To all the girls I've loved before....

To all the women I love and have loved. To all of the women who have loved and still love me... I wasn't leading you on. I never meant to hurt you. I wasn't being fake in the moment, or tolerating your presence. I truly love you, and the heart connection you felt is real.
It's not you, it's me, and I can explain. 

I love people. I love women. I love hearing their stories, and standing in wonder at the trauma and hurt women suffer through and yet pull themselves up to march on.. maintaining a strong softness that often belies the intimate stories of disappointment they work at healing. I find it easy to connect with people. I often find myself listening to women pour out their hearts in the grocery store line, waiting outside kids' classrooms before conferences, and sitting on the beach during family vacations. I love to talk and to listen. I love sharing ideas and experiences. I have had multiple connections with women that lasted only for a weekend retreat, or three month bible study. Women with whom I feel deep chemistry with; a sisterhood and joint heart understanding. Women who, given different circumstances, would imprint themselves upon my daily life and bring new ideas and adventure. I have experienced the feeling of finding a soul sister only to know the timing was off, or the gift was meant for that moment only.

Collages are small representation of women I love!!

I've been more than blessed with women who have loved me well. I've had good friends since as far back as I can remember and have been mostly protected from the wounding that comes from actions of a girl I considered a friend. I can recall the feelings of awe I had sitting on the front row of church holding my mom's slender, manicured fingers in my own childish hands. I watched my grandma snap peas and laugh over the pitcher of her too-sweet southern tea. I can still hear her raspy soprano melt into my grandpa's bass as they sang Bringing in the Sheaves inside the musty, brick church. I've stood in the mirrored paneled living room of my aunt's house and watched her and her sisters argue with great passion. I've giggled until my stomach hurt in the dark bedrooms of friends when I spent the night. I've crouched at the top of the stairs straining to make out the hushed, somber voices after a woman in our community had miscarried the baby she had longed for for so many years. I've cried on early morning walks when my sister friend told me she knew something was wrong with my son. Women have impacted every facet of my life and I have breathed it in with full, deep draws.

But as well as I have been loved, as intensely as I have been protected and cared for, I have struggled to be a good friend in return.

In my adult life, I have lived in a place of chaos and need. When I became a mother, I was thrust into a world of violence and fear and struggle I hadn't known existed. I went to doctor after doctor trying in vain to get my son help for his raging tantrums and violent behavior. I lived on a military base and was surrounded with women who loved me. I had a friend who lived down the street who would run to my house and take my baby for hours while I turned my attention to my screaming toddler. She would keep my second born safe along with her own growing family while I struggled to survive the terrifying life I had found myself in. For the years we were neighbors, she served my family in ways I've never been able to repay.
Years later when my marriage imploded, I was left with the immediate need for housing, as we had to leave the military base we had called home. I had no job, precious little savings, and no renting history to help me secure housing for my family. I was given the chance to rent a tiny bungalow owned by a woman and her husband I was connected to in my church. When the time came to move on from the cozy dwelling, I was offered the basement of another woman and her family. She only asked me to watch her lively toddler as she pursued her career. We settled in and began to live the reality of being a severed family on that beautiful property. When they moved on a year later, I was permitted to rent the entire house and I began to feel some semblance of normalcy. In the years since I was thrust into single motherhood, I have hustled in every way possible to provide for four kids. I have cleaned houses, mowed yards, babysat, used my photography skills, bartered, sold things I never dreamed I'd have to sell, written articles, applied for more than 60 jobs, worked multiple part time jobs at a time, and walked into the social services office to ask for help. I've been on welfare, cashed out CDs my grandmother had given me as a child and humbly been helped by my parents and various friends. I've spent nights lying awake in bed wondering how I was going to pay my rent, afford the kids medications, and watched several medical bills go into collections. I've prayed and cried, and experienced the miraculous when a check or package appeared unexpectedly just when I thought we would never make it.

I'm proud of how far I've come. I was given a wonderful job by a woman who has lived her own pain. She looked into my eyes and saw me as more than a liability. She saw who I could be, and took a risk in hiring me to assist her. Because of her belief in me, I've been able to work myself off of welfare, pay off the bills that were held captive by bill collectors, and now sleep soundly knowing I am able to take care of my family.

But while things are so much better than they've been, I still hustle. I work full time and part time - 7 days a week. I have four kids who all need specialists and three of them have some level of special education. My time is spent juggling work, and kids and doctor appointments, teacher conferences, my house and trying to hold it all together. There is no down time, rarely time for fun or evenings out or phone calls, and always a fire needing my attention. What that means is my friends still don't get my friendship in the way they deserve. Calls go unanswered, texts flash across my phone waiting for my response, and plans get cancelled. I know I've hurt women. I know I've let down my friends. I know there are women who think I lead them on and think only of myself. I know there are women who mistook my silence for ambivalence. I have seen hurt in the eyes of women who think that my scarcity in their lives is a reflection of my feelings towards them. To those women I want to say- it's not you. It's me.
I don't often share the struggle of my everyday life- not because I'm ashamed of it but because it's not necessary. I don't want pity, I don't like to linger in the hard places, and I would rather spend the precious little time I have with friends talking about other things. But I need you to hear me- if you have felt my love- please don't doubt it. Please don't take my silence personally. I used to talk to my mom almost daily, and now it's a good week if we manage one phone call. I am trying hard to figure out how to do it all, but the truth is, I can't. And what often falls is my active engagement with my relationships. I have days when my energy level soars, and the stars seem to align and I am able to reach out to let you know I think about you always, but there are also times where the chaos in my home reaches insane levels, and the only thing I manage to do is keep everyone safe. I desperately love and need the women in my life- and am so grateful for your presence, and I know that I haven't been the friend to you that you deserve. If I had it to give, I would in a heartbeat. I don't have answers and I don't know how to make it better in this moment, but I want you to know that I am not unaware. And while you may feel it, I don't take you for granted.

On Facebook and Healing

Facebook gets a bad rap. It's been around long enough to get a reputation for being a catalyst for cheating, lying, hiding things from loved ones and as a tool to bully and slander. Social media can be a sticky place where truth fades into the reality we want to portray and we have the ability to censor ourselves to allow fringe people in our lives to see only what we wish them to see.
There have been studies done showing FB can provoke anxiety and depression. We look at other people's posts and photos and compare the smiling faces in their photos to our bickering family not captured on film.
Despite all of this, I love social media. I love connecting with people I don't get to see anymore. People I love who would have fallen into the recesses of memory and out of my current life. People I haven't heard from for years show up as a friend request and in moments I get caught up a bit on where they've been and what they're doing now. I've enjoyed the immediate connection to my community that spans continents, socioeconomic class, and age. I've managed to avoid social media drama and instead feel it to be a gift in my life.

Grief has a way of leveling the life you knew, and in the healing there is great opportunity to inventory the life you've known and rebuild the life you were meant to have. Familiarity breeds contempt and in my life, the familiar struggle numbed me against pressing into authenticity and the hard work of looking inward at the broken places needing mending. One of my biggest struggles in my adult years has been the mistaken belief that I was not enough as a mother. I believe this to be a universal struggle for many women and one that can hold us hostage, preventing us from being the mothers we truly are. I've shared before how my first born has had struggles since toddlerhood. At the prompting of a dear friend, I started seeking answers and support when he was just two years old. Sadly, as happens to many mothers, I was brushed off with disdain and told that stricter parenting and the awareness of him 'being a boy' would solve all of the terrifying behavior that I knew at a soul level to be abnormal and dangerous. However, in my vulnerable state, and tender age, I allowed those words to take root and begin growing into a powerfully strong vine that snaked itself around my heart and squeezed the vibrancy out of motherhood. When he was a few short weeks from marking his fourth birthday, well meaning extended ex-family told me the problem was me. If I would change my behavior, and admit my shortcomings then my son would no longer be punished or tormented by the myriad of horrible things he was experiencing. As I had already given space to the other statements by doctors regarding his challenges being a direct result of my parenting inadequacy, the soil of my heart was tilled and ready to receive this final fatal blow to my fragile seed of hope. The story spreads a decade since then and the abbreviated version has me retreating into hurt, anger and sadness. I've since learned none of those things were based in truth. I've since come to realize that God doesn't make mistakes and just as He designed me with purpose, he also gave me the children He gifted me with on purpose. Within me is everything I need to best raise and love the ones I've been honored to birth, and I've worked through the lies of inadequacy and sliced through the poisonous vine that had embedded itself into my heart. I hate that I have spent ten years parenting out of shame and guilt and sadness, but I'm grateful I was able to escape the prison of deception while I still have time to reverse my approach to motherhood.

This is where FB enters the scene. The photos and posts about my children that now forever reside in the interwebs aren't pretend. They aren't staged or prompted. They really happened. The truth is, nothing in life is perfect. No birthday party, no playdate, vacation or outing. There will always be sand in the bathing suit, ants at the picnic, siblings who bicker more than they smile and hug one another, and dirty dishes in the sink after a beautiful birthday supper. But the good stuff is there too. Life then becomes where we put our focus. The photos of my kids playing cards together was real. There may have been arguing three minutes after I snapped it, but that doesn't negate the reality that for a moment, peace hovered like a bird, spreading calm with each thrust of its wings. For me, FB has reminded me I've done something right. It shines bright on a screen and belies my inadequacy. Living with the belief that I'm not enough is a lie that only ties me to being less than I am capable of. My treasure of photos and posts that span years speak to the beauty that really happens when I least expect it. Mothering for me has been messy and hard and at times discouraging, but there is a tangible reminder on my FB page that it's also beautiful and funny and sweet and powerful. I'm grateful for FB. It's helped me stay the course in recovery from drinking in lies never meant for my soul. It's been the antidote for my weary mother's heart and brought a smile where a furrowed brow once was. It's revived the passion I once carried in my chest that was aflame with hope and dreams and expectation. Now those gifts are tempered by age and experience and I'm learning to look to the mundane to find the extraordinary. Facebook is one of the tools that has led me out of that darkness, and I'm forever grateful for its gift.

Plate-Full

I truly believe God speaks to us, we just have to pay attention and listen. I believe He speaks in ways that are unique to each of us. Just as my relationships with my friends are different, His relationships with each of us are too.
I love words. I love writing, and reading, and enjoy the power of language. It's not surprising that for me, one of the ways I connect with God is through words.
For years now, I have felt as though I've been on an adventure with God. My time with Him has increased and my awareness of the incredible love He has for me has grown and I now finally understand that I am deeply loved and celebrated.
For me, I hear from God regularly through words on license plates. It might sound silly or weird, but I promise you that the encouragement, confirmation, love and smiles that I have been given through license plates is nothing short of miraculous.
I have many stories that would make your jaw drop, and have started an Instagram account purely for this amazing experience in my life, (more on that at the end of the post!) but for today- I'll share just one with you.
A couple of months ago I was searching for a job and anxious and preoccupied with needing work to provide for my family. I hate debt and started my life as a single woman in debt with no real work experience. This summer when my writing contract ended and I was left with part time work and odd jobs here and there my debt began to mount. I was in church one Sunday morning by myself and our pastor started a series that was only two weeks long. It was called "Perhaps". He talked about Jesus' first miracle- turning the water into wine at a wedding celebration. The message was very good and full of chunks of truth throughout that sat with me. I hadn't previously thought about the fact that Jesus didn't yet have a reputation as a miracle worker when he told the servants to take the water jugs and fill them up with water after his mother had specifically told him the family was out of wine. He must have looked like a crazy person- and yet they did what they were told. My pastor pointed out that when Jesus does the miraculous, he always asks us to do something in our natural strength first. He then posed a question to each of us: What 'water' did we need to put into our jug? What crazy, bizarre, hard thing did we need to do in order to allow God to move in our lives and do His part? Immediately I knew. I knew I needed to go home and itemize the list of everything I owed. The debt, the medical bills, people I would love to pay back one day. I had an internal argument with God. I didn't want to look at it. I had no job yet, and knew it was bad, so why in the world would I want to see just how awful it had gotten?! I've watched my credit dip lower, and have sold things and done any work I could find to stay on my feet, but I had come to the end of myself. I was begging Him for a good job, and my act before the miraculous move in my life was going to have to be this task. I had to really look at the mess I had fallen into.
I was sobered and quiet. When the service ended I walked into the parking lot without speaking to anyone. I knew it was a sacred moment and I had work I needed to do. I walked towards my car and got turned around for a moment. I changed directions and in front of me was this license plate:

Can you read it? It says: ADDEMUP. I chuckled and said out loud 'Ok God, I get it. I'll do what you've asked me to do'. THAT plate just happened to be by my car, in a parking lot of hundreds of vehicles, and a church that has three services- and it was there for me. I went home and did it. I looked at how ugly it was and absorbed the weight of that reality. Then I cried and prayed and spent the rest of the day in silence. After three months looking for a job, I was connected to the person who would hire me less than two weeks later. 

For me, the incredible ways I hear Him through the vehicle of license plates is how I know that He sees me. I know He sees each of us, and I'm willing to bet that many of you have your own stories of being seen by God that are unique to you. I keep a small notebook in my car and have been writing them down along with a few notes for several years. I've gone through three notebooks already. 

I've started a new instagram account where I can document and share with others. Feel free to come follow me there! I'd also love to hear your stories if you're willing to tell them. 

I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore.....

I started a new job yesterday.
I'm so grateful for a good boss, a job I think I am going to love, and the opportunity to be connected to the Marine Corps again.
My office is on base at Quantico for a couple of weeks until we get into our new office space outside of the  front gate. I arrived early yesterday and decided to head to the base Starbucks to use some of my gift card, eat up a few minutes and calm my nerves with the cliche pumpkin spice latte. I had no idea the first day of work would trigger so much emotion that had nothing to do with my job.
 I came through the gate as a civilian- and felt a twinge of sadness as the realization that I was no longer an insider in the Marine Corps washed over me. They don't care that I was connected to the Marines for 17 years; they only see the VA state driver's license, and the empty space on my windshield where a base sticker used to be. I pulled into the parking lot of the Base Exchange and walked into the Starbucks. I stood in line behind Marine wives and men in crisp cammies. I swallowed the lump that was rising in my throat. I tried to avoid looking into the exchange where I had strolled my daughter, bought my makeup and shopped for Christmas presents. I stared at the floor in front of me and tried to slow my breathing. I felt invisible. I felt as though I was on the outside of an elite club looking in. My heart was beating hard and fast, and I wanted to run.
I managed to get my coffee and head back outside. As I walked to my car I was overwhelmed with memories. Across the street was the house my sweet friend lived in. Beyond her house was my old house, the park we played in, and the school my kids attended. Memories assaulted my mind and heart as I tried to keep it together.
I am so proud of my history with the Marine Corps. I have friends scattered all over the world that I was blessed to love because of my time connected to the Marines. I adore their hearts, their sacrifice and their traditions. For the past three years I've grieved the loss of my position as a Marine wife and have tried to ignore the Birthday Ball celebrations, the PCS seasons when families move into the area and out to the select few bases around the world, and I have buried that part of me under the busy task of being a single mother. But yesterday, as I drove back to the base that once held me as a new wife and mother, and then a decade later as a mother of four young children, I was overwhelmed with the grief that I haven't processed. I'm so very grateful to have the privilege of working so close to the few, and the proud, and I am also processing the deep loss of a lifestyle I loved.
I have no doubt that the timing and purpose of this job is for my benefit. I have come so far in my healing and growth that I trust God's intention for me to have to navigate these waters. But I have to admit that watching the young, arrogant, Cammie-clad Marines hustle along the sidewalks, I am forced to deal with another layer of sadness that has been waiting for my attention. I can't wait for the day when the sight of digital green camouflage and an eagle, globe and anchor symbol brings only pride and no longer a piercing of the heart. I'm thankful for the opportunity to get to be close to the group I've revered for so long.  

Invincible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I Need to Be Here Again

**I haven't posted in so long because I've allowed myself to be intimated. I hate that feeling of powerlessness, and so I will come back and post again, if only to scratch the surface of my blog once more and find the groove of the habit I turned from when I was confronted about the things I write about. 

Yesterday I went back to Old Rag Mountain to hike. I love hiking. I love being in the woods and the mountains, and the sounds and smells and hard work feeds my soul. Old Rag is a really challenging hike. My friend Susan and I finished at 13.5 miles round trip. Not a single mile is flat. It's a half marathon up and down a mountain. About two miles of the hike is hand over hand rock climbing and rock scramble. It's tough, strenuous, and the summit gives you some of the best views in the entire state of VA. My sweet friend Susan was a rock star. She's a gorgeous southern belle with the tenacity of a mountain lion. She has MS and lupus, but almost never shares that with anyone. She never wants anyone to count her out, or give her pity. She's beautiful and strong and wise. I adore her to the moon and back. She's ten years older than me and has been through hell and back, but you'd never know it. Her beauty isn't only on the outside but pours out of her heart. I was thrilled she agreed to go with me. She rocked the trek. We talked several times about how the hike was a parallel to life. We spend miles and hours going up the mountain with tree cover over head and treacherous rocks at our feet. We have our heads down not because we want to miss the incredible beauty around us but because it is necessary to keep ourselves safe.

The rocks and twists and turns on this hike can injure very quickly and with no cell phone signal and miles from ranger help, it's imperative to be careful on the trails. But after you're almost ready to lie down and sleep from the sheer effort given, the trees part and you make it to the summit. You are literally in the clouds looking over the valley. The sun warms the rock face, and hawks circle the peak. It's incredible. It's so like life- we work so hard not knowing if the end will be worth it and yet somehow it always is.

We had several run ins with black bears. That was one of the most surreal moments of my life. We had been warned by a friend of hers to carry mace or bear spray but I shrugged it off. I had never seen any bears on that hike before, and naively thought the presence of humans would deter close encounters. I was so very wrong. We saw a mama bear and her cub, and later another cub on the trail ahead of us- knowing mama must not be far off. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The trails on this mountain don't allow for running, and the reality of no cell signal means any injury or attack leaves assistance several hours away. It was a bizarre cross between wanting to stand and watch the incredible creatures and the heavy awareness that both of us are single mothers of four children and having our faces ripped off by an angry mama bear would be a disaster for our families. I felt alive and terrified all at the same time.
The incredible thing about a hike of that magnitude is that all of life's problems and frustrations melt into the vastness of the mountain. I suddenly feel insignificant and fragile, and closer to God who designed each animal, rock, and plant. The older I get, the more I discover who I truly am, and dirt and nature invigorate me to no end. I'm thankful I have a new hiking buddy. I've waited years for someone who wants to be outside like I do and climbing those boulders with her was a slice of heaven on earth.
I can't wait for our next adventure- this time with bear spray on hand.

Vote for Heather!

I entered a writing contest at Faith Radio.
It's a story of grace, and I hope you'll read it.

I need your help. The judges only read the top ten fiction and top ten non-fiction essays and the way you get into the top ten is through votes.  I've been hovering at the #11-12 spot for the last couple of days and could use every vote you can give me. You do have to make a quick account (no spam or anything) but people have said that it sends them back to the login page after creating the account. If that happens to you, don't give up just click on the top at the Faith Radio logo and search writing contest.  I hate begging.. but would love the chance to get into the top ten. The winners get an appt with an acquisitions editor from Bethany House publishing.

Please feel free to share with your friends, spouses, family. Every vote counts!  Thanks for loving me!

http://myfaithradio.com/2015/when-your-bridge-is-out/