Broken

Life has a way of making us feel alone regardless of how many people are in our lives. Sometimes I feel panicked and overwhelmed with this sense of feeling broken—unfixable and it leaves me feeling lost. I don’t know where to turn because I’m not sure what the sense in turning to those around me is if it won’t help.

I have spent a lot of my life feeling broken. I remember as a child when my family had mandated therapy thinking that my family was a little bit broken. I remember as a teenager realizing all the implications of the abuse I experienced as a child, and feeling broken. Honestly it still leaves me feeling broken some days.

 I remember making mistakes and going too far with people I dated and feeling broken. I remember realizing I was attracted to women, and feeling broken. I remember hitting a breaking point in college when all the stress of trying to help other people without anyone taking care of me became too much and I began struggling with crippling anxiety and feeling broken. I remember a life filled with depression and spending so much energy pretending to be happy and feeling broken. I remember losing the ability to feel the spirit and feeling broken. I also remember healing from many of those moments of being broken. Or realizing I wasn’t broken. Or realizing being broken didn’t affect my value as a person.

 Nearly a year ago I lost a baby, and to this day I have yet to go more than a week or two without bleeding, and sometimes that makes me feel broken. I constantly feel like a wife/mother/friend who does not have my crap together, who isn’t motivated or focused, lets my family down, and procrastinates things to an irrational and sometimes detrimental degree and I feel like a failure, broken.

 But even broken, there are people we can love. Even broken, there is joy to be had. Even broken, we deserve to be loved. Even broken, we are allowed to feel sad. Even broken, we are allowed to experience success. Even broken, we are allowed to feel broken. Even broken, we can have hope. Even broken we have an unchangeable worth as children of our Heavenly Father. And having been broken, we can support the broken around us.

 I used to think that feeling broken somehow made me different from other people. It added to that sense of feeling isolated and misunderstood. But as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that I’m not the only broken one. I’m not the only one with a life story. I’m not the only one that gets sad. I’m not the only imperfect person.

 The sad thing about the Addiction Recovery Program I have attended in the past, is that people don’t generally go unless they can admit to themselves that they have a problem. Which means there are a lot of people missing out! But I’ve been thinking lately that my favorite part about ARP is that everyone there is admitting that their life isn’t perfect. Everyone is admitting that they are imperfect. Being in a room full of people who can say out loud that they have made mistakes, that they are imperfect, that they feel broken... somehow makes me feel a little less broken. Because being broken is okay. And I am not alone in being broken. You hear about people’s growth and you hear about their mistakes. You see that success is possible and failure is not permanent. Sometimes you experience love from strangers and it makes love from your loved ones feel less implausible.

I wish life was more often about speaking the real truths behind our eyes and admitting that we’re all a little broken in our own way. Because maybe then it would feel a little clearer that being broken is not something that negates our potential for success, growth, or happiness in this life.. even though it sometimes feels that way when we allow that sense of isolation to overpower our perspective on our lives.

A Window to The Unseen

My experience with miscarriage has been, in my book, unreasonable. Over 4 months of bleeding with little reprieve on top of all the mess and exhaustion that preceded the miscarriage and the ER visit during the miscarriage. Thus far this year has not served me very well. Not that I generally feel the "year" has an obligation to treat me in particular ways. Emotionally, I’m tired. My emotional stability... isn’t stable. Physically, who the heck knows what’s going on. But I had a thought the other day that at least put it into a perspective I found useful. 

For most people, on paper, a miscarriage is something that while being sad, is something you move on from. And I’m sure everyone has varying expectations regarding how long is reasonable for moving on, if at all. In some ways “moving on” seems almost offensive. I’d personally like to think of it as “building on.” But that’s probably a separate topic. Regardless, there comes a point where people might not understand anymore. “Why aren’t you over it?” “Why aren’t you all better yet?” Not that most people would dare voice those thoughts out loud. But for those that are experiencing it for themselves... well, I’ll speak only for myself I suppose. Even I have those thoughts. In fact, I generally think I AM fine. I AM better. Until the days I’m not. And on those days I convince myself that others out there must be having those same thoughts about me that I am having: “Why aren’t you over it?” And maybe nobody’s thinking those things, but it adds to my sense of sadness and shame to imagine that they might be. Thank you anxiety. On those days, I’ll be honest, I wish popping a few extra of my anti anxiety/depression meds would help sweep away my problems. But, of course, that’s not how things work, nor what the meds are for either.

Regardless, these are shoes I have spent much of my life wearing. Having experienced sexual abuse as a child, I have gone through various stages of feeling damaged from those experiences. And while I like to think I’m fine, in reality, I am very much aware of the fact that I will forever be altered by those experiences. Not that being changed prohibits a person from being okay. Like I said earlier, while I don’t think I will ever “move on” from those experiences, I do believe I have been able to “build on” them. But, I have spent way more time than I ever should have, feeling ashamed of the fact that I was still “broken” even though those trials happened years ago and I should be “over it” by now. And I know there are people in my life who do not understand how it affects me, or why it still affects me. Which, is realistically fair, since I don’t always know the answers to those questions either. But it is a frustration in my life, knowing that in some ways I am “broken” and people may not believe I am justified in still being broken.

But the thought I had was that this miscarriage has been different because it is more tangible for me. Rationally, I can tell myself I’m fine, and I’m “over it,” and enough time has passed. But in this scenario, I have that physical reminder of more bleeding every day that reminds me that it isn’t over. Other people don’t see those moments in my day. Without knowing that I am still being forced to deal with it every day, it sounds completely logical that someone could expect for me to have moved on by now. I've even had someone (who knew about the miscarriage) ask me already if I had yet to get pregnant again since the miscarriage. That's a no, in case for some strange reason you were also in that boat of wondering. For me it’s as though the physical reminder acts as a small window. It allows me to see logical evidence of the pain still happening that I might otherwise think was invisible, abstract, imaginary and unreasonable. In contrast, I don’t have that in regards to the abuse. There is nothing tangible about it, nothing you can wrap your head around to say, yes, that’s why it still affects you years later. 

But perhaps, just as I have this window of side effects unseen by others... we can imagine that our Heavenly Father is able to see those issues that no one, not even we ourselves can see, giving him greater context to our mental and physical health than we are capable of ever deciphering. He sees the things we don’t see in regards to our traumas and understands and can help us find peace that we don't always know we need. And just because we can’t always see the waves stemming from prior events in our lives... does not mean they are not still there and still rippling. We should not have to punish ourselves with shame for having been affected by our past, when there may be unseen or even seen ways in which it is still nudging us. And while unseen, that does not take away their legitimacy.

Of Diabetic Sagas

This happened last week, but for whatever reason, it’s been on my mind ever since, so perhaps sharing the story will help my mind let it go. Last week, I took my kids to the Thinkery (kids museum/play center place) after picking Adam up from school one day. Within minutes of arriving at the Thinkery, Adam’s blood sugar was dropping fast. 60’s, 50’s, 40’s. 

There’s something very heart wrenching about watching a kid come to tears over how awful and hungry he feels. And knowing, even after giving him the carbs he needs to come back up, that he will continue to feel awful for the next 15-30 minutes while his body works to absorb those carbs. And during those 15-30 minutes there’s nothing you can do to make it any better. Some lows are worse than other lows, regardless of the actual BG reading. This was a bad one. After he had given up crying and begging for more food, his body just started to shut down. Here I am in the middle of a children’s play place with a 1 year old and 3 year old thankfully staying in the same room with me and not trying to run off... with a 5 year old who should be having fun, but is fading off, falling asleep in my arms. His face and hair becoming increasingly clammy. And just when he’s fallen asleep, my three year old desperately needs to pee. So I’m carrying my completely limp bodied 45lb child, as I follow the 3 year old to the bathroom and thankfully, the 1 year old decided to follow fairly well, with some stern coaxing to not attempt going down the stairs beside the bathroom.... I’m sure people are wondering at this point why I’m packing the 5 year old and trusting the baby on his own to listen and not to go down stairs instead of just picking him up. 

Reluctantly I tried laying Adam on a bench outside the bathroom so I could go inside and help Abby.. Adam woke up just enough to start crying again, and I had to explain that I would be right back, that I had to help Abby even though I was loathe to leave him. After that Abby wanted to go to a different area of the play center and I figured she might as well be in charge of where we play since Adam wasn’t playing. So I carried Adam to the next area, with Logan following behind. Adam and I sat on the floor with him in my lap as I let the other two go play. I’m sure people wondered why I wasn’t more engaged in following my baby around more closely. And Abby somewhat resented me not coming over to play with her in the large play kitchen... but I was grateful that I had been blessed in those moments with kids who listened. 

It seemed as though angels were helping my one year old follow and go where he was told when I needed him to, and my daughter was blessed with an extra ounce of patience that day when I told her she would need to wait for some things until her brother felt better. And even though I felt bad that over half the time we were at the Thinkery, Adam was unable to play because he was low, or recovering from the low and still too weak to walk around... he never complained about diabetes ruining his day. I was thankful that even though he was eating outside of the designated snack section, none of the workers said anything to me... and it’s a good thing they didn’t cuz I was prepared to give them an earful. I really just cannot explain the feeling of watching your child’s tear streaked face as he goes weak, looking pathetically miserable, with sweaty hair as his body goes limp in your arms because he lacks the energy necessary just to stay awake. 

Tonight I held him in the middle of the night as he cried and cried about a bad Dexcom placement making it so his leg hurt so badly he couldn’t walk, and he was so terrified of it hurting any more than it already did, he started quivering and screaming at the thought of me taking it off despite assurances it would help him feel better. Only to have to tell him I’ll be back later to try again and put a new one on later.. our last one, so, it better be successful this time 😳 And his sad conclusions of “this is why I wish I didn’t have diabetes” just make you want to weep a little inside. This is our life. There are plenty of ways it sucks...such as, if not for diabetes in our life, we would have saved more than half of a down payment for a house worth of money already this year... But most days it’s just my normal, and I can handle it, and he can handle it... but some days, it just makes you wish for things to be different. I can only hope that I do my best to do right by him, and make it as easy as I can, while also preparing him to deal with it on his own one day. 

Open Minded Application

When I started seeing a therapist again a few years ago, my initial attitude was cynical, albeit hopeful. I remember leaving the initial interview feeling satisfied that I had been thorough and honest in my answers, but thinking “Good luck figuring out which of my many issues is the root cause of what’s making me screwed up these days. Lots of options to choose from, good luck lady!” The end result was not what I would have guessed that first day. Mainly because I wasn’t ready to hear it. But that’s another story.

Towards the end, my therapist finally put forth the suggestion that it seemed to her that the way I was expressing my struggles was akin to an addiction and she thought it would be an appropriate step for me to attend the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints’, Addiction Recovery Program (ARP). My initial reaction was that in some ways I could understand the comparison but that it was more like a symbolic comparison. I felt that I didn’t really have an addiction, it was just an analogy. But I went along with it because I had received the prompting that what I needed most was to better understand the Atonement. And the Church’s ARP program is built around the Atonement. So I felt like it would be a good environment for me to learn in. My perspective later changed, but not before attending for several months.

My first meetings were anticlimactic. I still didn’t understand why I was there. I felt awkward and that I didn’t fit in. And I wasn’t sure why I should keep going. I spoke during the sharing time portion mainly because I’m stubborn and didn’t want to fit into some stereotypic mold of the new guy who takes a while to say anything. 

But I felt prompted tonight to share that as I continued to go to those meetings... as I opened my mind to what was being shared, as I began to feel the spirit again through the purposeful change in my priorities and choices to study the manual and the scriptures, and as I continued to come to peace with my own flaws and truths, and acknowledge them... I began to see more and more how the Atonement factors into those meetings and the manual far deeper than just the simple concept of forgiveness as we often attribute to the word “atonement”. 

I began to see how that manual can be used to walk you back from the brinks of unbelief. Applied with an open mind, the ARP manual can help re-activate a lost testimony. The ARP manual can help anyone and everyone over come bad habits of any kind (addiction or not). The ARP manual speaks with a voice of love that can make you feel loved and understood when you don’t feel like you even deserve love anymore. The ARP manual in some ways feels like Christ speaking to me, with more love and direction than I’ve felt before when reading something. Which just goes to show that it was written with inspiration. It’s about looking for the things that apply to you, which, done with the company of the Holy Ghost can steer you to improving yourself in ways you hadn't even thought of yet. And admittedly, I have had to read the manual multiple times for different things to stand out to me each time.

So, if you are struggling with testimony. The ARP manual may be a place to turn.

If you are struggling with faith, the ARP manual may be a place to lean on.

If you are struggling with making healthy habits (be it spiritual or secular), and of course, eliminating unhealthy ones, the ARP manual can help you make the right choices.

And I think importantly, it can help you overcome battles between guilt and shame.

It all ties back into scriptures and directions from the Prophets, of course, but with a specific focus and prescription for action that helps to facilitate change.

I may not be attending the ARP meetings right now, but do I think that I will end up going back again one day? Yes. Do I think that I am still in need of healing and the judgement free love and support found in those meetings? Yes. I miss that. I have seen so much positive change in my life and the lives of others through this program, I know it could help each and every one of you no matter how small your goal for self improvement if you only let it work in you. I know I need a lot of self improvement and I know I could yet apply this program a hundred new ways in my life. And I should probably start sooner than later, as should we all.

.:ARP Manual:.

Holding On To A Memory

There are still a lot of parts of me that don’t want to talk about this. But I also swore to myself a long time ago that if I had this experience, that I wouldn’t add to the culture of hiding it. So here we go. Be forewarned that I may be forthcoming in my details as that’s how I need to express it right now. I won’t sugar coat my pain for your comfort in this moment. Tomorrow, sure, I will likely deflect to protect myself.. but not right now. 

I found out last November that I was pregnant—due July 22nd of this year. 

However, I went in for an ultrasound in late January, at nearly 14 weeks, and learned that our baby’s heart had stopped. To see that perfectly formed little baby still on the ultrasound screen but to know that my sweet baby wasn’t in that body anymore was breathtaking. I didn’t know what to say. We had already announced to nearby family and as we were entering the second trimester, I had begun thinking about how we would announce it to the everyone else. Instead, that moment was taken away and I witnessed several friends announce their own pregnancies in the coming weeks that I had intended to announce my own. Saying that, I want to clarify... I’ve known people who resented such announcements because of the unfairness of the contrasting situations and that is not how I felt. I was still happy for those people. I was just a little sad inside that I didn’t feel ready to congratulate them and engage with them in that excitement because the subject was just hard. I felt bad for ignoring their joy but decided it was okay to focus on me for just a little while. Even now, there is a part of me that wants to connect to them because of a shared timing... but I worry I shouldn’t mention it so as not to make them feel... anything that takes away from the moment they’re experiencing. That would not be my intention.

I waited three more weeks for the miscarriage to happen on its own. Still feeling every symptom of pregnancy I had been having all along. The only thing that changed was that I lost that feeling of knowing there was life inside me. Because the moment never came, my doctor prescribed me some medication meant to induce the cramping that would get things going. It was hard not to feel hesitant. Hopeful for some kind of miracle that maybe my baby really was still alive and that it had all been a big mistake. But as that feeling grew that the life inside me was gone, so did my peace about taking the medication. 

Taking the medication was a long and dreary process. I laid in bed all day feeling nauseous and more crampy than I’ve ever been. I had thought I might do something mildly productive like make another hat for one of my kiddos while I was laying in bed all day, but found myself unable and unwilling to focus on much of anything. Having had a baby before, I can tell you that it felt a lot like the beginning stages of labor. Only instead of being a contraction that came and left... it was just a constant, continual clenching with no relief and without the hope and excitement of a long anticipated arrival. 

Eventually the pain began to intensify and I knew things were probably ramping up. Delivering the baby didn’t take very long once things started and I cannot begin to describe what it was like to see my baby still in it’s sweet little sac that was supposed to envelop and protect it for months to come. Or to hold its tiny sweet little form. To see the tiny little eyes and tiny little fingers and tiny little toes, with a little mouth and little belly. My perfect baby without a future I could witness on this earth.

The moment was messy and unpleasant, with lots of blood, and yet for just a few seconds—serene. 

After that, my body made a sad attempt at passing the placenta, which apparently my body has forgotten how to do since it also had to be surgically removed after Logan’s birth because it wouldn’t come out then either! I was tired. I was achy. I was frustrated, and nothing was happening. After a while I started feeling faint and clammy. And then I started feeling just terrible. I laid down on the floor of the bathroom which always just feels so pathetic... and my vision started dimming out and I started to vomit. I felt awful. I could barely stand. After much internal teeth pulling I decided it might be wise to go to the Emergency Room. The trip was excruciatingly long and we stopped at more than one hospital before finding one that had a doctor available in their ER that could help me which was mentally antagonizing..

Hospitals are awful places. Where each and every single nurse and doctor that walks into your room feels the need to talk to you when you’d rather be left alone, and make you fill out paperwork when you’d rather be left alone, and everyone asks you to rehash every detail of why you’re there when you really don’t want to say it out loud ever again. 

It took two doctor’s attempts to slowly scrape the placenta out. It was emotional, and drawn out, took way too long, and was not a comfortable experience. Somehow it brought me some comfort that my baby was safe at home and not in this horrible moment with me. To his credit, the last doctor that worked on me asked the other doctor for my background before entering the room so I didn’t have to rehash everything, and I was very grateful for his presence and sensitivity. 

I went home feeling somewhat better—relieved it was finally over. But still feeling lightheaded and weak. I stayed in bed all the next day after passing out on the hard tile floor during my first attempt to go to the bathroom that morning. There’s nothing quite like waking up on the floor wondering where you are, why you’re there, wondering why your head hurts, wondering how you got there, wondering why there are people standing over you staring at you... And then feeling somewhat humiliated by the sign of weakness and vulnerability. And then remembering that you need to poop!

A week later, and my head still hurt and my neck was still stiff but not as much. Apparently throwing your head into the ground is not a good idea. Since then I’ve also had issues with vertigo, even just when laying down which is extremely disorienting. 

And now, my heart has started to heal. That’s not to say that I don’t still cry some nights when I think of my beautiful baby. But I feel complete, holding my babies that I do have with me. I feel thankful I can watch them grow. And I’m grateful for the chance I have to heal myself.

Because amidst all this, there have still been concerns about determining the cause of the Blood clots in my lungs after Logan’s birth... and I was given the news that my thyroid issues had come out of remission. I had been looking at the possibility of needing anti-thyroid drugs during my pregnancy which was not ideal. Now it seems my thyroid is trying to go back into remission now that the pregnancy is over but my doctor still wants me to get the radiation treatment for it, and I’m undecided and reluctant to consider drastic measures like that... My poor kids have had to be patient with me because my doctor ordered me not to lift more than 20 pounds because the thyroid issues make my heart race and I don’t need any exercise making it race any more than it already does. Which in reality excludes all my kids but I cheat with my youngest toddler who only exceeds that by 2 pounds. I've also just been really tired. Which I've been for months now.

We did finally tell our kids that we had lost the baby. It hit Adam the hardest. But I think it helped that we had recently had a deep conversation about death. We told the kids that we are going to build a fairy garden to help us remember the baby. I wanted something that would memorialize the baby in some way and would be something the kids could be involved in so the baby will still feel like a part of the family. We’ve been very up front with them about it and they were glad to see the ultrasound picture and sweet Adam requested that we print and frame the ultrasound picture for him. I’m glad that for them it’s not a secret, it’s not taboo, and when it’s on their mind they talk about it with whoever is around. It feels really healthy that way and I’m glad it’s in the open that way.

I am holding on to the peace that that baby will forever be apart of my family. Because of my temple marriage, and the promise that my children will be sealed to me for eternity, and the knowledge of life before and after this one. I won’t say that I have found closure, but I will say that I have been reminded to appreciate the little moments with the children that I do have with me. 

If one of my other children died, you would know it. To me, it only makes sense that I would talk about this death too even if both are pains I’d rather not feel. This experience is a part of me now just like any other, and to know me, knowing something of my experiences is important.  It’s not something I would ever wish to hide or pretend didn’t happen. It’s not something I think should bring people shame. It’s just another moment when people band together to love one another during a moment of tragedy and that is normal. We all do it differently, and that’s okay. But never should this kind of loss be a matter of shame or blame or taboo.