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.

Homesick

Today I have an unfamiliar twinge in my heart. My daydreams are flooded with nostalgia. . I'm sad...not like deep down, depths of my soul sad...but bittersweet tears of the memories of yesteryear are finding there way to my eyes this day. Tonight I am returning back to the only neighborhood that has ever felt like home to me...and I don't get to stay there...I am homesick.

You see, nearly six years ago, I left the town I had occupied for eleven years...my personal record. Before I moved to The Metro, where I currently reside, I was an Army brat. I went to nine schools in twelve years. I lived in thirteen or more different homes (mostly apartments).  "Home" was always my dad's hometown. We were "from" Central Kansas...even when we lived in a foreign nation. But I didn't KNOW this place. I hadn't lived there since I was a two year old. So essentially, wherever we lived, there was some far away, nearly mythical place where we were "from".

In the grand scheme of life, I understand that "home" is wherever the people you love are. But, I had never known a geographical place inside and out until my family moved to an older suburb in The Metro my senior year of high school. It was there I knew the names of my hardware store cashier, talked at length about life with the cake decorator at my grocery store, and saw various and sundry stores open and close and change hands. I could say, "Man, remember when that restaurant was a video store!" or "Wow, when we first moved here this giant Big Box anchored strip mall was just an empty field!" 

In this part of town I knew three or four ways to get to where I was going. I knew who had great Christmas lights and whose kids had a lemonade stand every Saturday. This little suburb is where I shared an apartment with my family...then with just my sister. It is where I met my best friends and my husband. It's where we bought our first house...had our first dog...and had our first baby. I just KNOW this place and have a deep connection with it. It's home. 

But, around the time my Big Boy was a year old, my husband and I felt compelled to move from the aged suburb we had started our marriage in to the urban heart of our metro-area. There were many reasons we wanted to change locations, but paramount were our desires to invest our lives in a neighborhood and a school system that needed some love.  

Because we are Christians, our first objective was to find a church who had the same heart for the city that we did. After a short search, we found one! When I read their "values" page on their website, I wept because I couldn't have written my values more beautifully. (They've since reworded the values and made them more concise and less poetic, which is a little sad to my writer's soul.) In this new church, the main messages were "God loves you!", "Because God loves you, you can love others!" and "Move to the city!".  We desired all of those things, so latching onto God's love, we sold our little 1950s ranch house in the suburbs and moved into a giant Victorian house in the city. 

We've continued attending this church.  We've built good relationships with our neighbors. We've jumped headlong into the school system. But, I still work in the suburb we left. Our parents and siblings still live in that suburban neighborhood. I shop and go to the doctor/dentist/hair salon in that suburb. So, I really feel like I live in two places.  And until recently, I've mostly been fine with it. 

Last year, our church (which has grown to be INSANELY large) has planted a church...LITERALLY...LITERALLY in the suburban neighborhood where we used to live...like BLOCKS from our old house. When I heard the new location for the church plant my heart clenched. Why? Why would God ask us to move when He was planning on planting a church that loved the city RIGHT in our old backyard? Why did I have to move miles away from my family and my work? Why did I have to leave the neighborhood that holds my record for "longest town lived in EVER" Frankly, I don't know. I have some spiritual suspicions about the move...but nothing I know for certain. 

Tonight, after I leave work (on the same street as the new church plant), I have to roll back into downtown, pick up my kids, and come back down to The Suburb for a meeting at the new church...the church that I KNOW used to be a school, but closed ten years ago...across from my old grocery store...down the street from my doctor's office...a church that I am not part of...and am not sure why. I'm hesitant to go to that meeting tonight. I'm probably going to cry. I miss my home. 

Hey J-J-Jaded

"Inside of every cynical person is a disappointed idealist." -George Carlin

In yesterday's (very good) sermon about race and The Gospel, our pastor described what it looked like to get burnt out on social justice. These burn outs are people who have labored and labored to bring reconciliation and peace to the people around them and have seen NO fruit. Not only have they seen zero results from their anguish, they have, figuratively, "had their teeth kicked in". He described this group of people as "cynical". That concept resonated with me...HARD.

Do you know what happens when you take a tenderhearted idealist and toss her head first into the gritty reality that is our world? It hurts her...frustrates her...grieves her. Being the Nerdy-Nerderson that I am, I looked up the definition of cynicism and felt it wasn't QUITE the word I would use to describe the soul-sick, faithless, hopeless, pessimist that I have become. No, the best term I could find that encompasses the nothing-left-ness of my heart is...jaded.

Of course, I didn't really realize this truth until it was presented to me objectively. I would have said that, like everyone else, I am a realist...and reality is cruel. On some level, that has to be true. But for someone whose life purpose has been to be a consummate helper, I think that reality somehow just SEEMS meaner. When the standard is for everyone to get along...for all people to feel valued and valuable...failure FEELS magnified.

It's taken a while for me to get to this point of full scale jaded-ness. I've been knocked down a healthy handful of times. Until Foster Failure, I had at least attempted to limp along. After I burned out as an inner city teacher, I was still able to muster up the strength to keep my toe in the world of education as a substitute teacher. After I went on several short term foreign mission trips and saw that we were NOT helping, I was still able to move to the heart of my home city, believing that I could make a difference with my life. After our we disrupted our first and only foster placement...I.just.couldn't. Everything hurt and nothing made sense anymore.

After Foster Failure, I cut everyone off. I literally snapped back into the safe walls of my own home. I stopped seeing my friends. I loathed going out...especially if I had to meet new people...especially any new person who might NEED anything from me. For the last three years, I have barely done more than the emotional minimum to sustain my life.  For whatever reason, that event took me from wounded idealist to full blown jaded...especially with regard to my faith.

I've been on shaky spiritual ground for three years. I mean, I've always been a little soft on being disciplined enough to read my Bible and carve out time to pray on a daily basis. But for the last three years I have been actively ANGRY with God...felt BETRAYED by God...and TERRIFIED to engage with Him because I am afraid He will CRUSH me again just to teach me another life lesson. I don't think I can handle it. So in an act of self preservation...I've cut Him off too.  

When I became a Christian, it wasn't after long, labored studies of comparative religions. I didn't research all of the theological and historical minutiae of the faith. What happened was, the Spirit of God whispered to my heart and I responded. Something OUTSIDE of me, called me into relationship with God. Yes, I CHOSE it, but I feel like it was what is called "irresistible grace". I had the freedom to walk away but why would I WANT to. The voice that spoke everything into existence was 

calling out to me. My soul knew His voice, so I believed. And...I believe still. It has been anguish to believe something to be true...but be too wounded and afraid to live in that truth.

I don't desire to be bitter and cynical. It's not a "pleasure from pain" kind of situation. I hate it and it's obvious to anyone who knows me well that it isn't my natural inclination. At the same time, however, I'm not sure how to both long to love people and nurse the intense grief that comes from the rejection of that love. I don't know how to both surrender myself to a God that I am CERTAIN loves me and walk with Him on a path that I am CERTAIN will destroy my heart. Because I don't know what to do...I've chosen to do nothing. That...I think...is the essence of being jaded. Wanting to care and being petrified to do it. 

This Body of Stress

This week has been quite emotional for me and my family. We have experienced two deaths within the span of only five days. My heart has been flooded with memories, sadness, and grief. My little brain has persisted under a barrage of logistical tasks and preparations for getting myself and my family through two funerals. In general, I'd say that I am managing my emotions and stress in a healthy way...yes, I'D say that...but my body tells a different story. This flesh that I occupy has a ridiculously low threshold for stress.

Every time I am presented with an ounce more stress than I can handle, my teeth clench, my shoulders tense, my muscles ache, then I either get a raging cold or an intestinal bug. And it might be a little bit of an overshare, but in the last few years, even my cycle gets all goobered up by any amount of stress...which is a delight, let me tell you. I have wasted about a dozen pregnancy tests in the last two years. The only thing that really helps combat these "illnesses" is sleep. But, who wants a wife, mother, or friend that just sleeps all the time like a big sloth?

As with my mental health challenges, I can trace this all the way back to my childhood. When I was little my school nurse diagnosed me with a "nervous stomach". Looking back on it now, it was just a kind of genteel way of saying I was a stressed out kid. In high school I went through a battery of tests because I was having the painful symptoms of an ulcer. Of course it didn't occur to me that my extremely rigorous class and extracurricular schedule were probably more than I should be handling. During every holiday break from college I was plagued by a persistent, nasty cold/flu....EVERY one. As an adult, I feel like I am sick ALL of the time. Like...ALWAYS sick. I feel a little like a hypochondriac...except I have actual illnesses.

It makes me feel weak and ashamed to have a zero ability to handle stress. Who the hell gets sick from the normal rhythm of life? Me. That's who. I am not really sure how to combat this problem. I see a therapist, am on an antidepressant, and try really hard to manage the trouble of the everyday in healthy ways. What else can I do?

Lenten Fast 2015: Facebook

We belong to a church that is not super specific about the Lenten fast. It's always been my understanding that I could choose to forgo anything that gets in the way of  my relationship with God. In the past I've given up sugar, screen time, and unsuccessfully tried to fast from complaining. This year I'm choosing to give up Facebook for Lent.

The internets like to make fun of people who give up things like Facebook for Lent. Well, the internets can sit on a tack! As an extrovert who was a stay at home mom for many years, I've come to depend on this website VERY heavily for human interaction. I am definitely going to "feel the sting" of being removed from my beloved social media site and spiritual growth is likely to happen.

Why Facebook: It's for my own good. First, I can't seem to stay out of trouble on this website. I try REALLY hard not to comment on people's controversial timeline stuff, but try as I may, I still often end up in trollish debates with a person who is a friend of my friend. In real life, I would not give a rat's ass what that friend of a friend thinks about my opinions...but put it on Facebook and I care a great deal. Secondly, I tie my worth to how many "likes" my statuses and blog post receive. Not always, but too often to be healthy.

The way that I interact with social media in turn effects my mental health. I get all worked up. My deep seeded need for approval and validation bubbles to the surface and I am miserable. No website should make me feel depressed and anxious...it's ridiculous. God has placed a holy soul in my inmost self, good brain in my head and wonderful, encouraging relationships in my life. I let a stupid website come along and completely invalidate all of that.

What it is: 

• Very simply, I cannot go on Facebook from 9:oopm on Wednesday, February 18th until after Easter service on Sunday, April, 5th. There are no times when I am allowed to log in and check my timeline...just not.at.all. The plan was to deactivate my account so that I wouldn't be tempted. However, I use several sites which require me to log on using my Facebook account. I don't want the drama of creating a bunch of new passwords and logins. To help myself stick to the fast, I plan to remove the app from my phone and put a super short timer on my laptop (so I can still tap into the account if I need to sign onto linked websites)

• Because I primarily share my blog via Facebook, I still intend to use it to that end. When I do a Facebook share, I don't really go onto the site, I just send the link to my timeline via blog page. Because I don't have an opportunity to see or interact with people's timelines, I'm going to allow it. 

• I've let people in my life know that they can contact me by email or text.

What it ain't:

• I am not intending to circumvent the fast by building up my Twitter account or whatever the hell else there is by way of social media. 

• Pinterest will be allowed because I don't really use it as social media. It's more of a Google search shortcut for me. No drama. Just recipes and home decor. 

In undertaking this fast, I am not trying to say that Facebook is evil. It's neutral. The way I sometimes use it, it can be harmful to my heart. I have allowed people that I don't know to injure me on a soul level. I have allowed people who are meant for relationship to define my ultimate worth, God should be affecting me on a soul level...He should be determining my worth.

Lent. It's a thing.

But You Said You Didn't Believe In Dieting?!?!?!

I don't believe in dieting. Let me say it again, in my experience, dieting does not work. Science agrees. Statistically 95% of people who lose weight on a diet gain it back and often the pounds come back with a few friends. Between 2002 and 2003 I lost 100lbs on a popular diet. The weight crept back on and now I am heavier than I've ever been...and frankly heavier than I am physically comfortable being. The diet industry is an INDUSTRY. They could care less about my life and my health, they just want muh dollas.

Though I have flipped the middle finger to society's rules about weight and the health care industry's obsession with linking health and weight, I do think there is a number on my scale that says, "hey lady, we need to pay a little more attention to what we're doing here". I currently don't feel comfortable in my body.

I briefly thought about running back into the arms of the program that helped my lose weight a decade ago (geez I am old), but then I decided I didn't need the stress of conforming to that plan. Because, as we know, I have to be VERY protective of my stress level and where I spend my emotional energy. My mental health is of paramount importance to me. So, I just decided to look at the calorie amount that was suggested for very gradual weight loss in a woman of my weight class. After peeking at a few sources, I settled on a number and downloaded a tracker.

So yes, I am counting calories, but please hear me and believe me when I say I AM NOT ON A DIET. The amount of calories I am allotted each day is generous. For me, this exercise in counting calories is not about coming in under and feeling smug or feeling guilty for going over. It's really just about mindfulness. For example, through tracking, I have realized that I drink about 300 calories a day...that's more than 10% of my daily calories. It's more than it should be. Through tracking and mindfulness I also continue to observe that the ONLY time I get out of control with my eating is 4:00PM...it is a a struggle EVERY day!

I am following parts and pieces of various healthy/allergy dietary guidelines...but not subscribing to a "diet". My naturopathic doctor put my on the Blood Type Diet, so I don't eat a lot of red meat or potatoes. Little Brother is allergic to wheat/dairy/eggs/peanuts/soy, so most of my grains, out of necessity, are gluten free. We no longer keep much dairy in the house using either rice milk or almond milk. But, I have a husband whose doctor encouraged a Paleo-style diet, so those of use who aren't allergic DO eat eggs. So, while my food diary looks like a weird mish-mash of Top Ten Diets, it is comprised (mostly) of whole, real foods.

After being on the diet plan 10 years ago and eating a whole host of unwholesome, chemically altered, preservative laden, science experiments, I can't stomach buying "diet" food again.When I touch a fat free cookie on my tongue, it tastes like grainy chemicals. Nasty. So, if it isn't real, I am probably not eating it (again, mostly...everybody needs some cheez-its every now and then). That's not dieting, that's mindful eating.

So what's the end game? Well, I tell you what it ain't. I have no intention of making a weight loss goal. I have never been thin and I will never be thin. That's not fatalistic thinking, it just IS. Even after my big weight loss I was a plus sized woman. I have a big skeleton (yup, I just played the big boned card) and am not built to be slender. I have the bones of a strong, sturdy woman. I don't care about getting "down" to a certain size.

I just want to see the scale move down. I want to stop eating when my stomach is full, even if there is still food on the plate. I want to be able to move my body in the way I wish. I want to feel comfortable and sensible. That's it. There are no numbers. I AM NOT ON A DIET!

PS...I really like that article on diets that I linked to in this post. I particularly like what it says about trauma and adverse childhood experiences. I wrote a post about it in 2013 (here). I think that weight is a complicated matter and simple calories in calories out glosses over the root causes of overeating.