I walked to my car and put the white baggy in my center console. I was filled with equal parts excitement and dread. I found myself continually glancing at that bag on the drive home. I could hear the pills inside rattling as I drove. I didn't know whether that rattle should bring hope or terror.
When I was safely at home I opened the bottle and shook one tiny blue pill into the palm of my hand.
No turning back now.
I cut the pill in half (Dr.'s orders), threw it in my mouth and washed it down with a glass of water.
Then. I waited.
I wasn't sure what to expect and at first I felt nothing. One hour in I was attempting to write a "Happy Birthday" message on facebook for my son and realized I felt stoned. It was like I was watching a movie of myself typing and then talking and moving.
I expected a lot of side effects but feeling high as a kite was not something I prepared for. I immediately typed "zoloft side effects" into my browser. The internet has all the answers after all... right?
I read horror story after horror story but then I stumbled on women like me that wrote about how zoloft saved their lives. I also read that the side effects in the first two weeks are temporary.
As the day went on I felt better and better.
I told my husband it was probably just a placebo effect. Surely, no drug could change a person so quickly. But, with every hour that goes by without my usual anxiety, depression and compulsive behaviors I am finding it hard to believe it could be anything short of a miracle.
Here is the best way I can explain how I feel:
Last night I went into my room and found a pile of dirty diapers on the floor (gross. I know. please don't judge me.)
My normal thought process:
Look at all these dirty diapers. You are such a shitty wife. You are such a shitty mom. You're a failure. What do you even do all day? You're so lazy and irresponsible. Why can't you just be normal like everyone else and clean up your shit.
Then I would feel so mentally beaten down and exhausted that I wouldn't even bother to pick up the diapers. I would have walked over them with my head hung down in shame and climbed into my bed. I would have continued to beat myself up until I fell asleep and then woke up to those same diapers the next morning and started the cycle over again.
THAT was my life.
But my zoloft thought process went like this:
Look at all these dirty diapers. I need to throw these away.
Then ... wait for it ... I... threw...them...away!!!!!
I cannot even begin to explain how that feels. To be able to see what needs to be done and be able to do it.
There are a million other examples like that over the last 48 hours.
I feel calm.
I feel clear.
I know I'm only two days in but I'm praying this is the real deal.
.............................................
Are you battling anxiety, depression, OCD, ADD or any other mental health issue that alters your daily life?
Please don't wait another day to reach out to your doctor. Medication is not the only answer neither is it the answer for every person. Your doctor will be able to help you determine the best treatment for you.
Be encouraged. You are not alone.
11:04 PM
1:44 PM
I'm not dirty. part II
The same shame that followed me into kindergarten followed me into motherhood.
Then a year later it followed me into marriage.
Only I didn't even know what shame was back then. I had no idea that the wrong I felt had a name. However, ignorance is not always bliss. Not knowing what shame was did not stop it from controlling my life. The shame told me I was horrible, no good, unworthy, incapable of change and unlovable. I believed these lies and reacted to life based on them.
As a mother I did everything to make sure Tyler wouldn't grow up the way I did. My parents got divorced when I was very young and I was determined to stay with Brandon at all costs to spare my son the heartache of growing up in two separate homes. I was afraid of messing up his life. I was afraid of letting him down. I was afraid of being a single mother. I made all my decisions, as a mother, based on what I didn't want and what I feared. I tried to control everything. I thought if I could just be a perfect wife and mother history would not repeat itself.
My feelings of unworthiness and unlovability drove me to controlling Brandon. I constantly felt like he was going to find someone better and leave me. I thought that I was replaceable and one day he would realize this and move on. I would interrogate him about his whereabouts daily. If he came home late from work I would accuse him of cheating. I searched his browser history. I searched his phone records. I was a detective with a mission. I would pick fights with him and nag him.
I was a control freak.
I was also miserable.
I couldn't enjoy my son or my husband because I was living in constant fear of upsetting or losing them.
When Tyler was two years old we found out we were pregnant again. Transitioning to two terrified me until Ella was born and we brought her home. Everything just meshed. That is until Ella became mobile. Once she could move she became a wild child and I was constantly exhausted. At this same time Tyler entered the "terrible-crazy-out of control three's". I remember crying a lot. I could no longer control ANYTHING. I felt out of control and fearful every.minute.of.every.day.
This is when my panic attacks and anxiety became prevalent.
I would walk into the grocery store and become instantly overwhelmed. It would start with worrying thoughts about all the germs that were everywhere. Then I would feel my heart rate begin to quicken. My vision would fail. I would feel as if everything was a blur. I would begin to hear my heart beat inside of my ears and feel the blood pumping through my veins. I wouldn't be able to breathe and the more panicked I felt the more fearful I became the more panicked I would become. My anxiety fed on itself. My fear of losing control in front of everyone would cause me more anxiety. It was horrible and scary.
I stopped leaving the house unless absolutely necessary.
I became more afraid of driving. I would visualize horrific car accidents while driving that felt so real I would have to pull over and catch my breath. I would wake up in the middle of night unable to breathe and fearful. I would obsess over possible tragedies and truly believed that if I didn't follow all of my daily rituals I would cause one of these tragedies to happen. I thought my rituals kept everyone safe.
When I was pregnant with Ella I had started going to church (this was in California). This was completely out of character for me. My reasoning was that if there was no hell then at least my kids would be raised with good morals but if there was a hell I was not going to be to blame for not exposing them to a Savior. Once again, believing everything depended on my decisions.
My thoughts about Christians prior to church were that Christians were judgmental and holier than thou. I had been shamed by many a Christian and really didn't want anything to do with anymore of them.
Imagine my surprise when the first sermon I ever heard was on judgmental attitudes. The pastor spoke about how Christians do NOT have the right to judge to condemn others. He spoke about a God that loved me. I was completely confused.
There was a girl named DeeDee there that day and she invited me to come back to church that evening for a meeting. She said the pastor would be going over what the church believes and I could ask questions. I had plenty of questions, so I agreed.
I went back that night prepared to stump this pastor. Surely he would be upset by all my questions thus proving that the whole thing was a sham and Christians don't know what they believe.
Instead the pastor had an answer for every one of my questions and I will never forget what he said to me.
He said, "Keep asking questions. Questions are good. The more questions you ask the stronger your faith will become. Being a Christian is not about blind allegiance and the Bible can stand up to your questions."
I went home feeling uneasy about this whole God thing.
That night we watched a movie with my dad. The first movie he put on was some 1980's John Cusack monstrosity. I begged him to change it. The other movie he had rented was a football movie and he couldn't remember what it was about. It turned out to be "Facing the Giants". If you have never seen this movie, it has little to do with football and a lot to do with faith. I felt like this God, I wasn't even sure existed, was speaking directly to me.
When we moved to Las Vegas my biggest concern was where I would go to church. We got an Easter flier in the mail for a church called Central Christian. We went and I remember feeling instantly at home. The people were friendly. We received not a single dirty look or sideways lofty glance. The music was amazing. I remember hearing the song "Marvelous Light" and feeling as if something in my body I never knew existed was reaching out into the music.
I felt alive.
I cried.
I finally allowed myself to think, "Maybe ... just maybe ... this is real."
Then a year later it followed me into marriage.
Only I didn't even know what shame was back then. I had no idea that the wrong I felt had a name. However, ignorance is not always bliss. Not knowing what shame was did not stop it from controlling my life. The shame told me I was horrible, no good, unworthy, incapable of change and unlovable. I believed these lies and reacted to life based on them.
As a mother I did everything to make sure Tyler wouldn't grow up the way I did. My parents got divorced when I was very young and I was determined to stay with Brandon at all costs to spare my son the heartache of growing up in two separate homes. I was afraid of messing up his life. I was afraid of letting him down. I was afraid of being a single mother. I made all my decisions, as a mother, based on what I didn't want and what I feared. I tried to control everything. I thought if I could just be a perfect wife and mother history would not repeat itself.
My feelings of unworthiness and unlovability drove me to controlling Brandon. I constantly felt like he was going to find someone better and leave me. I thought that I was replaceable and one day he would realize this and move on. I would interrogate him about his whereabouts daily. If he came home late from work I would accuse him of cheating. I searched his browser history. I searched his phone records. I was a detective with a mission. I would pick fights with him and nag him.
I was a control freak.
I was also miserable.
I couldn't enjoy my son or my husband because I was living in constant fear of upsetting or losing them.
When Tyler was two years old we found out we were pregnant again. Transitioning to two terrified me until Ella was born and we brought her home. Everything just meshed. That is until Ella became mobile. Once she could move she became a wild child and I was constantly exhausted. At this same time Tyler entered the "terrible-crazy-out of control three's". I remember crying a lot. I could no longer control ANYTHING. I felt out of control and fearful every.minute.of.every.day.
This is when my panic attacks and anxiety became prevalent.
I would walk into the grocery store and become instantly overwhelmed. It would start with worrying thoughts about all the germs that were everywhere. Then I would feel my heart rate begin to quicken. My vision would fail. I would feel as if everything was a blur. I would begin to hear my heart beat inside of my ears and feel the blood pumping through my veins. I wouldn't be able to breathe and the more panicked I felt the more fearful I became the more panicked I would become. My anxiety fed on itself. My fear of losing control in front of everyone would cause me more anxiety. It was horrible and scary.
I stopped leaving the house unless absolutely necessary.
I became more afraid of driving. I would visualize horrific car accidents while driving that felt so real I would have to pull over and catch my breath. I would wake up in the middle of night unable to breathe and fearful. I would obsess over possible tragedies and truly believed that if I didn't follow all of my daily rituals I would cause one of these tragedies to happen. I thought my rituals kept everyone safe.
When I was pregnant with Ella I had started going to church (this was in California). This was completely out of character for me. My reasoning was that if there was no hell then at least my kids would be raised with good morals but if there was a hell I was not going to be to blame for not exposing them to a Savior. Once again, believing everything depended on my decisions.
My thoughts about Christians prior to church were that Christians were judgmental and holier than thou. I had been shamed by many a Christian and really didn't want anything to do with anymore of them.
Imagine my surprise when the first sermon I ever heard was on judgmental attitudes. The pastor spoke about how Christians do NOT have the right to judge to condemn others. He spoke about a God that loved me. I was completely confused.
There was a girl named DeeDee there that day and she invited me to come back to church that evening for a meeting. She said the pastor would be going over what the church believes and I could ask questions. I had plenty of questions, so I agreed.
I went back that night prepared to stump this pastor. Surely he would be upset by all my questions thus proving that the whole thing was a sham and Christians don't know what they believe.
Instead the pastor had an answer for every one of my questions and I will never forget what he said to me.
He said, "Keep asking questions. Questions are good. The more questions you ask the stronger your faith will become. Being a Christian is not about blind allegiance and the Bible can stand up to your questions."
I went home feeling uneasy about this whole God thing.
That night we watched a movie with my dad. The first movie he put on was some 1980's John Cusack monstrosity. I begged him to change it. The other movie he had rented was a football movie and he couldn't remember what it was about. It turned out to be "Facing the Giants". If you have never seen this movie, it has little to do with football and a lot to do with faith. I felt like this God, I wasn't even sure existed, was speaking directly to me.
When we moved to Las Vegas my biggest concern was where I would go to church. We got an Easter flier in the mail for a church called Central Christian. We went and I remember feeling instantly at home. The people were friendly. We received not a single dirty look or sideways lofty glance. The music was amazing. I remember hearing the song "Marvelous Light" and feeling as if something in my body I never knew existed was reaching out into the music.
I felt alive.
I cried.
I finally allowed myself to think, "Maybe ... just maybe ... this is real."
7:35 AM
Healing gets deeper
I was looking through one of my old blogs before deleting it and I came across this post I wrote EXACTLY two years ago today! What is crazy is I needed to read this today. I needed this reminder. I peeled that band aid off back then but I'm peeling deeper band aids off in this season of my life. Reminding me that healing is never finished it just gets deeper.
........................................
We've all needed a band aid at one time or another. For anything from minor scratches to deep cuts. We hurt ourselves and needed to protect that "owie" from the contaminates and germs in the world. A band aid also protected our wound from further harm and damage. Eventually that dreaded day would come when we must face the music and remove the band aid. It has served it's purpose and is no longer helpful or necessary. In order for our wound to heal it has to be exposed. No one looks forward to baring a wound and removing the band aid can be painful. Over time the band aid has so adhered to our skin that it becomes difficult to pull off without causing some degree of pain. We often begin the removal process by testing the waters. Peeling back just enough of the edge to see how much pain we are in for. The minute we feel the tug on our skin we re adhere the band aid to it's former place. Of course, this only makes the eventual tearing that much more painful. At some point we must make a decision: we're either going to live in fear of the pain and allow the band aid that was once a protection to our wound to become a hindrance to it's healing or we're going to suck it up, get a grip, take a deep breath and rip it off as fast as we can. Once we tear it off we realize something. We were right, it did hurt, but only for a second. Now our wound is exposed. It's ugly and messy but the longer it is aired out the more it heals. Until, one day it disappears completely or leaves a scar but either way it is no longer causing us pain. It has healed.
God gave me this analogy in my prayer time this morning. I think it is a beautiful illustration of what holds us back from healing from our past traumas. I have wanted change in my life for so long. I used to believe it was everyone else that needed to change. If my husband would just read my mind and do what I want then I wouldn't be so controlling. If my kids would just obey me then I wouldn't have to be so angry all the time. If my friends would just live the way I think they should then I wouldn't spend endless time worrying and obsessing over their problems. I'm only now realizing that it's not everybody else. It's me. I'm codependent. And not just a little bit.
The band aid in this analogy represents my codependent habits and reactions. When my wound was fresh and bleeding I developed these habits to cope and survive. They WERE necessary. They saved me and kept me sane. But, I never knew when to "remove the band aid" so to speak. God is showing me that day has come. In order for me to become a healthy functional adult I must remove these character defects that once protected me. They are such a part of me at this point that it is hard to separate myself from them without experiencing a great deal of pain. But, I know God is with me. He is holding me tight and He will only give me what He knows I'm strong enough to handle at this point in my recovery. I have so much hope that I can and will change. I refuse to live this way anymore. I refuse to keep attaching myself to other people in an unhealthy dysfunctional way. I refuse to be angry all the time because I internalize and repress my feelings. I refuse to let other people's emotions control me. I am ready to be free from my past and the codependency that developed from it. I am ready to heal.
..........................
In this season I'm working on removing my band aids of hiding, of mistrust, of self doubt.
What band aids do you need to remove?
........................................
We've all needed a band aid at one time or another. For anything from minor scratches to deep cuts. We hurt ourselves and needed to protect that "owie" from the contaminates and germs in the world. A band aid also protected our wound from further harm and damage. Eventually that dreaded day would come when we must face the music and remove the band aid. It has served it's purpose and is no longer helpful or necessary. In order for our wound to heal it has to be exposed. No one looks forward to baring a wound and removing the band aid can be painful. Over time the band aid has so adhered to our skin that it becomes difficult to pull off without causing some degree of pain. We often begin the removal process by testing the waters. Peeling back just enough of the edge to see how much pain we are in for. The minute we feel the tug on our skin we re adhere the band aid to it's former place. Of course, this only makes the eventual tearing that much more painful. At some point we must make a decision: we're either going to live in fear of the pain and allow the band aid that was once a protection to our wound to become a hindrance to it's healing or we're going to suck it up, get a grip, take a deep breath and rip it off as fast as we can. Once we tear it off we realize something. We were right, it did hurt, but only for a second. Now our wound is exposed. It's ugly and messy but the longer it is aired out the more it heals. Until, one day it disappears completely or leaves a scar but either way it is no longer causing us pain. It has healed.
God gave me this analogy in my prayer time this morning. I think it is a beautiful illustration of what holds us back from healing from our past traumas. I have wanted change in my life for so long. I used to believe it was everyone else that needed to change. If my husband would just read my mind and do what I want then I wouldn't be so controlling. If my kids would just obey me then I wouldn't have to be so angry all the time. If my friends would just live the way I think they should then I wouldn't spend endless time worrying and obsessing over their problems. I'm only now realizing that it's not everybody else. It's me. I'm codependent. And not just a little bit.
The band aid in this analogy represents my codependent habits and reactions. When my wound was fresh and bleeding I developed these habits to cope and survive. They WERE necessary. They saved me and kept me sane. But, I never knew when to "remove the band aid" so to speak. God is showing me that day has come. In order for me to become a healthy functional adult I must remove these character defects that once protected me. They are such a part of me at this point that it is hard to separate myself from them without experiencing a great deal of pain. But, I know God is with me. He is holding me tight and He will only give me what He knows I'm strong enough to handle at this point in my recovery. I have so much hope that I can and will change. I refuse to live this way anymore. I refuse to keep attaching myself to other people in an unhealthy dysfunctional way. I refuse to be angry all the time because I internalize and repress my feelings. I refuse to let other people's emotions control me. I am ready to be free from my past and the codependency that developed from it. I am ready to heal.
..........................
In this season I'm working on removing my band aids of hiding, of mistrust, of self doubt.
What band aids do you need to remove?
3:06 PM
My depression is an a-hole.
Hi, my name is Heather and I battle depression.
Not like an "every now and then I feel blue" depression. It's more like a big, bad, in-my-face, bully, mean and ugly depression. My depression is an a-hole. We are not friends and I really want to break up. But, he's like that boyfriend you break up with but he won't take a hint and keeps calling and acting like you're still together. Ya, he's like that.
This month has been especially heavy for me. I went to the Dr. to finally get some medication. (therapists have been trying to medicate me since high school but I refused to admit it was necessary) I am finally at the point of accepting that this depression is holding me back from being myself and loving those I care about. I'm going to get better. I have hope. I can see the light at the end of this tunnel.
Today I had been crying a lot and feeling worthless. Instead of staying in that place I decided to reach out to a trusted friend and she suggested writing a list of all the things I'm thankful for and getting alone with Jesus to ask for his help and to thank Him. If you have depression than you know how hard it is to just stand up much less think and breathe and talk and pray. But, this friend also struggles with depression and is much further along in her recovery so I knew what she was asking was possible and I could do it.
Then my husband and I decided to watch church online.
As if the message were meant just for me our pastor said these words:
"A thankless heart becomes a discouraged heart."
After watching the rest of the message I got out my notebook and pen and prayed. My mind began to surge with thankfulness.
Here is what I came up with... I am thankful for:
1. A husband who adores me and treats me with love and respect. Who I can be completely myself with. Who understands my crazy. Who I can fight to the death with and still find myself wrapped in his strong arms before I fall asleep at night.
2. My oldest son who is so forgiving. Who is soft and sensitive in some difficult but beautiful ways. Who cares about my feelings. Who cares about justice and fairness and humility. Who hates bragging and inconsistency. Who is honest and kind.
3. My only girl. Who tells me I'm sweet whenever I'm being ugly. Who loves violently. (like for real... she will tell you she loves you too much and then punch you.) Who tries very hard to please. Who is funny and smart. Who is wild and unruly is the very best ways.
4. My baby whose smile brightens my very worst days. Who babbles and laughs and dances. Who loves the piano. Who falls asleep on my chest and fills my heart with joy and contentment.
5. My home that's often (always) messy. That provides us with shelter. That's the keeper of our memories. Of every meal eaten around our old junky table. Of every living room dance party ever held. Of every teaching moment missed and every teaching moment captured and of every beautiful, noisy, chaotic moment in between.
6. Noise. The constant buzz of children growing up. Coming home before our date night last night to a house without our children made me thankful for the noise I so often hate and complain about. It won't always be noisy and some day, sooner than I would like, it will be gone. The house will be quiet and that will be beautiful in its own right but I will miss the noise.
7. For my best friend. We've been up and we've been down. We've fallen in and out of love with each other over the years. But, that has built this strong foundation and history that I wouldn't change for anything. We have screamed at each other, made each other cry, pulled each other out of the pit, shared laughs and inside jokes, watched each others children growing up, prayed for each other and wiped each others tears. She is my rock. She is my safe place. She is my S.I.C.
Not like an "every now and then I feel blue" depression. It's more like a big, bad, in-my-face, bully, mean and ugly depression. My depression is an a-hole. We are not friends and I really want to break up. But, he's like that boyfriend you break up with but he won't take a hint and keeps calling and acting like you're still together. Ya, he's like that.
This month has been especially heavy for me. I went to the Dr. to finally get some medication. (therapists have been trying to medicate me since high school but I refused to admit it was necessary) I am finally at the point of accepting that this depression is holding me back from being myself and loving those I care about. I'm going to get better. I have hope. I can see the light at the end of this tunnel.
Today I had been crying a lot and feeling worthless. Instead of staying in that place I decided to reach out to a trusted friend and she suggested writing a list of all the things I'm thankful for and getting alone with Jesus to ask for his help and to thank Him. If you have depression than you know how hard it is to just stand up much less think and breathe and talk and pray. But, this friend also struggles with depression and is much further along in her recovery so I knew what she was asking was possible and I could do it.
Then my husband and I decided to watch church online.
As if the message were meant just for me our pastor said these words:
"A thankless heart becomes a discouraged heart."
After watching the rest of the message I got out my notebook and pen and prayed. My mind began to surge with thankfulness.
Here is what I came up with... I am thankful for:
1. A husband who adores me and treats me with love and respect. Who I can be completely myself with. Who understands my crazy. Who I can fight to the death with and still find myself wrapped in his strong arms before I fall asleep at night.
2. My oldest son who is so forgiving. Who is soft and sensitive in some difficult but beautiful ways. Who cares about my feelings. Who cares about justice and fairness and humility. Who hates bragging and inconsistency. Who is honest and kind.
3. My only girl. Who tells me I'm sweet whenever I'm being ugly. Who loves violently. (like for real... she will tell you she loves you too much and then punch you.) Who tries very hard to please. Who is funny and smart. Who is wild and unruly is the very best ways.
4. My baby whose smile brightens my very worst days. Who babbles and laughs and dances. Who loves the piano. Who falls asleep on my chest and fills my heart with joy and contentment.
5. My home that's often (always) messy. That provides us with shelter. That's the keeper of our memories. Of every meal eaten around our old junky table. Of every living room dance party ever held. Of every teaching moment missed and every teaching moment captured and of every beautiful, noisy, chaotic moment in between.
6. Noise. The constant buzz of children growing up. Coming home before our date night last night to a house without our children made me thankful for the noise I so often hate and complain about. It won't always be noisy and some day, sooner than I would like, it will be gone. The house will be quiet and that will be beautiful in its own right but I will miss the noise.
7. For my best friend. We've been up and we've been down. We've fallen in and out of love with each other over the years. But, that has built this strong foundation and history that I wouldn't change for anything. We have screamed at each other, made each other cry, pulled each other out of the pit, shared laughs and inside jokes, watched each others children growing up, prayed for each other and wiped each others tears. She is my rock. She is my safe place. She is my S.I.C.
I am thankful. A thankful heart becomes an encouraged heart.
..........................
Are you battling depression? Get help. Reach out. Speak up. Refocus. Pray. Be thankful.
..........................
Are you battling depression? Get help. Reach out. Speak up. Refocus. Pray. Be thankful.
1:54 PM
A dream is a wish your heart makes... this is my hearts deepest wish for women
A dream is wish your heart makes.
I would like to share the wish my heart is making with all of you.
I am hoping and wishing and dreaming of a place for women. A place where the only requirements are that you show up, be kind, be gentle, be patient, be inclusive, love your fellow sister women and love them well.
A place of authenticity. Where we can drag in our trashcan full of junk and instead of covering that trashcan with a pinterest worthy, hand stitched, chevron printed throw blanket and spraying it with fabreeze to cover the stench; we can dump it out, dig through it with other women, help them dig through theirs and while we're digging find the treasures buried in each other's trash. That we could all sit in one another's junk and not judge each other and not measure whether my junk is bigger or worse than your junk. But, just sit in it and be honest about it and let others see it knowing that we've all got some. That none of us are perfect. That none of us has it all figured out.
A place of trust. Trust is a huge issue for me. I am constantly questioning other women's motives towards me. I want this to change. I want to start building trust with other women. I want women to experience what it feels like to pour out your heart and hurts to another woman and not have to worry whether she will turn around and use it against you. Without having to worry whether that woman will take your detailed pain and, under the guise of concern, share it with a mutual friend. I haven't experienced many trustworthy women in my life and I haven't always been one myself. I feel like women are, so often, in self preservation mode. On the defense. Like it's kill or be killed. So we protect ourselves at all costs. We keep our hurt and struggle locked up inside where we feel safe and no one can hurt us. Over the years I am learning the truth in this statement: "we are only as sick as our secrets." The ugly you keep locked in your heart will eventually make it's way out. Through your actions, words, health, etc. Without trust it is hard if not impossible to love well.
A place of safety and protection. If we are going to require authenticity and vulnerability than this place must be safe and protected. There must be guidelines in place that protect the integrity of the mission. This goes hand in hand with trust and bare with me if I'm being redundant. This place I dream of needs to be a place where women can feel safe to trust and safe to empty their trashcan in front of others. A place where they know they are protected. There was a time when I was so despaired and I desperately wanted to get my junk out and experience healing but I was so broken and afraid. I didn't believe I was really safe. I thought it was a trap. That once I was completely honest I would find out that this whole "let's be authentic" game didn't apply to me. That my authentic life was too dirty, too shameful, too revolting, too sinful. No one could understand. No one could hear my truth and still love me. But, I was wrong. Jesus has used safe and protective people in my life to help me let go of my shame and I dream of being a safe and protective person He can use to help other's let go of theirs.
A place of service. I have a vision of women meeting each others needs. Emotionally and also materially. That if our sister woman is in need we are the first to meet that need. I also have a vision of women serving the community. A huge part of healing and getting free from shame can be found in washing the feet of others. Healing can be found in loving someone who may not be capable of returning your love. To give what cannot be paid back.
I would like to share the wish my heart is making with all of you.
I am hoping and wishing and dreaming of a place for women. A place where the only requirements are that you show up, be kind, be gentle, be patient, be inclusive, love your fellow sister women and love them well.
A place of authenticity. Where we can drag in our trashcan full of junk and instead of covering that trashcan with a pinterest worthy, hand stitched, chevron printed throw blanket and spraying it with fabreeze to cover the stench; we can dump it out, dig through it with other women, help them dig through theirs and while we're digging find the treasures buried in each other's trash. That we could all sit in one another's junk and not judge each other and not measure whether my junk is bigger or worse than your junk. But, just sit in it and be honest about it and let others see it knowing that we've all got some. That none of us are perfect. That none of us has it all figured out.
A place of trust. Trust is a huge issue for me. I am constantly questioning other women's motives towards me. I want this to change. I want to start building trust with other women. I want women to experience what it feels like to pour out your heart and hurts to another woman and not have to worry whether she will turn around and use it against you. Without having to worry whether that woman will take your detailed pain and, under the guise of concern, share it with a mutual friend. I haven't experienced many trustworthy women in my life and I haven't always been one myself. I feel like women are, so often, in self preservation mode. On the defense. Like it's kill or be killed. So we protect ourselves at all costs. We keep our hurt and struggle locked up inside where we feel safe and no one can hurt us. Over the years I am learning the truth in this statement: "we are only as sick as our secrets." The ugly you keep locked in your heart will eventually make it's way out. Through your actions, words, health, etc. Without trust it is hard if not impossible to love well.
A place of safety and protection. If we are going to require authenticity and vulnerability than this place must be safe and protected. There must be guidelines in place that protect the integrity of the mission. This goes hand in hand with trust and bare with me if I'm being redundant. This place I dream of needs to be a place where women can feel safe to trust and safe to empty their trashcan in front of others. A place where they know they are protected. There was a time when I was so despaired and I desperately wanted to get my junk out and experience healing but I was so broken and afraid. I didn't believe I was really safe. I thought it was a trap. That once I was completely honest I would find out that this whole "let's be authentic" game didn't apply to me. That my authentic life was too dirty, too shameful, too revolting, too sinful. No one could understand. No one could hear my truth and still love me. But, I was wrong. Jesus has used safe and protective people in my life to help me let go of my shame and I dream of being a safe and protective person He can use to help other's let go of theirs.
A place of service. I have a vision of women meeting each others needs. Emotionally and also materially. That if our sister woman is in need we are the first to meet that need. I also have a vision of women serving the community. A huge part of healing and getting free from shame can be found in washing the feet of others. Healing can be found in loving someone who may not be capable of returning your love. To give what cannot be paid back.
A place where women can pray for one another. Where we bring our darkness into the light and experience what it's like to have other women pray for us instead of judge us. I believe with everything in my soul that prayer changes things. It can change circumstances. It can change the person we are praying for. It can change us. It can change hearts. The power of prayer is in His name.... Jesus.
Overall a place where we seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with Jesus.
This place I dream of may sound exactly like that... a dream. A place that only exists in the confines of our fantasies. Too some degree that is true because ministry is run by people and people are flawed. But, I'm dreaming and, like the guest speaker said at our church last sunday, "If you're gonna dream, dream big." So, I'm dreaming big. Because dreams are BIG. I think we are capable ladies. I think highly of us. I think we were made for this. I think we are ready for this.
Who's gonna join me?
Overall a place where we seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with Jesus.
This place I dream of may sound exactly like that... a dream. A place that only exists in the confines of our fantasies. Too some degree that is true because ministry is run by people and people are flawed. But, I'm dreaming and, like the guest speaker said at our church last sunday, "If you're gonna dream, dream big." So, I'm dreaming big. Because dreams are BIG. I think we are capable ladies. I think highly of us. I think we were made for this. I think we are ready for this.
Who's gonna join me?
10:24 AM
No more pretending.
It's amazing the unlikely places that we can find truth in this world. I was driving to the grocery store the other day and I heard a song from my past. I used to listen to this song in my angsty, pms riddled, high school drama days. Back then I just liked the melancholy melody. I like sad things. I'm weird. I know.
I love anything that can make me feel. I love to cry. Due to my love of crying I am a sucker for 90's grunge music. If I even hear the beginning of "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins you will have to mop me up off the floor because I instantly become an emotional ball of goo. But, I love it. Something about sadness is universal. Hearing someone else's heart breaking reminds me that we're all in this together.
Back to the song. I heard this song and for the first time I really listened to the lyrics. I started crying not because it was sad but because it was honest. It was raw. It was real. It was hopeful. I so relate to the story in this song. I have been hiding for so long and I feel like I'm finally becoming the girl that's always been there. The girl that I was afraid and ashamed of for so many years and for the first time I can honestly say I like her. The girl who likes to cry. The girl who hates to clean. The girl who likes to pretend to be British when on vacation. (It's fun. Try it.) The girl who still thinks the roger rabbit is a totally acceptable dance move. The girl who has really high highs and really low lows (also known as depression.) The girl who is weird and blissfully lazy.
I like her.
I love anything that can make me feel. I love to cry. Due to my love of crying I am a sucker for 90's grunge music. If I even hear the beginning of "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins you will have to mop me up off the floor because I instantly become an emotional ball of goo. But, I love it. Something about sadness is universal. Hearing someone else's heart breaking reminds me that we're all in this together.
Back to the song. I heard this song and for the first time I really listened to the lyrics. I started crying not because it was sad but because it was honest. It was raw. It was real. It was hopeful. I so relate to the story in this song. I have been hiding for so long and I feel like I'm finally becoming the girl that's always been there. The girl that I was afraid and ashamed of for so many years and for the first time I can honestly say I like her. The girl who likes to cry. The girl who hates to clean. The girl who likes to pretend to be British when on vacation. (It's fun. Try it.) The girl who still thinks the roger rabbit is a totally acceptable dance move. The girl who has really high highs and really low lows (also known as depression.) The girl who is weird and blissfully lazy.
I like her.
Finally.
Thank you Jesus for setting me free from the bondage of shame.
Thank you Jesus for setting me free from the bondage of shame.
2:00 PM
I'm not dirty. partI
The first time I realized I was different was in kindergarten. I had been told, up until this point, that I was beautiful. My mom thought I was pretty and my dad thought I was adorable. Aunts, uncles, grandparents... you could ask anyone... I was amazing in every way. Until kindergarten. Until mean little five year olds and ignorant teachers. Little kids started calling me dirty. Then a teacher asked if my mother ever bathed me... in front of EVERYONE. When my mom came to pick me up that day the teacher was feverishly trying to scrub the "dirt" off my face. She failed. Because I'm not dirty. I just have a birthmark. A big. brown. birthmark. on my face.
I became sickened by my looks. I became withdrawn and shy. I started believing that standing out and being different were shameful, dirty things. I would watch with envy as groups of little kids would huddle together and play and laugh and run. On the rare occasion that I would get a little brave in me and approach the other kids I would be shown quickly where my place was and it wasn't with them. My place was in the shadows. My place was alone.
I used to plead and make deals with God. If only He would take away this abomination on my face I would never say another bad word, I would listen to my mom, I would be a good girl. All I wanted in the pit of my being was to be liked and validated and this birthmark was in the way of both.
My deals with God changed nothing. I thought maybe there was no God and if there was he was mean.
I was "you know the girl with the birthmark". That was my name, my identity and my shame.
This shame followed me into high school. There I became a desperate love seeker. I would do anything to be liked. Smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, doing drugs, popping pills and giving away parts my soul to boys who didn't even know my name.
In elementary school I was dirty because of my looks but in high school I was dirty because of my reputation. I sunk deeper and deeper into depression. I didn't know what was wrong with me. My mind was my worst enemy. My thoughts would spit venom at me: You are ugly. You are stupid. No one loves you. You are worthless. You.don't.matter.
This self hatred coupled with self pity continued into my young adult years as well. I would seek and find people to abuse me. People who would help me prove to myself that I was worthy of ridicule and punishment. Friends who would tell me how weird I was, date my boyfriends (proving they were much prettier than me), tell me I wasn't as pretty as their other friends, use me and eventually abandon me. Boyfriends who would sleep with my friends, call me dirty, call me ugly, put their hands on me, blame me, say I deserved it, call me crazy and push me to my breaking point.
I was....
broken.
The straw that broke the camels back was when a good friend of mine was killed in a car accident while serving in Iraq.
I couldn't cope.
Life was cruel.
I started day drinking at this point. I would go to work drunk. I had two states of being: drunk and sleeping.
I lost weight. a.lot.of.weight. I was 85 lbs by the time my dad and step mom decided I needed to see a therapist.
I went but my heart wasn't in it. I was dead inside. I was a shell of a human.
I reverted back to men. Men were really good at making me feel loved and worthy. Even if it was only for a moment. It always amazed me how two people could be so intimate and close, as if their very souls were joined together. But, once the act is over it's as if you're strangers (which we were) and I would feel a physical chill in my heart as if my body had been emptied of it's life source. I've never felt more regret in my life than in those lonely minutes on my side of the bed.
I was a harlot. I was a drunk. I was empty. I was dead.
I met Brandon this way. It's the truth. I'm not proud of it but it's the truth.
I left his dark bedroom the next morning without knowing his name. I never thought I would see him again but he tracked me down.
We have a very backwards story (clearly.) But, I love our story because it's ours.
Somewhere in the craziness of those drunken nights I became pregnant.
I remember standing in my pajamas, hung over, looking down at a positive pregnancy test in one shaky hand and a lit cigarette in the other and thinking "what the hell do I do now?"
I called my step mom and she met me at the local med stop. I brought the pregnancy test with me and begged the nurse to tell me it was not really positive. She told me she could give me another test but it would be $40 and the chances of a false positive were almost impossible (and my test was clearly positive).
I was going to be a mom.
I became sickened by my looks. I became withdrawn and shy. I started believing that standing out and being different were shameful, dirty things. I would watch with envy as groups of little kids would huddle together and play and laugh and run. On the rare occasion that I would get a little brave in me and approach the other kids I would be shown quickly where my place was and it wasn't with them. My place was in the shadows. My place was alone.
I used to plead and make deals with God. If only He would take away this abomination on my face I would never say another bad word, I would listen to my mom, I would be a good girl. All I wanted in the pit of my being was to be liked and validated and this birthmark was in the way of both.
My deals with God changed nothing. I thought maybe there was no God and if there was he was mean.
I was "you know the girl with the birthmark". That was my name, my identity and my shame.
This shame followed me into high school. There I became a desperate love seeker. I would do anything to be liked. Smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, doing drugs, popping pills and giving away parts my soul to boys who didn't even know my name.
In elementary school I was dirty because of my looks but in high school I was dirty because of my reputation. I sunk deeper and deeper into depression. I didn't know what was wrong with me. My mind was my worst enemy. My thoughts would spit venom at me: You are ugly. You are stupid. No one loves you. You are worthless. You.don't.matter.
This self hatred coupled with self pity continued into my young adult years as well. I would seek and find people to abuse me. People who would help me prove to myself that I was worthy of ridicule and punishment. Friends who would tell me how weird I was, date my boyfriends (proving they were much prettier than me), tell me I wasn't as pretty as their other friends, use me and eventually abandon me. Boyfriends who would sleep with my friends, call me dirty, call me ugly, put their hands on me, blame me, say I deserved it, call me crazy and push me to my breaking point.
I was....
broken.
The straw that broke the camels back was when a good friend of mine was killed in a car accident while serving in Iraq.
I couldn't cope.
Life was cruel.
I started day drinking at this point. I would go to work drunk. I had two states of being: drunk and sleeping.
I lost weight. a.lot.of.weight. I was 85 lbs by the time my dad and step mom decided I needed to see a therapist.
I went but my heart wasn't in it. I was dead inside. I was a shell of a human.
I reverted back to men. Men were really good at making me feel loved and worthy. Even if it was only for a moment. It always amazed me how two people could be so intimate and close, as if their very souls were joined together. But, once the act is over it's as if you're strangers (which we were) and I would feel a physical chill in my heart as if my body had been emptied of it's life source. I've never felt more regret in my life than in those lonely minutes on my side of the bed.
I was a harlot. I was a drunk. I was empty. I was dead.
I met Brandon this way. It's the truth. I'm not proud of it but it's the truth.
I left his dark bedroom the next morning without knowing his name. I never thought I would see him again but he tracked me down.
We have a very backwards story (clearly.) But, I love our story because it's ours.
Somewhere in the craziness of those drunken nights I became pregnant.
I remember standing in my pajamas, hung over, looking down at a positive pregnancy test in one shaky hand and a lit cigarette in the other and thinking "what the hell do I do now?"
I called my step mom and she met me at the local med stop. I brought the pregnancy test with me and begged the nurse to tell me it was not really positive. She told me she could give me another test but it would be $40 and the chances of a false positive were almost impossible (and my test was clearly positive).
I was going to be a mom.
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