant to help my children. I am meant to help my family and other families wade through the hard parts of special needs. I am meant to help open up the difficult discussions of mental health and our imperfections in this life. I meant to be me. ALL of me. And I am meant to help others on their journey as I continue to wade through mine. I am meant to have a purpose and to fulfill it. I am meant to be an advocate.

Duplicity

I believe there is both nature and nurture at play in our lives. I have found that some things just come pre-hardwired.

Growing up, we lived two blocks from the elementary school. When it came time to
enroll in Kindergarten, I walked with my mom over to the school to do a Kindergarten assessment test. I remember going into the classroom while my mom waited in the hall. There were other kids in the room, and we moved around doing different tasks. I don't remember too many specifics, except that they asked me if I knew where paper came from. I didn't answer the question or said I didn't know.

When I went back out to my mom and started walking home, she began asking about how it went. And I told her I missed a question. I didn't know where paper came from. Her response was, "Yes, you do. Lachelle, where does paper come from?" Looking up at her, I respond, "trees?" "See you knew it!"

Later that year, I remember coming into the house crying... bawling. Of course my mom was concerned and wanted to know what was wrong. "I failed. I failed." I wailed. I had messed up on a paper that involved alphabetizing. Some how I had gotten all mixed up. I remember my mom calming me, and we sat on her bed in her room. The image of being snuggled up next to her while she lovingly went through the paper, helping me correct it and showing me that I could indeed do what was asked of me will forever be a marker in my memory.

Hi, my name is Lachelle, and I'm a perfectionist. I've been one from the start. It's standard in the package that I came with. Perfectionism is a hard task master. Irrational. Relentless. And completely unattainable.

But here's the thing... Every coin has two sides. Perfectionism is one of my biggest weaknesses. Always has been, and probably always will be (even though I'm turtle crawling my way forward out of the negative "side effects"). But perfectionism has positive "side effects" too. I want to do my best. I want to be my best self. And I can be quite stubborn and determined about it. I know how to work hard. It helps balance my ADD.

That same Kindergarten year, it was announced that we would be building a new elementary school. And with the new school, the school wanted to create a time capsule to bury for future generations. A contest was held. All the grades participated in some form or another. As Kindergarteners, we drew pictures. I drew the school (fire escape included). I remember them being so impressed by that... I was choosen out of all Kindergarteners to have my picture placed in the time capsule. I still even have the board book, Sleepy Squirrel, I recieved as a prize! Those very same qualities that pushed me to feeling inferior also pushed me to be successful, even as a Kindergartener. Those qualities of perfectionism continue to do that. 

I was always taught that our weaknesses could become our strengths, through God and hard work. And I thought that to make something become one of my strengths, I would have to rid myself of all of the weakness in it. It was all or nothing. But that isn't truth. I NEED both. As I embrace both sides... the light and the dark, the postive and the negative, the ying and the yang... I begin to find balance. I begin to see. I begin to understand. And then I begin to be able to make choices that allow me to be pushed to success and to push back at the feelings of inferiorty. Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? The tears, the self-doubt, the negative...? Yes, if that means I can become a stronger me in the end. My greatest weaknesses are my greatest strengths. But I have to choose to see. I have to choose to act. I have to choose.

Tangent

So I have the next post in my head... It's coming. I promise. It even has a name... Duplicity. BUT for the moment I wanted to write a little short post and go off on a little tangent for a minute. And here's why... Because I think it's an important part of understanding me, my story, and my storytelling.

My oldest son has special needs, part of which includes ADHD. As I learn about him, I learn about myself. I've come to realize that I'm probably a little ADHD myself (the AD part not the HD part... He's both parts.) Yes, I know. I'm self-diagnosing. Yes, I know. Internet quizzes are not a doctor. But in my defense, one of his therapists agrees with me!

I believe that some of my anxiety issues stem from this. Though I've always just coped with it and will probably never go to get officially diagnosed, it's part of me. It affects me. I lack filters. I'm not referring to my words, though it can occasionally (and perhaps more often than I like to admit) apply there too.  I lack sensory filters... I often feel like my brain is trying to take in and process too much at once. So then it's either distracted, overwhelmed, or trying to zone out.

My thoughts are just as active as my senses. I can't tell you how many blog posts I have composed in my head over the last two or so years. I'm easily distracted and so easily overwhelmed by all of my thoughts, that I just don't even know where to begin. So when it comes to this blog, I want you to know I've got ideas. I've got things I want to share. But finding time to sort it, process it, make a decision, and write it, all while not being distracted by life around me, can be tricky (especially with so many littles). And truth be told, my family comes first. SO please be patient with me as I try to figure all of this out, and keep coming back to share in my story.

Hindsight is 20/20

Looking back, I know I've struggled with anxiety and depression through out my life. But it took a while for my mind to understand something that my heart and soul already knew.

Growing up, I knew I possess a sensitive heart. But my mom cried during Hallmark commercials. I have a temper (which I'm still working on). But I had inherited my dad's redhead genes. I am perfectionist. But that's just the way I was made. There was always some reason. Some explainable justification for why I felt the way I did.

I thought everyone felt the way I did. Because think about it... How are young/teenage girls often described/categorized as a whole? Do words like... drama queen, emotional, hormonal, PMS (because that explains ALL emotions with negative connotations in women), sensitive... etc. come to mind? I believed it was normal to cry myself to sleep at night on a somewhat regular basis. Somehow I believed it was my fault I felt so alone... that somehow I wasn't good enough. That I was just different. That I just didn't fit in. That that was just my reality. And try as I might to change my external circumstances, my feelings never really did change. I didn't realize that maybe, just maybe, I was struggling with something outside of my control.

Life proceeded on much the same way through college. I eventually found someone how loved me for me, and things were really good. Then I got pregnant. Pregnancy was hard. Hormones do truly have a integral role in my depression and anxiety. But everything was going to be fine once the baby came. He came, but it wasn't fine. I just thought I had the baby blues. And he was a really hard baby. He probably cried close to 8 to 12 hours a day every day for the first 6 months of his life before it started to slowly improve. Once again there was always an explainable justification. I didn't want to harm myself or my baby... so surely I wasn't really depressed.

Things improved. But a month after he turned two, he had a baby brother. Soon thereafter we also realized, our oldest had some special needs and needed help. I was back to hard. But it's just life. Life is just hard.

One night I was in bed reading from the Ensign, a magazine our church publishes monthly. There was an article on postpartum depression. You can read it here. All of the sudden, my mind finally saw the puzzle pieces fall into place and understood that I was struggling with depression. It wasn't just me. I wasn't making this up. The struggle was real, and even if it isn't uncommon, it isn't normal either.

This was my 'ah ha' moment. My awakening. It didn't fix everything. But with that light, I began to find understanding. And with that understanding, I began to find direction. This was a pivotal turning point. Instead of trying to hide or turn a blind eye to my struggles, I began to turn to meet them head on.

Tears

I cry. A. LOT. Ask my husband, he won't disagree.

Tears are a form of communication for me. When my heart and soul feel more emotion than my physical body can handle, those emotions escape in the form of tears. Some times the tears drip over the edge of a too full bucket. Some times the tears come in a torrent like a sudden afternoon shower that lasts for only a few moments. Some times the tears come like a river breaking a dam and flooding, damaging, cleansing, healing, hardly ceasing. Needing time to recover from them.

 

 

They come because of pain. sorrow. heartbreak. They come because of joy. happiness. laughter. They come because of shame. guilt. broken-ness. They come because of repentance. forgiveness. They come because of frustration. anger. They come because of love. God's love. They come because of loneliness. darkness. anxiety. depression. They come because of friendship. acceptance. They come because my heart and soul know and understand something that my mind doesn't comprehend. They come because I am human. They come because I am me.

 

Even when life is unpredictable, unsure, and a roller coaster of ups and downs, I can find comfort in my tears because eventually, they always come.

In the Making

So I've had this blog in the back of my mind for quite a while. I have even had it set up for probably close to two years. But I haven't done anything with it until now. It's been too overwhelming. I haven't known where to start. My story has so many pieces already... But I'm starting. Right here. Right now. I hope this a place for people to find some peace and solace in knowing they are not the only one who struggles, who isn't perfect, who needs others. Please come share the pieces of my story. Of my journey. And may we find beauty and light in the world together.