He Wanted to Change the World : Abridged

In November 2016, I felt the frustrating draw to write out the overflow of my mind and heart. I saved the draft and closed the browser because it read as jumbled and overwhelming as I felt. In February, I did the same thing. And again in April. On July 1st, I finally relinquished the expectation of myself to write something that was perfect, irrefutable, compelling and beautiful and I just spoke. I decided first to write a Facebook status and after beginning it, I realized it was not an acceptable Facebook status (it was hella long) so I moved it over to a Google doc.

8 pages and 5 hours passed and I felt I could breathe.
I feel I owe a lot of my friends an honest and heartfelt update on what the hell we're doing. I realize it appears we have probably lost our minds, or are always asking for money for a new project, or are speaking of grandeur and seeking support for a new thing. I'm sure we come across as confusing and maybe even annoying to people.

I understand that. I see that. My anxious, overthinking mind thought through all those scenarios.

We have had a dozen people stick by us through this entire, unexpected and strange journey and I can't thank them enough. I truly can't.

So, this is intended to be an abridged version of another abridged version of our last 6-8 months. 

I have no idea where to start other than at the very beginning, on February 19th when Palmer came to me telling me about the incredible experience he had the night before. He felt enlightened, invigorated, excited and ready to change the world. February 19th, in case you don't have a photographic memory, was an unnaturally gorgeous Sunday. I took one child out to ride her bike while the other two stayed home with Palmer while he energetically graphed and logged everything he had in his head. He did this for a majority of the day.

What he wrote about was fascinating, revolutionary ideas to steer humanity towards betterment. I know it's vague, I told you it was abridged. I was astonished and intrigued. Where did this come from? 

The following weeks and months were full of supernatural wonderment that I can't fully describe here and yet it was also full of equally paralyzing fear. The days were precarious and uncertain. There was a stretch of time where he was so full of energy he appeared to be on drugs. He didn't sleep or eat and I panicked about when to step in and help. There were a couple of weeks where I didn't recognize him.

During this time, he was so connected to something that everyone around him caught it. The spark of life and true free will and the gift of stepping out of our mundane survival to evaluate our existence.

I KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS. I just ask you please bare with me. 

Christians would call it the Holy Spirit, I call it the Universe, others might call it something else and atheists might not believe me at all and that is totally okay. I'm not writing this to evangelize or proselytize or convince anyone of anything. I am writing this completely honestly and free of any worry that anyone will think less of us.  

In the midst of that, his partnership in a business start up he poured weeks into dissolved and he was left with the pieces of something awesome and exciting; something we had hung our future on. I grieved for him then too, helpless and paralyzed yet again. I was not the wife I wanted to be, the supporter, the helper, the one to pick up the reigns when he couldn't hold them any longer. I wanted to be more than I was for him then but that's my own process to work through, I think.

He quietly picked up those pieces and moved them into a new endeavor which a lot of you may have heard of: the Lawrence Collective.

On March 25th, he invited the whole city to join his efforts to something bigger. He couldn't paint the whole picture but he knew with every fiber of his being he believed in it and it's potential so he threw everything he had into it. He was able to share a part of his vision with a number of other people who knew how to make it work. Again, I can't thank those people enough. I can't adequately thank those who listened to him intently, stuck by his side and not only that but worked along side him as I tried to keep our lives together and he pursued great dreams. I need to clarify that I do not mean to say he was negligent of our lives or family or anything like that.

His peripheral broadened to the point where I had to let him take off and see what happens. 

The 25th came and went, things were quiet. The adrenaline of planning and anticipation for that day came and went. He spiraled. There was one particularly heart wrenching day when my neighbor texted me alerting me that she thought Palmer to be suicidal and it was time to step in. A dear friend came to his side and he sobbed and processed for hours while I sat helpless and paralyzed again. There were days I emotionally prepared to separate the family so he could get well. Days spent grieving. I spent an entire 3 months in a constant state of nervous panic that my life, my husband, my future and the people around me were falling apart but instead of telling anyone, I kept it to myself so I could just. keep. going. Make it to the next day, hold it together, keep life normal for the kids, worry about whether our business and sole income would make it out of this.


We decided to get the hell out of town for a spontaneous trip to the mountains - nature's most cleansing medicine. The trip was perfect in that it was exactly what we needed. It was the grounding Palmer needed. It was the escape I needed. It was the adventure the kids loved. But it was cut short when Palmer was able to ground enough to look at himself and say he needed help. He posted a video to Facebook describing his mental breakdown and he began the process of getting outside help.

Everything from that point on has been an incredible, steady incline of improvement but not only that - our lives have been filling with great, beautiful hope. That connection to something more remains untouched. And what's more, others feel it too. People around us are talking about the same things. It starts as unexplainable restlessness, or intense anxiety, or glimpses at weird consistent coincidences. And this is not new, it's not something I'm making up or trying to get a new church going around or something. It's the betterment.

The Lawrence Collective, the idea Palmer put together and ran with, is still there - we're just starting smaller. It's focused on connecting people, hearing each other's stories and going from there (it won't stop there, and really would you expect anything less from these crazies?) It's planned to be a lovely little mix of Humans of New York, NPR's Tiny Desk and a dash of local news thrown in. This is Lawrence, KS - we have an endless supply of beautiful, interesting people to hear from. It's Palmer's passion project and I'm happy to be able to help any way I can.

Being present and open to this magic around me has not let me down so I dare not stop now.

This journey began with a mental breakdown 5 months ago and ended with an intangible connection to something so much greater than what my life has known. We're open to the magic of possibility, to the deep potential of humanity and the incredible change that can happen. We are not the same people we were at the beginning of the year and I'm grateful for it. Palmer woke up and I'm grateful for it. We are both healing and growing in ways we couldn't have done before; living caught up in hopeless expectations.

There are a list of ideas I can logically work through concluding why what happened came to pass. Why he changed, what is driving him and where it's coming from. I won't do that today. (And probably never will.)

Today I'm letting you know we're okay. And more than that - we're alive.

ADHD &

I feel like I have been going through a complete and total transformation and the best way to process all of it is through writing. I say that like it's news. I've been processing through writing since I was a young teen; I think there are times I think it's either not necessary, not important or that it's a habit better left with my young journals of angst. No. I'm learning to pick it up again and to stop overthinking how well it's written, what words I choose, whether they're the perfect words and whether anyone will care. It doesn't matter.

Lately, over the past month, my anxiety feels like it has peaked. I don't know why. I can't pinpoint a trigger or a reason other than a very broad and probably obvious indicator which I can only call, "growth".
Coincidentally, it's been one year since I went to India where I found myself stripped of all comforts, bandaids and familiar escapes. I was faced with just myself and this foreign world and it was awful and, as I'm discovering, necessary.
The anxiety I feel now is similar to that time. It's hard to eat, my chest is always tight, I become completely consumed with my thoughts, some of which are poison. I have to actively, consciously choose to step away from them. In doing so, I am moving forward in beautiful ways. Yet still, I type this with the nervous, upset stomach and bated breath. Why?

Here's one thing I'm processing through:

Through most of my school career, beginning mostly in 5th grade, I was very much below average. Truly a solid C student. I never felt smart, never retained information like I wished I could and never could live up to expectations of the school, teachers and overall academics. I was incredibly quiet, well behaved and not easily noticed so I could get away with the underachievement for a long time.

English class, though, is where I soared. It was the one time I would score high because of something I was actually good at (as opposed to Home Ec where I just had to show up and try). I remember two different occasions where I stood up to read something I wrote to the class and it was that movie moment where the class is looking at me in awe, like "Where the hell did she come from?" Once a teacher begrudgingly gave me a good grade on a story I wrote because she was sure I plagiarized it.
I wish I could go back and thank the English teachers (except that one) I had who helped me find that piece of magic that writing is to me.

However, I learned to hate school. It showed me everything I wasn't good at. 

I remember using different ways of trying to absorb information. I would write every word my teacher said down or repeat every word said in my head to keep me focused. I'm sure my internal dialogue was ridiculous and hilarious. I didn't mean to space out, I didn't mean to be distracted or disinterested. I didn't want to ignore homework or miss a deadline or fail. But I did consistently. I barely graduated high school.

Adult life has not been any easier. I struggle with relationships, I struggle with keeping a clean house. I struggle to plan and organize. I struggle to remember anything. I will be having a conversation with someone I love and, like a freaking computer, I'll be interrupted with a pop up window or spinning wheel indicating something is loading, only to be thrown back into the real world where I'm frantically catching up and fumbling through a recovery. It's the same problems I struggled with in school but grown up life was copy and pasted where class and homework was.

My husband began treating his ADHD a few months ago and as he was describing the symptoms and life with and without treatment, I began to recognize many things. Things books and websites were describing that I thought these last 18 years were just normal things everyone deals with except me were actually, in fact, not a healthy normal.

I scheduled a visit with my doctor and she confirmed my suspicions with a diagnosis of ADHD. I broke down into tears. My childhood finally made sense. My severe childhood anxiety and my adult depression even made more sense. I have been doing more research and almost every time I finish an article I have streams of tears down my face.

"I finally know I'm not stupid," I said to my doctor with breaking composure. 

I'm not lazy. I'm not immaturely disorganized. I'm not stupid and it's definitely NOT because I'm a female. I'm just misunderstood. I've misunderstood myself.

The irony here is I was one of those people for a while who rolled my eyes at ADHD. I criticized medicating kids for being kids and using a diagnosis as a cop out for doing anything. I mean, look at me, I had all those things too and I was a miserably depressed failing student - it's fine!

Here's what I'm learning that I wanted to share. ADHD is commonly associated with little boys and hyperactivity. First of all, the symptoms of ADHD are not isolated to just hyper activity, like I had thought for so long. There are "shades" to it, like most things, and a more subtle version of it is inattentiveness, anxiety, daydreaming, disorganization and under performing. Reading those "symptoms" was one of the things that brought me to tears. I had a teacher embarrass me once for my disorganization. She stopped class, took my folder to the trash can and began throwing away everything in it making a big deal out of how much stuff was in it. I learned to see that flaw in me and really hate it.

I can't really articulate the weird, conflicting emotions you have when as an adult you are processing through something seemingly small and unimportant, like a memory of a teacher being mean in first grade, and learning to forgive and have grace for your child self. Years ago I would have deleted all of that thinking, "WHO THE HELL CARES ABOUT WHEN YOU WERE EMBARRASSED IN FIRST GRADE. WHO CARES THAT YOU WERE MESSY EVER." But I do. And I really wonder how many women are still, as 30 year old adults, hating these little things about themselves that they just can't get a handle on.

Here's the other thing: Women are much less likely to be diagnosed because first of all, ADHD has not been widely researched in women. I just want to sit on that for a minute. Not to wag my finger at gender bias but to acknowledge it exists in many forms.

...

Ok. So there's been research revealing the differences in ADHD in girls and boys at a young age, determining it can manifest very differently between the two. Even with that knowledge, I'm reading more and more articles pointing out the imbalance between diagnosing and helping girls with their ADHD.

Further, women are more likely than men to grow into ADHD, developing it later in life and the traits are expected to be handled in a timely and efficient manner to keep up with the rest of the world. On top of that, the demands women are expected to meet are insurmountable when coupled with ADHD. The expectations our society has of women is a whole other conversation in general but more often than not, women are the primary parent at home, the caretaker of the home, the planner and the organizer.
Quick refresher on those ADHD traits which include the inability to be organized, difficulty recalling details and trouble staying on task conclude that that is, uh, yeah, not going to pan out well. And let me tell you, as a stay at home mother for 7 years and trying to work and parent from home for 2 months - IT DOESN'T WORK WELL.

My depression meds haven't changed my life, only evened out chemicals that are also flawed in me. But this discovery of myself has changed, and will change, a lot. I'm not taking medicine for it. Not yet. I would like to have it for times when I need to really work and stay focused (working at home with 3 kids is a nightmare for someone who is chronically disorganized and distracted) but because it's a medicine so abused they make it difficult to get. Right now what I'm doing is more self discovery, giving myself more grace, giving my child self forgiveness and talking about it. The idea that so many people, and women specifically, are struggling and learning to dislike these traits in themselves as flaws a lot of times at a very young age, breaks my heart.  I also think this will help me be a better, more patient parent. I will know what to look for. I will know when my easily distracted daughter is again NOT doing what I asked her to, it's not that she is disrespectful but that she likely spaced out like I do. Or when she leaves a total mess beyond just the "being a kid" mess that it's not because I need to teach her to clean better (not always at least) but that, like me, her mind just can't keep the clutter in check.

I am sharing this as part of the processing stage, like I mentioned. I'm also sharing this so that others  can hopefully understand me like I'm learning to understand myself. More than that, what I really hope for in sharing this is that someone else might come upon this same discovery. That they might see a reflection of themselves in either what I wrote or from the conversations coming from this topic. That someone else will glean insight into themselves and embrace that reflection as evidence that nothing is worth despising in them self. That those traits that create more obstacles than ease can be honed into tools resembling superpowers. That we'll be better equipping people to fully reach their potential despite those obstacles that disorders create. It is there that happiness resides and happiness is what equals success.

If you're interested, here are a few sources I've been learning from:

ADHD & Gender

ADHD: A Women's Issue

Forbes article with a long title

Women & ADHD

Wonderful podcast about women & ADHD

Ode to Valentines

I guess this is a Valentine's day post. It's not really too sappy or focused on smoochy love and all that crap everyone's tired of reading about. (Well, I am. So I suppose I'm not alone.) Sappy, smoochy Hallmark love is good and all but there's more than that.

Palmer and I watched La La Land yesterday and when it ended we had very opposite feelings about it.
If you're dying to see this movie and don't want any spoilers, consider this your spoiler warning. 

First of all, I was pouting that there wasn't more musical singing and dancing numbers. As much as I swooned over the jazz in it, I wanted more memorable sing alongs. And when the last number hit and we are left pining over what could have been between these two dreamers, I was so angry. How could they do that to me?! His face when he saw her! And they both saw their life and the magic and adventure and love that could have been! AND THEN SHE LEFT AND THE CREDITS POP UP LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE.

Palmer clapped and said he loved it. I stomped my foot and said, "WHAT?? That was terrible! There wasn't enough singing and they weren't together! What the heck?!"

In the car he said it again and I said again how I just didn't agree. He went on to describe how their hopes and dreams and love and everything that made up their reality and they were chasing were the risky options in their life. Pursuing an acting career had the lowest percentage rate for success. His landing a solid paying gig playing the jazz that fueled his passions had the lowest percentage rate for success. And in life you chance it or you don't. You luck out and you beat the odds or you don't.

Spoiler warning ends here.

He went on to say it was very much like us and I sat there mouth open taking the movie in all over again. He was totally right.

Palmer and I's relationship was the risky one. To be honest, it had one of the lower chances for success. We were 18 and 19 when we met. It was literally love at first sight. We were kids with heads full of dreams and souls filled with passion and hearts filled with angsty hope. Then we hit a point quickly where we split and I wasn't sure I even liked him anymore. He was a Christian Republican and I was a Democratic agnostic/universalist/searchingforwhateverthehellisgoingonhere-ist. Some people told him I was too wordly and we wouldn't be equally yoked as a couple. I had people tell me he was a jerk.

As it turns out, we ended up hanging out again. In groups first, then in pairs, then as a double date, then we found ourselves spending hours together, daily, laying everything out. Being brave and vulnerable and honest. He wasn't a jerk. I wasn't a Delilah. 

We were cloaked in layers of what our worlds wanted us to be.

We got married at 19 and 20, after knowing each other for a year and a half. Again, our chance for success was very low, I think it's safe to say. If my kids played this same scenario out, I would be terrified but do my very best to equip them. But damn I'd be scared - just like my friends, family and strangers were. I legitimately lost track of how many times people told us it wasn't a good idea. Every 19 year old in love has said this, but I knew it would be okay. I knew it was right, I wasn't scared at all. We planned to chase our dreams together, married to help propel one another towards what we want from this life. Fuel for the other's passions.

Things were wonderful until they weren't. I needed to seek help with my depression. (As it turns out, falling in love and getting married doesn't fix depression.) Palmer needed to seek help for his own demons. (As it turns out, ignoring problems doesn't make them go away.) We forgot how to be present for the other and then our marriage imploded. I was struggling with postpartum depression and Palmer was struggling with addictions. Our chance for success, again, was very low.

However, we succeeded. It was fucking hard. I imagined what divorce would look like. I imagined single motherhood. I imagined Palmer finding someone new. I imagined suicide. And we survived it all. We showed up for each other. Became brave and vulnerable and honest again. We found the wounds and healed them. They're very faded scars now. It's only hard to talk about now because my memory isn't great.

From eternity to where the space meets the sea.

We chose to help launch a new church. A riskier option than staying in sales and climbing the corporate ladder, but happiness trumped promotions. The chance for success: low. But we did it.

We chose to start a business. A riskier option than landing a 9-5 with benefits. The chance for success: lower. But we're doing it.

We/Palmer chose to funnel a lot of energy into a new local startup with massive potential but not a lot of short term reward. Success rate: lower than other options. But it's going remarkably well.

There have been several other dreams that had a super low chance for success that didn't pan out but it didn't hurt a damn thing to try. Whatever has failed us in the past opened a possibility for something else. It's incredible.

It makes me wonder how many people are chasing the risky dream. What is this life if you're not?

We've had odds against us for a long time and we may always have odds against us. But choosing risk, choosing joy, choosing passion despite a low chance for success - isn't that living beyond existing?

Love is risky. It often times has a low chance for success. But really, love is only successful when it's felt. 

Every one who loves deserves love. Whatever you believe, all of us only have this one existence. It will never play out this way again. Choose joy. Choose passion. Choose love. Choose risk. Choose hope. It will not always go like you hope. The odds may beat you. You might fail. But every failure leads to another possibility. That's the beauty La La Land captured in my opinion. The odds were harsh for each of them and they didn't triumph the way they thought. But it led them to other possibilities. Flaws made beautiful because of choice.  I'm still pining over the montage at the end. It reminds me of my own what ifs. What if Palmer and I chose separate paths? We didn't marry, we didn't have 3 remarkable children. We didn't choose adventure over familiar. If we had done everything different, I would live my own montage of an alternate life. And what a glorious feeling it is to look behind you, at every fork in your path and every choice you've ever made and smile because not a single one leaves you in regret.

I write this wishing, hoping and praying this for everyone, Valentine. 

Choose bravely, lovely, risky and truly. 

Happy Valentine's Day.

Welcome, 30's

I will be in my 20's for one more month. 

Here is what I have learned.

If you want something, ask for it. 

If you need something, go get it. 

I have spent far too much of my life waiting for what I want to come to me falsely calling it destiny. I dreamed of a life full of music and art. Instead of painting, I settled on the fact that supplies are expensive. Instead of taking a class on watercolor or pottery, I fell on the fact that I couldn't afford a class. Instead of auditioning for musicals and showcases I fearfully decided I wasn't talented enough.
I have learned from my husband that failing is only failure when you pause and stop. To begin painting and never pick it up again. To turn down the opportunities to sing despite the need to. 
I have learned to ask to join someone in their music and to dive in and begin a project my heart is aching for instead of waiting for it to work out for me on its own. That mindset also carries further past art and into relationships and other ventures. If I need to connect with a friend, I need to ask. If I feel left out, I need to jump in. If I feel empty, I need to refill and recharge. Destiny does not come on the tides of laziness and self doubt. 

Complaining helps no one.

Social media is full to the brim of negative, guilt inducing hashtags and global crisis that not a one of us can find a way to remedy. There's a rapist being set free after a heinous act and little time served, people calling for a football player to show respect to his country and another group of people demanding we change the national anthem and a devastating flood in Louisiana and people being shot for being black and an earthquake in Italy and death tolls hanging high in the middle east daily and people dying of starvation and a Native American tribe fighting for the respect of their land and sanctity of their water and all of us desperately wanting to fight the political corruption and WE ARE ALL SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT IT AND DO SOMETHING IMMEDIATELY. Oh my gosh. My ability to even empathize is so low. I fear what this is doing is desensitizing everyone to humanity's needs and hurts. I am learning to lend my voice to where I can help. Of course, there is nothing wrong with sharing a cause or discussing a problem. But people stop listening when your megaphone is always on. 

DOING is what works.

I truly believe so many problems could be eradicated if we bound together to fix it. The potential for communities to help each other from within is astronomical. We can feed each other, house each other, care for each other, teach each other. The hungry and homeless population would be lowered immensely if we helped our neighbor. I am absolutely not trying to say I am a saint over here. What I am trying to say is we can easily fix this together. Look for how YOU can help and refer back to my first point and do it. 

You can learn something from everyone around you.

When I turned 18 and graduated high school, I was certain I was destined to do something different. I had a better grasp on the world and the people in it and I would do something with it. Every year after that that self certainty, which is a beautiful thing, turned into arrogance and ignorance. And an ignorant, arrogant idiot is the worst idiot of all. Okay, cutting myself some slack, I wasn't an idiot, just very immature. 

I was one of those teenagers who thought I knew better than any adult. And then I was a young adult who thought I knew better than anyone jaded by the world they've settled with. And then I was a Christian who desperately tried to be the best Christian and thought I knew better than any non-Christian. And then I was a first time parent who thought I knew better than any other parent who wasn't doing it right. And then I was trying to shed the old skin of the mean spirited Christianity I had learned but thought I knew better than other Christians. Then I turned 28 and was so exhausted from knowing so much I realized I knew nothing. 

What I really know is every single person's journey looks different than yours. 

Therefore, "everyone you will ever meet knows something you don't." - My favorite genius Bill Nye 

Be open to what the person next to you can teach you. My husband taught me something valuable about failure. I have learned true compassion, humility and bravery from the people I have met and opened myself up to. 

Embrace yourself.

I have struggled with healthy eating habits that led to eating disorders for most of my young to adult life. I was never happy with how I looked or who I was. The body positivity movement through almost every social media platform is a crucial and beautiful thing that our world needs. I will preach body positivity all day, son, and yet it just took me until, oh, a few months ago to truly accept and embrace myself. 

After 3 children, I was in an all out war with my body and the scale. I worked so hard and counted every calorie and deprived myself of so many things I loved to try to get to a place where I was happy. And guess what? It didn't work. It never has. I can't explain what really clicked but after my trip to India, I found I was reconnected with myself, my life and where I'm at and part of that was my body. I'm healthy. I have 3 healthy children. I'm in a really good relationship. I'm surrounded by incredible people. I'm ever growing and changing. The fact that my pants are a double digit DON'T FUCKING MATTER. I have never in my life been a confident person. In fact, I'm not sure I even know what it feels like to be truly confident. But if there were ONE thing I had to choose as something to take away from this whole piece, it's to not waste your time not learning to at least like yourself. If you don't like something about yourself, figure out why and a healthy way to change it.  If you can't, ask for help. (Therapy was a fantastic option for me, personally.) Ain't NOBODY got time to waste not loving yourself. 

It is what it is, folks, and I'm totally fine with that. Finally.

Hating America isn't cool. 

This is something I've been struggling with how to communicate. I don't want to come across as a "world traveled know it all" now that I've taken a life changing trip. I also don't want to make the mistake of being yet another version of my "thought I knew better" self I mentioned earlier. But this is something striking I brought back with me from my trip. 
I met people who lived in feces. I met children who played in garbage. I stayed in a country where I did not feel safe alone. Despite a world opposite of my own, I connected with children who had the sweetest smiles and big open arms. I was welcomed in by people who hold hospitality to a high standard. And while I was over there, the few times I had WiFi I could not spend it on Facebook because to go from seeing the slums and log on to see people whining about Barbie's and screen time, I could not handle it. 

Now I completely understand all of India is not dangerous or dirty and I understand not all of America is safe and clean. I also know that as a white person living in the suburbs, I have not seen the worst of it. But I live in a place with clean water and the ability to go for a run safely on well paved roads and enjoy a glass of artisan wine and fair trade chocolate and by God, so do most people on Facebook who hate our country. I think Nationalism is a dangerous thing but I came home happy that this is my home. I do not take my country for granted anymore. My heart for travel is sparked even brighter and I am constantly plotting future endeavors to aid people like the amazing ones I met. We are not the best country in the world but we are not the worst. This is when my earlier point about complaining plays a big part, in my opinion. 

Vegetables are good. 

If you don't like vegetables, you're doing them wrong. This is serious. And this is also when you know you're a real live grownup. 

That's a leek, guys. A LEEK. And it was GOOD.

Vegetables can be beautiful, too.

Patience leads to more. 

The fact that I've rediscovered true patience is brand new to me. I find it's helping me parent better. It leads to me being a better listener to those I disagree with. It helps me deal with mean people at the grocery store. I beat levels on Candy Crush faster (I think so, let's go with it). I can deal with other people's children better too. (That's a big one.) I had no idea I lacked patience until just recently and I think we could all, including myself, exercise more of it. 

Take a big dose of patience, Snow. 

Take the selfie. 

Something seemingly very trivial that I've discovered I have changed my mind about are selfies. I don't like taking selfies of myself looking nice. If I do, I want someone else in the picture. If I take one of myself I need to look silly. I felt sharing pictures of just myself was vain and juvenile.
But I was part of a special day and I happened to feel refreshed and comfortable in my skin - which made me feel more beautiful than I have in a long time. However, I didn't want to capture that for fear of being too much like my teenage self. But now I have no pictures to remember that day. And when I'm having a bad day in the future that would be nice to look back on. And there's something about looking back and finding no evidence of yourself that feels a little...empty.

I am in no way trying to communicate that a picture of yourself is the only way to capture a moment or feeling or experience. But my aversion to pictures, especially selfies, has changed and I think it's good. Take more pictures of yourself without hesitation. Don't be afraid to share them if you'd like. You deserve to feel beautiful, strong and brave in your own being and capturing that in a picture is something you deserve as well.

So next time I'm on a rooftop with a gorgeous view about to see my husband and friend's band play after witnessing a friend's engagement, I will take a real picture as well as one where I just make a dumb face.

Reconnect.

Reconnect to the people around you. To what you love. To where you are. To who you're with. You will either love it or find you need to change something. It's then you can weed those things out. 6 months ago I was in a pit of depression and I chose to remove myself from my world and go to the Upside Down for perspective. (Joking, but for real.) Do that. It will lead you to greater things. 

20's. You were good. Not really good to me but good for me. You were full of discomfort, but therein lies growth. You held heartache but that's how you know you're living. Several new chapters opened and closed. I met my 3 babies and kissed their faces. I saw parts of the world I dreamed of. I learned that my oblivious lack of knowledge gives me more in common with Jon Snow than I ever realized. (I do have my birth parents and don't have a direwolf and haven't been resurrected from the dead yet but I have no idea what my 30's have in store.)

And with that, I welcome my 30's.

Running and Flying

I knew something was changing. I could feel it. It first felt like something trying to escape. And my life was a whirlwind of change so I couldn't afford the effort to peer into myself and investigate what was happening. My depression and insecurities also took hold and held me frozen in place.

I wrote my last post on my way out of the pit, as I called it. I was recovering, catching my breath again, and it was on the way out that I could feel it. All the change around me wasn't just around me-it was within. That was new. I have always taken the backseat, or the sidecar, or the support beam and held tight to enforce the change around me.  And that's where I wanted to be, I don't regret that at all. But when was the last time it was me that took the step into the unknown? On my own? I suppose it was when I went to college and spent a lot of money so I could explore who I was and fail all of my classes in the meantime (except English because I embraced any chance I had to write). 10 years since then has held a lot of hills and valleys and growth and even wisdom (the kind that comes from realizing you were never grown up and not right about everything).

So, a few weeks ago I stood at the edge of the pit, glanced behind me and charged forward. I looked into jobs, I made a list of volunteer opportunities in my community and necessary childcare. In meditation I went over everything I wanted to do. I needed to do. I picked apart who I am and where I've been and where I want to be and where I need to be.

"Run toward broken heartedness, not away. Run towards the things that break your heart." - G

I mentioned this in my last post, but back in February I saw Glennon Doyle Melton speak and that has played on a loop since she said it. It took a few months for me to find what that meant for me. On a "me" level, broken heartedness is risking my safety ("safety" as in the safety and comfort of solitude) and connecting with people. It's also risking my anxiety and placing myself around people who I can and need to connect with.
On a level outside of "me", it's those that can't help themselves in a situation where they need help. Specifically children, animals and the environment.

Run toward the things that break my heart. Here we go.

I began reaching out to friends for help pointing me in a direction for out of state volunteer work. That led to me researching overseas volunteer opportunities. In my heart on the back burner was not only traveling but taking part in the world around me. And then I found it.

Next month, on July 18th, I will be traveling to India to help an organization teach children in the slums of Delhi. 

I see a therapist, who I love, and I pick apart my mind and feelings and functions with her. I spent almost the entire hour talking about this decision. In talking about it, I told her how I felt inside my metaphorical pit and then how I found myself far away from myself, in a place and world unlike anything I have ever experienced. India. A place I've dreamed of visiting, a culture I've been infatuated with and it's people those I feel a pull to.
I hadn't even processed my reasons that led me to my decision until I said them out loud to her. As I finished my thought, I sat there contemplating it, smiling. Her eyes beamed back at me. I knew all the reasons why, and I knew why now, but the fact that it was my subconscious response to my depression (middle finger, depression!) was fascinating.

That night I had my first dream where I was flying. Palmer has dreams where he's flying ALL THE DING DANG DONG TIME and I'm always so jealous. The way he describes it sounds incredible. And that night I got to fly.

Only a few people know about my going to India, and some of them have asked with much enthusiasm, "Are you excited?!"
Excited is definitely not the word. I'm thankful I have this opportunity. I'm grateful for my husband who is helping me make it financially possible. I'm preparing emotionally for a journey that will break my heart. I'm becoming increasingly anxious over whether I can really afford to do this (I can't, but like I said, we'll make it happen somehow). I'm embracing this moment to rise to, to fly, and I think I will come back forever changed. I hope to.

"They are no longer the same because I myself am no longer the same. India always changes people and I have been no exception." - Ruth Prawler Jhabvala

"You cannot find peace by avoiding life."

I wrote on Instagram last night a little tidbit about how I found a love and beauty in gardening 2 years ago. The idea of gardening always seemed so dreamy to me. I grew up surrounded by elaborate pools of flower gardens around my parents house and spacious backyard. And then when I was older my mom grew and tended a dozen different vegetables. The size of her vegetable garden was the size of some people's kitchens. I took it for granted, but I was a kid so I'm given a bit of slack for not seeing that not everyone had that luxury.

When my husband and I bought our first home it had a massive, long backyard that had been a graveled and somewhat detailed meandering garden. The homeowners let it die and moved out. I had high hopes of revitalizing it. I planted and killed 4 vegetables. It was impossible to mow the grass growing through the gravel and expensive to lay down more rocks and even more expensive to remove the rocks and put down a yard. So I gave up and declared I hated yardwork - especially gardening because I killed things.

2 years ago though I decided I really didn't want to be the neighbor with the eyesore of a yard. (That was definitely us with the ownership of that first house. Sorry, neighbors. We see the error of our ways now.) It was hours of work and a wicked sunburn that made me sick but I did it. 2 flowering bushes, 4 types of flowers and 2 types of vegetables. And it all LIVED! Last year and this year I've watched the plants die and come back, bigger and stronger and more beautiful.

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This season has been one of deep change and uprooting for me. I've been surviving through terribly dark throes of depression and anger and sadness. And though a lot of it, maybe most of it, is happening externally in the world around me, I actually feel a great deal of the depth of change is in me.

I mentioned in my last post that I've been clinging onto the edge of a pit, gasping for breath and reassuring everyone around me I'm fine before I lose my hold and fall back in. In the pit I spent a few weeks not doing anything. Not seeing anyone or speaking to anyone, putting the kids to bed and then going to bed myself. Another few weeks was spent not really speaking to my husband. In all of those weeks I'm a ghost trying to find my place in this life that's morphing around me. My friends are moving and changing into different roles of their own, my husband is starting a business which our income will solely rely on, my church, whose close knit community is one I've found so much peace and love in, is closing its doors and the rest of the plans for our lives are completely open ended.

I like the open ended.

For these ends to be open as they are while I feel I'm either fading away or my spirit is pouring out of my seams is something I can't exactly explain to anyone and them not think me insane. 

Years ago I watched The Hours and I took in every second of beauty and heartbreak and breathed it. I had never, and have never, watched something I felt was such a reflection of myself before. I bought it on DVD and didn't watch it again until last week, almost 11 years later. I watched it with my husband and I described a scene that has always stuck with me. A woman lays on a bed, ready to kill herself in a hopeless moment and water rises around her, swallowing her.

I have never related so deeply to a feeling. My depression has always felt like water I'm treading that I can't muster the energy to keep treading. It gets heavier until I can't breathe and the ideas of the depth of those waves sound so peaceful.

My husband finished the movie and was struck by everything that had captured me years and years ago.

It was about two weeks later that we got into an intense argument about my living in this state of nothing. He told me he saw all three of the women in The Hours as one person; me. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a sense of thankfulness for feeling so understood but also a great deal of self loathing for tying him to a person like myself.

I've been struggling because I feel so ready to leap out into my own adventure instead of solely supporting the adventures and ambitions of those around me. I have felt resentful of my husband (off and on) for about a year now because I have felt I have lived in his shadow for a very long time which is where I wanted to be; supporting and encouraging in the background with our kids. But the more I find I'm frustrated in the background, the more I long to get out of the shadow, the more sure I am that the timing of my feelings is all wrong. Or it's the voice of that darkness telling me so. Regardless, it's convincing and it makes me feel trapped.

I don't want to be where I am right now. I'm ready to see what I really can be because here, gripping to the edge of my pit, I know I was meant for something great. Raising my beautiful children to be flourishing and compassionate adults isn't my only purpose and being the constant cheerleader to my artistic and amazingly intelligent husband isn't my only purpose. Knowing how to crack the right jokes at the best times to make everyone around me laugh isn't the only thing I know I can do.

But what is?!

Trying to hone in on passions and not blow our precious income trying to find it and meeting my 3 children's needs while also trying to even recognize my own and juggling the ideas of full time work and childcare and the unschooling homeschooling dreams I've had is really...too much. And then I'm back to being the ghost, frustrated with myself and resentful of those around me finding and succeeding in their goals and dreams and also feeling like a piece of shit for not just freaking enjoying my time at home with my kids. What a terrible mom I am. 

I brought up my wanting to find work outside of the home to a few people. The first person (a therapist I don't see anymore) suggested I find some mom groups to plug into. The next person suggested I really weigh the cost of childcare. The next person kept adding, "well, when Atticus is older," either not listening to me or truly not realizing I mean, "I WANT TO FIND WORK OUTSIDE OF THE HOME." The last person listened to me and supported my feelings. I didn't need anyone to say how wonderful my ambition was, but it certainly was welcomed. And my sweet, wonderful husband has encouraged me from the beginning.

My husband had to spend 2 full days at home with them while I worked helping a friend run a wedding event. At the end of the second day he said, "We have got to get you out of here. I don't know how you do this."

Thanks, babe. I mean it. Being their mother is the number one thing I want to be. But there are other things I can be as well. I want to be them. I just need to find them. 

And as I raise my kids, I want to raise them to know what they can be. That they were always and will always be my priority

 It feels almost grandiose to say, but this change, as painful and dark and suffocating and out of control as it feels, I might dare to say is more of a metamorphosis than just a turn of the page.

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As I was working in my garden, digging into earth that had been unkept and forgotten, I stood back and felt joy. Gratitude that I could do something seemingly so insignificant and too close to matter but knowing with my hands I changed and grew something that's getting more mature and beautiful each year.

I hope I see that in myself too.

Valley of the Shadow

This post has been sitting here as a draft for almost 8 weeks. It feels so freaking whiny and angstly. It reads like my emo Xanga did in 2003. But I find I just have to share it.

These last several months have been very difficult and my depression has been darker than it has been in a very long time.
I keep finding myself in this pit of darkness, so dark I can't even find words to define myself or my surroundings, and then come out of it, gasping for breath and unable to write about it. And then I find I've fallen back in. And I climb out. And fall in. Over and over in the last few months. I think it's my survival mechanism; how I get through stress and fear and hurt. Don't feel it. But the living, most rational part of me doesn't want to live in that pit and wants to be the strong, bad ass bitch that can do it.

But damnit, I can't.

This darkness is familiar. It's that unwelcome companion that sits down next to you knowing it has your full attention until it decides to let go. 

I know why it's here and I know why I keep falling in but for the first time in a really long time I really can't stop it.

This chapter in our life is beginning with a terrifying uncertainty that is scaring me to death. I'm trapped in a dozen situations out of my control. I feel like I'm blindly scouring over every surface of my life looking for something to take hold of that I can help or fix or find security in. Left with nothing, I feel like I'm floundering for purpose in my own life and subsequently losing sight of my worth.

My husband and I have been talking out these complicated emotions and plans over the past couple of months. Sometimes that helps and sometimes it just places a cross hair on my fears so I can't see anything else. I've also been researching potential jobs, trying to get back into writing and painting and doing things artistic; hoping to spark something. Young kids make that very difficult. As is, you know, not even thinking you can do it.
This blog is my only "artistic" outlet right now because it's fairly easy to find 30 minutes to an hour here or there to write how I feel. But keeping an online diary is a little...millenial, right? Juvenile? And then that dark companion's voice jumps in with all kinds of convincing reasons I'm wasting my time here.

 I've been overweight, working my literal ass off everyday, never exceeding 1600 calories and burning 130-400 calories per workout and I haven't lost ONE pound in 9 weeks. This leads to my feeling unworthy.

That has revived a terrible relationship I used to have with food. This leads me to feel shame.

I've been unable to provide financially to my family, this leads to my feeling useless.

I've been watching people around me succeed and flourish and grow and I'm still in the same place I was 5 years ago.
And after spending time celebrating with them, I turn to myself and wish to be them, which leads me to ungratefulness.

I feel alone and realize in isolating myself in my darkness, I am alone. That my friends and family have no idea what to do when I'm absent so they move on. So I decide I'm someone who's not meant to have close friends and try to move on as well.

I've been lost in my negativity, leading to hopelessness and fear. I've found the times I genuinely laugh are fewer and fewer.

At the beginning of February I was feeling this way as well. and then I got sick with this nasty cold and BOO HOO my life was over. I had to miss a friend's surprise party and then I was about to miss seeing one of my favorite people speak something wonderful. I laid in bed sleeping off my sickness running through all of the bullet points of woes when I suddenly realized how pathetic I was being. Sure, some of it, maybe a lot if it, are legitimate concerns and my fear is validated and yes, the tumors of insecurity I have beneath the surface need some serious addressing but dangit did I need to listen to Glennon Doyle Melton speak.

I loaded my purse with hand sanitizer and a lot of meds and carpooled with  my friends to hear her.

I was in a total medicine induced mind fog but I think it helped me hear her words with more clarity.

She spoke of a hundred things I wish I could have captured but one of the things that struck me so deeply was when she spoke of the valleys. I've found myself in some deep valleys, as has anyone living a life with feelings. But my valleys are hard for me to understand and hard for me to navigate through.
I thought once I had my soul mate I'd be okay and once I met my kids and kissed their faces I could never be so sad again. But it's inevitable; it's an inevitable part of me.
But, guys, my kids are getting older and seeing me in my valleys and it hurts my heart so much that I want to bury myself in the depths of that valley in shame. My oldest is beginning to listen, to watch and to recognize my darkness. She asks me if I'm okay and steps in to help more around the house and draws me pictures and it breaks me to pieces. This was never supposed to happen, my kids were never supposed to see this. And it makes me loathe myself and hate that I could be so selfish and petty.

"Don't knock the valleys," Glennon said. "Everyone wants to be on the mountaintop but up there the air is so thin and you can't move - you have to stand still so you don't fall off. The valley is where the river runs. It's where the power is."

That's it. The valleys don't have to be the end. I need to find my river. I don't know how and I don't know where it is but those words gave me hope that maybe I won't be a burden forever.

I've felt so guilty over these past few years. I've felt so guilty that my husband married this depression. I have a terror in me that it will end my marriage someday. It's part of me, despite my meds, despite my growth and age. And maybe, just maybe, it's okay. It will be okay. It's okay to be sensitive, to feel the darkness. Let it restart my heart. I just have to find the river.

"Learning to be still in pain is alchemy." - Glennon

 Learning to be still, feel the pain, blindly or eyes wild, feeling it is the alchemy. Feel it and find the way out because you will always come out stronger.

I just have to find my river.

Mirena

I wanted to share my experience with the birth control IUD Mirena because finding other people's stories were the only reason I didn't feel so awful and crazy.

I had Mirena inserted in mid December, 8 weeks after giving birth to my son and had no problems with the appointment. I experienced some cramping and bled for a little over a month (which I was alarmed about because I wasn't told that it was normal to experience a month of heavy bleeding) but other than that, nothing abnormal.

My first indication that something was off was that I had been working out, first mildly with yoga and then strenuously with high impact cardio for, at the time of my concern developing, 7 weeks and eating a very strict diet with a calorie intake that never exceeded 1500. I had not lost one pound. I could feel I was getting stronger but my weight didn't move at all. My measurements weren't changing either and then I found I was  actually gaining. Now I know, this is everyone's favorite argument, "muscle weighs more than fat, you're gaining muscle". Yes. I know, But what I was expereincing just made no sense. So I kept working and weighing and waiting and the scale never changed.

In the beginning of January my scalp became so intensely itchy. I smeared coconut oil on it every night and tried to shower as sparingly as possible hoping the natural oils my scalp produces would balance out or something - I have no idea I'm not a hair doctor. For a year before I was able to wash my hair once every three days and then with this I suddenly found myself needing to shower everyday because of THE DANDRUFF. Huge flakes, guys. I could provide the snow for a stage production of A Christmas Carol. It was terribly embarrassing. I asked my friend, who could be considered a "hair doctor", as I officially stated earlier and she suggested Aveda's scalp benefits shampoo which I bought the next day.





(Sidenote guys: it took me a LONG time to convert over to the fancy shampoo and conditioner crew but it is so absolutely worth it. I don't have to use as much and my whole family uses it. I know the price tag is stroke inducing but our family used an $80 bottle of condition her A YEAR. And my hair feels better than it ever has. *cue shiny hair toss over the shoulder, laughing to the heavens* )

So, I'm overweight, trapped in overweight mode, itching my head like I have fleas, danderry (which is a word now) and also very, very depressed. There were life situations happening at the time but I could never quite pinpoint why exactly I was so down. It got bad enough I went in to see a doctor about it.
Those life situations also led me to think that they were causing me stress headaches as well. These headaches would come on suddenly and were sharp. I experienced them probably every other day.

I chalked every symptom up to another issue, which it could have been. But as I was researching how to cure my dandruff problem, I found a likely culprit to be a hormone imbalance. Wait a sec. Hormones. Ok. So I Google birth control and dandruff. Lots of hits. I Google Dandruff and Mirena. Lots of people experiencing the exact same thing I was. Itchy scalp and some had the dandruff too. The weight gain or inability to lose any weight. HEADACHES.

I had been keeping tabs on the weight gain and Mirena debate. I say debate because every health care professional and medical website says that birth control, and Mirena specifically, does not cause weight gain. However, hundreds of women, including myself, are experiencing it. Women were gaining 20lbs since Mirena and their doctors were dismissing it. Every woman I saw that expereinced weight gain and had it removed said they did begin experiencing weight loss after, some rapid and some slow going.

I had my Mirena removed a little over a week ago and my dandruff is gone. My scalp is only a little itchy but pretty normal for it being the middle of winter. My depression has eased quite a bit (to be clear, I didn't know depression was a side effect until after I had it removed. It was yet another "aha" moment.) No headaches anymore. And I've lost one pound. Whoopee. I'll take one pound over the ZERO pounds I've lost in 12 weeks of diet and exercise. (That's another blog, though.)

So I wanted to write this to be another voice in the sea of voices saying I know my body and I am right. You know your body, you know when something is off despite others telling you you are wrong. My nurse and doctor both appeased my reasoning for removing the Mirena after 6 weeks of it but were careful not to tell me I was right. I don't mean that in a rude way, I love my doctor, but I also know what she's learned is not matching up with what's happening to me and that's ok but I know I am right. 

I want to be very clear that I am well aware that Mirena works great for some women. Two women close to me use it and love it. I am totally not against Mirena. It just doesn't work everyone and that's totally okay. It just really, really sucks to be one of those women and to have people more educated than you telling you you are wrong and continue suffering.

Freakin uteruses, man. They're so powerful. Mine is definitely winning in the war of control and totally giving me the finger.

Book 2016, Chapter 1

In July of 2010, we visited a church in Lawrence, KS that sparked excitement and hope that was electric. We moved our family to Lawrence to be a part of it. 

In August of 2012, I wrote about what this church, EastLake, had done for us in the two years we had spent in the life changing love and community it was composed of.

Now in January of 2016, I write a goodbye to it.

We're in the middle of something big and heavy.

EastLake itself has been something bigger than I could have ever imagined. I've always been on a never ending search for God and sense and purpose. EastLake became an incredibly safe place for me to do that. And if God ever makes Himself known to Earth, if He ever decides to show Himself to the people He made, if He ever personally intervenes on behalf of those He loves, He did so with EastLake.

We came to EastLake ready for a new adventure and good Lord did we get one.
I had spent most of my life trying to make sense of Christianity and when we arrived at EastLake, ready to drive our roots into the ground,  I was also in the throes of some serious self righteous, holier than thou bullshit I thought I needed to be to be a good Christian. Talk after talk felt directly addressed to me - challenging me to forgive those who hurt me, apologize to those I hurt, soften my heart to vulnerability, break down the walls previous churches help me build, open my heart to the searching I still felt compelled to do and see, finally see, people's hearts through their stories and hurts.

Not only that, but a few months after relocating and beginning to plug in at Eastlake, I was devastated by personal turmoil that ravaged my heart, marriage and trust in anyone again. The community and people at EastLake were the ground when mine crumbled beneath me. They were there before I knew I needed them. They spoke love and change and demonstrated acceptance and importance the way I heard Jesus had. It was awe inspiring.

It IS awe inspiring.

EastLake will soon be closing its doors. Not because no one shows up, not because of some crazy scandal, not because it's broke, or broken. Because it's time. And boy does my heart ache over it. The grieving it invokes is unlike what I've experienced before. I'm aching that I have to explain to my kids what's going on, angry that it's ending, excited for another new chapter, hopeless that we'll ever find something like it again, thankful when I look back, fearful I'll lose my people.

I've been a somber shell or a crying mess or a strong and optimistic bulwark. Some of my closest friends, who are in leadership positions, already know and we see in each other's eyes this terribly confusing storm of emotions. The meeting where our lead pastor shared what was coming was met with an amazing response of hugs, tears and quiet hope. Quiet hope is definitely the front runner in my emotions lately. I worry that these last 5 in a half years will be those golden years you look back on. I worry what's in front of me is hard and dark and lonely. I worry I'll lose my people. These people watched me ugly cry and work through my darkness and make really dumbass jokes. They're my people.

On top of that, my husband then needed a job and every lead was crashing and burning. If being a parent to 3 kids, including a newborn, living in a single income family with that single income teetering on the brink of dissolution doesn't send you into a anxious, nauseated panic...then you must have more stability than I because I've been a hot, hot mess.

2016 will be an interesting year. If I weren't actually living it, I would be excited as hell. I love new chapters. I love adventures. I love change. But I am living it. And I'm consciously reminding myself to enjoy what I can in everything happening.
I will move on, with my people, to something wonderful. Maybe a new church, maybe just boozey nights with lots of laughing.

My husband and I decided this will be the time he starts his business. We both have known he would own his own business someday. He is the most entrepreneurial person I know. He has the heart, mind, creativity and discipline to do it beautifully. I just thought we'd be like, 40 when it happens. But as the chapter of this year unfolds, it seems increasingly obvious that now is the time. Venturing into this uncharted territory with 3 small children in tow is terrifying but sometimes embracing the exciting and terrifying leads you into purpose.

Having decided that, things are absolutely just as scary but there's a direction, whereas before I felt like I was dispatched into a lifeboat with no compass and praying our paddles work.

These next few months will be increasingly difficult to process. EastLake has given me much I will never forget and will forever, eternally be grateful for. It didn't exist as long as I wish, with all my heart, that it could have but it fulfilled so much in its time. I fully intend to take heart, grab  my paddle, follow my compass without falter and bring others into my lifeboat. (As much as an introvert can, really.)

EastLake gave me hope. I will go and do likewise.

#postbabybody

I have found myself in a daily battle with myself. 

I loathe this post baby body.

I am trying my damnedest to get to a better place - some days physically by working out extra hard and some days mentally by just accepting it. One day last week it was mentally; I decided to embrace who I am and took a picture of my belly. It was a moment of weakness honesty. I went to post it to Instagram because we're all about honesty these days and when I searched the hashtag #postbabybody, I found ONE picture of a woman in the same boat as me. Everyone else was in super, incredible shape with muscles and abs and adorable outfits (or lack of outfits) and just looking uber hott. They were promoting a diet or product or supplement, or just themselves. And wow did my stupid, honest little belly pic feel like a joke. 

Ughhh, who the hull posted that water bed of a belly.

With my first baby I ate anything and everything so I easily and quickly gained a lot of weight; unhealthy weight. It took a year of hard workouts, strict diets and dogged determination but I got back to a healthy place - body, mind and lifestyle.

With my last pregnancy I was breastfeeding and the baby weight just fell off with no effort. One day I put my pants on and they literally fell down. It was a magical moment of glee. 

This time, I GAINED mileage of body despite my best efforts. I had a terrible pain in my upper right side when I ate so past 33 weeks I didn't eat much during the day at all. I tried to do workouts mostly focusing on my arms and legs but didn't stave off the pounds either. I was convinced that once I had baby and started breastfeeding, the heavy body I was trapped in would finally surrender and I would lose the weight like I did before. I mean, that's what everyone says happens. "Breast is best and blah blah blah but have you HEARD about how it helps you lose the baby weight?"
Wrong. It didn't. It hasn't. 

I was desperate. I limited my calories to 1600. I was living on fruit and veggie smoothies for a couple weeks. And not a single pound was shed. Not a one. My clothing size is bigger than when I was 9 months pregnant and it's infuriating.

I have never had a very good relationship with food.

This is a part of me I have only talked about with one other person in my life. Like many, maybe most, other girls, I struggled with an eating disorder for a long time. Beginning in middle school I ferociously nitpicked myself and used food as a way to punish and fix myself. It carried over into high school and then into college. It really didn't begin to get better until I met my husband when I was 20. 

Through our relationship he has checked in on me when the thought arose or a concern was developed. I've had to discover how to find value in myself and it began by taking care of who I was. 
Something like an eating disorder isn't something you're cured from, I don't think, because I think about it almost every day. I have triggers and times when my depression leads me to the precipice of...food stress, I'll call it. 

Anyway, all that to say I have a tumultuous relationship with food. A love/hate relationship, if you will, because I f***ing love food. So then my head decides I don't deserve it and my stomach says, "Eff you, controlling asshole!"

There have been two different days where I have found myself fighting back tears and have googled, "Does breastfeeding make you gain weight?" Lo and behold, I found several articles saying that yes, in fact, it can and here are science reasons why. 
Like this super encouraging article: http://www.popsugar.com/moms/How-Breastfeeding-Can-Make-You-Gain-Weight-37837572

It's reassuring and encouraging to read posts like that.
And then on a particularly hard day I see a picture circulating on Facebook of Amy Schumer, au naturale, not givin a fuuuuuuu**. (I realize I've censored that word several different ways in this post - whatevs.) And it's *ucking amazing. (See what I did there?)

I think she looks beautiful. I love how ballsy she is in general but to pose with such confidence instills that in people like me. I saw myself in her picture and thought, "She looks amazing...so what's so different about me?" Nothing. I birthed a freaking human being and it's badass.


So I workout, I drink my kefir, watch my calories, say a prayer and wait for the magical day when my personal nightmare of not recognizing my own body is over.

Until then, #postbabybody. 

My belly button looks like the north star - just in time for Christmas!

In all seriousness, love yourself. I do more now than I have in the past and it's worth it. You're worth it. I promise.