Homebound

In just a few hours, we will make the 12-13 hour trek back home. I can't wait.

I can't sleep. I'm tired but I cant. My inlaws have a cat that I'm allergic to, so I'm stuffy and can't breathe.

Yesterday was miserable. Only my husbands dad talked to me. I sat and ate lunch completed alone. Not joking. My husband sat with his family and there were no seats left for me. Any seat I tried to take, I got told was already taken. Even the one saved for the cousin who left before we ate.

My mother in law was in fine form. She's regressed to a childish state and my father in law is incredibly mean to her. I can't even go there.

The dogs are ready. They don't like all the time they've spent in the car and on leashes. Their habits have been disrupted.

Mostly, I'm ready for the holiday hibernation. I've had enough of the drama and pain and frustration. I'm ready to be home and not leave. I don't know how else to deal with life the next month.

Unfortunately, my life is set up to allow me to do just that. Church and grocery shopping will be the only times I'm expected to leave the house. The difficult things will be easy to avoid right now because my husband won't be motivated to go either.

I haven't forgotten that the last three weeks I spent in Ohio were hard and I was struggling to find my place there. Time hasn't made that go away. In fact, it's gotten a little worse. Once I'm away from regular activity, especially difficult ones, it's harder to return. That's just the honesty of how I am.

I'm a little fearful of the next month and the possible depression that could hit. With the grief, holiday stuff, marriage stuff and the adapting process, I'm not sure I'll fair so well. I'd be ok to sleep until December 26.

Because of several things that have happened, I've got some serious walls up with people I've met. A month ago, I'd tell you I was making a lot of friends and was happy about that. The things that have happened have caused me to retreat.

I have A friend. She is encouraging and loving and probably only one of two people in the entire state of Ohio that I trust and can be honest with. With everyone else, I've taken a step back and intentionally stopped sharing who I am and my heart. I got hurt and misunderstood. It's made me question whether I can truly be myself around people and definitely made me stop being vulnerable. I can't even bring myself to participate in bible study or small group settings. I know it's my choice to be self protective, but I definitely feel isolated and as though my spark has blown out.

So I better go shower so we can head home, our only home.

I Love My Brothers

I talk about my little brother a lot, but I have two younger brothers.

My brother, Randy, and I haven't spoken in over 8 years. Our relationship has been strained for a lot longer than my estrangement from my family.

He is 16 months younger than me. Growing up, he was always the tallest, physically healthiest and most athletic.

But, he was broken by the same evil that broke me.

I have many memories of abuse, but there is one that has haunted me more than any other.

For many of our childhood years, my dad sold us into prostitution. I didn't know at the time it was called prostitution. He would take us to men's houses or allow men to come in our house. They would hand him cash and then they were allowed to do sexual and torturous things to us. Nothing off limits. I saw and experienced it all.

If we were uncooperative, we paid a price. My brother's punishment was usually a brutal rape afterward by my dad. During one of those times, my brother looked at me and cried out for me to help him.

I was a child in fear. I couldn't do anything. I loved my brothers and cares for them in motherly ways. But I couldn't stop the pain and abuse.

His face during that time. It's often the last thing I see before waking up in a cold sweat and tears. It's the image that most haunts me.

For obvious reasons, my brother became very angry. Late in high school, he developed an odd seizure pattern. He was an outstanding athlete. He represented the US in junior Olympic international competitions. He was headed for multiple scholarship opportunities through sports. The seizures derailed all of that.

He spent most of his senior year in and out of hospitals and having tests. He was physically healthy and nothing could be found. He finally ended up in the psych ward of a KC hospital. It was there, in 1997, his seizures were diagnosed as dissociative episodes and he was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly Multiple Personality Disorder.

When the doctor started questioning my parents about trauma and abuse, they checked him out of the hospital and prevented him from getting treatment.

The years following his diagnosis, he became increasingly violent. He would snap. He had several girlfriends who accused him of rape. He physically attacked me in my home. He was violent and barely able to escape jail.

In the early 2000s, he was diagnosed with MS. In 2008, he was diagnosed with a clotting disorder that was said to shorten his lifespan to five years or less.

I'm convinced that the meds he has to take to function are also helping his anger and mental health. He still has issues. You don't come out of what he did, get no help and not have residual issues. Now he lives a life of depression and hoarding.

I don't have a relationship with him. My experience with him has been toxic. I can't do that. He's also very connected to his parents still.

I have forgiven him. How could I not? I know he was a product of the same hell I was. He's never found the help I have.

I pray for him. I want him to know the peace I have found. Peace doesn't erase pain or memories, but it does give you something besides the pain.

I love him. I know he's doing the best he can given what he's survived. And he is a survivor. I have to respect that. I have never met anyone with as extensive abuse as we endured, except my brothers. I have to acknowledge the inner strength that has brought us all through that.

I love both my brothers.

My little brother is almost 4 years younger than me. He didn't experience quite the depth of abusewe did. He's also the more sensative of the two brothers. He didn't come out unscathed. He can't show emotion and has his own issues.

It's been a lot easier to rebuild a relationship with him. I think some of that is me being able to show him love knowing he isn't capable of showing it in return.

I am excited for the upcoming visit with my little brother. But, my heart still aches for my other brother. He's on borrowed time medically and lives a miserable life. I know I can do little more than pray. I know the Lord loves him and was grieved when my bother was broken by evil.

Please pray with me for my brothers. They need Jesus. They need to know a true love. They need restoration.

I Wanna Go Home

I've had a huge revelation the past few days. Ohio is my home.

Since we moved, I've felt torn, like I'm straddling 600 miles. Displaced. Ohio didn't feel like home, but my stuff was there. Missouri didn't feel like home, but my heart was there.

Two days ago, we drove by our old house. It was part of what kept me feeling connected to MO. It was where I lived for 16 years and definitely the place of so many life changes.

As we drove by, I didn't recognize the house. The color was brown. The garage door was brown. The front door was red. The decor was different. Our nice blinds had been changed out for cheap mini blinds. It was our house. It was only a guess that they've changed the inside too.

Huh. Missouri isn't my home any more. I'm not upset by it, I feel a little relief.

Life in Ohio has been rough recently, so it's hard to fully embrace it as home. But it is my only home.

I don't have any other place. No family home. Not even a place to stay.

There is still a connection to people in Missouri. However, that is dwindling. There are a few close friends who remain the same. I savor the time I have with them, knowing it isn't newrly what it used to be.

Let me take a moment to discuss friends. Maintaining those long distance relationships is hard and takes intentionality. I've also found that it's hard to balance visits. People who've never had to move away just don't get it. When we visit, family is the priority. Family is two hours from friends. I can't be in two places at once. So that limits availability. When schedules don't mesh, I just can't fit in exceptions, despite the desire or guilt trips. Simply put, I'm not going to see everyone every time and that has to be ok.

So, here I am after another sleepless night and ready to go home. My home. In Ohio.

I'm glad for the difficulty of this trip. I hope it drives me to put more effort into being at home in my new community. I've still got a lot to learn. God still has to help me out with the details of how I'm going to fit where I don't believe I do.

But I'm ready to be at home.

Insecurity

I've written on this before. Insecurity isn't one of my usual struggles. In fact, I tend to be misjudged because I tend to have more confidence than insecurity. However, when it hits, it knocks me right on my butt.

I feel like I'm taking a huge step backward. Given all that has happened, I've handled the last year better than expected. Sure, I've had meltdowns, but I've navigated them and quickly returned to some semblance of normalcy. I've had help at times, which has kept me from falling apart and completely regressing. 

I'm stuck in a hotel in Kansas with nothing to do but let circumstances unravel me. Old tapes are playing. Self doubt has settled in my mind. My heart is wrapped up in anxiety and hurt. 

There have been times in the past few months that I thought everything that had happened was finally going to break me. It didn't, because when I finally got to the end of myself, one or more people were there to walk through it with me. 

This is a little different. Insecurity is different than the big struggles. It makes me feel far more vulnerable. 

At the moment, I'm dealing with some harsh realities in my marriage. Realities that are always there, but only get to me when I'm feeling insecure. 

My husband doesn't give me what I need. He can't. He's got his own stuff that makes him only able to care for himself. Not getting what I need for so long, finally leaves me tearing myself apart. Questioning what I otherwise know to be true. 

Does he love me? He doesn't say it much anymore, so he must not. Does he want me around? He must not because he's rather watch tv than talk with me. Can I depend on him? I don't think so because he isn't sensative when I'm sick. Have I become unattractive to him? I must because he doesn't hug or kiss me any more. Am I the worst wife in the world? Of course, he tears me down, brings up mistakes from the far, far past and let's me know all the ways I fail. 

I think that is greatly compounded by the time of year, especially this year. 

I've taken huge steps forward this year in every aspect of my life. But here I sit, in a dark pit, knowing that this is a step backward. 

I pray. I pray about the circumstances. I probably don't pray much for myself. At times like this, I don't feel I'm worthy.

I can't wait to get home. I want to curl up in my own bed and not move for the next month. I want to hide. Hide from the pain. The only way I can hide from it all is to be alone, isolate myself. I don't want to deal with all this and I certainly don't have the energy.

My only prayer for myself is that this doesn't get as bad as it has in the past, so bad that it is destructive. I don't have the relationships built yet to share that kind of honesty, so I know it could get bad for me. I know how quickly my self value sinks to being non existent and how easily it would be to slip away. 

Madder than a hornet?

That might be accurate. It's 5 am and I've been awake for hours. I'm angry. Why can't I sleep? I'm exhausted and yet my mind races at 12 am, 2, 3, 5 and I can't sleep.

I'm a christian. I should always be loving and forgiving. I shouldn't be angry.

I am human. I'm angry and hateful. I don't want to forgive, but want vindication.

This isn't necessarily all about my husbands recent revelation. This is about this time and place.

This marks my 8th year of going through the holidays without my family. Nothing compares to those first few years. Those were hard. Those were the times when I still thought that Jesus wasn't worth the pain I felt over being so alone during the holidays.

Then the pain lessened and I began to embrace Jesus over my family, knowing that I was far better off. Over the past few years, I found myself surrounded by friends during the holidays and managed to survive them well. The pain never left, just because less of the focus. The past two years have been the best.

Now here we are and everything is different. All the comforts that have gotten me through, they aren't there any longer. Over 600 miles separate us. Our new area, our new friends, nobody knows us well enough yet to understand how hard this coming month will be or how to support us through it. I fear that will isolate us even more.

There is a bit of anger and sadness with visiting this area. Unless there is a family emergency, we won't be back in Missouri/Kansas for a year. A whole year! That is a decision we've had to make.

It is easily a 12-13 hour drive. We aren't just a long weekend away. We've done that and watched friends do it to visit us. It's rough and wears you out. But, it's more than that.

Ohio is our home. Coming back here is emotionally draining. It deserves a post of its own, but it takes a lot of emotional energy to make the trip and we leave feeling even more displaced. We need to make our home in Ohio. To do that in healthy ways, we've got to put some distance between us and our attachment to this place. Not the people, just the place. Our heart can't be torn between two places if we ever want to fully make Ohio home and we do want that.

In addition, we've got a full plate the next year. I've got 3 semesters of 18 hours each. Somewhere in there, I have to squeeze in at least one surgey and either a second surgery or a baby. With school and health stuff, we don't have the money to make the trip. School was a choice, but we did it knowing we'd be living a poor student life for a few years.

Since grief still plagues me, I do hold some anger over that idea I could have been six months pregnant this Thanksgiving. I'm angry that the grief still keeps me from being fully decided on fertility treatments.

That brings me to the reality of how I will spend my holiday. Yes, I'm angry. I've not had time to fully process what has recently been said, so I don't yet have it in me to forgive. I absolutely hate that I have to walk into this family dinner on Thursday knowing that these people very unfairly despise me. The hateful sneers and disrespect will be showered on me like a gift and I'll have no choice but to smile as if I'm an oblivious idiot.

I'm not that person who goes off the deep end and has a crazy holiday meltdown. But everything in me wants to tell these people off. I want to tell them what life has really been like and that their brother hasn't been an angel. I want to ask them where they get off judging me when they are incredibly dysfunctional. Seriously. The family is full of sin, sin that they easily judge others for but fail to acknowledge the exact same in their own life.

I want to, but rest assured...I won't. I'll bite my tongue. I will probably be unintentionally ugly with my husband. But I'll know that once these few hours are over, then I get to walk away for a year.

Hopefully I've cleared my mind enough that I can go back to sleep. I don't need to be angry about being exhausted.

And the truth comes out...

Holidays suck for me. There's no getting around it. I don't have the typical celebrations with my family, I have none. My husband's family celebrations are always so hard for me. Nobody talks to me, I'm disregarded and overall treated poorly.

I'm not kidding. His family, one by one, will come to wherever we are and say hello to my husband or tell him that dinner is ready. They'll say goodbye to him and not so much as make eye contact with me. At Christmas, the couple gifts I get are usually tossed around and have even been oped by other people.

That's a small list and it's been that way for well over 16 years.

For years, I've struggled to understand. I've never been mean to them. I've tried my best to fit in and love them. I've done everything my husbands ever asked me to do to develop some semblance of a relationship with them and I've failed.

For all these years, I've thought it was me. Beat myself up over it. Listened to my husband tell me that it was me. And still not understood because it didn't add up. Their hatefulness never seemed to match what I gave them.

We've fought. My husband and I have fought over this. Every time, I was at fault. It was me.

My husband made a confession to me this weekend. One that I at times suspected, but never truly believed could be true.

By his own admission, he has told his family every terrible thing I've ever done.

That's right, every little thing I've ever done wrong in our marriage has been shared with his family.

No wonder they hate me. I haven't always been a good wife. In fact, I've been a really bad wife most of our married life. And they've been privy to every bit of it. Our dirty laundry has been aired the entire time and I never knew.

I'm not even sure what to think or how to respond.

Of course I asked some questions. I stayed calm and didn't share my growing frustration.

Did you happen to ever explain to them that I had no real models for how to be a functional member of society, let alone a wife?

Did you ever share the times I begged for forgiveness?

Did you tell them that you weren't always the easiest person to live with or that you at times have been mean?

Did you bother to tell them that I've changed and carried us through all your depression?

Did you ever mention to them that I love you so much that I stayed through all of that and have worked my ass off on our marriage?

No.

NO!!!!!

It's taken me a few days to process this enough to say, I'm hurt.

One of the things I've learned and I believe to be true, you work on your marriage between the two of you. When things get difficult, then it's ok to confide in a trusted person or counselor but only with the intent of being able to go back and work through the issue with your spouse.

Never during our marriage have I ever been that woman who sits around and bitches about my husband with the girls. I won't ever be.

I know, I probably sound like a hypocrit right now since I'm putting this grievance in a public forum. I do so as my personal way of processing and as advice for any reader.

At least this holiday, I'll know why I'm being treated poorly. Because like my husband, they never let things go, and I'm pyong a price for everything I've done wrong and most of it being years and years old.

Good grief. I just want to be loved and forgiven. Isn't that what we all want? I want a family who accepts me. I've never felt further from having that.

We've obviously got some stuff to deal with, huh.

My best marriage advice, know you're both going to make epic mistakes and give your family the running list unless you're going to share the whole story.

My days lately...

When we first moved, I stayed busy arranging our home. Then I focused a good deal of time on being a wife and being domestic. Then I got sick. Then, well, I got bored.

I got into a routine with laundry and shopping, but that didn't fill my days. I went through times of feeling useless and struggled with motivation.

Honestly, I'd had a similar struggle after my time volunteering at a previous church ended. Getting the house ready to sell was a welcome job after not having much to do for 6 months.

Volunteering at the previous church was always a mixed bag for me. For a long time, I enjoyed it. When I was allowed, it gave me opportunities to serve the church in unique ways and in ways that people rarely knew.

There were multiple reasons for me being there, most importantly to protect me from my own depression/anxiety when it was very severe. There were times I fought against that.

It was also an emotional roller coaster for me. There was so much drama, so much self inflicted struggle within the office. I won't go into details, but I will say it was tough at times. It was also my first time to see the good, bad and ugly of the church. I was a very immature christian and didn't know how to process what I saw from the members and the general public. I didn't know then the correct ways to handle the things that felt wrong to me.

All that said, I wouldn't change those three and a half years. I developed some amazing relationships, learned a lot and developed a desire to serve the church. Ultimately, it taught me to love the church body, the good, bad and the ugly.

So, my husband shared with our new minister about my experience volunteering in the church office and my desire to do something.

Over the past few months, that has led to an opportunity to volunteer in our new church several hours a week.

It's so nice to have something to do in addition to being a housewife. More importantly, it's giving me an opportunity to serve the church in ways that aren't obvious. I enjoy giving my time to this church and am so thankful.

When school starts in two months, things may change a little. I hope to balance everything, but I shouldn't get bored.

I'm so very thankful that my husband heard my heart and was proactive in helping me fight my boredom.

Pre Travel Thoughts

It is the week before Thanksgiving, the official start of the holidays. We leave in two days. I'm not overly emotional, but I have a sadness that's settled deep inside me.

I've not been feeling as though I belong here. I've struggled. It's been hard. I've cried out in total darkness, not wanting to be here. Ohio winter has hit early and hard. The coldness has been more than freezing temps, it's been my heart. There has been good things, but in general it's been hard.

We are heading to Missouri. We will see my husbands family, spend some time relaxing in Branson and see a few friends. The truth is, we don't belong there either. We will spend 10 nights in hotels and condos. Not in the comfort of a warm home. We will fight exhaustion as we run from one place to another, never really having any down time. It will be hard and we feel out of place there too. I know because the same thing happened in September.

We, me especially, are in this season where my heart isn't settled anywhere. I struggle to feel truly at home right this minute. I want to. I hate feeling displaced.

When we moved here, the plan was to stick out the two years. It's likely we will be here a good long while. I think ultimately, that will be good. It's really difficult to establish roots if you think of this time as only temporary.

I want this to be home. When there isn't a stirring in my soul, I love it here and I love the people.

At this time each year, I know I have to rely more on facts than emotion. This year is no different.

I have the usual difficulty of the holidays. I have the stress of still recovering from being sick. I am totally jacked up on hormones.

I do have my brothers family coming the day after Christmas. I am looking forward to their 8 day stay. However, that comes with a special kind of stress. As an adult, I've never spent that much time with my brother. It will be good, but stressful. I only have one agenda while he is here. To let him see the impact a relationship with Jesus Christ has had on my life.

I know this too shall pass, but I'm ready to feel at home. I'm ready for things to fit together like they are meant.

Girlfriends

I have lots of friends and aquaintances. But if I had to really condense that, I'd have to say I only have a few close, deep relationships with one developing here.

And if I had to be honest, I'd say of those half dozen or so relationships, there are an equal number of men and women. and of those, it took years and years to develop most of them. Years to learn to trust, value relationships and believe that person wasn't planning to hurt me.

I've said this before but it remains true...it is much easier to befriend a man than a woman. As I start anew here, I find myself evaluating why this is so.

Let me start by saying that relationships with men have absolutely nothing to do with sex or lust. If you know me at all, you know that sexual attraction is not a driving force for me. Just putting that out there so there's no confusion.

Secondly, when I develop a relationship with a man, it always resembles a brother/sister relationship. If I don't have that sibling type of love for the person, chances are they'll never be a good friend.

So, why?

Well, I tend to enjoy conversation with men more than women. I gravitate toward manly activities like sports and cars. I've always been that way. I like that men talk with less emotion and more facts. They don't gossip or bitch.

I also tend to have more respect for men. If I need correction or have deep questions about life or the bible, I'd prefer to talk with a man. This will probably always be the case. One thing years of abuse set up for me is to respect men in authority.

Women are so much harder for me. I don't seem to fit. I don't enjoy shopping or gabbing about senseless things or gossiping.

Not all, but a lot of women play games with one another. They expect you to understand them and know exactly what they want. I don't get that. I'm not that way. Again, not all, but many are so not trustworthy. They take what you say in confidence and it spreads like wildfire.

You can imagine that is all making it more difficult to develop relationships here. When I'm in small groups of women, I'm often off to the side by myself. But I could talk to the neighbor guy for hours and never get tired.

I don't know how to fix this without altering who I am. I just got comfortable with who I am, I'm not sure I can change. Even if I did, I'd eventually revert back to the true me and still not fit.

I also don't know how to explain to these people I don't know that I'd much rather sit and watch the game with the guys than go shopping or gossip. Hopefully I can find that too and at least work toward some balance.

Baby Dreams

I have a confession. I think this baby stuff has taken over my life. For 16 nights straight, I have woke up in the middle of the night from either a nightmare about babies, in full blown memory of the losses or in tears with the latest loss on my mind.

It's safe to say, I'm not through this yet.

In all fairness, I did talk to our minister about it. He had wonderful, wise counsel and was willing to listen to me. I met with him twice and told him I was fine, over it.

Now I am fairly certain he'd talk with me again, especially if he knew how much it is bothering me still. However, I have those two little problems. One is pride, I couldn't possible admit that I fudged the truth with him. The other, my solid to the core belief that I am not worth the time. I don't ever feel as though I am worthy of anyone's time, that there are far more important things for that person to deal with than me.

So here I am. Still stuck in this place of all consuming grief and confusion.

In January, I'm headed to school to be a counselor. I've been walking with people through some pretty tough stuff lately. I feel like I should already have all the answers and know how to get over this. But I don't.

I'm not depressed, that's not it. It's grief and sadness over a loss.

There's a part of me that's glad winter is coming. The less I'm around people, the better. I just can't hold myself together long enough to be around people for extended periods. It's too hard.

Last Friday, my previous psychologist called me. He was so kind to be checking in on me. As I left him a voicemail, a bit of reality smacked me in the face. I reported the news, gave the rundown of everything that's happened since we last spoke in July.

After I finished the rundown, I told him not to worry that I was doing absolutely fine. As the word fine hit my lips, my voice cracked and the tears shot out of my eyes. I abruptly ended the message, hoping his keen psychological spidey sense wouldn't kick in and I wouldn't be faced with a return call.

There is only so much he can do so far away. I'm very much a face to face person and am exactly that way with this stuff.

Since I'm still struggling physically with my hemoglobin being so low, I don't have a choice but to go to sleep at night. Otherwise, I'd opt to stay awake and forgo the nightmares.

I don't know who you (the reader is), but I would love it if you'd pray for me. That either this season of grief and confusion would subside, get easier or that I would finally come to the end of myself and ask for help cause I'm failing miserably doing this alone.

What life is really like here.

I love it here. I love the slower pace of life. The people are friendlier and I love our home. All those things are true and very consistent.

But there's a dark side too, a reality that isn't all sunshine.

My husband is severely depressed and there's no help for him. He doesn't enjoy anything. A month ago, he told me he wasn't sure he knew how to love me. He's struggling with faith. It crushes me, all of it.

I've met a lot of wonderful people, but I feel so alone here. There's lots of reasons for that. In KC, I had my friends. I knew who I could trust, who I could call in crisis, who was good for a mid day pick me up. I also knew what was expected of me. I knew what I could say and what I should not. I knew who could speak hard truth to me and how to take things.

It took me a long time to learn all that and I was happy. Here, I don't know any of that. I have to start over. I constantly say the wrong thing and misjudge how to take things. It's so damn hard! It's like having to learn to walk all over again. And the crappy part is that the same rules don't apply because the culture and people here are completely different.

After six months, I've started to see how previous relationships are shaking out. Few have stayed strong, but I still know who is fiercely supportive. Some have slipped away and some still come in a text a month. That in itself brings another level of adapting.

Despite our 6 years of strained relationship, being away from my little brother and his family is the hardest. I would only see them 1-2 times a year max. However, the past two years, my brother and I had been rebuilding our relationship. For the first time ever, I know he loves me even though he hasn't learned how to show it. And I miss him. Everything else that causes sadness in my life is nothing compared to how badly I miss him. I am on a countdown for December 26.

My faith is not shaken through this. I may question and wrestle with where God's love can be found, but I refuse to let go of the one constant.

Where my grief goes

Back in September, I started a grief process that I never thought I'd experience again. It overwhelmed me. To grieve miscarriages for the first time in so long was more than I was prepared for. 

My grief spewed out at all times and on everybody. Until one day, about two weeks in, I took assessment of those around me. Everyone here who was even remotely with me through it, appeared to be done with me. They physically and verbally seemed to grow tired of my emotions and very much came across to me with the words and non verbal communications that screamed "aren't you over this yet!"

So I did what I do best. I put it away. Shoved it so far inside myself that there was no chance it would come back out. At least not in ways that I would allow anyone to see. 

When I'd see new babies of friends on fb, I'd head to the bathroom and bite back tears until the sadness passed. 

When I got handed the baby dedication forms at church to take care of and the announcement in the bulletin, I turned the music up loud so nobody dare hear my momentary bout of bawling. 

When I listened to friends complain about their children, I fought those raw emotions that threatened to come out in a full blown backhand and reminder to be thankful for what others can't have. 

The truth is, it's still there. Sitting at the surface and eating away at each of my days. I exhausted my resources and convinced everyone I was ok. Doing so for them, not me. Believing life would somehow get better if everyone around me were once again ok with me. 

I screwed up. I'm not ok. I'm still grieving and I'm doing it completely alone. The people who were helping have long since moved on, because that's what I claimed to have done. 

As I sat filling out our fertility specialist paperwork, it hit me hard. There is a higher probability of additional loss than actually having a baby. Am I ready for that? Do I have the support I need for that? I can't answer those questions. 

I was devastated and elated that our appointment had to be postponed. I think I need a little while longer for my heart to mend before I do it all again. 

The other shoe

I'm sure you've heard that saying about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Well....

Life has been too good lately, which means satan is in full blown attack mode.

Two weeks ago, things couldn't have been better. I was loving life and things were far better than I anticipated.

I was loving this area. Loving church. Felt great. Plans for infertility treatment and school were moving forward.

Then the past week happened and everything came to a screeching halt.

I spent the better part of a night in the ER with what we can only guess is a gallbladder problem. I can't get in until mid December to get further testing. Until then, my digestive system is totally jacked up and I spend about every other night puking.

My first fertility appointment was to be tomorrow. Guess what? They won't treat with major issues, like gallbladder going on. So that appointment is in limbo and likely cancelled until further notice. It probably deserves a post of its own, but I'm having major second thoughts about the process.

You can imagine with the gallbladder problem and stress of it all, I no longer feel great. My most recent gyno issues have caused my anemia to come back and my hemoglobin to drop. Cue the constant sleeping, no physical energy, rapid heart beat and being freezing cold all the time.

School is in limbo at this point too. Partially because I can't get my high school transcript and partially becaus of me.

I can't decide between two schools and three programs. It's a huge commitment. At nearly $6000 per semester, I need to make sure it's right. I know my own insecurity is plaguing me too.

There are so many good things about a small church. I would never say that it's easy to adapt when changing from a medium sized church to a small church. Really, it's probably less about church and more about adapting period. Even after six months, we still find that we have a lot of adapting left to do.

I'm not surprised by any of this. I expected it.

What I didn't expect was my response. My need to self protect has kicked into overdrive. I want to withdraw and not leave home. I've said it before, but the amount of stuff since January has been so overwhelming. We aren't quite out from under the weight of it all and it's still crushing us.

I thought I was beyond that, beyond withdrawing. I guess not. So, I'll quietly battle this round the best I can. I don't have a support system here to help and encourage. I'll make it through all of this, but it's hard right now.

Forgiveness is Tricky

I'm learning that it's much easier to forgive people you no longer have contact with.

In the past few months, I've had some acute medical issues and lost a baby. With the exception of my brothers family, nobody in mine or my husbands family has bothered to reach out to us. No calls or texts. No sorry you lost a baby or sorry you had to go to the ER again.

They don't care. They don't care about anyone but themselves.

Yesterday, I had what we believe is a gallbladder attack for the second time in three days. We went to the ER at 3 am.

A particular member of my husbands family chose yesterday to bitch at me about bringing our dogs back for Thanksgiving and not staying with my inlaws.

WTF? I just got home from the hospital and I know you know that because you are a fb junkie.

Maybe it's because I don't feel good. Or maybe it's because the older I get, the less I feel the need to put up with bullshit. But, I have no tolerance for this.

If you aren't compassionate or loving or even sensitive towards us when life is hard, then you sure the hell don't have the right to judge me or tell me what to do.

That's the way these people operate. I've been a part of them for over 20 years and it'll never change. But how much do u have to subject myself to before I snap?

There are times when we have to fight to act christian. This is one of those times. Everything in me wants to tell all of them to piss off.

It's one of those times that I am going to have to pray like crazy. I know ultimately they have the problem. They have sin in their lives that make them hateful and selfish. Not that I am without sin in this, I'm not. My heart is cold toward them. I'm angry.

We only have a few weeks till we leave. I hope I can prepare my heart for it before then.

Christmas Lists and Family

Let me start by saying that my brother and his family are coming out for 8 days at Christmas and I am elated. It'll be the first time in 8 years that I've soent Christmas with any of my family.

But let's get down to the reality of the right now. Each year my husband asks for a Christmas list. I'm happy to give him one, but it's also the beginning of the Christmas spiral.

This year has great potential to be different, in good and bad ways.

Having my brothers family here is going to make it the best holiday season.

Being here, in a new place, it's going to make the holidays hard.

We will be back home for Thanksgiving. That's going to be good for my husband. He will need and enjoy the time with his family.

They aren't my family though. That's always been the case, but especially so in the past year. I've been through a lot and nobody has bothered to check on me. Two miscarriages, being sick, big life changes, they all know about it and nobody has bothered to say one word. That's a big slap of reality.

So, there won't be any family or warm fuzzy feelings for me through Thanksgiving.

There's a bigger change here. We had friends and parties and invitations and traditions.

We would go several times to look at the traditional KC lights.

We had Christmas cards and trays of cookies or breads.

We don't have many friends here and even less who know how tough it will be to go through the holidays so far away from home, adjusting still to our new normal.

I'm prepared. I'm ready. Bring on the good and bad. We will make the most of it all.

Identity

There are two things going on right now, completely different, but both tied to finding out true identity in Christ.

The first is walking with my husband through his depression. His depression is partially chemical, partially low self esteem.

My husband group up in a Christian home with living parents. On the surface, his family was picture perfect.

Even an average family with above average stability can still be dysfunctional. His mom was overly legalistic and created a warped view of what it took to please God and thereby please her. His dad was distant and failed to express love or nurture the children in healthy ways.

Those things left my husband with a jacked up idea that he was and never could be good enough for anyone. Whether it is at work, church, home, or in general social settings, he shyly steps to the back and takes a seat beneath all others because that is where he feels he belongs.

He doesn't see himself how I see him or others see him or even how God sees him.

My husband is a kind, loving, fiercely protective, absolutely loyal person. He does nothing halfway and works with a standard of ethics that most people never learn. He's a good guy who'd do anything for anybody.

Most people don't know that about him because he comes across as unapproachable and aloof. He's not. He's just that introverted and sees himself with little value, definitely not worth anyone's time.

As you can imagine, this has made our move harder. I can't lie, it's been hard on our marriage. When someone struggles to see value within themselves, they don't find value in those around them. They can also be quite insufferable.

I've prayed and talked with him and prayed more. I love this man and want nothing more than for him to find his identity in Christ. I want him to see his value in the kingdom, the love that is freely given by God. I want him to know the truth about himself and replace those old thoughts.

the truth that Jesus died for us is an overwhelming truth. Sometimes we get so caught in self centered thinking, that we forget that truth is for everyone. Jesus died for me, you, my husband. I'm constantly having to remind myself and say to my husband that God loves him far more than I ever could.

Walking through this with him in concentrated ways over the past year, I've had to really consider my own life and my own identity.

I want him to know when I say something that I'm doing my best to live in that truth as well. The truth is that I struggle too.

I don't get caught up in what others think about me. I honestly don't care if someone thinks one weird or stupid. I don't care if I have wrinkles or use the wrong word.

However, if you ask me how I think people see me or how I see myself, you'd find that I have a pretty warped view of myself.

My dad always said that I would play sports, weigh over 350 lbs, talk like a man, be uglier than a barn door, be dumber than a box of hammers, never get married and be a lesbian.

Well, friends, let me tell you....none of that is true. Since my dad did permanent damage to my back, sports are out. I've never weighed 350 lbs, not even close. I don't sound like a man. In fact, I get mistaken for a child on the phone and have singing voice that can range from alto to soprano. I'm definitely not a lesbian. Despite my lack of femininity, I'm not the least bit attracted to women. As far as the ugly, eh, he might be right on that. Although I don't know that people run at the sight of me. I have an IQ of over 180. I've been with the same man for over 20 years.

None of his predictions were accurate.

Now let me tell you exactly how I think people see me and I see myself. It's a condensed version of what my dad said. When you look at me, I believe you see a screwed up woman who is fat, ugly and stupid. I don't believe that I am worthy of your time and doubt I could ever change your mind about me.

Sad, but true. Over 30 years of this being truth means that I still fight this same battle. I don't deal with depression and am fairly stable. It's just a truth for me. It's truth because my experiences lean more toward that than Gods truth.

That sad reality convicts my heart even more that I need to constantly repeat truth to my husband and hope some of it penetrates my heart.

In a similar way, I feel satan working over time to attack me right now. As I move forward with school, those old messages and low self esteem threaten to settle deep into my bones at each step. I constantly fight those times when I don't believe I can do this.

Let's get something straight, the decision to go to school wasn't mine. It was God directed. I fought it, denied it.

I know God will equip me with everything I need to do what He has called me to do. However, that doesn't mean that satan isn't going to try to bring me down in the process. He sneaks into those areas of weakness, those places where I don't firmly stand with Christ. He bites at those areas where I struggle to see my identity in Christ.

So here we are, constantly praying. Praying that God will sustain us as we learn who we are in Christ. While we learn to accept grace and fully live as children of the King.

Forgiving

So this book...

Let me back up to the day before I started reading it.

There was a restlessness in my heart. The past two years have been growing years for me. In that, I have really become more aware of who I am. By that, I mean what I like, things I enjoy. I've found my personality. Those things in me that could only be found when the past was stripped away and I could begin to find my identity.

Along this journey of healing, I had forgiven everyone except my parents. There were a lot, well into the 100s of people. Most of them were unceremoniously forgiven through time and maturity. Others came after big aha moments. Regardless, there were two left.

I had vowed to hate them until they died and then I'd think about forgiving. I had rationalized that God knew and wasn't shocked by my unwillingness.

So here I was a few days ago. Feeling that restlessness. It didn't take much prayer or searching my heart to know exactly what it was. It was my parents.

Let me start by saying that I am in no way advocating a relationship with them. EVER!

I knew it would take a lot of prayer, but I knew I was ready. I was ready to let go of that anger that bound me to them. That anger that still allowed them to indirectly exert control over me.

I made a commitment to pray about it as long as it took. I didn't share this with anyone. Really, I didn't have it in me. My first attempt was a failure. I couldn't bring myself to even ask the Lord to soften my heart. I had to back up. My prayer those first few days were merely asking for the want to. Even though I knew I needed to, I didn't have the desire.

It really is ok that I didn't have the desire. Forgiving the biggest atrocities ever committed against you at the hands of the people who were supposed to love and protect you, I'm convinced is something nobody just wants to do. It has to be super natural.

So the days went by and I continued to pray and read this book.

Again, I'm sitting here in a little disbelief that this book was recommended by coincidence right now.

As I came to the end of the book, it was clear that unforgiveness ravaged the mind of this former POW. I think that's an easy thing when you've been brutalized.

This paragraph spoke mountains of truth straight to my heart:

The paradox of vengefulness is that it makes men dependent upon those who have harmed them, believing that their release from pain will come only when they make their tormentors suffer.

Read that again.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, who has suffered trauma ever wants to be bound to the perpetrator. Just the opposite. They desperately want that tie severed. In holding onto the idea of vengeance and not forgiving, we are stuck.

Another excerpt from the book adequately describes exactly how it is to feel that hatred so deeply:
 In prison camp, he’d been beaten into dehumanized obedience to a world order in which the Bird was absolute sovereign, and it was under this world order that he still lived. The Bird had taken his dignity and left him feeling humiliated, ashamed, and powerless, and Louie believed that only the Bird could restore him, by suffering and dying in the grip of his hands.

Page after page, I found myself wanting to release the anger that has had a firm grip on my heart. How can I truly be free to move on with life or know my true self if that anger still owned a wedge of my heart?

Simply put, I cannot.

The subject of the book eventually forgave his captors. It took a process. A process of downward spiral and becoming a Christian. The Lord did a work in his heart that allowed him to let go of the anger and forgive.

I spent a great deal of time slowly reading and rereading the graphic details of everything this man went through. I didn't know why at the time. I'm usually a once through reader and then moving into the next book. Not this time. I took it in. I spent hours reading through details that would normally have triggered my own flashbacks.

As I read, it was clear that this wasn't so that I could do some comparative reasoning. It wasn't so that I could sit here at the end of the book and deduce that if he could survive all that and forgive then I should be able to forgive. No. I am convinced that it was so I could see the work of God throughout the story.

The Lord allowed free will in the lives of my parents. However, He never allowed them to kill me. It was His plan for me to survive.

In the book, Louie Zamperini says that if he knew he'd have to relive it all again, he'd choose to die. I definitely feel that way, but that wasn't my story.

When I think about my life, the one thing I want the most is to be free from the past. I believe I'm there.

It's one of those gifts. Those gifts God gives because He loves us so.

As I finished the book, tear stained cheeks, I sat in prayer. Praising God that the unforgiveness that held my heart captive was gone.

Nothing earth shattering happened, my anger and hatred were just gone. It's not likely that my parents will ever know. This wasn't for them, it was for me.

Forgiving doesn't delete the past. It doesn't minimize what God has done. It doesn't negate what I've survived. But it does untether me from my parents. It allows me to finally be free. It allows me to live more obediently and more fully enveloped by the love of God.

PTSD

Since I was able to do little more than lay around this summer, I read and I read a lot. I'm not a fan of fiction. I stick with biography and Christian non-fiction.

Our tiny library only has a limited number of books and I've read a lot of them. Running out of options and always open for suggestions, I asked our pastor. Thankfully, he had many suggestions. In fact, he told me to set any book I was reading aside and read Unbroken. 

I am convinced this guy is either a coincidental genius or knew exactly what he was doing. I'm not sure I've ever had a book impact me so deeply, so intimately. 

This book is the life story of Louie Zamparini. He was an Olympic runner who ended up being a POW in Japan after surviving a plan crash and being adrift on a raft for 47 days. Read the book, you won't regret it. 

The beginning of the book chronicled his life and eventual fame as an Olympic runner. 

I found myself reading and rereading with intensity the pages and pages of graphic details of this man's suffering.

At the end of the book, the author shares Zamparini's spiral into the thresholds of PTSD.

What was outlined in the book made me consider my own life with PTSD.

I've never read any book about PTSD nor have a read any books where it was even mentioned.

Zamparini suffered horrific abuse, torture and neglect at the hands of men. It can take as little as one traumatic event to cause PTSD. Someone who suffers trauma daily would rarely escape unscathed.

"For these men, the central struggle of postwar life was to restore their dignity and find a way to see the world as something other than menacing blackness."

That is one of the most accurate descriptions of living with PTSD that I've ever heard and is certainly applicable to anyone who has suffered a great depth of trauma.

Granted the stories are vastly different, yet eerily similar.

My story spans over 30+ years. It's filled with unimaginable trauma. As I read through some of the brutality detailed in this book, I ached with reminiscent pains of what was once my reality. Flooding my mind were vivid memories of having hot motor oil poured into my ears or being bound to a freezing garage floor while my toenails were pulled off my feet.

Even though you survive, you don't walk away without being forever changed.

Since I barely knew anything about PTSD when I was diagnosed in 2007, I am amazed to read about it from 70 years ago. I'm not sure if they had a name for it, but it was all the same. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Spontaneous reaction to triggers. Self medicating.

In the book, Zamparini is able to move past his PTSD through spiritual conversion.

That isn't always the case. Being a Christian doesn't always immediately change who you are or the afflictions you have. Although, I believe you always strive to accurately rearrange your thinking.

I've spent the past few days thinking about my PTSD.

I'm not a prisoner to it. I used to be, but no more. Is it still there? Yes.

My PTSD is much improved, in fact most people wouldn't know I have it unless I told them. I tend to be honest with people who need to know or I am around often. It's best they know because I can be easily spooked, sending me into a flashback or causing me to take a swing.

This is improved. There was a time when I could barely leave my house. There was a time when flashbacks consumed my life and spent days stuck in rapid fire playback of my childhood. There were times when it brought on debilitating OCD and overwhelming rage.

I'm thankful those days have long past. In the last 18 months, I've been fortunate to only be triggered a few times. Usually extended time spent in any basement is my undoing. Although I know that and can still slowly work through healing with concentrated prayer and perseverance.

This book was an opportunity to take stock of how far I've come in regards to the PTSD and a healthy reminder that I did survive. I survived hell and PTSD has been the natural fall out from it. It's also served as a hope and expectation that one day, PTSD will no longer have a place in my life. It is a reminder of the promises God has made for wholeness. 

What's next?

So, are you wondering what might possibly be next?

Let me share with you the verse that has been in my heart, on my mind and at my fingertips for almost a year.

I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you. Joel 2:25


It's the first part. I will restore to you...

I wasn't sure what that would like. So, I prayed. I prayed and fasted and meditated. 

The answer was coming, but I was ignoring it. It came in the form of more scripture. 

But the one who does not know and does things deserving punishment will be beaten with few blows. From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked. Luke 12:48

I fought that. Ignored it. Knew I was totally inadequate. 

But the Lord didn't let me. 

See, I've been given many gifts and talents. I've also been entrusted with a past and life that is ripe with the glory of God. 

It soon became clear to me that I had one choice. Use it to glorify God. 

I prayed and prayed more. 

Let me tell you that after 6 solid years of counseling, you don't sit around and think that you could ever do what that person does. You don't believe for a second that you have it in you to walk through the darkest puts with anyone. 

And maybe some people don't. 

I believe I do. I. Fact, it doesn't feel like a choice. It is a calling. God has made it very clear. I am to use what I've learned and what I've lived to glorify Him by walking with people. 

So what does that mean?  

That means with a lot of prayer, we've decided to pursue a biblical counseling degree for me. 

We aren't sure exactly what school, but the plan is to move forward for the next semester. 

It looks like I'll be in school about two years. 

We know this is a commitment. We know we will only be able to pay about half of each semester and will have to incur some loans. 

We also know that I do not feel called to go into any secular office and make any money off this. We are prepared for this to be a training to help those who need it the most and have the least resources. 

Hopefully over the next month I can nail down a program and make some final decision. 

I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm ready to make sacrifices so that God can use me. 

Not My Forever

That's right, the blog's name.

In 2007, I walked right into counseling and was immediately in a dark place. The thing the counselor told me then and continued to tell me was that this was not my forever.

It didn't seem that way. I never thought I'd get out of that whole. I had to be told 100s of times and I'm still not sure I ever believed it. Until now.

If you know even the slightest bit of my past, you know it's a rough story. It reads like a Stephan King novel. If you've never walked with me through any of the part 7 years, there's a high probability that you wouldn't believe it.

My written testimony that I share is such a small portion. Teeny tiny. It doesn't include being raised in a satanic home, having dozens of abusers in and out of the family, the mess my past made of my marriage, drug and alcohol abuse or the graphic details of a tortured life that is my reality.

My psychologist once told me he was amazed I was sitting in his office. To help put things in perspective for me, he shared that my case was in his top two of complexity. He's seen 100s and 100s of patients in his 25+ years of practice. That's a perspective that won't let you minimize what you've survived.

The reason it was amazing is because statistically, I don't fit the mold. I should have been through one self inflicted trial after another with drugs, alcohol, jail, hospitals, marriages. Being married for 16 years with no vices was miraculous to him. I don't even put caffeine in my body.

I'm sitting here today, 7 short years after walking into church the first time as proof that God didn't want my past to be my forever. He didn't want the dark put to be my forever. He had better planned.

My past doesn't define me, but it is a part of who I am. If it defined me, I would be caught in that hopeless trap that the psychologist described.

Instead, it's strengthened who I am.

I am tough. No kidding, I have a high pain tolerance.

It's made me compassionate.

Even though I buckle at times, I can withstand a lot of emotional pain. I'm not easily angered and I don't hold grudges.

It's made me keep priorities in check. When you grow up like I did, you don't whine about meaningless things.

The list goes on.

I never believed this day would come. The day I was able to sit and soak in the glory of God and all He has shown me. All that He has done to make me see that was not my forever.

That day came a while back, but I often am in awe.

Abused, beaten, tortured, left for dead, mentally unstable, loneliness and deep depression. None of it was my forever. It wa my temporary while God restored and redeemed and grew me up.