No, this isn’t a post about anything related to Valentine’s Day.  We’re barely into the new year, so my mind isn’t even there yet.  And don’t get me started on the umpteen Valentine displays that have been in stores since before Christmas.  Good grief.

This is more of a follow-up of my most recent post.  The one where I ‘spilled my guts’, as my youngest daughter would say.  I truly had no idea if there would be any response-much less a positive one- so I was rather overwhelmed.  The comments, the texts, not to mention my inbox was flooded for several days.  It was such a blessing and encouragement, as well as confirmation from the Lord that putting it all out there was the right thing to do.  Some walked a similar path as I did with eating disorders, many shared their struggles with anxiety and depression, some shared about addiction, and others just a lack of self-worth.

I think it’s safe to say we ALL struggle with something.  Some of us just struggle more than others.  Male, female, young, old-each of us has that something.

One thing I feel the need to clarify, is that my moment of being on my knees before the Lord where I was released of relapses does not mean I no longer struggle.  I by no means want to give anyone the impression that if you just pray hard enough, you’ll be set free.  Of course, the Lord works in different ways, everyone’s path is different.   I wish I could say ever since that time 10 years ago, my self-image has been great and everything has been just peachy.  If only.  I still spent two out of my three pregnancies standing backwards on the scale at the doctor’s office and nearly had a nervous breakdown the day one doctor inadvertently showed me my weight on my chart.  I still struggle with what I feel is a good weight and size.  I’m pretty sure my metabolism is just flat out screwed up from all my years of messing with my body, that it no longer really knows up from down.  I still struggle with turning to food instead of the Lord.  I have to fight the feelings of control in that area, and realize HE is in control.  I struggle with panic attacks.  I take a pill every night to help with anxiety.  HOWEVER, despite all of this, by the grace of God, I’m not who I was.

I said in my previous post- I refuse to discuss numbers, sizes, methods, details of what all I did- out of fear of triggering anyone or planting ideas. But trust me, I was in a dark place.  Bondage.  And only by God’s grace and love, I am now free with 10 years of no relapses.

I know I post a lot of lovey dovey things about my hubby on social media, and with good reason.  That man has walked through the depths of despair with me.  He has seen me at rock bottom.  He knew when he married me he was getting a boatload of crazy, but that first year rocked us both.  I can truly say I don’t know where I would be without him.  We will be married 11 years this year, and I know without a doubt God has used him to make me a better person.  If he was the type of husband who berated his wife over weight gain, or was particular about her figure, I don’t know that I would still be alive.  I’ve been my thinnest and my thickest with him, and I can honestly say he loved me just the same through it all.  He has made it clear that he only loves the Lord more than he loves me, and I know it’s because of his prayers that I’m where I am today.  I’m so thankful for his godly leadership.  He somehow sees me as the most beautiful thing in the world, and some of our worst fights have been over his frustration of me not seeing what he sees and what he knows the Lord sees.  When you’ve felt like damaged goods for so long, it’s hard to shake that feeling even when the best man on earth is telling you otherwise.

Damaged goods.  Many have shared with me their feelings this week, and that seems to be a common theme.  Maybe some didn’t use those exact words, but it’s between the lines.  Deep down, I hated myself.  I felt so unworthy to really even be around others.  Add to it my life plans failing one right after the other, and I was done.  I remember one counselor telling me that I had to learn to love myself before I could really love anyone else.  He even quoted Mark 12:31, that we’re to love our neighbors as ourselves, and said that he sure wouldn’t want to be my neighbor if I’d love him like I was loving myself.

That stuck with me.

I know in our society, the idea of self-love goes too far and becomes totally selfish, where it’s all about what we want and when we want it.  That’s not what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about truly seeing ourselves as who God created us to be.  We are His workmanship.  We are FAR from damaged goods.

I see so many young girls now that I just want to go up and hug and tell them they are beautiful.  Oh, I know they don’t feel it and think they’re not pretty enough, thin enough, etc. etc., but I just want to assure them they ARE enough.  They’re exactly the way God made them.  It breaks my heart what I see some girls do to get attention, to feel loved, to be fulfilled.  I would have saved myself so much heartache if I’d just realized earlier that Jesus is enough.  HE is all we need.  For too long, my security rested in the approval of others, and I can personally testify what a life-changing perspective it was when my security came from the Lord instead.

Some of the responses I received were how surprised people were, because they thought I ‘had it all together’.  This made me literally laugh out loud.  Have mercy. If I have ever, ever given you the impression I am anything less than a hot mess, I apologize!  Everyone has a story.  As my precious Aunt often says, “You never know what’s behind a smile”.  The world could use more people-especially Christians-keeping it real, at least then we’d know how to pray for each other.  Don’t be afraid to tell your story.  Especially when the Lord tells you it’s time.

Lastly, I need to include what to do if you know someone with an eating disorder, or suspect an eating disorder.  I was asked several times about this, and honestly I feel like the last person on earth who should be giving advice.  I feel like I can offer more of what NOT to do.  I would say first and foremost, don’t be offended if the person is in denial.  Also, don’t be fooled if you ask the person and they just say no.  I can’t think of any situation really where the person will say, “Why yes, I do have an eating disorder!”  I learned very quickly what to say and not to say when talking to people.  I learned how to say just enough where I wasn’t lying and how to be very vague as to not give away too much.  My sweet Dad-bless him-quickly caught on, and knew how to ask very, very specific questions in order to get answers from me.  I will say under no circumstances tell someone you suspect of having an eating disorder to ‘just eat’.  That does nothing, because it’s not about food.  It’s all about control.  And let’s get real, they’re not going to answer you with “Oh okay, I hadn’t thought of that, thanks!”  My personal opinion is that only those closest to the person should try to intervene and get help.  And it should be done with a lot of prayer and guidance from the Lord.

I have been very, very blessed with love in my life, and I don’t take that for granted.  My husband, my children (who could not care any less what Mommy weighs), my parents, extended family, friends, I could go on.  But what is even better is if I had none of that, I would still have the love of my Savior.  Even at my most un-loveable, even when I hated myself and thought I wasn’t worthy of living, HE loved me.

If you’re one that’s currently in the depths of despair, feeling utterly un-loveable, know that the Lord-the One Who spoke the entire universe into existence- loves you more than anything.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

 

Oh boy.  I knew when I started a blog that this post would have to be written.  It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.  I’ve prayed and prayed since I started just when I should spill it, and this New Year’s Day is the appointed time.  It seems appropriate since this marks ten years since I’ve been in recovery.  Not from what you’re thinking- I wasn’t an alcoholic or a drug addict, although I’ve always said that would be easier to admit than this.  It’s far more socially acceptable to say “I was an alcoholic”.  So everyone…Hi, my name is Ashleigh, and I had an eating disorder.  Everyone all together now, “Hi, Ashleigh!”

Statistically, I should not be where I am today.  Statistically, I should be dead, or at the very least, still in intensive therapy.  I’m not going to go into too many details of numbers, methods, etc, in this post, because of potential triggers.  I know them well.  I know how a seemingly innocent mention of things can cause a relapse, and I refuse for anything I write to cause another to stumble.  I guarantee someone reading this is struggling.  I guarantee someone you know has an eating disorder, whether you realize it or not.  I live in backwoods South Carolina, in as rural a place as one can get,  and I know plenty just in my area.  It is a very secretive disease.  Unless you have walked through it, you cannot understand it.  And be OH SO THANKFUL if you don’t have that understanding.  The best description I can use to give someone a glimpse inside, is pure darkness.  The kind that suffocates you.

I was classified as bulimic with anorexic tendencies.  Statistically, the odds of full recovery are next to nothing.  The longer you’re in it, the less chance you have of full recovery.  I struggled since I was 8 years old.  Yes, 8.  The age of my oldest daughter.  Don’t think that hasn’t hit me like a baseball bat.  As long as I can remember, I have struggled with insecurities.  Many environmental circumstances of my childhood played into that, some of which could not be helped.  I’ve said before I’ve always been a perfectionist, and felt the need to make up for what my handicapped sister could not be.  Many things were beyond my control, we never knew when the next hospitalization or surgery would be, etc. etc., and food eventually became the one thing in my life I felt was within my grasp of control.  This mixed in with hearing some around me constantly criticize their weight or the weight of others.  I joked that someone could have the cure for cancer and there would still be the voice of ‘but if only she could get that extra weight off’.  It became unintentionally ingrained in me that thinness was the equivalent of happiness.  I vividly remember being told when I was eight, that if I didn’t watch how much I was eating, I was going to be fat when I grew up and look like another girl who was big.  I’m sure the person who made that comment was in some twisted way trying to help me, and in no way meant to plant seeds of a lifetime struggle.  Just be very careful what children hear you say.  About them and about yourself.  They’re listening, and you never know how much they will take to heart.  I was the poster child of insecurities.  Someone close to me remarked how my teeth looked when I smiled, so every single school picture of me through middle school is this weird little close-mouthed smile.  It’s probably one of those pictures you’ll see when you look up the definition of ‘insecurity’.

In junior high, I discovered my Mom’s stash of diet pills.  I popped those suckers like candy.  Have I mentioned I also have an addictive personality?  If one is good for you, then 5 is great.  I quickly learned how to make it look like I was eating when I wasn’t, and how to get rid of food.  Bless my Mom, I cannot count how many Lifetime movies I watched about some poor girl with an eating disorder.  All it did was feed me ideas.  That’s what I mean when I say triggering.  Why I won’t get into how much I weighed, or what all I did to myself.  Trust me, it can just feed ideas.  I mostly went under the radar with my eating struggles as a teen, I think because to look at me, I didn’t look ‘sick’.  I wasn’t bone skinny.  That’s what is so deceptive about eating disorders, someone can come across healthy and be deathly sick on the inside.

I was never very good at relationships.  I convinced myself in college that I needed to be in one in order to be happy, so I pretty much spent all four of those years in one relationship or another.  Not just random, casual relationships, the kind where you commit to marry the other.  Why oh why I thought that was a good idea is still beyond me.  Out of respect for others involved, I will simply say that if you ever need advice on how to tell someone hey- you don’t want to marry them after all, call off a wedding, give a ring back, return gifts, I’m your girl.  And that’s all I’ll say about that.  Going from having your life planned out to having it all go up in giant, royal flames is a bit jarring.  That would be the point at which I flipped the switch from under the radar eating disorder to ‘that girl needs some help’.

I vividly remember the darkness.  Not even having the will to live.  Not feeling worthy enough to live.  It wasn’t that the wedding plans didn’t pan out- there was no regret in that area- it was just the feeling of failure.  Failing yet again.  My grand plans not working out.  No one ever wakes up one day and says, “I’m going to have a full-blown eating disorder.”  It’s something that just kind of creeps up- you think you have it completely under control- but before you realize it, it controls you.  Oh satan.  He was very close to me then.  I would verbally vow through tears to the Lord that I would do better.  That I would have a ‘good day’.  And more often than not, I would break that promise by mid-day.  Ironically, the one thing in life I thought I could control, was now controlling me full throttle.  Satan had me.  I discovered new methods.  I discovered new pills.  I will never forget blacking out one night, hitting my head as I fell, scaring my parents to death.  Waking up begging them to not call the ambulance.  Promising to do better, to turn a new leaf.  What I failed to realize was I couldn’t do it on my own.

I had a precious therapist named Peggy.  I adored her.  She brought out things in me I had no clue existed.  I remember the first time she wanted me to attend group therapy at the treatment center.  I could not protest loud enough.  There was no way I was going to sit in there with a bunch of skinny little teenagers.  Well dear Peggy didn’t give me much choice, so next thing I knew, I was marching into the building where they lock the doors behind you.  I remember checking to see if the walls were padded.  I have a sick sense of humor.  I received the shock of my life when I realized I was the youngest in that room!  Instead of a bunch of scrawny teenagers, I was sitting with older, professional women who were struggling just like me.  The one thing that stayed with me to this day is when a girl who in no way, shape or form was religious, looked at me across that room and said, “You know what sticks out to me about you Ashleigh?  You have God’s grace written all over you.”  I was speechless.

I wish I could say that after intensive therapy, I got my act together and was on the road to full recovery.  I did have better days, and instead of a daily relapse, it became more like an every 3 days kind of relapse.  During this time, the Lord saw fit to open the door for me to teach overseas.  Seoul, South Korea, to be exact.  A city I didn’t even know how to pronounce, much less ever thought about visiting.  My therapist was not on board.  I ignored her advice, because I did truly feel the Lord leading.  This is already a ridiculously long blog post, so I won’t go into all the details, but my time in that beautiful country was cut short because I had the mother of all relapses.  Due to the massive ways I was screwing up my body, I brought severe migraines on.  My heart was also starting to do crazy things.  Peggy and the Lord were both right.  The stress of another culture did nothing to help my fragile state, but the Lord did tremendously use that time in my life.

So once again, I felt like a failure.  My plans had again burst into flames.  I had to move back in with my parents.  More failed relationships. I felt like I was at rock bottom.  It was at this point I literally said out loud to the Lord, “I am done!  I stink at making plans, so WHATEVER You want Lord!”  I saw more therapists, really attempting to get it together.  I learned the huge difference between Christian and secular counseling.  The secular ones never failed to remind me that I would forever struggle, that I would never be ‘cured’.  Even one of the Christian therapists gave me the “Well, you know what the statistics say” spill.  I knew the grace of God was more powerful.  One reason that the statistics are so against eating disorders is because unlike alcoholism or drug addiction, you cannot live without food.  I’m by no means downplaying those addictions, as they are serious struggles.  It’s just that instead of having the option of staying away from their demon, the person with the eating disorder is forced to find a way to live with it and have a good relationship with it.

I wish I could say marrying the man of my childhood dreams was my cure.  I was better.  I convinced myself I was cured.  I even spelled out my past to him on one of our first dates, just so he would know what kind of crazy he was getting. He didn’t flinch.  We were engaged within 3 weeks and married 3 months later.  I felt like God’s grace was shining down bright and clear.  But marriage is hard.  Finding out 3 months into that marriage you need surgery in order to stand a chance at having children and you’ll be put into medically-induced menopause for 6 months is harder.  To put it mildly, I relapsed.  God bless my husband.  We were two kids trying to adjust to being married, and he’s having to deal with a crazy menopausal wife who is also in the throes of an eating disorder.  It is only by God’s grace we stayed married that first year.

I came to a crossroads in June of 2006.  My fertility was at stake, my life expectancy was at stake.  I wasn’t just living for me anymore, I had a husband who loved me more than anything, and we desperately wanted children.  I knew enough about eating disorders to know that even when it’s not active, damage has been done, and your heart can still give out- along with a myriad of other things.  I knew it was do or die at that point. I cried out on my face before the Lord and begged for grace and mercy.  What was different about that particular moment, I do not know.  But it was.  It is ONLY by God’s grace I have not relapsed since then.  Hallelujah, those chains were cut loose!  Three pregnancies of gaining huge amounts of weight and it not coming off fast enough, and all the stress of the ups and downs of life, and NO relapse.  Now I’m not saying I haven’t struggled with the mirror at all since then.  I have to consciously walk with the Lord every single day and ask for His help in that specific area.  I know the devil is right there waiting to pounce at any moment of weakness.  I’m so utterly blessed to have no real damage from those years of self-destruction.  My only reminder is lack of tooth enamel.  That stuff just doesn’t repair itself.  Considering what I know I could have to deal with, I’ll take it and count my blessings.

Not long ago I was at the doctor’s office, and the nurse actually asked me to just call my weight out to her over the lab area.  (note to any nurses reading this: don’t do that)  To say a million things ran through my mind in that moment would be an understatement.  I debated pitching a fit, flat out telling her no-she could come see for herself, that I didn’t do numbers.  Truthfully I don’t do numbers.  I rarely get on the scale even now, because I know how easy it is for me to start obsessing and for that number to dictate my mood.  A number isn’t worth that.  But I instead silently prayed for the Lord to give me strength, and I opened my eyes to see the number.  It’s just a number.  I called it out to her.  That was it.  No one blinked.  No one gasped.  No big deal.  Except it was huge for me.  Those ladies in the lab that day have no idea how close I was to running laps around the room singing, “Victory in Jesus”.

I’m trusting the Lord every single day to be a good example to my daughters.  Statistically, their chances of an eating disorder are 70% higher (!) just because of dear ol’ Mommy.  Not to mention the crazy media definition of what is beautiful being thrown at them.  Part of me wants to rock in the corner, biting my nails, worrying myself sick.  But thankfully, I know Who holds the future, and I can put my whole trust in Him to take care of things.  When I feel like criticizing myself, I pray instead, because I know how sensitive those little ears are.  I emphasize health, not size.  I daily pray for wisdom to guide those precious children the Lord entrusted to me.

Why in the world would I share this ridiculously long post about something so personal?  Because I know someone out there needs hope.  Someone is being fed the lie that statistics are stacked against you, that there’s no way out of the darkness.  I’m living proof that God’s grace is stronger than anything else the world throws your way.  I’ve done just about everything I could to mess my life up, and yet God saved me.  He gently redirected me over and over and over.  Never giving up on me.  I’m perfectly imperfect, a crazy mess, and yet He loves me just as I am!  There is Hope.

There is Light in the darkness.

 

 

 

Well, Christmas has come and gone, and I made it through with no panic attacks and no tearful meltdowns.  I’m thankful for the Grace of God and Zoloft.  Come to think of it, that should be the title of my memoir, “The Grace of God and Zoloft”…pretty much sums me up.  Now as the end of the year is fast approaching, I’m contemplating my goals for the new year.  I’m the nerd who has literally written my resolutions down in my journal since I was 8 years old.  Some are quite comical to look back on.  Some I look back on and cringe, and thank the Lord for redirecting my plans, even if it meant me crashing and burning in a huge way.  In recent years, I’ve tried to simplify my goals and make them a little deeper than just “lose weight”.  Oh weight, that’s a whole other issue for a whole other blog post.  I don’t have the energy to tackle that story just yet.

Two days ago, I spent the entire afternoon in urgent care with my second respiratory infection in a month (fun!), which allowed me to finish two books I’d been reading.  It reminded me just how much I love reading, and not just mindlessly scrolling social media and whatever random junk shows up on CNN and Yahoo.  I know I cannot be the only Mom out there who finds some mental relief in mindless internet surfing.  Bonus points if it has something to do with education, then I can justify it in my mind as research for homeschooling.  I read in a magazine where one of the big trends for 2016 is ‘going old-school’: writing actual letters with pencil and paper, using notebook planners, reading books you hold in your hand-basically getting away from the blue screen.  I’m all for this, and desperately desire for my time behind the screen to be worthwhile and beneficial.  The verse that comes to mind is I Corinthians 10:23: “Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.”  Oh, I cannot even count the areas I need to apply that verse!

I’m in the process of mixing things up with our homeschooling.  My girls are both gifted at Math, but hate it.  I’m switching up curriculums and trying to find the right fit to make it as fun as possible.  I’m not naïve enough to believe that I can make school one big party, but I am going to try my best to make learning fun.  I cannot say how much prayer has gone into this year.  If you homeschool, you are very familiar with the ups and downs.  There are days I feel on top of the world, like the Lord Himself is beside me affirming that we are doing great, and then there are days where I’m convinced the best thing is to send them to school- they’ll have fun and I’ll have peace and quiet.  Recently, we made the long-debated decision to allow our oldest to move up a grade.  Looking back, it was a no brainer, and something that should have been done long before now.  However, we never had peace and were relying on too many conflicting opinions.  I’m sure you know if you ask 10 people their opinions, you’ll have 10 different answers.  The reality was staring us in the face and it was just a matter of us making the jump.  All of her work was above grade level, her social group was in the next grade level, and the only reason she was even in her original grade was because of her birthday being one day after the cut off.  I will say once we took the official leap, there was immediate peace.  I love how God works!  I’m just trying to not think too hard about this next semester and how I’ll have a fourth grader next year.  If you’re a Mom who has it all together and feels 100% like you’re fulfilling your child’s every academic and social need, I would love to meet you.  Seriously, please get in touch with me, I need your confidence!

I’m pretty sure I qualify as OCD.  I’m probably off the chart OCD.  I hate clutter, I hate messes, I hate disorganization.  This doesn’t bode well when you have 3 small children.  I constantly battle being ‘that mom’ who has an anxiety attack over the state of her house instead of spending quality time with her children.  (cue: Zoloft)  My horror scenario is for my child to one day be on the therapy couch saying, “It all started when my Mom insisted I make my bed every day.”  I need balance.  I also struggle with what to give my kids.  I’m so beyond sick of little toys.  The kind you step on in the middle of the night and have to get your prayer life in order.  I literally have two trash bags of these toys currently in the back of my car waiting to go to the Salvation Army.  They’ve been there for 3 days and my kids have yet to notice.  That’s just embarrassing, sad, and such an eye opener for me.  I’m committing to focus more on experiences than material goods.

I’m convinced traveling is good for the soul and no one can ever, ever take memories from you.  Once I assured my hubby that I wouldn’t be dragging him back to Disney this year, he agreed.  I mean good grief, the man spent 10 days with us there smack dab in the middle of prime hunting season, so he’s definitely earned time away from Mickey.  I want my children to see the world beyond the bubble of rural SC.  I believe it was Mark Twain that said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice.”  I’m not exactly certain where 2016 will take my family, but I just want us to make memories together.

Time with the Lord is precious.  Unfortunately, I don’t treat it that way.  It’s so easy to get distracted with the endless things that Moms get distracted with, and devotions get pushed to the backburner.  Or maybe I’m the only one.  I teach a precious class of pre-teen girls on Wednesday nights, and I’m constantly telling them the importance of daily time with the Lord.  Not just praying.  Not just reading the Bible.  Both.  Unfortunately, too often I’m preaching what I’m not practicing.  I’ve learned in recent years that the best way for me to spend uninterrupted time with the Lord is to get up way before my kids.  Ideally, I’m up long enough ahead of them to do devotions and work out.  Ideally.  When my youngest was a newborn, it never failed, as soon as I cracked open my Bible, he would start screaming.  Tell me the devil doesn’t try whatever he can.  I am not a morning person.  If I had zero responsibilities in the world, you would find me staying up half the night painting, and sleeping most of the day.  I’ve just had to deliberately make the effort to drag myself out of bed before the sun is up and spend that time with the Lord.  On nights when the kids have had nightmares, or someone is sick, and sleep is desperately needed, I learned to give myself grace.  Grace.  How sweet it is.  I’ve learned that the Lord is still there for me to talk to and spend time with during the day if I’m up with my sick child at 5:30 instead of reading the Bible.  I equally need to be more disciplined and give myself more grace.  I’m a complicated one.

Maybe grace is the key word for 2016.  It’s become cliché to make resolutions and have them all be shot to pieces by February.  The feelings of failure set in and we just resign to nothing ever changing.  Maybe giving ourselves grace and realizing perfection is unattainable will help us stay the course.  There’s a quote I realize has been taken out of context, but still ranks as one of my favorites from CS Lewis.  He was referencing Heaven, but many have applied it to the turning of the new year: “There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.”  Wishing everyone a very grace-filled 2016!

 

 

 

 

Did you know the holidays were stressful?  Or am I the only one that feels like that?  Oh, I know they’re not supposed to be, but despite my best efforts, they always seem to turn out that way.   Every.Single.Year. I say I’m not going to stress, I’m just going to enjoy the time with my family, and Every.Single.Year. I end up a ball of nerves.  I’m one who shops all year for gifts and plans ahead, but it seems the execution of things is what gets to me.   I happen to be artsy.  I love everything creative, and especially painting.  While it’s a blessing in that I can often make my own gifts, it turns into a double edged sword when you know people almost expect your gift to be handmade and doing so requires time.  Oh time, the most precious thing.  Am I the only one who feels like there is just not enough time?  I think that’s what stresses me out the most: feeling like there is too much to do and not enough time.  It seems for me, once November hits, the whirlwind begins.  Gone are the days when Thanksgiving and Christmas were separate and distinct, now I see people putting up their trees the day after Halloween.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just reminds me that the countdown to Christmas is ticking fast.  It’s all just very overwhelming.

My family has even simplified Christmas the last couple of years.  Less gifts, more focus on family time and making memories.  And despite this, I still feel short of breath.  Maybe it’s the pressure.  I mean, look around.  The pressure to have the ‘Pinterest-perfect’ Christmas is everywhere.  Stores, television, social media, all plant the ideas of what Christmas should look like.  There’s few things that will rob a parent of joy than seeing what Santa brought someone’s little ones and it’s twice as much what yours have.  Or visit Toys R Us this time of year.  If you can walk through those aisles and still feel like an awesome parent, God bless you.  I am not materialistic and try to be very frugal, but I admit, it’s tough to see all the ‘cool new things’ out there for kids and not feel a bit guilty that your kid is left out.  I’m not talking necessarily about finances, I think even when parents can afford the entire store but deliberately make the choice to limit their children, they may still feel that pang of guilt.  Maybe not.  Maybe I’m the only one who feels guilty no matter what.  I don’t know if it’s my personality or fatal flaw, but I swear no one can make me feel any worse about myself than me.  Maybe it’s a Mommy thing.  I don’t spend enough time with my kids.  I spend too much time with my kids.  I don’t do enough for them.  I spoil them too much.  We should be reading books by the fire while Christmas music plays softly in the background instead of the kids watching their second (or third) television show in a row while Mommy is in the other room attempting to wrap presents as a guise to get a sanity break.  That’s what Pinterest tells me anyway.  Oh Pinterest, I love to hate you and I hate to love you.

On top of this madness of the ‘perfect Christmas’, is the constant posts popping up about how Christians should be doing Christmas.  You know, how Christians shouldn’t even entertain Santa or do the Elf on the Shelf, because after all, “Jesus is the Reason for the season.”  Nothing says ‘peace, love, and joy to all’ like self-righteousness.  I’m not going to get into it here, but if you’ve sought the Lord about what He wants for your family, by all means, do your thing.  And understand that it’s not necessarily what He’s told other families.  Peace, love and joy to all.  We have enough to deal with in this crazy world without Christians turning on each other.

The pressure to be perfect.  Story of my life.  No one can put more pressure on me than I can on myself.  I remember in one of my therapy sessions,(another story of my life) the counselor showed me a pair of Chinese handcuffs and had me try them out.  Obviously, you know how they work.  The harder you try to get out of them, the tighter they become.  He made the point that I was stressing myself to death.  (Did I mention I was 12?  And people think I’m joking when I say I have a bucketful of issues)  I think Christmas just magnifies everything, because we do want it to be magical, especially for our children.  I have in my head how things should be, and when inevitably they don’t turn out that way, I feel like a massive failure.  And you know what?  My kids could not care any less about what their crazy Mommy deems perfect.  Some of our best memories are when things go the exact opposite of perfect.  You would think I’d catch on by now and just go with it.

I am really, really good at not applying to myself what I teach my kids.  My oldest daughter is a worrier.  My younger daughter constantly compares herself to others.  Both traits they inherited from me.  I can preach an awesome sermon to both of them about how there’s no need for that, and they are children of the One True King who loves them just as they are and He will never, ever leave them and will carry their burdens.  Saying and doing are two very different things.  I make the conscious effort for my children to not see how anxious I am, but I’m pretty sure the time I had a full blown panic attack in front of them kind of gave it away.  Not my proudest moment.  I KNOW the Lord is always with me and will never, ever leave me.  That doesn’t mean I always FEEL that way 100% of the time.  The times I do feel good about things, I start to worry that I’m forgetting something.  Yep.  Then I feel guilty when things are going good- I’m reminded of countless others who find Christmas the most depressing time of the year.  I’m convinced guilt is one of satan’s biggest weapons.

I’m so glad the Lord loves messed up people like me.  Can you imagine if He only accepted the ones that had their acts together?  I have a feeling Heaven would be very sparsely populated.  This year, I really, truly do want to focus on Him and stress less.  Those that know me and see me on a regular basis, feel free to hold me accountable.  Seriously, I will not be offended!  If for no other reason, think of my children and their future therapy bills.  Ask me if my priorities are in order.  If I’m saying no to things that will add stress to the family.  If I’m making the effort to not sweat the small stuff.  I do pray for this Christmas to be special.  If absolutely nothing goes as planned, it will be okay.  It’s not about me and my crazy plans, it’s about Him and the birthday of the King.  Peace, Love and Joy to all.

 

 

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!