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.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
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.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, January 6, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Hope Addiction
Hope is a tenuous thing. Too much and we lose connection with the present. Not enough, and we can't see our way out of the present. To be healthy and focused and living well, we need a good balance of hope at the right dose.
I admit that I have been a hope addict. I have used hope to get me through times when I knew down deep that life wasn't ok. However, because i couldn't put my finger on it, and couldn't see through the haze, it was easier to just hope that things would get better somewhere in the undefined future.
The hope of a new move, a new baby, my husband's potential promotions, a new church, new friends, new clothes, losing weight; putting hope in some change that I longed to come and fix the gnawing empty wound that was slowly killing me.
I had a difficult marriage. I always knew that something was off, but I never quite could identify what it was. I smiled, and worked, and prayed, and served and sliced through the nagging uneasiness with the sharp knife of hope towards the future. It became my drug. I would create lists in a desperate hopeful attempt to blot out the drowning despair that crouched at my door. I would write dreams and hopes and plans on pages of wishful dreaming; from my plan to get out of debt, to where we would move next, to baby names. I never had my footing in my relationship, never felt free to completely be who I was, and so I numbed that void with hope. I hoped my way into a messy marriage, a hurting heart and eventually the biggest blow you can get from your spouse. It was over.
I often wonder how long it would have taken me to see and hear the truth had I allowed the reality of the pain I had been trying to avoid set in years ago.
Without hope, despair and depression sets in. Feeling hopeless creates a desperation and drowning in our spirits that longs for relief. Hope is the elixir to protect us from the raw scrape of present circumstances. Hospital halls are coated in hope. Loved ones walk the corridors deep in prayer and throwing their last hope to the wind with the expectation that faith will catch their hope and swing into action to fix whatever ailment they are fighting. The hope of healing and change sustains them. It can be a good thing.
Unfortunately, hope can also prevent us from growth. The continual waiting for things to get better mimics forward motion but is actually an effort to escape the recognition of a sometimes difficult reality.
Hope can be used to avoid. Escape. Deny. Soothe. Numb. It can become the drug of choice in difficult situations and while useful for a time, it can eventually sabotage an entire life. If you never fully engage in your present reality but instead use hope to escape it, you can look back and realize that a decade was lost while you waited and hoped for things to get better.
There is a fine line between having hope in a person, or circumstance, or relationship and avoiding the reality of brokenness. hope is an inherently good thing, and yet because it is good, and because it can allow us to believe that we are acting and engaging, it is also dangerous. When mindlessly applied to your life it can blur the boundaries between your reality and what you wished your reality was. It can morph from sacred, sustaining hope into devious and deceit-filled wishful thinking.
I am not hopeless. I am not advocating despair or bleak realism. But. I am now a crusader for truth. Hope can be used to protect a lie.
Just as with other dependencies, the trouble starts when we use hope to avoid our present reality for too long. We can abuse hope by using it in such a way that can prevent us from change or even to sink into the healing reality of pain. I am just beginning to explore what this hope addiction means to me and to others... I believe that many of us are in a cycle of hope addiction and that there is a better way. It has been a joke in my family that I have always been the perpetual Pollyanna, but in the destruction of a life i had protected for far too long, I now cautiously am moving towards the title of recovering idealist. I am still a hopeful person. I still look for the best in people and circumstance, but I am learning to sit in the ache of reality more intentionally, knowing (with scared hope) that this too shall pass. I am learning to engage in this life without the powerful addiction to hope.
I admit that I have been a hope addict. I have used hope to get me through times when I knew down deep that life wasn't ok. However, because i couldn't put my finger on it, and couldn't see through the haze, it was easier to just hope that things would get better somewhere in the undefined future.
The hope of a new move, a new baby, my husband's potential promotions, a new church, new friends, new clothes, losing weight; putting hope in some change that I longed to come and fix the gnawing empty wound that was slowly killing me.
I had a difficult marriage. I always knew that something was off, but I never quite could identify what it was. I smiled, and worked, and prayed, and served and sliced through the nagging uneasiness with the sharp knife of hope towards the future. It became my drug. I would create lists in a desperate hopeful attempt to blot out the drowning despair that crouched at my door. I would write dreams and hopes and plans on pages of wishful dreaming; from my plan to get out of debt, to where we would move next, to baby names. I never had my footing in my relationship, never felt free to completely be who I was, and so I numbed that void with hope. I hoped my way into a messy marriage, a hurting heart and eventually the biggest blow you can get from your spouse. It was over.
I often wonder how long it would have taken me to see and hear the truth had I allowed the reality of the pain I had been trying to avoid set in years ago.
Without hope, despair and depression sets in. Feeling hopeless creates a desperation and drowning in our spirits that longs for relief. Hope is the elixir to protect us from the raw scrape of present circumstances. Hospital halls are coated in hope. Loved ones walk the corridors deep in prayer and throwing their last hope to the wind with the expectation that faith will catch their hope and swing into action to fix whatever ailment they are fighting. The hope of healing and change sustains them. It can be a good thing.
Unfortunately, hope can also prevent us from growth. The continual waiting for things to get better mimics forward motion but is actually an effort to escape the recognition of a sometimes difficult reality.
Hope can be used to avoid. Escape. Deny. Soothe. Numb. It can become the drug of choice in difficult situations and while useful for a time, it can eventually sabotage an entire life. If you never fully engage in your present reality but instead use hope to escape it, you can look back and realize that a decade was lost while you waited and hoped for things to get better.
There is a fine line between having hope in a person, or circumstance, or relationship and avoiding the reality of brokenness. hope is an inherently good thing, and yet because it is good, and because it can allow us to believe that we are acting and engaging, it is also dangerous. When mindlessly applied to your life it can blur the boundaries between your reality and what you wished your reality was. It can morph from sacred, sustaining hope into devious and deceit-filled wishful thinking.
I am not hopeless. I am not advocating despair or bleak realism. But. I am now a crusader for truth. Hope can be used to protect a lie.
Just as with other dependencies, the trouble starts when we use hope to avoid our present reality for too long. We can abuse hope by using it in such a way that can prevent us from change or even to sink into the healing reality of pain. I am just beginning to explore what this hope addiction means to me and to others... I believe that many of us are in a cycle of hope addiction and that there is a better way. It has been a joke in my family that I have always been the perpetual Pollyanna, but in the destruction of a life i had protected for far too long, I now cautiously am moving towards the title of recovering idealist. I am still a hopeful person. I still look for the best in people and circumstance, but I am learning to sit in the ache of reality more intentionally, knowing (with scared hope) that this too shall pass. I am learning to engage in this life without the powerful addiction to hope.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
bandwagon jumping
there is a trend going around where people choose a word for the new year and purpose to live towards the goal stated. it's a noble trend, one with good fruit and solid focus. more noble perhaps than simply bullet point resolutions, and more laser focused than a list of things to address. the one word can create a theme to live under... a more intentionally created atmosphere by which to order choices.
i've never done it.
i have a committment problem with things like that.... my adhd-like brain tends to feel confined and boxed in with decisions like these, and so instead of engaging in the trend, i have avoided it. i've enjoyed reading words other people have chosen and have been enlightened with new vocabulary and also delighted by some of the unexpected words i've seen scroll through my facebook feed. but i didn't think of joining in or even considering what 'my word' might be.
but sometimes, things happen on their own. organically, quietly... without pomp and circumstance. without pressure.
it happened that way for me this year.
i have a word... and it came into my spirit without effort and without drama. my word for 2014 is resolved.
resolved means: to come to a definite or earnest decision about; determine (to do something): I have resolved that I shall live to the full. -
by the way- the sentence given? that was the example given in the dictionary- it wasn't mine. amazing how it fits so snugly into my intention though, isn't it?
this year i will do hard things. last year my word would have been survival. i made it through. i survived. i kept my head above water - barely- and was able to live. but i'm done surviving. in order to push through to thriving, i have to work. hard. in ways i never have had to work before. i have to do those things i know i am supposed to do. i have to sacrifice in order to make a way for myself and my children. i have to fight hard to thresh out my path in this world, and to ensure that i do not slip backwards into poverty, depression, rejection and then become a statistic. i refuse to lay my life down just because my road has taken a turn in the opposite direction of where i thought i was headed. instead...i will find the journey i am meant to travel and this will be my year's verse:
Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left.
Isaiah 30:21
i've never done it.
i have a committment problem with things like that.... my adhd-like brain tends to feel confined and boxed in with decisions like these, and so instead of engaging in the trend, i have avoided it. i've enjoyed reading words other people have chosen and have been enlightened with new vocabulary and also delighted by some of the unexpected words i've seen scroll through my facebook feed. but i didn't think of joining in or even considering what 'my word' might be.
but sometimes, things happen on their own. organically, quietly... without pomp and circumstance. without pressure.
it happened that way for me this year.
i have a word... and it came into my spirit without effort and without drama. my word for 2014 is resolved.
resolved means: to come to a definite or earnest decision about; determine (to do something): I have resolved that I shall live to the full. -
by the way- the sentence given? that was the example given in the dictionary- it wasn't mine. amazing how it fits so snugly into my intention though, isn't it?
this year i will do hard things. last year my word would have been survival. i made it through. i survived. i kept my head above water - barely- and was able to live. but i'm done surviving. in order to push through to thriving, i have to work. hard. in ways i never have had to work before. i have to do those things i know i am supposed to do. i have to sacrifice in order to make a way for myself and my children. i have to fight hard to thresh out my path in this world, and to ensure that i do not slip backwards into poverty, depression, rejection and then become a statistic. i refuse to lay my life down just because my road has taken a turn in the opposite direction of where i thought i was headed. instead...i will find the journey i am meant to travel and this will be my year's verse:
Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left.
Isaiah 30:21
i feel that i have a smeared, dusty vision of what my life might look like over the next months... but i am anxious and excited to see how things will unfold.. i am holding tight to following the path meant for me. i am resolved to do my work.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
happy new year's!!!
i have a rough history with new year's. in years past, i have dreaded the arrival of a new year and have struggled to flip the calendar and stare down the barrel of a fresh year that begged for living.
i am usually a die hard optimist. i can look at most situations and see the slice of silver lining- however thin it may be- and readjust my attitude to reflect that hope and expectation. but for some reason, the tiny realist who dwells deep within would always run to the forefront and demand attention each year as the calendar crept towards january 1st.
due to the basic fact that i am human... i am aware that i will face loss. the thing we humans try the hardest to avoid in life is pain and loss... and so each year as i raced towards that fresh slate... i would wonder what the following january 1st would look like... and who might be missing from my life.
i would become paralyzed with fear and anxiety and scan the lives of my loved ones and try to rate the risk of loss in each of their lives. i realize that loss will come... someone will pass from this life and i will be left behind... and i can't begin to formulate how to prepare for that.
but this year? i know loss. while i've not buried someone in the soft, wet earth, i have seen the death of my marriage. a death i thought would never come to pass... and one that has rocked my entire world. i have also stood by my best friend as she laid her mother to rest. she was in her early 60s and no one was prepared to say goodbye to her this soon. i have lost much of my physical 'stuff'... from furniture, to housing, to clothing and even weight... and have held my children as they cried for the 'normal' life they thought they were promised just by being young and innocent. i know the heaviness of loss, and i know the ache of grief. and through it all? i am still alive. i can see the goodness of God in the middle of the loss... i can feel the heaviness of authentic community and gracious family. i have embraced a few friends as life long blood now, and i have said goodbye to others who couldn't handle the heat of my dramatic pain. i know loss and i know grief... .and what's more... i know that i can live through it. i now know that i have strength that doesn't break... it bends and wrinkles in the struggle, but it isn't brittle and fragile. i see myself as a strong rope... flexible and strong. able to hold and support more weight than should be physically possible. i have faith in me. but... it's because i have faith in Him.
so this year, i am eager for the new year. the fresh slate that used to overwhelm me with negative possibilities now stretches before me with endless possibilities. the freedom and grace and love and peace that i long for could lie nestled within the months to come. i hope to see more healing, strength, intimacy and provision as i tear month after month from the wall calendar. i pray that as those pages are folded up to be preserved as family history, that there will be entries encompassing dinners with friends, work that will feed my children, events that celebrate events with people i love, and even some adventure. i'm excited for what can happen over the next 12 months. this year still might hold loss and grief for me... but i now know that i can survive... and that is the gift i take from 2013. happy new year's dear ones. may this year bring growth... peace.... love that is authentic and deep... and joy that defies explanation. (and a bit of adventure as well!) i can't wait to meet you back here in a year and compare notes. i'm thinking we'll all have a lot to share and we won't believe where we'll be sitting. cheers!!!
i am usually a die hard optimist. i can look at most situations and see the slice of silver lining- however thin it may be- and readjust my attitude to reflect that hope and expectation. but for some reason, the tiny realist who dwells deep within would always run to the forefront and demand attention each year as the calendar crept towards january 1st.
due to the basic fact that i am human... i am aware that i will face loss. the thing we humans try the hardest to avoid in life is pain and loss... and so each year as i raced towards that fresh slate... i would wonder what the following january 1st would look like... and who might be missing from my life.
i would become paralyzed with fear and anxiety and scan the lives of my loved ones and try to rate the risk of loss in each of their lives. i realize that loss will come... someone will pass from this life and i will be left behind... and i can't begin to formulate how to prepare for that.
but this year? i know loss. while i've not buried someone in the soft, wet earth, i have seen the death of my marriage. a death i thought would never come to pass... and one that has rocked my entire world. i have also stood by my best friend as she laid her mother to rest. she was in her early 60s and no one was prepared to say goodbye to her this soon. i have lost much of my physical 'stuff'... from furniture, to housing, to clothing and even weight... and have held my children as they cried for the 'normal' life they thought they were promised just by being young and innocent. i know the heaviness of loss, and i know the ache of grief. and through it all? i am still alive. i can see the goodness of God in the middle of the loss... i can feel the heaviness of authentic community and gracious family. i have embraced a few friends as life long blood now, and i have said goodbye to others who couldn't handle the heat of my dramatic pain. i know loss and i know grief... .and what's more... i know that i can live through it. i now know that i have strength that doesn't break... it bends and wrinkles in the struggle, but it isn't brittle and fragile. i see myself as a strong rope... flexible and strong. able to hold and support more weight than should be physically possible. i have faith in me. but... it's because i have faith in Him.
so this year, i am eager for the new year. the fresh slate that used to overwhelm me with negative possibilities now stretches before me with endless possibilities. the freedom and grace and love and peace that i long for could lie nestled within the months to come. i hope to see more healing, strength, intimacy and provision as i tear month after month from the wall calendar. i pray that as those pages are folded up to be preserved as family history, that there will be entries encompassing dinners with friends, work that will feed my children, events that celebrate events with people i love, and even some adventure. i'm excited for what can happen over the next 12 months. this year still might hold loss and grief for me... but i now know that i can survive... and that is the gift i take from 2013. happy new year's dear ones. may this year bring growth... peace.... love that is authentic and deep... and joy that defies explanation. (and a bit of adventure as well!) i can't wait to meet you back here in a year and compare notes. i'm thinking we'll all have a lot to share and we won't believe where we'll be sitting. cheers!!!
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