It's a funny thing, antidepressants (ADs). On the one hand, I see them as beneficial for so many people. On the other, I tend to consider them the very last option for myself. I'm not really anti-medication, I just prefer to find natural ways to nurture myself first.
The first time I took ADs was a severe (to me) depression that followed my infertility diagnosis. Now is the second, and this time I don't feel depressed so much as I am anxious, stressed, feeling guilty, and suffering sleep disorders. Well, it turns out that anxiety and depression are like fraternal twins. I also have learned that, sometimes, regardless of the healing that follows depression, it can come back through a simple chemical imbalance.
So I shouldn't feel guilty about needing help. I cannot deny a conflict in my heart because I will always be profoundly grateful to God for his gift of my son, but for now I'm moving forward with medication. After only two weeks on the AD I can honestly say that I feel like a new woman. I'm not crazy-happy-unicorns-and-rainbows happy, but the ball of tension I have carried around in my gut has subsided. I'm much more patient and joyful with my family, and my son has been doing better because of it. Case in point: the other day my son was making ugly faces at me in defiance for gently telling him to take off his shoes. I made a similar face and genuinely laughed out loud, and he reacted by also laughing hysterically. It was awesome.
I guess this is my season for getting practical help while continuing to seek closeness with God, family, and friends.
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
November 17, 2014
October 30, 2014
working mother guilt
I sat in the chair in my therapist's office the other day, filling out a brief questionnaire to guage my level of depression. The answers had numbered scores next to them: 0, 1, 2, 3. I ticked each one off -- 0, 1, 1, 0, then came across the one asking me how guity I feel. 3. Guilty as charged.
So here's a not-so-brief confession and list for my typical week's full of working mother guilt. I feel guilty for:
Why in the world am I beating myself up? No wonder I'm halfway to being a basket case every time my son has an unstoppable, stratospheric temper tantrum. On some level I'm busy blaming myself and, yes, feeling guilty for not preventing it.
I realized something recently. It's not just the guilt of a working mother. Because of the living hell I endured through my two miscarriages and infertility diagnosis followed by God's gift of my son, I have this tendency to think of my gift of motherhood as “happily ever after.” As in, I should spend every day being grateful and not blown apart by the challenges every other mother on the planet experiences especially if she's working outside the home. Some might call this survivor guilt.
Not that I'm not grateful every day, but that’s just not realistic. Tomorrow has its own set of challenges. My biggest challenge right now isn't finding my next job (although that does take a lot of mental energy). It's accepting the reality that parenting is hard emotional work regardless of the journey to get here, and that I'm as human as the next mom with a mind and heart and needs of my own. The fact that my needs generally come dead last on any given day is, I suppose, beside the point.
I don't think antidepressants are going to absolve me or otherwise erase these guilty feelings, so I'd better look elsewhere. I'll explore that more in an upcoming post.
So here's a not-so-brief confession and list for my typical week's full of working mother guilt. I feel guilty for:
- Working part-time
- Working at all
- Considering working full-time
- Wanting to work and not having the desire (capability?) to stay home
- Having my child in daycare
- Considering having my child in daycare full-time
- Having my child in therapy someday for all the daycare he endures now (if some parenting experts are to be believed)
- Not fixing healthier meals more often
- Feeding my child a steady diet of mac & cheese instead of kale (no wait -- I don't feel guilty about that)
- Weight gain
- Spending money on clothes as a result of weight gain
- Imperfect parenting
- Judging my husband's parenting
- Not potty training my child before he's 3
- Inconsistent potty instruction
- Not using sticker charts for potty or chores or whatever the hell else they're used for
- Letting my son swallow gum instead of fishing it out of his mouth (or giving it to him in the first place)
- Praying and reading my Bible inconsistently
- Forgetting to pray or read
- Blowing off prayer or reading
- Not volunteering more
- Not wanting to volunteer at all
- Wondering whether I should volunteer
Why in the world am I beating myself up? No wonder I'm halfway to being a basket case every time my son has an unstoppable, stratospheric temper tantrum. On some level I'm busy blaming myself and, yes, feeling guilty for not preventing it.
I realized something recently. It's not just the guilt of a working mother. Because of the living hell I endured through my two miscarriages and infertility diagnosis followed by God's gift of my son, I have this tendency to think of my gift of motherhood as “happily ever after.” As in, I should spend every day being grateful and not blown apart by the challenges every other mother on the planet experiences especially if she's working outside the home. Some might call this survivor guilt.
Not that I'm not grateful every day, but that’s just not realistic. Tomorrow has its own set of challenges. My biggest challenge right now isn't finding my next job (although that does take a lot of mental energy). It's accepting the reality that parenting is hard emotional work regardless of the journey to get here, and that I'm as human as the next mom with a mind and heart and needs of my own. The fact that my needs generally come dead last on any given day is, I suppose, beside the point.
I don't think antidepressants are going to absolve me or otherwise erase these guilty feelings, so I'd better look elsewhere. I'll explore that more in an upcoming post.
October 27, 2014
losing his last nap and my sanity with it
My son's life is a series of transitions, and currently he is transitioning away from his midday nap. I'm not sure, but I think this transition is supposed to last a couple of months decades. Some days, he naps. Others, only if he's strapped into a carseat and forced to sit still for an hour. Still others, like this past weekend, he skips the nap and slips into a coma right before dinnertime.
Friday we let him nap since we couldn't reasonably wake him, then he was a major crankybutt until bedtime. Sunday we just gave in and put him to bed. Predictably, he was awake at 5 this morning. Argh!!!
Meanwhile, I've started seeing my therapist again, and my next appointment is tomorrow. I’m thinking of going back on antidepressants for a while. My insomnia is just an absolute plague, and when I can’t sleep I can’t handle my son very well (let alone the rest of my life). Case in point: Yesterday was day 6 of terrible sleep for me. The day went okay, but of course the boy didn’t nap. Late in the afternoon he just got more and more upset, throwing tantrums over next to nothing. I knew it was because he was exhausted, but every episode just ratcheted up my stress level. I was trying to put lotion on him after his shower and he got all fussy, yelling etc., then he full-on hit me in the face (not hard, of course). I grabbed his arms and rather yelled “I know you’re upset but I won’t let you hit me!” This shocked him enough that he burst into tears, so I held him and he continued fighting me. My husband took over and I just sat in the chair in our son's room sobbing, helpless to the situation.
In a way, it was a blessing that he crashed at 5 and my husband and I had a quiet evening together (we even got to eat dinner in front of the TV!), but then of course I couldn’t sleep and then he was up at 5 this morning… Whatever "it" is, I’m starting to lose it.
As my therapist reminded me last week, a happy mom is a good mom. What's a stressed-out, depressed, overweight, insomniac mom??
The most productive thing I did last night, since I was awake, was go into the living room in the dark and talk to God. Actually, I argued with him. As I poured out my frustration, I said I felt like I was talking to a brick wall, and asked Him to let me know He was actually listening. After a while, I turned on a light and started reading my Bible -- a Good News Translation version that my dad gave to me on my 13th birthday. I randomly flipped over to the middle section, wordlessly asking for a Psalm. Up in the left hand corner was a drawing of a person leaning over another one who was lying in bed, and the caption was from Psalm 23:4. "Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me." Tears in my eyes, I turned off the light and went back to bed.
Friday we let him nap since we couldn't reasonably wake him, then he was a major crankybutt until bedtime. Sunday we just gave in and put him to bed. Predictably, he was awake at 5 this morning. Argh!!!
Meanwhile, I've started seeing my therapist again, and my next appointment is tomorrow. I’m thinking of going back on antidepressants for a while. My insomnia is just an absolute plague, and when I can’t sleep I can’t handle my son very well (let alone the rest of my life). Case in point: Yesterday was day 6 of terrible sleep for me. The day went okay, but of course the boy didn’t nap. Late in the afternoon he just got more and more upset, throwing tantrums over next to nothing. I knew it was because he was exhausted, but every episode just ratcheted up my stress level. I was trying to put lotion on him after his shower and he got all fussy, yelling etc., then he full-on hit me in the face (not hard, of course). I grabbed his arms and rather yelled “I know you’re upset but I won’t let you hit me!” This shocked him enough that he burst into tears, so I held him and he continued fighting me. My husband took over and I just sat in the chair in our son's room sobbing, helpless to the situation.
In a way, it was a blessing that he crashed at 5 and my husband and I had a quiet evening together (we even got to eat dinner in front of the TV!), but then of course I couldn’t sleep and then he was up at 5 this morning… Whatever "it" is, I’m starting to lose it.
As my therapist reminded me last week, a happy mom is a good mom. What's a stressed-out, depressed, overweight, insomniac mom??
The most productive thing I did last night, since I was awake, was go into the living room in the dark and talk to God. Actually, I argued with him. As I poured out my frustration, I said I felt like I was talking to a brick wall, and asked Him to let me know He was actually listening. After a while, I turned on a light and started reading my Bible -- a Good News Translation version that my dad gave to me on my 13th birthday. I randomly flipped over to the middle section, wordlessly asking for a Psalm. Up in the left hand corner was a drawing of a person leaning over another one who was lying in bed, and the caption was from Psalm 23:4. "Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me." Tears in my eyes, I turned off the light and went back to bed.
April 21, 2014
when is it time to go back to work full time?
Yesterday, on a whim, I decided to see what openings there
might be at the last place I worked before being laid off. What I found
surprised me – they currently have several openings in the department I worked –
and got me thinking.
Do I want to work there again?
Am I ready to work full-time?
Will my son be okay going to daycare 5 days a week?
What’s going to happen where I work now?
Before I could answer these questions in my head, I wrote an
email to my closest contact there. She was my first supervisor, someone I admire
very much, and probably the closest I’ve come to having a mentor. I invited her
to join me for lunch to catch up. The gears in my head have been turning ever
since, and I spent last night trying desperately to sleep.
When it comes to my career, I’ve always been fairly casual
on-the-job but very proactive in-between jobs. While that MO never bothered me
in the past, I’ve come to understand that until recently I simply didn’t take
my career very seriously. Sure, every job I’ve had has built on my experience,
and I’ve never taken a professional step backward. But I also haven’t found a
professional home despite my searching – someplace I could settle in and count
on advancing periodically. With my last layoff, I finally learned that no
matter how hard I try to do the best I can, and no matter how grateful I am,
things can still slip through my fingers and leave me standing on a cliff faced
with yet another chasm of unwanted change.
My coworkers at that time showed me an unexpected level of
support, and expressed more sympathy for me than perhaps I felt for myself. After
all, there was nothing I could have done; I was one of several let go who still
carried a Temporary status and was therefore vulnerable to budgetary
constraints. After the initial “This too will pass” attitude wore off, though, I
was angry for a little while. I fought against the temptation to wallow in
questions like “Why is it always me?” and “Why can't I find a professional
home when others stay at their jobs for 20 years?”
My challenge was to let go; to stop trying to hold on to unpredictable
things, pray for my situation, and do what’s right in front of me. In this
case, it meant staging our condo for sale, connecting with other moms through
church, buying a house and moving, and settling into the reality of another
dream that finally came true. I was grateful for the time I had to dedicate to
all these things, and when I knew after several months I’d either have to pull our son from daycare
or get some kind of a job, God
provided one that couldn’t have fit my situation more perfectly.
In three months, that perfect situation (my six-month
contract) will end and I have no idea if I’ll be offered something more or if I’ll
be starting over. So it makes sense to shake the career branches a bit and see
what’s going on. In other words, the timing could
be perfect yet again. But I don’t trust what I see, not really. So I’m
training myself yet again to let go and let God, and do what’s in front of me.
Then there's the issue of how this would impact my family, and what I could do to make the most of work and home. I still have my son every Friday, and I try to make the most of that time even though it can be exhausting. It's hard to constantly juggle life's demands and never know when I'll be given another ball to juggle or when one will be taken away. So I am intentionally recognizing the gifts of the age he is while trying to make the most of my current schedule. If I'm being honest, another way to put it is to say I feel like I can never relax because everything is temporary. It's irritating and stressful.
My devotional this morning is right on target:
Matthew 6:34
34 “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow
will be anxious about itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”
October 23, 2013
the daily battle and the perfect mom
Did I mention that my 70% sweet, wonderful, love-of-my-life son is a toddler? Okay, make that 90% depending on the day. We are now full-throttle into the game of the daily battles. What does he disagree about?
Mercy.
From what I read, this is about him asserting his independence. Okay, that's understandable. So, being the diplomatic professional I was before I got laid off, I change tactics. I offer alternatives. I let him have his way for a few minutes before I carry him off slung over my shoulder. In short, I do whatever it takes to get from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. before crawling into the shower and pouring a 72 oz. glass of wine. (slight exaggeration)
One thing I'm trying is something called Toddler-ease, from the book The Happiest Toddler on the Block. It's a primitive way of talking to the boy in the heat of a tantrum -- to get his attention and let him know that I know how he feels. I've tried this several times over the last few days, and... I dunno. I'm not seeing much progress yet but I'm not giving up either.
The rest is a mystery. I know, I know, this will pass. New challenges will come and today's struggles will morph into memories of beauty and strength.
Today in my MOPS group (which is fast becoming a beacon of shared sanity in my ocean of mystery), a woman came to talk to us. I was an hour late, what with furiously cleaning the condo for a showing, but what I remembered from her wasn't in her talk. It was at our table later, where she wisely reminded us:
"There is no perfect mom. There is a perfect God working through you."
Amen to that. And what a huge relief to know that it actually doesn't all depend on me. I can point to Him as the ultimate authority and say that He has given me authority as a parent. That's a far more comfortable place to be.
- Eating
- Drinking
- Sitting in the chair
- Changing diapers
- Getting shoes on
- Getting out the door
- Getting in the car seat
- Getting to the front door from the car seat
- Brushing teeth (I'm talking WW3, people)
- Getting off our bed, into his room, and eventually after 2-3 stories into the crib
Mercy.
From what I read, this is about him asserting his independence. Okay, that's understandable. So, being the diplomatic professional I was before I got laid off, I change tactics. I offer alternatives. I let him have his way for a few minutes before I carry him off slung over my shoulder. In short, I do whatever it takes to get from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. before crawling into the shower and pouring a 72 oz. glass of wine. (slight exaggeration)
One thing I'm trying is something called Toddler-ease, from the book The Happiest Toddler on the Block. It's a primitive way of talking to the boy in the heat of a tantrum -- to get his attention and let him know that I know how he feels. I've tried this several times over the last few days, and... I dunno. I'm not seeing much progress yet but I'm not giving up either.
The rest is a mystery. I know, I know, this will pass. New challenges will come and today's struggles will morph into memories of beauty and strength.
Today in my MOPS group (which is fast becoming a beacon of shared sanity in my ocean of mystery), a woman came to talk to us. I was an hour late, what with furiously cleaning the condo for a showing, but what I remembered from her wasn't in her talk. It was at our table later, where she wisely reminded us:
"There is no perfect mom. There is a perfect God working through you."
Amen to that. And what a huge relief to know that it actually doesn't all depend on me. I can point to Him as the ultimate authority and say that He has given me authority as a parent. That's a far more comfortable place to be.
March 27, 2013
and the best parenting award goes to… nobody
I hate it when I snap at my husband for talking to our son
as if he has no idea what we’re saying, and that he’s not a dog that only pays
attention to cadence and pitch. He’s old enough that he probably does know exactly what we’re saying and
will someday regurgitate choice words for us in all their glory.
I kind of hate it when it seems like I’m more effective at
calming our son down. Or getting him to eat. Or whatever. Because it’s just not
true. I could be smug at such moments, but I’m not because I hate the idea that
somehow my husband might be internalizing some of these moments and assuming
his heyday of fathering will come when our son is of a more interacting, active
age (you know, walking and talking and itching to build model airplanes).
At every turn, I am reminded just by looking at him that our
son needs both of his parents, and different isn’t necessarily wrong when it
comes to parenting styles. I see it when he lifts the boy in the air and makes him
giggle wildly, or gently tosses him around the bed as if they’re wrestling, or
shows the boy his latest art project, or they watch The Simpsons together (the
boy’s favorite show, part of his severely limited TV exposure), or even when he
convinces him to try eating something that had never occurred to me to feed him.
Who knows, but those moments when I'm cuddling and petting our son I could be setting my own stage for smothering or over-protecting him as he gets older. I can see that happening since I hear so much about abused children and victims of all kinds of evil. Some days I'm terrified that I'll lose him to some disaster, but I try not to think that way.
There are days when it dawns on me that I might be
subconsciously competing for some kind of Best Parenting award. And that’s when
I get hen-peckish and I hate it. Lord, help me to see the stick in my eye.
February 16, 2012
so close
39 weeks and a couple of days. That's how far we've come. I saw the doc today and there's been no change in effacement (50%) or dilation (maybe 1 cm) for the past two weeks. Since my due date is next Wednesday, she said that depending on how things go she might talk to me about an "exit strategy" but she assumed I wasn't interested in that yet (true).
I have to admit I'm kind of disappointed, but it did spur me to go for a 20 minute walk after work today. Meanwhile, I sleep like crap. I pee every half hour (baby's head is nice and low). I'd walk more if it didn't make my lower back feel like I was pushing an anvil.
Oh yeah - I've entered the bitchy stage. Bwa-haha....
I know I'm being a bit impatient since I'm not at the arbitrary magical due date yet - it's just more challenging since I'm uncomfortable and exhausted and whatnot. Besides - technically the kiddo is still "on time" if he comes anywhere from two weeks before to two weeks after that due date. Not that I wanna go another three weeks like this, but it is rather reassuring.
I try to give this to God daily and submit to His perfect timing.
In the meantime, I try to find the humor in all of this. Probably my most hilarious recent moment was trying to cut my own toenails. I know, I know. I should just get a blasted pedicure since my feet look like they're retaining helium while shedding the latest layer of alligator scales (sexy!). Since my sinuses like to swell overnight, I snore about as loud as a freight train carrying a bunch of snarling bears crashing through a tunnel. Those are the highlights.
I shouldn't be impatient. I should be one of those women who loves being pregnant because she's just so damn grateful to be pregnant in the first place. But I'm... just not. I do, however, love feeling my son warble around. I love singing to him and saying "good morning" and watching in amazement as he moves like a fish in a bowl toward my husband's hand whenever he touches my belly. Truth is, I'm already in love and I cry whenever I think about the nurses putting him on my skin right after birth, cord and all, unwashed and pure.
In other words, it's a mixed bag. A bag of fresh fruit that doesn't even have a name flown straight from Eden, putrid rotten fish from the bottom of a swamp, gourmet chocolates filled with raspberry cream by reincarnated Mayan priests, and water. Buckets of water. Because that's what I'm required to do - drink oceans of water.
I have to admit I'm kind of disappointed, but it did spur me to go for a 20 minute walk after work today. Meanwhile, I sleep like crap. I pee every half hour (baby's head is nice and low). I'd walk more if it didn't make my lower back feel like I was pushing an anvil.
Oh yeah - I've entered the bitchy stage. Bwa-haha....
I know I'm being a bit impatient since I'm not at the arbitrary magical due date yet - it's just more challenging since I'm uncomfortable and exhausted and whatnot. Besides - technically the kiddo is still "on time" if he comes anywhere from two weeks before to two weeks after that due date. Not that I wanna go another three weeks like this, but it is rather reassuring.
I try to give this to God daily and submit to His perfect timing.
In the meantime, I try to find the humor in all of this. Probably my most hilarious recent moment was trying to cut my own toenails. I know, I know. I should just get a blasted pedicure since my feet look like they're retaining helium while shedding the latest layer of alligator scales (sexy!). Since my sinuses like to swell overnight, I snore about as loud as a freight train carrying a bunch of snarling bears crashing through a tunnel. Those are the highlights.
I shouldn't be impatient. I should be one of those women who loves being pregnant because she's just so damn grateful to be pregnant in the first place. But I'm... just not. I do, however, love feeling my son warble around. I love singing to him and saying "good morning" and watching in amazement as he moves like a fish in a bowl toward my husband's hand whenever he touches my belly. Truth is, I'm already in love and I cry whenever I think about the nurses putting him on my skin right after birth, cord and all, unwashed and pure.
In other words, it's a mixed bag. A bag of fresh fruit that doesn't even have a name flown straight from Eden, putrid rotten fish from the bottom of a swamp, gourmet chocolates filled with raspberry cream by reincarnated Mayan priests, and water. Buckets of water. Because that's what I'm required to do - drink oceans of water.
December 16, 2011
I Remember
I just read a fellow IF blogger's post about respecting the loss of the Dug.gars' latest pregnancy. I haven't bothered to look up the news story, as this person's post told me all I needed to know – that it was a loss at week 20, that they chose to have photos taken and share them, that they grieve deeply.
What interested me was the blogger talking about how people are judging them and how some are ridiculing them for publishing photos. As if a physical remembrance is reprehensible in our virtual world.
Who cares? And why do some people feel the need to blab about their opinion on how someone chooses to mourn? Not the blogger, but the ones she talked about. Her post was honorable and respectful for the most part.
What got under my skin is how some (the blogger and commenters) are framing their decision not to judge. Something to the tune of "I don't care for their religion, but…"
Wait a minute. Again – who cares? Why is okay to judge someone's faith in the context of claiming to be non-judgmental about something else they do? Can we be any more hypocritical and judgmental? Would anyone dare preface their opinion that way if the Dug.gars were anything but a brand of Christian, such as Muslim or Atheist or Jewish?
I'm going to close this idea right here.
What I am remembering today, in light of their loss, is my own. My losses, my journey. I remember the night DH and I watched Blue Lagoon sometime last year – soon after watching the female lead go through her naked pregnancy in the prime of her youth, I went to the restroom where DH later found me crumpled on the floor in the fetal position bawling my eyes out uncontrollably because I knew that would never be me. I remember having my first dead child sucked out of me through a D&C at week 12, and I remember the world's biggest blood clot dropping into the toilet as my second dead child left me at week 7.
I remember being trapped in a black pit of despair as I began my own journey of searching, of healing, of answers.
I remember that there is no such thing as rational grief, and I cannot help but honor however someone else chooses to express it.
Luke 6:36-38 (New International Version)
36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
What interested me was the blogger talking about how people are judging them and how some are ridiculing them for publishing photos. As if a physical remembrance is reprehensible in our virtual world.
Who cares? And why do some people feel the need to blab about their opinion on how someone chooses to mourn? Not the blogger, but the ones she talked about. Her post was honorable and respectful for the most part.
What got under my skin is how some (the blogger and commenters) are framing their decision not to judge. Something to the tune of "I don't care for their religion, but…"
Wait a minute. Again – who cares? Why is okay to judge someone's faith in the context of claiming to be non-judgmental about something else they do? Can we be any more hypocritical and judgmental? Would anyone dare preface their opinion that way if the Dug.gars were anything but a brand of Christian, such as Muslim or Atheist or Jewish?
I'm going to close this idea right here.
What I am remembering today, in light of their loss, is my own. My losses, my journey. I remember the night DH and I watched Blue Lagoon sometime last year – soon after watching the female lead go through her naked pregnancy in the prime of her youth, I went to the restroom where DH later found me crumpled on the floor in the fetal position bawling my eyes out uncontrollably because I knew that would never be me. I remember having my first dead child sucked out of me through a D&C at week 12, and I remember the world's biggest blood clot dropping into the toilet as my second dead child left me at week 7.
I remember being trapped in a black pit of despair as I began my own journey of searching, of healing, of answers.
I remember that there is no such thing as rational grief, and I cannot help but honor however someone else chooses to express it.
Luke 6:36-38 (New International Version)
36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
October 21, 2011
Who's afraid of the big bad birthing room?
That would be me.
Maybe it's the idea of pain so great I would want to inject heroin to make it stop. Or the photo lab I used to work in where, once in a while, a roll of film came through with detailed photos of a birth. Or maybe it's the complete lack of control over my own body, coupled with the thought of being bedridden with a foot-long needle in my back plus a device attached to my urethra plus an IV drip plus.. plus..
Oh man. Just the thought makes me a little queasy and makes my pulse race a bit.
Until fairly recently, a standard blood draw would make me pass out, or at least render me motionless until my blood pressure resumed normality. I would kind of freak out at my own pain, like the time I got two fingertips shut in a car door, or a pinky caught in a heavy door frame (that hurt like a sonofa).
About six years ago, I had an eye test done where the doc shined some light across my retinas to check for glaucoma. I felt okay for a minute, then suddenly I had no idea what happened to me – I couldn't tell if I was about to faint, or run to the bathroom, or barf, or all of the above. She gave me smelling salts to bring me around, and I had to have my husband come pick me up. It was a horrific experience.
I can be calm as a cucumber on the outside, but my subconscious says "hell no, we won't go!"
Yeah, so that's one thing that has intimidated me for decades about having children: Going through the birthing process. I have rationalized that, after all, it's just one day compared to a lifetime of the joy of parenthood; a rite of passage of sorts. Millions of women have done it, stretching out tens of thousands of years before me and without a needle in their backs. But on the inside, I'm freaking out. Last night I was reading through a chapter on birthing methods, coping techniques vs. medication, doulas and partner roles, blah blah.. I couldn't sleep for crap last night.
What in the world is my problem? It's not like I can avoid it – believe me, I would entertain the thought of general anesthesia if it were a possibility (and not just in an emergency).
I think I would prefer to go med-free mostly because I loathe the idea of being strapped to a bed with a bunch of crap attached me, unable to move. But I have no idea what the process will be like – will I manage it, or will I have a breech baby that demands a c-section? Will I have a reasonable labor, or will it drag on for 20-30 hours until I'm so miserable I beg for medical mercy?
This is a problem, and I need to address it sooner than later because time isn't slowing down. Sigh…
Any advice from those of you who have been there?
Maybe it's the idea of pain so great I would want to inject heroin to make it stop. Or the photo lab I used to work in where, once in a while, a roll of film came through with detailed photos of a birth. Or maybe it's the complete lack of control over my own body, coupled with the thought of being bedridden with a foot-long needle in my back plus a device attached to my urethra plus an IV drip plus.. plus..
Oh man. Just the thought makes me a little queasy and makes my pulse race a bit.
Until fairly recently, a standard blood draw would make me pass out, or at least render me motionless until my blood pressure resumed normality. I would kind of freak out at my own pain, like the time I got two fingertips shut in a car door, or a pinky caught in a heavy door frame (that hurt like a sonofa).
About six years ago, I had an eye test done where the doc shined some light across my retinas to check for glaucoma. I felt okay for a minute, then suddenly I had no idea what happened to me – I couldn't tell if I was about to faint, or run to the bathroom, or barf, or all of the above. She gave me smelling salts to bring me around, and I had to have my husband come pick me up. It was a horrific experience.
I can be calm as a cucumber on the outside, but my subconscious says "hell no, we won't go!"
Yeah, so that's one thing that has intimidated me for decades about having children: Going through the birthing process. I have rationalized that, after all, it's just one day compared to a lifetime of the joy of parenthood; a rite of passage of sorts. Millions of women have done it, stretching out tens of thousands of years before me and without a needle in their backs. But on the inside, I'm freaking out. Last night I was reading through a chapter on birthing methods, coping techniques vs. medication, doulas and partner roles, blah blah.. I couldn't sleep for crap last night.
What in the world is my problem? It's not like I can avoid it – believe me, I would entertain the thought of general anesthesia if it were a possibility (and not just in an emergency).
I think I would prefer to go med-free mostly because I loathe the idea of being strapped to a bed with a bunch of crap attached me, unable to move. But I have no idea what the process will be like – will I manage it, or will I have a breech baby that demands a c-section? Will I have a reasonable labor, or will it drag on for 20-30 hours until I'm so miserable I beg for medical mercy?
This is a problem, and I need to address it sooner than later because time isn't slowing down. Sigh…
Any advice from those of you who have been there?
September 21, 2011
The Pressure is On
This week we're having the floors replaced in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Leaving the carpet in the bedrooms and the linoleum in the bathrooms (for now).
On the first day of construction, I came home to bundles of furniture collected in the center of the living room and in the kitchen. Clearly, cooking was out of the question. We also noticed a thick film of dust collecting on every surface (probably the walls too). All we can think about now is how much cleaning we'll need to do this weekend once it's all done - it was kind of depressing and made me anxious. Not that I'm not willing, but I know how fast I get tired these days.
Otherwise I can't believe we lived with this nasty gray carpet in our condo for nine stinking years. So much for being frugal. I hate spending the money, but it's all part of the plan to make the condo more appealing once we're finally ready to sell it and buy a house (not planning on it helping the value since that's in the toilet anyway). At this point, that could be another couple years. But I digress.
On the second day of construction, I was determined to lay on the couch in front of the TV so I rearranged a couple pieces of furniture. I felt like I had triumphed over a small hurdle, but by the end of the evening I was coughing up dust. Ick.
Our collective frustration manifested itself in, of all things, an argument about painting the walls. DH is in love with pure, flat, white paint. The kind you see in art galleries. I can see why he's attracted to it, but it's anathema to a home as far as I'm concerned. To me, pure white (except the trim, doors, and ceiling) is cold and hard. Not soft and warm like I prefer. Is it worth arguing about? Probably not, especially in that moment. But it was too late. I was pissed off.
I sat in a chair later (in the dust-free bedroom), trying to figure out why I was so frustrated. I could see it was symptomatic of the pressure I'm feeling all around me. I'm still getting used to being pregnant, am suffering some digestive maladies because of it, typically wake up 6-7 times a night instead of sleeping soundly, and feel overwhelmed at the thought of planning for the arrival of the baby and all the complexities it will bring:
Today's the third day of construction and we're not sure they'll be done before sometime tomorrow. But that's okay. I can live with dust (from the other room), and we can use it as an excuse to go out to dinner tonight. Protecting my sanity and marriage is more important anyway.
I was reminded yesterday, whether by the Spirit or nine months of counseling drilled into my head, that I need to make sure I take opportunities for self care. I'm woefully neglectful and lazy in that department - not sure why. So I'm signing up for chair massage at work once a month. Trying to prioritize exercise. Eating more vegetables and fruit. Saying no once in a while (though maybe not often enough).
I'd like to say that I'm procrastinating less but that would be a lie. I still can't make any decisions about the condo or the baby, and even though I'm on the docket to play guitar and sing background vocals with the worship band this Sunday I haven't picked up my guitar this week (barely touched it in the last month). What is wrong with me? I know I need to practice but, without the song list for this Sunday, I'm likely to wait until I see it before I bother so much as humming a tune.
And, if I'm honest, I have to admit I've been neglecting my relationship with Jesus which is the stupidest of all. My friendship with my Lord is my anchor in this world but I keep putting Him in a box instead of praying more and reading the Bible.
Just call me Procrastinitus Maximus!
On the first day of construction, I came home to bundles of furniture collected in the center of the living room and in the kitchen. Clearly, cooking was out of the question. We also noticed a thick film of dust collecting on every surface (probably the walls too). All we can think about now is how much cleaning we'll need to do this weekend once it's all done - it was kind of depressing and made me anxious. Not that I'm not willing, but I know how fast I get tired these days.
Otherwise I can't believe we lived with this nasty gray carpet in our condo for nine stinking years. So much for being frugal. I hate spending the money, but it's all part of the plan to make the condo more appealing once we're finally ready to sell it and buy a house (not planning on it helping the value since that's in the toilet anyway). At this point, that could be another couple years. But I digress.
On the second day of construction, I was determined to lay on the couch in front of the TV so I rearranged a couple pieces of furniture. I felt like I had triumphed over a small hurdle, but by the end of the evening I was coughing up dust. Ick.
Our collective frustration manifested itself in, of all things, an argument about painting the walls. DH is in love with pure, flat, white paint. The kind you see in art galleries. I can see why he's attracted to it, but it's anathema to a home as far as I'm concerned. To me, pure white (except the trim, doors, and ceiling) is cold and hard. Not soft and warm like I prefer. Is it worth arguing about? Probably not, especially in that moment. But it was too late. I was pissed off.
I sat in a chair later (in the dust-free bedroom), trying to figure out why I was so frustrated. I could see it was symptomatic of the pressure I'm feeling all around me. I'm still getting used to being pregnant, am suffering some digestive maladies because of it, typically wake up 6-7 times a night instead of sleeping soundly, and feel overwhelmed at the thought of planning for the arrival of the baby and all the complexities it will bring:
- Will I keep working full time?
- Do I have a choice?
- How much is day care?
- Do we need to dump half our furniture so we're not crowded *sses-to-elbows in that condo?
- Can I afford to take 12 weeks off (6 unpaid)? Yeah, probably not but I want to so badly!
- How am I gonna bond with our baby if I have to work full time?
- Just how much water do I need to drink anyway?
- Am I really going to have this baby or is something gonna go wrong?
- We're so screwed...
Today's the third day of construction and we're not sure they'll be done before sometime tomorrow. But that's okay. I can live with dust (from the other room), and we can use it as an excuse to go out to dinner tonight. Protecting my sanity and marriage is more important anyway.
I was reminded yesterday, whether by the Spirit or nine months of counseling drilled into my head, that I need to make sure I take opportunities for self care. I'm woefully neglectful and lazy in that department - not sure why. So I'm signing up for chair massage at work once a month. Trying to prioritize exercise. Eating more vegetables and fruit. Saying no once in a while (though maybe not often enough).
I'd like to say that I'm procrastinating less but that would be a lie. I still can't make any decisions about the condo or the baby, and even though I'm on the docket to play guitar and sing background vocals with the worship band this Sunday I haven't picked up my guitar this week (barely touched it in the last month). What is wrong with me? I know I need to practice but, without the song list for this Sunday, I'm likely to wait until I see it before I bother so much as humming a tune.
And, if I'm honest, I have to admit I've been neglecting my relationship with Jesus which is the stupidest of all. My friendship with my Lord is my anchor in this world but I keep putting Him in a box instead of praying more and reading the Bible.
Just call me Procrastinitus Maximus!
August 26, 2011
What Does Support Look Like for Me?
That's the question I have been asking myself this week. I realize I've posted a number of questions from well-meaning people that have inadvertently hurt or otherwise negatively affected me. There are others that I haven't bothered posting, because this blog isn't just a rant (as relieving as that can be at times). No, I really do want to focus on positive things and I know that others really do just want to express support but just don't know how. I mean, would I if I were in their shoes? Yeah, probably not.
Generally speaking, people's reactions have been a mix of awe and wonder and relief and even tears, not to mention absolute joy! Despite this plus the evidence so far of a perfectly normal pregnancy, we haven't made any bigger announcements. I don't know why exactly – twice bitten forever shy? It just feels right to tell people individually. I'll never post my ultrasound pic as my profile on my FB page. I'm happy to just enjoy what I can while I can in the context of a powerfully moving event. Of course, I seriously don't mind if a friend or relative leaks the info because they just can't hold it in.
Anyway, back to ways I can think of that are good ways to support me. First I'd say, ask me or DH how we are doing, and accept our weird answers. It's never a straightforward "fine!" or "great!" – it's always a mixture of optimism, hesitation, maybe a bit of discomfort, and other things that just make us human because of what we've been through and where we are now. It IS weird!
Second, I would say, is to be a cheerleader. Okay that sounds over the top, right? But you'd be amazed at how some people have reacted. Some can't help but have a negative (clinical, stereotypical) reaction since I'm such a geezer and statistically it's just so risky and the baby could have all kinds of problems and… right. Never mind the fact that there are societies where having children in the 50+ range is quite normal. If I had paid homage to statistics and didn't believe in the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, I flat out would never have tried again. And believe it or not, other people's enthusiasm actually lifts us up.
Eh, that's about all I can think of.
Generally speaking, people's reactions have been a mix of awe and wonder and relief and even tears, not to mention absolute joy! Despite this plus the evidence so far of a perfectly normal pregnancy, we haven't made any bigger announcements. I don't know why exactly – twice bitten forever shy? It just feels right to tell people individually. I'll never post my ultrasound pic as my profile on my FB page. I'm happy to just enjoy what I can while I can in the context of a powerfully moving event. Of course, I seriously don't mind if a friend or relative leaks the info because they just can't hold it in.
Anyway, back to ways I can think of that are good ways to support me. First I'd say, ask me or DH how we are doing, and accept our weird answers. It's never a straightforward "fine!" or "great!" – it's always a mixture of optimism, hesitation, maybe a bit of discomfort, and other things that just make us human because of what we've been through and where we are now. It IS weird!
Second, I would say, is to be a cheerleader. Okay that sounds over the top, right? But you'd be amazed at how some people have reacted. Some can't help but have a negative (clinical, stereotypical) reaction since I'm such a geezer and statistically it's just so risky and the baby could have all kinds of problems and… right. Never mind the fact that there are societies where having children in the 50+ range is quite normal. If I had paid homage to statistics and didn't believe in the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, I flat out would never have tried again. And believe it or not, other people's enthusiasm actually lifts us up.
Eh, that's about all I can think of.
July 25, 2011
Angry and Doubtful: Hormones or Intuition?
Having a very hard day (and it’s barely 9:00 a.m. here). On a close friend's advice, I called my doc to explain my paranoia and they added an interim ultrasound – I go in tomorrow morning. My own doc is going to do the scan.
Meanwhile, I’ve been having some serious anger issues. I could chalk it up to hormones, but I have had at least four dreams in the past couple weeks where I was absolutely furious at someone for something. They were all justified in my dreams, but it’s still unusual. I told DH that I’m apparently really mad. I just didn’t know why. And when I’m not feeling mad, I’m not feeling much of anything.
This morning I woke up and realized why I’m angry: I’m angry because I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t going to work out, and I am sick to death of this no-man’s-land of not knowing the outcome. So my mind is constantly playing out scenarios of my reaction to another failed pregnancy, and none of them are good. In fact they kind of frighten me.
So there I was this morning, crying at the table with DH trying to soothe me as I explained this inescapable torment. It truly will be a miracle if I hear a heartbeat and see accurate measurements tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, I’ve been having some serious anger issues. I could chalk it up to hormones, but I have had at least four dreams in the past couple weeks where I was absolutely furious at someone for something. They were all justified in my dreams, but it’s still unusual. I told DH that I’m apparently really mad. I just didn’t know why. And when I’m not feeling mad, I’m not feeling much of anything.
This morning I woke up and realized why I’m angry: I’m angry because I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t going to work out, and I am sick to death of this no-man’s-land of not knowing the outcome. So my mind is constantly playing out scenarios of my reaction to another failed pregnancy, and none of them are good. In fact they kind of frighten me.
So there I was this morning, crying at the table with DH trying to soothe me as I explained this inescapable torment. It truly will be a miracle if I hear a heartbeat and see accurate measurements tomorrow. Stay tuned.
July 10, 2011
Duality
So yeah, the ultrasound was Thursday. It was just fine. Totally viable. Good heartbeat. I just made the 8 week mark today. My next ultrasound isn't until Aug. 11 though, which is the 13 week mark. I feel like it's just too long though, so I may ask for an interim ultrasound like when I'm 10 weeks. Last year, I miscarried at 12 weeks but it turned out the fetus stopped growing at 9.5 weeks. It feels like an awfully long time and every day seems to pass so slowly.
It's true that my husband and I are both taking this one day at a time, but I seem to be unable to reconcile the duality between my surrendered faith and the dark tunnel of my past experience.
This past Monday, I woke up with a dreadful feeling that this one isn't going to make it and I can't say why. Maybe it was the turn of a dream or a gut feeling. Maybe it's being off my meds. But even though God really did deliver me from fear in a powerful way in April, I'm terrified. I want to believe that the best will happen, but I don't know that. I don't know anything - except maybe that God is still with me. But that doesn't stop me from having this emotional turmoil. It's like I can't exhale until the 12 week marker, and until then I can only ask God to let me down easy if this isn't going to work out.
Meanwhile I'm finding it hard not to react with resentment when I see other couples popping out their second kids, or a young couple expecting a baby who just bought their first (beautiful) house. I am forcing myself to be thankful for what I have every day though. Wisdom is no easy teacher.
It's true that my husband and I are both taking this one day at a time, but I seem to be unable to reconcile the duality between my surrendered faith and the dark tunnel of my past experience.
This past Monday, I woke up with a dreadful feeling that this one isn't going to make it and I can't say why. Maybe it was the turn of a dream or a gut feeling. Maybe it's being off my meds. But even though God really did deliver me from fear in a powerful way in April, I'm terrified. I want to believe that the best will happen, but I don't know that. I don't know anything - except maybe that God is still with me. But that doesn't stop me from having this emotional turmoil. It's like I can't exhale until the 12 week marker, and until then I can only ask God to let me down easy if this isn't going to work out.
Meanwhile I'm finding it hard not to react with resentment when I see other couples popping out their second kids, or a young couple expecting a baby who just bought their first (beautiful) house. I am forcing myself to be thankful for what I have every day though. Wisdom is no easy teacher.
May 27, 2011
Forgiveness
I was on a long walk around Crown Lake – my absolute favorite walk in city limits – and was listening to one of my fave podcasts, Ravi Zacharias' Let My People Think. He was talking about how important solitude is for our relationship with God, and how really that prayer time is a foreshadowing of the communion we'll have with Him in Heaven. But I digress.
A lot of times, my thoughts wander when I listen to podcasts. I can't help it, though I try to refocus when I realize I'm doing it. Oh, I guess I could just turn off the iPod and let my thoughts wander instead. But the pattern is different. I think about deeper things when I'm listening to a Christian podcast. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit whispering to me. Not sure.
Anyway, I thought about everything that has brought us to where we are now and how we have paid such a heavy price for our procrastination and avoidance of parenthood. But though I've asked God to forgive me, and I know He has, I realized in that moment that I hadn't directly forgiven my husband. Nor have I specifically asked him to forgive me. Unforgiveness between married folk – or any relationship for that matter – is bad juju. It prevents healing. We not only need to forgive each other, and ask God to forgive us for missing the mark (the literal translation of "sin"), we need to forgive ourselves. Forgiving yourself is just one way of loving yourself.
After my walk, I showered and hung out with the man. We were getting cozy when I told him my realization and asked him to forgive me, then I told him that I forgive him completely. It was a beautiful night.
A lot of times, my thoughts wander when I listen to podcasts. I can't help it, though I try to refocus when I realize I'm doing it. Oh, I guess I could just turn off the iPod and let my thoughts wander instead. But the pattern is different. I think about deeper things when I'm listening to a Christian podcast. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit whispering to me. Not sure.
Anyway, I thought about everything that has brought us to where we are now and how we have paid such a heavy price for our procrastination and avoidance of parenthood. But though I've asked God to forgive me, and I know He has, I realized in that moment that I hadn't directly forgiven my husband. Nor have I specifically asked him to forgive me. Unforgiveness between married folk – or any relationship for that matter – is bad juju. It prevents healing. We not only need to forgive each other, and ask God to forgive us for missing the mark (the literal translation of "sin"), we need to forgive ourselves. Forgiving yourself is just one way of loving yourself.
After my walk, I showered and hung out with the man. We were getting cozy when I told him my realization and asked him to forgive me, then I told him that I forgive him completely. It was a beautiful night.
May 14, 2011
Pray or Accept?
That's what is on my mind this morning - from the time I woke up, I have been turning this over in my mind. When do you pray for a miracle, and when do you accept your situation? But then, I remember all the women in the Bible who begged, pleaded, cried out, and prayed for a change and eventually got it.
Meanwhile, my breasts have been tender, my lower back has been aching a bit, I'm having crazy dreams, and I've been more tired than usual for a couple of weeks. Ah, hormones - life would be so boring without them!
Cried this morning after reading my daily devotional email (from www.rebeccabarlowjordan.com):
Meanwhile, my breasts have been tender, my lower back has been aching a bit, I'm having crazy dreams, and I've been more tired than usual for a couple of weeks. Ah, hormones - life would be so boring without them!
Cried this morning after reading my daily devotional email (from www.rebeccabarlowjordan.com):
REMEMBRANCE
"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast...
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!"
ISAIAH 49:15
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!"
ISAIAH 49:15
FROM THE FATHER'S HEART
My child, how could I ever forget who you are? I have engraved your name on the palm of My hand; I have sealed it in My heart and in the book of life. I created you, and I know every path you've ever taken, every decision you've ever made, every word you've ever thought or spoken. I remember the names of all My children. I will never forget any of them, for they are all special to Me.
My child, how could I ever forget who you are? I have engraved your name on the palm of My hand; I have sealed it in My heart and in the book of life. I created you, and I know every path you've ever taken, every decision you've ever made, every word you've ever thought or spoken. I remember the names of all My children. I will never forget any of them, for they are all special to Me.
A GRATEFUL RESPONSE
Like a mother tenderly nursing her baby, You have nurtured me, Lord. You've guided my steps, overlooked my mistakes, encouraged my efforts, and praised my achievements. You forgive and forget my sins, but You never forget me. Thank You, Lord.
Like a mother tenderly nursing her baby, You have nurtured me, Lord. You've guided my steps, overlooked my mistakes, encouraged my efforts, and praised my achievements. You forgive and forget my sins, but You never forget me. Thank You, Lord.
SIMPLE TRUTH
Always remember: The Lord never forgets.
January 20, 2011
Why is it so Hard to be Honest with Myself?
There I was, being normal (as opposed to weepy, depressed, obsessive, blah blah) on a Sunday morning as I was getting ready for church. In the back of my mind, however, a little storm was brewing. Something had set me off and I'd been ignoring it.
In my quest for a successful natural pregnancy, I had re-started acupuncture sessions with a new practitioner that is closer to home. In my first visit last Saturday, we went through the health questionnaire, the examining of my tongue, the explanation of my diagnosis and my goals. She told me about a couple of patients that she had helped who went on to conceive, and seemed reasonably confident that she could help me.
So there I was, laying on the table with a dozen or so needles all over my body, trying to pray or meditate or listen to the background music or just keep my eyes closed and breathe. Somewhere in the middle of it all I suddenly thought "this doesn't feel right." I ignored this sentence and tried to focus on other things.
The rest of the day, though, that sentence kept popping back into my head with clarity and solidity. How could acupuncture be not right? It's good for me, it's healing, I can afford it for once... why shouldn't I?
The next morning I started listing what was going on in my head, trying to suss out where that thought came from. Trying to listen and stop rationalizing. I realized that, for me - as long as I'm going after acupuncture and other professional treatments, I'm really not seeking first the Kingdom of God. If I'm really, truly, brutally honest with myself, I had to admit that this was kind of getting in the way of that. For now anyway.
Lest anyone think that I'm somehow opposed to seeking treatment, let me be the first to say that this is the farthest from the truth. I would never deny myself the chance to get help when help is readily available. It's just that, in this case, I sense the Holy Spirit is calling me to a deeper level of faith, perhaps a deeper level of healing, and it scares the crap out of me.
Back to Sunday morning: I found myself caught in a whirlwind of questions, feeling utterly lost in everything with no answers and no direction. What should I do? How long do I have to wait? Should I adopt instead? I started talking to my husband, saying that I felt like I was all alone in this decision and desperately needed to feel like we were on this quest together. It's simply not enough for me to find the answers. And then I admitted the truth - that I thought I should quit doing acupuncture, that maybe I should take a break from all of this for a few months, that I need peace more than anything else right now. And then the storm broke, the tears came, and instead of going to church I spent that time crying at the kitchen table, accepting the rawness of myself and just being honest.
I want to have an answer. A path. A solution. Something to move toward. It's easy to panic, thinking that I'm running out of time. But right now, my task is to wait.. seek peace.. stop chasing after answers.. and just rest. For now.
For now.
In my quest for a successful natural pregnancy, I had re-started acupuncture sessions with a new practitioner that is closer to home. In my first visit last Saturday, we went through the health questionnaire, the examining of my tongue, the explanation of my diagnosis and my goals. She told me about a couple of patients that she had helped who went on to conceive, and seemed reasonably confident that she could help me.
So there I was, laying on the table with a dozen or so needles all over my body, trying to pray or meditate or listen to the background music or just keep my eyes closed and breathe. Somewhere in the middle of it all I suddenly thought "this doesn't feel right." I ignored this sentence and tried to focus on other things.
The rest of the day, though, that sentence kept popping back into my head with clarity and solidity. How could acupuncture be not right? It's good for me, it's healing, I can afford it for once... why shouldn't I?
The next morning I started listing what was going on in my head, trying to suss out where that thought came from. Trying to listen and stop rationalizing. I realized that, for me - as long as I'm going after acupuncture and other professional treatments, I'm really not seeking first the Kingdom of God. If I'm really, truly, brutally honest with myself, I had to admit that this was kind of getting in the way of that. For now anyway.
Lest anyone think that I'm somehow opposed to seeking treatment, let me be the first to say that this is the farthest from the truth. I would never deny myself the chance to get help when help is readily available. It's just that, in this case, I sense the Holy Spirit is calling me to a deeper level of faith, perhaps a deeper level of healing, and it scares the crap out of me.
Back to Sunday morning: I found myself caught in a whirlwind of questions, feeling utterly lost in everything with no answers and no direction. What should I do? How long do I have to wait? Should I adopt instead? I started talking to my husband, saying that I felt like I was all alone in this decision and desperately needed to feel like we were on this quest together. It's simply not enough for me to find the answers. And then I admitted the truth - that I thought I should quit doing acupuncture, that maybe I should take a break from all of this for a few months, that I need peace more than anything else right now. And then the storm broke, the tears came, and instead of going to church I spent that time crying at the kitchen table, accepting the rawness of myself and just being honest.
I want to have an answer. A path. A solution. Something to move toward. It's easy to panic, thinking that I'm running out of time. But right now, my task is to wait.. seek peace.. stop chasing after answers.. and just rest. For now.
For now.
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