He gets a little testy when I call him that, but he is my baby brother.
I'm so incredibly proud of my brother.
There was a time when I couldn't say that. Even though my mom protected him from a lot of abuse, he was still beaten in my dad's rages. He saw some abuse but not all of it. It's questionable whether he even knows about the sexual abuse.
He didn't walk away unscathed from our childhood.
When he was younger, he was a bad kid. Sweet as can be, but bad. He was sexually active very young and often with my other brother's girlfriends. At the time, he wasn't aggressive and didn't get angry. That in itself was amazing. He lived in our shadows. I excelled academically and my other brother was a standout in sports. My little brother was a product of the special education system and played golf. He was a little, scrawny guy. So he got teased a lot! But never any anger.
Like I said, he was sweet. He had the heart of a saint, but the hands of a klepto. He was a bit of a Robinhood. He'd steal and give everything away. When I was struggling, he stole money from my parents and gave it to me. I didn't know at the time what he'd done. Thankfully, he grew out of that in adulthood.
Back to the sex thing. In 1997, he got his then girlfriend pregnant. She was underage. We were asked if wanted to adopt the child. We weren't married yet and regretfully declined. A few years later, he got his then 15 year old girlfriend pregnant. She had my nephew at 16 and my niece 10 months and 1 day later. In between children, he married her.
I know they had a rough marriage for a while. They were kids with kids. My brother had a huge problem with writing bad checks and couldn't tell the truth. Somewhere through there, he developed an anger problem. One that led to him hitting his kids.
Behavior makes sense when you understand where it came from.
Now, let me get to the gushing, proud sister moments.
That's not who my brother is any more. He has changed and without professional help. He's no longer angry. He doesn't beat his kids. He doesn't lie or steal.
He's a good, family guy with a stable work history. He doesn't drink, smoke or do drugs. He loves his wife and has made a good life for them.
It's buried, but he's still got a huge heart.
He is a volunteer fireman and is very passionate. The small town we are from has lost a lot of children in house fires, including a kid we grew up with and his family. I know my brother was passionate about saving people. His time on the unit has been hard. I believe he's faced a lot and it has matured him. A few years ago, he responded to an overturned truck in a creek. My brother went in for the recovery not knowing he was about to pull out his deceased brother in law. I know it changed him, softened him and he's been different since.
When I severed ties with my family, my brother and his family were the hardest loss for me. It was so painful, that many times I nearly gave up Jesus to go back. It was a causality that was just too much for me.
My niece and nephew didn't understand and thanks to my sister in law, we had maintained a semblance of a relationship for a few years. That led to us spending more and more time with the kids over the past three years. We've gotten them at holidays or spring break or in the summer.
It was last year that I saw my brother for the first time in 6 years. As much as I wanted to grab hold and not let go, I knew we weren't there.
He didn't understand why I left the family and was tainted by what my parents had said.
So the past 18 months, I have stayed consistent with him and have shown him as much love as I could from a distance.
Now, him and the family are coming for 8 days. Oh my goodness how things have changed. When we were back in September and November, we spent several meals with them. We had lots of laughs and had a good time.
Again, I wanted nothing more than hug him tight for hours on end.
I'm nervous about this visit. Excited, but nervous. I love them all. So much that I want things to be perfect. However, I'm anxious about possible conversations. I want to show him the love of Christ and I'm terrified I will fail. I want it to be fun, but know we are in the middle of nowhere.
My brother is a fixer and I know wants to put the family back together. That can't happen and I'm fearful of the conversation. My minister said something so profound to me. I know I won't do it justice. He said that we've already lost so much, it would be terrible to let the past take any more from us. That's so so so true. I must keep reminding myself of that. I don't want to waste a second on what we can't change or anxiety.
Only a few more days and they will be here. I can't wait. In a season that's so hard, their visit is my gift. I can't believe I get 8 days to love on them!
Monday, December 22, 2014
Sunday, December 21, 2014
I was THAT kid
A few weeks ago, we had the opportunity to purchase Christmas gifts for a little boy in our community. This is something we've done for the past 10 years or more. We usually adopt a little girl and boy.
Given how I grew up, you can probably guess how I feel about providing for children. That's the reason we happily buy Christmas gifts or pay for kids to go to church camp. It's a joyful sacrifice.
The truth is that I was one of those kids.
We had nothing. When I say we, I mean us kids. We didn't have clothes without holes or stains. We didn't have shoes that fit. There were years when I had no underwear or socks. We didn't have treats cause we barely had edible food. We sometimes ate rotten food because that's all we were allowed. We had nothing.
My parents income qualified us for food stamps and government foods like rice, cheese and peanut butter. So, I know that we were poor.
I say that with a caveat. My parents had everything they wanted. They had food, clothes and lots of luxuries. My dad made a lot of money on the side. My dad didn't do drugs, but he sold them. With that and the cash from prostitution, him and my mom didn't want for anything.
We ended up on the angel tree at the bank for multiple years. I remember getting excited when Santa brought lots of gifts and candy for us. The excitement was short lived. Every gift was taken by my parents. What they didn't keep, they sold or used as gifts for other people. Not in any of the years did we ever get anything.
I know every time we've bought gifts for these kids, I have wondered and hoped that they had better parents than me.
As a Christian, I've often had the chance to be reminded of how God has changed my life, even before I knew Him. I could have, should have, would have continued to live in poverty and need if God hadn't led me to my husband and waited patiently for me to turn to Him.
It's humbling to think through that. Think about these needy families and to know I was one of them. I look around my house and my life and know that I went from having nothing to having an abundance.
When we shop for these kids, we buy things they want like Legos and things they need like clothes. We always add blankets, hats, gloves, puzzles, books and candy. We pray over all of it. We thank God for the chance to give and be the hands and feet. We pray for the family, that they would get to a more stable financial position. We pray for the family and child, that they know these gifts are ultimately from God. We pray for the child, that they would know how much they are loved and that someday they know the joy of giving back.
Don't get me wrong, what my parents did is wrong. They screwed us up for years to come. They stole a lot of joy from is that can never be given back. However, without my experience, the joy might not be felt as deeply and what God's done in my life may not seem quite a big.
Given how I grew up, you can probably guess how I feel about providing for children. That's the reason we happily buy Christmas gifts or pay for kids to go to church camp. It's a joyful sacrifice.
The truth is that I was one of those kids.
We had nothing. When I say we, I mean us kids. We didn't have clothes without holes or stains. We didn't have shoes that fit. There were years when I had no underwear or socks. We didn't have treats cause we barely had edible food. We sometimes ate rotten food because that's all we were allowed. We had nothing.
My parents income qualified us for food stamps and government foods like rice, cheese and peanut butter. So, I know that we were poor.
I say that with a caveat. My parents had everything they wanted. They had food, clothes and lots of luxuries. My dad made a lot of money on the side. My dad didn't do drugs, but he sold them. With that and the cash from prostitution, him and my mom didn't want for anything.
We ended up on the angel tree at the bank for multiple years. I remember getting excited when Santa brought lots of gifts and candy for us. The excitement was short lived. Every gift was taken by my parents. What they didn't keep, they sold or used as gifts for other people. Not in any of the years did we ever get anything.
I know every time we've bought gifts for these kids, I have wondered and hoped that they had better parents than me.
As a Christian, I've often had the chance to be reminded of how God has changed my life, even before I knew Him. I could have, should have, would have continued to live in poverty and need if God hadn't led me to my husband and waited patiently for me to turn to Him.
It's humbling to think through that. Think about these needy families and to know I was one of them. I look around my house and my life and know that I went from having nothing to having an abundance.
When we shop for these kids, we buy things they want like Legos and things they need like clothes. We always add blankets, hats, gloves, puzzles, books and candy. We pray over all of it. We thank God for the chance to give and be the hands and feet. We pray for the family, that they would get to a more stable financial position. We pray for the family and child, that they know these gifts are ultimately from God. We pray for the child, that they would know how much they are loved and that someday they know the joy of giving back.
Don't get me wrong, what my parents did is wrong. They screwed us up for years to come. They stole a lot of joy from is that can never be given back. However, without my experience, the joy might not be felt as deeply and what God's done in my life may not seem quite a big.
So many babies 2
Some of my posts are written days in advance. Not all, but some and that's why there's occassionally two a day.
Since I wrote the previous post, I haven't slept.
I spent a good 5 1/2 years processing memories from the past. Lots of counseling. Lots of therapy. It was hard. It took a variety of methods. But, most all of the past had been drug from the jumbled files of my brain and talked through.
That was followed by a year of learning how to manage everyday life with PTSD. Even though you process your stuff, doesn't mean the trauma, the residual side effects go away. My trauma was so vast that I it is unlikely that I will ever not deal with PTSD on some level.
But that year, I spent a lot of time learning to live with it. There's several things I've had to learn. One is how to talk truth to myself when things trigger me. That's not easy. I've had this discussion recently. Someone asked me if men touching me, hugging me, or walking behind me was a trigger. No. Not at all. It used to, but it's huge growth for me that none of it bothers me now. Things that trigger me are obscure. The smell of black licorice or sawdust, basements, seeing belts or extension cords and box fans to name a few. They are way obscure.
I've had to learn to manage anxiety. That's been the hardest, partially because it requires asking for help. I know when my anxiety is growing. If I don't ask for help soon enough, I end up in a full blown attack and meltdown. I hate asking for help though. To be fair, my anxiety has greatly improved. It's only once in a while it gets out of control. I'm also getting better at asking for help, but still hate it.
All that to say, I was in about the best place I could have been when we moved. I knew I would need to establish something with a counselor here just to manage the once every 3-6 weeks when I needed to talk through stuff.
There was no counseling available here who were christian and on our insurance. So, I got on a wait list for a secular office. That scares me. I've had other counselors suggest divorce and I don't want that. Their views aren't necessarily mine. I got off the wait list early and was offered an appointment. It was while we were out of town. I had to decline and restart my wait. I'm now wait listed again until at least June.
Thankfully, my minister has helped me through tough times and managing some anxiety.
Here I am now. When I left KC, I knew I only had two things left completely unprocessed. Very hard. Very dark. Very hidden things. Two things that had never in any form been fully processed in counseling. They weren't anything that had surfaced, they were buried. Maybe to never come out. So I thought.
This baby thing has obviously surfaced. Like with stuff in the past, when it surfaces I have little ability to put it away.
The problem is that I don't have anyone to talk with about it. I don't have anyone to listen to the story, tell me exactly why it was wrong and evil, then remind me it's completely over and I'm ok. I don't have that now. This is the first time in over 7 years that I don't have someone to sit down and work through this kind of thing.
That's left me to try to do it myself. I am failing. I can't sleep. Don't have an appetite. Can't get some of the graphic images out of my head. I am miserable. You'd never know, because I'm a master at hiding how I really feel. For the most part, I can put a mask over even the deepest pain. It's a gift and a curse.
The insomnia and nightmares are the worst. The insomnia will effect me in big ways if it doesn't stop.
In a way, I'm glad that one of the two issues has surfaced. I want complete healing for myself. The only way to get that is to fully process even the deepest and darkest memories. That I only have two of those left is awesome. The other thing that's awesome is that once I've talked through it, it's done. So I have to be excited that even as painful as this is, I'm almost done.
I'd like to add that this is another reason I feel called to become a counselor. There's not enough availability here. I've called and talked and begged. There was absolutely no availability for christian counseling. It was only after a member of our church suggested it that I met with our minister. I'm not minimizing what he has done. He has been amazing through my grief and adapting and anxiety. He's been easy to talk with, be honest with and I trust him.
This sucks, but I'm almost done. The other thing may never, ever surface. But for now, I deal with this.
My prayer, Lord please open a door to allow me to process this. You know. You know how desperately I don't want to lose one more day to the evil of the past. You know I want to be functional. You know this insomnia has potential to unravel me. You know I want to start this journey in school with a clear head.
Since I wrote the previous post, I haven't slept.
I spent a good 5 1/2 years processing memories from the past. Lots of counseling. Lots of therapy. It was hard. It took a variety of methods. But, most all of the past had been drug from the jumbled files of my brain and talked through.
That was followed by a year of learning how to manage everyday life with PTSD. Even though you process your stuff, doesn't mean the trauma, the residual side effects go away. My trauma was so vast that I it is unlikely that I will ever not deal with PTSD on some level.
But that year, I spent a lot of time learning to live with it. There's several things I've had to learn. One is how to talk truth to myself when things trigger me. That's not easy. I've had this discussion recently. Someone asked me if men touching me, hugging me, or walking behind me was a trigger. No. Not at all. It used to, but it's huge growth for me that none of it bothers me now. Things that trigger me are obscure. The smell of black licorice or sawdust, basements, seeing belts or extension cords and box fans to name a few. They are way obscure.
I've had to learn to manage anxiety. That's been the hardest, partially because it requires asking for help. I know when my anxiety is growing. If I don't ask for help soon enough, I end up in a full blown attack and meltdown. I hate asking for help though. To be fair, my anxiety has greatly improved. It's only once in a while it gets out of control. I'm also getting better at asking for help, but still hate it.
All that to say, I was in about the best place I could have been when we moved. I knew I would need to establish something with a counselor here just to manage the once every 3-6 weeks when I needed to talk through stuff.
There was no counseling available here who were christian and on our insurance. So, I got on a wait list for a secular office. That scares me. I've had other counselors suggest divorce and I don't want that. Their views aren't necessarily mine. I got off the wait list early and was offered an appointment. It was while we were out of town. I had to decline and restart my wait. I'm now wait listed again until at least June.
Thankfully, my minister has helped me through tough times and managing some anxiety.
Here I am now. When I left KC, I knew I only had two things left completely unprocessed. Very hard. Very dark. Very hidden things. Two things that had never in any form been fully processed in counseling. They weren't anything that had surfaced, they were buried. Maybe to never come out. So I thought.
This baby thing has obviously surfaced. Like with stuff in the past, when it surfaces I have little ability to put it away.
The problem is that I don't have anyone to talk with about it. I don't have anyone to listen to the story, tell me exactly why it was wrong and evil, then remind me it's completely over and I'm ok. I don't have that now. This is the first time in over 7 years that I don't have someone to sit down and work through this kind of thing.
That's left me to try to do it myself. I am failing. I can't sleep. Don't have an appetite. Can't get some of the graphic images out of my head. I am miserable. You'd never know, because I'm a master at hiding how I really feel. For the most part, I can put a mask over even the deepest pain. It's a gift and a curse.
The insomnia and nightmares are the worst. The insomnia will effect me in big ways if it doesn't stop.
In a way, I'm glad that one of the two issues has surfaced. I want complete healing for myself. The only way to get that is to fully process even the deepest and darkest memories. That I only have two of those left is awesome. The other thing that's awesome is that once I've talked through it, it's done. So I have to be excited that even as painful as this is, I'm almost done.
I'd like to add that this is another reason I feel called to become a counselor. There's not enough availability here. I've called and talked and begged. There was absolutely no availability for christian counseling. It was only after a member of our church suggested it that I met with our minister. I'm not minimizing what he has done. He has been amazing through my grief and adapting and anxiety. He's been easy to talk with, be honest with and I trust him.
This sucks, but I'm almost done. The other thing may never, ever surface. But for now, I deal with this.
My prayer, Lord please open a door to allow me to process this. You know. You know how desperately I don't want to lose one more day to the evil of the past. You know I want to be functional. You know this insomnia has potential to unravel me. You know I want to start this journey in school with a clear head.
So many babies
There's still no doubt that giving up on fertility treatments is right for us. We've talked a few times and we are both far more relaxed and overall ok with this.
But I've had a lot of the emotional stuff hitting me.
It's absolutely nothing I'll understand this side of heaven.
We've had a total of 10 miscarriages during our marriage. That's not the whole story. That's the story of the past 16 years. That's hard enough to say. But the whole story is a lot more difficult to admit.
A few months before I started dating my husband, I dated an older, engaged man. So if I'm being brutally honest, it wasn't dating so much as just sex. Because of my abuse, sex didn't mean anything to me. My virginity was long gone and my moral compass was non existent. I also was naive enough that I believed the lies about leaving his fiancé.
Long story short, despite my best efforts to prevent it, I got pregnant. I was probably no more than 12 weeks when I had a miscarriage.
Sadly, that's still not as far back as the story goes.
What I'm about to share is incredibly hard. I hold so much shame over this, shame over my niavity and fear I'll be seen as the whore my dad claimed I was. I've never shared this with anyone besides a counselor and my husband.
From the time I was 8 and up, my dad sold us into prostitution. My earliest memory of being raped at home was first grade. My body never had a chance to be normal. Physically, I matured far faster than everyone else. I was literally a rag doll with no control or understanding of what was happening.
There were things that happened to my body that I didn't understand. Had I been allowed in the sex ed classes at school, I might have understood. It sounds funny, but it's true, I was 18 before I knew how babies were made. I'll spare you the details, but my more mature, adult mind now understands that I had many pregnancies as a child.
The sad reality is that they could have been from my dad, the banker, the neighbor, a teacher, the mailman, my brother, a cop, or who knows. (I'd like to add that I'm incredibly thankful that a wise person pushed me to be checked and cleared of all STDs a few years ago.)
I don't think I ever realized what was happening. My dad knew. Again, I'll spare you the details but I believe my dad knew exactly what kind of torture it took to cause a miscarriage.
It took a lot of counseling for me to reconcile my feelings about this. To want a child as an adult and try to understand loss from so long ago, it's not an easy combo. Don't get me wrong, the shame is still there. I don't feel released from that yet. I do fear those who read this and know me personally will think differently of me.
I think the shame comes mostly through my relief. I'm relieved I didn't have a child at 10. I'm glad a child was never born from a rape by a family member.
There's more to the story still, more that's just too graphic and too hard to share. It also keeps me bound by shame. This has been hard and scary enough to share. I will say that there is guilt over what's still hidden.
Making a decision to give up on having a child has made me question this part of the past.
I don't get it. I can't find a way, 20-30 years later, to glorify God. I can't see how God has used this in my life. I can't see how God has redeemed and restored this. I think I'm probably more confused. I can't see the lesson or where God was.
What was done to me, completely outside of my control, is exactly why I'm prone to miscarriage. Those things that happened is why our dreams have to be abandoned. I don't get it. I don't get why so much was stolen from me.
I hope once I get to heaven, I no longer need an explanation. I hope heaven is so overwhelmingly wonderful that I forget the past. I hope that we are truly made clean and the pain of the past stays firmly in this broken world once we enter into our eternal life.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Blessed. Blessing. Blesses.
Earlier this year, I read an article about how Christians over use the word blessed. I know at the time, some of my friends were taken back by what it said.
The point was that when we refer to something like a new car or birthday party or a good day as a blessing, then we are underminding what are true blessings. As Christians we are blessed with eternal life, a relationship with Jesus, the promises of the Word.
Those are true blessings. Those are gifts of grace and mercy.
I've been very careful to keep that perspective. I don't ever want to put my salvation and a material object on an equal plane.
As the year comes to an end, I'm becoming reflective. This year has been more active than any other in our marriage. It's worthy of a year in review so that I can remind myself someday what we survived.
I can't help but juggle that word around when I look at the past year.
We've been blessed. Blessed by the Lord. He has come near to us when we needed and when we thought we didn't need anyone. We have been reminded over and over that our salvation is secure and our only security is in Him.
But there's so much we've been given. So many ways we must give all the glory to God. He has been good to us. Even in the most difficult times, He is still worthy to be praised.
I prayed over a year ago for a change in Kent's job. That prayer was answered.
We left an awesome church and almost immediately found an even more amazing church here.
A doctor got aggressive with my care and saved my life.
When we were days from foreclosing on our KC home and filing bankruptcy, our house sold.
We had some key people here care for us and love us and walk through difficult times with us.
When we needed help, people showed up.
There were gift cards or bonuses that showed up when the bills were far higher than the income.
Yes, we've received so many gifts this year. I want to say we were blessed by them. The truth is that we've been blessed by the Lord and He has allowed us to see his goodness in life. His love through others. His provision through circumstance.
We know this year has left little energy or time to focus on anything beyond ourselves. I think we would both say we've failed to give back this year. We've not actively pursued ways to be the hands and feet of Christ. We haven't served the body or the community as much as we have felt led. Neither of us believe we've given enough of ourselves to anything besides us.
I hope we can change that in the next year. I know we both want to spend less time inwardly focused and more time serving. We want to share the blessing and goodness that can only be found in Christ to those who need it most. We want to love and support those around us.
The point was that when we refer to something like a new car or birthday party or a good day as a blessing, then we are underminding what are true blessings. As Christians we are blessed with eternal life, a relationship with Jesus, the promises of the Word.
Those are true blessings. Those are gifts of grace and mercy.
I've been very careful to keep that perspective. I don't ever want to put my salvation and a material object on an equal plane.
As the year comes to an end, I'm becoming reflective. This year has been more active than any other in our marriage. It's worthy of a year in review so that I can remind myself someday what we survived.
I can't help but juggle that word around when I look at the past year.
We've been blessed. Blessed by the Lord. He has come near to us when we needed and when we thought we didn't need anyone. We have been reminded over and over that our salvation is secure and our only security is in Him.
But there's so much we've been given. So many ways we must give all the glory to God. He has been good to us. Even in the most difficult times, He is still worthy to be praised.
I prayed over a year ago for a change in Kent's job. That prayer was answered.
We left an awesome church and almost immediately found an even more amazing church here.
A doctor got aggressive with my care and saved my life.
When we were days from foreclosing on our KC home and filing bankruptcy, our house sold.
We had some key people here care for us and love us and walk through difficult times with us.
When we needed help, people showed up.
There were gift cards or bonuses that showed up when the bills were far higher than the income.
Yes, we've received so many gifts this year. I want to say we were blessed by them. The truth is that we've been blessed by the Lord and He has allowed us to see his goodness in life. His love through others. His provision through circumstance.
We know this year has left little energy or time to focus on anything beyond ourselves. I think we would both say we've failed to give back this year. We've not actively pursued ways to be the hands and feet of Christ. We haven't served the body or the community as much as we have felt led. Neither of us believe we've given enough of ourselves to anything besides us.
I hope we can change that in the next year. I know we both want to spend less time inwardly focused and more time serving. We want to share the blessing and goodness that can only be found in Christ to those who need it most. We want to love and support those around us.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha
That's what I think about in those times when I've been dwelling on this baby stuff. Mine sounds more like a whiny woman saying Baby, Baby, Baby.
In all seriousness, this baby stuff has weighed heavy on me since September. There's not a day that's passed without thinking about it.
A child. That's a life altering thing that deserves every bit of thinking and prayer that I can possibly muster.
With the new year approaching, I have known that a decision needed to be made quickly. I've struggled with it. I have written previously about how I could not make a decision.
Choosing fertility treatments comes with a lot of sacrifice, which doesn't scare me. What does scare me is the unknown. There's no guarantee. We would be able to go through 1-2 rounds of IVF. It would break us, but it would be worth it...if it were successful. But we don't know. I am not overstating this, another loss or walking away empty handed might break me. I don't think I could emotionally recover from that. I've barely recovered physically and am still recovering emotionally from two miscarriages this summer.
Choosing adoption comes with lots of risk. I won't deny that. It would take a lot of our savings. It would be worth it.
We could choose nothing. That's not where either of us lean. We have love and a home and a life we want to share.
Have you ever tried to figure out God's will for your life? Not always an easy thing to do. I've prayed for a clear direction. My husband said since it was my body, he'd support whatever I chose. I've prayed and begged for him...for anyone...to make the decision for me.
I've felt and been told by friends that this was an opportunity to have a child, a second chance, that I shouldn't pass up. I've felt obligated to take the leap and put my heart on the line. I've pushed mysef to believe I'd be ok no matter the outcome. I've falsely convinced myself that I would be judged if I didn't take this opportunity.
Since my doctor is expecting a decision from me within a month, I did what any half-crazed middle aged woman would do. I went to my minister for godly counsel on knowing God's will in this.
Let me say this....
My minister is a young guy. Helping at the church allows me to have light hearted, fun conversation. I (sorta, kind of, most definitely) misjudged him. He graciously met with me after my meltdown in September. Even then, I fully expected him to throw some scripture at me and send me on my way. Each time I've met with him, he's kicked my butt with biblical truth, wisdom, humility and genuine compassion.
Talking through this baby stuff with him was no different.
He'd said before that there was no wrong decision here. I know I dismissed it. Surely I could make the wrong decision.
So I laid it all out for him. Through the past few months, each person I've talked with has spoke directly to my heart and my longing to have a child. They've encouraged me to follow through with fertility treatments. I don't fault them. But, I've either not shared my fear or they've not heard my heart on what more loss would do to me.
My minister, he's seen the tears from my broken heart. He's seen firsthand how deeply the loss of a baby crushes me. He's witnessed the crazy. It was not pretty.
Today, he told me exactly what he would do if it were his decision. Adopt!
Through our conversation, I felt as though the weight was being lifted. There really was no wrong decision. That it was ok to not risk it all. That I had permission to not push mysef into a decision that has no promise. Do you get the gravity of this? I needed to hear it was ok for me to let go of this. I needed permission to say no and return to the original plan.
It doesn't come without emotion. I'm giving up all hope of a biological child. I don't take that lightly. However, that was my reality before September. There will be some grieving, but it won't be spirit crushing.
We talked about adoption, a lot. Adoption was the direction Kent and I planned to eventually go prior to September. My minister reminded me of so many examples of how adoption works and works well.
The oldest of my brothers married a woman who was pregnant with another mans baby. That little girl is his daughter, my niece and always will be.
After an intense, emotional conversation with my husband, we've decided to return to our original plan. Adoption.
We will continue to pray, prepare and pray some more. We have an idea of when we'd like to begin the process, but will pray and know that God's plan may look different than ours.
In the meantime, I praise God for those willing to speak to me with wisdom. I praise Him for growing me through this tough times. I praise Him for the promise of eternal life with a loving Father, childless or not.
In all seriousness, this baby stuff has weighed heavy on me since September. There's not a day that's passed without thinking about it.
A child. That's a life altering thing that deserves every bit of thinking and prayer that I can possibly muster.
With the new year approaching, I have known that a decision needed to be made quickly. I've struggled with it. I have written previously about how I could not make a decision.
Choosing fertility treatments comes with a lot of sacrifice, which doesn't scare me. What does scare me is the unknown. There's no guarantee. We would be able to go through 1-2 rounds of IVF. It would break us, but it would be worth it...if it were successful. But we don't know. I am not overstating this, another loss or walking away empty handed might break me. I don't think I could emotionally recover from that. I've barely recovered physically and am still recovering emotionally from two miscarriages this summer.
Choosing adoption comes with lots of risk. I won't deny that. It would take a lot of our savings. It would be worth it.
We could choose nothing. That's not where either of us lean. We have love and a home and a life we want to share.
Have you ever tried to figure out God's will for your life? Not always an easy thing to do. I've prayed for a clear direction. My husband said since it was my body, he'd support whatever I chose. I've prayed and begged for him...for anyone...to make the decision for me.
I've felt and been told by friends that this was an opportunity to have a child, a second chance, that I shouldn't pass up. I've felt obligated to take the leap and put my heart on the line. I've pushed mysef to believe I'd be ok no matter the outcome. I've falsely convinced myself that I would be judged if I didn't take this opportunity.
Since my doctor is expecting a decision from me within a month, I did what any half-crazed middle aged woman would do. I went to my minister for godly counsel on knowing God's will in this.
Let me say this....
My minister is a young guy. Helping at the church allows me to have light hearted, fun conversation. I (sorta, kind of, most definitely) misjudged him. He graciously met with me after my meltdown in September. Even then, I fully expected him to throw some scripture at me and send me on my way. Each time I've met with him, he's kicked my butt with biblical truth, wisdom, humility and genuine compassion.
Talking through this baby stuff with him was no different.
He'd said before that there was no wrong decision here. I know I dismissed it. Surely I could make the wrong decision.
So I laid it all out for him. Through the past few months, each person I've talked with has spoke directly to my heart and my longing to have a child. They've encouraged me to follow through with fertility treatments. I don't fault them. But, I've either not shared my fear or they've not heard my heart on what more loss would do to me.
My minister, he's seen the tears from my broken heart. He's seen firsthand how deeply the loss of a baby crushes me. He's witnessed the crazy. It was not pretty.
Today, he told me exactly what he would do if it were his decision. Adopt!
Through our conversation, I felt as though the weight was being lifted. There really was no wrong decision. That it was ok to not risk it all. That I had permission to not push mysef into a decision that has no promise. Do you get the gravity of this? I needed to hear it was ok for me to let go of this. I needed permission to say no and return to the original plan.
It doesn't come without emotion. I'm giving up all hope of a biological child. I don't take that lightly. However, that was my reality before September. There will be some grieving, but it won't be spirit crushing.
We talked about adoption, a lot. Adoption was the direction Kent and I planned to eventually go prior to September. My minister reminded me of so many examples of how adoption works and works well.
The oldest of my brothers married a woman who was pregnant with another mans baby. That little girl is his daughter, my niece and always will be.
After an intense, emotional conversation with my husband, we've decided to return to our original plan. Adoption.
We will continue to pray, prepare and pray some more. We have an idea of when we'd like to begin the process, but will pray and know that God's plan may look different than ours.
In the meantime, I praise God for those willing to speak to me with wisdom. I praise Him for growing me through this tough times. I praise Him for the promise of eternal life with a loving Father, childless or not.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Tattoo Freak
I saw something last weekend that still has me scratching my head. It was a young man with "FREAK" tattooed on his forehead.
Now, I'm not one of those people who judge other people with tattoos. I don't really care what people do to their bodies. This one puzzled me.
Even though I have one, I don't have an infinite love for them. I have one. It was very well thought out. It's very detail and very big. You also wouldn't know it unless I told you because it's in a very discreet place.
When I got it, I knew what I wanted. That's what I got. It was something that caused a huge fight between my husband and I. He was against and still hates it. The timing was a little bit or maybe a lot a statement of independence. I wasn't going to let him stop me.
You can read my original post about it Here.
So I know that even the people who have the most influence over you can't stop you when you want something.
I can't hardly wrap my head around this. It's not the first one I've seen.
You have freak on your forehead. That's going to make for interesting wedding photos or prentice teacher conferences. How do you disciple your kid or discourage them from tattooing their bodies with a forhead tattoo?
Even if you tried to remove it, there would still be an outline scar.
Even though I've been scratching my head over this, it has reminded me of something incredibly valuable.
Each one of us someone's son or daughter; brother or sister; aunt or uncle; mother or father. We each are intricately woven together in unique ways. All of us have our own unique experiences that alter how we act and react.
A mark on our skin, it changes none of those things.
Our natural human instinct maybe to judge that person or any person with a tattoo. We maybe inclined to think they are stupid or project on them the many regrets they must be facing someday.
The reminder in this for me is that I must embrace the uniqueness of each person. Despite what I may think, each person is worthy of love and I must respect what has made them who they are.
It sounds easy to do. Most people can offer general decency to others. It's not so easy when you've already developed an opinion or judgment of others or a type of person.
I have to continue to pray that the Lord would soften my heart and give me the eyes to see people as He sees them. A heart to love them. A motivation to show that love. Even to a freak.
Now, I'm not one of those people who judge other people with tattoos. I don't really care what people do to their bodies. This one puzzled me.
Even though I have one, I don't have an infinite love for them. I have one. It was very well thought out. It's very detail and very big. You also wouldn't know it unless I told you because it's in a very discreet place.
When I got it, I knew what I wanted. That's what I got. It was something that caused a huge fight between my husband and I. He was against and still hates it. The timing was a little bit or maybe a lot a statement of independence. I wasn't going to let him stop me.
You can read my original post about it Here.
So I know that even the people who have the most influence over you can't stop you when you want something.
I can't hardly wrap my head around this. It's not the first one I've seen.
You have freak on your forehead. That's going to make for interesting wedding photos or prentice teacher conferences. How do you disciple your kid or discourage them from tattooing their bodies with a forhead tattoo?
Even if you tried to remove it, there would still be an outline scar.
Even though I've been scratching my head over this, it has reminded me of something incredibly valuable.
Each one of us someone's son or daughter; brother or sister; aunt or uncle; mother or father. We each are intricately woven together in unique ways. All of us have our own unique experiences that alter how we act and react.
A mark on our skin, it changes none of those things.
Our natural human instinct maybe to judge that person or any person with a tattoo. We maybe inclined to think they are stupid or project on them the many regrets they must be facing someday.
The reminder in this for me is that I must embrace the uniqueness of each person. Despite what I may think, each person is worthy of love and I must respect what has made them who they are.
It sounds easy to do. Most people can offer general decency to others. It's not so easy when you've already developed an opinion or judgment of others or a type of person.
I have to continue to pray that the Lord would soften my heart and give me the eyes to see people as He sees them. A heart to love them. A motivation to show that love. Even to a freak.
Monday, December 15, 2014
16 Years and...
He still pisses me off.
I love my husband. My husband loves me. So why do we make marriage so hard?
I know we do it. I irritate him. He irritates me. We fight. We half-heartedly make up. We go on until the next blow up.
We love each other, so why do we treat each other so horribly? And, I know we aren't alone. Your spouse is the person you are to love the most and I believe most people do. So, why are we so terrible to the person we love the most?
The ways we fight are completely different. I blow up and I'm done. I'm that way with most things. When I'm ready to address an issue, I say everything that I need to say and then I'm done. It's sometimes packed with emotion, but it all comes out at once. Unless it's intertwined with some future event or decision, I'm done with it. Never to speak of it again. He's not like that. He wants to discuss every facet of the issue and have a detailed explanation for an action or emotion. Then, he moves on as if everything is ok. But it's not, he tucks it away to use later or repeatedly.
Neither are right. Neither are conducive to a healthy relationship.
I'll give a great example that just happened.
He asked where to find toothpicks yesterday. I told him. He was very frustrated with another issues, but snapped at me for the amount of time it took to find them.
When I told him he hadn't been very nice, he spiraled into an explanation of how I used to (10 years ago) do something that irritated him and that's why he snapped at me.
This morning, I went to the cabinet and found the toothpicks exactly where I had said they were. He's sug and found the extra box. In the process, he completely messed up the cabinet and knocked a bottle of red food coloring onto the floor between the fridge and cabinet.
Said bottle leaked, leaving a huge mess. I cleaned it up, but there is now a light pink penis shape on the floor. I can't make this stuff up!
So, that elicited a scathing text to my husband.
I knew the minute I hit send, that all I had done was bring him down. He has chronic depression and is extremely agitated during this holiday season. He didn't need that. It was my blow up. I was angry. He'd been very nasty to me all weekend. I'd not defended myself all weekend in a way that meant anything.
There was a point that I did say something to him. I kindly asked him to please listen to the way he was talking to me. In complete calmness, I told him that his tone and words sounded more like he was talking to some bitch he lives with and not his wife. I didn't blow up though.
No doubt he will have a response to my text besides "sorry." It's how he works.
Why do we do this? We have each matured in our own ways. We've changed over the years. Unfortunately, our fighting has only become more defined and predictable.
I wish this wasn't the case. I wish that we could have more respect and love for each other in the difficult times.
We've been together for over 20 years. I love my husband more today than I ever have. He doesn't hit me. We don't fight about money. He's never cheated on me. I won't say we'd have a perfect marriage, but if we learned how to fight fair we'd sure have a better marriage.
I love my husband. My husband loves me. So why do we make marriage so hard?
I know we do it. I irritate him. He irritates me. We fight. We half-heartedly make up. We go on until the next blow up.
We love each other, so why do we treat each other so horribly? And, I know we aren't alone. Your spouse is the person you are to love the most and I believe most people do. So, why are we so terrible to the person we love the most?
The ways we fight are completely different. I blow up and I'm done. I'm that way with most things. When I'm ready to address an issue, I say everything that I need to say and then I'm done. It's sometimes packed with emotion, but it all comes out at once. Unless it's intertwined with some future event or decision, I'm done with it. Never to speak of it again. He's not like that. He wants to discuss every facet of the issue and have a detailed explanation for an action or emotion. Then, he moves on as if everything is ok. But it's not, he tucks it away to use later or repeatedly.
Neither are right. Neither are conducive to a healthy relationship.
I'll give a great example that just happened.
He asked where to find toothpicks yesterday. I told him. He was very frustrated with another issues, but snapped at me for the amount of time it took to find them.
When I told him he hadn't been very nice, he spiraled into an explanation of how I used to (10 years ago) do something that irritated him and that's why he snapped at me.
This morning, I went to the cabinet and found the toothpicks exactly where I had said they were. He's sug and found the extra box. In the process, he completely messed up the cabinet and knocked a bottle of red food coloring onto the floor between the fridge and cabinet.
Said bottle leaked, leaving a huge mess. I cleaned it up, but there is now a light pink penis shape on the floor. I can't make this stuff up!
So, that elicited a scathing text to my husband.
I knew the minute I hit send, that all I had done was bring him down. He has chronic depression and is extremely agitated during this holiday season. He didn't need that. It was my blow up. I was angry. He'd been very nasty to me all weekend. I'd not defended myself all weekend in a way that meant anything.
There was a point that I did say something to him. I kindly asked him to please listen to the way he was talking to me. In complete calmness, I told him that his tone and words sounded more like he was talking to some bitch he lives with and not his wife. I didn't blow up though.
No doubt he will have a response to my text besides "sorry." It's how he works.
Why do we do this? We have each matured in our own ways. We've changed over the years. Unfortunately, our fighting has only become more defined and predictable.
I wish this wasn't the case. I wish that we could have more respect and love for each other in the difficult times.
We've been together for over 20 years. I love my husband more today than I ever have. He doesn't hit me. We don't fight about money. He's never cheated on me. I won't say we'd have a perfect marriage, but if we learned how to fight fair we'd sure have a better marriage.
Friday, December 12, 2014
Praise You in the Storm
It's been one of those weeks. Nothing terrible has happened, but I'm plagued with all the little things and the past. I'm coming off a week of being sick and can't seem to get back to full speed yet.
About every night, I've dreamt about babies and pregnancy. Last night was the worst.
My dream started with me about to have an abortion. I was 20 weeks and certain that the baby would die anyway. My husband convinced me to not do it. We went from there to a sonogram where we learned we were having a healthy baby girl.
This maybe the first time I've ever had a dream when the baby was a girl. I felt her move and we were starting to discuss names when I woke up.
I love and hate these dreams!
These recurring dreams are directly related to the amount of processing I still need to do with this baby stuff.
Needless to say, last nights dream capped off an already crappy week. It's made today difficult. My body and mind wants to go back to that dream and make it real.
I've had a tough time being alone today. I had to resort to a basic skill to speak truth to myself.
As a very new christian, I was paired with a woman during a mentoring program. She was supposed to be a mentor, but she was certifiably bat shit crazy. I'm sure that's the medical term, look it up. Despite her crazy, I learned a lot from her husband. Valuable lessons that have helped me reshape my idea of family and love.
She taught me one thing. She taught me sometimes you have to physically speak truth to yourself, even if it looks ugly.
She told me that when she couldn't hang onto truth any other way, she would head to the tub. She'd lock the door, sit in a hot tub and sing Praise You in this Storm at the top of her lungs.
The concept was to drown out all that was stirring in her heart and head, speaking truth to herself.
Not very often can I quiet my crazy mind enough to make that work, but I did today.
In the shower (don't visualize that, eww), I had to repeat aloud the basics of what I believe.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
Over and over.
It's hard to stop my whirling head long enough to get the words out. But when I do, the hope is that the words will leave my mouth and penetrate my heart.
I think the most frustrating part of any bad week or difficult time is that what you know to be truth isn't what we hang onto. It's that miscommunication between your mind and heart. You know the truth but can't live as if you do. Oh so frustrating. And always a relief when you get a respite and can grab hold of that truth.
About every night, I've dreamt about babies and pregnancy. Last night was the worst.
My dream started with me about to have an abortion. I was 20 weeks and certain that the baby would die anyway. My husband convinced me to not do it. We went from there to a sonogram where we learned we were having a healthy baby girl.
This maybe the first time I've ever had a dream when the baby was a girl. I felt her move and we were starting to discuss names when I woke up.
I love and hate these dreams!
These recurring dreams are directly related to the amount of processing I still need to do with this baby stuff.
Needless to say, last nights dream capped off an already crappy week. It's made today difficult. My body and mind wants to go back to that dream and make it real.
I've had a tough time being alone today. I had to resort to a basic skill to speak truth to myself.
As a very new christian, I was paired with a woman during a mentoring program. She was supposed to be a mentor, but she was certifiably bat shit crazy. I'm sure that's the medical term, look it up. Despite her crazy, I learned a lot from her husband. Valuable lessons that have helped me reshape my idea of family and love.
She taught me one thing. She taught me sometimes you have to physically speak truth to yourself, even if it looks ugly.
She told me that when she couldn't hang onto truth any other way, she would head to the tub. She'd lock the door, sit in a hot tub and sing Praise You in this Storm at the top of her lungs.
The concept was to drown out all that was stirring in her heart and head, speaking truth to herself.
Not very often can I quiet my crazy mind enough to make that work, but I did today.
In the shower (don't visualize that, eww), I had to repeat aloud the basics of what I believe.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
Over and over.
It's hard to stop my whirling head long enough to get the words out. But when I do, the hope is that the words will leave my mouth and penetrate my heart.
I think the most frustrating part of any bad week or difficult time is that what you know to be truth isn't what we hang onto. It's that miscommunication between your mind and heart. You know the truth but can't live as if you do. Oh so frustrating. And always a relief when you get a respite and can grab hold of that truth.
Christmas Cookies
I had my first full blown holiday meltdown of the year. It was over Christmas cookies.
On the Big Bang Theory, Amy made Sheldon cookies with his Meemaw's recipe. I lost it. I cried like a baby.
This wasn't so much about me. Don't get me wrong, there are things I do miss about the holidays. I miss the stocking of fruit from my grandma. I miss the candies and special dishes my grandmas used to make. I miss the $2 from my grandpa. I miss a few traditions.
This meltdown was more for my husband. This will be the first time in nearly 50 years that he is away from his family. It's the first time in over 20 years, I won't be with his family on Christmas. It is going to be hard.
Truthfully, the little traditions have been missing the past few years. With his moms Alzheimer's, nothing has been right for at least two years. But we were all together. He was with his family. Even when it wasn't fun, it was still togetherness. That's what he craves.
My heart aches for him. He says he would have happily made the trip for both holidays, but I know we couldn't. It's too far and too expensive. I know he's angry with me about that, because I put my foot down. I had to. It's a 14 hour drive to his parents house. It's too much.
I never thought he'd ever understand how I felt when I had to give up my family. But he does now. That makes me sad.
I'd rather hurt than see him hurt.
I've said this over and over, but I think this is going to be the hardest holiday we've been through.
Dear Lord, show yourself in big ways to my husband. Show him that your love is sufficient and your near to him always.
On the Big Bang Theory, Amy made Sheldon cookies with his Meemaw's recipe. I lost it. I cried like a baby.
This wasn't so much about me. Don't get me wrong, there are things I do miss about the holidays. I miss the stocking of fruit from my grandma. I miss the candies and special dishes my grandmas used to make. I miss the $2 from my grandpa. I miss a few traditions.
This meltdown was more for my husband. This will be the first time in nearly 50 years that he is away from his family. It's the first time in over 20 years, I won't be with his family on Christmas. It is going to be hard.
Truthfully, the little traditions have been missing the past few years. With his moms Alzheimer's, nothing has been right for at least two years. But we were all together. He was with his family. Even when it wasn't fun, it was still togetherness. That's what he craves.
My heart aches for him. He says he would have happily made the trip for both holidays, but I know we couldn't. It's too far and too expensive. I know he's angry with me about that, because I put my foot down. I had to. It's a 14 hour drive to his parents house. It's too much.
I never thought he'd ever understand how I felt when I had to give up my family. But he does now. That makes me sad.
I'd rather hurt than see him hurt.
I've said this over and over, but I think this is going to be the hardest holiday we've been through.
Dear Lord, show yourself in big ways to my husband. Show him that your love is sufficient and your near to him always.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Discouragement
I don't know the Websters definition for discouragement, but I can give you the definition it takes in my life.
First of all, let me say the perpetrator is always satan. Satan is at the core of every ounce of discouragement in my life.
So in my life, it's satans small voice that speaks lies straight to my heart.
My problems, big and small, will never be overcome.
I am completely alone, nobody knows. Nobody cares.
Something bad will always happen because I'm not worthy of good.
Do you see a pattern? Satan uses those things directly from my past to bring me down now.
I'm not sure I'd call everything in my life a problem. Yes, there are trials and some are far bigger than others. There are some problems, but those are usually self inflicted. This year has been full of trials and problems. Some are so personal, I've not shared them here. Some have been so incredibly painful and so shameful, that they've stayed between my husband and I. There are things so big that I'm not certain how our marriage survived or continues to survive.
We have several things ahead of us that will be difficult, maybe even life altering. We ignore them at the moment because good or bad, it's too much to think about. The crazy part of it all is that when I'm not discouraged, I know I have nothing that hasn't already been overcome. I know the Lord has a plan for my life and nothing will happen outside of His will. Not so easy to remember that truth when satans voice is touching on my deepest securities.
Satan drives me to hide. Hide how I feel. Hide what is going on in life. Outside of what I write here, I don't typically share what life is shoveling my way. I do what everyone else does. I smile and claim everything is fine. I do it because satan convinces me that nobody cares. I'm left with that false sense of being alone. Like I must face everything alone. With a husband who's depressed, it amplifies the idea I'm alone and have been most of this year. Why? Because satan has a better chance of defeating me when I'm completely alone.
I know I'm not alone. I have friends I can call in KC, although it's difficult for me to be honest when I'm not face to face. I have two people here in Ohio that I trust enough to be honest, but I am fearful. Fearful that they won't stick with me if they see the stuff in my life. I have my husband, but he's got very little to give right now. This is also worsened by the holidays.
Jesus is always with me, I'm never truly alone. Its easy to feel so distant.
We have an incredible opportunity to try to conceive a child. I'm fulfilling a 20 year dream of finishing school. I'm on my way to answering a call to help people in intimate ways. We've overcome a mountain of debt. We are on a path that could give us our every hearts desire. Satan whispers into each positive thought that I don't deserve any of it. Each of these things will end in pain, loss, mistakes and failure.
I'm not worthy. I deserve every terrible thing that happens to me and I need to expect it. That's the message written across my heart. Those are the messages my dad built as my foundation. I constantly wait for things to fall apart. It's the source of my growing anxiety right now. I've had more anxiety the past couple weeks than the rest of the year.
In early January, I had a full blown anxiety attack. As I fought to catch my breath while talking to a friend on the phone, she finally got to the bottom of why I was anxious. It was because things were going so well that I was anxious about what had yet to happen. It took a few weeks, but I soon learned the other shoe dropping came in being uprooted and moved.
I can't say that the truth is that I deserve anything good. Honestly, I don't feel I do. However, the truth I know is, again, that the Lord has a plan for my life. Nothing happens outside His will. Moving to Ohio wasn't the end of everything good and familiar, but the beginning of something even better. I don't know what is going to happen. That anxiety is real, but I wish God's plan was more real to me.
Discouragement has settle in for this season. Anxiety and loneliness and overwhelm. It's all there and I've little energy to not let it defeat me, not right now.
I rarely ask for feedback, but how do you fight discouragement? How do you combat those ways satan threatens to bring you down?
First of all, let me say the perpetrator is always satan. Satan is at the core of every ounce of discouragement in my life.
So in my life, it's satans small voice that speaks lies straight to my heart.
My problems, big and small, will never be overcome.
I am completely alone, nobody knows. Nobody cares.
Something bad will always happen because I'm not worthy of good.
Do you see a pattern? Satan uses those things directly from my past to bring me down now.
I'm not sure I'd call everything in my life a problem. Yes, there are trials and some are far bigger than others. There are some problems, but those are usually self inflicted. This year has been full of trials and problems. Some are so personal, I've not shared them here. Some have been so incredibly painful and so shameful, that they've stayed between my husband and I. There are things so big that I'm not certain how our marriage survived or continues to survive.
We have several things ahead of us that will be difficult, maybe even life altering. We ignore them at the moment because good or bad, it's too much to think about. The crazy part of it all is that when I'm not discouraged, I know I have nothing that hasn't already been overcome. I know the Lord has a plan for my life and nothing will happen outside of His will. Not so easy to remember that truth when satans voice is touching on my deepest securities.
Satan drives me to hide. Hide how I feel. Hide what is going on in life. Outside of what I write here, I don't typically share what life is shoveling my way. I do what everyone else does. I smile and claim everything is fine. I do it because satan convinces me that nobody cares. I'm left with that false sense of being alone. Like I must face everything alone. With a husband who's depressed, it amplifies the idea I'm alone and have been most of this year. Why? Because satan has a better chance of defeating me when I'm completely alone.
I know I'm not alone. I have friends I can call in KC, although it's difficult for me to be honest when I'm not face to face. I have two people here in Ohio that I trust enough to be honest, but I am fearful. Fearful that they won't stick with me if they see the stuff in my life. I have my husband, but he's got very little to give right now. This is also worsened by the holidays.
Jesus is always with me, I'm never truly alone. Its easy to feel so distant.
We have an incredible opportunity to try to conceive a child. I'm fulfilling a 20 year dream of finishing school. I'm on my way to answering a call to help people in intimate ways. We've overcome a mountain of debt. We are on a path that could give us our every hearts desire. Satan whispers into each positive thought that I don't deserve any of it. Each of these things will end in pain, loss, mistakes and failure.
I'm not worthy. I deserve every terrible thing that happens to me and I need to expect it. That's the message written across my heart. Those are the messages my dad built as my foundation. I constantly wait for things to fall apart. It's the source of my growing anxiety right now. I've had more anxiety the past couple weeks than the rest of the year.
In early January, I had a full blown anxiety attack. As I fought to catch my breath while talking to a friend on the phone, she finally got to the bottom of why I was anxious. It was because things were going so well that I was anxious about what had yet to happen. It took a few weeks, but I soon learned the other shoe dropping came in being uprooted and moved.
I can't say that the truth is that I deserve anything good. Honestly, I don't feel I do. However, the truth I know is, again, that the Lord has a plan for my life. Nothing happens outside His will. Moving to Ohio wasn't the end of everything good and familiar, but the beginning of something even better. I don't know what is going to happen. That anxiety is real, but I wish God's plan was more real to me.
Discouragement has settle in for this season. Anxiety and loneliness and overwhelm. It's all there and I've little energy to not let it defeat me, not right now.
I rarely ask for feedback, but how do you fight discouragement? How do you combat those ways satan threatens to bring you down?
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Hate
I know hate is a strong word. That's often the cold, hard truth that's in my heart each and every time I deal with 90% of my family.
My little brother and his family are the only exceptions.
It's hard not to have hatred toward them. Don't get me wrong, I've forgiven and I pray for them. Forgiveness doesn't irradicate feelings.
On my dads side of the family, I only have contact with one aunt. That aunt is a resource for family deaths and sends a Christmas card. Our contact is limited to Facebook only. Even that, I have to limit. She has the opinion that parents make mistakes and the issues between my parents and I are my problem. She believes my dad is a good guy and hates hearing that she's wrong. As you can imagine, this doesn't fly with me. She has dangerous ignorance and blind trust.
My grandma, my dads mom, is really good about asking about me but not contacting me. These grandparents were never a part of our lives even though we lived less than a mile apart. I have a theory. I believe she knows the evil that resides in her son and can't bare to hear it.
Both are very frustrating. I get angry when I think about either of them.
Contact with my moms family is limited, again mostly to Facebook.
I have some cousins who have contacted me. They've grilled me out of curiosity and tried to shame me for disowning my family. I have very little tolerance for that. I also gave them no information. These are the siblings and cousins of the cousin who molested me. They aren't healthy enough to get wrapped up in that tangled web.
But in the 1-2 times a year I get contacted by them, anger rages through me.
My other brother and several of my cousins are liars and users. I'm a sucker. A bad combination that makes me angry every time. When they say they have a dire need, I do my best to help out.
There's so many examples over the years. The most recent was with my cousin who has five boys under 10. His wife fed me a story of how she didn't have the money for school supplies and how my cousin had left her.
We didn't have a lot of extra cash. We had to scrape to do it, but we sent 4 backpacks full of supplies and a toy for the baby. Thanks to Facebook and complete ignorance, I found out that she'd done this with several other people. She picked what she wanted and sold the rest. Using the money for a new tattoo and first months rent for a new trailer. She just tried the same thing with Christmas gifts and I declined.
I could give more examples and the long list of why this infuriates me.
Never once has anyone in my family helped me with anything. I've had physical and financial needs throughout my adult life and none of them have so much as said they'd like to help but can't.
My parents are the worst and specifically my mom. Before walking away from them, I'm not sure how much we lost.
Early in our marriage, my mom was super jealous. I was her spoiled city girl daughter who didn't care about anyone. Not true. I changed, but not in that way. I was happy to just be away from them and that's what changed me.
One time I asked my mom what it would take for her to be happy. She said $1000. So, I gave her that. It didn't make her happy. In fact, she wasn't even thankful. In turn, she created credit card accounts in my name and charged a good portion of our $150,000 debt. Thankfully that is gone and behind us, but not forgotten.
It's hard to not have hatred toward these people. Even if you strip away the abuse and neglect, they are well deserving of the anger I have toward them.
Despite forgiveness, I still have to guard my heart. Keep distance between us. And pray like crazy that my heart can be softened and that their hearts would also be changed.
My little brother and his family are the only exceptions.
It's hard not to have hatred toward them. Don't get me wrong, I've forgiven and I pray for them. Forgiveness doesn't irradicate feelings.
On my dads side of the family, I only have contact with one aunt. That aunt is a resource for family deaths and sends a Christmas card. Our contact is limited to Facebook only. Even that, I have to limit. She has the opinion that parents make mistakes and the issues between my parents and I are my problem. She believes my dad is a good guy and hates hearing that she's wrong. As you can imagine, this doesn't fly with me. She has dangerous ignorance and blind trust.
My grandma, my dads mom, is really good about asking about me but not contacting me. These grandparents were never a part of our lives even though we lived less than a mile apart. I have a theory. I believe she knows the evil that resides in her son and can't bare to hear it.
Both are very frustrating. I get angry when I think about either of them.
Contact with my moms family is limited, again mostly to Facebook.
I have some cousins who have contacted me. They've grilled me out of curiosity and tried to shame me for disowning my family. I have very little tolerance for that. I also gave them no information. These are the siblings and cousins of the cousin who molested me. They aren't healthy enough to get wrapped up in that tangled web.
But in the 1-2 times a year I get contacted by them, anger rages through me.
My other brother and several of my cousins are liars and users. I'm a sucker. A bad combination that makes me angry every time. When they say they have a dire need, I do my best to help out.
There's so many examples over the years. The most recent was with my cousin who has five boys under 10. His wife fed me a story of how she didn't have the money for school supplies and how my cousin had left her.
We didn't have a lot of extra cash. We had to scrape to do it, but we sent 4 backpacks full of supplies and a toy for the baby. Thanks to Facebook and complete ignorance, I found out that she'd done this with several other people. She picked what she wanted and sold the rest. Using the money for a new tattoo and first months rent for a new trailer. She just tried the same thing with Christmas gifts and I declined.
I could give more examples and the long list of why this infuriates me.
Never once has anyone in my family helped me with anything. I've had physical and financial needs throughout my adult life and none of them have so much as said they'd like to help but can't.
My parents are the worst and specifically my mom. Before walking away from them, I'm not sure how much we lost.
Early in our marriage, my mom was super jealous. I was her spoiled city girl daughter who didn't care about anyone. Not true. I changed, but not in that way. I was happy to just be away from them and that's what changed me.
One time I asked my mom what it would take for her to be happy. She said $1000. So, I gave her that. It didn't make her happy. In fact, she wasn't even thankful. In turn, she created credit card accounts in my name and charged a good portion of our $150,000 debt. Thankfully that is gone and behind us, but not forgotten.
It's hard to not have hatred toward these people. Even if you strip away the abuse and neglect, they are well deserving of the anger I have toward them.
Despite forgiveness, I still have to guard my heart. Keep distance between us. And pray like crazy that my heart can be softened and that their hearts would also be changed.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Depression, not mine....
I thought my depression during the holidays was hard. It's nothing compared to living with someone who's chronically depressed.
I absolutely love my husband. Nothing could change that.
But dealing with his depression is stinking hard.
There's absolutely nothing worse than feeling rejected by your spouse. In all ways. And I get it. He barely has the energy to care for himself. So, he doesn't have anything left to give me.
That means after spending 10 hours alone during the day, I spend most evenings feeling completely alone. Not much conversation. Not much activity. Just sitting in front of the tv.
I'm going nuts here. More accurately, the weight of it all is crushing me.
For nearly a year, I've gotten so little from him. I don't say that to complain, but to explain what it's like.
When I'm sick or in crisis, I get nothing. No empathy, no support. In fact, I get a hard time because it's inconvienent for him. It's not because he doesn't care, but because his personality is seriously altered when he's depressed.
Depression also alters how you interact, even basic interaction. That means basic conversation turns into an argument and leaves me shoving my own feelings to the side. It's hard to feel like you're never heard and to know that's not how things would be aside from the depression.
Nothing is right or good enough. Again, those personal attacks are straight from the depression. It's the core of what causes his depression, so it's what comes out.
I'm so tired. It sucks to not have support and feel so alone, especially during the holidays that are already hard.
I wish there was an end in sight. There's not. He's finally starting to reach out to other men and is being more honest. But, it's our constant reality for a while to come.
All I can do is pray. I can't fix this. I can't change it. I have to continue to adapt and go through it alone. I have to fight my natural urge to yell "put your big girl pants on" all the time. It's that natural inclination I have that tells me men should always be the stronger sex.
I love him. So I continue to live in the suck!
Friday, December 5, 2014
It's Still There
I have a secret, one that's not being spoken aloud but will surprise no one. That grief thing...it's still there. It hasn't left, hasn't magically disappeared. In fact, as we are in the heart of the holidays, the intensity is growing.
I don't mention it. Nobody asks me. My assumption is that everyone's assumptuon is that I'm finally beyond it. I haven't talked to anyone about it since the last time it shriveled me to a bawling mess. I tried to talk about it, but I was derailed by other stuff. Stuff that wasn't nearly as important. I know satan does his best to keep me from the healing that needs to happen.
Honestly, I think I would be much further along in this if I didn't have this huge decision looming over me.
Fertility treatment vs. no treatment and pursue adoption.
Both are scary.
My husband is ok with either decision. He will do whatever I want. He will give me the opportunity to have my hearts desire. The problem with that is the decision lands firmly in my lap.
I'm back and forth on it. One week, I want to move forward. The next, I am looking at all the kids who need adopted.
Here's the reality for us.
Financially, we can do one or the other. It will break us, but what value is money to us anyway? As long as we have the basics, money doesn't matter.
There is no guarantee with fertility treatments. My reproductive system is a mess. Even a little hope doesn't mean there's a guarantee. Years of abuse and neglect have left me with a variety of issues. We could dump our savings into treatment and walk away empty handed and broken-hearted.
It's very possible that I could conceive with or without treatment and continue to have miscarriages. Since Each one of those seems to be more difficult than the last, am I really capable of putting myself through that? I don't know.
I could choose a hysterectomy. That's not really optional. My risk of cancer is going to go up exponentially if I do not have one. So, I could have surgery and then we could pursue adoption.
We've talked about adoption a lot. We aren't interested in international adoption or a baby. There are too many kids here who need families.
We don't want an open adoption. We'd prefer a boy under the age of 10.
Now with that said, we have some realistic fears. A lot of the kids in the system have serious issues. Some have disabilities. Some have anger issues. Some are jacked up because of abuse.
We are sympathetic. We really are. But what if those things aren't easy to overcome for us or keep us from loving the child because we aren't the biological parents? We've heard so many of our friends who have children with issues say that its different when it's your own child. What if that's true and we don't love the child enough? We are loving people, but I think our fears are legit.
I know this will sound silly, but we don't want to live in fear either. We've talked about what happens if we get some angry boy who decides to stab us in our sleep? We've seen the 20/20 specials.
So here I am. I'm running out of time to make a decision. If we aren't doung fertility treatments by May, I have to have another surgery and it's probably going to be a hysterectomy.
I'm so confused.
I can't figure out how to make a decision based on what Gods will is for my life and not my emotions. I can't do it.
So, I continue to have this battle inside me that I fight alone. I smile and engage in small talk, all while my heart is being pulled in two directions. My pain sits on the edge of my lips, waiting for an empathetic ear.
Meanwhile, others holiday traditions crush me. I watch the little girl crawl into Santas lap and wonder why that's not part of my story. I watch a mom teaching a little boy how to give by picking out gifts for less fortunate children. All while I struggle to understand why we aren't given the opportunity to impart those lessons. I bake cookies for kids at church and painfully dream of having little hands dipped in a floury mess.
That loss, those crushed dreams, they are all the more real this year.
When that kind of pain is swirling inside you and there is no outlet, you can't escape the soul crushing agony.
Since most of the world outside this little blog is oblivious, I'll keep smiling and moving through life as if...
As if I everything is fine.
As if my heart isn't crumbling.
As if the road ahead is known and easy.
I don't mention it. Nobody asks me. My assumption is that everyone's assumptuon is that I'm finally beyond it. I haven't talked to anyone about it since the last time it shriveled me to a bawling mess. I tried to talk about it, but I was derailed by other stuff. Stuff that wasn't nearly as important. I know satan does his best to keep me from the healing that needs to happen.
Honestly, I think I would be much further along in this if I didn't have this huge decision looming over me.
Fertility treatment vs. no treatment and pursue adoption.
Both are scary.
My husband is ok with either decision. He will do whatever I want. He will give me the opportunity to have my hearts desire. The problem with that is the decision lands firmly in my lap.
I'm back and forth on it. One week, I want to move forward. The next, I am looking at all the kids who need adopted.
Here's the reality for us.
Financially, we can do one or the other. It will break us, but what value is money to us anyway? As long as we have the basics, money doesn't matter.
There is no guarantee with fertility treatments. My reproductive system is a mess. Even a little hope doesn't mean there's a guarantee. Years of abuse and neglect have left me with a variety of issues. We could dump our savings into treatment and walk away empty handed and broken-hearted.
It's very possible that I could conceive with or without treatment and continue to have miscarriages. Since Each one of those seems to be more difficult than the last, am I really capable of putting myself through that? I don't know.
I could choose a hysterectomy. That's not really optional. My risk of cancer is going to go up exponentially if I do not have one. So, I could have surgery and then we could pursue adoption.
We've talked about adoption a lot. We aren't interested in international adoption or a baby. There are too many kids here who need families.
We don't want an open adoption. We'd prefer a boy under the age of 10.
Now with that said, we have some realistic fears. A lot of the kids in the system have serious issues. Some have disabilities. Some have anger issues. Some are jacked up because of abuse.
We are sympathetic. We really are. But what if those things aren't easy to overcome for us or keep us from loving the child because we aren't the biological parents? We've heard so many of our friends who have children with issues say that its different when it's your own child. What if that's true and we don't love the child enough? We are loving people, but I think our fears are legit.
I know this will sound silly, but we don't want to live in fear either. We've talked about what happens if we get some angry boy who decides to stab us in our sleep? We've seen the 20/20 specials.
So here I am. I'm running out of time to make a decision. If we aren't doung fertility treatments by May, I have to have another surgery and it's probably going to be a hysterectomy.
I'm so confused.
I can't figure out how to make a decision based on what Gods will is for my life and not my emotions. I can't do it.
So, I continue to have this battle inside me that I fight alone. I smile and engage in small talk, all while my heart is being pulled in two directions. My pain sits on the edge of my lips, waiting for an empathetic ear.
Meanwhile, others holiday traditions crush me. I watch the little girl crawl into Santas lap and wonder why that's not part of my story. I watch a mom teaching a little boy how to give by picking out gifts for less fortunate children. All while I struggle to understand why we aren't given the opportunity to impart those lessons. I bake cookies for kids at church and painfully dream of having little hands dipped in a floury mess.
That loss, those crushed dreams, they are all the more real this year.
When that kind of pain is swirling inside you and there is no outlet, you can't escape the soul crushing agony.
Since most of the world outside this little blog is oblivious, I'll keep smiling and moving through life as if...
As if I everything is fine.
As if my heart isn't crumbling.
As if the road ahead is known and easy.
Crying Wolf
With all the media coverage on the Cosby rape accusations, there's a piece of the puzzle that nobody dare touch at the moment.
False accusations have far reaching ramifications for far more than today's embroiled celebrity.
Before I go any further, let me explain that I believe there is a difference between rape and molestation. I've experienced both. Rape is when the person is sexually assaulted and has the mental capacity and maturity to make a decision for consent. Molestation is when the person is sexually assaulted and does not have the capacity to consent or is mentally incapacitated by age and/or the stronghold of the abuser.
Without question, both are wrong, evil. Both sets of perpetrators deserve punishment of castration or some equivalent.
I believe the bible is very clear on righteous anger and these acts definitely qualify. Some of the strongest language from Jesus is regarding hurting God's children. Romans 12:9 tells us to hate what is evil.
Before I get too far off course, let me get back to my point.
Rape is awful. Those of us who've experienced it know the scar it leaves on your heart. Sadly, a majority of women who are raped are revictimized. That has been my experience.
Being raped alters who you are and your ability to be strong, especially in the weeks, months and years immediately after. Fortunately, some have a stronger resolve. Not someone who has been broken over and over. That weakness allows you to become prey for those who search for a victim.
When you have been raped, you know the depth of pain and the trauma intimately. Knowing pain that intimately also gives you a real compassion for others who've been down this road.
Unfortunately, it's also easier to pick up on those who aren't being truthful.
I'm not being a cynic, not with this. But I am a realist. Not every woman who claims to have been raped has been. It's sad, but true.
We've all seen it play out in the media. Someone makes a rape accusation against an athlete or celebrity. Sometimes their is a settlement. To the general public, a settlement is an admission of guilt. Not true! Other times there is a trial, guilty or not.
I've looked at the statistics. When a rape goes to trial against someone above your average person, the majority are found not guilty. And the truth is, that's probably an accurate outcome.
Why?
I cannot argue that sometimes an average, consenting sexual experience is traumatic. There's regret, unexpected actions, self loathing. I've seen it firsthand when any combo of those things leads someone to claim rape. None of those things qualify as rape. Rape is rape. Those aren't rape. All those things cause high emotion and can lead to a false accusation.
Honestly, if I were a male, fear of false accusation would drive me toward abstinence until marriage.
I've seen false accusations ruin lives.
The reality is that false accusations hurt everyone. They hurt the two people involved, their families, past and future victims.
Let's take the Cosby situation for instance. I've seen an interview with an accuser. Let's be very clear. If a supposed victim is recalling actual details of the event without sincere emotion, it is ok to be suspect of the accusations. There is nothing in me during that entire interviewed that felt compassion for her. I believe what I heard was someone wanting to cash in on the accused's status. In fact, the high profile lawyer for these women has asked for $100 million for these women.
The problem is that anyone who makes a false accusation makes the next accusation harder to believe.
False accusations have left us with a society who is unapathetic toward real victims. Our society places more blame with the victim and more innocence with the perpetrator unless there is physical evidence.
Please believe me, I have great compassion for those who have been raped. The distrust and scars are lifelong. My heart aches for those who've been traumatized and the years it takes to heal. I understand how rape can change the course of a life.
But false accusations trouble me. I'm fearful for the young men I know. I'm fearful for the unstable young ladies I know.
I pray for the safety and minds of all the young men and women I know. I pray for these men and women wrapped up in webs of lies. I pray for true victims.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Cop Shows
Given my background, it might surprise anyone to know I love cop drama shows. Criminal Minds, SVU, those are two of my favorites.
I don't like romantic movies and stay away from scary ones. I'll watch dramas, action and comedies.
I'm very careful about what I watch.
There is a risk with watching these 60 minute shows. They can be graphic. The victims are often children. There is often tape and torture involved. There's a risk of triggering flashbacks and it's happened.
So why do I watch? It seems to go against exactly the peaceful mind I try to keep.
There are a couple reasons.
The first is that it gives me some insight into the evil mind. While the stories are fiction, the reality is not. So much of what you see in these shows is based off of true stories. As the story unfolds, you get a firsthand look at the anatomy of the crime. You begin to understand that behavior is never pure. Broken people hurt broken people.
A few years ago, I watched an SVU where a young boy molested another young boy. As the story goes, the kid spent hours alone at home watching his dad's pornography. He didn't have the maturity to understand it was wrong. He did exactly what he saw on tv to his friend.
This is exactly what happened with my cousin/half brother. He was told by my grandpa to do horrible things to me and my cousins. He watched porn. It's what he knew to be ok and he continued to do it.
That show opened a window to his behavior for me and gave me the understanding I needed to forgive him. Once I understood that his immature brain had been severely broken by evil, it was easy to forgive him for the many years he molested me.
The other reason and the most important is that the good guys always defeat the bad guys.
In these shows, they always get the bad guy. A lot of times they save the current victim. There's always a victory.
By my best count, my dad raped, beat and abused over 100 women, girls and boys. Those are the ones I know. He never got caught. He never paid a price. Even though I've forgiven him too, there's never been any justice served. I know that justice isn't mine to serve.
I still find it hard to pray for his salvation.
My counselor and psychologist worked very hard to get me to a place where my dad could be prosecuted. I'm probably closer than I've ever been. I'm healthier than I've ever been.
The statute of limitations has run out for some of the lesser charges. They will run out in the next few years on many more. Some will never run out. As far as I've come, seeing him could possibly unravel me.
That's why I love the shows. In the midst of pain and brokenness, there is victory over evil.
I wish that for every victim, every survivor.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Christmas Gifts
Let me start by saying that I know the true meaning of Christmas and that's not what this is about. This is about the ugliness that's in my heart and some of the heartache that never goes away.
I did something this week that I've never done. I ordered my Christmas present from my husband. I'm getting a new laptop for school. Several years ago, I said I wanted my next laptop to be a Mac. That's what I got.
Don't get me wrong, it's exciting to have a new laptop coming for school. I'm thankful we could make that investment to take me through school.
It's exciting, but not fun. It's a functional gift. A gift that I get cause it is so expensive that we can't justify buying it otherwise.
But here is a confession straight from my heart. My biggest love language is receiving and giving gifts.
I've explained this before. Years and years and years of not receiving gifts or having them taken away from me makes it easier to understand this.
As kids, we were promised so much only to find their was nothing for us on Christmas day. When there was, it was a mental game for my parents. It was a way for them taunt us by having us unwrap rocks or dirty clothes or toilet paper.
When I got older and was babysitting, I bought socks and clothes and toys for my brothers. One set of grandparents gave us money, which was always handed over to the parents. The other grandparents always gave a gift, which was aways a game for my dad. My grandma loves to jack with my dad who was a horrible racist. So the Mexican themed car was burned and my black baby doll was left in my bed stabbed with a knife.
It's not hard to understand why this is my love language.
My husband knows all of this and has spent 20 years making Christmas special for me and in his own way make up for the years that were so horrible.
About October, he asks for a Christmas list. He does an awesome job of surprising me and leaving no space under the tree.
After I placed the order, it hit me. This was it. No surprise. No piles of gifts to open. And, I was sad.
I know. I shouldn't be. I should be happy. But I'm sad.
There's so much that makes this season hard. Now when we spend Christmas day completely alone, there won't even be excitement surrounding gifts.
Ugh!
I told you. It's the ugly selfishness of my heart. It's the heartache of a painful childhood that can't be shaken over 30 years later.
I'm thankful that the birth of my savior is ultimately the reason for celebration. I hope when the ugly disappointment threatens to set in my heart that day, I'll know that I've already received the greatest gift of all.
I did something this week that I've never done. I ordered my Christmas present from my husband. I'm getting a new laptop for school. Several years ago, I said I wanted my next laptop to be a Mac. That's what I got.
Don't get me wrong, it's exciting to have a new laptop coming for school. I'm thankful we could make that investment to take me through school.
It's exciting, but not fun. It's a functional gift. A gift that I get cause it is so expensive that we can't justify buying it otherwise.
But here is a confession straight from my heart. My biggest love language is receiving and giving gifts.
I've explained this before. Years and years and years of not receiving gifts or having them taken away from me makes it easier to understand this.
As kids, we were promised so much only to find their was nothing for us on Christmas day. When there was, it was a mental game for my parents. It was a way for them taunt us by having us unwrap rocks or dirty clothes or toilet paper.
When I got older and was babysitting, I bought socks and clothes and toys for my brothers. One set of grandparents gave us money, which was always handed over to the parents. The other grandparents always gave a gift, which was aways a game for my dad. My grandma loves to jack with my dad who was a horrible racist. So the Mexican themed car was burned and my black baby doll was left in my bed stabbed with a knife.
It's not hard to understand why this is my love language.
My husband knows all of this and has spent 20 years making Christmas special for me and in his own way make up for the years that were so horrible.
About October, he asks for a Christmas list. He does an awesome job of surprising me and leaving no space under the tree.
After I placed the order, it hit me. This was it. No surprise. No piles of gifts to open. And, I was sad.
I know. I shouldn't be. I should be happy. But I'm sad.
There's so much that makes this season hard. Now when we spend Christmas day completely alone, there won't even be excitement surrounding gifts.
Ugh!
I told you. It's the ugly selfishness of my heart. It's the heartache of a painful childhood that can't be shaken over 30 years later.
I'm thankful that the birth of my savior is ultimately the reason for celebration. I hope when the ugly disappointment threatens to set in my heart that day, I'll know that I've already received the greatest gift of all.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
December 2nd
For as much healing that has come in my life, I am innately aware that I have a significant past that is still being slowly processed with time.
December 2nd wasn't a day that meant anything until years of processing my past.
Today would have been my grandmas 79th birthday. She died 16 years ago, 3 days before our wedding.
Up until seven years ago, I believed my grandma was the only person in my family who loved me, the only one who cares for me. She was the one who took me in when I had no place to live. She was the only one who boldly claimed my dad was an abuser. She was the one who took me to buy my wedding dress and paid for several of our wedding items. She was also the only one who expressed any physical or verbal sense of love. She hugged us and told us she loved us.
But like everything else from my childhood, there was a dark secret festering below the surface. She may have been the lesser of the evils, but was definitely a broken piece of my family.
There were things I saw as a kid, but didn't know they were wrong until being emersed in christian counseling.
She had a sex addiction. There was pornography, books, magazines and movies, all over the house. We were encouraged to look at all of it. She talked with everyone about her sex life and shamed my grandpa for ED. She enjoyed being nude, often walking outside and in front of guest without clothes. She often engaged in phone sex with younger men worked with my grandpa.
I had no reason to think every grandma wasn't this way. My parents never said it was wrong and never removed us from it.
She was all about the drama. She had three kids. At no time were any of those kids and her ever on the same page. Somebody was always on the outside. There was always a family fight and she was the perpetrator.
She was the one who knew all the ugly family secrets and the one who dropped them when she needed to detract the attention from her. This is how I found out my parents and my aunt and uncle were swingers. Swingers in the same group, which led to my dad being the biological father of my oldest cousin. She broke up a marriage of an aunt and uncle by blurting out at a reunion that her own son was cheating.
I knew all that stuff. None of it meant she didn't love me and I didn't realize how terrible it was.
However, counseling brought a lot of memories to the surface.
She was an abuser. My grandpa sexually abused all of us and she knew, she participated. A year into counseling, I came across a box of photos from my grandparents. My grandma had divided photos by grandchild and planned to scrapbook them. We were never intended to get them. Buried at the bottom of my box were a stack of Polaroids. They were child pornography and we were the children. My grandpa was in some, which was my first clue my grandma knew. On came the flood of memories, horrid and terrifying.
I found myself in a place of truth and having to make that painful move. She had to move from the good column to the bad with everyone else and leaving me with nobody in the good.
It's taken a lot of work to forgive her. It's a lot harder to forgive someone you believed to be good than someone you've only known to be evil.
As a Christian, I think the hardest thing for me is her death.
I was a christian when she died, which makes my behavior a little bizarre or maybe it was a stirring of my heart 9 years earlier.
She went in for a biopsy on her lungs because of breathing problems. She came out of that intubated and we were told she would not make it.
A late stage cancer was filling her lungs and her other organs were shutting down. She was a smoker for over 50 years. Smoking had caused the aggressive cancer. Have you ever watched someone die of lung cancer? It's awful. Black goo is auctioned from their lungs and they can't breathe on their own. They make a horrific, nightmarish gurgle every time they try to take a breath. Their body swells and they let off a rotten, ashy stench that stays in your nose for weeks.
While the one good person was nearing death, I was crushed. I found my way to the chapel in the Catholic hospital. I sat there for hours, even fell asleep. It was the only place I could be calm, peaceful. I was fully against church and God at that time, so it is beyond my understanding.
My grandma was awake at times and communicated through nods and writing. After one of my trips to the chapel, I returned to sit with her. Just her and I. I asked her if she was afraid of death. She nodded yes. I asked if she believed in God. She nodded yes. I asked if she thought she was going to heaven. She nodded no. I cried.
That was the last time I cried for 9 years. Again, I don't know why.
It's also a moment that has confused me since then. Did she believe? Is she in heaven?
There was no confession or repentance. She didn't believe she was going to heaven.
I've had a pastor tell me he couldn't say for sure. Another told me he was certain she was in hell.
I don't know. I know if she's in heaven when I get there, it'll be a surprise.
So, when this day rolls around, it's a mixed bag. I can't say I loved her, can't say I miss her. I only think of her December 2, holidays and birthday. There were a lot of good memories, but bringing the truth into the light has wiped those away.
December 2 is always the day when I ponder heaven and hell. It's a day when I find myself incredibly thankful for the security of my salvation. It's a day when I pray fervently for the salvation of my brothers and their families. So the question of heaven and hell doesn't haunt their loved ones years and years after they are gone.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Marital Inequality
I'm not a feminist. I don't think men and women are created equal. However, we work from a mutual respect and equality in our marriage.
When you don't have children, it gets a little dicey. We tend to get a bit selfish. We can forget to think about the other person. We can get into a comparison war where we know we've done more than the other. And one of us (not me) has a propensity to need to place blame for everything that goes wrong.
So, we might fight a little, but we make it work.
Let me tell you where the worlds of man and woman never align, never equalize.
When a man and woman get sick, there's definitely a time when the woman becomes the superior species.
No kidding!
It's not just in our marriage, by my educated estimation it's in every marriage.
When a man gets sick, they automatically act as if they are staring down the pearly gates. They can't function or do much of anything for themselves outside of going to the restroom. They moan and whine until the wife succumbs to the needs of this poor creature. And that's with the scourge of a head cold. Imagine the misery they portray when it's anything more significant.
Most wives I know dutifully take care of said husbands when they are sick. They dote on them as if they were servants of kings. And mostly, happily so. Soup. Quiet. Medications. Hot drinks. Fresh cookies. They go the extra step to make sure their man is well cared for throughout the duration of the plague he has brought into the house.
But when the coin is flipped...
The wife (I speak from experience) moves about her regularly scheduled day in agony. Can't breathe. Puking. All the other stuff. It goes on as does the laundry, dishes and cooking. A short nap can be had if it's snuck in between dogs barking and obnoxious YouTube videos and laughing. There must be at least 14 times when a woman must drag her weak tail off the couch to find or put away something. And that dinner (lunch too), sick wives everywhere would be subject to chili dogs during every illness if they didn't fix meals themselves.
During this time, the husband does exactly what he would do any other time of the year.
Ok, so I'm joking...a little bit.
I've been sick all day. I know this all firsthand.
Husbands, treat your wife like a queen. When she's sick, try to remember what she did for you while you were sick. It's time to put a little equality back in marriage.
Wives, be nice to your husbands when they are sick. They can't help it that a cold incapacitated them. Set a good example and pray like crazy that they learn from you.
When you don't have children, it gets a little dicey. We tend to get a bit selfish. We can forget to think about the other person. We can get into a comparison war where we know we've done more than the other. And one of us (not me) has a propensity to need to place blame for everything that goes wrong.
So, we might fight a little, but we make it work.
Let me tell you where the worlds of man and woman never align, never equalize.
When a man and woman get sick, there's definitely a time when the woman becomes the superior species.
No kidding!
It's not just in our marriage, by my educated estimation it's in every marriage.
When a man gets sick, they automatically act as if they are staring down the pearly gates. They can't function or do much of anything for themselves outside of going to the restroom. They moan and whine until the wife succumbs to the needs of this poor creature. And that's with the scourge of a head cold. Imagine the misery they portray when it's anything more significant.
Most wives I know dutifully take care of said husbands when they are sick. They dote on them as if they were servants of kings. And mostly, happily so. Soup. Quiet. Medications. Hot drinks. Fresh cookies. They go the extra step to make sure their man is well cared for throughout the duration of the plague he has brought into the house.
But when the coin is flipped...
The wife (I speak from experience) moves about her regularly scheduled day in agony. Can't breathe. Puking. All the other stuff. It goes on as does the laundry, dishes and cooking. A short nap can be had if it's snuck in between dogs barking and obnoxious YouTube videos and laughing. There must be at least 14 times when a woman must drag her weak tail off the couch to find or put away something. And that dinner (lunch too), sick wives everywhere would be subject to chili dogs during every illness if they didn't fix meals themselves.
During this time, the husband does exactly what he would do any other time of the year.
Ok, so I'm joking...a little bit.
I've been sick all day. I know this all firsthand.
Husbands, treat your wife like a queen. When she's sick, try to remember what she did for you while you were sick. It's time to put a little equality back in marriage.
Wives, be nice to your husbands when they are sick. They can't help it that a cold incapacitated them. Set a good example and pray like crazy that they learn from you.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Scales Don't Lie
I could barely wait to get home and get on the scale. After a week of eating fried everything, I was certain I'd gained back every pound I'd lost.
I had lost 40 lbs in about 8 weeks. Very unhealthy way, so I knew I'd gain some back rapidly.
Before we left, I had gain 5 lbs back. My appetite had stabilized and I wasn't puking all the time.
So tonight I got on the scale. Total, it looked like I'd gained back an additional 5 lbs on our trip. However, I weighed at the end of the day and fully clothed...not my usual time. So I'm guessing it's not that bad.
Irregardless, I should feel good about 30-35 lbs lost since the first of September. I'm bloated up because of all the inadvertent times of eating dairy, so I'm feeling super fat and my newer clothes feel tight.
I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. That's what a day with my husband's family will do to me.
Remember, I very much see myself the way my dad has always described me. Fat! Not very often do I let my size bother me, although I've been eating healthier for a while. Eating healthier was what helped me lose 10 lbs before we moved.
But his family. Ugh!
Let me start by not pointing a finger but simply pointing out a few things. His youngest brother, dad and sister easily weigh 200 lbs each. His dad made a big deal of his mom gaining weight and being at 220 lbs now. His sister in law is short and still has "baby weight" 4 years later. She also has a "giant ass," her words not mine. His niece and her husband are over 250 lbs and she wears the exact same size shirts I do. So, I am by no means tipping the scales all by myself here.
Yet they treat both of us like we are giants. They purposely create narrow walk ways and only scoot aside for each other. They make comments like "you obviously eat well in Ohio." And "did you guys outgrow your car?"
How stinking rude? Especially coming from some fatties.
I'm so used to being teased about my size, that it takes a lot to get to me. When it's family, it doesn't take much at all.
I'd hoped this year would be different. I was there 35 lbs lighter than the last time they saw me. I certainly wouldn't expect a compliment, but I thought I'd escape the taunting. Not so much.
If I'm really honest, I hate how I look. I want better for myself. I want healthy. If I dare to dream, I want to run.
I used to walk down our road until I got sick. I finally feel like I'm well enough to do that again. Of course it's freezing cold now and I'm fearful of the freaky guys who followed me last time.
My husband has started working out with the fitness ministry at church. I'm so proud of him. He's an emotional eater, so he's gained weight this year. I know if he can stick it out, his aches and pains will lessen. I'm proud of him cause I could never do that. Years of being mad fun of in gym class and every single time I've been to a gym, make it impossible to get the nerve to work out in front of anyone.
There is deep desire in me to lose weight for health. Then there's a very real, shallow part of me that wants to lose weight so I can rub it in their fat faces. Then there's just the reality that losing weight will increase my chances of having a child. So there is some motivation, but a lack of follow through.
Damn it! I want people to stop seeing a fat girl and see me for who I am. I'm more than the fat on my body. Why do we have to all wear a label of fat or skinny?
I wish there was a scale that instead a number would tell me to keep going. Don't lie, just don't give me the agonizing bad news that makes me wear the label.
I had lost 40 lbs in about 8 weeks. Very unhealthy way, so I knew I'd gain some back rapidly.
Before we left, I had gain 5 lbs back. My appetite had stabilized and I wasn't puking all the time.
So tonight I got on the scale. Total, it looked like I'd gained back an additional 5 lbs on our trip. However, I weighed at the end of the day and fully clothed...not my usual time. So I'm guessing it's not that bad.
Irregardless, I should feel good about 30-35 lbs lost since the first of September. I'm bloated up because of all the inadvertent times of eating dairy, so I'm feeling super fat and my newer clothes feel tight.
I shouldn't feel bad, but I do. That's what a day with my husband's family will do to me.
Remember, I very much see myself the way my dad has always described me. Fat! Not very often do I let my size bother me, although I've been eating healthier for a while. Eating healthier was what helped me lose 10 lbs before we moved.
But his family. Ugh!
Let me start by not pointing a finger but simply pointing out a few things. His youngest brother, dad and sister easily weigh 200 lbs each. His dad made a big deal of his mom gaining weight and being at 220 lbs now. His sister in law is short and still has "baby weight" 4 years later. She also has a "giant ass," her words not mine. His niece and her husband are over 250 lbs and she wears the exact same size shirts I do. So, I am by no means tipping the scales all by myself here.
Yet they treat both of us like we are giants. They purposely create narrow walk ways and only scoot aside for each other. They make comments like "you obviously eat well in Ohio." And "did you guys outgrow your car?"
How stinking rude? Especially coming from some fatties.
I'm so used to being teased about my size, that it takes a lot to get to me. When it's family, it doesn't take much at all.
I'd hoped this year would be different. I was there 35 lbs lighter than the last time they saw me. I certainly wouldn't expect a compliment, but I thought I'd escape the taunting. Not so much.
If I'm really honest, I hate how I look. I want better for myself. I want healthy. If I dare to dream, I want to run.
I used to walk down our road until I got sick. I finally feel like I'm well enough to do that again. Of course it's freezing cold now and I'm fearful of the freaky guys who followed me last time.
My husband has started working out with the fitness ministry at church. I'm so proud of him. He's an emotional eater, so he's gained weight this year. I know if he can stick it out, his aches and pains will lessen. I'm proud of him cause I could never do that. Years of being mad fun of in gym class and every single time I've been to a gym, make it impossible to get the nerve to work out in front of anyone.
There is deep desire in me to lose weight for health. Then there's a very real, shallow part of me that wants to lose weight so I can rub it in their fat faces. Then there's just the reality that losing weight will increase my chances of having a child. So there is some motivation, but a lack of follow through.
Damn it! I want people to stop seeing a fat girl and see me for who I am. I'm more than the fat on my body. Why do we have to all wear a label of fat or skinny?
I wish there was a scale that instead a number would tell me to keep going. Don't lie, just don't give me the agonizing bad news that makes me wear the label.
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