My name is Heather and I'm a recovering blogaholic

I used to read mommy blogs the way that other women read erotic novels.  I had a problem and I don't mind admitting it (now).  I would pour over words that other moms wrote and then use them as measuring tapes for how I was doing as a mother.  (For the record?  I usually decided I was coming up short. Failing miserably. Most likely to send their children to therapy first.) But I couldn't stop. The addiction of punishing myself with their words and stories and beautiful photos was one that was damaging and yet strongly drew me in day after day.

I was so sensitive to how many places I wasn't 'doing it right', that each word, every birthday party photograph, each recipe to save my family tons of money while also nourishing their growing bodies felt like a personal affront to my mothering style.

I don't read blogs much anymore.  Not because I don't like them, but because I all too often dive in head first and find myself writhing in physical pain because I have never given my children a themed birthday party with colorful balloons and a catered cake.  The pinterest laced craft ideas that mock my feeble attempt at engaging my children with art are everywhere these days, and for me?  the best choice is to not engage.  Essentially I'm a mommy-blogaholic, and the best remedy for that is to abstain.  I do however, read Momastery.  Her raw honesty, admission of mess and struggle, and ability to laugh at herself connects me to her at a soul level.  I'm absolutely sure we could be the best of friends if she would let me come and sit at her feet while soaking in her common-sense knowledge.
She had a post recently that has stuck with me and brought some freedom into my heart.  She wrote this and you really need to go and read it.

She talks about how other women aren't 'parenting at us'.  Let that sink in for a moment.  Other women are not parenting at us.
Roll that around in your heart... start to fill in the holes with other ways that that applies...
That other woman? The one wearing the amazing dress that you would secretly love to wear but feel too tall, fat, skinny, old, young.. fill in the blank- she is not wearing that dress at you.
The room mom who likes to make fancy cupcakes for every holiday known to man, and bring in special origami valentines that she and her first grader slaved over is not crafting at you. The career mom who manages to not only work an amazing job but still be the den mother for boy scouts is not den mothering at you. 
The teenage girl with the skinny body whose shorts show a little too much... ahem, muscle, is not being beautiful at you. (well, maybe she is, just a little) The point is, we all too often take our own insecurities, struggles, and mess and use them to paint across everyone else and absorb that negative junk back into our hearts in such a way that affirms to us that we are not enough.

Not enough.
Not.....kind enough. skinny enough. smart enough. gentle enough. beautiful enough. tall enough. stylish enough.  we paint everyone else with our 'not enough-ness' and then treat them as the enemy... instead of confronting the lies we're telling ourselves.
Isn't is easier that way?  It was for me.  It was easier for me to think that other women were homeschooling at me rather than to be vulnerable enough to admit that I was choosing not to homeschool because it didn't work for me.  It's easier to get angry at all the other moms or women who appear to be living closer to the expectations we had for ourselves, and press the disappointment of life into their choices rather than to sit in the reality of the life we are living.

I'm becoming freer and happier as I am beginning to be able to live in this reality.  I took two of my children to Awana at church this evening. (Sort of like scouts- but at church) And was laughing on the phone with a friend as I told her that for us?  Showing up with our supplies was a win.  Other moms work hard to help their children learn the memory verses for the week, and read the stories nightly to them before tucking them in... these children are receiving patches for their hard work and memorization skills.  I laughingly asked my friend how I could get the patch for just being there. Showing up. Wearing matching shoes.  For my family, in this season, that is a great feat.  That's my reality.  The mothers who are working nightly with their kids to help them memorize the weekly verses aren't doing that at me... they are doing the best job they can... inside of their reality.
When you begin to see that each of us is doing the best we can.. at that moment.. with what we know and what we have to work with in the way of skill and giftings.. you stop thinking everyone is living at you and begin to see how much freedom you have to live in your present reality with the grace you are provided in your own circumstances.  The post Glennon wrote has singed my heart.  The message went down deep and has allowed me to laugh at myself and the complete pridefulness it exposes as I start to recognize how much I can make it about me.  The irony is that freedom is allowing me to be a better mother.  The headspace I was renting out to lies is now free to be inhabited by grace.  And that is where I want to be.

Can Anyone Handle It?

There is a viral blog post going around about God giving us more than we can handle.
It was sent to me personally more than 10 separate times.

This means one of two things:
Either I've done an awesome job of being loud about my own personal feelings on this http://honesty-becomes-her.blogspot.com/2013/04/totally-cant-handle-it-after-reading.html  or God is preparing me for more struggle to come.  To be honest? After a night like tonight? I'm more aware than ever that I cannot handle it.  Not even a little bit.

Tonight was one of those evenings where it was illuminated as to why this parenting gig is meant for two people.  It takes two people to make a child, and I believe that it was intended for it to take two people to raise a child.

Raising four of them alone is way more than I can handle. On a daily basis.

Some days I do a decent job of pretending.  I can do sleight of hand, and some fancy footwork, and throw some cookies here, and a little dance there, and a lot of the time I manage to keep everyone fed, clean and alive.  Sadly that is often the measure of success these days.  Clean and fed.  Beyond that? Icing on the cake.

Nights like tonight have a way of throwing me into a tailspin.  The kids were hyper and irritable, I was tired and feeling low, and it was the perfect storm for hurt feelings and a giant emotional mess.  At one point, I had two boys crying in different rooms, my daughter crying on her bed because I had hurt her feelings when I was angry, and I just wanted to run away.  Out the back door, into the cold, dark night and take off in my car.  I'm not sure where I'd go- I just wanted to be far away from here and the responsibility of being the mother.
Before you call CPS on me, please know that I'm still here. I'm not writing this from borrowed wi-fi at starbucks (although that sounds tempting).  I stayed.  And cried.  And walked away many times.
This isn't meant to be done alone.
I should be able to lean on a husband who would trouble shoot at least one of the meltdowns while I tend to another. I should have the protective casing of marriage that allows me to press in when I'm weak and know that he's got my back.  Instead, I'm alone.  And the weight of the responsibility on my shoulders feels crushing.

I'm aware that we can feel this way even when married.  If your spouse is out of town, or deployed, or sick, or addicted, or disengaged, or even out with friends, or staying late at work- the gravity of parenting alone can feel like a load that is humanly impossible to bear.

I wish I could tell you that I always respond with grace and love.  But I don't.  What you don't learn as a child is that parenting is one giant soup of personal experience, skill, and attitude.  Today was a hard day for me personally... which meant that I went into this evening already depleted in the grace and patience tank.  Their arguing and disobedience grated on my heart and exposed to me all the places I was failing.  Despair was hanging out in the hallway, and sadly I flung open the door and welcomed it up to the table. Before I knew it, I was yelling, snarling, and even disappointed in myself.  My anger and frustration can boil up so hot that I want to punch anyone in sight.  Again- I don't.  But I am going to be the mother who says what many of you feel but refuse to admit- maybe even to yourselves.  There are moments where the frustration and despair and chaos and grief can all mix together into a toxic poison that longs for the relief of a physical act.  Maturity and grace and God's protection keep it at bay, but most mothers I've spoken to in private will admit that they want to occasionally throw their kid out of the window. (Once again- I would never throw my child out the window- I feel that I have to put this here- but I think you get my point)
Mothering has no end.  There are no progress reports from a boss who gives you constructive criticism or a pat on the back.  No end of the year bonuses or gold stars to admire.  In fact, most of the time, the things we do 'wrong' are more obvious than the things we're doing 'right'- because the struggle always draws more attention to itself than the ease.  So I sit.  Watching the dreams I had for my children fall through the cracks.  Things I thought I was guaranteed.  A young son who would never curse at me.  An older son who would say yes ma'am as he took out the trash.  A daughter who would agree to brushing her teeth without falling on the floor in a heap of hot tears.
That's the rub isn't it?  That's the part we can't handle.

The letting go. 

The continual act of surrendering what we thought would be for what truly is.  And instead of clawing back in anger, to allow what is to come forth and learn to respond appropriately to that behavior.

I'm not very good at that.

I know intrinsically that I can't handle this alone. But I'm not good at asking for help.
I am angry that I don't have a husband here to help me, but I am too prideful to ask a friend. People call me strong..... what they don't know is that I'm very, very weak.  I'm just skilled at hiding.

So tonight?  I'm not hiding.  I'm standing here in blog land saying (as many of you already know!) that I totally can't handle this.  I have no idea how to parent four children by myself.  To provide for them; not just financially but in every way we want to provide.  love. spiritual guidance. experience. safety. good memories.  I can see the vast chasm of my failings and yet I am beginning to think that that chasm would shrink if I could jump from what I envisioned to what truly is.
And that is what I will sit with tonight. Maybe tomorrow I can offer softer arms.  A kinder tone. More grace. Not just for these beautiful, challenging, hurting, precious people I am raising....but for the woman who looks back in the mirror.  maybe.