Invincible

I love Kelly Clarkson's song Invincible.
You should listen to it. It's my anthem these days. I spent so many years unsure of myself, feeling like a failure, afraid, and anxious and wounded.
When you're in a codependent relationship you spend all of your time preoccupied with making sure everyone else is ok. The inherent problem in that is you can never keep anyone in a place of wellness for any sustainable length of time, and in looking outward, you will always lose yourself.

I've written some about the challenges I've had with my kids and the difficulties I've faced with raising kids on the autism spectrum, but the painful part is that Samuel wasn't diagnosed until he was 8.  For 8 years of hardship, tantrums, chaos, I believed I was a failure. I had extended family tell me it was my fault, and I was being punished for something. I had strangers and doctors tell me to put him in time out more, or spank him more, and I spent years in shame and anger because I thought that my child's struggles were directly related to my inability to be a good mother. Years went by and I began to really believe I was a failure and there was no hope. I was unhappy as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman. I look back at pictures and can't believe how dead I looked. If you look at me now- at 38 compared to how I looked at 30, there is no comparison. I had resigned to a life of hurt, and guilt and shame, and disappointment. When you're a codependent you feel responsible for everything that happens. And so each event that happened to us felt like a cause and effect tightrope. I wasn't good enough or strong enough, or consistent enough, or smart enough or skinny enough to prevent all of the horrible things that were happening, and so I died inside some more. When I had to learn to stand on my own because of divorce, I began to realize I'm none of those things. I began to take responsibility for my part in my struggles, but no one else's behavior. I began to learn each of us have a reality that is based in our perception and it's not my job to make everyone like or understand me. It's only my job to take care of myself which will allow me to be the best mother I can be. Now I understand that none of the struggles my kids have suffered with are because of me. I'm sad I wasn't able to see my worth clearly enough then to love my children better, but when you know better, you do better, and so now I am. The amazing thing is that though we still have issues, and conflict and frustrations and struggles, I no longer internalize it as a deficit on my part. And because of that, my kids are doing better than they've ever done. I can see clearly the positive changes in them that are directly related to my rebirth into health. I am alive, and for the first time since childhood, I really enjoy myself again. I'm carving out my place in writing and editing to provide for my family and headed into living the dream I wanted for myself but had run from in defeat. I've learned I'm not weak or a failure. I will fail for sure, but I am strong and resilient and will always get back up. I no longer fear hurt and pain because I've proven to myself I can be knocked out but not taken out. I could kiss Kelly Clarkson for the words in this song- I know reading song lyrics can be tedious, so I encourage you to go listen to it and celebrate the strength of you! Even better if you belt it out at the top of your lungs!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQpGaAwlrkA

You know I was broke down, I had hit the ground
I was crying out, I couldn't make no sound
No one hears the silent tears collecting
You know I had lost hope, I was all alone
Never been so long till you came along
Teacher, I feel the dots connecting

Beat down on me, beat down like a waterfall
Cause I can take on so much more than I had ever dreamed
So beat down on me, beat down like a waterfall
Cause baby, I am ready to be free

Now I am invincible
No, I ain't a scared little girl no more
Yeah, I am invincible
What was I running for
I was hiding from the world
I was so afraid, I felt so unsure
Now I am invincible
Another perfect storm

Now I am a warrior, a shooting star
Know I got this far, had a broken heart
No one hears the silent tears collecting
Cause it's being weak, but strong in the truth I found
I have courage now, gonna shout it out
Teacher, I feel the dots connecting

Beat down on me, beat down like a waterfall
Cause I can take on so much more than I had ever dreamed
So beat down on me, beat down like a waterfall
Cause baby, I am ready to be free

Now I am invincible
No, I ain't a scared little girl no more
Yeah, I am invincible
What was I running for
I was hiding from the world
I was so afraid, I felt so unsure
Now I am invincible
Another perfect storm

I was running from an empty threat
Of emptiness
I was running from an empty threat
That didn't exist
I was running from an empty threat
Of abandonment
I was running from an empty threat
That didn't exist

Now I am invincible
No, I ain't a scared little girl no more
Yeah, I am invincible
What was I running for
I was hiding from the world
I was so afraid, I felt so unsure
Now I am invincible
Another perfect storm

Timing is Everything

I love that God works in my life in really active, personal ways.
I got an encouraging email yesterday at the perfect time.  It held the words I needed to hear to soothe my heart and I am so grateful for the gift.
I wanted to share some of it with you- I asked her if that was ok, and she gave me permission.

(A handful of years ago. :) )

Heather, I don't know if you remember me, but I have vivid memories of you. You were this beautiful, graceful, almost gossamer creature. Anyways, you were so young and I was one of the older mothers in MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) just struggling with so much more than I could handle and, as it turns out, much more than I even realized.
I read your blog the other day. I read several entries before I realized that I had known you at one time. The reason I write is my story is so close to yours. After 27 years of marriage, I too found out that my life had been a lie for at least a while but more than likely most of my marriage. My divorce became final a month shy of my 29th anniversary. He never wanted to try to fix what was broken and morphed into someone I didn't know. God knows I tried to save my marriage. That awful day when my entire world crumbled was just over 4 years ago. Reading your blog was so cathartic. I don't have small children anymore; I can't imagine going through all of the mess with little eyes and hearts involved. I hope I haven't bored you or made you relive hard times. I just can't talk about it anymore because I'm supposed to have "moved on". I do have a male friend - he has made me feel loved and wanted again. But the pain still is there; I'm beginning to think it always will be there. Please continue to write. The tears I cry reading your story are comforting in a way. I hope that doesn't come off wrong. But I don't have anyone to talk to about this anymore and even though the conversation is one sided with you writing and me reading, it gives such comfort knowing I'm not alone. I'm sure so many people have told you how young you are and you'll have plenty of time to be happy - as true as that is - it doesn't touch your here and now. It does nothing to fix the shattered dreams and the broken pieces of your life and the kids' lives. Know that you have a prayer warrior on your side now because of your willingness to be transparent. Without trying to sound overly dramatic, I love you and am ever so grateful you decided to write about something so personal and painful.


I can't tell you how perfectly timed this email was. I was so grateful that she took time out of her day to encourage me. This is why I write. I love what Brene Brown says- There are no more powerful words in the English language than 'Me too'. Each of us walk through struggle and hurt while we're here. I've learned that pain doesn't discriminate and every person you meet will have a place in them that aches- but knowing your pain is understood a bit, or normalized some, or shared by another, is one of the best remedies for isolation. I share some of my story because I know that my story is not unique. It's filled with players who hurt and who've hurt each other. It's full of missed opportunities for grace, and moments of wounding. But it's far from unique or isolated. We all hurt sometimes, and we all wish we could go back and do things differently based on the knowledge we have now. The reality is, that as sweet Maya Angelou said "When we know better, we do better."
Thanks for being here with me. You can't know how much it matters.

A few years older. I know better, and I'm trying to DO better! 

The Knife's Healing Work

Healing is a process and I'm at a weary place in mine.  My heart has hung ragged, bloodied and slashed, and I have taken the time to carefully pick up the flesh and hand it over to God and allow Him to begin to sew it back together.
But being open, being vulnerable, being ready to receive revelation of places of hurt and wounding, being honest and transparent .... is sometimes tiring work.
I lived a very long time in happy land.  I am, by nature, a happy, hyper and energetic person.  I like to have fun, I like to do, and I like to be moving and busy. Healing is slow work. Often still work.  Many times healing can look like nothing at all, and the desire and urge to jump up and move on to the next shiny thing can take over my head space and try to divert me from the healing path that I'm walking.

I have likened my journey to a car crash.  The day that everything came crashing down was the impact of the crash. I then had to be cut out of the wreckage, life flighted to help, triaged through the hospital, then stabilized.  Once I was stablized I had to be prepped for surgery and then endure a long surgical procedure.  I now see myself as being in post-op.  If you've ever had a lingering illness, or a surgery, you understand that during the healing process there are moments where you feel more energetic or stronger than you really are.  You are tempted to push yourself as you long to stretch your body and legs back into routines they have been used to. Often, you are forced back to bed where you concede that you might have rushed into activity too soon and more rest is necessary.  I am finding myself dipping my toes back into leadership roles, and into the primary parent role,  and while I feel I am moving carefully and slowly, there are times where my heart feels that it isn't strong enough yet, not healed up enough to endure the pressure of the job at hand.  Healing takes intention, attention, and effort.  I have to make the time to feed my physical body as well as my heart.  I have to be still... and with four needy, hurting children, that can often feel unattainable.

My knee-jerk reaction is to do more than I should, with frustration, and then numb the pain;  with food, or noise, or reading, or any of a million other things I can do other than sit with the struggle that swirls and swishes around me.  The hard thing to do is to be still. To asess how I am feeling, how I can respond, and to take my time in reacting.  To allow the new behavior I'm learning to take effect, to slowly stretch and build those muscles that have sat unused for so long.
I have discovered that I tend towards codependency and in that new realization, I'm having to learn to respond to people in new ways, and stop and think before I respond. It's all too easy for me to try and rescue people, or 'save' them from discomfort, and sacrifice chunks of myself all along the journey.
For now, as I do the still work of healing, I am giving myself permission to move slowly. To stop and rest. To make mistakes with the ever-present desire of forward motion. To refuse to punish myself for detours.  Maya Angelou says "When you know better, you do better."  I'm taking that to heart and running with it.  Each day I learn more... about myself, about how I operate with other people, where some of my weaknesses are, and how I tend to worry more about the feelings of others than my own.

Healing isn't sedentary. It's a slow, careful walk out of hurt and wounding.  It's intentional choice that can go against what your brain is telling you to do. It's the cautious tending to raw wounds that can be pulled open again and gently covering them with prayer, rest, and love so that instead of a long lasting slashed festering of flesh, the scar can begin to form.  It is grace and change and growing pains and doctor visits and time and rest and work.  As I continue to heal, I will next move into physical therapy; where what I'm learning about myself can begin to be put to work in a controlled environment.  I'm determined to do my work. I trust that as I keep growing and aging and moving through this earth journey that there will be more work to do, and I pray I can stay focused and close to the surgeon for any other procedures I need to have done.

Strength in Vulnerability

An interesting side effect of going through grief and working on healing is that you can become raw, tender hearted, easily moved, and saturated in both beauty and empathy.

When you begin to look at your own heart, to really look at it and see the darkness and also that beautiful capacity for both hurt and love, there is a great awareness that begins to dawn- and in that awareness comes the realization that each of us walking around this muddy planet have places of darkness and beauty.  When you realize this basic truth, you begin to see yourself and others with new eyes.

I used to pride myself on my 'strength'.  I rarely cried and didn't like that show of emotion.  I didn't like the feeling I had of losing control of my emotions... except for anger.  The anger often ran over like water.

Suffering has a way of burning off the chaff so that new growth can blossom.  Seeds of beauty that haven't been nurtured and have been sleeping in the deep, dark soil, are freed to push through the ashes and grow into coverings of color, and beauty, and depth.

When I was still married, I knew at a soul-knowing level that things were wrong.  I mentioned before how I hoped my way along, and since I wasn't living with truth, I was powerless to change things.  When life exploded for me, when the truth was laid bare, the pain was at once blinding and freeing.  Knowing the reality of my life gave me the vantage point to be able to assess the damage and start the process of building.
As I waded through new realities that I had been living with on a daily basis but had been blind to, I began to learn how to weep. How to grieve.  How to allow the deep sadness and dark blanket of death to settle into my heart and begin its work.  When allowed, I believe that the grieving process can actually be the catalyst for new life.  As we give ourselves over to the death of what was, and make space for what needs to be birthed in us, the ability to feel not only our own hurts but to recognize and empathize with the hurts of those around us develops into a beautifully honed skill.

My personal grieving process has been quite self absorbed.  I wasn't able to maintain the relationships and commitments that I had previously carried.  Sitting with a new reality and laying my marriage to rest took everything I had to give.  I turned inward and began the painstaking task of sweeping clean the crevices of my heart and soul.  The energy spent just surviving a death (of any kind) is all consuming and laid waste to anything I had to give.  In the last few months, I have begun to see light again.  The heavy blanket that had been tucked around my heart has begun to lift and I am feeling lighter and brighter and very tender-hearted. I feel as though I have walked from a dark theater into the bright sun of day and have to blink and squint and rub my eyes to protect them against the blinding brightness that comes from the life giving sun.  With new eyes and a keen awareness of those around me, I now see pain behind so many cautious faces.  I am approached in public by people who know me as well as strangers who each want to tell me their story, and I believe it is because in my face there is now a light that shines and draws in the hurting.

I have been given the privilege in the last months of hearing the stories of many women.  Women who are working through their own places of disappointment, disillusionment, grief, and anger. I have found that as I listen, and watch them lay bare their souls to mine, that I can no longer stop the flow of tears.  The 'strength' I used to think I had in damming up that waterfall has been replaced with the tender place of grace I long to offer those who are courageous enough to share parts of their lives with me.

I know I still have work to do.  There will never be a finish line where I get to stop running and know that I have the badge of 'healed up tight'. But I revel in that truth. I love knowing that as far as I've come, the road stretches ahead with more growing, more connection, more beauty, and even the knowing that I can swim in deep waters.  My tender heart is now my badge of strength.  The ability to be cut deeply by standing with a woman as she grieves her way, the knowing that all of us have deep and precious stories, the privilege of holding space for other women as they work through their dark and beautiful places is something I am proud of. Your stories are priceless.  Beautiful. At times both painful and dark; and I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than to be a player in your story as we learn to walk these roads together. Thank you for holding space for me, and know that I am here for you.
Much love. 

Out of darkness into light

Today was the first day of class for me in a new group at my church.

I mentioned before that I was going through a group on Thursday nights called Stuck- which has been incredible for me, and now I have the amazing privilege of being one of the leaders in a group that meets on Tuesday mornings.  It's a study (for lack of a better word) that deals with 'life's hurts, habits and hangups'.  I was a bit anxious before we met as I wasn't sure how many women would be in the group. There is a large group of women who come on Tuesday mornings from the community and today we kicked off several new studies- I really thought that our group wouldn't have many commit because the emotional work it will take will be intense.
I was blown away to see 15 women join us, and butterflies settled into my stomach.

The main leader of the group was out of town at a conference today and it was also the first day so it was a bit awkward.  After we spent time breaking the ice and going over the rules to protect one another's privacy, we broached the delicate subject of why each of us had come. One by one each woman bravely opened her mouth and shared a tiny piece of her heart. It was a sacred space to be in.  Our lives, our history, our struggle and our pain make up the very essence of who we are, and for those women to share part of themselves with the rest of us was a gift.

I have already learned this lesson over the last years, but today was another powerful example that every one of us walking this earth have hurts. If you get the honor of peeking behind the closed doors of someones life, you will always see places where they have been wounded, or felt rejected, or are struggling.  Wrestling with other people will always leave you banged up and so all of us have places where we're limping a bit, or possibly even ripped wide open.

It was beautiful to see each woman identify a place or multiple places in her life that needs attention- and so courageous to hear them say it was time to move on from that place of pain. To lay it to rest. To identify it, look at it, walk through the darkness surrounding it, and ultimately leave it behind.

I was talking with a friend yesterday who has walked a very dark road. Through no fault of her own, she was banged up and wounded deeply in her childhood and teen years. Those who should have protected her instead abused her in every way, and she was left with confusion, distrust, and pain I can't begin to imagine. She chose to do the work of stepping into that darkness and face it and she put it to rest. It wasn't easy or fast, and I had the incredible honor of watching her grow, heal, and change over the last 4 years.  But she did it.  The shame and pain that held her in bondage for so long has dissipated into the wind and she is now left with compassion, grace for herself, and a deep desire to tend to the hearts of others.  We were discussing one of her family members and the harmful choices that woman is making.  It is a clear situation where this woman is choosing to stay stuck and in pain to avoid the pain of walking through the dark places in order to heal and move on.  We all have to make the choice to walk into our dark tunnels on our own time, but I have learned that there are many treasures to be found in the dark; and true healing can't come without walking that dark and ragged path.  There is no way around that pain, only the way through, yet we are never alone... God is near to the broken hearted, and I can tell you from personal experience that the grace and beauty that was found there far exceeded the pain of surgery my heart had to go through.

I am excited to be able to be part of a group of women who long for healing. Women who are lacing up their boots in anticipation of walking down a bumpy dark path.  Women who are steeling themselves for a painful journey out of bondage and silence.  I can't wait to walk this road with them, and love that I get the chance to stand so closely to those who are ready to trust the process. Being with women who long for wholeness is one of most amazing experiences I can think of.

Take Me or Leave Me

I've been going to counseling for a few months now.
In light of all the trauma we've been through over the last year and a half, I knew that counseling would be a necessity, and finally have a bit of time once a week to make it a priority.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. When done well, it's an amazing tool to excavate those places in your life that need digging out, restructuring, rejection or assimilation into our daily lives.  Having a good counselor who leads you through the terraced gardens of your heart and can help you begin to identify weeds from healthy plants is a gift.  There are also some counselors who talk about themselves too much or get fixated on a detail that might not be important to you, or who have their own filters and judgement from personal experience that prevents them from looking into your struggle objectively.

I have a good counselor.  We have many shared experiences, but she is objective, soft spoken, and firm. She helps me navigate what seeps up to the surface that needs to be skimmed off, revealing soft healthy flesh underneath. She encourages me to be vulnerable and makes space for that in every way. I often leave feeling depleted, but also renewed at the same time.  Similar to giving birth. New life coming forth out of pain.

One place I'm identifying as a struggle for me is my irrational need to please people.  I don't see myself as a people pleaser on the outside... but my actions have led me to the truth that I work hard to be all things to all people.  And.... I have taken this so far that I have avoided identifying myself or classifying myself so that I wouldn't make anyone feel left out or somehow alienate others.  When I was in college, I hid, behind dance clothes, and messy buns in my hair.  I loved fashion, but was afraid to own that love because I was afraid other girls would think I was being shallow.  I was jealous of the sorority girls in their slick, black pants and boots, but I was too afraid to be one of them, because I knew that girls who weren't in sororities sometimes felt left out... and I didn't want to be in the group that seemed exclusive.

When I got engaged, I kept it low key then too.  I was afraid if I was bubbly, and passionate, and giggly, that others might think that I was immature, flaky and overly emotional.... and that would mean our relationship wouldn't last (ironic, isn't it?) When I became a mother, I didn't want to be identified as just a mom.  I was scared to slip into the hidden recesses of being alone, or only spending time with other mothers, and so I began writing to give me an outlet outside of mothering.  As my children were born, and the boys started being given autism diagnoses, I didn't share that very often because I felt that since my boys were verbal, if I took on the identity of being a mother to boys with autism,  I would somehow invalidate the struggle of having non-verbal children; and I didn't want others to think I was using the label as an excuse for less than desirable behavior.

As I've moved more naturally into my role as a mother, and have shed some of that insecurity, I still see how I struggle to say no.  I have four kids on my own, and am having to find ways to provide, but I get scared to say no, or create boundaries, or put myself and my kids first because I am afraid I might offend someone.  Obviously, I can see logically that this is way off balance.  I DO have to take a new identity now- whether I want to or not.  My new identity as a single mother will make some uncomfortable- others who might not agree with my choices.  And yet?  I have to provide for these children. I have to learn self-care.  I have to learn how to identify and work towards meeting my own needs, and not feel badly about doing it.  I can't be all things to all people, because the people who get let down are those I care the most about.  I can't do all things well, and need to focus on doing a few things excellently.  I can't do it all.  I can't.  And now my job is to begin to explore what is so timid, broken, insecure in me that says I need the continual perceived approval of others in order to live happily. The reality is, trying to please everyone doesn't breed peace, it breeds resentment... because I know at a soul-knowing level, that I can't do it, and so I get angry at myself for pretending that I can.

It's time to make space for my identity. To claim who I know I am.  To not be afraid to wear the clothing that I want- even if I believe it might look too flashy to other women.  To not be afraid to claim that my boys do in fact have autism, even though you may never guess if you catch us on a good day.  To be a mom- even though sometimes that doesn't feel like a special enough title.  To say no to people I care about sometimes so that I can take care of me and the children more efficiently.  To write my heart even though many may disagree.  To claim my truth though it makes others squirm.  I believe that while not everyone needs to like me, agree with me, love me or support me, I will be able to love others better as I begin to learn to fully love me. I have to examine the judgement in my own heart that then believes I'm being judged in the same way. I have to learn to love all of me in order to more purely love all of you.  This might seem simple, but this is huge for me. I have spent a lot of time denying me in order to please others.  I am being pushed into a place of incredible authenticity and it's painful and freeing and strange.  I'm thankful I'm beginning to put words to this awful habit of mine, and am praying that I can start to shed some of the protective layers of people pleasing in order to uncover the authentic me.

Letting it Go

Have you seen the movie Frozen? I know you've heard of it, everyone has- it is making a bazillion dollars for Disney these days and is topping the charts.  But, there's a reason... it hits a nerve. It's encouraging and uplifting, and beautiful; and has fantastic music.

I've seen it several times.
Full disclosure- it was online for several days... so I watched it a few times here at home.
If you're feeling judgy- just keep it inside... I don't have the energy to combat that today.

All of my kids love it- even the 12 year old boy!  It's a good movie, and I tear up every time.

There is a song towards the beginning.. sung by the princess become queen who runs away- to protect everyone else from her struggles... her pain... her... 'perceived flaws'.

I can relate. 

The song she sings when she leaves is this:

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don't let them in, don't let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal don't feel, don't let them know.
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go.
Can't hold it back anymore.
Let it go, let it go.
Turn away and slam the door.
I don't care what they're going to say.
Let the storm rage on.
The cold never bothered me anyway.

It's funny how some distance,
makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at all
It's time to see what I can do,
to test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I am free!

Let it go, let it go.
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go.
You'll never see me cry.
Here I stand, and here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on.

My power flurries through the air into the ground.
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back; the past is in the past!

Let it go, let it go.
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand, in the light of day.

Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway

 Idina Menzel - (Disney's Frozen) Let It Go Lyrics | MetroLyrics 
listen here: (it's beautiful) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk

I am in a place where I'm learning to let it go. To stand in the storm as it rages on.  To turn from my fears and learn to walk forward in spite of them.  

On paper... my life is really scary right now.  My future is completely unknown to me... and my needs are huge.  My heart is scarred and pocked with pain, and my brain scans and moves trying to find a way to fix all that needs fixing.  My situation as a single mother of 4, with no real plan for the future is enough to make others uncomfortable... and so part of my journey is finding space for my heart while not always elbowing out everyone else's story.  Grief can become ingrown and turned completely into oneself, and it's a complicated dance of figuring out who is safe to share with, when I need to hold things close to my heart, and when to ask how I can help others.  Healing and protecting my heart and learning to trust are all tied up messily with learning boundaries and protecting my close friends from burnout as they help me wade through this murky swamp of debris.  

I wish it were as easy as Elsa sings- to just Let it Go... but I'm learning that bits of the struggle flake off at a time. A friend sent me a sweet quote this evening that made me cry- they felt bad for bringing on the tears.. my response caught me off guard but makes perfect sense to me now- I said- 'tears can be good. I think that I have held them back for so long that now that  I am beginning to thaw, it's just all of the melting around my heart making its way out through my eyes.'  

That. That times a million. 

Let it go. ......

Sticky business

I started a class at church last night called "Stuck".  There is a workbook that goes with it and it's considered a care group- not a bible study.  We are there to care for one another through the process.  There are ten or so of us women in the group and last night was the first meeting, where our nervous giggles, and squirming in our seats belied the surface calm that was in the air.

The goal is to begin to either identify or start to unpack those places where we are broken, angry, discontent, overwhelmed, or scared that are holding us back from full living. From moving forward. From not just dreaming, but moving into goals and engagement with the world as our true selves. That is hard work.  Doing that work will inevitably lead down a bumpy road of struggle and pain to sift through. While I want to do that, and work towards unsticking myself, it feels daunting.
Each of us shared for a moment our names, and a tiny snippet of why we were in the group.  The broken hearts around each table were placed gently into the open with the hope that the rest of us would scoop them up with love and grace and understanding.

I think that the class will be good. I think our group is going to connect in ways not often afforded to groups of women.  The atmosphere in the group is thick with expectation and I believe we will find ourselves knee deep in one another's grief, anger, and struggle.  But I also think that we will find ourselves standing in the warm light of grace and as we begin to shed some of the shame and struggle that sits so heavily on our hearts and souls.

The more I've been allowed into the lives of people, the more clear it is to me that each of us is broken, shattered, cracked, and wounded in some way.  Life has a peculiar way of jamming reality and struggle into each of us at some point.  I don't say this out of jaded cynicism, but rather with the knowledge that we cannot move through this life well without accumulating emotional injury along the way.  The beauty in that is that it levels the playing field.  We are all alike. Connected.  Bound by the awareness that life just happens. To all of us.   If you had placed the same group of these ten women in a room for a baby shower, we would still be the same ten broken, hurting, scared women... but because we're being given the gift of safety which will cultivate vulnerability- we get the amazing opportunity to allow someone to lean on us in those places we are strong, while we lean on someone else in our brokenness.  It's a lyrical dance of healthy community when we begin to peel back the places of shame and pain that dulls our shine and allow that light to pour out into the world.  The darkness of hurt can dampen the brightest light, but the space for truth to rest... the truth of where we sit... that space brings freedom, and light, and love and grace.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had a place like that? A group to go to where you knew that your heart and your fear and your precious lifeblood would be honored and loved and given room to rest? All of us need it. We all need those places to be vulnerable and allow the opening of our wings without the fear of another person tearing a hole in the gauzy fabric.  I have friends who do this for me, and I know I'm blessed.
I'm looking forward to getting to know my group and learning from the strengths they have that I am lacking and excited to offer encouragement in places where I am strong. It's good stuff- this systematic autopsy of my struggle.  I'm thankful to get to have a group to hold me up as I shrug off some of the falsely protective layers of pain and let them hold me up as I unfold my wings and get my legs under me.

Thankful for my village

I'm glad you're here.  Reading my words, my thoughts, my struggle and movement inside of this life.  

I do want you to know that I don't always sit in despair. I have told you that I am addicted to hope, and that is a hard addiction to break. 

I am a feeler- I feel deeply, intensely and many times I am harder on myself than I would be on any other person. 

I do struggle as a mother.  Since Samuel was two years old he began with challenges, and the reality is that for the majority of my mothering career, I have felt more like a survivor than an all-hands in, excited, joyful participant.  Some days that gives me pause.  I scan my brain and intentions and wonder if some part of me is fractured.. some 'enjoyment' gene I missed inheriting... and I begin down the road of mommy guilt and sadness.. but many days I am able to recognize that mothering (like any other intimate and ongoing relationship) is one that is filled with struggle and difficulty. Being in close proximity with others, and being the one trying to shape those others naturally brings about challenges... and I am becoming more and more aware that many mothers are behind closed doors struggling with something- loneliness, guilt, inadequacies, infertility, disappointment, disillusion.  This doesn't mean there isn't also laughter, and joy and silliness and cookies! and an intense connection with flesh and blood (or adopted blood!) that brings us to our knees with its sacred beauty.... but being a mother is tough.  And walking through it day after day can leave you feeling ragged and scraped raw. 

I don't always hang out in despair.  I am aware that things are happening behind the scenes in my life that are causing me to be lower on the rungs of resiliency.  Because of that, it is easy to fall into the well of pity and hopelessness.... but somehow that golden ladder out of pain always appears.  

Being a mother is hard.  Being a single mother is impossible... without all of you.  Hopefully, in the shocking things you've read at my hand... you will be spurred to be kinder to other mothers around you. To offer smiles to the mom pushing her cart in walmart with a wailing toddler in the seat.  To really look a woman in the eye as she tries to avoid you as she leans over to pick up her spilled purse contents, or her keys that her baby has thrown for the bazillionth time.  The reality is that none of us will get through motherhood without some injury or scarring.  So love on each other.  Give one another space to screw it all up and to also succeed miraculously- even if her rules and ideals don't necessarily match up with yours.  I've been incredibly gifted with a community who rallies around me when I begin to sink. I had one small text message that caused a friend in CA to call me immediately- just to pray with me and encourage me last night. I had many personal texts after my post, and several private requests to offer help.  I don't even know what to ask for- but the reality of having people who love me at my finger tips is a gift I don't take lightly. 

So, if my post rubbed you raw, and made you squirm for me, or for yourself- take that energy and love the mothers around you.  The mothers who don't have babies in their arms yet because their bodies won't yet give them the children they cry out for, the mothers whose husbands are across the world fighting for our country, the mothers whose husbands have walked out or whose husbands have been kicked out. The mothers of children with special needs, and the mothers whose kids just seem to be brats. We are all doing the best we can, and the most potent antidote to that hopelessness and mommy guilt is the soft word of another woman telling us we are not failing and not alone. Those words hold weight that presses back against the darkness of our pain and reminds us of the intense responsibility we are wading through, and it shows us that there is light here. 

So, thank you for reading.  I do sometimes write funny, witty (ish) and silly things. But, I have to be free to see those things first, and sometimes to get to the light... we have to swim in the dark.  But morning always comes dear ones- it always comes. Don't give up on me now.  

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.

forward crawl

i think i've mentioned before that i have children with special needs.

i have three sons and one daughter, and my sons are all somewhere on the autism spectrum.
while there is a lot of information out there about autism, i've found that many people aren't quite sure what it means, and telling people that we have autism in our family often brings silence, or pity.
the autism spectrum is wide and filled with people with all kinds of struggle and abilities. i'm thankful that all three of my boys are fairly high functioning, and while they each have different struggles and difficulties, they also all have special abilities and strengths too.

managing their care and schooling and meds and doctor appointments and behavior and emotional fallout is.... hard. but while i recognize that it's hard... it's also normal for me.  samuel started with struggles by the time he was two years old, and so for almost all of my parenting journey, i have known extra hardship.  but some days, i just feel.... more overwhelmed than usual.  today i got a phone call from asher's pediatrician denying one of the medication refills i was requesting.  they told me they don't prescribe it.... which is fine... except that i can't get in to see the developmental pediatrician for a couple of months, and so he just goes off of this medication cold turkey?  it's so hard to try and juggle all of the kids needs and ensure that nothing falls through the cracks.  i had no idea they wouldn't prescribe this particular medication and that he needed a specialist (we've moved from military insurance to civilian in the last 7 months and i'm still learning the ropes)
all i could do was cry. there are so many places in the lives of my kids that i just can't fix. i can't make it better. and i get tired, and weary.

as a mother, the deep, throbbing, driving force is to protect my kids and take care of their needs. to help prevent pain when possible, and teach them life lessons.  in the wake of all we've experienced, and in the intensified struggle that comes with the autism diagnosis... i am brokenhearted to know that i cannot protect them from everything. i can't fix it all, and things happen that are beyond my control.
i know, intellectually, that this is a normal part of motherhood, but that nagging little monster that hangs out in dark alleys, or crouches at the foot of my bed swells up with phone calls like those and tells me how disastrous this is. how we will never be normal, they will never be well adjusted, and life will always be a giant struggle against pain and grief. that mama guilt monster that plagues so many of us feeds on situations like this and gleefully hands me the guilt whip to start whaling away at myself.  sadly, i all too often reach out to take that whip and sit in the self inflicted punishment for things that are far beyond my control.

i did sit in that space for a bit. i cried, and worried, and scanned the mental horizon to try and create a solution- but the reality is... i can't fix it.  this is yet another place where i have to just do the best i can and worry less about fixing it and more about just trying to stitch things back together to the best of my ability.  so, this evening, i'm throwing the whip back at the creepy, disgusting mama-guilt monster and telling it to get behind me.  i know that there are so many places where i could be doing more.. and yet... i'm here.  doing it. every single day. mothering these children while my own heart sags under the weight of grief and their hearts hang ripped and torn.  i am slowly moving towards wholeness... some days the progress feels nonexistent, but as i look behind us i am able to see that we are indeed moving up the mountain.

christmas musings

it's christmas.  the end of the day.  the presents have been opened, food eaten, kids spent time with their paternal grandparents, and this mama napped some.

when life changes... when the structure of the life you've created somehow slips and cracks, and begins to hurdle towards leveling... holidays have no choice but to follow. changes have to happen, and new patterns emerge, and everyone wriggles towards the most recognizable normal that can be grasped.
i have to admit, i was a bit nervous.
this is the third house we've been in on the third christmas in a row, and the likelihood of being in yet another house next year is quite high.  i feel dizzy with the speed of change that we've experienced, and like my children, i yearn for some stability, some solid ground on which to get my footing.  all of the change, and difference smears together into one big blur, and i try hard to pull out some thread of familiarirty that i can offer my kids to assure their hearts that we are ok.

their dad spent time with us last night and again today.  it went better than i had anticipated, and i'm thankful for that.  i pray that the two of us can find a road to navigate that will be paved with friendship and shared love for our kids and that we can provide some landscape of familial love for our kids. i feel that we did the very best we could this year, and the kids seemed fairly adjusted.

but then they return home after an evening with him and his family, and the oldest son starts wailing away at us both emotionally and physically.  i've learned that this is his coping skill when he's angry and hurting, and i am learning to speak honestly and firmly to him to try to allow space for his hurt and anger while also protecting the hearts and souls of the other children who often become the target of his pain. it's a complicated dance we have here now... with me as the dj- trying to offer melodies that will bring joy and peace rather than dissonance and grief.  i work hard to allow him to have space to hurt, but to recognize that we are not the enemy, and as sweet Jesus reminds us in his word- we can be angry and still not sin.  we managed to bumble through this hurt and get to the other end of it where he was tucked in warmly and loved, and i pray his wounded heart would be carried by the father as he sleeps.  this life of fractured family has tentacles of pain that reach far and wind hard and i beg God to please extract my children from the pain and grief and try hard to instill in them the solid knowledge that they are dearly loved.

i was loved graciously today by people who don't know us.. and in God's amazingly creative way... we were given a net on which to fall.  presents and gifts and love poured in and they cradled us in the physical which reminds us that we are also held tightly in his arms.

i'm filled with gratitude, and yet also ache. glennon melton, who writes so beautifully at the blog called momastary, calls life like this 'brutiful'.... and i couldn't agree more.  i am living proof that this messy, bloody, painful, beautiful life is both gorgeous and brutal.  i am laying claim tonight to that title over my family.  we are in the the very center of bruitful.  and while that hurts... and while it rubs, and gapes, and bleeds... there is also such grace here... and i'm not sure this amazingly close fragrance of God can be experienced outside of the brutiful life. it is here that we find not only ourselves... but the essence of Him.

merry christmas dear ones.

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.