On Being Pro-Life At The Women's March

A few days before the March I started to see articles on my Facebook feed about a pro-life organization being asked to withdraw it's support as an official sponsor for the Women's March on Washington that was accompanied by the reiteration of the pro-choice Unity Principles of the March. Before these articles surfaced, I had not given a second thought to whether or not, as a women morally opposed to abortion, I was welcome to stand with my sisters against injustices perpetrated against women. Of course I would be welcome.

Out of a deep passion and strong conviction on nearly EVERY other principle of the Women's March (including the REST of the Reproductive Freedom Principle), I decided to attend.  And...I WAS welcome. My fellow sisters and I applauded when a young Muslim woman asked us to treat one another with respect regardless of our differences. We applauded when we heard a Jewish rabbi promise to stand up for Muslims if, like the Jews, they were ever required to register. We applauded when a black imam advocated for responsible policing. We applauded when a LGBTQIA advocate asked to be treated with dignity. We applauded when a rape victim stood up to say that she would NOT be shamed by law enforcement and public opinion for being raped. We applauded lots of people with lots of messages. No one ever asked me to make any allegiance to the cause of abortion.

When the ONE abortion rights presenter spoke, I did not applaud her points. I heartily disagreed with her. I saw my own babies little heart beats at six weeks gestation and I would never, under any circumstances, terminate a pregnancy. I believe that life begins at conception and that abortion is infanticide. But, though I disagreed with her, I did listen to the story she was telling. What I heard was a rational, caring woman who, in her deepest heart, felt that abortion was a kindness for her child with severe congenital defects....a child she wanted and loved and mourns.

It is not OK that the official platform for the Women's March intentionally excluded a large group of women who think differently about abortion than they do. It is my opinion that all types of women need to come together to dialogue about reproductive rights. Pro-life women need to come into the conversation with swords sheathed. Pro-choice women need to come into the conversation with shields down.

We, as a faith community have made this (as well as several other social issues) an issue without nuance and devoid of humanity. We've painted a picture of a selfish, morally loose, murderous, pro-choice woman that isn't accurate. They have created images of pro-lifers as people who point fingers of shame and joyfully damn them with self righteous smirks on their faces while simultaneously denying them the help they need to raise their children. None of these caricatures are helpful for anyone.

We gain nothing by surrounding ourselves with people who think and act exactly like ourselves, If we can't find ways to labor together on common ground nothing will ever change.  During the rally I stood alongside my friend who is both pro-choice and a loving mother to her daughter. She knows my beliefs about abortion. We care about each other, even though we fiercely disagree with each other on a lot of fronts. We stood together in defense of justice and equality for millions of other humans. If I, a pro-life woman, do not show up to the conversation, how can I communicate my heart for life in all it's stages of development and diversity.

Bleeding Heart Moderate

I knew as a young woman that my politics were vastly different from those of my parents. Dinner time would wind up turning into a heated debate between my father and my eleven year old self. The argument would often end with my dad admonishing "You're just a bleeding heart liberal!"

NOTE: Lest you think my father was an immature bully, in his defense, I have always been a very cerebral person, capable of meaningful conversation about a great many topics, even as a child. 

Even in my youth, I was aware that being termed a "bleeding heart" anything was not meant as a compliment. The term was a way of communicating to me that I was being led to make decisions based on my emotions. Political discourse was, instead, supposed to be logical and sober. I, however, did not waver in my belief that humans had an obligation to take care of other humans. If it took government intervention to get people the help they needed...well, so be it.

I held fast to these tenets UNTIL...

When I was a sophomore in high school, I became a Christian. This life choice was made outside the confines of a church environment but as a eased into evangelical life, I came to understand that I hadn't only accepted Jesus, I'd adopted a whole new worldview. In my naivete, I spent my late teens and early twenties striving to be a "good" Christian. My endeavor for church perfection meant that I professed to tow all of the party lines...conservative, pro-life, anti-gay rights, pro-traditional family values, anti-welfare, pro-abstinence, anti-democrat, etc. Of course my inborn inclination railed against these precepts but I internalized the struggle.

Instead of questioning whether or not a believer was required to espouse these social teachings, I assumed there was something wrong with me...that my mind was overtaken by wrong thinking. After all, like politics, faith needed to be logical and non-emotional. I was just too emotional.

In my late twenties and early thirties, as I grew in my knowledge of God, my heart was stirred to pick up and move from suburban Kansas City to the urban center of the the city. When it became evident that my husband and I were really going to be city dwellers, my heart felt a thrill of  joy at the prospect of living among people who were black, gay, atheist, post-modern. I was honestly and truly stoked to jump into the work that was already happening for the glory of God and the good of the city.

We moved seven and a half years ago. It's been a very educational and humbling experience. I am certain that God is at work in me through the relationships I've formed in this place and through the things I've learned about history and humanity through the lens of my diverse neighbors and friends. The themes of these lessons have been this: life and faith and people and sociopolitical issues are much more complex than the conservative/liberal, Republican/Democrat dichotomy of American politics. People are complicated. Situations are nuanced. There are a great many ways to flesh out the Christian faith that are holy and right and good. There is room for emotion in the life of a believer. There is a place in the Body of Christ for a Bleeding Heart Moderate.

That brings us to this day.

Today America inaugurated a president that I am vehemently opposed to. Donald Trump actually triggers a negative physical response in my heart and gut. He stands against a great many deep, God given, convictions that I hold. I don't just disagree with his politics, I legitimately fear that the policies which he promotes will be harmful to people that I have, in the spirit of Christian Love, linked arms with as friends and neighbors. To support Donald Trump would be at direct odds with the commandment to love my neighbor. To show kindness to his supporters means I am faced with the equally weighty commandment to love my enemy.

On this weird, misty, gray January day, I am steeped in an ironic contradiction...in this matter, my enemy is very likely to be singing hymns right next to me on Sunday morning.  That isn't the way I learned that doctrine. People who are opposed to my beliefs come from OUTSIDE the church, right? In God's family we're all on the same team, right?

Frankly, that has been the most challenging thing about this whole Donald Trump business. If I wasn't a member of the evangelical Christian faith community, there would be ZERO doubt in my mind how I should behave regarding the new president and his agenda. But as it stands, my relationship with God puts me in the position to make peace with my Christian brothers and sisters.

I am going to be honest. It is going to take a miraculous work of Jesus for me to choose an emotion other than disgust when other Followers of Christ  joyfully lend support to policies that I believe are unjust. And while the security of my soul does not rest on the United State government, the health of my soul rests on being obedient to the Word of God which says, love your neighbor and love your enemy and love one another as I have loved you. I'm just unsure of what that looks like on a day like today.

Quick and Dirty Author Reflection: A Bulleted List

Things I Learned About Myself As An Author In November 2016

(in no particular order)

• Writing is not a one woman show, at least for me it isn't. 

• During this month I relied heavily on my husband for both emotional and practical support.
• My little sister graciously served as my sounding board and my pre-Alpha reader. 
• In addition I have discovered that I am surrounded by friends and family who are willing to cheer me on as work to discover what I am capable of as an author.
• Finally, during November, I was blessed with a motley little crew of like minded writers in the city who offered wisdom, encouragement, and levity during this 30 day challenge. 

• I like to write in public...BUT just as I talk with my hands...I tend to write expressively...so if you see a beheadphoned thirty-something making weird faces and flailing her hands about in your local Starbucks...it would be safe to assume she’s writing a novel.

• I am not a quick typist. Therefore, I have to put in more time than some of my NaNo cohorts. I average about 1,000 words an hour...which, believe it or not is SLOW when compared to other authors who can hammer out 500-700 words in 15 minutes.

• I definitely get in a zone when I am writing. Here is a clip from one of my favorite films, written by one of my favorite authors, that describes what “the zone” looks like...especially to my children.

• Sometimes I love what I write. Sometimes my writing is simply passable. Sometimes I write a sentence so tragically terrible that I psych myself out and have to take a break...for the rest of the day.

• Writing can be a very, very, vulnerable pursuit. I’ve written scenes that left me feeling angry or lovesick or heartbroken or ashamed for days.

• I spent the first few days of November floundering. I came up with a really great premise to build a story around...but I couldn’t get it to work. I was trying to fit my author voice into a novel that wasn’t appropriate. I wanted to be more creative...use symbolism...personify emotions... allow for fun plot twists and just let the story flow.

• Creativity is, apparently, not what I do. As it turns out, I am a straight shooter. (shocking I KNOW). Yes, I created a work of fiction and built characters don’t exist...but they COULD. They function in a world that doesn’t exist...but it COULD.

• This style of novel is classified as “literary”. That is a genre which makes me feel highbrow and snobbish; so I pushed against it.

• About the third day of Nano, I decided “f@#k it” and wrote what I wanted to write. It turned into quite the little novel...one that I like and have enjoyed writing. I ended up using my original premise as the novel’s climax.

• This novel has been, yet another, lesson in accepting who I am as a human being and as an artist. I firmly believe that my craft can glorify God...but if I try to be something He didn’t make me to be, I’m wasting a gift by wishing I had a different one.

• Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to say that I still have a lot to learn about writing a good novel. And, frankly, I still have so much to do to fashion this mass of words into a good novel. So much. I am willing to learn. I am excited to work through the process of preparing a manuscript for publication.

Now What? A Quick and Dirty Rundown of NaNo 2016

Dear friends and family who have endured my endless novel writing posts, here’s what you need to know about the conclusion of NaNoWriMo 2016.

First of all, I did in fact complete the 50K word challenge. My final word count for the month was 50,283 (that's what my word program says...the official count was 50,066). So, according to the language of the challenge, I “won” NaNoWriMo. They use the language of victory even though there’s not really a prize (apart from the shiny new rough draft I now possess) As an author, I simply consider having written any substantial amount of words a win in itself.

The challenge goes by word count because that’s the way manuscripts are evaluated by publishers. For reference, novels such as The Great Gatsby, The Hours, The Outsiders, and Fahrenheit 451 all hover around the 50K word mark. After publishers choose a work, they get to decide how your word count translates to the page count of your novel based on font and spacing and production cost.

Here's the catch though friends, only about 70% of the words I typed are usable. The rest is brainstorming, warm up writing, genre experimentation, and pieces that i pulled out of earlier drafts that didn’t fit into the story I ended up with. However, ALL the words counted toward my final count because it’s part of the drafting process. NaNo is about pure word count, if you wrote it in November...it counts.

But, even at 50K words, I’m only about 2/3 of the way through the first draft. Upon completing the challenge, I made a commitment to edit and revise the draft I have created in these last thirty days. That includes adding content in some places and paring down scenes elsewhere.It is my hope to have a completed rough draft available for Beta Readers by Spring Break. I will be comfortable calling this rough draft complete when it gets around 70K words. A novel with that word count is a standard sized book as opposed to a novella like Animal Farm (30K) or a tome like War and Peace (587K). Books with 70K-ish word counts include The Fault in Our Stars, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and The Catcher in the Rye.

I'm proud of this accomplishment, but mostly I am thankful for the push to focus on my craft. Writing is part of the fabric of my heart. Giving it energy has energized me, if that makes sense. If NaNoWriMo didn't exist, I'd probably go the rest of my life PLANNING to write a novel instead of just DOING the thing.

*****Stay tuned for an upcoming post where I will give a shout out to the human beings who rallied around to cheer me on and throw out a list of take away wisdom from this insane creative writing experience.

The One Where We Put It In The Freezer

As you may have noticed, my blog has been slowly tapering off. I haven't published a post in over a month and a half. Even before that, my posts were getting more and more sparse. While I have many reasons why my little blog has been neglected, there are two circumstances which are contributing to the slow suffocation of Life Less Sweet.

#1. I've been channeling my writing energy into more creative enterprises. My last post shined a spotlight on NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge that happens every November. Even though November has come and gone, one of the most valuable lessons I gleaned from the challenge was merely the knowledge that I am ABLE to create stories.

Though writing has been part of my world since I was ten years old, I'd mostly stuck with either prose-style poetry or short stories. While short stories are still TOTALLY my wheelhouse, I've discovered that longer works of fiction can be written by using chapters as short stories which are woven together to create a longer narrative. Any time I sit down to write (which I am trying to develop into a daily habit) I end up desiring to chip away at my latest novel rather than popping a quick blog post onto Life Less Sweet.

My fiction style is still in its experimental stages. I'm still figuring out my voice and discovering how to craft characters and themes that are meaningful to me. The more practice I get with working out stories, the better my work is becoming. Honestly, it feels good and right to spend my writing energies on these endeavors.

#2. I feel a TON better than I did when I started this blog. At the time of my first post of Life Less Sweet, I was in the throes of a major depressive episode brought on by a gross combination of a bad foster care placement, mothering small children, and a big ol' serotonin deficiency.  While sharing on this blog has most certainly been cathartic, the main goal of shining a light into the uncomfortable places of my heart was to reduce the shame and secrecy that surrounds people (especially people of faith) who struggle with mental health issues.

Through this blog, I have discovered that, while my story is unique to me, the elements that make up my struggle with depression and anxiety are common to many of the people in my life. Too many of us share this condition to allow the matter to be a source of stigma. I want to do what I can to bring the conversation to a healthy and productive place...thus the blog.

In the course of the four years this blog has been around, I've dealt with my depression and anxiety with a combination of medication, therapy, nutrition, and faith. It's helped. My mental health is currently very successfully managed, especially since doubling my dose of sertraline this fall.

Here's where I should tell you that I have been cured and there is no need for this blog any longer...but, as wisdom and experience have taught me, successful management of depression and anxiety are NOT the same as being cured of them. These illnesses are chronic and probably life long. I cannot know what will come up in my life that could potentially pull the rug out from under this precariously stacked management plan. Therefore, I'm not going to officially end Life Less Sweet. Instead I am going to take my cue from Mr. Joey Tribbiani and place my dear blog into the freezer where it will be available to me should I have need of it.

No More NaNo

On November 1st, two things occurred. First, I contracted my first round of strep throat for the month. Secondly, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) began.

NaNo, as it's known colloquially, is a writing challenge that began in 1999. The overarching goal is to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1st and November 30th. If you reach 50,000 words and get it validated by the NaNoWriMo software...you WIN. There's not really a prize, per se, you just get the satisfaction of knowing you've created a substantive piece of writing (50K is about the length of Fight Club or The Giver). And frankly, they're very laissez faire about what constitutes a "novel". There is a lot of freedom to write what you wish to write.

I've never written a novel, though I've halfheartedly tried to do NaNo a few other times. This year, however, I was struck with a really strong idea that I felt very compelled to put into novel form. In order to be more successful, I made a strong outline and kind of hammered out some details before the challenge began. I also joined the regional WriMo group, which ended up being a very valuable asset.

Waiting for Novemember 1st was tough. I felt like a racehorse pressing against the starting gate. Then, when the day finally came, my throat felt like it was filled with shards of glass and I had a fever so high I was shivering. I DID NOT feel like writing. For the entire first week, I limped along, writing when my Advil kicked in and lessened the pain. The regional WriMos had a chat group which I frequented that week. Veteran writers were kind and encouraging. The support that they offered kept the fire stoked within my writer's soul while my body healed.

The second week of the contest, I was hot. Words came quickly and ideas flowed freely. It was a beautiful thing! Though I was behind in my word count, I pressed on, chipping away at my 50k. By the 9th of November I'd hit 10,000 words (which is about 40 book pages). Meeting that goal was exhilarating. Buuuut, then I hit a wall.

My mentors on the writing forum encouraged me to just keep writing. "You can take things out in editing," they'd say. So, that's what I did. I tacked on a chapter at the end called "Process" and just did some free writing. That helped jumpstart more ideas for the novel. So, by the third week I was at 15,000 words.

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I attended my first "write-in". Basically about 30 writers from the regional group took over a local coffeehouse and wrote together for 4 solid hours. Being with people who share your art form can be very inspiring, even if you have WILDLY different styles. Sitting at a table with a steampunk author and a scifi writer, I tapped out 3,000 words, putting my total at 20K!!! That was so HUGE for me!! I was 80 pages into my novel....80!!! That's phenomenal!

Driving home from the write in, I felt a familiar twinge in my throat. Though I desperately hoped I my strep wasn't back, time revealed that it had, in fact, returned with a vengeance. (Just a side note, this was my 8th time contracting strep throat since Little Brother was born 5 years ago. I am praying that my ENT will take these defective tonsils out of my body soon.)  The second bout of the illness was brutal. The pain was worse, the healing was much slower, and again, I did NOT feel like writing. Though a few words made it into the novel, for the most part it still hovered around 20k...which is where it stayed when the competition ended yesterday, November 30th.

I didn't even make it half way friends. That's a bummer. BUT, I DID write TWENTY THOUSAND WORDS!  That's more words than I've ever written on one project. Things come up and stuff happens, such is life. I am so excited to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo in July and to attempt to get to 50k again next November (hopefully sickness free).

Sooooo, why am I including a post about a writing competition on this here mental health blog, you might be wondering. The craft of writing is extremely important to me. On Facebook I use the hashtag #writerssoul when I post a status about writing. It's completely and thoroughly true...I have the soul of a writer. Whether or not I ever finish a novel or get anything published anywhere, there is a longing in the innermost part of me to set forth words to paper.

All of this bullshit with anxiety and depression is redeemed by the fact that I can craft soothing words of hope for the benefit of other human beings (and ultimately myself). The novels I want to write center around struggles which are common to humanity. They are meant to help and heal. Writing is a precious gift and I am honored to make use of it to the best of my ability.

Photographed Fat

Like many mothers, I teared up when I read this article about moms being in pictures with their kids (click here for article). I vowed thereafter to be in more photographs with my family and friends, even if I didn't feel as lovely as I desired to feel. My chubby, smiling, face has appeared in dozens of group selfies and snapshots since taking that vow. Then, a few months ago I decided that my family should put on our Pinterest-coordinated best and have professional photos taken.

I wanted to look pretty in our family pictures, therefore I spent countless hours shopping online (the best bet for plus sizes) for a pretty dress that would be both flattering for me and easy to coordinate with the males in my family. When picture day came, I spent extra time doing my makeup and straightening my hair. However, neither clothing nor cosmetics can hide the fact that I... am a big 'ol woman.

While the camera was clicking I did not worry whether or not the pictures would make me look fat. I KNEW they would. That's my reality. I am a fat woman...and save for a few short years after college, I always have been. Because of this reality, the photographs did not reveal some secret shame for me...they just showed...me. The images showed over sized, corpulent, aging, graying, dark haired, dark eyed, confident, outgoing, beautiful, well-loved...Me...surrounded on each ample side by my precious husband and children.

Since this summer, I have endeavored to slowly increase my fitness levels. I walked my first 5k on my birthday and have plans to train and walk another on Thanksgiving. As I move into a more active lifestyle, my body might change. Or....it might not change very much at all...there are actually many very fit, fat people (click here, here, and here for some examples). What I appreciate about the photographs we just had taken is that they show who I am right now. In the Fall of 2015, this is what I look like...this is who I am. And, when the people in my life look back at these pictures 10 years from now, they will look into my plump face and remember the laughter, the tears, and the authentic life that we shared together.

The Reality of Mess

In the past I was under the assumption that people were afraid to be genuine because they feared that people might judge them and they would loses their popularity...like high school. I have recently discovered another reason why many people like to pretend that they have perfect, shiny, Instagram-able lives. While there may be a small group of people with whom it is safe to be "real" with, most people are VERY uncomfortable with mess. They may SAY that they value authenticity, but when faced with gritty reality...they get overwhelmed and suddenly want you to keep that shit locked deep inside...far far away from them.

I struggle with faith and family and relationships and energy and weight and the will to live. I feel that many people get very wary of me because my "struggles" aren't inspirational...there hasn't been a happy ending, Thankya Jesus, wrapped in a tidy bow, resolution to my depression. God hasn't miraculously delivered me from my illness. There is a strong possibility that I will battle depression and anxiety my whole life. People want to hear about the WIN...and I might not ever win. That's the reality.

Whitewashing my narrative on social media, with the neighborhood mommies, and at Bible study has recently become a SUPER appealing choice. I hate it when I share something that's going on with me and people avert their eyes, go silent, and then change the subject...it's incredibly disheartening. (I do understand that, in certain settings, I am required to gloss over some things to remain socially appropriate...my casual acquaintances, PTA peers, and coworkers don't need to know my mental health business). I am gaining a new understanding of the temptation to fake a smile and say something benign so that I don't have to see people squirm in the face of the truth.

Unfortunately, my heart and soul are deeply committed to living my life transparently. Pretending that all is well in my world would be a lie I can't live with. I have mess. My family is messy. My relationship with my sons is messy. My relationship with God is messy. My convictions are messy. My emotions are messy. My mind is messy. Lord knows my house is messy. I am wholeheartedly grateful for those people who are willing to be in my untidy life (including my blog readers). But, honestly, I've kind of come to a point where I don't have energy to deal with people who are squeamish about the details of my reality. To the people who are upset and disgusted by who and what I am, I must say...this is, sadly, where we must part ways. Good luck on your journey...I mean that.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 2

Watch This Video:

I have suffered from depression and anxiety for the majority of my adult life. There were a couple of short, severe episodes, but, for the most part, I was able to manage it on my own early on. As I said in a previous post, I tried hard to be honest with Mark while we were dating. However, when we were dating, I was happy and didn't really have a mental health flare up...at least not in front of him. That's one of those things that you can kind of keep to yourself until you live with someone. If I was feeling down, I'd just deal with it on my own time. I wasn't consciously trying to hide it from him, I'd just never had to share the day to day struggles of mental illness with a man. It came up in our premarital counseling, but he didn't really have any first hand experience with my depression and anxiety.

After we married and I went into the worst year of teaching I'd ever had, he was kind of blindsided by my obsessive thoughts and fits of anger and weeping. We both made the (incorrect) assumption that I would feel much better if I changed jobs. It was better, for a while...then I had my first baby. He and I discovered that my depression and anxiety weren't circumstantial, they were part of the fabric of my being.

Becoming a mother opened the floodgates. Mark has walked with me through severe anxiety attacks, pregnancy induced neuroticism, the strange emotional fallout from a miscarriage, two bouts of serious postpartum depression and one nervous breakdown. He has endured dead-eyed stares instead of conversation. He has had to talk me down from neurotic frenzies. He has picked up the slack with our home and family when all I could do was lay in bed or stare at a computer screen. While I have suffered, this man has suffered alongside me...and he'll likely have to do it again under other circumstances.

Through all of my drama, he has been kind and gentle. Even though I've made his life harder, he has been (for the most part) a source of encouragement and support. He doesn't really understand what I go through, but he cares about me and does not make me feel ashamed or guilty for having a mental illness.

Again, I feel the need to state that he hasn't done this perfectly...living with a person who has depression is hard. Melancholy and discontent can be contagious. Everyone has limits and I've blown past his a time or two, leaving him frustrated and irritated by my constant needs.

In our wedding vows we promised each other our "tenderest care...no matter what may lie ahead". The past 10 years have, in many ways, been formidable. Yet, my husband has continued to honor his wedding day promise (to the best of his ability) with grace and love.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 4

Gather round and I will tell you the tale of a man, a woman, and a curse. Our story begins as the young couple attends their first date at a local restaurant. It is a noncommittal lunch date on a random Thursday. The gentleman has selected this venue, which is famous for it's delicious pies, because it is both close to his job and reasonably priced. After a pleasant meal and enjoyable company, the young couple leaves, vowing to eat another meal together in the future. Four months later...the restaurant CLOSES. 

The man and the woman continue to dine together...they even begin seeing movies and attending live theater...they go canoeing...they play miniature golf...they talk...they laugh...they love. Eventually, the man decides he would like to spend the rest of his life with the woman. He purchases a token of his affection and plans a date where he will ask her to be his wife. On the date, the couple decides to have dinner at a local Southwestern grill on the Country Club Plaza. After dinner the couple gets engaged. By the time they are married, six months later, the restaurant has CLOSED.

On a warm June evening, the woman, now a wife, is famished because no one bothered to feed her the day of her wedding. The couple is, once again, on the Plaza. Because the Plaza is such a popular destination for both locals and tourists, most of the restaurants do not take reservations. The average wait time for a table on this Saturday night is THREE hours. Starved, the couple decides to get a quick dinner at an upscale pizza chain restaurant...with immediate seating. There they enjoy strange, but tasty, pizzas.

Amused by this silly choice for a wedding night meal, the man and his wife decide to make it their annual tradition. For eight years they go to this moderately priced pizza restaurant on their anniversary. On their ninth anniversary, the couple decides to do something different for a change and they do not eat weird pizza for their anniversary dinner. Three months later, the pizza restaurant CLOSES.  

The establishments wherein the couple celebrated the most important milestones of their relationship... all CLOSED. Dear reader, you are free to draw your own conclusions. But as for us, the couple from this tale, we are making our dining choices VERY carefully these days. If the restaurant where we plan to sup on our tenth anniversary closes, we take full responsibility...it is.. our curse. 

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 3

I married the wrong person. 

Say what!?!?!  

Yup, my husband is, in a lot of ways, the wrong man for me. 

I'm a big, loud, extreme extrovert.

He's a mild mannered. midlevel introvert.

I feel and understand hundreds of nuanced emotions.

He's got, maaaaybe, a dozen emotions.

I'm an enthusiastic teacher and creative writer.

He's a buttoned down software developer. 

I'm from a family that talked openly about tough topics like sex, drugs, mental health, and the general messiness of life.

He's from a conservative, formal, and private family. 

My mom almost always worked.

His mom mostly stayed home

I'm a first generation middle class woman who is used to counting the pennies in my bank account.

He's from a solid middle class family where money wasn't usually a source of worry . 

I'm the daughter of a Jesus-movement- house-church father and a lapsed Mormon mother who both agreed that personally knowing God was just as good as (maybe even BETTER than) going to church.

He was born and raised attending conservative evangelical churches.

We are REALLY different, sometimes painfully so. These glaring disparities have been the main sources of conflict in our marriage. Whenever one of these differences comes crashing into the forefront, I sometimes wonder if I could have found a man who was a better fit for me. Maybe I could have married a man with a more developed emotional vocabulary. Maybe I could have married a man who thought more deep, soulful, poetic thoughts. Maybe I could have married a man from a more similar family and financial background. (I'm sure my husband wonders sometimes if he could have, maybe, found a better match than me too) Maybes are dangerous to a marriage. That's why I am so thankful for this very important piece of advice we received when we were in premarital counseling. 

Everybody Marries the Wrong Person. Isn't it that the most pessimistic things you've ever heard? At face value, I agree that it's terrible advice. There were some men that I dated before my husband who were not just wrong for me, they were BAD for me. Marriage would have been a giant mistake for those relationships. 

Marrying my husband was, however, a wise and healthy choice...but...it wasn't a PERFECT choice. For instance, we have had seasons when we argued about our family roles. We have cried about hurtful miscommunication. We have had the same intense financial discussions over and over and over again...and gotten nowhere. Aaaand...I may or may not have locked him out of our bedroom when he forgot Mother's Day this year. So, I may have done my best to choose a good spouse, but inevitably our idiosyncrasies and character flaws caused conflict, confusion, and pain.

At it's heart, the Everybody Marries the Wrong Person tenet is designed to help married people frame their differences in the reality that ALL people are imperfect. ALL. Every person comes into marriage with diverse life experience and incongruent expectations. Every person has the capacity to be a little selfish and relationally lazy. All humans are a complex mix of awesome and awful. So, my husband is not perfect for me....but neither is Thatguy Overthere. Thatguy and I would have a whole new list of delightful things that make our relationship challenging. Trying to find a better match outside of the marriage would only be trading one set of complications for another set of complications with a different person. 

That's why I am SUPER glad that we decided to base our decision to get married on the things we had in common on a heart and soul level. So, we may differ in our upbringings, financial philosophies, or church culture, but at the core of our beings, our partnership makes sense. 

We BOTH love Jesus and desire to do our best to know Him and serve Him faithfully.

We BOTH value community, friendship, and family over career and financial gain.

We BOTH value authenticity and honesty.

We BOTH value humility, kindness. and generosity.

We BOTH agree that a parent's job is to raise children who will grow into good adults. 

Knowing that, at the heart of our marriage, we are headed in the same direction, makes it easier to overlook our more superficial differences. Knowing that, at the center of our relationship, we have good and honorable intentions makes it easier to forgive offenses. Knowing that we're both imperfect, messy, complex, contradictory, human beings, just like everybody else, makes it easier to keep our hearts from wandering over to Maybe. 

(Disclaimer: Sometimes people find themselves in toxic and abusive marriages...this blog post is NOT intended to apply to those sorts of circumstances. If you are in a physically or mentally unsafe relationship I urge you to find a safe place and to enlist the help of trusted mental health professionals to walk with you through your individual situation.)

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 5

When my husband and I were dating and preparing to get married, I was a little nervous about his ability to be a good dad. He's the youngest child in his family and all of his cousins are around the same age as he is, so he never really had an opportunity to be around little kids. He had never even held a baby until after we were married. Mostly, I was concerned because sometimes people who are very cerebral don't have awesome people skills...which you kind of need to raise little PEOPLE. Thankfully, all of my concerns were unfounded. He's been an amazing father since the beginning of our parenting journey...even talking and reading Dr. Seuss books to our unborn child.

When we had babies, my sweet husband gave bottles and changed diapers. He took middle of the night feedings on the weekends. He helped with tummy time and played "flying baby". He carried them on his shoulders so they could see a parade. He was the boss of bath time. In fact, when postpartum depression had me crumpled in a heap on the floor after Big Brother was born, my husband calmly and confidently stepped in and nurtured our baby in a way I was not able to.

Now that our sons are older, he wrestles and plays tag with them. He takes them to the park. He joins in their Lego video games. He prays and sings silly songs at bed time. He helps with homework and Cub Scout projects. He corrects and encourages them. He models responsibility, strong character, and good communication.

Of course, he does not execute his role of fatherhood perfectly. Sometimes he loses his patience...gets annoyed...gets tired. But, even when his humanity bubbles up, our sons know that they are completely and unconditionally loved by this man.

It has been my honor to share the role of parenthood with such an outstanding man.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 6

After doing a Q and A with my husband, I decided it would be fun to get my sons' take on dating and marriage. They both have some very definite ideas about relationships...and we very DEFINITELY need to do some education in the ways of wooing before they are old enough to date.

Big Brother (BB) is nearly 8 years old. Little Brother (LB) is 4 1/2.

What do people do on a date?
BB: Go out for food. Anything besides kissing.
LB: Dance, eat cake, sing songs.

When is it OK to kiss someone?
BB: Probably, like, your last date.
LB: At 8:00

What does it mean to be married?
BB: You have to do a lot of hard work in the house.
LB: You dance and eat cake and kiss your lips.

How do you decide who to marry?
BB: You see if they play sports or something. You buy a ring. When it's the right time on your date you say "Will you marry me?"
LB: Kiss someone. Kissing is a good way to marry someone.

What is the right age to get married?
BB: 24
LB: 10 because that's a grownup age.

How long have your parents been married?
BB: 9 years
LB: 8 marrieds.

What do your mom and dad have in common?
BB: Cleaning. Kids.
LB: Dance, hug, kiss their lips.

How are your mom and dad different from each other?
BB: Mom plays sports. Dad does computer stuff.
LB: You don't have the same hair. Also dad's a boy and you're a girl.

What makes daddy a good husband?
BB: He can help you with computer stuff.
LB: Cuz he loves you.

What makes mama a good wife?
BB: You like to have fun.
LB: Cuz you love ME!... and my brother.

What do you have to do to have a happy marriage?
BB: Like each other.
LB: The kids need to be still.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 7

He Said:

1.  How did you meet your wife?

I met Tiffany through our church Sunday school class. She was already attending, and I switched from my parent’s church to there, where my brother was going

2.  What was your first impression of her?

My first impressions of Tiffany were that she was nice, smart, easy going, and easy to talk to.

3.  Tell about your first time saying 'I love you'?

I don’t recall the particular time. I know I wanted to be intentional about it, waiting until it was true and special. 

4.  What do you love about her?

I love her sense of humor, affection, intelligence, sense of fun and adventure, style, and beauty.

5.  Describe your wife in 5 words.

Smart, caring, fun-loving, outgoing, unpretentious.

6.  What do you remember about the day you got married? 

I remember that it rained in the morning, which is supposed to be a good sign, and then cleared off. We had pictures groomsmen and bridesmaids pictures taken in front of the church. I had lunch with my family in church kitchen. I wandered around alone for a bit in empty parts of the church contemplating the decision and commitment, being nervous and excited at the same time.

I remember waiting for her to come in to the sanctuary and being so happy to see her, then sharing some time together before we finished our pictures before the ceremony. I remember focusing on her during the ceremony and being happy to be marrying such a wonderful, beautiful friend. 

7.  What is your happiest memory with your wife?

My happiest memory is of all of the fun adventures that we go on as a family (our honeymoon in Vail, our baby-moon in Des Moines, trips to Deanna Rose, hay-cations at Mojeji Ranch, various festivals, events, and outings around town).

8.  What has been the most difficult thing about being married to Tiffany?

The most difficult thing has been knowing how to help with/handle Tiffany’s depression.

9. What advice would you give to a man who is about to get married?

Find a woman that you enjoy spending time with, someone who can be your best friend through thick and thin.

10. Where do you see your marriage in 10 years?

I see us continuing to have even more fun together as the boys grow older, being able to do more with them since they’re more capable and more without them since they’re less helpless.

She Said:

1.  How did you meet your husband?

The first time I met him was at a Sunday School Super Bowl party at his brother's house. I was totally enamored with another guy, so we didn't spark up a relationship that night. 

2.  What was your first impression of him?

I kind of thought he was a snob. He didn't really talk and seemed to be annoyed by all of the small talk. 

3.  Tell about your first time saying 'I love you'?

I think it was on my 23rd birthday. He bought me pink roses. After my party, which was at his house, we were making out hanging out. Suddenly he said, "I don't know what pink roses are supposed to mean, but, I love you." I, of course, told him I loved him too. 

4.  What do you love about him?

I love so many things about him...his laugh, his smile, his very laid back personality. But most of all I like that he is hopeful. He has a deep down feeling that things will work out. I love that. 

5.  Describe your husband in 5 words.

merry, uncomplicated, nurturing, cerebral, capable

6.  What do you remember about the day you got married? 

A lot of people get cold feet. But, after our rehearsal, I was completely CERTAIN that I wanted to marry this man. Because of that, the wedding day was free to just be. It rained in the morning, which my grandma told me was good luck. I remember focusing on my vows making sure to listen to and mean EVERY WORD. I also remember being really hungry. Apparently, no one thought the bride needed nourishment between the hours of 8am and 4pm. 

7.  What is your happiest memory with your husband?

This is probably lame, but my favorite memories are of us laying in bed together (getting ready to go to sleep...not "in bed" together ya dirty worms) and laughing like maniacs about Misheard Lyrics, Autocowrecks, or MentalFloss. 

8.  What has been the most difficult thing about being married to Mark?

He does not just say whatever is on his mind, he has to think it ALL the way through. So if we are fighting, I spend a good deal of time just sitting and staring and saying "Just say SOMETHING." Sometimes, I tell him earlier in the day if there is something we need to sort out...that way he can think about it and know what he wants to say. SOOOOOO frustrating. 

9. What advice would you give to a woman who is about to get married?

Ugh, I say this all the time, but it's just so true...Getting married is a lateral move. In the Christian culture, marriage is put on this weird pedestal...like when you get married you get to move up a rung on the ladder of life. This is simply NOT true. Marriage does not cure loneliness. It will not fix your self image. Whoever you are now is who you will still be after you say "I do." It's not a promotion...it's a lateral move.

10. Where do you see your marriage in 10 years?

Awe man, in 10 years we'll have teenagers! I hope that means more freedom for our marriage. Maybe he and I can go places and do things again...like the olden days! 

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 8

Have you ever attended live theater? You know when the sets change or the actors suddenly take flight across the stage? When those things happen, most people are swept up in the magic...blissfully suspending disbelief. I, on the other hand, see all of the levers and pulleys behind the tricks. Being Miss Analytical Mind 1981 (disclaimer: not a real title) makes me a great problem solver...but it makes me a terrible girlfriend. I am not a romantic...AT ALL...I see through the smoke and mirrors of the fantasy. To me it's just a bullshit way to spend extra time, money, and effort on something that isn't real..which is why my marriage proposal was perfect.

I knew it was coming. My man had already called my dad to ask his permission to marry me...we'd talked ring designs...and he'd scheduled a special date. On the night of that special date, I got dressed up in the new outfit I'd bought for the occasion (very bridal) and waited for my ring. And I waited...and waited. It was 30 minutes past the time he'd planned to pick me up. Because he was generally very prompt, I got concerned and gave him a call.  That's when he told me, he had called me earlier in the day and left a message telling me that he'd come down with influenza and had to cancel our date. Grrrr. I was all dressed up and ready to get engaged. But, I put on my big girl pants brought him some soup (and then went over to my girlfriends' house for chocolate and sympathy).

A month later, after he had recovered, he took me out to the Plaza (the fanciest part of the city). At the movie theatre, we saw Finding Neverland...which was a sweet, wistful film. We were nearly the only people in the restaurant that night. The Christmas lights that covered the buildings twinkled magically all around us as we strolled through the streets. It was all very romantic.

Several times, my man stopped and fumbled around in his pocket. Each time, a HUGE herd of people came rushing past us, causing my introverted sweetheart to think better of it and try to find a more secluded place to ask for my hand. Finally, it just got too cold to keep walking and we headed back toward the car...unengaged.

Back at the parking garage, I was buckling in and putting take away food boxes under the seat. As I raised my head I saw a little white box with a giant diamond ring in it. All my man managed to say was "will you marry me?"....no build up, no sweet talk...just straight to the point. I said yes and that was that.

And that's the story of how I got engaged in a 1995 Toyota Camry in a parking garage on the Plaza.

That building...the one in the background...that's where it all began!

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 9

“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” 

― Joseph Campbell

Watch This Video

This is one of the MOST accurate descriptions of being a young, married couple with little kids, ever set to music. Romance isn't even on the radar, people. It's surviving layoffs...making the best of ruined plans...paying bills you didn't plan for in the budget...sneaking intimacy into the small window of time between your children going to sleep and you collapsing, exhausted, into your own bed....all to the soundtrack of screaming children, barking dogs, educational children's programming, and incessant text alerts.

It's only recently I've been able to embrace this insanity as meaningful and fulfilling. Marriage and family are NOT at ALL what I expected...but that doesn't mean they aren't good. So, you want to know what it's like to be married for 10 years...it's just life, man.

10th Anniversary Countdown- Day 10

In a few short days my husband and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. 10!  A decade! 10% of a century! To celebrate this milestone, I decided to do a series of blog posts that are honest and authentic about marriage. There are a lot of things people don't tell you about being married...good things...funny things...challenging things...impossible things. I feel that withholding our stories from other people is unfair and unkind. So, I'm going to let this blog do what it does and share "the good, the bad, and the gray area" of being married.


COUNTDOWN: Day 10

As I reflect upon my nearly ten years of wedded bliss, I have this recurring thought...who in THE HELL let me get married when I was only 23 years old!!! This decision was permanent, final, forever...and I made it when I was a mere child! Yes, I had graduated college. Yes, I had a career. Yes, I lived on my own. But, 23!?!?  What did I know?!

I certainly didn't know my husband on a deep, intimate level. We only dated for 8 months before becoming engaged. Because we are Christians, we chose not to cohabitate or engage in...uh...sexual congress before marriage. That meant I only knew my groom-to-be through the dance that is dating.

Dating has been equated to a job interview. I get that. You try to present your best self, have correct answers, and seem extraordinarily appealing to your prospective spouse. Thankfully, the man I chose completely lacks guile. He was as honest with me about himself as he was able to be under the circumstances. So through dating, I was able to determine that he was a kind, generous, wise, helpful, faithful, brainy, strapping, nerd of a man...most of the things I was looking for in lifelong mate.

During the dating dance, I tried my best to be honest (well, honest-ish). In previous relationships, I had either adapted myself to highlight the qualities that my gentleman friend admired or had projected a persona to protect myself from rejection (sometimes a mix of both). In doing this, I wasn't TRYING to be dishonest, I just didn't know myself very well at all. But, I knew THIS man that I was dating was a potential keeper.

Because I didn't want to bait and switch him, I was very deliberate about being myself around him.  For instance when he disclosed that he was into Christian techno music, I wasn't all, "Oh, how fascinating! Tell me more about it." Instead I calmly and gently said, "You're a weird man and I would prefer not to listen to that genre of music when I am around, it grates on my nerves."  When he told me he didn't drink, I didn't say, "Oh yeah, me neither. I'm no godless heathen!" I was honest about my beliefs about moderation. I forced myself to give real answers even when it would have been in my best interest to pretend that I was a perfectly Baptist, well adjusted, genteel, young woman.

Even though we were both dedicated to honesty (though, there were some eleventh hour disclosures to be sure), there are things you CAN'T know about another person until you live with them. There are weird familial norms, gross habits, and annoying quirks that can only surface when you are in close enough proximity to no longer be able to be on your best behavior.  And as much as living in close proximity can reveal...adversity is the force that most efficiently compels the "real" you show through (more on that in another post).

But, because I was so young, I was not well acquainted with the "real" me. So when rough stuff happened, I was just as surprised at my brokenness as my husband was. I knew that I had some issues, but I honest to God did not know how deeply the dysfunction ran in my heart and mind. I was also surprised when I handled things with grace and ease. There were some unknown strengths within me that turned out to be vital for my marriage to work...I didn't know they were there because I'd never needed to use them outside of marriage.

I also discovered, sometimes the "real" me is kind of a fluid concept. Yes, there are always core values and deep convictions that are unchanging, but many of my preferences and gray area beliefs have shifted according to wisdom, life experience, season of life, and just a simple change of the mind.

There was a vast sea of things that I did not know when I was 23 years old. Here's what I did know...I knew the best way to choose a mate was by the strength of his character. I possessed enough wisdom to pick a kind, generous, wise, helpful, faithful, brainy, strapping, nerd of a man. Maybe I did know a thing or two when I was 23.

The Roller Coaster

Deciding to go on my first roller coaster SOUNDED like a good idea at the time. "It'll be great! It's something I've always wanted to do." I said to myself (I was in my late teens when I rode my first roller coaster). So I took my brilliant new idea, got in line, and I WAITED for what seemed like an eternity. While I was waiting I had a multitude of thoughts racing through my brain ranging from naive excitement to utter boredom to sheer horror.

As I approached the front of the line, I could already feel my stomach start to squeeze in fear. I desperately considered running down the chicken exit and forgetting the whole thing. But, seeing as I had already invested nearly an hour of my life in the line, I decided to go through with it...whether I wanted to or not.

Finally, the coaster car rolled up. I shoved myself into the hard seat and fastened the bar close to my body. Already starting to hyperventilate, my ample ribs painfully pushed into the heavy bar with tremendous frequency. This was NOT fun. The ride hadn't even begun and I was regretting my decision.

With a unceremonious jerk, the car began the steep climb up the first hill. I relaxed a little. "Maybe this will be Okaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy!!!", I screamed in my mind as we abruptly fell from the top of the hill down to the first turn. While I was being whipped around on this marvel of modern physics, I was bombarded with nausea mixed with delight. How could one ride simultaneously produce in me both terror and elation?

Before I could even sort out which emotions were which, the ride was over. The heavy bar lifted, freeing my panicked lungs. I stepped out of the car onto shaky sea legs and shuffled over to my friends who had been waiting for me.

"How was it?!", they demanded enthusiastically.

"It was awesome!" I replied.

NOW...WATCH THIS CLIP! 

NOW....GO WATCH THE WHOLE MOVIE because, in my opinion, the movie Parenthood is the most accurate portrayal of what it looks like to raise a family. It is honest, funny, frustrating, and poignant.  


Over the years, many other writers have used the "Parenting Is A Roller Coaster" trope...today I am joining those legions. If there was a better or more accurate metaphor for what it feels like to be a mother, I would use it. But, as it is, this theme park attraction is almost a perfect analogy for the paradoxical emotions that I experience within parenthood.

Seriously, though, becoming a mother was a lot like my first roller coaster ride. I decided that I wanted to try for a baby. Then there was a long, boring wait where I had a weird flood of mixed emotions...excitement, trepidation, longing, anticipation, joy, reverence.  I had made a choice and no matter how fearful I was of giving birth, that ship had sailed and there was no choice but to go through with it.Then there was this calm build up followed by a headlong plunge into an insane  life with kids.

Without the roller coaster metaphor, there are few ways to describe the extreme contradiction in how it can feel for me to go through life as a parent.  It's the best/worst, most exciting/boring, fulfilling/thankless, mysterious/common, enlightening/frustrating role I have ever undertaken. Instead of feeling all of this mommy guilt for the times when I don't feel great about my kids, I am embracing the metaphor. Parenting is all of those things...and it's over faster than I can process it all. But at the end of the ride, I can look back on it and see, that even though I had a wild blend of the good and the bad, as a whole...it will be the best thing I've ever done. I like the roller coaster.

Happy Mother's Day!

Hyper Drive

Well hello strangers! It's been a little while since my last blog post...a few people have asked me why I am not writing as often...this post will serve as a multifaceted answer to that question.

The foremost reason that I have backed off of the blog is because I have been working a TON. I am a substitute teacher and this year has been heavy on teacher training, so my district has needed a lot of subs. The teachers are requiring so much training BECAUSE the district went 1 to 1 with technology. This means that every child and teacher received their own laptop or tablet for school use. Substitutes did not get any new tech. So, I am working more often...in an environment that has no computers for me to use. That really puts a strain on my ability to write during plan time, which is like a free hour in my day.

Secondly, I began this blog during a really acute mental health breakdown. While I will probably always wrestle with depression and anxiety, the immediacy of my needs has lessened. Like many writers, I do my best work when I am feeling my worst. Pain is, unfortunately, inspirational.

Lastly, I am going to take a moment to bring you into mi vida loca. Um...I haven't been writing because...it's Spring. I have written before that my mental health is super cyclical. Mostly this comes up in the Fall and Winter because I have spikes in anxiety and depression, which feel oppressive to me. Well, now we get to talk about what a Spring cycle looks like.

In a word, spring is...frenetic. I get REALLY hyper. Now, I realize that many people who live in a temperate climate get a burst of energy when Spring comes. For many people, Spring means coming out of the cold winter months and enjoying the warmth and work of a new season. It means that for me too...times A THOUSAND.

One day, when the bitter temperatures subside, I just wake up and feel AMAZING! I have all of these ideas and plans. I talk fast and think fast and have an overabundance of sparky energy. I want to do ALL THE THINGS!!! I think I CAN do anything! Wind me up and watch me GO!

The Spring can be ultra productive for me. But...it can also be just as harmful as my Fall/Winter depression. Primarily, my brain is "writing checks my body can't cash." Even though I feel uber capable, I still have a finite amount of physical and emotional energy. So, I will start a giant house project and about halfway through, my brain and body can't take it anymore. Because of my personality, I can't just quit and leave it undone. Therefore, I have to push myself past reasonable limits in order to complete the task.

In the same vein, since I am feeling better than I am used to, I think I can take on new responsibilities and put more activities on my plate. The vast majority of the harmful decisions I have made can be traced back to a Spring frenzy. In Spring I think, "Hell yeah!" By, September, when I am curled up crying in my bed, I am now committed to do something that is WAY beyond my capabilities and it often makes my mental health situation worse.

Just like my depression, I might not be able to prevent my Spring frenzy, but I can manage it. I have been aware of my Spring cycle for several years now and have talked with my therapist about safeguards for this season. The very first line of defense I have is internal processing. Before I commit to something, I have to ask myself if I can REALLY handle it or if it's just the hyper talking. Then, I have a handful of people in my life who I can use as sounding boards. For the most part these people are close family and friends. I just tell them what I am considering and if they have even the slightest hesitation, I usually choose to forgo the idea. That might sound like I am giving them too much power, but history has proven that there is a window of time each year when my judgement is impaired by copious amounts of optimism.

So, in conclusion, between logistical circumstances, improved mood, and Spring frenzy...my blog has been a little bare. But now that I have written a blog post on why I am not posting very often lately, I have ALL THE IDEAS for blog posts and you are going to get like, three, in the next few weeks...thus ILLUSTRATING the Spring frenzy.