40 weeks

It’s my due date, and I already have an almost two week old baby girl.

I’m celebrating by changing a dozen diapers, offering up my boobs every couple of hours, trying half a dozen techniques to calm crying (with little, to no, success), and sitting and standing with an excessive amount of caution due to tears in the lady parts.

This ish is hard. Harder than I could have expected. Harder than I wanted. Harder than I would have signed up for. We’ve walked into a very harsh reality. One that is self-doubt inducing, emotionally overwhelming, relationally challenging, and worldview confounding.

In these first days as a family of three, I’ve marveled at her every feature, took thousands of pictures, cuddled her close and posted my pride on social media. But, in and out of those days, I’ve also had what one mom friend called “buyer’s remorse.” I’ve wondered out loud, “what have we done?,” and “what if I’m not wired for this ... what if I forced His hand and she’s going to pay the price for what I lack?” I’ve felt my blood pressure rise, my survival instinct flair up, at a hint of a whimper. I’ve worked hard at breathing deeply when she’s at my breast, hoping against hope that somehow I can spare her reading (and transferring) anxiety from her caregiver. I’ve struggled, tears streaming down my face, just wanting to hear my husband say all these feelings are normal and that I am a good mother, that, somehow, he’s seen me show up and impress him with my maternal instincts. And I’ve cried more, alone on the corner of the couch, when he’s remained silent. 

This is hard. She’s beautiful and precious. And I can’t help feeling like she deserves better than I’m giving her. And that’s all I’ve got right now.

Love. 

#jubilee

(Message begins about 40:00 in).

I miss this kind of teaching. More than that, I miss having this perspective of God.

This past year has felt hard and icky. Loss after loss, disappointment, marriages combusting, people losing their shit, organizations unable to get their shit together, secrets and lies, and too many unknowns and existential/mid-life crisis kind of moments to count.

Honestly, it got to me. Wore me out. Wore me down. My back is one gigantic knot. My gut, too. I started to doubt God’s goodness. I started to doubt His presence. I started to wonder if there was even a point or a purpose for any and all of it. Frankly, I'm still doubting.

#2016sucks.

But 2017? It could look, feel, be different, right? It could be a year of jubilee ... a year defined by what Tyson describes above as a discipline of celebration.

It could be a year defined by more recognition and participation of the GOOD in life. The fun. The redemptive. The bright. More banquets, feasts and celebrations.

I need that to keep doing this (i.e. LIFE). Maybe you do too?

Let's party.

“Ultimately, our gift to the world around us is hope. Not blind hope that pretends everything is fine and refuses to acknowledge how things are, but the kind of hope that comes from staring pain and suffering right in the eyes and refusing to believe that this is all there is. And that’s what we all need — hope that comes not from going around suffering, but going through it. I’m learning that the church has nothing to say to the world until it throws better parties. By this I don’t necessarily mean balloons, confetti and clowns … but I mean, backyards and basements and porches. It is in the flow of real life, in the places we live and move, with the people that we’re on the journey with, that we are reminded that it is God’s world and we are going to be okay. ”

— Jon Tyson

insomnia

They call it secondary trauma. Exposure to another's tragic or uncomfortable experience results in a unique psychological effect. Unlike first-responders, who often cope with coming face-to-face with trauma regularly by detaching, a therapist's job is to attach - to enter in and empathize. We don't get to detach. And it's exhausting. But, sometimes - like tonight - it makes it so I can't sleep.

on why hope is hard

It's one of those days. The ones where all feels ick. My husband snuggles me on the couch and looks into my eyes with his blue ones, searching and kind, and I'm overwhelmingly grateful and completely numb, both at once.

These days seem to come out of nowhere ... and yet part of me feels like they're the price I pay for having hope. Like the universe is shaking it's head and muttering a "foolish girl."

Because, I felt pretty great last week. It felt really nice. I had a meeting on Wednesday that gave me energy and encouragement and a bit of hope I hadn't felt in a LONG time.

Thursday was good.

Friday was another meeting that at least felt like something progressive and hopeful.

And the weekend was fun — from puppy shopping to waverunner riding with friends, it was a steady stream of happy that worked to keep hope alive.

But then Monday. And the ick factor. 

I catch myself in automatic negative and self-deprecating thoughts. The old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity return. The sense of financial and professional stuckness and a related despondency set in deep. Opportunities feel like burdens and yet, when I refuse to shoulder those "burdens", a weight of shame descends.

Changing your inner narrative is hard. It's a battle. It's taking every thought captive and holding it up to the Truth and deciding to believe differently about myself and life and God. It's a little bit exhausting, this inner work, but it's my work today ... and every day ... because Hope is worth the struggle.

I think. I hope?!

on living in the dark

Despite my low dose anti-depressant, despite the celebration of Christ's birth, despite the arrival of a new year, and despite the great many good things/people/places I'm grateful for daily ... I am depressed.

I don't want to do anything. At least nothing hard. Or uncomfortable. I feel guilty about that. And the guilt, the proof of failure, of melancholy, exhausts. And it cycles. 'Round, 'round it goes.

I sleep in late. Watch crap on television for hours. I go days without wearing makeup or doing my hair.

I think about the importance of community, think about texting a friend, and then I play another round of Ruzzle instead. Except family, I haven't seen a close friend in weeks.

I'll have a day where I'm not hungry and all food sounds unappealing, so I skip meals. A few days later, I could eat the house and I do - oranges, pistacios, lara bars, old chocolate, pickles, stale pirate's booty - whatever I can find.

I think about praying. I try. The farthest I get is "Help?!"

I hate the idea of work. Of making a commitment. Of having to try, again, over and over. Having to be somewhere, at some time, for some reason. I start to begrudge my chosen career, sensing that the work is ultimately futile. And the idea of having to pick clothing to wear? Of showing up and being seen and judged? It angers, annoys, exhausts.

I know I need to network, read, write. I have a list of things that need doing. But it all seems so ridiculous. Such a crock. False. A lie. Me? Help anyone, when I'm this confused and unsure and broken myself? I'm a fraud. They'll know it. They probably already do. And, with that, the fear of not measuring up kicks in. My mind races, plotting ... planning the next striving. Ever awake on a pillow, anxiety-ridden until the Lorazapam kicks in and I force myself to count sheep, each bouncing to the rhythm of the Mr.'s snores.

And the people that stick with me in the dark? My parents. My husband. I'm bat-shit scared of losing them. I'm rendered immobile and unmotivated when he leaves for work. Sad when my parents go to visit the grandkids. But I can't even cry. I numb out. I sit in the dark — literal and metaphorical. Asleep. Afraid to feel.

I just wish the pressure would go away. That the "have to's" didn't exist. Or, rather, that maybe I enjoyed the journey more. Or that I was just better at it. Or it felt easy for a time. And if it did, that I wasn't so busy bracing for the hard part.

I'm exhausted and I haven't done anything. Tomorrow, my vacation ends, and I hate it. The idea of being presentable ... capable ... happy, or even just "okay"? Ugh.

---

I've struggled with depression for a long time. It always shows up around the holidays. Sometimes it's situationally triggered by new fears and unanticipated expectations and personal uncertainty. This January is a perfect storm of those triggers for me. That said, this moment of depression is a 6 on a scale of 1 to 10 - so, it's mild. I'm fine. No freaking out, okay? K.

on traveling toward hope

I submitted the following to A Beautiful Mess ... and they made it live on their blog space today. I'm blessed to have such a cool opportunity to share what's on my heart with a community that's all about authenticity and finding the beauty of God in who we are and what we do ... even in our chaos.

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Traveling Toward Hope

“Life is a runaway train you can’t wait to jump on …” — Sugarland

Graduating college, starting a new job, waiting for the doors to open so you can walk down that aisle, deciding to become parents…we’ve all been there—baggage in hand, standing on a metaphorical platform, excited and optimistic to board the vehicle bound for what’s next in life. Whether it’s because we’re sick of what was or we’ve got plans for what could be, there comes a point on our journey when we choose change.

But how often does “what’s next” turn out exactly as we envisioned it might? Rarely.

Take this past year, for instance. It’s been good, but honestly, sometimes it has sucked. For me, very little has turned out like I thought it might. At moments it’s all confused the hell out of me. Maybe even some of the heaven. There have been periods of epiphany and constant seasons of growth. I’ve started a freelance business. Become a therapist. Watched my relationships transform in the aftermath of many a move, marriage, death, birth and calendar entry. I’ve climbed into the skies to land in new places. Planted a garden. I’ve certainly grabbed hold of a lot of new and blessed, but I’ve let go of a lot, too … often in the same moment and circumstance.

Each of us travels through life with expectations—conscious and not—and not a one of us finds our every hope and dream met. Face it: unmet expectations fill our days.

What a depressing thought, right?

I read once that depression is always about loss. If that’s true, then we can expect that melancholy and despair often follow disappointment. However, I think that’s okay. Truth be told, we adults can’t take hold of something new without first letting something go. We don’t grow without discomfort. Beauty emerges out of a grieving process. Hope is often fashioned in the ruins. Seen through tears. It’s a pinhole of light noticed only because we stand in the dark, consumed with a confusing and palatable grief.

I’ve grieved a lot this year — mourned friendships, career ambitions, social constructs, family loyalties and the pieces of myself that were tied to each and all. While grieving, in search of new hope and eager for “what’s next,” I have discovered more than I’d bargained for in myself and others. I have dissected my way of thinking and stumbled upon answers to questions I never knew to ask. In the process, I have discovered and destroyed my limits. I have learned to love sitting still. But, I have also regularly set out to spin, smiling, silly, taking life in and winding up dizzy. And as I have twirled, I have caught glimpses of God working things out His way. Sometimes that has slowed me down, though, more often than not, it has spurned me onward. I have found hope — beauty — in the uncertain, amongst my fears and because of disappointment.

For most of us, the much anticipated holiday season usually becomes a couple of months of high stress and self-reflection. As a result, we embrace the coming of a new year, making resolutions and letting ourselves dream again. We set out in hopes of controlling at least parts of the journey we’re about to embark upon. I think that’s admirable, important, wise, even. But the self-discipline and perspective needed to succeed at our resolve is a gift from God. Whether we like it or not, He’s all over the details of our lives. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

So, my point? Expect to succeed at the good things you’re tackling, but also, expect the unexpected. Be okay with unmet expectations. Trust the Truth to be revealed in the turmoil. Learn how to love it when your train seems to derail … begin by taking a second to enjoy the scenery you may have otherwise completely bypassed.