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.