With Mother's Day this weekend, I've been thinking a lot about the women in my life and all the women who are impacting and will impact my daughters. The truth is, whether you have children or not, you are part of motherhood. Young girls are looking to you (maybe even my own) about what it means to be a woman. You are mothering them.
I have had so many beautiful woman speak into me. It makes me want to do the same. It makes me see the calling and NEED to be connected in that way.
I'm richly blessed. So, I want to take a moment to openly thank many of you. (In order of appearance)
To my own mother - you are brave. You are the bravest woman I know. You saw opportunity in a foreign land (literally) and seized it. Because of your bravery, I am. Because you took a chance - A CRAZY CHANCE - I exist. My sisters and my daughters and who we all are and are becoming are due to your bravery. You broke out and made a way for us. You teach me bravery. Te amo a la luna y de vuelta.
To my "little" sisters - Ally and Robin - You made me want to grow to be beautiful. Not in appearance, but in my spirit. I wanted to take what was given to us and multiply it. Thank you for letting me practice my mama skills on you. My daughters will be better for it. My parenting is better for it. You two are the only ones who walked through all of it with me and by blood, will always have to.
It's amazing to me how 3 very different women can come from the same place. But I think that show's God's unique design. I will always want to tell you what to do, but thank you for loving me anyway. Thank you for choosing to believe my heart for you is love.
To my Carino - my sweet chosen grandma next door. Much of who I know God to be is because of you. You took the time to take in the neighbor girl next door and called her family. You have shared with me God's unconditional love and from you I have learned how to love others - not just the family you are born into, but those outside of those lines. You have shown me how to reach out to the community around me and pour into it. Thank you for being a safe place for me. Thank you for teaching me compassion.
To my Paula - you are who I think of daily when I am up against the grind of it all. When I am overwhelmed with being a full time working mom, I think of you. When I feel guilty for wanting to be a mom AND a career woman, I think about you. You did both and your daughters are better for it. Because the truth is, you have taught me that though I am called to mother my sweet girls, their needs will ultimately be met by our Father in heaven. He is sovereign and you teach me to trust that. And to be ok with needing time away and needing something outside of my "mom" role.
Sabrina (Fathead) - Big sister. I have always wanted to be like you. I still do. You have paved the way so beautifully. You are intelligent, gorgeous and literally the FUNNIEST person I know. You make me laugh more than anyone! I always have fun when I am with you and I always feel like "I am woman, hear me roar" when I am with you. You are determined, you are strong, you are lovely. Believe it because that shit's the truth!!! Te amo, prima.
To my sweet childhood friends - Darcie: you and your mom were my home away from home. So much of my elementary days were safe with you.
Courtney, Drew, Shannon, Katy(s), Mehgan, Nabila - thank you for loving me in the "awkward years" when it was all so easy but felt so hard. Thank you for the slumber parties, the craft nights, the binge eating, the gossip (yes, I'll admit to it) and for being my circle. Thank you for loving me even when I valued what some silly boy thought over you. You taught me the value of friendship. You helped keep me stable. And you may never know it, but you and your families showed me what I could strive for, regardless of what I came from.
To my Amy - you were the only friend I had that spoke the same heart language. You are a rare treasure. Thank you for calling me out when needed. And thank you for helping me to accept grace for myself. Thank you for praying with me and for me.
Thank you for loving my sisters. Thank you for being the one outside of it all but yet you chose to be in it all.
To Carmella - Thank you for giving me a stage to dance on, and an escape. You, Hannah and Jake made me believe I could do it all.
To Maria - Thank you for listening to my drama and never making me feel stupid. You always made me feel like what I was going through or what I had to say was important. You showed me how to listen to others and the importance on holding my tongue... I'm still working on that one. Thank you for being part of my cloud of witnesses. I long to see you again but know that we are still connected.
Molly - You are a gem. Your genuine heart and ability to be at ease even when I'm acting a fool is soothing. Your ability to laugh and cry with me all in the same minute makes me want to be more open. Not in the blabber-mouth way (I've got that), but in the vulnerable way. Thank you for the long talks, the music, and for helping me sort through my own mind.
Courtney Jo - You are one of those that I won't ever let get away from me. Your zeal for life, your desire for adventure and your laughter are contagious! You teach me to not live in a box.
Kathy - You are selfless. You are pure delight, my dear. You are joy. You are invaluable and I am honored to have you as the girls' godmother. If anything ever happened to me, YOU are the woman I would want my girls to model after. No pressure. ;)
Jessi - In such a short time, we connected. You are a breath of fresh air. You are STRONG. You show me how to endure and be strong despite my circumstances. Despite my emotions.
Cassie, Alicia, Stacy, Stephanie - Thank you for loving my children. Thank you for being my friend AND for your investment into Ester and Lucy's lives. Thank you for "babysitting" but more so - for loving them. For speaking to their hearts when they are anxious and for being a safe place for them to grow in.
Michelle and Carrie - I admire you as mothers, as friends, as woman. You are both so giving. Thank you for being my sounding board. Thank you for letting me vent and for laughing with me about all the mess. I am so grateful to get to work with such sweet friends.
I could go on and on.
This list is in no way extensive. But it is an example of how unique God has made us all. It is an example of people who took the time (whether by choice or because we are related) and invested in me. I am confident because of you. I am so hopeful for my girls and what they will contribute to this world because of you.
SO! Whether you are a "mother" or not, whether your child is on this earth or in heaven, whether you are waiting to become a mother or whether you have no desire to ever be one - YOU ARE SO CRUCIAL TO ME, TO MY GIRLS, TO SOCIETY. Believe that. It takes a village to raise a child but it also takes a village to thrive as an adult.
P.S. That rhyme was not intentional, but I like cheese so I'm going to leave it...
Be blessed.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
I'm "THAT MOM"
this one is gonna be all over the place. like me. nothing new, I guess. . .
Most of you who know me know that my older daughter, Ester, has food allergies. The scariest one being to nuts. (We do not yet know if our younger daughter, Lucy, has a nut allergy). If you are involved in any of the places my daughter attends, you are aware of this allergy because it has affected you as well - everywhere we go, we are constantly reminding people of this and even go so far as to ask establishments to change their policies to create a safer environment for Ester: Our church children's area is now nut-free. Ester's school is now nut-free and her daycare already was nut-free which was one of the reasons we chose it.
I know I sound like a broken record. I know I'm "THAT MOM." I'm THAT MOM on the children's council reminding parents to bring nut-free treats to stuff our Easter eggs with. I'm THAT MOM calling out a parent when they drop off their kid with peanut butter crackers to pass out at daycare. I'm THAT MOM who then follows-up with the daycare to make sure some sort of alert or reminder goes out to parents after an event like that to try and avoid it from happening again. I'm THAT Mom that some of you may have rolled your eyes at because you are so sick of me bringing up Ester's allergy at the mention of any special event that would bring in any outside food around her.
And I understand why that can be frustrating for you. I get how it is an inconvenience. I get that you unintentionally brought something and the last thing you were thinking of was my daughter and her food allergy. I get that it's disappointing that the easiest thing, or maybe even the ONLY thing your kid wants to eat for lunch is a pb&j and now you can't pack it for your little one because of mine. I get it.
But i want you to try and get this:
I am also that mom who has rushed her child to the hospital because of contact with a peanut butter cracker. I am that mom who reassured her daughter that it was going to be okay while we raced to the E.R., half saying it to myself because I wasn't sure. I am that mom who has watched my daughter's face swell up so big that you literally could not see her eyes just from her touching pistachio shells that someone spit on the ground at the softball field. I am that mom that listened to her little one to see if the wheezing had stopped and wondered if this time we would have to use the epipen. I'm that mom that carries an epipen everywhere we go.
But more than all of it - I am that mom that wants what all moms want: My daughter to be safe.
I have pleaded with God to keep my baby safe. To make her alert to her surroundings, to give her favor and protection. I have prayed that God would help her teachers to take her allergy seriously and not shrug it off. I have asked that God would help Ester to not feel rejected when others do not understand, when they write her off as an annoyance.
And I've seen it. I've watched people become annoyed with the situation and as result, treat my child differently. I've listened to her little confused voice ask me why kids and even teachers have said certain things to her. And I've clenched my fists at that. I've worried and I've sat in anger. I've practiced conversations in my head that I would have if someone says this or if someone says that or if someone does x-y-z. . .
And time and time again, I do this. And time after time we have situations where Ester's safety is compromised due to a damn peanut or pistachio or whatever. And each time I cry and shake my fist and grit my teeth and worry. And each time . . . - God is good.
Today it happened again. My sweet girl was around peanut butter and had a reaction. Thankfully, this time, it wasn't anything that caused us to go to the hospital. It wasn't physical contact but airborne and so her reaction was not near as severe (Thank you, LORD). And while sitting in my anger and worry and fear, I prayed. I prayed that God would protect my child and help me to trust Him with her. He did, after all, give her to me in the first place. She is His. But still, in my prayer, I held on to it like it was something I could control better if I worried about it a little more.
And then this - God revealed it to me. The wrestle that I insist on - the worry that I will not let go of - It's pride. It's distrust. It's me holding onto tenuous self-reliance rather than resting in grace. It's worry-filled pride. Pride is a form of unbelief. My worry exposes this in my heart.
I'm gonna get really real here. I don't like this. Just because God revealed it to me and I am writing it here in my little blog doesn't mean that all of a sudden, I have had this beautiful epiphany and now I am worry-free! It doesn't mean I am going to stop being THAT MOM. It doesn't mean I won't still pray for God's provision and protection over my daughter(s) or that I will in any way stop being her biggest advocate. It simply means that I am trying to rest in a God who loves. A God who loves my daughter more than I ever could because He created her. It means saying that truth to myself, in spite of my unbelief. It means staring my unbelief in the face and choosing to remind myself of God's promises even if they feel too far off. I admit freely my anxieties - especially those concerning my daughters. And although it goes against everything I feel in the moment - I am trying to cherish the promise of God's grace (both current and future) - that He loves me and will care for me. I am trying to take Him at His word when He says:
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. - 1 Peter 5:6-7
So the purpose for this blog is twofold:
1) To advocate for Ester by trying to explain the seriousness of food allergies and the like.
2) To expose my pride and unbelief in hopes of encouraging you to also choose to rest in God's promises, regardless of what you feel.
Most of you who know me know that my older daughter, Ester, has food allergies. The scariest one being to nuts. (We do not yet know if our younger daughter, Lucy, has a nut allergy). If you are involved in any of the places my daughter attends, you are aware of this allergy because it has affected you as well - everywhere we go, we are constantly reminding people of this and even go so far as to ask establishments to change their policies to create a safer environment for Ester: Our church children's area is now nut-free. Ester's school is now nut-free and her daycare already was nut-free which was one of the reasons we chose it.
I know I sound like a broken record. I know I'm "THAT MOM." I'm THAT MOM on the children's council reminding parents to bring nut-free treats to stuff our Easter eggs with. I'm THAT MOM calling out a parent when they drop off their kid with peanut butter crackers to pass out at daycare. I'm THAT MOM who then follows-up with the daycare to make sure some sort of alert or reminder goes out to parents after an event like that to try and avoid it from happening again. I'm THAT Mom that some of you may have rolled your eyes at because you are so sick of me bringing up Ester's allergy at the mention of any special event that would bring in any outside food around her.
And I understand why that can be frustrating for you. I get how it is an inconvenience. I get that you unintentionally brought something and the last thing you were thinking of was my daughter and her food allergy. I get that it's disappointing that the easiest thing, or maybe even the ONLY thing your kid wants to eat for lunch is a pb&j and now you can't pack it for your little one because of mine. I get it.
But i want you to try and get this:
I am also that mom who has rushed her child to the hospital because of contact with a peanut butter cracker. I am that mom who reassured her daughter that it was going to be okay while we raced to the E.R., half saying it to myself because I wasn't sure. I am that mom who has watched my daughter's face swell up so big that you literally could not see her eyes just from her touching pistachio shells that someone spit on the ground at the softball field. I am that mom that listened to her little one to see if the wheezing had stopped and wondered if this time we would have to use the epipen. I'm that mom that carries an epipen everywhere we go.
But more than all of it - I am that mom that wants what all moms want: My daughter to be safe.
I have pleaded with God to keep my baby safe. To make her alert to her surroundings, to give her favor and protection. I have prayed that God would help her teachers to take her allergy seriously and not shrug it off. I have asked that God would help Ester to not feel rejected when others do not understand, when they write her off as an annoyance.
And I've seen it. I've watched people become annoyed with the situation and as result, treat my child differently. I've listened to her little confused voice ask me why kids and even teachers have said certain things to her. And I've clenched my fists at that. I've worried and I've sat in anger. I've practiced conversations in my head that I would have if someone says this or if someone says that or if someone does x-y-z. . .
And time and time again, I do this. And time after time we have situations where Ester's safety is compromised due to a damn peanut or pistachio or whatever. And each time I cry and shake my fist and grit my teeth and worry. And each time . . . - God is good.
Today it happened again. My sweet girl was around peanut butter and had a reaction. Thankfully, this time, it wasn't anything that caused us to go to the hospital. It wasn't physical contact but airborne and so her reaction was not near as severe (Thank you, LORD). And while sitting in my anger and worry and fear, I prayed. I prayed that God would protect my child and help me to trust Him with her. He did, after all, give her to me in the first place. She is His. But still, in my prayer, I held on to it like it was something I could control better if I worried about it a little more.
And then this - God revealed it to me. The wrestle that I insist on - the worry that I will not let go of - It's pride. It's distrust. It's me holding onto tenuous self-reliance rather than resting in grace. It's worry-filled pride. Pride is a form of unbelief. My worry exposes this in my heart.
I'm gonna get really real here. I don't like this. Just because God revealed it to me and I am writing it here in my little blog doesn't mean that all of a sudden, I have had this beautiful epiphany and now I am worry-free! It doesn't mean I am going to stop being THAT MOM. It doesn't mean I won't still pray for God's provision and protection over my daughter(s) or that I will in any way stop being her biggest advocate. It simply means that I am trying to rest in a God who loves. A God who loves my daughter more than I ever could because He created her. It means saying that truth to myself, in spite of my unbelief. It means staring my unbelief in the face and choosing to remind myself of God's promises even if they feel too far off. I admit freely my anxieties - especially those concerning my daughters. And although it goes against everything I feel in the moment - I am trying to cherish the promise of God's grace (both current and future) - that He loves me and will care for me. I am trying to take Him at His word when He says:
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. - 1 Peter 5:6-7
So the purpose for this blog is twofold:
1) To advocate for Ester by trying to explain the seriousness of food allergies and the like.
2) To expose my pride and unbelief in hopes of encouraging you to also choose to rest in God's promises, regardless of what you feel.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Snow Day
I woke up and told my sweet husband I needed 10 more minutes of sleep. . . 10 minutes later, that saint is back to remind me that the day awaits and if I'm going to have a shot at getting to work on time I better get up; the roads are bad.
I don't want to get out of bed. I want to sleep in like my daughters are. I'm stiff as the cold floor meets my bare feet. I hate the cold.
I look outside. The stupid snow is glaring at me. On the days when I was a stay-at-home-mommy, I would look outside at the snow and see images of making snow angels with Essy, building a snow man, or simply eating handfuls of the white powdery ice until we couldn't feel our fingers. . . we'd come inside and make hot chocolate (or "warm-chocolate", according to my very literal 3 year old) and we'd snuggle and watch movies and warm up in our pajamas. All day. We'd go no where.
But not anymore, now I am tiptoeing around my house, trying not to disturb those sweet sleeping beauties while I make a days worth of bottles and meals.
Derek leaves to go get the sitter. Yes, the sitter - because although the rest of the world still has to go to work, our childcare is closed for the day due to "inclement weather". Thanks a lot. Now I get to pay for your services that I am not receiving AND a sitter. Let it snow --- let it freaking snow!!
My girls wake up just in time. Just time to make me late, but I don't care. I want to hug their little bodies and feel those sweet rosy cheeks next to mine, still warm from being tucked in bed until 2 minutes prior.
I go to leave so I can be to work on time and change my mind. I'll sit for just 5 minutes and snuggle. It'll get me through my day.
I slip and slide a couple of times on my way there but no damage. Monday morning awaits with plenty to do. I get right to it.
I'm so busy, I have little time to notice how badly my throat is hurting, or the ache in my bones. I didn't feel to well over the weekend but now it's time to put my "big girl panties on" and deal with it.
I get am email at 9:00am. Lucy's school has decided to open. . . Awesome. After some coordinating with the hubs, he decides it makes more sense for him to get Lu and take her in while Ester stays home with the sitter. It'll be easier on everybody.
All day I feel worse and worse. . . but i keep thinking about my loves that need me and I press on, requesting updates from my sitter as the day passes. 3 o'clock my cell rings. It's Lu's daycare: "she has green mucus, come and get her. She can return with a doctor's note."
Oh - joy.
I pick Lu up and take her to the nearest Urgent Care. The receptionist gives me attitude for not having my license because OF COURSE I left it with my husband from our date the night before. That's what I get for trying to have a little fun, I guess.
After calling Derek's administrative assistant to fax a copy of it over to us, we're squared away. 75 minutes and $100 later I have my note stating that Lucy is not contagious and may return to school, it's just allergies.
I am so grateful she is not "REALLY" sick but annoyed that I had to take time away from work and time away from home and hard earned money over this. . . thus, is parenthood, I suppose.
We pick up the sitter and Essy, take said sitter home, and return to ours . . . FINALLY. As I pull the girls out of the car I see that most of the snow it melted. The roads are clear and all that is to show from it all is a tiny patch of melting snow on
our lawn in the shade of our tree.
We come inside and I smell our dinner. . . burning in the crock-pot. FAIL. I peek inside and see the meat caramelizing in the barbecue sauce, all black and crusted. I forgot to turn it to "keep warm" when I left this morning. Whoops.
I give the girls a snack while I try and throw something else together. So much for saving time on cooking in order to have more time playing with my children.
I swear, this feels like one of those stupid Ben Stiller movies that I hate where everything goes wrong and while everyone else is laughing about it, I'm left stressed, just wanting something to go right for the guy! I mean, his name is Gaylord Focker, for crying out loud!!
Out of the cinema - back to reality - feed your children.
Dinner is done: cheese, lunch meat, fruit, and left-over baked potatoes. Watch out, Betty Crocker!!
Daddy is home - just in time! We eat and my husband stomachs the meat in the crock-pot. Saint, I tell you! The man is a saint! I wash the dishes while I hear them all playing in the living room.
Here it goes. My favorite part of the day, when we are all together. The part where I can forgot about the last 10 hours and be thankful for the remaining 2. This is it, Lord. This is it. This is what I do it all for. This is what makes my soul awaken and my heart leap and my eyes well up with gratitude. Those giggles that quickly move into belly-laughs. All those hugs and tickles and even the toots that make us curl over in laughter. Little girls are so cheery. And these are the moments that get us through the bedtime routine. . . the meltdowns and tired whines that lurk around the corner from my little time in paradise.
But as soon as those sweet minds calm and eyes are sound asleep = Bliss. Because I can look at them peacefully.
Tonight, as Lucy fell asleep on my shoulder, I sat with her for a moment in the darkness and I rocked her. I felt her sweet breath on my neck as her hand held on to the other side of my face. And I breathed her in. I thanked God for this sweet, sleeping baby and for this precious window of time that I get to hold her while she sleeps. I felt her body on top of mine and began to cry. How is my sweet baby already 10 months old? How is she so big that her body drapes from my shoulder to my knee? I cried because I love her. I cried because I'm grateful. I cried because I am sad that time is slipping by me so quickly. I cried because someone else gets to play with her most of her days while I am away at work. I cried because I am so proud that this little one is mine. I cried and I cried and I cried. . . and I'm crying while I type this.
And tonight, in about 10 minutes when Derek pulls Ester out of our bathtub and we begin to get her settled and she falls asleep, I will go in her room and watch her breath deeply. I will stroke her hair and be grateful that she is safe and that she is mine. I will cry because I love her. I will cry because I cannot believe how big and how smart she is. I will cry and cry.
Because even though this snow day made me cranky, and even though I didn't get to spend it playing outside with my girls, and even though I still feel like shit and my throat feels like it's on fire, I am still grateful. I am so very grateful for all of the moments that I DO have. And hopeful for more. And just maybe the next time it snows it will be on a weekend, or a holiday, or my work will close too . . . and if not, then maybe I'll take a vacation day!
Monday, November 10, 2014
Panic! . . . not the disco kind.
This post will probably be similar to the last in that I am writing in exhaustion and desperation. Those are two words that I feel most days: exhausted and desperate.
It's almost midnight and I should be asleep. The rest of my house is. I can hear all 3 of my loves breathing deeply and I am so glad that they are resting peacefully. But I can't tonight. To be totally transparent: I am anxious. My heart is racing as fast as my mind and they are both moving at a speed that makes me feel dizzy.
So instead of lying in bed like a tortured spirit, I am getting up, opening up, and releasing . . . and like a girl of Gen Y, I am choosing to do so on some form of social media.
I do this a lot lately: panic. I started to struggle with anxiety my senior year of high school. I remember the first "panic attack" that I had. I was driving and I pulled over because I literally thought I was going to die. I thought I was having a heart attack. I got dizzy, sweaty, I was shaking, and my heart and mind felt out of control. I clammed up and almost felt out of my body. I tried to pray but I couldn't get control of my mind. I was so scared and my heart was burning and pounding, like a knife of pain was shooting through my chest, from the front to the back. I threw up and then waited. I don't remember how long I waited but eventually I realized I wasn't dying and felt "with it" enough to drive home.
That happened on and off the rest of my Spring semester of my senior year. It would happen out of the blue and I eventually chalked it up to the stress of life and didn't give it much thought. . . Until about a year later. By the Spring semester of my freshman year of college I truly was a mess. It got to where I had several panic attacks a day. It got so bad at one point, I was scared to leave my room. I hated how out of my mind I felt when it would happen. And it usually happened right in the middle of class or right in the middle of work. I hated it. Hated it.
That was a really hard time for me. My lifestyle wasn't very healthy, as I was barely sleeping, eating greasy/crappy food, and staying up late. I had gained a lot of weight, my face had broken out, and I was really stressed in general. I was "unhappy" and struggled with a lot of self-hatred. One day, I woke up and decided to get help.
I went to the clinic on campus to talk to a doctor. I was so honest about what I was going through. I figured the doctor I was talking to (who barely looked a day over 20) probably thought I was crazy. But I didn't care because I felt crazy and didn't want to feel that way anymore. He quietly listened to me ramble on and on and cry and sob about it all. He nodded his head and said he was going to get something and left the room. I sat there alone, crying. . . and started to have a panic attack.
A couple minutes later, a (female) nurse came in the room and handed me a piece of paper with information about "panic disorder" on it. She sat quietly while I tried to read it as my mind raced and tried to make sense of the words on the paper. She then handed me a prescription for Xanax to walk over to the pharmacy.
I was dumbfounded.
I went home.
I prayed.
I panicked.
I decided to do some research. . . I Googled it.
I decided not to take Xanax. I didn't want something that might help. I wanted a REMEDY.
Let me take a moment and switch gears - If you take Xanax or any other similar drug, I am in NO WAY making a statement about your decision or situation. I am not a doctor. I am not you. I do not know what is best for you and what works for you and how your body is made up. I am not your Creator (or my own) so I am not pretending to have a clue about the drug, or anything relating to it other than the fact that after my tiny bit of reading things found on Google, I just felt that it wasn't for me.
So, instead, I made an appointment with a counselor. I started exercising. (I wish I could say I started eating healthy and sleeping better but those life changes came later)
It got better. I started to panic less and eventually I got to where when I had an "attack", my mind didn't freak out. Instead of getting wrapped up in the chaos and confusion of my brain, I would speak truths to myself - mostly scripture. I did this until my mind would quiet. Often times, my body was still reacting (shaking, shortness of breath and chest pain) but I refused to let my mind react. It almost became a personal challenge. I would start to physically feel the panic setting in and I would immediately start speaking truth to my mind, to my heart and inner self.
I learned to live with it. I'm still learning.
I know that when I am stressed, they are more likely. I know that when I am eating poorly, not sleeping, and very busy, they are more likely.
Currently, I am in a season of a lot of stress. This is another "hard time" for me. My mind is so cluttered with things to remember, responsibilities that I have to meet. . . Like I said, I am exhausted and desperate.
I am alittle lot crankier these days and my head feels in a fog most of the time.
So, as expected, I am struggling with panic attacks. . . but I am hopeful that "This too shall pass."
To be totally honest, I've been "in a rut". I've been guilty of a lot of "stinkin' thinkin'" lately and my attitude has been horrible. I feel most guilty about how this affects those around me. (My family, my co-workers, my friends).
So, it's time to redirect. It's time to start speaking truths again. Not only to my own confused mind, but to those around me. It's time to choose to have a good attitude. It's time to put to practice the things I know in my heart to bring peace, to actively seek the rest that is offered to me (even in the midst of the chaos I create or the chaos the world offers to me).
And it's time to go to rest. Metaphorically and literally . . . because after all of this release, I am no longer anxious, but only tired. (Thank God!)
"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. . . do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me — practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you." - Philippians 4:4-9
It's almost midnight and I should be asleep. The rest of my house is. I can hear all 3 of my loves breathing deeply and I am so glad that they are resting peacefully. But I can't tonight. To be totally transparent: I am anxious. My heart is racing as fast as my mind and they are both moving at a speed that makes me feel dizzy.
So instead of lying in bed like a tortured spirit, I am getting up, opening up, and releasing . . . and like a girl of Gen Y, I am choosing to do so on some form of social media.
I do this a lot lately: panic. I started to struggle with anxiety my senior year of high school. I remember the first "panic attack" that I had. I was driving and I pulled over because I literally thought I was going to die. I thought I was having a heart attack. I got dizzy, sweaty, I was shaking, and my heart and mind felt out of control. I clammed up and almost felt out of my body. I tried to pray but I couldn't get control of my mind. I was so scared and my heart was burning and pounding, like a knife of pain was shooting through my chest, from the front to the back. I threw up and then waited. I don't remember how long I waited but eventually I realized I wasn't dying and felt "with it" enough to drive home.
That happened on and off the rest of my Spring semester of my senior year. It would happen out of the blue and I eventually chalked it up to the stress of life and didn't give it much thought. . . Until about a year later. By the Spring semester of my freshman year of college I truly was a mess. It got to where I had several panic attacks a day. It got so bad at one point, I was scared to leave my room. I hated how out of my mind I felt when it would happen. And it usually happened right in the middle of class or right in the middle of work. I hated it. Hated it.
That was a really hard time for me. My lifestyle wasn't very healthy, as I was barely sleeping, eating greasy/crappy food, and staying up late. I had gained a lot of weight, my face had broken out, and I was really stressed in general. I was "unhappy" and struggled with a lot of self-hatred. One day, I woke up and decided to get help.
I went to the clinic on campus to talk to a doctor. I was so honest about what I was going through. I figured the doctor I was talking to (who barely looked a day over 20) probably thought I was crazy. But I didn't care because I felt crazy and didn't want to feel that way anymore. He quietly listened to me ramble on and on and cry and sob about it all. He nodded his head and said he was going to get something and left the room. I sat there alone, crying. . . and started to have a panic attack.
A couple minutes later, a (female) nurse came in the room and handed me a piece of paper with information about "panic disorder" on it. She sat quietly while I tried to read it as my mind raced and tried to make sense of the words on the paper. She then handed me a prescription for Xanax to walk over to the pharmacy.
I was dumbfounded.
I went home.
I prayed.
I panicked.
I decided to do some research. . . I Googled it.
I decided not to take Xanax. I didn't want something that might help. I wanted a REMEDY.
Let me take a moment and switch gears - If you take Xanax or any other similar drug, I am in NO WAY making a statement about your decision or situation. I am not a doctor. I am not you. I do not know what is best for you and what works for you and how your body is made up. I am not your Creator (or my own) so I am not pretending to have a clue about the drug, or anything relating to it other than the fact that after my tiny bit of reading things found on Google, I just felt that it wasn't for me.
So, instead, I made an appointment with a counselor. I started exercising. (I wish I could say I started eating healthy and sleeping better but those life changes came later)
It got better. I started to panic less and eventually I got to where when I had an "attack", my mind didn't freak out. Instead of getting wrapped up in the chaos and confusion of my brain, I would speak truths to myself - mostly scripture. I did this until my mind would quiet. Often times, my body was still reacting (shaking, shortness of breath and chest pain) but I refused to let my mind react. It almost became a personal challenge. I would start to physically feel the panic setting in and I would immediately start speaking truth to my mind, to my heart and inner self.
I learned to live with it. I'm still learning.
I know that when I am stressed, they are more likely. I know that when I am eating poorly, not sleeping, and very busy, they are more likely.
Currently, I am in a season of a lot of stress. This is another "hard time" for me. My mind is so cluttered with things to remember, responsibilities that I have to meet. . . Like I said, I am exhausted and desperate.
I am a
So, as expected, I am struggling with panic attacks. . . but I am hopeful that "This too shall pass."
To be totally honest, I've been "in a rut". I've been guilty of a lot of "stinkin' thinkin'" lately and my attitude has been horrible. I feel most guilty about how this affects those around me. (My family, my co-workers, my friends).
So, it's time to redirect. It's time to start speaking truths again. Not only to my own confused mind, but to those around me. It's time to choose to have a good attitude. It's time to put to practice the things I know in my heart to bring peace, to actively seek the rest that is offered to me (even in the midst of the chaos I create or the chaos the world offers to me).
And it's time to go to rest. Metaphorically and literally . . . because after all of this release, I am no longer anxious, but only tired. (Thank God!)
"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. . . do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me — practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you." - Philippians 4:4-9
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
I cannot.
These days, I'm stretched pretty thin. Like all moms, the entire time I am awake, I am giving. I am trying to meet someone's needs and often times in neglect of my own.
From the day I found out I was pregnant with each of my girls, my mind was consumed with fulfilling their needs: "Take your prenatals, drink enough water, eat well, rest, exercise. . ."
Then they came out: "Nurse the baby. Change that poopy diaper. Nurse the baby. Eat something so you can nurse. Try to sleep when the baby sleeps. Nurse the baby. . ."
Now with a Princess-3-year-old, a 9-month-old who becomes more aware each moment, and a new full-time job - I often times feel like my brain literally thinks in needs: "Give Essy her vitamins before you get dressed for work and don't forget her suncreen, oh! And she wanted to wear the pink headband. The one with the flowers, not the sparkly one and did I wash her pink dress she asked to wear yesterday? Gah! I need to read to Lucy! I keep forgetting to read to Lucy! She's not going to be able to speak EVER if I don't read to her! Where are my black heels for work? Heels! Ester's shoes! I forgot to clean the mud off of Ester's tennis shoes . . . I'm going to be late to work again and Lucy is still crying because she misses me and she is so big now and will be 1 before I know it and I'm missing all of it looking for these stupid heels!"
That may seem dramatic, but trust me - I go there.Often. Daily.
The truth is this- I can't do it all. Like I said, I am stretched thin - and that's not going to change. Not while I've got 2 girls who need me, a husband who needs me, a job that needs me, extended family that needs me, friendships that need me... and even a me that needs me to do it all. And I can't.
And on top of all of that, my girls are both sick. I don't mean that they have a cold or are fighting a bug or any of that. Both of my girls' guts are sick. Their nervous systems or immune systems or a combination of both are sick. They have some stuff going on inside that I am not (yet) smart enough to fully understand. I spend a lot of my "spare" time reading on ways to try and treat their gut. They both have eczema all over their little bodies, food allergies, allergic reactions to different environmental factors. . . etc. I have gotten some answers to some of it and we have appointments with specialists to try and figure out more - but that's not the point (of this particular blog... bc trust me, already I could write a book on our little family's experience with all of this). . . the point in this moment is it's A LOT for me to try and handle.
And I've come to this conclusion: I can't. I can't handle it all.
BUT HEAR ME NOW - I ALSO CHOOSE TO REST IN THIS CONCLUSION: I CANNOT LORD, BUT YOU CAN.
When I am lying on my bed crying because I cannot for the life of me figure out why Ester has broken out AGAIN in a rash all over her back - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Lucy is crying as I drop her off at daycare - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When my husband looks to me for some attention and I have nothing left in me to give - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Lucy's arm is bleeding because she won't stop scratching in her sleep and I have changed my diet down to fruit, veggies, and meat trying to keep her breast milk as pure as possible and I do not know what else to eliminate - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Ester wakes in the middle of the night and is in a half dream/half awake state of panic for 2 hours just after Lucy has woken for the 3rd time because I have yet to help her learn how to sleep through the night - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am at work and I have to ask how to do something that someone has already showed me how to do 3 times that week - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am brain dead but trying to study for the Series 7 - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I cannot sleep at night because I am running through the list of things that wait for me when I wake up - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I get short with my family because I am so stressed and so tired and so human - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am sleeping. When I am breathing. When I am - I cannot Lord, but You can.
I know everyone has stress. I know mine is probably miniscule. I'm not looking for pity or praise or anything else pointing to me.
I'm looking for JESUS in it all. Jesus in my stress. Jesus in myself. Because that's all I have to cling to and that's all I have to offer. That's the BEST thing I have to offer. I am not enough for my sweet girls. Although every part of me and every bit of my mind and heart LONGS to be enough to satisfy their sweet souls - I am not. I cannot. I know I am needed and I am thankful that God has entrusted those precious babies to me. Please know that. But even in my thankfulness, I recognize that I cannot be it all and so I refuse to live in the lie that I can because all that brings me is a broken heart, discontentment, and bitterness. It makes me hold on to a guilt that I have been freed from -
I want to live in that freedom. In the freedom that this confession brings: I cannot Lord, but You can. The confession that not only shows my desperation but also (and more importantly) God's grace: I cannot Lord, but You can. And You did. You did, Lord - by Jesus.
I am SO thankful, and I am SO desperate and I am SO empty. But I hold on to the HOPE that My God IS enough for me. And Ester. And Lucy. And Derek. And You.
I cannot Lord, but You can.
From the day I found out I was pregnant with each of my girls, my mind was consumed with fulfilling their needs: "Take your prenatals, drink enough water, eat well, rest, exercise. . ."
Then they came out: "Nurse the baby. Change that poopy diaper. Nurse the baby. Eat something so you can nurse. Try to sleep when the baby sleeps. Nurse the baby. . ."
Now with a Princess-3-year-old, a 9-month-old who becomes more aware each moment, and a new full-time job - I often times feel like my brain literally thinks in needs: "Give Essy her vitamins before you get dressed for work and don't forget her suncreen, oh! And she wanted to wear the pink headband. The one with the flowers, not the sparkly one and did I wash her pink dress she asked to wear yesterday? Gah! I need to read to Lucy! I keep forgetting to read to Lucy! She's not going to be able to speak EVER if I don't read to her! Where are my black heels for work? Heels! Ester's shoes! I forgot to clean the mud off of Ester's tennis shoes . . . I'm going to be late to work again and Lucy is still crying because she misses me and she is so big now and will be 1 before I know it and I'm missing all of it looking for these stupid heels!"
That may seem dramatic, but trust me - I go there.
The truth is this- I can't do it all. Like I said, I am stretched thin - and that's not going to change. Not while I've got 2 girls who need me, a husband who needs me, a job that needs me, extended family that needs me, friendships that need me... and even a me that needs me to do it all. And I can't.
And on top of all of that, my girls are both sick. I don't mean that they have a cold or are fighting a bug or any of that. Both of my girls' guts are sick. Their nervous systems or immune systems or a combination of both are sick. They have some stuff going on inside that I am not (yet) smart enough to fully understand. I spend a lot of my "spare" time reading on ways to try and treat their gut. They both have eczema all over their little bodies, food allergies, allergic reactions to different environmental factors. . . etc. I have gotten some answers to some of it and we have appointments with specialists to try and figure out more - but that's not the point (of this particular blog... bc trust me, already I could write a book on our little family's experience with all of this). . . the point in this moment is it's A LOT for me to try and handle.
And I've come to this conclusion: I can't. I can't handle it all.
BUT HEAR ME NOW - I ALSO CHOOSE TO REST IN THIS CONCLUSION: I CANNOT LORD, BUT YOU CAN.
When I am lying on my bed crying because I cannot for the life of me figure out why Ester has broken out AGAIN in a rash all over her back - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Lucy is crying as I drop her off at daycare - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When my husband looks to me for some attention and I have nothing left in me to give - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Lucy's arm is bleeding because she won't stop scratching in her sleep and I have changed my diet down to fruit, veggies, and meat trying to keep her breast milk as pure as possible and I do not know what else to eliminate - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When Ester wakes in the middle of the night and is in a half dream/half awake state of panic for 2 hours just after Lucy has woken for the 3rd time because I have yet to help her learn how to sleep through the night - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am at work and I have to ask how to do something that someone has already showed me how to do 3 times that week - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am brain dead but trying to study for the Series 7 - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I cannot sleep at night because I am running through the list of things that wait for me when I wake up - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I get short with my family because I am so stressed and so tired and so human - I cannot Lord, but You can.
When I am sleeping. When I am breathing. When I am - I cannot Lord, but You can.
I know everyone has stress. I know mine is probably miniscule. I'm not looking for pity or praise or anything else pointing to me.
I'm looking for JESUS in it all. Jesus in my stress. Jesus in myself. Because that's all I have to cling to and that's all I have to offer. That's the BEST thing I have to offer. I am not enough for my sweet girls. Although every part of me and every bit of my mind and heart LONGS to be enough to satisfy their sweet souls - I am not. I cannot. I know I am needed and I am thankful that God has entrusted those precious babies to me. Please know that. But even in my thankfulness, I recognize that I cannot be it all and so I refuse to live in the lie that I can because all that brings me is a broken heart, discontentment, and bitterness. It makes me hold on to a guilt that I have been freed from -
I want to live in that freedom. In the freedom that this confession brings: I cannot Lord, but You can. The confession that not only shows my desperation but also (and more importantly) God's grace: I cannot Lord, but You can. And You did. You did, Lord - by Jesus.
I am SO thankful, and I am SO desperate and I am SO empty. But I hold on to the HOPE that My God IS enough for me. And Ester. And Lucy. And Derek. And You.
I cannot Lord, but You can.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Oddy Mommy Body
Disclaimer: Men - read at your own risk. I am not going to sugar-coat any of this. It may get too "gross" or crude for you. Women - if you are too prim and proper for "toilet talk", you should stop reading now.
You're still reading! Ok, well, you've been warned.
Last week I was curious so I stood on my scale. I pulled it out from behind a large stack of toilet paper and boxes of tampons under my bathroom sink and dusted it off. I stood on it and looked down. . . WOW! I weigh my "pre-Lucy" weight! At first I got really excited. Then I got really sad. This sinking feeling came over me and I got off the stupid scale. I put it back under the sink, and behind even more things to create more of a barrier between us.
How is this possible?! The scale says something that you would think would make me really happy and even proud of myself for. I mean, this is why I endure the early morning/late evening runs around my neighborhood. This is my motivation for the one or two times I denied an offer to indulge in a sweet treat. But somewhere along the way of trying to get "back into shape", it didn't happen. The shape part. The number on the scale is the same, but the mirror reminds me that my body didn't get the memo to return to it's original, pre-Lucy form.
My tummy still very much looks like a little person grew inside of it, stretched it out, and then exited - leaving a saggy chunk of skin that hangs over my belt. The skin is even a different color! And that "linea nigra" still hasn't gotten the message that we are no longer pregnant so it is free to go. I have a 7 month old, for crying out loud!!
This all happened after I had Ester as well. And honestly, it wasn't until she was about 2 years old that I started to feel (and look) like my normal self. It took that long to get comfortable in my new skin. And it took that long to realize that I would never fit back into my size 0 pants so I should just stop trying... I mean, my hips had stretched to fit a baby down my birth canal so it makes sense they didn't shrink back! But, don't you know - as soon as I started to feel okay with my new post-baby body, I got knocked up again!! Go figure. (I guess Derek was likin' what he saw as well) ;)
But even though it took that long for me to get over obsessing over some number on the scale, my skin didn't get to this sad or saggy state the first time around. I do, however, remember what my chest looked like after I stopped nursing Ester. She nursed for a year and a half. That's a looooong time to have someone sucking on and pulling on your boobs - Every. Single. Day. For 18 months my boobs filled up and were emptied. They were big then small. Big. Small. Repeat. But then when I stopped nursing her, they not only remained small, they defined the laws of gravity. (I said defiNed, not to be confused with defied.) I wasn't prepared for that. I had always had smaller boobs but at least they were perky! (That's how I made myself feel better about their pre-teen size) But after breastfeeding, the perkiness was no more. They looked more like deflated balloons.
Speaking of nursing, can I just switch gears for a second and say that breastfeeding your baby while being a working mom is a job in and of itself! Gracious! I literally get to pump myself every day, like a cow! But at least cows get a barn! Know what I get? A cold electrical closet right off of our break-room. You know, the room where the computer brains and all that techy stuff is at. And they have to keep it cold so the system doesn't overheat. So every workday, I go into this little closet, set up in a corner and PRAY that the tech guys don't walk in on my milking myself. Then, when I finish, I get to carry my giant pump back to my desk and try to do so discreetly. I'm pretty sure most of the men think I am just bringing in a cooler sized lunch box every day and that I must have some anxiety problem because I randomly disappear into the tech closet. I hate it when a man is in the break-room and I bust out of the closet, probably scaring the crap out of them because no one EVER comes out of there.
-- End work pumping rant. --
-- Continue body rant. --
You know how they say "you don't know what you got til it's gone"? In this case, I believe that to be true. Anytime I hear of another friend or family member getting pregnant, I give them all the same advice: Go home and take pictures of yourself in your lingerie! DO IT NOW! Because you may NEVER look like that again!! And you will want to remember how cute you were and how your skin looked before it was a collection of stretch marks, like a road map! (so seriously, if you just found out you are pregnant or you haven't been pregnant yet - stop wasting your time on this blog and go take some pictures of yourself! Work it!! Go schedule a boudoir photo shoot or something)
I hope you all know, I write all of this in fun. I feel the need to assure you that I do no dislike myself. I may not always like what I see but I have learned to laugh a little and carry on. I truly do love my body (not in the "look at me" kind of way that may have sounded but in the "I want to take care of myself and be a healthy person" kind of way.
I hope you also know that although my almost 29 year old body after two babies doesn't look like the 24 year old body I had, I would never trade it. I wear my new skin with pride. I don't cry about it or stare at it much. I cloth it in things I like, I dress it up sometimes, and I even un-dress it for my husband. I know that he is well aware of the toll that childbirth took on me. He watched them both enter this world and I am sure that he is grateful because not only did I willingly go through that, he is grateful that he will never have to. He has watched my body grow and shrink, grow and shrink - so that we can have our two beauties. I have (and continue to) offer my body to them for growth and nourishment. I am grateful for the miracle of being able to have my own children and breastfeed both of them. It is not something I take for granted. And I would trade all the bikinis in the world for my one-pieces.
I just also think it is healthy and good to laugh at yourself a little. I want so badly to teach my girls to love themselves in a way that is not dependent on a mirror. To dance and frolic and run and jump and play hard in their skin. To embrace their colors and shapes and sizes. To accept their talents and even their weaknesses (they may not both be so lucky to inherit their Daddy's love and ability in sports and may both end up the last man picked for kickball like I was). I want them to believe their bodies are good because something much bigger and greater than them has made it to be that way. I want them to be thankful for what I went through (and continue to go through) and draw strength from it, because someday (Lord willing) they may also have children. I also want them to know it is okay to not always like what they see, but to consciously choose to love it and embrace it. I want to be able to be open about this and not have them feel any shame for the changes they see and feel.
We go through so much for our babies. Physically, mentally, emotionally. . . and I want them to know that I am not perfect, but I am intentionally choosing to be a channel of love for them - one that is open to the Lord working through me, to show them the sweetness He offers and choose it instead of a lot of chaos and confusion and even deception that this world tries to offer them.
I want them to celebrate their beauty, and the beauty of others. Outwardly and inwardly.
So, I hope that you have laughed with me. I welcome you to laugh at me. I am comfortable in my own skin enough to do that and invite you to do the same. But I also invite you to love yourself. Not in a self-seeking sort of way that toots your own horn, but in a way that is grateful for what you have been given - the opportunity to live today and use your body to do so. Whether that be through a hug, a smile, or heck - (my personal favorite) - through a funky dance!!
And if you are a mommy, love your tummy. Love your stretch marks. Love all of the left-overs that remind you of the miracle of your baby (whether that baby be with you here on earth, or waiting for you in heaven).
1. Ester inside - 2011. Photo taken by http://hayleymichelphotography.com/
2. Lucy inside - 2013. Photo taken by http://hayleymichelphotography.com/
3. My sweet family outside - 2014. Photo taken by https://www.facebook.com/SherriGlennPhotography
You're still reading! Ok, well, you've been warned.
Last week I was curious so I stood on my scale. I pulled it out from behind a large stack of toilet paper and boxes of tampons under my bathroom sink and dusted it off. I stood on it and looked down. . . WOW! I weigh my "pre-Lucy" weight! At first I got really excited. Then I got really sad. This sinking feeling came over me and I got off the stupid scale. I put it back under the sink, and behind even more things to create more of a barrier between us.
How is this possible?! The scale says something that you would think would make me really happy and even proud of myself for. I mean, this is why I endure the early morning/late evening runs around my neighborhood. This is my motivation for the one or two times I denied an offer to indulge in a sweet treat. But somewhere along the way of trying to get "back into shape", it didn't happen. The shape part. The number on the scale is the same, but the mirror reminds me that my body didn't get the memo to return to it's original, pre-Lucy form.
My tummy still very much looks like a little person grew inside of it, stretched it out, and then exited - leaving a saggy chunk of skin that hangs over my belt. The skin is even a different color! And that "linea nigra" still hasn't gotten the message that we are no longer pregnant so it is free to go. I have a 7 month old, for crying out loud!!
This all happened after I had Ester as well. And honestly, it wasn't until she was about 2 years old that I started to feel (and look) like my normal self. It took that long to get comfortable in my new skin. And it took that long to realize that I would never fit back into my size 0 pants so I should just stop trying... I mean, my hips had stretched to fit a baby down my birth canal so it makes sense they didn't shrink back! But, don't you know - as soon as I started to feel okay with my new post-baby body, I got knocked up again!! Go figure. (I guess Derek was likin' what he saw as well) ;)
But even though it took that long for me to get over obsessing over some number on the scale, my skin didn't get to this sad or saggy state the first time around. I do, however, remember what my chest looked like after I stopped nursing Ester. She nursed for a year and a half. That's a looooong time to have someone sucking on and pulling on your boobs - Every. Single. Day. For 18 months my boobs filled up and were emptied. They were big then small. Big. Small. Repeat. But then when I stopped nursing her, they not only remained small, they defined the laws of gravity. (I said defiNed, not to be confused with defied.) I wasn't prepared for that. I had always had smaller boobs but at least they were perky! (That's how I made myself feel better about their pre-teen size) But after breastfeeding, the perkiness was no more. They looked more like deflated balloons.
Speaking of nursing, can I just switch gears for a second and say that breastfeeding your baby while being a working mom is a job in and of itself! Gracious! I literally get to pump myself every day, like a cow! But at least cows get a barn! Know what I get? A cold electrical closet right off of our break-room. You know, the room where the computer brains and all that techy stuff is at. And they have to keep it cold so the system doesn't overheat. So every workday, I go into this little closet, set up in a corner and PRAY that the tech guys don't walk in on my milking myself. Then, when I finish, I get to carry my giant pump back to my desk and try to do so discreetly. I'm pretty sure most of the men think I am just bringing in a cooler sized lunch box every day and that I must have some anxiety problem because I randomly disappear into the tech closet. I hate it when a man is in the break-room and I bust out of the closet, probably scaring the crap out of them because no one EVER comes out of there.
-- End work pumping rant. --
-- Continue body rant. --
You know how they say "you don't know what you got til it's gone"? In this case, I believe that to be true. Anytime I hear of another friend or family member getting pregnant, I give them all the same advice: Go home and take pictures of yourself in your lingerie! DO IT NOW! Because you may NEVER look like that again!! And you will want to remember how cute you were and how your skin looked before it was a collection of stretch marks, like a road map! (so seriously, if you just found out you are pregnant or you haven't been pregnant yet - stop wasting your time on this blog and go take some pictures of yourself! Work it!! Go schedule a boudoir photo shoot or something)
I hope you all know, I write all of this in fun. I feel the need to assure you that I do no dislike myself. I may not always like what I see but I have learned to laugh a little and carry on. I truly do love my body (not in the "look at me" kind of way that may have sounded but in the "I want to take care of myself and be a healthy person" kind of way.
I hope you also know that although my almost 29 year old body after two babies doesn't look like the 24 year old body I had, I would never trade it. I wear my new skin with pride. I don't cry about it or stare at it much. I cloth it in things I like, I dress it up sometimes, and I even un-dress it for my husband. I know that he is well aware of the toll that childbirth took on me. He watched them both enter this world and I am sure that he is grateful because not only did I willingly go through that, he is grateful that he will never have to. He has watched my body grow and shrink, grow and shrink - so that we can have our two beauties. I have (and continue to) offer my body to them for growth and nourishment. I am grateful for the miracle of being able to have my own children and breastfeed both of them. It is not something I take for granted. And I would trade all the bikinis in the world for my one-pieces.
I just also think it is healthy and good to laugh at yourself a little. I want so badly to teach my girls to love themselves in a way that is not dependent on a mirror. To dance and frolic and run and jump and play hard in their skin. To embrace their colors and shapes and sizes. To accept their talents and even their weaknesses (they may not both be so lucky to inherit their Daddy's love and ability in sports and may both end up the last man picked for kickball like I was). I want them to believe their bodies are good because something much bigger and greater than them has made it to be that way. I want them to be thankful for what I went through (and continue to go through) and draw strength from it, because someday (Lord willing) they may also have children. I also want them to know it is okay to not always like what they see, but to consciously choose to love it and embrace it. I want to be able to be open about this and not have them feel any shame for the changes they see and feel.
We go through so much for our babies. Physically, mentally, emotionally. . . and I want them to know that I am not perfect, but I am intentionally choosing to be a channel of love for them - one that is open to the Lord working through me, to show them the sweetness He offers and choose it instead of a lot of chaos and confusion and even deception that this world tries to offer them.
I want them to celebrate their beauty, and the beauty of others. Outwardly and inwardly.
So, I hope that you have laughed with me. I welcome you to laugh at me. I am comfortable in my own skin enough to do that and invite you to do the same. But I also invite you to love yourself. Not in a self-seeking sort of way that toots your own horn, but in a way that is grateful for what you have been given - the opportunity to live today and use your body to do so. Whether that be through a hug, a smile, or heck - (my personal favorite) - through a funky dance!!
And if you are a mommy, love your tummy. Love your stretch marks. Love all of the left-overs that remind you of the miracle of your baby (whether that baby be with you here on earth, or waiting for you in heaven).
2. Lucy inside - 2013. Photo taken by http://hayleymichelphotography.com/
3. My sweet family outside - 2014. Photo taken by https://www.facebook.com/SherriGlennPhotography
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
A Time to Transition
When I look back at the last decade, I remember my life in seasons. There have been "dry" seasons where I felt like I was just going through the motions like a robot and there have been seasons of growth and joy (like when we lived in Honduras). Of all the different phases, the one that sticks out to me the most was our family's season of trauma and crises. If you know me well, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't, you may remember when I was updating my facebook status, asking for prayer for my niece, Lily. Lily lived 40(ish) hours. She was one of 3 deaths that happened in our family in less than 9 months. That season also included many sleepless nights for reasons I am not at liberty to discuss... That season was stormy. A dark cluster of pain and anger and confusion and desperation. It lasted from about May of 2011 to Feb of 2013.
Around Feb of 2013, life went on autopilot for me. I was tired of feeling so much all the time. God let me rest and honestly, I feel like he just sat and let me be. That was so refreshing. That was a really quiet time for me, like the few moments when you are waking up from a bad dream and you are deciphering between what is true and what you just saw. It was foggy numbness and He (God) slowly woke me up, breathing life and clarity into my bones.
From then until now, that is what has been happening for me. God is so kind and gentle and has given me time to draw me back into actively and intentionally "living". I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else. I don't know if I fully understand it myself, but I know that He is kind. And I also know that He has been up to something. God is ALWAYS up to something.
Thankfully. Because I am pretty much comfortable being up to nothing.
Right now, there is a stirring inside me. A swirling of energy happening and unlike what I described in the first paragraph of this post, I do not feel confused about it. I do not feel lost within it. I feel . . . grateful. Anxiously grateful.
There is a lot of transition that is taking place, but instead of feeling overwhelmed by that, I am choosing to feel "sifted." Like God is shaking out the access and unnecessary in order to purify a part of the whole. This is an essential step in the creative process, in the growing process.
My oldest sweetie, Ester, doesn't like change. She is comfortable with routine and does not deviate well. As result, when we know change is coming, we try really hard to prepare her for it. We have several conversations about what is to come so that she is not caught off guard. This helps her warm to it, and and ease into it. But there are also times when we cannot prepare her for change. When we don't know or when some unsuspected thing occurs. At first, she wigs out. She cries and fights it. But with time and us talking her through it, or helping her process it, she eventually trusts us and let's go.
I bring this up because I am a lot like Ester. In fact, I am finding that many of my struggles, I expose to my sweet girl and then I see them begin to take root in her (but that is another topic and one where I hold on to the freedom that grace brings for both of us). - Ah! Tangent! Back to change: I tend to fight it most of the time but then realize that there is very little control I have of it all so slowly (and with white knuckled fists), I release it- little by little.
So, that's where I'm at. In the middle of a lot of changes: I am going back to work full time for the first time since I had Ester. Ester and Lucy will both be in full time child care as result. Derek is in the middle of some transitions at work that will require more of his time. Derek's parents are moving to Oklahoma City after pastoring in Ardmore for 20 years. I have a nephew on the way. My sister is moving. My other sister is probably moving within the year and switching career paths . . . ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. Lots of change. Lots of learning and unlearning. Lots of sifting and moving parts. And as result - lots of letting go.
But in it all, I hold on to this: God is good. He is in control and I am not.
Around Feb of 2013, life went on autopilot for me. I was tired of feeling so much all the time. God let me rest and honestly, I feel like he just sat and let me be. That was so refreshing. That was a really quiet time for me, like the few moments when you are waking up from a bad dream and you are deciphering between what is true and what you just saw. It was foggy numbness and He (God) slowly woke me up, breathing life and clarity into my bones.
From then until now, that is what has been happening for me. God is so kind and gentle and has given me time to draw me back into actively and intentionally "living". I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else. I don't know if I fully understand it myself, but I know that He is kind. And I also know that He has been up to something. God is ALWAYS up to something.
Thankfully. Because I am pretty much comfortable being up to nothing.
Right now, there is a stirring inside me. A swirling of energy happening and unlike what I described in the first paragraph of this post, I do not feel confused about it. I do not feel lost within it. I feel . . . grateful. Anxiously grateful.
There is a lot of transition that is taking place, but instead of feeling overwhelmed by that, I am choosing to feel "sifted." Like God is shaking out the access and unnecessary in order to purify a part of the whole. This is an essential step in the creative process, in the growing process.
My oldest sweetie, Ester, doesn't like change. She is comfortable with routine and does not deviate well. As result, when we know change is coming, we try really hard to prepare her for it. We have several conversations about what is to come so that she is not caught off guard. This helps her warm to it, and and ease into it. But there are also times when we cannot prepare her for change. When we don't know or when some unsuspected thing occurs. At first, she wigs out. She cries and fights it. But with time and us talking her through it, or helping her process it, she eventually trusts us and let's go.
I bring this up because I am a lot like Ester. In fact, I am finding that many of my struggles, I expose to my sweet girl and then I see them begin to take root in her (but that is another topic and one where I hold on to the freedom that grace brings for both of us). - Ah! Tangent! Back to change: I tend to fight it most of the time but then realize that there is very little control I have of it all so slowly (and with white knuckled fists), I release it- little by little.
So, that's where I'm at. In the middle of a lot of changes: I am going back to work full time for the first time since I had Ester. Ester and Lucy will both be in full time child care as result. Derek is in the middle of some transitions at work that will require more of his time. Derek's parents are moving to Oklahoma City after pastoring in Ardmore for 20 years. I have a nephew on the way. My sister is moving. My other sister is probably moving within the year and switching career paths . . . ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. Lots of change. Lots of learning and unlearning. Lots of sifting and moving parts. And as result - lots of letting go.
But in it all, I hold on to this: God is good. He is in control and I am not.
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