Social media is packed this week with people’s posts of gratitude.  Everyone seems to be more reflective around Thanksgiving, and the holidays in general.  I had more time than usual this Thanksgiving to reflect on things, thanks to pneumonia and some crazy medication side effects.  Not having the traditional dinner with family and friends stinks.  Whether you’re the black sheep of the family or fit right in like you’re all the Waltons, there’s still that longing when you are missing out.  Before I threw myself a full blown pity party, the Lord brought to my mind memories of past Thanksgivings, as well as slapped me with bold reminders of just how blessed I am.

Oddly enough, it seems that some of my most vivid Thanksgiving memories involve hospitals. Like the year my Dad had a stroke and was hospitalized during the holiday.  I carefully packed him a plate to take to the hospital to make sure he didn’t have to suffer through an awful meal of mystery meat up in his room. Imagine my surprise when I found him eating steak that the hospital volunteers had so thoughtfully delivered to everyone on his floor. Instead of being thankful, I was so upset and apologetic to him for not getting his turkey up to him sooner.  After all it’s not a proper Thanksgiving without turkey, right?  As I’ve said before, my sister has severe cerebral palsy, and I cannot remember how many Thanksgivings we spent up in the hospital with her.  One year as a teen, my perfectionistic self was bound and determined that we would still have a proper celebration, complete with my Mom’s fine china.  Yes, I literally hauled a basket full of china and silverware to the hospital.  I never claimed to be normal.  I remember almost being in tears when I realized I’d forgotten the glasses, and we were relegated to Styrofoam cups.  I could write paragraph after paragraph of similar Thanksgivings where I was so wrapped up on what I thought needed to be done in order for the day to be celebrated, I completely and utterly missed.the.point.

My being blinded by perfectionism, traditions and standards, kept me from just enjoying the moments.  Were they always in the best of circumstances?  Of course not.  No one spending Thanksgiving in a hospital is in good circumstances.  My Dad would always say the most important thing to him was that we were all together.  He was right, and it didn’t matter a hill of beans if we had fine china or paper plates, or really even if we ate anything at all.  I think it took me becoming a mother for it to finally click how little the other stuff matters.  One year when my oldest daughter was a baby, we spent Thanksgiving with my Mom in the hospital, and hit McDonalds’ drive thru on the way home.  I well remember it hitting me that day what my Dad had said about just being together.

Today my mind went to those who are not together.  For whatever reason, they are spending this day in a way they would never have chosen.  I thought of a dear friend who is spending her first Thanksgiving as a single mother.  Another who is facing the first anniversary of her baby’s death.  A family member who just found out he has cancer.  Circumstances far beyond their control, that no amount of fine china and dressing up can change.  I realized that even when we may feel alone, we still have Jesus.  He is enough.  When I temporarily forget my blessings and wallow in self-pity, He is enough.

And honestly, it’s just a day.  Yes, it’s a very special day, and I’m not trying to take anything away from it, but realistically, it’s a date on the calendar.  When/where/how Thanksgiving is celebrated, does not have to be decided by the last Thursday in November.  Turkey does not even have to be consumed.   I know I’ve spent far too much energy in my life on what I could control, not realizing Jesus was enough.  The fact is, He knew me and all my craziness before I ever took a breath, and He still would have gone to the cross for me if I was the only one on earth.  That right there is worth shouting about!  I’m so very thankful for His saving grace in my life.  Oh, the times I’ve royally messed things up, only to have Him grant me abundant mercy and grace to get back on track!  I read a quote once that said, “If nothing goes my way today, God is still my Father, and I am still His child.”  He is enough.

As long as I can remember, I have felt like an outsider.  I’m pretty sure everyone at one point or another has felt the same way.  Out of the loop.  Not part of the ‘in-crowd’.  The last one to know anything.  I’m notoriously out of the loop, I joke that I live 3 miles outside of the infamous loop.  It’s probably more like 100.

I cannot remember the number of times I have stuck my foot squarely in my mouth because I was not in the know.  One of my more famous moments was the time I innocently asked a co-worker on Valentine’s Day what he gave his wife, and when he coldly responded with “not a thing”, I teased him about being in the doghouse.  A few moments later, a horrified witness to the conversation informed me that his wife had left him the previous week.  Yep.  Foot in mouth.  That’s me!

I would venture to guess many women can relate to the issue of not feeling like you fit in.  Maybe not.  Maybe I’m one of a select few.  I think social media just magnifies the issue.  When we see friends’ posts and pictures of their girls’ night out; references to their ‘best friends’ (that’s obviously not you); making plans with friends that somehow need to be planned publicly rather than via text; etc: it stings just a little, no matter how far removed from high school you are.  Obviously, I’m not saying nothing of the sort should be posted to social media.  I do think we need to tread carefully and take into account others’ feelings.  My daughters are of the age now where we’ve discussed how it feels to be left out and being conscientious about leaving others out.  They know that you don’t discuss plans with one friend while another is present.  I’m trying my best to teach them courtesy at an early age.

I also pray that none of my children feel like the oddball their Mommy has since early childhood.  I remember telling my Mom when I was about 7 or 8 that I pictured everyone in my class was in a circle, and I was somewhere outside of it.  It’s not like I was bullied or picked on, or anyone intentionally made me feel that way, I guess it was just my crazy feelings.  If one of my kids says they feel the same, I will cry.  And probably start saving for therapy.  Which really, I should’ve started saving for that years ago.

I think the circumstances of my family greatly contributed to my feelings of abnormal-ness (I know that’s not a word, but oh well).  My only sibling is 17 months younger than me and has severe cerebral palsy.  I’m sure there’s a personality category out there somewhere for someone in my position, but I have yet to find it.  I know there’s the standard ‘oldest child’, ‘middle child’, and ‘youngest child’, and I do fit many of the oldest child’s personality traits.  I have perfectionism down pat.  But as long as I can remember, I’ve been an expert with guilt.  I felt guilty because I was the ‘normal sibling’. My sister was (is) the purest, most kind hearted person anyone could ever meet, and I couldn’t understand why I was born healthy and she was not, when I was by far the least deserving of good health.  I tried to make up for what she couldn’t do.  I overcompensated in everything, and the pressure I put on myself was insane.  When I failed at something, the disappointment I felt was doubled because it was like I had failed for both me and her.  It followed me to college, when in my senior year, I had mapped out how much I could miss on each test and still manage a perfect GPA by graduation.  It came to a head the day I literally had a meltdown, ugly cry and all, in front of my professor after I missed one question on a midterm exam.  I remember crying into his coat as he put his arm around me and told me I needed to get some rest.  Not one of my proudest moments.

I recently confided in a sweet Mommy friend how I just felt like I was out of the loop and not fitting in anywhere, and to my shock, she said she felt the same way!  I felt like hugging her, I was just so relieved to not be the only one!  I think there’s more out there, whether it be the stay at home Mom who feels like she’s missing out not being in the loop with work friends, or the Mom who’s in the office feeling like she’s missing out by not being in on playdates.  Maybe it boils down to our insecurities.  What is it we feel like we’re missing out on?  Why do we feel so different or out of place?

I’m so glad God still loves me despite knowing every.single.thing. about me.  I’m so thankful He loves my abnormal-ness.  I love, love, love knowing that even if I was the sole person on this planet, He still would have died for me and would still love me unconditionally.  It makes living 100 miles out of the loop feel pretty insignificant.

I’ve recently discovered one of satan’s best attacks on Moms is to make us feel like we are alone, the only ones struggling, the only ones not really ‘getting’ the whole motherhood thing.  And we are equally good at hiding it from others, pretending we do indeed have it all together, our children are angels, we never fight with our husband, life is easy, we aren’t on the verge of losing it, just going about our days passing by one another hiding it all behind a smile and the Pinterest-perfect Facebook page.

Maybe there are a few Moms out there who truly do have it all together.  God bless them.  And I’m by no means saying we need to fill our Facebook pages with dirty laundry and air everything we feel is going wrong in our lives.  Goodness knows, there’s enough negativity on social media as it is.  I do feel however, that there is power in knowing you’re not alone.  To find out others have some of the exact struggles you do, and you’re not an island floating through life by yourself, is therapeutic.  At least for me it is.    I recently learned I check every box for what qualifies as a nervous breakdown.  How lovely.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I’ve had the internal struggle of “I just need to pray more and have more faith in God” and these feelings will go away.  That I won’t feel like a complete failure as a wife and mom.  Well, praise the Lord that He is bigger than my crazy emotions and feelings, and He can use this season to make me who He wants me to be.

I remember seeing a talk show once where the ladies in the audience wore t-shirts with their weight on them.  It was supposedly about empowering women to be real.  For someone with my history, it gives me heart palpitations just thinking about it, but I get the point.  Imagine if we as moms wore our fears and struggles on our shirts for all the world to see.  I know there’s not a t-shirt large enough to hold all of mine.  I am my own worst critic.  Once, in a counseling session years ago, (yes, I’ve been through lots of therapy in my life, but that’s another story for another time) I had to fill out a questionnaire about my personality.  The counselor later told me that had all of my perceived notions about myself been true, I would not be able to function in society.  Again, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

We all have that person in our mind that we look to as the ‘perfect mom’.  The one that we secretly compare ourselves to, thinking life would be so much better if we were more like her.  I guarantee if you pulled back the curtain, that chick is just as lost as you and me.  Yes, God is good and faithful and gives us unending grace (amen!), but that doesn’t mean life is perfect.  If only.  If satan isn’t after you full force, check yourself.  I remind myself of this daily.  Honestly, I see how moms snap.  I see how moms become alcoholics and addicts.  I’m not defending it, I’m just saying I get it.  Oh, how I get it.  I have an addictive personality, so I know I could very, very easily go down that road.  My middle child screamed for the first 9 months of her life- how I didn’t turn to pills or the bottle, or end up on the evening news is just by the grace of God.  It’s so much easier to turn to things instead of God.  And nothing makes the devil happier than when we do.

As long as I can remember, I’ve put too much pressure on myself.  I think to an extent though, all moms do, especially in this society where it’s all about perfection.  We not only have to be the perfect mom/wife/housekeeper/organizer/cook etc, but we’re expected to look good doing it.  The pressures on beauty and body image in our society are insane.  I could write a novel, but I’ll save my thoughts on that for later.

I think our inner voices are our worst critics.  Those inner voices can be cruel little monsters.  For some of us, our inner voices are the result of someone in our life who was not so nice to us, who was critical of everyone and everything, and for some, it’s simply our warped perception of things.  I remember how freeing it was for me when I finally realized people were not really thinking what I just assumed they were.  Assumptions are another thing that can be cruel little monsters.

Thankfully, I’m very blessed with some dear Mommy friends who put up with my craziness, and make me feel not so alone in my struggles.  But if we don’t make ourselves vulnerable enough to open up and show our struggles, we’ll never know.  That’s when satan wiggles in and whispers that we’re alone and we’re the only ones failing.  Sometimes I think he yells it at me.  Like when I’m crying in the closet after losing it with my kids or fighting with my husband, or when I’ve had enough and go outside in the dark to just rock on the front porch.  I’m not good enough, I don’t deserve what I have, I’m screwing up my kids, I’ll never be what my family needs, I’m not a good enough Christian, you name it- satan has yelled it at me.

Moms, we have to pray for one another!  We cannot let satan win.  God ordained me to be exactly where I am, and He ordained you to be exactly where you are.  Let’s stop with the facades, get out of our comfort zones and just be real.  Perfectly imperfect, but real.

This is my first foray into the world of blogging, and I already feel like I’m in over my head.  I’ve been bouncing around the idea for a couple of years now, but to actually pull the trigger and do it, well, it’s intimidating to put it mildly.  Actually, the Lord is Who told me I needed to do it.  Pretty much the same way He told me to homeschool- all but physically coming down and verbally telling me to my face.  There was just no denying it, and so when the Lord leads that obviously, you really have no choice but to follow.  Honestly, my reaction was the same as it was to homeschooling: NO.  I don’t want to, I don’t have that kind of time, there’s plenty of people better equipped to do this, just NO.  Oh well.  Here I am in our second year of homeschooling and here I am writing a blog.  Don’t tell the Lord no.

I think I have just as much fear and anxiety regarding the blog as I did homeschooling, which seems crazy.  Homeschooling is huge.  HUGE.  Like, my children’s education is literally on me.  They are with me all the time, pretty much all day, every day.  If they stay out of therapy as adults, I will give myself a huge parenting high-five.

I’ve been asked what I’m going to write, what the blog will really be about.  I wish I knew!  I have long said that writing is cheaper than therapy.  So, I guess this is my therapy.  Goodness knows I’ve been through just about every other type of therapy at various stages in my life, and this sure is cheaper.  I’m the nerd who kept a journal since age 8- which Lord help my children when I’m dead and gone and they look back on those things.  Then again, maybe all those little books will shed some light on just why Mommy was the way she was.  Maybe they will somehow be able to look back on this blog and see how Mommy waded through life when they were little.

I almost made a top ten list of why I shouldn’t have a blog.  The Lord didn’t seem interested in me complaining that there’s already approximately a million and two Mommy Blogs out there;  that I really don’t have anything too interesting to say; that me writing about my life and things I’ve been through are far too personal and will only make me vulnerable; that I’m just opening myself up to criticism; that no one will read anything I write.  That’s when the Lord made it clear that it will  OKAY.  If not one blessed soul reads any word on this blog, it will be okay.

So, let the adventure begin!