ding-dong witch; pleased to meet you

image source: ellisbenus.com

Recently MOPS International ran a post about on the spot hospitality, giving a few easy steps to keep in play if an impromptu guest drops in, and encouraging women to be brave enough to share their lives with others, even if the house wasn't in tip top shape.  Two out of the three tips were easy for me, and things I already do, keeping rooms at comfortable temps and offering a drink.  The first one, of getting over myself and my desire to have a perfectly clean setting, well, I’m getting there.

Those friends in my inner circle, well yes, they’re more than welcome to come in when things are the way they are more often than not: when I’m in the middle of a laundry marathon, three kids’ worth  of school papers are littered across every exposed counter surface (also, the floor, not gonna lie), piles of pet hair that one could make their own pet from are in the corners of the downstairs room and dishes from two meals ago are spilling out of the sink.  It’s more than a few stray crumbs on the floor and a load (singular) of laundry on the couch pretty much all the time here, and it drives me nuts.  For people with whom I’m not particularly close to see this inner chaos, is a different thing entirely and just thinking about it it makes me cringe.

So keep that in mind with what I’m about to tell you.

This morning, I was giving my youngest a bath before school when I heard/felt this loud, rhythmic noise that vibrated the house.  It gave me pause to wonder what it could possibly be, but I quickly assumed it was someone having their sprinklers blown out, likely the HOA with our greenbelt areas and  shrugged it out of my mind.  I was dressed but not made up and my kindergartener was just coming down for breakfast when my doorbell rang at 7:40 a.m.! 

7:40. A. M. 

What in the blessed world?!?

I opened my door to a strange man on my doorstep, assuming he was going to ask me if I wanted my sprinklers blown out for a low, low price.

You know what they say about you and (mostly) me when one assumes, right?

“You do realize that it is not even 8 am?” I snapped, while I opened my door, hunched over with one hand grabbing my escape-tendencied dog’s collar to keep him from running out, exposing my house’s current state of disarray to the street.

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I’m here – I saw your lights on and wanted to apologize for the noise.”

Sheepishness began to creep in.  

And my mouth filled with the flavor of my big, fat, foot.

He continued, “We didn’t know that the carpet cleaning was going to be so loud," as he nodded toward the Stanley Steemer truck in the street with hoses running into the newly vacant home next door.  "We’re your new neighbors.”

So much for on the spot hospitality.

I very hastily attempted to back pedal. 

“Oh!  Oh my gosh, no, I’m so sorry.  I’m not normally this grumpy, it’s just I thought there was a sprinkler company blowing people out and I thought you were going to try and sell me services and we don’t need that because we already did it,” I rambled.  “It’s just so early and the door bell's loud and my husband recently had surgery and well…”  I motioned my hand to the living room behind me, demonstrating the very cluttered and dirty layout of our home.

Then he said, “Oh, no, I’m really sorry,” referring to Seth, “I hope we didn't wake you – we really didn't want to start out like this…”

Now it was my turn to feel apologetic - I surely didn't want him to feel bad because of my stress levels.

“Oh!  No, no, no, no, you’re fine!” I rapidly tried to assure him. “No, I just thought you were a solicitor, but this, being neighbors, that changes it.  We’re good!”

We awkwardly introduced ourselves and assured each other that we’d come around at a more decent hour and get to know one another.

I hope I convinced him that I really didn’t mind the noise.  And that once I got over the initial assumption that he was a solicitor, I really actually thought it was sweet and considerate of him to come check on whether it was bothering us or not.

If not, I plead the very pathetic effect  the combination of lack of sufficient (any?) caffeination, not yet having taken my little blue pill for the day, a little mama bear in me, and sheer oblivion to the goings on of our street had on my current mental state.

So...while I'm still mustering the courage to let people see my horribly cluttered and dirty home, I think that I get a medal for bravery in sharing this story.  Isn't that like virtual bravery?

#likeagoodneighbor #really

Betcha thought I was done talking about depression...

It's now been several weeks since my depression coming out post.  The input from those close to me was overwhelmingly positive, but I received so many messages on Facebook from people I only know vaguely that it struck me in a powerful way.

Sharing my story is a little bit scary. For a variety of reasons.

Sometimes people don't know that talking about the feels one has when s/he is depressed is more about processing than actually intending any harm to oneself, and can result in the 'welfare checks,' those 'I'm suddenly totally interested in you because you kind of scare me but we're not super close so this is awkward' interactions that arise when depression talk raises red flags.  Such interactions, while well intended, can often leave a depressed person thinking, "Will I always be on psych watch?" and wondering if 'normal' will ever be attainable again.  A promising outlook, eh?

Other times, non-depressed people will try to relate, sharing a story from a grieving period or this situation or that, and then say, "But you know, it wasn't like I needed meds or anything!"  Tell me there is no stigma surrounding people with chronic mental illness.

But, I've weighed the options, and folks, there are so many people suffering in silence that all the generic advocacy and prevalence statistics in the world won't help.  No, it is the real stories that move people.

So, in bits and pieces I'm going to share my experience with depression.  If any of you out there have your own stories, I encourage you to pipe in and help in shining light on a grossly misunderstood health issue.

Anyway, up until this recent episode, I'd always brushed off my depression as situational.

That time I spent the whole night eyeing a bottle of Tylenol at age 13, knowing that overconsumption of acetaminophen would shut down my liver?  Surely that was due to the family turmoil going on - divorce, financial stresses, substance abuse, and absent father (just to name the big issues) - let alone the hormonal havoc of puberty.

The fall of my junior year at CSU when I just couldn't keep it together? I was certain that birth control pills (and the resulting 65 lbs I'd gained in just over a year on my newly recovering bulimic frame) were upsetting my neurochemistry, but as a newlywed was not willing to open myself up to the risk of a pregnancy.  So the menage of therapy, meds (Prozac this time) and I were introduced - and yes, my mood stabilized, but the side effects put a huge damper on the bedroom.  So, 6 months later, after much consultation, we decided I would go off birth control and Prozac, and other contraceptive methods were meticulously employed.  Except that one time.  Hello, Kelsey!

The following 6 years?  I blamed that largely on the Plan B turn my life had taken, dreams being ripped from my hands, a marriage that was fairly unhappy for various reasons, two post-partum periods, and a really bad financial outlook.  I figured if I couldn't change those things, what was the point of medicating?  All the depressing factors of life would still be there.

In 2006, I took a really bad turn.  Some of the hard issues we struggled with in our marriage resurfaced and I just couldn't deal.  A new job gave me the added bonus of an Employee Assistance Program, so the therapy I'd begged and pleaded for in the past was no longer "too expensive," and I re-enlisted.  I also sought medication, because the thoughts of ending my life had shown up again.  Knowing I had two small children that would be haunted forever if I took that route shook me enough that I started talking with my PCP again.

Due to the nature of our marital struggles, I was not willing to go back to Prozac and face the consequences of a nonexistent sex drive.  So Effexor and I began dating.  Again, my mood stabilized.  Seth and I started to deal with the marital wounds we had long inflicted upon one another, and things were looking up fairly quickly.  But then, I started getting these... brain hiccups?  I've no other way to describe them than that - it was like a physical sensation, that discomforting feeling of hard hiccups that hurt your ribs, only in my brain.  It also had an electrical feeling about it, like my brain was shorting out.  It scared the heck out of me, and after a year of medicating, I decided to wean off Effexor because I was scared of the long-term ramifications.

I was good for about a year.  In the same sense that Eeyore is ok.  I was living a flatlined normal that I truly thought was life.  Various interventions, such as a diet rich in B vitamins, daily sun exposure, St. John's Wort, adequate sleep, etc., helped manage but never totally eliminated my depression, keeping it to a dull roar that I could "talk" over and slog through the daily functioning of life.  Whenever a life event rocked me, I didn't hold tightly to my regimen, or for no apparent reason at all, my depression would come on stronger out of the blue.

In 2008, I crashed again.  This time, I'd noticed some pattern to my "episodes," and realized I was struggling most in the early spring.  That's it, Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It's the daylight, not anything long-term and chronic.  Nothing that made me totally defective, just seasonally so.  Back to a traditional SSRI, but not Prozac.  This time I went on Lexapro because my doc felt I would experience fewer side effects.  It was the same song, different verse as far as the side effects went, which resulted in me weaning off.  Again.

In 2009, my whole life changed.  I went from being a WOHM to a SAHM, had another baby, had a near fatal pneumonia with more complications than most people care to follow, the economy tanked, and our finances suffered greatly.  The depression was a slow, constant erosion in my mind.  Plus, the mental noise (the constant negative thinking) had new fodder; if I hadn't wracked up all that medical debt we wouldn't all be suffering so.  Unmedicated, I was stuck in a horrible cycle of avoiding the Hard Things (i.e. seemingly insurmountable debts, the isolation of SAHMotherhood, etc.), which made All the Things snowball out of control, which made me feel even worse about myself.

For 5 years I battled through this, unmedicated, again.  My circumstances camouflaged the evidence that I have chronic depression.  Again, I was slogging through, "passing" for functional but slowly starting to crumble from the steady wearing down inside.  It was during this time that I felt my cognitive functioning go downhill.  It seemed I couldn't remember anything, and I felt as if each day I dumbed down a little bit more.  This killed me as my early identified "bright" intellect has been part of my identity as long as I can remember; it was the thing about myself that garnered attention and made me feel special.  Without it, who was I?

This winter I went back to work and things were really looking up.  But even still, I found myself sinking lower.  I couldn't turn off my mental noise, and was battle-fatigue exhausted from the silent, constant combat in my mind every day.  Somehow, when I found myself thinking the Unthinkable Things more and more, and realized that I wasn't immediately shutting those thoughts down, my rational self knew it was time for help again.

Therapy.  Check.

Exercise.  Check.

Meds.  Check.

And I am saying hello to a stronger self in the mirror every day.  And the dumbing down?  So not an imagined occurrence.  Science proves my experience was very real.  (link is eluding me but I'll update when I find it.)

Now that I've found the right med, I am committed to lifelong treatment.  For this cloud has accompanied me all my life.  Upon initially arriving at that commitment, guilt sprang up as I worried about the damage to those I love that I incurred in my search for the right medicine.  But, I squashed that thought (with the newfound clarity Wellbutrin has afforded me) with this takeaway: I did the best I could with what I knew at the time, and that's all we can ask or expect from each other.

To those I love and who love me: thank you for your patience, concern, and grace.  They buoyed me throughout this journey more than you could ever possibly know.  Thank you for being my life support.  I love you all!

To those who are still looking for the best way to manage their demons - you are not alone!  Please reach out.  If not to a professional, to a friend who will get you hooked up with the help you need.  And if you are in the process of getting help, but just need the support of someone who gets it, I'm always hear to listen.

Don't suffer in silence.

All's well that ends well...

I am a rare bird amongst most of my friends.

No.  

Really.

Shocking, I know, right?

A love to eat good food is common to us all, but the desire and demonstrated ability to make good food is something of a lost art with many (though not all) of my 30-something, mommyish friends.

Now, I will admit, I have not always been a culinary prodigy - it just sort of happened over time.

As the tried and true recipes in my inventory got repeated, I got brave and started eyeballing measurements instead of getting all the cups and spoons out.  Then I started getting creative, adding spices that "I bet would be good with that," and before I knew it, the go-to recipes I knew so well became my recipes with a ton of adaptations.  Many of which I don't write down and so, it's always something of an adventure when it comes to recreating the yummiest versions.

Over time, I have become rather haphazard in the kitchen and my cooking has become increasingly extemporaneous.  Especially when necessity has forced me to use only the staples on hand over recent years.

And those little forays don't always work out.

Last night was such a night.  In my meal planning, I'd forecast salisbury steak for our dinner.  It's a standby meal at casa del Meyer regardless of which unrecorded iteration I've put on the table.  Seeing I was low on the usual potatoes, which would normally be served mashed, I thought, "Cauliflower mashes well - I have several bags in the freezer.  That's what I'll do instead."  Mind you, I'd never actually made mashed cauliflower, but I thought, surely it couldn't be too hard.

Heh.

So, on the tail end of my daily, 25 mile round-trip mad dash from work to the bus stop, to cross country pick up, to home, (phew! yes, EVERY. DAY.) the relentless witching hour that is two middle school siblings intent on making each other's existence miserable plus one 5 year old exhausted from full day kindergarten was in full swing.  I started cooking, trying to ignore the wailing and injurious sarcasm flying through the room, and was on pace to have dinner on the table by 6:15 - a record thus far into the school year!

I threw the cauliflower into the microwave to cook, took it out and started to mash.  The white veggies were resistant to my efforts.  Ok, I'd get my Ninja out.  Threw the cauliflower in, along with the assumed proportions of water, butter, and whole milk, whizzed that baby up.  And got white, gritty paste.  I tried a few more efforts to save it, but to no avail.

Hmmm....it was now 6:40.

Into the freezer I turned and came up with peas.  To go with the glazed carrots I already had.  So we had salisbury steak with glazed carrots, buttered peas, and slices of (whole grain) white bread with butter.  It worked.  The fam loved it but I was just a little meh.

But I still had a Ninja full of cauli-paste and I hate wasting food...HATE it.  Especially when we're in the middle of a pay period and I only go to the grocery store when we get paid.

So I culled the pages of my mental cookbook (and actually, due more to Colton's request for cauliflower soup) this recipe came to mind.  It is SO GOOD.  My kids request it.  Often.

So dinner for today was planned.

Except that I didn't have chicken stock.  (but I had bouillon!)

Or celery. (but I had dried celery flakes!)

Or onions. (but I had onion powder!)

See also: How the Spice Cabinet Saved Dinner.

So this soup would be of questionable origins.  But fingers crossed!

Then, because it didn't have enough substitution going, I realized tonight that we had no protein, something the Mister thinks is no bueno.  I wracked my brain, thinking maybe sandwiches - but then, no because the kids needed that stuff for lunches this week.  I finally lighted on a pound of Jimmy Dean Natural Sausage - no paid endorsements here, I just LOVE that sausage.  The flavor is amazing and there is no MSG!!  Sausage gravy, Olive Garden's Zuppa Toscana, oh, yes, this creamy sausage pairing would be a good match.  Paired with a beer bread mix I had sitting in the pantry, mmmm.  I was drooling.

And oh, my heavens, yes, yes, YES!

I love it when a crazy adaptation works well :)

I so did not see this one coming...

After the heavy of last week's post, I'm going to offer you something a little lighter today...equally mindblowing, but much lighter ;)

But before I do so, I'd be majorly remiss if I did not make this following statement:  Thank you, loves!  Thank you to those with whom I've long been acquainted, thank you to those I'm just getting to know, and thank you to those I don't know at all.  Your feedback has been overwhelmingly supportive, bolstering me to write more freely, well, to write more, period.  And yet, some of the confessional conversations that followed that post have further reaffirmed my stance that:

... as grateful as I am for those sideline nuggets of affirmation, these hallway assents to truth in hushed voices, these are the truths that need to be testified boldly, bravely, up front and center, and from people who've experienced the darkness and its unrelenting pursuit for their souls to shake the scales regarding depression from the eyes of everyone...

So, there is more to come on my journey witht depression and my counterpoints to some of the more conventional stigmas that may be out there.  Stay tuned.

For now, though, I bring you a plot twist that my younger self would never have anticipated.

I have somehow become a morning person.  What is happening?!?  I used to subscribe to truisms such as this:

Oh, I still love to sleep in.  Love to stay up late, love to cuddle up in the evening and unwind, but that's just it.

Whereas in the past I would just begin to get my energy in the evening and start grandiose projects (and finish them, even), I now am winding down in the evenings and, increasingly more, find myself yawning at 9:00pm.

I AM ONLY 35!!!  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!

In case I wasn't ready to admit defeat, I give you the overwhelming evidence of this transformation, by the numbers of this morning.

• 5:30 am - 1 alarm, 1 snooze button pushed
• 5:36 am - 1 rebuff of the snooze button's grace, I couldn't sleep and got up before claiming those extra 4 minutes of sleep
• 2 pubescent middle schoolers awakened
• 1 lb of sausage, 1 bag of hash browns, and 9 eggs scrambled and set to cook on the stove.
• 1 load of dishes unloaded that's a lie - that was simply wishful thinking - didn't actually happen
• 18 breakfast burritos assembled, individually wrapped and placed in the freezer to grab and go later this week
• Supervision of 2 kid lunches being packed (this is an improvement over the last 2 weeks where I ended up making them!)
• 3 humans fed (the aforementioned 2 pubescent kids, and 1 husband)
• 1 cross country uniform found, when the plaintive cry of, "Mom, I can find my uniform," was heard, despite my urging said child to get it ready last night.
• 1 book order signed
• 2 school picture orders signed
• 1 XC spirit wear order signed
• 4 checks written for all orders listed above
• 2 kids out the door on time (6:30 am)
• 1 reluctant kindergartener awakened (while he loves school, he asked if he could have just one day skipped this morning.  Uhm, no), dressed and fed
• 2 adult lunches packed
• 1 kindergarten lunch packed
• 1 bus stop dropoff
• 1 margarita chicken freezer meal dumped into the crockpot
• 2 fingers crossed that it still resembles the original contents after a day of slowcooking
• 1 harried woman fed, showered*, dressed and made up.  *showered = dry shampoo applied, sponging off the smellies, and deodorant applied.  I can't do it all!
• 1 blog post written

And off by 8:30 this morning.

Phew!

Where did this kind of productivity come from?

I have never, ever, considered myself a morning person in all my life.  But this is the third year of middle school mornings (which are ridiculously early, harmfully so according to this study) and like all great transitions, this switch toward diurnal living was facilitated by necessity. Also? Coffee. Obscene amounts of coffee consumed helps greatly.

I will be dead tired by 8:45.

A.M.

#thisistheface

My last post was a turning point - a point wherein I had resigned myself to a truth I'd been unwilling to embrace for a long time.

I have depression.

Long-term, never going away, incurable albeit manageable, depression.

In April, I knew that I needed to get help.  Again.  So I re-enlisted in therapy and made an appointment to see my primary care physician.  I'm happy to say that I found my "forever med" in Wellbutrin and am finding my old, "normal" self a bit more every day.

And now I have a recovery story to tell that isn't so much like some huge, dramatic Lifetime movie as much as it is me screaming to the public and anyone with ears to hear in my little communities around me that I am the poster child to illustrates the potential for a depressed person who goes unchecked because, "she seems to handle so much so well."

It's been 5 months.  I am doing great as the light at the end of the tunnel grows bigger and brighter and nearer every day.  So why say something, why feel compelled to evangelize about depression now?  I mean, it's not like I've never broached the subject before, but why so passionate now?

Because three things.

***********************************
Because of Robin Williams.

Glennon's response to the news of his death said everything I thought and felt for days:

When we mentally ill find out that one of us was taken, we feel sad, yes – but mostly we feel afraid. Monday night I was going about my business and all was well-ish and then I read the news and suddenly fell still and silent with fear. I felt shamed- like the universe had caught me red-handed with too much peace in my grubby little hands. Like I was getting too free and healthy and big for my britches and so I needed to be put in my place.

In the wake of Robin Williams' death, hundreds of bloggers weighed in and people opined on social media.  Some posts were compassionate.  Others were not, simply spewing opinions and unsound (some downright false) "facts" to huge channels, often Christian audiences.

And the ignorance must be fought.

*********************************
Then, because Sunday at church, (we're talking about Hard Things - one of the many things I love about my church - and how to deal, particularly with Addiction) we broached the topic of prescription drug abuse, you know painkillers, sleeping pills, hard core anti-anxiety drugs, etc., when somehow, antidepressants and other psychotropic meds got lumped into the mix and I felt my face go hot.

Seth was in another room prepping for the worship he was about to lead.  So I was on my own with this.

The room began to close in on me as I felt the judgment, the impending, "If people just choose joy/pray hard to God/insert some other well intended but horribly wrong mental health prosperity gospel" platitudes that would cause the familiar and all-too-dangerous echo of doubt begin to play in my head.

Comment after comment came from the audience about how we are quick to just ask for a pill instead of working toward recovery the "hard way," that people just want to be numb and escape their issues.

All of which I agreed with, as pertains to the root of addictions.  That's when it hit me, and my shame turned to indignance.  I raised my hand and said, "Excuse me," with a tone that came out more harsh than earnest, "but I think we need to be very careful in our comments and comparisons here.  People who abuse prescription medicines to achieve an altered state of mind, or high, is one thing.  People who take medicines, as prescribed, to effectively manage a brain disorder that is a medical condition is quite different."

My point was conceded and acknowledged, but then the conversation turned back to more of the same.

I sat there for a few moments, as my love for the individuals in the audience warred with my desire to scream, much like Jesus did at the moneychangers, that they were all very, very wrong and Had No Damned Idea .

Instead I left the room and sought solace in a bathroom stall where I let some silent sobs free.  Some women, wise to my struggles and recent return to living medicated, came in and supported me with words of validation.

Upon leaving the bathroom, class was over and several other ladies I love came and talked with me, again offering support in the hallway.  Later that day, two older women told me they appreciated my comment in class, that it needed said.

But beloveds, as grateful as I am for those sideline nuggets of affirmation, these hallway assents to truth in hushed voices, these are the truths that need to be testified boldly, bravely, up front and center, and from people who've experienced the darkness and its unrelenting pursuit for their souls to shake the scales regarding depression from the eyes of everyone in our churches.

And conversations need to be taking place.

*******************************************
Finally.

The third because is because yesterday I went to a funeral with my 6th grade son for one of the students at his school, who, at the tender age of just 13, intentionally, tragically gave his life up last Friday night.

It needs to be ok to be sad.  It needs to be ok to seek help.  It needs to be ok to ask someone if s/he needs help.  And it damned well needs to be ok to treat depression with meds if necessary.

We have to be kind.  And care for one another in word and in deeds.

And lives need to be saved.

Out of the darkness / And into the Son

Today was so full of symbolism, one might think I'd converted to Catholicism (not that there is anything wrong with Catholicism, folks, it's just that their faith practices seem so much more symbolic and mystical than the more literal Protestant takes on Christianity, in my very humble opinion).

As I laced up my shoes, hooked up the dog to the waist leash, and punched in the right sequences on my phone to start Pandora and MapMyRun, the emergent scents of spring - the willow's unfurling leaves, warming earth and greening grass - made it to my consciousness, whispering the hope of better days ahead.

It'd been cloudy all day - uncharacteristically overcast after such a gorgeous and clear spring day the day before.  But at about mile 2 of my totally spontaneous run*, I turned west toward the setting sun and realized, the clouds were all but gone as Kelly Clarkson's Breakaway triumphantly climaxed in my ears:

Out of the darkness and into the sun / But I won't forget the place I come from

* Totally tangential side-story: tonight I was supposed to go with my co-workers to this Nat'l Public Health Week networking event, and my husband and I finagled the schedule such that he got off work early and was able to pick up #3, drive #2 to LAX and pick #1 up from play practice in order to allow me this event.  It was nothing short of an act of Congress trying to get it all set-up, but alas! My co-workers all bailed for varying, and legit, reasons, so I found myself with some rare spare time, and took it to pound some pavement. 

So, I know you're dying to know, "What's with all the symbolism, Heather?  What does it MEAN?!?"  Or maybe not, since there is no "you" as readers anymore since I've blogged with the consistency of a hundred year drought in the past 4 years.

You see, it's been a hard week for me....for several weeks.

I've been fighting depression again, for who knows how long now.

Denial is a pretty powerful and destructive force to be reckoned with, because it got me good.   Again.

I can't put my finger on a particular trigger, or really say that I was cognizant of the symptoms picking up speed, I just know that I've been doing what I've always done, and soldiering on all by my lonesome.

The desire to sleep all the time?  Written off by the fact that it has remained just that, a desire.  I looked Depression in the eyes and said, "'Scuse me??  Do you not know who I am?  Moreover, what I am?  I am a Working Mom of Three, there is no rest for the weary, silly Depression!  What is this sleep thing of which you speak and who are you to dangle that in front of me when it's not even an option - stupid, that's who.  Yeah, Depression, you are Stupid."

As my daughter is prone to conclude when she's put forth a lacking argument, "So....yeah!"

I imagine Denial just chuckled knowingly and elbowed Depression in the ribs.  "We're a great team.  She ain't gonna know what hit her."

I guess I really started to see it in my concentration and focus.  My attention to detail was slipping, and it flustered me when I'd catch a mistake I'd made.  Stupid things like making scheduling mistakes in Outlook at work, or obvious (to me) edits that went uncaught.  I told myself perhaps I was just rusty, having been out of the working world for 5 years and it would take some time to get back in the swing of things.

I was ok.

I was on top of it.  Nothing to see here!

But then, the Thoughts came flooding in, mercilessly.

When I'd make one of those silly mistakes, my mental voice (not audible hallucinations, but you know that inner dialogue everyone has?  No?  Just me? Heh....) just wouldn't let up with the castigation; think the most brutal version of Mean Girls ever.  How could you be so stupid, I mean really, you're supposed to be smart, but Lord how you've dumbed down!  You'll never get it back, either.  Look at you, how you're trying so hard to rise above and "breakaway," but it's all for naught.  You're doomed to stay a white-trash nobody. 

And, it's not like I was so stupid and easily cowed over that I just believed everything I said in my head.  No, I raised my shield and tried to wield the Word of God and interchangeably channel Stuart Smalley.  Nope, I am a precious Lamb, a diamond in God's eye.  My worth isn't in things, or deeds, or intellect.  I am valuable because I am who I was created to be!  I'm smart enough, I'm good enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!

But the Thoughts are relentless.  They almost never stop.  And it is exhausting trying to counter them with truth ALL THE TIME.

This mental exhaustion is what gets me Every Time.  It is the chink in my mental health armor that invariably lets some barb in that will wound me in some fashion.  And then, boom!   In come more Thoughts when I'm down and before long the really Dark Thoughts come.

Most of the time I recognize the Dark Thoughts as the deceptive bullies they are, but sometimes they are so cruelly convincing that I wonder if ever there could come a time that I would lose my solidarity and fall prey to them.  Because even though I am a Working Mom of Three and I know those little people DESPERATELY NEED me more than I can really grasp, sometimes the Dark Thoughts try to persuade me into thinking that I really am messing them up more than I am growing them into beings who will ultimately become well-adjusted adults, that they could be happier if I just freed them from the craziness that I have become, and on and on with the tormenting thoughts that pull at my mama heartstrings.  It seems so cruel that Depression would use a woman's very desire to be a good mother for her children and pervert it this way to use against her.  But that's the nature of the beast.  And, because it is my own mind fighting against me, there are other good things unique to me that Depression pits against me, knowing they are tender spots.

Depression is darkness.  As is Shame, Depression's all-too-often present sidekick.

But that's where I break the mold.

As shameful as Depression would have me feel about the fact that I have a dysfunctional brain, that I can't just "get over it," I am an over-sharer at the core.  Which is embarrassing sometimes, but more often than not, has led to many powerful moments where the other person says, "Me too."  These Me Too Moments have saved my life more times than I can count in my 34 years.  So here I am.  Sharing, in the event that this may be a Me Too to someone who hasn't yet vocalized their struggle and happen across this page.

and because I am a Kelly Clarkson groupie, singing:

Everybody's got a dark side / Do you love me? /Can you love mine?

So, all of that to say, that tonight was the first night in a long time that I felt hope instead of despair, that I felt the promise of Spring and the assurances of my God that behold, He is making New Life!

So with that, I'm out of the closet (of depression, y'all!).  Navigating some options to take care of this, trying to put one foot in front of the other every day.

Behind the eight-ball...but it's all good!

So here I sit, almost 3 weeks since my last blog post - when I'd determined to write more frequently this year - and still yet to start the online bible study Made to Crave that started on the 19th.

But there's no self-flagellation this time, for I have two VERY GOOD REASONS for the silence.

1.) I've been more socially connected IRL (also a goal for the year as I spent a good portion of last year wanting to crawl into fetal position and hide from life).  I've been hanging out with girls from my MOPS group, seeing the bestie regularly, and all around investing more in lives of the folks I care about.

2.) I had a BIG INTERVIEW via phone on the 9th for a job I'd been praying about.  Followed by a face-to-face interview on the 13th.  I put a lot of prep time into these interviews as they were for a position I felt COULD BE THE ONE, you know, that forever job I would love and still be able to balance family with because it was only 3/4 time and amenable to school hours?  Yeah, that perfect storm was brewing, so I was miserly with my time and didn't get around to blogging.  The rest of that week was spent being busy so that I couldn't think about the wait...though I got an inkling that this would work out Thursday when my mentor/former boss texted that she'd been contacted for a reference and proceeded to rave about my abilities to them; this happened again in an e-mail Friday night from a fellow long-time non-profiter.  Sidenote: I have an amazing village of women in my life - locally and in my computer - and I am so blessed for each and every one of you!

Monday was MLK Jr. Day, and thus, another long wait that about drove me crazy (or maybe that was just having all three kids at home with little planned to do).  Tuesday morning, I got the kids all back to school, save for the girl child as her school had a special IB planning day much to the chagrin and "No fair"s of her brothers, and tried (unsuccessfully) not to will my phone into action.

At 9:48 am, my phone buzzed alive and caller ID showed the organization's number.  This was it.  The yes or no call.

I quickly told Kelsey to quiet the TV, this was about The Job, took a deep breath before answering, and kind of held it as the hiring supervisor introduced herself and did the whole "The reason why I'm calling is" preamble.  Then when she finally go the the part where she said, "And, I'd like to offer you the position," I breathed at last and this burden of the past 11 months' joblessness just fell off my shoulders while my soul simultaneously screamed silent gratitude to God.

I went in for my first day Thursday.  Yeah, consider that.  This time last week I didn't even know if I'd have a job, and now I've already got two days under my belt.  That is mind-boggling to me, still.  So the rest of Tuesday was filled with lots of squeeing on Facebook and also arranging morning care for the littlest guy (since he's only in pre-school in the afternoons), filling out transportation requests for him, and getting info to the school about the two ladies who are going to help watch him in the mornings so that they are authorized adults. Then I had to catch up all the housework so that everything was functioning come Thursday morning. It was insane how quickly Tuesday and Wednesday went by.

And the job - wow.  I just couldn't be happier or more blessed.

Despite only working 30 hours/wk, the organization considers that full-time for benefits purposes, so my portion of the premiums for medical, dental and vision are FULLY COVERED, and the family rate is affordable enough that we will all subscribe to my plan.  Also?  It is effective immediately.  No 90 day waiting period as is customary with many local employers.  Thus, we are happy to report that the rush to make sure we are in compliance with the Affordable Care Act mandate for coverage is over.

My schedule is 8:30-3:00 M-F which means I get home before my kids are done with school, so except for Christopher, not much is changing for the kids' time with me.

But the most amazing, makes-me-feel-so-grateful-and-see-God's-hand part in it?  Is the organizational culture.  It is CLEAR from a policy standpoint as well as the staff interactions that this is a place that values their employees and makes them aware of that at every turn.  The result is so much positive energy that I can't help smiling all day long.  I really have enjoyed getting to know my supervisor's personality and style, and am happy to report that we "click" very well.  On Friday, she and her boss, the medical director of the organization, met with me to go over more of the job duties and functions and they stressed to me how open and willing they are to send me to trainings that will help me grow and develop deeper skills helpful to my position.  I left the meeting feeling nurtured and ready to thrive.

2014 is off to a great new start!

"You and I, we're like diamonds in the sky.."

So...

Turns out, I have a pretty amazing husband.

This is not news to me, per se, I mean, eighteen years {fifteen of them married - we are getting O L D} with a person go by and you kinda should know what you got, amiright?

But this past week, I'm seeing him with renewed appreciation.  He shines brighter than ever.

He works a physically taxing job, despite a significant level of chronic pain, 10 hours a day, 5-6 days/wk. And then spends his Saturday doing the same job in a neighbor's garage to "help them out."  The man lives out Colossians 3:23 daily, doubly inspiring and blessing me as a result.

He is an active and engaged father - and his love speaks to our kids in ways mine can't.  He's the dad that is out playing with all the kids at church/school functions while the other parents socialize.  Currently, he's teaching a Wednesday night boys' class at our church, grades K-6 {what a spread!} and more boys are writing God's word on their hearts than I've seen in awhile.

He's a grade A smart mouth - which means he's quick, maddeningly so at times - and he entertains us all with his quips.  He's especially good at musical parody and can lighten a room's mood up almost instantaneously.

Even though gifts are not my love language, he still spoiled me above and beyond what I'd spent on him at Christmas with gifts that were thoughtful and just want I wanted/needed.  This was especially touching because I hadn't really communicated any ideas to him on account of I didn't really care what he got me because it is our time together, his praise and affections that mean the most to me.  He just knows me that well.

I love that his embrace totally envelopes me and his shoulders so readily absorb my tears when my demons try to breach their containment.  That over time, he's learned not to talk and explain away my feelings, but to hold me tight and soothe my pains as he patiently rides the wave of the moment with me.  That he's come to know my feelings are a whole process, and given time, I'll get over them.  And that his physical nearness and touch make me feel more secure in a world that's unpredictable and unfair.  Or when all is good and well, too ;)

But what really spoke to me, even though I hadn't specifically said I was low, is that he's astute enough to read between the lines -and then- act upon that intel.  I'm a words of affirmation girl, through and through, and the more people who hear/read them, the better I feel.  Typing that makes me feel incredibly shallow, like I'm a fisher of compliments, but it's more like the Proverb says:

Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the mind and healing to the body 

^^^ That?  Is Serious Romance in the 21st century for the words of affirmation types, y'all.

Babe, you make me feel better, but moreover, you make me want to be better.  Here's to another wild and crazy year.  I love you.  You shine so much, but we shine brighter together, you and me.

When you hold me, I’m alive / We’re like diamonds in the sky**

** Yes, I know the song is about drugs.  But I'm claiming interpretive license here. 

On being wanted...{Lord, do I gots issues}

Disclaimer #1 - Mom, if you're reading this, this is no way a reflection of our current relationship {all good!} but is a brutiful-ly honest look inside my issues.

Disclaimer #2 - Despite my seemingly confident and capable exterior, I'm a rather raw ball of paradoxical emotions at any given time.  If you're reading this and you know me in the IRL, I probably don't want to talk further about what I'm about to write - unless you're cut from a similarly broken cloth and wish to say, "Hey, me too."  This is for the people who haven't opened up yet - to let them know they are not alone, as I feel an odd compulsion to bare my soul tonight.

Ok, now that the legalese is out of the way...

From my earliest sense of awareness, I always felt unwanted.

Maybe it had something to do with hearing the words "mistake" or "accident" when the question of my conception arose in conversation.  Maybe it had a lot of something to do with, at age 5, hearing the family lore of how my Real Dad left town, having stolen my 16 y/o mother's paper route money to get the hell out of Dodge, just a day after I was born.

Shortly after my mother's younger sister {then 11} dropped that bomb on me, my biological father returned to town and approached my mother about wanting to see me.  I can't recall if he was clean yet and my mom had doubts or if she knew for sure he was still drugging it up, but regardless, she told him no, and then tried her best to warn me that he wanted me, but couldn't have me because he had done some bad things that made it so he couldn't be with me, especially alone.  He might take me, kidnap me, and that would be very, very bad.  All I knew of him at that point was the 9th (?) grade yearbook picture of him, in which he was wearing hideous seventies fashion and had longer hair than I'd seen on any man I knew personally.

One night, I was playing at my grandmotherly next-door-neighbor's yard.  Her daughters were the same ages as my mother and aunt (which was unusual in that there is a 10 year split in age), but at this point in my life, I was only aware of her 12 y/o daughter, who would play with me on occasion.  The elder daughter and her husband were visiting, and being close friends of my mom's from the past, they knew me, but my six-year-old self did not recognize them.  When her husband said, "Hello, Heather" and began walking toward me talking about how big I'd gotten, all my terrified little brain could say was, "Unknown Man Knows Your Name And Is Gonna Kidnap You!  RUN!!! SCREAM!!!!!"  So I did, horrified at the prospect of being wanted enough to get stolen.  The nightmares began shortly after that, in which my yearbook-picture father would break into our house, freeze my family members into stone (like Medusa - yes, even at age six, I had a major interest in Greek mythology) and leave with me, kicking and screaming into the night, which is usually where I'd wake up.  I vividly remember having these nightmares repeatedly for at least a year.

So on the one hand, feeling unwanted was lonely and painful and yet, a feeling to which I grew accustomed; on the other hand, being wanted was a terrifying and sinister thing to avoid.

I know the sense of being unwanted was heightened as my siblings came along; I was not my stepfather's child, but they were.  Later, this sense rose to a climax for me when I was 12, and my mother had been gone one weekend with nary a word to anyone about where she was.  Upon her return, when I tearfully asked her why she would do such a thing, why she would have scared us so much, she told me I was the reason why.  That because I was born when she was still so young, she hadn't gotten to fully live and have fun, so she took the chance to do just that. She was still flying high and didn't mean it.  Or at the very least, she didn't mean to actually say it aloud, but her inhibitions were out the window.  And some things just can't be unsaid, particularly in a young girl's head.

Implicit in all of it was that I was a burden, that while I was unwanted, I was still there and dealing with my needs was an obligatory drag.  Exacerbating these feelings was the fact that all the family drama and dysfunction often left my parents unable to meet many of my emotional, and sometimes physical, needs; over time I arrived at two mantras to live by:

1. Nobody wants you

2. The only one who can take care of you is you

So I set out to make people want me by way of achievement.  For many years, the praise of my teachers was, in large part, what fed my need for love and acceptance.  I was strong and confident because I relied on myself to feel good and make things happen for myself.  {Later, a keen awareness of this pattern's unhealthy extension into my adult life, by way of my career path, was ultimately what lead me to quit working out of the home and work on just being with my God, husband, and children.}

While still a perfection-seeking, worth-is-determined-by-merit-thinking slave, I met my would-be husband, and through him, Christ.  Just like in my marriage, my walk with Christ is often {needlessly}complicated because of my brokenness and life-long patterns of distrust in others' ability to give me what I crave: acceptance and a sense of "I chose YOU."

I also run into trouble when I try to do everything myself.  It's not so much that I think God CAN'T do it, because uh, you know He can do the impossible {except that if I'm totally being one hundred percent truthful, that doubtful thought may have crossed my mind a time or two}, as much as it is I don't want to burden Him with my concerns and needs and risk Him looking at me with Reluctant Obligation as opposed to the Unconditional, NOTHING Can Separate You From The Love of Christ LOVE, {NOTHING!} He's shown me so freely over the years. I fear that He'll become one of the many who've let me down in life if I trust Him or bother Him too much.  Which is crazy, if you think about it.  He's Unending Love, Boundless Joy, and Abundant Life.  There is no obligation, no burden too heavy for God.  And over and over and over in Scripture we are told that He is nothing if He isn't faithful.

But there you have it - that is my default, maladaptive coping mechanism, to bottle up and soldier through with the insistence that I CAN SO DO THIS MYSELF BECAUSE I'M AFRAID YOU'LL LET ME DOWN IF I LET YOU  SEE THE CHINKS IN MY ARMOR.

So, when we started to struggle with finances this spring as a result of my job loss - I hit the job seeking hard.  I would get a job and help get us out of this hole, and it would soon be a distant memory.  One month passed.  Two..  Three..... Four, and well, we've been really struggling with What Does The Future Hold?  Especially as we got behind on our mortgage....again.  {After the medical bills from four years ago peaked simultaneous to the impact from recession, we entered foreclosure status a couple of years ago and worked very diligently for 18 months to finally secure a loan modification last fall.}

Last week, we were pushing 45 days late with the mortgage when Seth got paid.  On Tuesday his paycheck was $1,000 less than his previous paycheck before it had been, roughly $500 less than the average we try to budget for. We were devastated. A few essential bills (car insurance, student loan, phone, tool payment) and groceries came out and 2 days later, we had $29 in the acct, plus a bit of cash ($40ish) to get us through the next two weeks.

On Thursday, independent from any job application or pitch, I got a call from a former consulting client asking me if I'd work with them.  I was thrilled and my psyche got a much needed dose of "they want me!"  I also was convinced that this was God providing just what we needed at just the right time.  I praised Him and shared with our elders and ministers just how dire things had gotten, how God had heard us and asked them to join us in celebration at His provision.

Then I got a second call.

Turns out there'd been a slight change of plans sometime between the staff meeting where the organization decided to invite my help wherein one of the staffers had been instructed to call me and the actual making of the call, but it never got communicated.  The higher ups decided to go with a PR firm instead upon further thought but had not yet informed their staffer of the change.

And just like that, my case was proven.  See, God, see??!!??  You let this happen, You got my hopes all up and then?  NO GOOD!  Why should I trust You?  You're like all the rest.

And He was like, Wait. For. It.....You'll see.

Whatever.  So I sent another e-mail, saying, roughly, "Well, no dice.  Uh, Habakkuk 3:17-18?  I dunno what's going on, but please keep praying."

Friday, I got a call from one of the recipients of my e-mails saying, "I hope you don't mind, but I told our benevolence folks about your needs.  We can help you, we just need a number."

All this time, I've been trying to get us through on my power.  Refusing to Just. Ask. For. Help.

Not out of pride as much as thinking our needs were too much and how dare I ask for That Much?  Also, the Hardship Olympics show up in my head, you know, when you do that thing that's supposed to cheer you up, but it really just makes you feel guilty and worse, when you think of people who have it worse off than you and need the help that much more? Yeah. I do that.  A lot.

Anyway, today I talked with our church's benevolence ministry leader, and told him our number.  It was large, and humbling to admit the level of help we needed.

But God provides.  Abundantly.

The key is to Just Ask.  Ask without shame.

7 “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.9 “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! 12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.

 Lord, I hear You saying, "See, my child?  I can give you what you need, want to give great things to you, just ASK ME.  I love you, my dear, for I CHOSE you.  Knit you in your mother's womb, it was no accident - you are because I wanted you to be."

I hear you loud and clear, and feel your love and hope you know how much I love you back.  I know now this whole job fiasco happened so you could show me this.  You had a purpose, and I get it.  Thank you for being faithful, for placing my feet on solid ground, and helping me to work through my weaknesses - through which Your Power is made perfect.  And thank you for all of the sweet friends who've been walking with me and my family at this time.  I love them all so much too.

You're pretty amazing - ya know?  Bet you never heard that before! ;o)

Notes to myself...

So, last week I passed the 2 month mark of being involuntarily unemployed.  And it's not for lack of trying.  

I've had 4 interviews, with 3 different employers, and later received the round of rejection letters from every. last. one. of them.  

Ouch.

That stings.

And because we decided to keep Christopher in the daycare/preschool to 1.) keep his routine, 2.) keep his care, and 3.) make me available to take interviews, we are still paying a cost that was originally carried by my income.  Only now I don't have that income, so despite all our debt paying down and budgeting....we have more expenses on one income with daycare than we did without daycare but with a car payment. 

It's always something, it seems, that eats away at any semblance of our financial stability.

And then that instability adds to all my other insecurities {that I yell too much, do too little, put back the weight I lost, etc} and I have a big, fat, meanie of a voice in my head saying: YOU SUCK!  All the time.  

So, I'm trying to quiet that voice and replace it with a calmer, gentler soul that reminds me of the things that are True.

Remember:

Including other versions of yourself, both who you may have once been and/or who you wanted to be.

I struggle with everything but the top one. 

YES!!  This is soooooooo me.  Er...WAS soooooooo me.  I'm going to be here, I'm going to be  here....

 

=

Yes, it's been a month since I posted my last post.

The social media dust has settled some regarding the supreme court's pending ruling on gay marriage, as people have changed their profile pics back to themselves from their equality symbol.

I never changed mine to an equality sign.  Partly due to my belief that slacktivist reactions such as re-posting and sharing pictures doesn't actually change things.  It was also partly due to my fears of upsetting people whom I love and respect who see this issue much differently than I do.  Knowing that has made me upset with myself, and to any GLBTQ friends I may have out there, I'm sorry.

I meant to follow up on my last post - meant to elaborate and use the adulterous woman, the Samaritan woman, the prostitute who washed Jesus' feet as parallels to GLBTQ folks in today's world.  I meant to ask some tough questions, and get some healthy dialogue going like Niki and Becky, because, honestly, like Joy, I'm not sure as a Christian how I feel about condemning homosexuality, even though I know what the Bible says.  But I also wasn't sure I wanted to say that I cherry-picked the parts of the Bible I adhere to, or at least be perceived as saying as much, like Glennon did in this post.

So, I didn't.

Partly because I've been busy (job-hunting is time-consuming, yo).  But mostly?  Mostly I was afraid it would make some people at church see me differently.  Which is ridiculous, you know?  Especially because LOVE, as in that perfect kind of love authored by Christ, does not entertain fear, does not breed it, doesn't even coexist with it because it drives fear the heck outta one.  At least, that's what my Bible tells me in 1 John 4:18.

But the topic just won't go away in my life.

It came up by way of Boy Scouts of America since Seth is a Cub Master for Colton's Cub Scout pack.

I can't tell you how many times we received an e-mail from National Council asking for us to complete a survey with a special indicator that would tell HQ that we had provided our input to the proposal they were considering regarding policies toward gays in scouts.  I'd say we got that particular e-mail 3, maybe 4 times, even though we filled the survey out twice.

Bottom line for us - we would keep working with Scouts regardless of their policy stance.  Scouting is not a publicly funded organization, thus, we respect their right to reserve membership as a matter of their freedom to do so.  That said, I felt it would be contrary to the BSA's call to be good citizens and treat anyone from any walk of life with respect.  I don't fear gay pedophiles infiltrating scouts and violating boys anymore than I do pedophiles who identify as straight; a fear which is virtually nonexistent due to the BSA policy of two-deep leadership.  BSA has strong religious roots, but they are not supposed to be sectarian, thus, I do not see how keeping gay Unitarians who do not feel they are violating God is in keeping with the organization.

I did get frustrated when the vote decided that scouts could be openly gay, but leaders could not.  So what happens to boys who advance all the way through, decide to come out, maybe have a family later or just wish to continue as a leader on their own, and they are denied?  What about the outdoorsy gay dads who have adopted (or have biological kids) sons who want to do scouts with them?

It came up at Pinewood Derby among some of the moms, and I was the minority regarding the matter.  Which is fine, I understand that people are going to have different ideas and we don't all have to agree.  And the opinion sharing was done amicably.  The part that hurt my heart, though, was when I asked what about men in leadership who have habitual sins in their life (i.e. pornography, lying, addictions, adultery, etc) that are still ongoing, how come that is ok, and basically I was told that in those instances, their sins weren't public and were between God and that man.

I guess, if that works for people to swallow that, but it grieves my heart that so many Christians have accepted this idea about secret sin, with its implicit teachings (because yes, your secret habits are totally visible in the way you act and kids pick up on these things, often embrace them too) as ok.  I don't follow that.  In fact, the overarching message I get from the Bible is that God wants, has always wanted, our hearts.  He's like that old Cheap Trick song: I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I'd love you to love me...  Our actions, public and especially private, extend from our hearts - Proverbs 4:23-26, Matthew 12:34 and Luke 6:45 - and it is particularly easy to publicly serve God, but if we say it is ok to sin when all eyes are off of us...then our hearts are not His.

Then there is the issue of same-sex marriage.  It was in my FB feed today b/c Colorado has passed legislation in favor of civil unions and there was a story by the newspaper being promoted.  It wasn't long before religion got brought up in the comments section.  Even if it was a universally held belief by Christians that homosexuality was a sin that absolutely had to be abstained from (as opposed to infidelity, gluttony, and other equally important sins that while classified as such, still happen from time to time and it's all good because grace, right?), last I checked, we are a democracy not a theocracy.  I don't get why the hullabaloo about giving same-sex couples the same rights that married men and women enjoy.  I don't understand why people do not see this as the civil rights issue that it is, and I also do not see why, despite Scripture's admonition for us to leave judgment for non-believers to God, so many insist on decrying that God's law is being violated.  Also, where was all of this religious mob when divorce laws became so lax that hetero marriage became a laughingstock in this nation?

And finally...I woke up with gay news on the radio this morning.  See, the husband's alarm radio is a sports talk show, and obvs the big news is Jason Collins coming out.  It was encouraging talk, accepting talk, and it just made me know that I needed to finally get this all off of my chest.

In the end, if nothing else, perhaps my Christian friends and I can leave my stance at 'a disputable matter,' (I'll even count myself as the one with weaker faith if it helps) and move on, together.  Because I still believe in Jesus, and I still believe that everyone's (big finger pointing at self) a sinner and needs Him, and that's what really matters, isn't it?