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. 

Release

I went back to seeing a therapist in 2016. And geez it is not lost on me how long ago that feels even though it still feels like yesterday. Anyway, a few months in, I started blogging again. I remember talking to my therapist about it and she made a comment about the desire to create being a positive sign. I had been so depressed and apathetic for so long, it really did feel good to get back into writing. It’s something I often think about though. Not writing doesn’t bother me until I start getting anxious. And when I start getting anxious, I start looking for a release like blogging for instance. But when I don’t know what to say, I worry that I’ve slid back into a zone where I’m not able to “create” again. And right now, I really don’t know what to say.

I try really hard not to use my friends for that release because among other reasons, A, when I don’t know what to say, I just overshare.. B, my friends are not therapists and I don’t want to use them as such. It’s not fair to anyone. Anyway, I don’t have a therapist right now, and it’s hard not to feel guilty about the money involved in using one, and the nearest Addiction Recovery Program meeting around here is a bit far. Although I guess I was traveling a similar distance in Idaho/Washington.. it just wasn’t nearly as long of a drive to get there. And of course, there’s something anxiety provoking about attending a new group anyway.

And while I do find blogging cathartic, Its also not the same because while I am fairly open-booked, there are still things I don’t talk about openly online. And feeling the need to edit or revise takes away from some of the raw quality that can be so “releasing.” It’s not the same as opening up to a judgement-free room. Cuz let’s be honest, internet people are often judgy. And there’s something about being in that judgement-free space and just talking out loud face to face with other people. You walk away feeling a little more normal again even if you hardly said anything at all. 

Anyway, this is me. Trying to feel better. Trying to remind others that they’re not alone. Trying to make sense of things. Trying to create. Trying to be me.

A subtle shift

We need to add a new phrase to our vocabulary. We are all familiar with the term "guilt trip." When I was regularly seeing a therapist last year, we talked regularly on the difference between "guilt" and "shame." The main differences she listed were that guilt is righteous chastisement given by God to drive us to change and self-correction. Whereas shame does not drive us to change. Shame is a tool that drives us to hide but not to change. Obviously guilt and shame often find us at the same time, but I do think it's important to remember that they are not the same, come from different sources, and take us in entirely different directions.

I found myself over-thinking last night, one of the things that happens when my anxiety is on the rise as it has been. And the first words that came to mind were that I was guilt-tripping myself. But I did at least stop to wonder if guilt was the right word. Even the phrase "guilt-tripping myself" sounds like a tool of shame. Like a mental weapon of self-harm instead of a physical one. A way to wallow rather than to rise above.

So as awkward as it sounds, can I propose the concept of "shame-tripping" to mirror the idea of "guilt-tripping" ? It's probably superfluous, but I still appreciate the subtle shift in attitude that comes from being able to properly identify what I am experiencing. Is this train of thought going to help me or deter me? Sometimes just acknowledging that this is just a story my mind tends to tell helps me detach from the shame instead of feeling culpable. Sometimes it helps me step back just enough to consider how I can change the narrative to make it a productive one. Obviously this is sometimes harder than it sounds. Once I identify that I'm only feeding the narrative of shame, I tend to experience a circular and nonsensical chain of shame of feeling shame. What a "trip" eh?

Anyway, food for thought.

I Am Not An Addict

So while I’ve written so many times about the Addiction Recovery Program and all the good I think it does in my life, and how much good I think it has the potential to do in the lives of others, I wanted to discuss the one thing I don’t agree with. 

What’s the stereotypical moment everyone can picture about any Addiction Recovery meeting just from watching TV?

“Hi, my name is Jane and I’m an addict”

“Hi, Jane”

This is why the first ten seconds of my turn in the sharing portion of the meeting are always my least favorite. It’s one of the reasons I often don’t want to go even when rationally I can tell myself that if I go I’ll enjoy the meeting. I do not include “and I’m an addict” in my intro. Not that everyone does anyway, but regardless... For more than one reason, I do not, nor have I ever considered myself an addict. And while I won’t make a rigid sweeping statement regarding the future... I do not intend to ever identify myself as such. It’s a moment in the meeting that makes me feel out of place. I mean, if I had to pick one thing to identify as my “addiction” in life, it would be struggling to stick to a budget. I don’t even like shopping that much and yet retail therapy still gives me a release that I crave and guilt trip over afterwards. But is that the reason I go to ARP? No, it’s not.

Among other reasons, I believe in Labelling Theory. And I won’t give myself a label that pretends to define and limit what I am and who I can be. I think that very concept is an affront to the principle of the atonement. Now for those of you who are raising their hands saying woah now... I will clarify that I understand how other people can accept the term “addict” without feeling like it offends the atonement. I’m fully aware it’s just the perspective I’m coming at it from. 

I do think it is amazingly powerful to speak the words out loud “I have a problem” and “I need help.” And even for those who are no longer tempted by the thing that brought them to the meetings, I appreciate being able to say “this is a problem I have had, and I have grown and changed because of it.” And even, “I had a problem, I’ve moved past it, but I am still dealing with the negative after-effects.” 

I guess to me I just think the term “addict” isn’t a necessary distinction that needs to be made unless you want to call us all addicts. Addicts to our “natural man” however uniquely that may present in each of us. Each of us has something we struggle with, something that drags us down, or something that drags others down. We are all imperfect, and each of us has something that if we were to let go of, our lives would be improved. And the ARP meetings are about being in a safe place where everyone can admit that without feeling judged because you feel you are among like peers. But in reality, we ought to be able to feel that way all the time, because none of us are perfect.

That’s life.

Support in Recovery

So I had a flaky moment last week. I felt prompted to go to an Addiction Recovery Meeting and thought I’d try the new one that was started in our area a few months ago that is strictly for women. Well I got there and panicked and left. Oops. So on my way home, still feeling like I was supposed to go, I decided to stop by the meeting in Moscow going on at the same time. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me, but that particular meeting on that day and time is not actually an ARP meeting. Instead, it’s a support meeting for spouses and loved ones of those who struggle with addiction. And I gotta say it was awkward initially. I felt like an intruder listening to secrets that weren’t intended for “my kind.” A wolf amongst the sheep. There was a part of me that wanted to just sit there quietly and pass when it came to sharing time and let them make what assumptions they pleased. But I didn’t really feel comfortable with that either. Part of me was worried if I admitted I was not a spouse, but instead someone who actually attended the Addiction Recovery meeting that they would hate me, for being the same kind of person causing them sadness and grief. 

A bit melodramatic I know, but sometimes the inner voice is a bit melodramatic. I did introduce myself, and while I didn’t say much I did thank them for letting me crash the party. And while I didn’t think I’d be sharing about this, I decided I wanted to do a small spotlight on the group. Hopefully I do it justice.

For one, this group can help such a wider audience than just those who are the loved ones of those suffering addiction. It can help people who have been hurt by a wide variety of issues and people and the manual is great even for couples who have a hard time communicating even if there are no huge underlying issues. One person there brought up that they have found the group useful for them as a victim of abuse as a child and while I hadn’t put it into words just yet I thoroughly agreed with them. 

I totally ran away from the group with a copy of their manual which is different than the ARP meeting’s manual. And while I haven’t finished reading it yet, it’s very focused on personal emotional and spiritual recovery, forgiveness, and honest communication and rebuilding trust. I don’t know why it had never even occurred to me that the spouse group would have a manual.. but it’s a great manual. And who couldn’t benefit from learning about those things? I totally recommend checking out the manual for a good read for personal growth and healing. 

For myself, it was enlightening to experience a window into the thoughts of  “the other side.” But beyond that—Due to my abuse as a kid and subsequent experiences with men through my teenage and adult years, I have a really really hard time being vulnerable and discussing deeply personal things with men, more specifically, my husband. It is way easier to be vulnerable with women. So sitting through a meeting where the subject matter was about how to build your willingness to be vulnerable with someone with whom that feels scary with... hit home very well. I love my husband and perhaps I don’t always communicate that well enough or in the most effective ways and I know I can improve in that area. I want to improve in that area. I also know I’m not alone in that respect. So check out the manual. And if you feel like you need the emotional support of being with like hearted people who have felt hurt or betrayed by someone they love or who are struggling watching their loved one go through the struggle of addiction or compulsive actions.. if you need support while you yourself heal and find relief from despair, I recommend the group.

Click here for the Spouse and Family Support Guide

A Moment In My Head

Anxiety for me is something I have a hard time reconciling. I didn’t used to be half as anxious as I am these days. And I think most of the time I prefer to think of myself as old me and not present me. Talking about it makes me feel almost inauthentic because I don’t want to think of myself that way and because I know so many other people have it worse. And not talking about it feels inauthentic too because no matter how much I try to deny it to myself, it is still something I experience. It’s a concept I’ve struggled with most of my life. I don’t feel allowed to feel what I feel or admit to what I feel because someone else has it worse. I feel ashamed at my “audacity” to feel I have a right to have problems. Talking about things that make me sound like a victim makes me feel vulnerable which I tend to deflect with jokes or sarcasm. Partially because I worry about the reactions of those I’m speaking to and want to give them an “out” from a potentially heavy conversation. I fear being “too much.” And then I hate myself for making light of something I don’t take lightly because I worry I’ve misrepresented myself to people. And once my mind has gotten to thinking about what others are thinking about me, generally people I don’t know very well, then I fixate on it. I can’t stop thinking about it all day to the point that it’s difficult to focus on anything else. And then I shame myself for not being able to let it go, for not being normal, for being anxious. And it’s a short skip and a hop from that point, to sliding into depression. Every once in a while I find someone who is naturally babies me by voicing their thoughts out loud for me to assuage that anxiety so I know exactly where they stand and where I stand with them but I also know that I can’t expect that from people and so I do my best to talk myself down and if nothing else create reasonable doubt in my mind that allows for more than one possibility to be true and not just the worst possible option.

Being in Idaho at the moment, where I don’t know how long I’ll be here would normally encourage me to hide my head in the sand and avoid people at all costs so as not have to deal with it. But I have felt strongly that I need to not live like I’m in limbo right now. And so I’ve been trying to feign bravery and socialize, pretend to myself that I’m in for the long haul so that I’m more focused on the present rather the the what if’s of tomorrow. 

But you know what.. it has spoken to me. I used to hate the concept of people being in our lives only for a season. When I love people I tend to love hard and fast and it’s sad to let go of that. But right now it seems to make sense that a season is better than never. And if I have a role to play, or if I can learn something from someone right now, then I can be grateful to Heavenly Father for allowing and encouraging that “season” and opportunity to take place.

It also makes me glad that I have the children I do. I’m grateful for Abby’s made up song “it’s okay to be sad” because it gives me hope that when my kids grow up, they will do so truly believing that it IS okay to be sad.

"As Sick As Our Secrets"

It’s amazing to me that it’s been a year already. A little more than actually. A year since I disclosed about going to Addiction Recovery Meetings. A year since I disclosed about taking anti depressants. A year since I disclosed about experiencing same-sex attraction. I don’t know why it’s been on my mind of late but I wanted to share some of my thoughts on the “aftermath” of that blog post.

Writing that blog was interesting to me because I had complete peace in doing so when even in hindsight it seems like something I would have been more anxious about. Admittedly I was nervous about the reactions of certain key players but was assured by that sense of peace I had. But I believe that those who love me, love me unconditionally, and love me for who I am. 

What I wanted to comment on was the few unapproving responses that I received. There were some who commented they “hated these kinds of disclosures” and felt it was unnecessary,  didn’t see the point in it. Apparently the blog struck some people as nothing more than weird attention seeking behavior. 

And you know what? What it comes down to, is that the blog wasn’t written for those people, in reality it wasn’t written for anyone. It was written primarily for me. I heard a quote recently, I won’t say where, (cough, a TV show) that hit it right on the money: “We’re all as sick as our secrets.” I have always hated secrets. Not the cute ones like some friend sharing that they like some boy and the make you promise not to tell... but the secrets that weigh on you. Secrets that Satan tries to use to keep you feeling shame. Writing that blog was my way of standing up for myself and refusing to accept that shame. It was cathartic, as this blog often is. And it was also written in hopes that it would help serve that same purpose for someone else. And in that sense, I was successful. 

I will never regret writing that blog. I will never regret that writing that blog created a safe place for more than one friend that disclosed to me afterwards. I will never regret adding to the normalization of the topic. And I will never regret writing for myself on the proverbial wall:

“I will not be shamed.”

And I will keep telling myself that every single day. Every day that I experience anxiety, every day that I feel “less than,” and every day that I feel different, and whenever depression strikes hard... 

I will continue to write on the wall, I will not be shamed.

Ministering

Home. They say home is where the heart is. And that has been an interesting concept for us the last few years. My heart of course spends most of it's time in our physical home, because that's where my children are, where my husband is. But we have both always longed for Texas. And I always miss Texas more in the spring when the bluebonnets are blooming.

When we were in college it was easier because it made sense to be away from home. It was okay because it was temporary because college has an end point. A light at the end of the tunnel. But once we graduated, it all just became a little bit different. Suddenly being away from home was a choice we were making. Idaho felt a bit more like home because I had friends to confide in, people around who I felt loved me. It made a difference. When we moved to Washington it was like I could feel a tangible difference. This was not home. I hoped it would eventually feel a little more like home, but things never really changed.

Even going to church got hard because sometimes it just felt like I was putting myself in a position where I could see the faces of people I was almost friends with but wasn't. I felt isolated and self conscious about my lack of relationships. My calling sometimes emphasizes that fact because I'm frequently asked the question "Do you know so and so?" and the answer is undoubtedly no because I can count the number of people I know even just the names of.. And don't worry, it is not lost on me that this issue is mainly my own fault. And frequently church in this area has just made me feel grumpy, due to my dealings with certain people. I have felt judged, ignored, and lonely.

But, I wanted to acknowledge that things changed when it got nearer to the time to have my new baby. Suddenly there were people in the ward that were approaching me as though they'd known me for years. Women who had made blankets for my son... when I didn't even know their name or how on earth they knew anything about me (although I suppose being hugely pregnant is a bit of an obvious factoid to know about someone). I seemed to have my prayers answered through people I barely knew. Multiple people offering to care for my children (even being aware of the added medical responsibilities present), people spontaneously dropping off food on days I really didn't want to cook.. And when it came time that my baby was born.. so many people signed up to bring us food. And even after the first week, more people dropped off food.. I was on the receiving end of service I never ever would have asked for, never would have thought I wanted, and never would have expected... And just in general, there was an outpouring of concern after all the drama that happened after giving birth. Above and beyond.

For those that don't know, our church has recently revamped some fellowshipping expectations. Really I don't think it was much of a revamp so much as a better explanation of the original ideal. But it hit home for me. Partially because the new model is the way I have always felt was most effective.. But mainly because I felt like I was living proof that ministering to people makes a difference in their lives. I didn't feel like a checkmark on someone's to do list... I felt loved. People have served me who were never "assigned" to do so.. and even those who were "assigned" seemed to genuinely want to be there for me unconditionally. It's a bit odd, feeling loved by people you don't really know. Humbling.

Washington still doesn't feel like home. And I still miss Texas. But... I'm grateful for the love I've been shown. I'm amazed by the example of people I've interacted with these last couple months. I know we've been in Washington for a reason, and there are experiences I've had here that I wouldn't trade for anything. And I think my circumstances made it easier for me to focus on my family, and developing my talents, and using them for my family, for which I'm grateful. For those that don't know, we're moving back to Idaho (just a few miles away from where we are now), in just a couple months. And in some ways I'm still glad to get away from certain frustrations.. But I also feel a bit conflicted now too, which I hadn't expected. I am sad to leave the people/ward that have made me feel like a bit like family.

So thank you, to those who have ministered to me, served and shared with me your time and talents. Time means the most to me. Knowing someone was thinking about me, means a lot to me. And that, I think, is what is at the core of ministering...