Move. Now.

I've been thinking lately about how my life seems to not have a direction. Well, I've actually been crying about it lately... feeling hopeless, worthless, lost, confused, angry.

Then one morning while driving to work, on my way to do a job that inspires no other description except "blah", I was listening to the Elevation Worship album, "Here As In Heaven", and all of a sudden I remember Details of a Love.

I remembered that God has given me such a passion for writing. I remembered that he has given me such courage to share my story and expose my vulnerability. I remembered that this is the one place where I can actually do something that would give me purpose.

I heard it so clearly while Steven Furtick shouted over the music, "MOVE. NOW."....

You need to write.

Last weekend I had a meltdown in front of my mom. "I'm 34 years old and I have nothing to show for it except a multitude of mistakes."

It's not completely untrue. I do have a menagerie of mistakes following me and the choices I've made in life, but when I look beyond the mistakes, I see so many blessings that kept me in the grace of God while I was being human and screwing up.

I want to share my experiences with you, the insecurity, the domestic violence, the battle with my health, the shame, but also the hope I have, the perseverance, the love I see every day, the blessings.

My life is good.  It's really good.  But, that's because I make it that way.  I perceive it that way.  And mostly, because I give God the reigns.

I hope that you will find comfort knowing you aren't the only one going through crap in life.  That you have people that understand and will support you.  I'm always open to chatting.  And it can never hurt to build your army of prayers, either.

Surrendering to the Free Fall of Change

drawing by me, 2015 sketchbook project

There's always these moments in time when everything changes.  It's terrifying, exciting, overwhelming, exhilarating... and almost always painful.  Sometimes it seems that every possible change that could possibly happen waits until the same exact moment to reach it's precipice... and instead of just stepping onto a new path, you feel like you've just jumped off of a cliff in a free fall, not knowing if or where you'll land, feeling your stomach rise to your heart and your heart rise to your throat... but then... just when you think the fear might kill you, something lifts... you relax a little and realize the feeling of falling isn't so bad.  You embrace the rush of the unknown racing towards you and you just let go of whatever false control you were holding on to.  Instead of falling, you're floating.  Instead of focusing on the possibly catastrophic ending to your fall, you change your perception.  In that exact moment, you connect to the idea that you are completely un-tethered. Instead of seeing that your disconnect from stability will eventually end in a sudden and abrupt meeting with a solid force, you look at that one second... and in that one second, you are simply unattached.  You are free.

But, you have to surrender.

That's where I am now.  Things happen.  I can, perhaps, influence these situations slightly, but not much.  So, I'm doing my part, and otherwise, just enjoying the ride.

This beautiful life we've been given to live, love and experience... it needs a deliberate person to really, fully, venerate it.  No more apathetic living.  No more squandering my moments on thinking "what if" or regretting.

I will be mindful and present... open to pain and joy alike... vulnerable and strong... free, but always moving with a purpose... balanced.

Until We Can Hold You In Heaven...

I had written yesterday that I wanted to start a tradition of writing to our baby every year on October 15th. 

Unbeknown to me, Tom had already done so.  He gave this to me last night when I got home from work.  Framed.  I read it and cried.  It took me a while to read it because I couldn't see through the flood of tears welling up in my eyes.  All I could say was, "thank you", and bury my face in his shoulder. 

Finally, after almost 6 years, we're beginning to grieve together, differently, but together.  I am so incredibly grateful.  This will be hanging on the wall next to my vanity in our bedroom.  I'll see it every morning as I begin my days and every evening as I prepare for sleep.

Thank you, honey, for such a beautiful gift.

National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Rembrance Day

I'm sure that most of you do not know that today is National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day.  In 1988, President Ronald Reagan named October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month saying, "When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan.  When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower.  When parents lose their child, there is no word to describe them." It seems insignificant to people that have never experienced it.  I don't expect anyone to drop what they're doing to recognize this.

I'll tell you what it means to me, though.

It means I'm not alone.  It means I'm not the only person that feels this pain and has a hard time getting past it.  It means I'm not weird or abnormal.  It means that what I'm feeling is okay, it's allowed.  Also, it means today I'm allowed to be sad and I don't have to hide it. This really should be the case every day, but I'm letting myself be free today and feel these things openly. 

I know that the pain of a lost pregnancy isn't as well understood by people who have not endured it.  It isn't tangible.  We never held our baby, never saw it's face, never touched them, but the grieving is just as real.  The reality is that we have lost a child, too.  Nothing changes that.

I think that now, since I'm beginning this grieving process after so long, it's time to start a tradition for every year on October 15th.  I'm not sure what Tom and I will do, but here are some ideas I've seen and come up with myself.

• Buy something special in memory of our baby
• Charm Bracelet - add a new charm each year
• Write a letter or poem for our baby
• Create a piece of art each year - pouring all of the emotions of the loss into it
• Dinner out, taking time to talk about how the feelings have changed over the past year

If you've lost an infant, child or pregnancy, I encourage you to start a tradition, too.  These precious little lives should be honored, however short they were. 

Self-Deprecation & Finding My Worth

I've spent the better part of the last 6 years vacillating between considering trying for a baby again and not trying again.  There is so much fear.  Fear of losing another baby.  Fear that it might break me completely if we lose it again.  Fear that I will die. 

The fear, though, seems secondary to everything else I've been thinking and feeling.

• What if I can't conceive because God knows I would be a bad mother?
• What if I can't conceive because I did something wrong and God is punishing me?
• What if I take fertility drugs and it ends up killing me like it almost did last time?
• Maybe I'm just not meant to be a mother.
• Maybe I'm not good enough.
• I don't want to do this if it means forcing the hand of God and taking matters into my own hands. (in vitro, fertility drugs, surrogacy, adoption)
• What if my hormonal/emotional issues will stop me from being a good parent?
• What if my husband really doesn't want more children and ends up resenting me if we do have one?

I've tied my inability to conceive to who I believe I am as a person. 

I have become the master of self-deprecation.

There are so many days when my mind is overwhelmed with the thought "I am nothing."  It consumes me.  A lot of people say "there's a voice that tells me I'm not worth anything."  For me, it's not some disconnected voice, I know it's me saying it.  The past 6 years have molded this image of worthlessness inside of me.  I never recognized it, though, until my therapist read my blog biography for Eat.Sleep.Make. 

My first assignment was to rewrite it.  I couldn't do it.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't write something that didn't humiliate me in some way.  It was absolutely impossible for me to be proud of myself for any aspect of my life.  As far as I was (and mostly still am) concerned, I had(have) nothing to contribute to the world.  (Even now it's still hard for me to believe that people actually voluntarily read these blog posts.)

It's a terrible thing... living each day in such a haze of deception and depression.  I know what the Bible says.  I know I am intelligent.  I know I am talented.  I know I am beautiful.

But, I don't know that any of that is worth anything if I'm not a mother.  The things I do, the things I know, the things I create will leave no lasting impression on this planet when I am gone.  These things will have no affect on my life after death.  The only thing I can find that kind of meaning in is raising children to be world changers, too.  I'm not destined for greatness as far as business or being an evangelist is concerned.  Being a mother was the greatness I wanted. 

I observe my brothers and their wives with their children.  My nieces and nephews running to their parents when something happens... they're hurt, they're hungry, they're tired, they're scared. They find everything they need in their parents... love, affection, protection, guidance... It is such an amazing and beautiful thing.  To see how all the effort they've planted and fostered has begun growing into tiny adults who can make their own choices and so eagerly learn new things... it's an absolute miracle.  To know that your body contributed to the creation of this amazing being who never ceases to astonish you, it must be incredible.  God chose you for a miracle.

For some reason, though, I have not been chosen for such.

To be honest with you, it's a lot of the reason why I started writing this blog.  If I can't make an impact on this world by raising a child, then I will make an impact by sharing about it.  Exposing the pain, the depression, the surrender, the hope, the battle...

I am aware that right now a lot of these posts are dark and sad, but the only way of expelling the darkness is to expose it.  I have to share this all before moving forward.  I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.  I know I will not be stuck in this rut forever.  I know my God has not forsaken me. 

However, I am human.  I am not completely immune to the things that happen as a result of being part of this world.  So, I'm working through it.  I'm just choosing to do it in front of all of you. 

I know this is helping others because some have reached out to me already, but it is also helping me.  SO MUCH.  It's helping me to be honest with myself.  It's helping to hold me accountable to this healing process I've committed myself to.  It's helping bridge the gap between me and my family because they know what I'm going through now.  Most of all, it's giving me hope because now I see so many others that have been where I am and have come through it successfully and joyfully. 

I know I'll find my worth again.

Anxiety, PMDD & The Relentless Love of My God

This post talks about some heavy, negative emotions I deal with, so at the end I've added a video of a song that lifts all the heaviness.  Watch it.  It's worth the couple minutes it takes up.

 

I have to say that the most terrifying thing I withstand is anxiety. The source of anxiety for every person is different. For me, it's a physical imbalance. I was diagnosed 4 years ago with PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder). Essentially, PMS x 1,000,000. It causes such an extreme fluctuation in my hormones that I become either petrifyingly depressed or hysterically anxious. Fortunately for me, there is medication that offers relief and keeps my hormones balanced when my body can't regulate on its own.  Some are ashamed of needing medication, but I’m not.  I believe God gave the doctors knowledge to help us.  It doesn’t mean I am not putting my trust in Him when I turn to doctors.  I’m just not stubborn, and I want to live my life to the fullest and be productive and happy… not live in sadness and fear.

 

There are times, though, that the medication just isn't sufficient.

 

A few nights ago I was feeling particularly on edge.  There was tension at work that I just couldn't seem to shake. Knowing I was already anxious, I came home, drew a hot bubble bath, turned on my favorite meditation app, and for 45 minutes did nothing but relax.  I focused on my breath, connecting each intake with the movements of my body, relaxing my jaw, putting zero effort into what my body needed.  I actively forced the tension out of myself.

 

Feeling sleepy, I nestled into my favorite robe and initiated my evening skincare routine (which usually takes about 20 minutes) when all of a sudden, I felt like a train full of hot water crashed into my chest.  A warm feeling saturated my heart and chest, I was dizzy, my hands went numb and I couldn't breathe.  I ran downstairs to find Tom and told him I was having an anxiety attack.  I burst into tears and sat on the steps sobbing for 10 minutes.

I’m going to interject here into my own story and tell you what I feel when anxiety hits me.  I stand, overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and fear, blackness covers me, it’s so heavy. I can feel it on my chest, pressing the life out of my lungs and crushing my heart.  I have to go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from it, but it’s everywhere. So I cry.  I don’t know why I cry, but it’s hysterical, uncontrollable.  I feel like if I say I don’t know what to do that someone will give me an answer, so I say it over and over between sobs.  I’m always afraid that it won’t pass and I’ll be hysterical/crazy forever and have to be committed.  I feel abandoned by God. 

 

Then I know it’s something I can beat, because I know that feeling of abandonment goes against everything I know to be true. 

 

I made my way to the bedroom, frantic.  I couldn't sit still, I couldn't stop crying, I kept saying "I'm so scared, I don't know what to do!"  I felt like I had cracked and I would never be fixed again.  I could see the fear and panic in Tom's eyes which made me more frenzied.  Finally, Tom suggested reading the Bible to me.  I immediately said yes and laid down with my head on his lap, still sobbing, as he began to read.  I don't know where he was reading from, although, I could find it if I looked it up.  I remember the story of the woman with the issue of blood, and the story of the old man beside the Pool of Bethesda.

Then the next thing I knew... it was morning.  Tom told me he read until I snored (which I never do, but it was most likely from crying and being swollen... just had to clarify! ;)

That day I read a devotional from Joyce Meyer... and coincidentally, it was about the old man beside the Pool of Bethesda.

"Okay, God. I'm listening."  Obviously, someone was trying to tell me something.

 

I haven't let go of my maladies.  I've been holding onto them... for absolutely no justifiable reason. I've been letting the fear of my sicknesses control me, dictate my every day, consume my spirit.

 

It's time for me to stop making excuses. It's time for me to let go.  Maybe they'll hang onto me for a little longer, but that bond will eventually fail and there will be nothing connecting these things to me.  My ailments do not define me. They are not who I am.

 

Who I am is a child of God.  Perfect. Whole. Favored.

I am incessantly grateful that my God loves me so relentlessly.  I'm a part of this deficient world, but He's offered me absolution from all the garbage that comes along with it.  All I have to do is ask... and then praise Him.  Something I do so eagerly.  What a small sacrifice to make for everything He does for me...

The Leap Towards Transparency

I’m not really sure how to start this.  It’s been a while since I’ve shared here, cutting myself open and revealing the most intimate details of what makes me who I am.  It’s been on my heart, though… sharing.  Someone I trust and confide in unknowingly confirmed that this is what I should be doing.  So here I am. 

What good are the struggles we survive and challenges we overcome if no one ever sees the glory in our victories?  How can we embolden others when they don’t know what we’ve endured to get where we are?  Portraying perfection in yourself only causes others to feel inadequate.  Believe me, I know.  

I’m consistent in the habit of comparing myself to people around me.  However, my insecurities do not lie in my appearance, but in the fundamental fabric that defines me as a person... my feelings of inadequacy, unworthiness, uselessness... They are so much deeper than satiating a diffidence of my physical aesthetics that sometimes it causes palpable pain to unearth these timidities and face them head on.  Most times, I choose to concede to them, feeling the pain bluntly beating inside me, but deep enough that I can pretend they don’t exist.  Until one day, the pressure becomes too great, the delicate barrier that detains it begins to wane, and all those trifling, seemingly insignificant insecurities become mountains that I cannot get over.

The only way to prevent this from happening is the gradual release of pressure so it never reaches a terminal force.  How does one do this?  Sharing.  Talking. Trusting. Confiding. 

One more thing that I think is absolutely necessary in this healing process is transparency.  (This, will most definitely be a challenge for me.)

I’m going to put things out here that I don’t even like acknowledging myself. 

But, I’m tired of doing this alone, feeling like no one else knows what I’m going through.

I know I am not the only person that has lost a child (albeit mine was in utero).

I know I’m not the only person who has had to grieve with no support, feeling that when people say, “Oh, you’ll be okay, you’ll get through it” was more of a dagger through my heart than someone acknowledging the loss. 

I know I am not the only person to suffer depression so quietly that people are shocked when they find out you aren’t sitting on rainbows and riding unicorns everyday of your life.

I know I’m not the only person to feel betrayed by the people closest to them because in their own grieving, they retreated and left you alone.

So, I will share.. Not to edify, but to encourage.  I don’t have a magic potion that makes grief disappear.  There are no essential oils to melt away feelings of worthlessness.  I've found no mantras to instantly calm anxiety.  I don’t know how to unbreak myself or anyone else.  But, I do know that knowing I’m not the only one will give me strength to keep searching for answers and keep persevering toward joy, forgiveness and wholeness.

October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  I’m thinking it’s a good time for me to start thinking, talking, remembering this traumatizing event in my life and finally, after 5 years of suffering, begin to heal. 

Did you know?

• One in four pregnancies ends in the loss of a baby
• The loss of a child is recognized as the most intense cause of grief
• Parents never “get over” the loss of a child – no matter the age or stage
• Parents experiencing grief without supportive care can have debilitating consequences such as PTSD, depression and anxiety and could further result in job loss, divorce, difficulties in daily living, or impediments with parenting of living children.