Timing Is Everything

NOTE: Because I have a handful of small ideas to communicate, I'm posting in bullet form today!  Yay!  All of the bullets are tied together by the concept of timing. 


Most of us have had experience with good timing, bad timing, tragic timing, etc.  It's weird how our perception of an event can change around it's relation to timing.  Here are a few things going on in my world that are effected by timing.

• My naturopath and I chatted about the timing of one of my supplements.  I had been taking it in the morning and then again around 3:00, but I was getting REALLY sleepy around dinner time.  We changed the 2nd dose to bed time.  HUGE difference.  I am falling asleep more easily and waking up with more pep than normal.  Timing

• Last week some stress came into our lives in the form of a 2nd van break in (in a 30 day span). Timing.  We woke up at 3am to the sound of our car alarm and went outside to find the window smashed to a billion pieces and the window frame bent out of shape.  The previous break in had resulted in a missing ignition and busted steering column.  Needless to say we had to spend tons of money on repairs.  Though the anti theft features of our vehicle were preventing theft, the thieves were still able to make two, big, expensive messes in the meantime. 

• In order to prevent further damage, we decided it was prudent to trade our big, lovely van in for something that fit into our small garage.  This was a tough call as we had JUST paid off the van in June.  The trade in value is MUCH, MUCH less than the pay off value, so it feels like we threw away our money paying off the van.  I don't think that the trade in value of the van would have been such a slap in the face if we hadn't JUST paid it off.  Timing.

• My former foster kids are going to be at church this Sunday (some friends at church are providing respite for them).  While we will be upbeat and positive when we see them, I have no idea what this is going to do to me on the inside.  I shared in a previous post that our foster placement was pretty rough and the end was even rougher.  I'm just starting to feel better and take some intentional steps to accept grace.  It's impossible to know what impact this will have until it happens.  On the flip side, it's been over a year since we've seen them. If they had attended church at any time before this, I can be QUITE certain that I would need to be hospitalized for a nervous breakdown.  Timing.

Whatever the timing, I can know this...we'll make it through.  My adrenal fatigue will be treated...we will be happy with the new SUV we traded the van for...I will be able to bounce back from seeing my former foster kids.  We've endured worse circumstances and will be faced with worse circumstances in the future.  God has always gotten us through.  I've learned that the most important blessing He can give me when the road of life gets bumpy is His peace. 

Stress Test

The reason why I am and will likely always be a pessimist is because of seasons like the one my little family is in right now.  Having recently been diagnosed with adrenal fatigue, I've been making a concerted effort to avoid excess stress.  But, I'll be danged if stress doesn't always FIND me. 

The last 2-3 weeks have been filled with busyness, traveling, organizing and hosting children's birthday parties, dealing with (and paying for) property crime for the 2nd time this summer, getting both boys back to school, managing tired and emotional kids who just went back on a school schedule, adjusting to my husband starting a new job (with longer hours) on the same day my Big Boy started school, researching new cars, stressing about car payments and trade in value, preparing to start work again, necessary craft projects with short deadlines, and blah, blah, blah, and so on and so on.  Adrenal fatigue makes my threshold of stress much lower than the average person.  So, even though there is nothing major going on, I am feeling stressed.  It seems like all of these minor stresses just keep layering on top of one another until I find myself oppressed by stressed.  When I stop and think about all of the things that need my energy I get very overwhelmed.  I wonder WHY I can't get a break.

Now, I'm doing a lot of work with positive self talk and trying to manage my stress level.  My mind and heart are feeling good (mostly, my sister has had to talk me down a time...or five).  However, even if I am feeling really capable and confident that I can handle what's on my plate (so to speak) my body betrays me.  I have trouble breathing and get strange and disconcerting pains.  My shoulders tense, my jaw clenches, my face scrunches, and I begin to feel symptoms of anxiety. 

It's very ironic that I am engaged in a battle to stay peaceful and calm...what I weird thing to FIGHT for.  But, I have to.  I am unwell and unhappy and refuse to keep living this way.  There are a few strategies which have been beneficial in helping me guide my body through this season of stress. 

First, I'm trying not to hold my breath.  Being an intentional and deep breather does not some naturally to a person with anxiety.  Additionally, I am consciously relaxing my face.  I am always shocked at how tense my face is...like, ALL the time.  Releasing my skull muscles' kung fu grip tends to send a signal to the rest of my body to relax.  Finally, I am remembering that I am cared for by God.  We were blessed to have the means to pay for two different crime related car repairs.  It is the provision of God that my husband and I are both employed.  We have always been taken care of, through every storm (great or small) we have weathered in our 9 years together.  I can say nice things to myself all day (and it DOES help) but reflecting on the faithfulness of God is the most potent positive self talk I can engage in.  Counting my blessings has an uplifting and quieting effect on my steely muscles. 

Stress is life.  True story.  Learning how to manage my mind and my body are my ways of insuring that the stress of life doesn't make me a joyless bundle of crazy for the rest of my days. 

Cicada Song: My First Days As A Mother

Here in the Midwest, you know it's August when you hear the omnipresent song of the cicada.  Click HERE for audio if you are unfamiliar with this sound.  These insects begin chirping toward the end of July, but by August every hour of the day is filled with their loud hum.  To be honest, until I was 25, it never really left an impression on me. But, that year, my first son was born at the beginning of August.  Cicadas then became part of my story.

I won't go into the birth story except to say it was a good birth.  At 4:14pm I delivered a 10lb. 6oz baby boy.  After he was out of my womb they placed him on my chest and all I could think was "Oh.My.God. I have a baby.  What am I going to do with a baby?" 

Those few days in the hospital were filled with sleeplessness, learning about breastfeeding (and supplementation), diapering, and lots of paper work.  Then, it was time to go home.  As much as I hated being in the hospital, I just didn't know what I was going to do with him once we got him home.

I wish I could say once I got my new little (read very large) bundle into the house, all of that uncertainty melted away.  It didn't, it actually got worse as I crept into the mouth of the hole that is post-partum depression and anxiety those first few weeks.  He cried all the time because he was hungry.  Being such a big boy, he was eating every hour FOR an hour.  I had to have my husband hold him and walk around trying to soothe him while I took a break from nursing to eat, drink, and use the bathroom.  He was also the most awake newborn.  He barely slept during the day...all he did was nurse.  It was terrible.  I had called the lactation hotline 4-5 times.  His visits with the pediatrician hadn't gone well because he wasn't gaining weight.  Everything was exhausting and stressful and hard.   I remember falling into a heap on the floor by the bed (a few times) and with heaving sobs cry, over and over, "I don't know what to do with him!!" 

The agony of post-partum depression continued.  After having my son hospitalized for failure to regain birth weight, I decided to stop breastfeeding for the sake of my mental health.  The depression and anxiety associated with his failure to gain weight was causing me to be unable to bond with him.  Whenever he cried I just wanted to shake him.  I even hated the smell of him.  So, in order to save myself from myself, I put a bottle in my baby's mouth. 

During this tense and literally insane time, I did find one way to quiet my screaming baby and give myself the breather I needed.  When I just couldn't take it anymore, I took my baby outside and sat.  He stopped crying as soon as we stepped out onto the deck.  I could see him listening to the hum of the cicadas.  It worked every time!  My husband kept saying "we can't take him outside every time he cries."  I thought, "Like hell I can't!"  I took him onto the porch as much as possible.

That constant whir of insect voices gave me the only rest I felt in those first few weeks.  I felt confident that I knew ONE thing that would help my baby...ONE thing that made him happy.  It might have been small and not really all that beneficial to his overall health, but he liked it and I KNEW that about him.  Thus, I took my first teensy steps into the world of motherhood. 

My son is turning 6 this week.  And bless him...he's had to suffer through 6 years of mommy's "angries" (how I explained my depression to him).  I wish I would have been brave enough to get help for my depression when he was a baby.  I didn't take that step until after my 2nd son was born (and my first one was 3).  But, because God is gracious and merciful and kind, my son and I now enjoy a very close relationship. 

I get to have a relationship with a special boy who is smart and inventive...sweet and thoughtful...imaginative and filled with wonder.  He is a "sensitive".  He is strong, strong willed, and endlessly energetic.  He gives wonderful hugs and soft sweet kisses on the cheek.  I love him more than I love my own life. 

On those first days of August when I hear the cicadas sing, I am whisked back to those first days of pain and sadness...but then I reach over and hug my Big Boy and tell him the sweet story about when he was a giant baby and would only stop crying for the cicadas.  He giggles.  And we silently exchange love between our hearts.