i just got home from picking up food from the kids school. the counselor's office sent home paperwork a few weeks back asking if we needed help for the holidays. i didn't opt into the gift of food for thanksgiving because we didn't really need it. i knew i'd be with my family this past weekend and the kids will be with their dad and his family on thursday. i didn't want to take from others who may need it more than we do. i did opt into the christmas help and am overwhelmed that the school will provide a gift for my children. it's hard sitting here. honestly? it's a giant affront to my pride. it's hard to be in need, and i struggle with where the line is. we have food in the fridge. i have a place to live right now. i am lower than i've ever been, but we're not hungry- so... when is it ok to say 'yes, in fact, we could use some help?' i'm trying to use wisdom and honesty and allow God to fill in the cracks.
there had been a clerical error and a box had been prepared for my family. i got the call today to come and get it, and they were gracious and kind and i didn't feel overly embarrassed.
why is it hard for us to accept help? why is it hard for ME to accept help? a friend emailed recently to ask if she could send a little money to help with christmas. my pride wanted to say 'oh, thank you so much, but we don't need it. we are just fine without any help'. but my mother's heart that wants to be able to give to my children on christmas humbly said 'yes, and thank you ever so much for thinking of us'. we did do operation shoebox this year, one box for a girl, and one for a boy. i want so badly to be able to give, to help, to not be a drain on others... and that was one way i felt that as a family we could make christmastime about something other than what we might receive. it was fun, and my kids enjoyed packing the boxes for children who will get nothing more than what we picked out for them.
but the reality is that we are in a hard season. it's hard for me to admit that a year later we are still in a hard season. it's hard to admit that i can't really do it all alone, and that the help that is given is such a relief and so impactful in our everyday lives. it's hard to go to the school in my north face jacket (that i bought 2 years ago for 30 dollars from a friend) and wonder if there is judgement on their side. it's hard to answer my kids as to why we live in a basement when we used to live in a big home. the whole thing is just so damn hard.
but there are places where i am given the chance to let my head bob above the waves to draw in a deep, gulping gasp of air. places where my heart is given the chance to be still and loved and acknowledged. i wish those moments came more often than they do, but they come, and the sustaining power of that survival instinct gasp allows me to press into the next day, and the next. today i am choosing to be thankful for the food we were given. i vow to give again when and where i can, knowing that when people are hurting, each small act of love and grace and kindness carries much more weight than just a can of soup, or box of pasta... those acts of love and grace remind us, remind me, that i am not alone. that i am not forgotten. that God and others remember that i am struggling and they care enough to ask if they can help. i'm thankful for that help. and maybe a deep gash into my pride is just what i need in order to grow into the woman i want to be.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
There is no rescue
do you ever get to the place where you think that there is nothing left? you have nothing else to give? i feel that way often.
parenting 4 children is hard work.. and several of them have challenging issues beyond just kid stuff. add to that the grief of their parents being apart, and you have the perfect storm for chaos, pain, frustration and struggle.
i adore my children.. but the reality is that it can be easy for me to look outside of our family into the surface level of other families and begin to think that we are missing out. it's like looking through a window screen on a sunny day- you can see inside, but you can't make out the details... so i see in others what appears to be fun, functional, normal families, and then i look at my family through the macro lens of our lives and begin to think that we're all doomed, and i'm failing.
i know i'm just getting back into blogging again, and all of this has been heavy, and i promise- i don't always sit here- in fact, i am a perpetual pollyanna which is probably part of the reason i've been able to stay standing over the last year+ instead of rocking back and forth on my bed.
my kids are difficult. we have patterns and behaviors in place that aren't so great. we have codependencies and unhealthy leaning on one another that i know isn't the best for us. but we've been through hell. we've moved twice in the last year. we gave away our family dog. the man in our house is gone. we moved from a 4 bedroom 2000+ sq ft home to an 800 sq ft home with only 2 bedrooms. then- we moved again. living with friends so gracious to us that they are sharing their home with love and grace. the kids have changed schools. we've changed churches. we don't have much income. we got chickens this summer and the neighbor dog thought them tasty treats. we've struggled. we've ached. we've yelled, and cursed, and screamed and cried, and rolled around on the floor. and some nights i thought we might not make it.
grief is tiring. it takes best intentions and wads them up into a wrinkly ball of trash and drops them on the floor. the desire i had yesterday to implement family chores can be decimated today by the sheer weight of the kids emotional neediness. i'm tired. lonely. hurting and frustrated.
it hit me a few weeks back that ... there is no rescue. there is no sound of the cavalry in the distance racing to save me from the stress and struggle. there are no winning lottery tickets being dropped at my door, no maid to clean the mess and no supernanny here to help me start the boot camp for better behavior. it's me. just me. i don't mean to say that no one helps- that's not true. we have people who love us and serve us.. but at the end of the day... i am parenting alone. and that is an overwhelming reality.
i vacillate between believing that we will not only be ok, but be stronger as i lead us all through murky, rapid waters... and then thinking we will all surely drown in the deep with no chance of survival. it is a bipolar existence precariously balanced between utter fear and soaring hope... and i am learning to breathe as i row the boat and work to keep it from capsizing.
the last couple of days have been really challenging. we have highs and lows- like anyone i guess. it feels more intensified in the ever present blanket of grief and pain, but i have hope that we will come through it.
stay with me. i promise i can be funny and witty. but i'm also honest. and this evening... this is where my heart is perching.
parenting 4 children is hard work.. and several of them have challenging issues beyond just kid stuff. add to that the grief of their parents being apart, and you have the perfect storm for chaos, pain, frustration and struggle.
i adore my children.. but the reality is that it can be easy for me to look outside of our family into the surface level of other families and begin to think that we are missing out. it's like looking through a window screen on a sunny day- you can see inside, but you can't make out the details... so i see in others what appears to be fun, functional, normal families, and then i look at my family through the macro lens of our lives and begin to think that we're all doomed, and i'm failing.
i know i'm just getting back into blogging again, and all of this has been heavy, and i promise- i don't always sit here- in fact, i am a perpetual pollyanna which is probably part of the reason i've been able to stay standing over the last year+ instead of rocking back and forth on my bed.
my kids are difficult. we have patterns and behaviors in place that aren't so great. we have codependencies and unhealthy leaning on one another that i know isn't the best for us. but we've been through hell. we've moved twice in the last year. we gave away our family dog. the man in our house is gone. we moved from a 4 bedroom 2000+ sq ft home to an 800 sq ft home with only 2 bedrooms. then- we moved again. living with friends so gracious to us that they are sharing their home with love and grace. the kids have changed schools. we've changed churches. we don't have much income. we got chickens this summer and the neighbor dog thought them tasty treats. we've struggled. we've ached. we've yelled, and cursed, and screamed and cried, and rolled around on the floor. and some nights i thought we might not make it.
grief is tiring. it takes best intentions and wads them up into a wrinkly ball of trash and drops them on the floor. the desire i had yesterday to implement family chores can be decimated today by the sheer weight of the kids emotional neediness. i'm tired. lonely. hurting and frustrated.
it hit me a few weeks back that ... there is no rescue. there is no sound of the cavalry in the distance racing to save me from the stress and struggle. there are no winning lottery tickets being dropped at my door, no maid to clean the mess and no supernanny here to help me start the boot camp for better behavior. it's me. just me. i don't mean to say that no one helps- that's not true. we have people who love us and serve us.. but at the end of the day... i am parenting alone. and that is an overwhelming reality.
i vacillate between believing that we will not only be ok, but be stronger as i lead us all through murky, rapid waters... and then thinking we will all surely drown in the deep with no chance of survival. it is a bipolar existence precariously balanced between utter fear and soaring hope... and i am learning to breathe as i row the boat and work to keep it from capsizing.
the last couple of days have been really challenging. we have highs and lows- like anyone i guess. it feels more intensified in the ever present blanket of grief and pain, but i have hope that we will come through it.
stay with me. i promise i can be funny and witty. but i'm also honest. and this evening... this is where my heart is perching.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
thank you
i could never have imagined that by simply stepping back into the sunlight with my voice trembling and heart open that i would receive the outpouring of love and grace that i have been given. thank you. for that healing love.
the difficult thing with a marriage failing is that no one knows what to do, or what to say, and so a place that already feels painful and suffocating and surreal and lonely can become even more desolate as you watch well meaning church friends or work friends and fringe people in your life begin to back away. grief makes people squirm, and most people shy away from the opportunity to hurt.
i remember when i was a young teenager and my family started going to a new church. there was a mother there whose two year old son had recently drowned. while she felt loved by her friends, family and church, she had a conversation with my mom a few months into our time there. her words have haunted me as i've begun my own grief journey. she said 'people don't know what to do with me. they have stopped coming around, or talking about him. they pull their children close, almost as if they think it is contagious'. i have felt that ache. watching as many discover that my 'beautiful, strong marriage' failed from many hidden sins i never knew existed. they began to look at their own husbands or wives with a measure of fear, worry, and slightly-raised suspicion. they began to rationalize that 'if it could happen to them... it could happen to me'...... logically- i get that. when a child dies, or a seemingly strong marriage collapses... our brains race and flip and stretch and scan, trying to make sense of it all. we desperately want to make sense of it all, and when no sense can be found (as it never can be in the presence of early death or betrayal) a part of us wants to run. to protect the safe space we've created in our hearts, homes, souls, and minds that doesn't allow for that kind of event. being in the presence of a real person who is walking that road can be painful as we get to see first hand the devastation of grief written on their faces, and the faces of their children. it's hard to look into the depth of that pain in others.
but when that happens. when people leave. a beautiful thing happens too. those sweet few. those precious souls who love your soul for exactly what it is, where it is, whenever it is... they stay. they weep. the don't sling worthless, painful words against your spouse as you navigate the tearing apart of hearts and lives. they listen. they give copious amounts of grace and love. not expecting much in return- which is a relief because grief is consuming, and self indulgent, and inwardly focused. but there they are. aching, and fearing and crying and grieving right along with you. and they get the amazing experience of watching you begin to learn you again. begin to see miracles happen even in the face of overwhelming odds. the reality is, that where hope is, miracles can be found in the darkness... and for me, some of the most amazing things have happened through this last year. indescribable. grace in a way that makes me weep with the weight of my unworthiness. and yet. there they are. those precious souls. and there he is, precious God. and somehow, in the dark, and ooze, and ugly, i am just beginning to get a glimpse that there really can be beauty out of ashes.
the difficult thing with a marriage failing is that no one knows what to do, or what to say, and so a place that already feels painful and suffocating and surreal and lonely can become even more desolate as you watch well meaning church friends or work friends and fringe people in your life begin to back away. grief makes people squirm, and most people shy away from the opportunity to hurt.
i remember when i was a young teenager and my family started going to a new church. there was a mother there whose two year old son had recently drowned. while she felt loved by her friends, family and church, she had a conversation with my mom a few months into our time there. her words have haunted me as i've begun my own grief journey. she said 'people don't know what to do with me. they have stopped coming around, or talking about him. they pull their children close, almost as if they think it is contagious'. i have felt that ache. watching as many discover that my 'beautiful, strong marriage' failed from many hidden sins i never knew existed. they began to look at their own husbands or wives with a measure of fear, worry, and slightly-raised suspicion. they began to rationalize that 'if it could happen to them... it could happen to me'...... logically- i get that. when a child dies, or a seemingly strong marriage collapses... our brains race and flip and stretch and scan, trying to make sense of it all. we desperately want to make sense of it all, and when no sense can be found (as it never can be in the presence of early death or betrayal) a part of us wants to run. to protect the safe space we've created in our hearts, homes, souls, and minds that doesn't allow for that kind of event. being in the presence of a real person who is walking that road can be painful as we get to see first hand the devastation of grief written on their faces, and the faces of their children. it's hard to look into the depth of that pain in others.
but when that happens. when people leave. a beautiful thing happens too. those sweet few. those precious souls who love your soul for exactly what it is, where it is, whenever it is... they stay. they weep. the don't sling worthless, painful words against your spouse as you navigate the tearing apart of hearts and lives. they listen. they give copious amounts of grace and love. not expecting much in return- which is a relief because grief is consuming, and self indulgent, and inwardly focused. but there they are. aching, and fearing and crying and grieving right along with you. and they get the amazing experience of watching you begin to learn you again. begin to see miracles happen even in the face of overwhelming odds. the reality is, that where hope is, miracles can be found in the darkness... and for me, some of the most amazing things have happened through this last year. indescribable. grace in a way that makes me weep with the weight of my unworthiness. and yet. there they are. those precious souls. and there he is, precious God. and somehow, in the dark, and ooze, and ugly, i am just beginning to get a glimpse that there really can be beauty out of ashes.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Here
i have been stuck. i'm tired of being stuck. i still write. often. because that is what writers do. we write. we have to. we can't not.
but i don't write here. and i've been so frustrated with myself for not showing up here, because here is where i get to connect with you, and here is where i want to be.
it hit me tonight.
i haven't been here, because i'm not being authentic. i have been writing on paper where it is safe, and where nothing has to be shared or explained, i can just be heather. broken. motivated. shattered. hopeful. but here? i have to pretend. protect. evade. and i just don't have the energy for that anymore.
so.
i'm taking care of business today. i'm punching fear in the face so that i can drag my weary soul out of stuck and bring it here. where i can share. be heather. broken. motivated. shattered. hopeful.
i have a secret.
i didn't mean for it to be a secret. it sort of became one because life is messy and painful and jagged, and slippery, and when do you ever think that you will wind up here? and when you wind up here, how do you tell people you are here? so. here is my secret.
i have been separated from my husband for more than a year.
i said it.
it's out now. i'm not taking it back.
how do you share that? there are no announcements from shutterfly to say that 'we're separated!' there are no delicate and non dramatic ways to post it on facebook. and so... those who are in my regular life know, some on the fringes know, and some will be shocked. but this is my reality. i am a single mother, this year has been hell on earth, and i don't see any sign of relief.
i have struggled with writing here, and have allowed the cotton mouthed feeling of fear to stop my waterfall of words with its soul sucking power. i have been afraid to wound my children should they ever read my writing in the future. i'm afraid for people to pity me. i'm afraid to hurt him, even though so many hurtful things have been done to us. i'm a dramatic person, but i don't like drama. i won't go on facebook and share the hurts of my heart at his hand because it does nothing but make me look small and create drama. i have to admit that there is a small part of me that would like to tell you some of what has happened, to hopefully 'get you on my side' and hope that maybe you will judge me a bit less, and maybe feel more gracious towards me- but really? that shouldn't matter. i should be able to show up and say that i am not with my husband, i have been deeply wounded, i am afraid, i am parenting 4 children alone, this is really hard...... and find space for my heart to rest. even without all of the painful, ugly, rancid details.
so. my secret is exposed. i feel freedom to write again. because now you can relate to me where i am.. and i won't have to bend and maneuver my words to protect the secret any longer. it can float free and my words can swim effortlessly around the truth. bringing relief to my heart. clarity to my mind. and maybe even some healing to you.
i am overjoyed at the thought of being here again and writing from my raw heart. i have so very much to share. hard things. amazing things you can't even fathom. things of God's goodness that seem only to show up when the depth of the pit is so deep that only the hand of God can pull you out. thank you for indulging me. thank you for staying in my silence. even over years. this blog that has long sat dead, waiting for me to take back life again will change and grow over the next weeks and months. for now- this is the start.
i'm back. here.
but i don't write here. and i've been so frustrated with myself for not showing up here, because here is where i get to connect with you, and here is where i want to be.
it hit me tonight.
i haven't been here, because i'm not being authentic. i have been writing on paper where it is safe, and where nothing has to be shared or explained, i can just be heather. broken. motivated. shattered. hopeful. but here? i have to pretend. protect. evade. and i just don't have the energy for that anymore.
so.
i'm taking care of business today. i'm punching fear in the face so that i can drag my weary soul out of stuck and bring it here. where i can share. be heather. broken. motivated. shattered. hopeful.
i have a secret.
i didn't mean for it to be a secret. it sort of became one because life is messy and painful and jagged, and slippery, and when do you ever think that you will wind up here? and when you wind up here, how do you tell people you are here? so. here is my secret.
i have been separated from my husband for more than a year.
i said it.
it's out now. i'm not taking it back.
how do you share that? there are no announcements from shutterfly to say that 'we're separated!' there are no delicate and non dramatic ways to post it on facebook. and so... those who are in my regular life know, some on the fringes know, and some will be shocked. but this is my reality. i am a single mother, this year has been hell on earth, and i don't see any sign of relief.
i have struggled with writing here, and have allowed the cotton mouthed feeling of fear to stop my waterfall of words with its soul sucking power. i have been afraid to wound my children should they ever read my writing in the future. i'm afraid for people to pity me. i'm afraid to hurt him, even though so many hurtful things have been done to us. i'm a dramatic person, but i don't like drama. i won't go on facebook and share the hurts of my heart at his hand because it does nothing but make me look small and create drama. i have to admit that there is a small part of me that would like to tell you some of what has happened, to hopefully 'get you on my side' and hope that maybe you will judge me a bit less, and maybe feel more gracious towards me- but really? that shouldn't matter. i should be able to show up and say that i am not with my husband, i have been deeply wounded, i am afraid, i am parenting 4 children alone, this is really hard...... and find space for my heart to rest. even without all of the painful, ugly, rancid details.
so. my secret is exposed. i feel freedom to write again. because now you can relate to me where i am.. and i won't have to bend and maneuver my words to protect the secret any longer. it can float free and my words can swim effortlessly around the truth. bringing relief to my heart. clarity to my mind. and maybe even some healing to you.
i am overjoyed at the thought of being here again and writing from my raw heart. i have so very much to share. hard things. amazing things you can't even fathom. things of God's goodness that seem only to show up when the depth of the pit is so deep that only the hand of God can pull you out. thank you for indulging me. thank you for staying in my silence. even over years. this blog that has long sat dead, waiting for me to take back life again will change and grow over the next weeks and months. for now- this is the start.
i'm back. here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)