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...
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."...
Dear Alexandra,
You don’t know me and I wish you didn’t have to. Today I read an article about something that happened to you. Something that should never have happened to you. By someone that should never have treated you with such hate. Someone that claims to be a believer like I am. A follower of Jesus. A christian.
I don’t know about you but life has not been easy for me. It’s been quite the opposite, in fact. I have not always been what you would call a good christian. I suppose that’s what makes me all the more desperate and in need of grace. Of forgiveness. I am a seriously hot mess, in fact. On a scale of 1 to 10, an easy 12. So I suppose that’s why it's fairly easy for me to love people around me and extend empathy. And I suppose that’s also why I also find it so easy to relate with so many people in the Bible. So many of the people Jesus hung out with. Got to know. To love...
We all like a happy ending don’t we? We want that warm fuzzy feeling that everything is going to be okay. That everything has worked out. That everyone has gotten what they wanted.
When we look at the Easter story we have a tendency to focus on Good Friday and Easter Sunday, right? The Death and the Resurrection. But was of Saturday? I had never really thought much about this middle day until I heard a song by a friend of mine several years ago. Saturday’s Disciples, by Rachel Kurtz.
Raw. Intimate. Vulnerable. Transparent. Challenging.
Reality...
"Parenting is easy. Said no person ever.” Love, my dear friend Christy Cass
This was recently texted to me. I had just gotten done panicking, wanting to know when her kids stopped napping. This is not a joke. Not an exaggeration. In my head the ship was going down and we were all going with it. The entire world was ending and there was nothing to do about it. Life as I knew it was over...
Recently I went on a vacation to South Beach, Miami. I stayed at a place right on the beach near the pier, the most affluent and expensive part of town. I was able to do so because of a deal I found online and a free flight voucher, not because I’m wealthy. I mean, I still get groceries from the food shelf.
It felt weird. It’s the second time I’ve been there now. Vacation feels weird, actually. I don’t do vacation. I don’t do relaxation. I find that I am fairly incapable of doing just nothing. of just resting.
This is a problem...
