So I wrote a blog. I’ve been writing them for a year now. You know, with all my free time whilst I raise twin toddlers. I occasionally sit down between cooking meals, changing diapers, doing laundry, cleaning toilets, not sleeping, etc... and throw together some ramblings about my short comings. My mental illness, former addiction, parental failings, sin in my life, you name it. That’s what I do. I am an open book. I’m not actually whining, contrary to what some might think. I’m just not ashamed. I’m not afraid to be transparent. I just share who I am, faults and all.
Two weeks ago I was tired and frustrated with all the continually and sometimes judgmental and contradictory rules of parenting and my own inability to keep up. So I finally chose to write about it. And most people got it. Most.
Mother of sanity...
It’s memorial weekend. We are up at the cabin with family. A time where we are supposed to be resting and relaxing. A time of thankfulness. A time of remembering those who have given their lives for our freedom.
My husband has been working overtime and doing freelance work so we’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. We even bought our twin two year olds their first fishing poles and planned a treasure hunt.
And then there’s me.
A massive ball of, “just take me to the sanitarium."...
It's been a shitty couple weeks. There it is. I swore. I’ve been doing that more than usual lately. Out loud. So if that is happening in my daily life, why wouldn’t I share it here? But it bothers me so much it cripples my mind. Self flagellation immediately ensues. That I am worthless. I can't even control my stupid mouth. I never have been able to. I live in one constant moment of open mouth insert foot. It's better I not leave the house.
I love Jesus. I do my devotions. I go to church. And I still swear. But I feel worse about cursing then I do about over eating, or about talking negatively about something someone posted on facebook, or that white lie I told last week, or a family member I still haven't forgiven...
I used to spend a lot of time drinking alone in bars. On a daily basis. I told myself that only sad alcoholics drink alone at home. This somehow made my addiction feel slightly less pathetic. I would sometimes rotate locations on different days of the week so as not to arouse suspicion. I would spend hours pretending I was working hard on my computer because I was going to solve human trafficking. I was going to end world hunger. Me. News flash ... I wasn’t working...
I thought about killing myself again today. Not the first time and likely not the last. Some people have Cancer. Some people have Aids. I have a mental illness. I cannot qualify it’s seriousness or pain. I just take my medication and pray that it does not take my life. Many of my friends don’t even know this about me. Surprise.
There are no parades. No colored ribbons. No t-shirts. No races to champion the cause. No soap boxes with celebrities on bullhorns. Just a stigma. Just the shame...
I forgive you. Now excuse me while I file away what you just did so that I can bring it up at any random point of my choosing in the future. When you grow up in a family that only speaks the language of conflict, it’s hard to acquire any other method of communication. I am an expert at remembering everything that anyone ever said or did to wrong or offend me.
Why? Survival of the fittest memory, people.
Scores are kept. Wrongs filed safely away. Like ammunition...
In 2007, after years of drug and alcohol addiction I began a long, painful journey to health. After growing up deep seeded in church culture, I was angry with religion and consequently, God. The absolute last place I wanted to be was in a large church setting. But God had a cruel sense of humor. Or maybe he just knew exactly what I needed.
My husband was hired at a fast growing multi-site church. Ugh. Initially I refused to attend. I waited, expecting a backlash. The, “Your wife should be here.” “Why aren’t you more involved?” “If you are going to be employed here, there are certain expectations we have.” It never came...
As I sit here in tears, it should be noted that I seriously considered not posting this. Seemed too divisive. But reading another post by someone I know and love that is at the expense of someone Jesus came for, fought for, died for, has me, well... I recently shared in my post, “Real Love Does Not Ask Us To Change First,” that my life was saved by love that accepted me where I was at; A fully functioning addict. It didn’t shout judgment at me from internet posts. It did not impose harsh criticism. It did not make fun of me. It did not plaster generalizations about my particular proclivities online. It did not use posters and bullhorns on street corners to bring me to Jesus...
I am the chief of sinners. My resume?Thief. Drug Addict. Alcoholic. Liar. Cheater. Gossip. Massive Debtor. Sexually Promiscuous. Etc...
Until someone took the time to learn my name. Love me in the middle of all that. To be a real, live, tangible example of Jesus. That is what, “the greatest of these,” is about. Real love is patient, kind and long suffering.
By the time I was 30 I started to think I might never get married. I was too screwed up. Certainly not deserving. And far too complicated a person to live with. I had nothing to show for but years of bad decisions and an inability to hold down a job...
You heard me. If I know you, it is likely you have been placed in a particular category/region. I call it mapping. Sounds terribly judgmental doesn’t it? Hold your horses. By the time you finish reading this, you may find yourself wanting to do the same. Especially if you find your life filled with drama or crisis and you can’t figure out why. We live in fast paced society. Too fast. And social media has only added to the pace. Our days are filled with hundreds, if not thousands of people, including: family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, acquaintances, fans/followers. So how do we manage them all? For those who already struggle with anxiety or other emotional disorders, this can seem near to impossible. That’s probably why I used to hardly ever leave the house...
