Fearless

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve.  The last day of 2014.  The wrapping up of this year and the preparation to welcome a new one.
I have spent many years as an anxious mess around New Years.  Fear would wrap itself around my heart and squeeze tight until I wanted nothing more than to go to bed and wake up sometime mid-February.  Beyond the flurry of resolutions and high hopes for a new year, new self, new life.
My fear was so thick, so real, so intense, that I hated this time of year. I would begin looking over the months behind us and then realize that one of these years I will face loss… one of these new years celebrations will mean that I leave behind a year that held someone I love and walk forward into a new year that won't hold that person inside of it.  I would struggle to exhale, knowing that someday, some year, loss will inevitably come.

2012 was the year loss came to my doorstep. The year I lost in grand proportions; the year I walked out of a year that held someone I loved and into a new year without him.  Two new year's eves later, I am here. Standing. Strong.  I bear scars and have lost some innocence I needed to shed.  My eyes are wide open to hurt that can strike harshly from the belly of one you called lover, and my heart is both flung wide open to beauty as well as guarded against anything that smells anything like what I've experienced before.  I've walked through the darkest forest of grief and come through into the dawn. I've hurt and bled and raged and numbed out and here I am.  I'm not afraid anymore.  I feel the fibers of my being pulled taut in strength, reverberating with the awareness that I can do hard things.  I can be slashed and bruised and torn, but not defeated.  I have the wide open awakening that life comes to each of us, but the places of darkness and wounding need not be the end of ourselves… in fact, I feel reborn, new, thankful and grateful to get to sift out the excess filth to uncover the beauty that was waiting for me underneath.  I feel the sun living in my chest, the full life that comes not from money, or an easy life, but from the deep knowing that come what may, I will be ok.  I can do this life.  I can take a beating and rise again. I am enjoying myself in ways never afforded to me inside of a relationship that was more than a little off kilter.  I am free to explore what it is that brings me joy, and the more light that pours inside of me spills out into my children.  I find my delight in their faces. They see my contentment and snuggle into that safety like a warm cocoon.  They have watched me navigate hurtful and difficult things and keep moving.  They are learning through my dark forest that pain isn't something to be afraid of, but to be stared down and plowed through.

This New Year's Eve I will stand in the light of the midnight moon and throw my arms open wide. I welcome 2015, knowing as a sage that it will bring brokenness as well as joy. It will hold confusion, sadness and hurt, but it will also be bursting with newness and opportunity and places to dive deeper into this life that was gifted to me.  I can't wait to unwrap it and savor what it holds.

This Little Light of Mine, I'm Gonna Let it Shine

In the two-plus years since my ex-husband left, I have been through a myriad of lessons, layers of healing, moments of panic and, seasons of hopelessness.  I have felt most every emotion I can think of and some I have no descriptive words for.  I've screamed and cursed at God, and wept into my pillow at the overwhelming realization that my dream had crumbled.
As I pressed through the painful places, I began to rise into new areas of brokenness in me that needed attention.  I had lived inside of an unhealthy marriage for fourteen years, and somewhere in that relationship I laid down who I was and walked away from her.  I worked hard, in the sick, codependent way that we sometimes do, to ensure everyone around me was ok.  I scanned faces and body language, held my breath to listen for subtle vocal nuances, and then would adjust myself accordingly so those around me would be ok. I was dying for everyone around me to be ok. But I have realized that I was never ok.

The earlier years of raising my children were filled with chaos and fear.  My oldest son was aggressive and unpredictable and I lived in a precarious place of fight or flight for multiple years.  I was hyper aware of his moods, and worked hard to try and make him ok.  As more years passed, and more children joined our brood; resentment, irritability, and frustration became my go-to emotions, and as guilty as I felt living in that skin, there was nothing lasting I could do to soften those edges and give me the deep exhale that my entire being was screaming for.  I was suffocating under the dirt that had been piled on top of my heart in a powerful effort to snuff out the light I had been given to share.

This year, as I've moved past the hurt of losing my marriage, and walked away from that initial wounding, I've headed into the deep work of finding my voice, looking for who I am, who I want to be, and learning to love her.

I am rediscovering things I enjoy, and finding that I can be a lot of fun. I have intense emotions both high and low and feel everything deeply.  I like to laugh, and be silly, but I enjoy nothing more than deep conversations that fly down low into depths of struggle and flit back high into laughter together.  My friends and family have been heroes in my personal revolution as I scrape harshly with my words and moods while I learn to uncover the authentic self.   I am learning how to say no to people, how to stand up for my opinions at the risk of rejection by others but incredible peace with myself.  I'm finding out how to look people in the eyes and tell them I disagree while lacing it with all of the love and grace I can muster.  I am discovering that my voice matters, and that the things I feel and love to do are worthy simply because they live inside of the woman I have been created to be.  I am embracing my oddities and finding joy in activities that others might find worthless.  I sing and dance around my kitchen, make silly jokes with my kids and have relearned that I am not quiet or calm.  The energy and passion I worked so hard to cover up for so many years is spilling out into my life again and I'm finding the light in my children's faces as they see my heart thawing and shining.
I have made mistakes and thrown heavy burdens on friends and family as I learn boundaries and relational honesty, but when I see the scrapes I've caused, I go back to acknowledge them.  I am so very flawed and yet so very beautifully made, and even in those places I hope to grow and change, I am finding I enjoy my own company.  I never dreamed I would be one of the statistical women who would lose herself inside of a relationship, but I did.  I consider it an incredible gift to get the chance to learn who I am and to get to learn to love myself away from the toxic confines of that place.  I'm finally growing up and into who I was made to be, and learning that I have a path created just for me and all I can give.

Story Gatherer

A few months ago I was asked if I wanted to be on the story telling initiative at my church. I had no idea what that meant, but knew that if there was a team working to tell and gather stories, I wanted to be part of it.
I meet with a small group, and we have been working towards growing our church in the vein of story telling.  How do we tell them? How do we gather them? How can we be a safe place for people to share pieces of their lives with us? It's been a fun and powerful experience to discuss such a simple concept that holds such weight.

I can think of no greater honor than to be dubbed a facilitator of stories.  If I could write my epitaph, I'd love for it to read: She gathered stories to her like flowers, and in turn shared those from her own garden. 
I truly believe that in the telling of our stories, from the coffee shop blunder, to the deeper, more visceral  chapters of abuse or rejection, we spin webs into the lives of others that connect us in a way that can't be achieved without them. Making space in your life for stories from the lives of others is the most powerful way to honor people.  We are designed for hearing them and sharing them- HONY (Humans Of New York) has made a huge splash in our culture by telling short stories of people walking along the streets of NYC.  We devour the stories, we add to them, and speculate the ending by the dress, stance, and few words spilled from a heart ready to share a little part of themselves with the world.

Stories move us to action, they connect us to one another in an emotional sense.  Our empathy, and compassion can be pinged by a well told story.  Stories humanize us, and if we allow ourselves to listen, then we often are moved out of judgement and into grace.  Stories open wide the heart to allow it to fill with love, and understanding, and it pulls forth the pieces of emotion that we have experienced in other situations that can attach to the experience being shared with us.  Stories can caution us, and prevent us from walking roads that would damage our souls, which then keeps us from trouble. They teach us, they grow us, they connect us and they can change us.

It's always confused me when people tell me that they 'hate people'.  We've all heard that from someone in our lives, and while I understand the surface level of defense against more pain from the hands and words of other people, I think that avoiding people, hating them, and being defensive against them creates a void in the soul meant to be filled by connecting with others. Our story is the treasure we carry with us. It's the way we can see God move in one another, it's the way we relate; and to avoid people, and consequently their stories, we miss the richness offered to us by listening.

I have had powerful times where I've found myself in someones story- and in their telling, I discover places in me that need attention, and grace, and love to heal.  When I hear my experience fall off of someone elses lips, and I can see myself there, I am often changed, and encouraged that my experience doesn't end here. I can see and hear my own future when I listen to stories of others- and the places they've walked ahead of me. It infuses me with hope and I learn once again, in the daily dosing I seem to require, that I am not alone.

Listening is sacrificial. It sets aside self for the gift of space for a heart.  It makes room in us for more love, less self, and more God. It's the honoring of their soul, their heart, and their experience. It takes time, and energy. But in gathering stories to ourselves… in making room in our lives to hear the experience of others, we are nourished in ways that make every moment worth it.
Look around… people are longing for us to hear them.  It's one of most precious gifts we can give to another soul.  Safety, freedom, and time.

She called herself the Fat Girl

I went on a field trip with Ivy a few weeks ago.  I was thrilled to get to be one of two parents who got to go with the busy first grade class to the children's theater.
I've been blessed to go on many of my kids' field trips through the years and enjoy getting to spend time with the other kids as well as my own child outside of the classroom setting.

My experience with this field trip was more than just a good time… it had intense moments, and places of ragged humanity that left me more than a bit weary and deflated.
When I got to the classroom, Ivy ran to me and pulled me into her group of girlfriends.  I knelt into the gaggle of long braids, sparkly sweatshirts, and pink nail polish.  The girls swarmed me and began touching my hair, earrings, and necklace.  They ooohed and ahhhed at my jewelry and exclaimed several times that I was just 'so pretty'.  Ivy was beaming from ear to ear, and proudly stood beside me with her tiny hand tucked inside of mine, as they fawned over me.  At first it was sweet, flattering, and cute to hear their little voices get excited about makeup and cheap jewelry from the sales rack at kohl's. But as they continued, I began to get uncomfortable.  The truth was, I wasn't all that jazzed up that day. I had on jeans and boots, and a simple sweater.  My hair and makeup were my daily style and my jewelry was simple and easy.  I always dress this way. I love being a woman, and I love to look my best.  My style is basic, and simple- not at all flashy or glittery- but I wear makeup and jewelry daily- it's what I do.  I couldn't help but wonder if some of the women in their lives weren't making time for themselves… to spend the few extra moments on themselves on an average morning to brush a bit of blush on a cheek, or spike eyelashes with a dash of mascara.  We often put ourselves last. And our daughters are watching.

Women don't have to wear makeup or curl their hair to be beautiful, or feminine; but I am watching my daughter watch me take care of myself, and begin to incorporate some of those things into her normal daily routine.
I saw the opportunity for a little life lesson and dove in- as they told me how pretty I was, I was able to look into their eyes and affirm their beauty.  I thanked them for commenting on my earrings, but swung the conversation back to the importance of being beautiful from the inside out. Loving our friends well, treating people with kindness and grace.  I have no idea if they heard me, but I was determined to be another voice in the hum of voices vying for their attention.

I got my assignment of kids in my group and gathered them to me like ducklings.  Their excitement for our adventure was contagious and we giggled and talked and girls paired off for bus buddies.  We climbed the steps of the bus and settled into the rigid backed seats with excitement.  One of my group girls leaned across the aisle to get my attention and her words pierced my heart. Without blinking, without apology; in the innocent honesty that children have before the world darkens and softens the edge, she said 'kids in my class call me fat'.
I blinked and swallowed.  She wasn't really asking for a response. She wasn't looking to shock me, or gain pity.  She was simply sharing information that was sitting at the top of her heart that was too heavy to carry, and so she laid it down for me.
I looked back into her eyes and said "I'm so sorry that that has happened to you sweet girl". She looked down, and fidgeted under my concern- "It's ok" she was quick to dismiss me.  "Everyone says it"
She sat back in her seat and looked off through her window.
My heart was heavy as we bounced along on our way to the theater.  I knew she carried a heavy burden, and there wasn't much I could do to lighten it.

We got to the theater and she found a spot at our table to spread out her lunch and share her food and her story with me.  Through the next hour her interaction with me was peppered with hurt she had suffered at the words of kids in her class about her weight. But each time she spoke, she would give a reason as to why they had said the hurtful things; quick to dismiss the hurt and offer excuses as to why they were mean to her. She mentioned that one boy on her bus had told everyone she had kissed him "but it's not true" she insisted with tears brimming her eyes.  She quieted for a moment and then started again… "But it's ok now. We're friends again".  I was dumbfounded.  "How are you friends again?  Did he ask you to forgive him for lying about you?" She looked confused at my question. I pressed on: "Did you ask him why he said those things about you? Did he ask you to forgive him? He lied about you sweet girl. A friend would apologize. "  She sat silent for a moment and then quietly said.. "Well, everyone forgot about it, so we're friends again."
Some time passed with silly girl talk, nibbling on home-packed lunches, and discussions about the upcoming play.  At one point, Ivy became upset with me and was crying and pouting.  My little friend "Jenny" slipped her bracelet off of her wrist and held it out to the despondent Ivy.  "Here Ivy" she pleaded. "You can have my bracelet.  Just please don't cry. Please don't be upset"
Ivy looked up and her eyes lit with excitement over the new trinket. I put my hand on the bracelet and looked into the other girls eyes. "No. You're not giving this to Ivy. You don't have to give things to people to make them like you Jenny.  Being who you are; being a friend is enough. YOU are enough." She cocked her head to the side to bring in the information that wasn't quite computing and slipped the bracelet back onto her wrist.  I looked at Ivy and said "If that happens again, you need to tell her thank you for offering, but no thank you. Your love is enough for me."
I was blown away.

I watched the habits of this 6 year old girl. One who had been pegged the 'fat girl'. One who thought the only way to get and keep friends was to allow herself to be consumed.  I was sickened.  We had several conversations about her beauty- the inside and the outside kind.  I have no idea if the words I spoke to her took root or not, but I couldn't stay silent.  To see her pain, and to see her quickly work to make the way smooth for those around her, at the expense of herself was painful for me. I think of her often and I'm sure I will carry her heart with me through the next years and am honored to be able to cover her in prayer. We women have a reponsibility to young girls coming up in this world. We have to speak. They hear so many voices, and we have to join in to try and overpower the lies they are fed daily.  Take the opportunity when it comes, and don't be afraid to speak raw truth. Truth that is infused with love is powerful, and my prayer is that all I said will swim around inside of her for decades; attaching itself to other good counsel, and that she will begin to hear and trust truth over deception. We belong to each other. And that means speaking light into darkness.

Girlfriend Intervention

My life can feel heavy and full of stress these days, so I've found myself often craving something to watch that is fairly mindless.  When Downton Abbey isn't current, (which, isn't mindless but is flipping amazing!) I have sought out other shows to keep me occupied and entertain me during what can feel like endless, tiring work.

I have gone through Suits, 2 Broke Girls, episodes of Hoarders, and Mike and Molly, among others.  In the last couple of weeks I've discovered a new show and I'm loving it.  It's called Girlfriend Intervention.  

I adore women. I lead several groups that focus on healing for women.  I think women are powerful, lovely, strong, creative, beautiful and passionate. I love nothing more than to see women celebrate one another and rejoice in the successes they see in their sisters.  I am humbled to be in groups where women share some of their private struggles and work through their healing in a group where they feel heard and supported and celebrated. 

Girlfriend intervention is a show that celebrates women… with a unique twist. 

Four black women (who are all different styles and sizes and personalities) go and help a 'Basic Woman' (Their terminology for a woman who is 'busted, broken, and has let herself go) and help remind her, or sometimes even teach her, about how incredibly beautiful and amazing she is. Through different exercises, some brazen truth, and lots of energy and love, they take these Basic women (who are all white women by the way) and make over her mindset, her physical body and a room or two of her home.  The energy of the four beautiful, fabulous, self assured women is infectious and while the beginning of the show finds the white girl overwhelmed, defensive and sometimes hurt, by the end of the process, that same woman, is cheering in delight at how amazing she is, and thanking the sisterhood for showing her the way to herself.  

I have watched at least 6 episodes so far, and what I'm learning is nothing deep or new or revolutionary, and yet this simple truth is life changing and powerful.  Women who give other women permission to be who they are, in their own wonderful, beautiful, powerful way, are life givers.  If we could all learn to celebrate other women, and also to celebrate ourselves, we could change the world. 

Each time these girls are made over and are looking at themselves in the mirror post-change… I start to cry.  Each woman is able to say (sometimes for the first time ever) … 'I'm beautiful'.  

The black women tell it like it is, and have shared some powerful truths in their show.  They point out that in the black culture, being fabulous and beautiful and taking time to take care of themselves is the norm.  And many white women (especially post-motherhood) are left serving everyone else and don't make time for themselves… letting the fabulous woman they may have been fade into the backdrop of sippy cups and soccer games.  They also point out that many white women aren't honest with one another, and we're quick to affirm one another when gentle truth would be better.  When a white girl asks another white girl- 'does this look ok?' Most white women will respond enthusiastically with a resounding 'Oh yes, you look great!' Even when that might not be true at all. We don't give one another the gift of truth.  And in doing so, we miss part of the richness of the relationship. 

The sisterhood also discusses how female white culture is afraid to celebrate our bodies.  We see differences and curves as liabilities and often find ways to hide those places that make us uniquely ourselves. Black women are taught to celebrate their curves, and their differences, and give one another permission to be who they are, without holding one another to a standard of a size 2 barbie doll. 

It's so encouraging and inspiring to see women learn to love who they are- without losing weight, or changing the unique things about themselves. The sisterhood comes in to enhance and celebrate and draw out the amazingness that was there all along, and in doing so, they are changing lives.  Each woman who is shown how powerful and beautiful she is takes that new information and it seeps into her family. Her interactions with other people change, she is suddenly aware that she is powerful and that her dreams and desires matter.  She has the gusto to go after the job she wants, to start exercising more, to romance her husband with confidence, to make time for herself. It's a fun show that has a powerful message… women supporting and encouraging women to love who they are created to be is one of the best gifts we can give to this world. When women are aware of how amazing they are, and how powerful they are, there is nothing that can hold them back, and we take that power into our families and communities and light a fire that can bring lasting change. 

If you have time to watch it- do it. (It's on lifetime, but I've watched on demand)  It's an odd, sometimes offbeat show with a powerful message: We are created to be amazing.  You'll cheer, you'll cry, and you'll be inspired to look at yourself and see that you are perfectly and powerfully you.  I'm learning much about how I need to take care of myself better, and that in doing so, I can take care of my family better! 

We need you to be who you are. Everyone on this earth is waiting for your dreams and hopes to come to pass.  We celebrate you, and we honor you.  Women are phenomenal. 

In Two Years

Today is the 2 year anniversary? non-aversary? (What do you call this anyhow?!) of when my ex husband left.
Two years ago today, I sat in stunned shock as my life was dismantled by the rush of words that poured out of his mouth and coated the bubble of ideals and expectations I had submerged myself in.  Two years ago today I became a statistic, and a shattered shell of a woman in ways I still struggle to comprehend. And two years later, as I look into the mirror, I wonder at the grief, hurt, and pain I've endured and marvel that I'm still here.

I read a quote this morning by Elizabeth McCracken that says:

“Grief lasts longer than sympathy, which is one of the tragedies of the grieving.”

Those words sat at the top of my heart and then sunk down deep; in that knowing way you experience when life has proven words to be truth.  Two years is a long time when asking friends and family to help shoulder pain.  But two years is a breath in the length of a lifetime, and some days I feel that I am at the starting gate when it comes to healing.  In so many ways I've come through this grief in leaps and bounds, shedding so much heavy weight of hurt, and delighting in the freedom that comes from the discovery of the pure strength of the soul.  In other ways, I find myself banging up against the anger phase… again.  And being frustrated with myself for being angry… again… just in a different flavor this time. 

Experiencing the death of a marriage messes with you in every way. It picks at your self worth, it can obliterate your finances, it bruises the hearts of your children in ways that take the breath right out of your lungs. I'm weary in ways I never dreamed I could be, and have worked harder than I've ever worked before.  

In so very many ways, I am proud of myself.  I have walked in integrity, and I haven't taken the easy way out.  I've protected myself against running into a relationship with another man, and I've lived for my children in a sacrificial way that has surprised me at its intensity.  So many places in this journey have shown me just how strong I am, and in other places, I'm having to really see the entitlement and expectation I had for a life that would be protected from divorce. As though somehow I was more deserving of a good marriage and a life kept from pain than others were. As though my choices could somehow manifest a life devoid of surprises and shock.

Like many college girls I suppose, I dreamed of a wedding, marriage, mothering, and home-owning in a less dream-like state and a more 'this is what you deserve' way.  

I went to college and got a degree, dated only my husband all the way through, and got married three months after graduation.  I thought I was making good choices, and in those good choices, I thought I was ensured an upward trajectory on the american dream graph. I expected to start with little, and thought that my homemaking attempts in our one bedroom apartment and then a trailer on a marine corps base would be the lowest I would ever sink. My attempts at thrifty shopping, and coupon cutting seemed quaint and part of the 'building a life together' script I believed we were both reading from.  No where in my 'surprise chapters of life' story did I ever think I would be barely scraping by, headed into my 40s alone, as a single mother with no solid home.  I assumed I would be signing papers for my first home, settling into his military retirement, and carpooling kids to sporting events.  The stark and painful reality his choices have forced upon me and the children has been incredibly eyeopening in ways I wish I could have ignored. 

It has been a gut wrenching revelation to realize that I have believed my choices and actions in my life would bring me only good and only prosperity.  While I do believe that choices are important, I am learning very painfully, that while on this earth, surrounded by other broken people, we often will suffer; not just because of our choices, but because others can make choices too.  I am angry, and I am broken, and I am, quite literally for now: poor.  I have every right to rant and rave, and fight and scream and flail and cry and fizzle out into a broken mess… and yet none of those things will pull me from the life I'm living into the one I want for my family.  It is a daily, and often hourly choice to let go of what I thought I deserved and learn to look for the beauty in what is.  It is a humbling experience to live in a measure of poverty, and yet still somehow be protected from falling by a God who sees me and sends provision just when I think there will never be enough.  My compassion for those who've lived lives harder than me, those who live lives fluffier than me but with no sense of self, those whose trappings of money prevent security in God, and in family, and in the love of real, trustworthy friends.  I'm discovering treasures in the dark, and also uncovering places where my pride and entitlement and attitude are festering.  It's a toggling back and forth between heavy, visceral gratitude, and the temper tantrum of a 3 year old screaming 'it's not fair!' 

I'm trying to be gentle with myself.  I know anger is part of the grieving process, and in many ways, it's part of the process I've largely skipped over.  I was so busy taking care of my children and trying to stand up, that the anger hung out in the bottom of my heart, and has just begun to rise to the top in the urgent need to be skimmed off.  Glennon from the Momastery blog, said last winter that sometimes we need to stop making excuses for being human… and I'm working on that.  I know it's ok to be mad, and sad, and disappointed, but I fight back against the dark shadows that try to whisper to me that it will be this way forever, and I will be broke, unloved, and in survival mode until they lay me to rest.  Walking through pain and choosing not to avoid it is a continual act of faith… trusting in what is unseen… believing that there is more to life than this… but while I work towards the 'something more' I can still find life, beauty, and passion here… in what seems like the "not enough."  The education I'm getting has been invaluable, and yet I have days where I want to rush it along, and get to the other side, where every day doesn't feel like such a struggle.  I'm in the in-between.  The place in life where there are no good answers or fluffy bows to tie off my experience for you.  My hope is that as you read here, and walk through this with me, that one day….. when I emerge from the dust, with hands open wide, heart whole and full, and knowing that all of this is enough, you will be able to celebrate with me, and tuck away some of my lessons in your back pocket.. for when your life shakes and jolts and you need to be reminded that you're not alone. 

Painful Lesson Learned

The saga with my face, and jaw, and mouth continues.  I wasn't getting any better with the steroids my doctor prescribed, and as I sat in a long business meeting last week, one of the women noticed I was struggling. I gave her the brief explanation of what was happening and she gasped with recognition.  She had experienced the same pain last year and wound up with broken teeth- she suggested I see my dentist.
When I woke up the next morning with yet another debilitating headache and horrendous pain in my face, I called my beloved dentist.  She was able to see me before the weekend.  She took x-rays and examined my mouth closely and then told me she had bad news:
I needed a root canal and had an abscess.  As she looked back and forth between my face and the black and white outline of the inside of my head she shook her head.  'Heather, having an abscess is horrible pain.  Living with chronic pain like this, even just for a couple of weeks, can cause depression and really mess you up!'
I began to cry. Her affirmation of my pain and the struggle it was beginning to create for me emotionally was comforting.  I had felt dismissed by my doctor and had left his office in horrendous pain but yet feeling like a baby.  She concluded that I needed antibiotics and pain medication.  My next stop would be to see the endodontist to retreat the tooth that is so horribly infected.

Once I began to think of the problem as dental instead of purely stress related, I had prepared myself for her news of a needed root canal. I had been told more than 8 years ago when I was pregnant with my third child that that tooth needed to be retreated.  It was a tooth that had already been treated through a root canal, and it had been crowned. I chose to wait for treatment.  I wasn't in any pain at the time, I was pregnant with my third child, still nursing my second child, and didn't want to take the time, spend the money, or have to worry about healing.  I put it off. Life kept happening and I never quite got to it.  In the years since, I've had dentists tell me it needed to be done- my current dentist has told me within the last five years that I need to do it, but I didn't want to spend the money, and I wasn't in pain, and so I never made time.
Putting it off brought me to today.  I am paying for my procrastination with copious amounts of pain, and now a hefty sum of money.

I went through the weekend but by Sunday, the pain hadn't lessened by much and I was starting to swell.  I called my dentist who told me that none of that was normal and I needed to head in to the ER.  In the ER, I was given more pain medication to prepare myself for the doctor to slice open the huge pocket of infection that was now bulging into my mouth and drain it.  She told me the relief would be great, but the actual draining was, in her words, 'going to be awful'.  I got through the lancing of the gums, and my friend drove me home to rest.  I now await my appointment to be evaluated by the endodontist on Friday and then the root canal through the crown sometime next week.  The receptionist called me earlier this week to let me know that my insurance won't cover one cent of the procedure.
Putting it off has cost me dearly in so many ways.
I could take time to write here about how putting off self care is never a good idea, and can wind up costing you more than just a bit of inconvenience.  However, I'm sure you get my point.  I'm learning more and more as I move through life as a single mother just how important it is to make time to take care of me.  I don't have much time or money to do much, but I'm learning that the better I feel, the stronger I am- in every way, from physical to emotional… the better mother I can be.
One of my dearest friends has two busy teenage daughters but she works intentionally to take good care of herself- she's aware that her girls are watching, and they will absorb far more by watching than by hearing.  She looks wonderful and creates time each day to care for herself. She nourishes her body and her heart and sees the incredible value in it.  She's a giving, generous, loving, happy, and beautiful woman.  The time she makes to care for herself spills over into others as she's better able to love well and give wholeheartedly.

I'm still learning. It's so easy for women to nurture others often at the expense of ourselves, but in doing that we deplete ourselves of the pure, and strong care we could be offering.  I have far to go, but I don't want to relearn this lesson in another hard, expensive way.  I get the message and will be more proactive in the future.