resolved

i am blessed with people in my life who encourage me.  i'm thankful for friends who know when to reach out and say things that will lift my spirits and build me up.
i had a sweet friend send me a note this morning thanking me for helping to teach her to talk to her children more, and get to the bottom of their hurt.
i am humbled.

the reality is.. i do talk with my kids- a lot.  i have many friends who come from broken homes, and the common thread seems to be that there was no real discussion of emotions, or changes, or why things were happening the way they were.  i can't imagine being a child whose life is turned upside down and not know something about why everything was shattering.  i decided very quickly that i would make space for my children's questions and hurts, and i would do my best to answer them at their appropriate age levels and ability to understand.  it has not been easy.  there are a lot of things i'd love to tell them when they are angry with me for 'sending their dad away'.  so many things i want to yell at them to justify why i've made the choice i did, knowing that when you know the details.... no one would condemn me... but also knowing that ultimately, i want to preserve the relationship they have with their father, and railing against him- even in my own defense- would only serve to layer on more hurt, confusion and anger over hearts that are already raw and wounded.  i am living in a place of waiting- praying and hoping that when they are older they will see some of the reasons i've made the choices i've made.  that maybe they might even thank me for doing what i'm doing.  but today? right now? they are angry and i am an easy target.

i'd like to tell you that i always just talk to them.  but that is so far from the truth that i can't even pretend that it's real. i yell far more often than i wish i did.  my own fear and anger and pain leaks into our interactions, and while i wish i responded with grace and love, i often respond with pain and shouts.  sometimes i feel that our family is one codependent pod of pain that moves around the house bumping into one another, and ripping new wounds in each other as we all try to find our place in the new landscape that has become our normal.  many days i feel like a failure.  when the rise of emotion and anger begins to bubble up in my children and seep out onto one another, and that leads to hitting, and yelling and name calling- i sometimes shout above the noise... knowing as i do that it is out of fear and hurt.  i hate to see them ache.  i hate to see them try to make sense of this in their limited understanding, and hate to see them lash out at each other and even me as they try to let off some of the pressure of the hurt.  some days i can see the good that i'm doing... and i'm glad i am able to talk to my kids, and that they often talk back.. but other days... i feel overwhelmed with the reality that my own anger and pain often adds to the mess rather than being the one to absorb it and make sacred space for their hearts to rest.

i don't really do new year's resolutions.  i do a good enough job of whipping myself emotionally over perceived failures, and am in no hurry to add more potential failings to the mix.  but this year... if i were to choose anything.. it would be to respond in a more quiet manner.  to remember in my own anger and pride that the response i see in my children is usually birthed in pain that manifests in anger.  i want them to remember me as a soft place to fall... not as a yelling, angry, hurting woman who scared them and added to the chaos.  i want to be a place of peace and grace... leading my family into new frontiers as we figure out the journey with new roles.  any progress is good progress and i will celebrate small victories.  the encouraging note from my friend was beautiful and kind, but also serves as a challenge to me- to continue to do the hard, exhausting work of talking and listening, and to remember that the yelling and hitting from them is a symptom of deeper pain.  i will address the pain and not the symptoms.  here's to a more peaceful 2014!

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.

you matter

i went to the movies today.  it was a matinee in a small theater here in my small town. i got there a bit early, and was all alone for about 10 minutes while previews played.  then a mother and her teen daughter came in.  they were a bit loud and silly and they sat across the aisle and to my left.  the daughter seemed to be animated, but not overly so.

a few more people came in, found seats, scrolled through their phones,and chatted as they waited for the show to start.  the daughter was a little chatty, but while i thought she was a little loud, i wasn't offended in any way.  as the previews ended and the movie began, the two women who had sat in front of the girl and her mom made a show of getting up and moving- and sat behind me.

they were annoyed with the girl, and were frustrated that she was making noise during the movie.   instead of extending grace, they made it obvious to everyone that they were annoyed.
i was heartbroken.
i had noticed very quickly that the girl was a little different.  if i had to guess, i would place her on the autism spectrum.  her behavior was normal to me as i live with kids who are on the spectrum.  she wasn't overly loud, she wasn't always loud, and i wasn't annoyed with her at all- just aware of her.  i knew that when those women moved, that there must have been a reaction of some sort in the heart of the mother... who was being a great mom by bringing her daughter to the movies to spend time with her.  the girl was excited, and engaged with the story, and while she had to be shushed by her mother several times during the show, she was never offensive, or over the top in any way.  in fact, her innocence and gaiety was pleasing to me.  the entire time i was at the showing, i was distracted because i knew that the mother had noticed the actions of the other women.  i know from experience that my child's behavior in public might not always be "appropriate" and yet, it's also not always "appropriate" for me to share that with strangers surrounding us who are staring and judging.  i've learned after a decade with a special needs child, that ultimately the judgement of strangers matters little in my life story and well being, but sometimes it still stings.
as the movie ended, the girl jumped to her feet and clapped wildly.  she told her mother in a very loud whisper that "you stand and clap when you like the movie!"  i smiled at her excitement.  

i stood up and walked towards the two of them. i looked the mother in the eye and just said- 'you're doing a great job mama.'  i rubbed her arm and turned to walk away.  she had been a bit embarrassed and looked down, but i was thankful for the chance to speak to her, if only for a moment.

the reality is that all of us have struggles. some of us are good at hiding them, and others of us can't hide them. this sweet girl did nothing wrong..... and yet the women in front of her were more concerned with their own comfort than pausing to think that maybe the noise wasn't meant to be offensive.  i was glad i had been there to speak to the mother, not because i am anything wonderful, but because i know from experience how a word of encouragement can spare me from unnecessary pain.  i would encourage you to follow that voice that prompts you to smile at the mom who is pushing the cart with a screaming toddler, or to say hello to the elderly man in line behind you checking out with his sardines and toilet paper.  to bend over to pick up the piece of paper that the lady walking ahead of you dropped, or to make eye contact as you hold open the door for the family behind you.  small moments of connection like this make a world of difference... and as someone who has been scraped raw over the last couple of years, i have to tell you that those moments are healing salve to a tender heart.  you absolutely matter.

so thankful

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.

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.

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.

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.