A Bushel and a Peck

*Please keep in mind that this is only one side of the story. I write this not to demonize Stephen, but rather to express my own feelings and pain. He hurt me, but I have hurt him too, and I don't pretend to be perfect or totally innocent in everything.* How? How am I supposed to do this? How have I been doing this? Just over 8 years ago, I made what I thought was the second-best decision of my life. I decided to say yes when my best friend asked me to marry him. I had moments of doubt. Lots of them. Heart-wrenching uncertainty. Fear. But also comfort. Someone who was there in a way no one had been before. Someone who saw me and wanted me. Someone who sacrificed happily for me. Someone who made me feel like my wants and needs weren't silly or obnoxious. Someone who made me believe I was important after all. Someone who wanted to give without seeming to ask too much in return. And then there was God. Some quiet voice in my soul told me that marrying my be...

I've always been afraid that people wouldn't want me. Divorce seems to be the ultimate confirmation of that fear. But tonight, I realized that I have always kept myself small, limited - I've prevented myself from being a whole person - because I wanted other people to like me. I'm tired of folding up my soul. It's possible no one else wants my whole heart, mind, and soul - the deep, beautiful, unique masterpiece that those things comprise. It's entirely possible there is not a single person on this earth who wants all of that. Except for me. Tonight I sat in my car and cried. Cried because I hurt over being turned away. Cried because I realized that, throughout my entire marriage - throughout my life, really - I was never whole. Never. I always kept myself small in an effort to please other people - in an effort to make myself wanted. I cried because I realized that Stephen didn't reject the true me. He rejected the small me. The piecemeal me. The mirr...

The fractured heart has the potential to become more beautiful than it was before. But it is also often harder, less prone to trust, less likely to forgive. The fractured heart has learned its lesson - many times over. The more it breaks, the more it fights letting anyone else in. The fractured heart is tired of being broken. It's tired of being played with. My heart is not a plaything. My heart is a living, breathing piece of my soul. And I'll be damned if I let anyone play with it again.

Broken heart. Typically when we think of broken hearts, we think of a relationship ending, creating a big chasm in one's heart. My heart feels broken today, but there was no single defining moment that caused the break, no giant chasm that suddenly appeared one day. Instead, what I have is a collection of fractures. Tens, maybe hundreds of them. From the hurtful words and actions hurled at me, to the personal struggles of a loved one that happened to hurt me too, to being mocked for what I felt and believed, to being told I had to accept things that hurt me if I wanted to be loved, to being told I wasn't wanted over and over, to being replaced so quickly after we finally agreed to give up trying. Many, many fractures comprise my broken heart. I've been examining the fractures and binding them carefully. But sometimes they still ache. Sometimes, something shifts and it all flares up again. Sometimes, I unwrap the bandages to see how things are going and just looking at...

In two weeks, my divorce will be finalized.  I'm sure that'll hit me somehow. I don't know how, exactly, yet. But it'll hit me and I'm sure it'll be painful to some degree.  I've been thinking, off and on, about vulnerability - particularly in marriage. As is a normal part of this process, I've sometimes contemplated the possibility of getting married again someday. God has told me that I will, and I believe Him. Lately, though, I've been cynical about it. The true love I used to envision in marriage now seems silly and foolish. I see now that what I used to believe about true love had more to do with mutual codependent caretaking than it did real, healthy love.  Part of me is certain that making myself truly vulnerable to another human being will only end in pain. Again. There have been a few times over the last several months that I've sort of "practiced" being vulnerable the way I believe marriage requires. I haven't don...

This is a journal entry from this past summer. I'm going to be sharing moments like this from journals and memories as I process my past. Thanks for bearing with me. August 23, 2016 I went to check out the apartment (Stephen moved out last week) to see what kind of cleaning needed to be done. I brought the kids. I felt kind of anxious about it, like it would be emotionally difficult, but I still felt like I wanted/needed to do it So we went. And it was painful. That was the last place we lived together. I remembered a lot of the good times we had there, and my certainty that divorce is the right answer faltered for a bit. I'm sad that this beautiful dream I had for Stephen and myself, for our family, has crumbled. I thought of how happy we had often been together. I wondered if I was THE problem. I wondered if we should still try. But I also remembered that I'd felt afraid and trapped in that apartment. Even today, I felt angry and resentful. The kids felt somethin...

I miss the way you looked at me When we were young When we thought we would last forever There was a light in your eyes A shyness in your smile Love in your heart I was afraid to trust I was naive Uncertain A child You seemed sure You loved me In a way I had never been loved before You wanted to know me You wanted to be with me I didn't have to wonder about it I knew That was intoxicating I felt wanted I was wanted You were wanted too We had both felt unwanted So often, for so long Finally, we were both wanted We thought it was enough And it was for a while We thought we needed each other And maybe we did For a while Now I miss the light in your eyes The shyness in your smile The love in your heart But I finally love myself I finally want myself I see the light in my own eyes And feel the peace in my own heart I miss the goodness you once had I wish you still had it, for your sake, But I don't need you Not anymore

I'm trying to make Sweet Boy a birthday present. This present involves sewing. I have a bit of a natural talent for sewing, but very little education. I'm making this up as I go, which is both exciting and obnoxious. The project involves sewing a bunch of ribbons in straight lines on a blank piece of fabric. I just sewed the first one on. I put it down on the floor and stepped back to look at it. It's crooked. Crap. Now what? Failure Monster starts poking me with his stick, chanting different "maybes" at me. Maybe I'll have to redo it. Maybe picking the whole thing out will leave holes in the ribbon. Maybe I won't have enough leftover ribbon. If this line turned out crooked, maybe all the other lines I try will too. Maybe it will look stupid. Maybe this project is more trouble than it's worth. Maybe my idea to use ribbons in the first place was a stupid one. Maybe this is impossible. Maybe I should be using my time to do something not so stupid. Ma...

The other day, I was accused of debating based on my feelings, not on facts. This made me mad. Granted, I was already having a grouchy day, but it stung. I felt like I was being told that my arguments and opinions weren't valid because they weren't based on hard facts. Well, damn it. Here came the big old Failure Monster again, laughing in my face and poking me with his stupid stick. Shut up, Failure Monster. I hate you. For a while, I tried to validate myself. "Well, I simply operate from a position of theory, not hard facts. There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone is different. It's not that my arguments are invalid, they're just not how everyone wants to argue. Whatever. I'm still smart." And that's the issue. I was feeling like my intelligence and capability were under attack. When really, what this person was saying is that more is needed. I think my instincts and insights are good, but that's not all there is to life. It's imp...

Tonight I looked up at the stars And thought "I hope someday to find someone Who will sit with me And look at the stars And feel the same stirring in their heart And I will know I am not alone in my wonder."

I wrote a poem recently about my inner child. My inner child is the frightened, unsure, lonely part of me. The part who still suffers from the painful things that have happened to me. The part of me who desperately wants someone to take care of her, but doesn't really trust anyone to do it properly. She will always be there. I can choose to ignore her and let her stew in her misery, her fear. Or I can choose to help her. Because the thing is, I am also an adult now. I am intelligent. I know where to go if I need help. I know how to find answers to my questions. I know how to drive, I know how to make food, I know how to talk to other people, I know how to get myself where I need to go. My adult self knows things. Most importantly, my adult self knows how to take care of herself and other people. I think, too often, I give everything up to my child self. She seems to throw tantrums inside me when I get scared. Adult Me grows quiet as my inner child rages. My child self asks,...

I can be super sensitive to emotional pain and fear. Like, knowing someone else is afraid or in pain can sometimes debilitate me. I felt this way often as a kid, and it created a lot of anxiety and fear in me. I couldn't watch scary movies, I couldn't think too hard on other people's pain, I would often feel really uncomfortable for people who I perceived had embarrassed themselves in some tiny way. It was really challenging for me. As I got older, I found ways to cope - I would try to be more selfish, self-centered, as a way to avoid other people's pain. Not that I didn't care, but I tried not to get too close to people because it could be unbearable for me. I would feel responsible for their feelings. Today, for whatever reason, I'm hypersensitive again. I'm at the gym, thinking I'll go to the "cardio cinema" to watch a movie and maybe escape my own thoughts and other people's feelings for a bit. But the movie today is Godzilla. And i...

One of the most important things I have been coming to learn over the past few months is that I have incredible strength.  I have good instincts. I have good intuition. I have a talent for "reading" people. I have a compassionate heart. I have an intelligent mind. I have great moral strength. I have believed, most of my life, that I am weak. I have let Fear feed me lies, to cause me to doubt myself. I have allowed Fear to keep me small, in my box, isolated, lonely.  Fear was able to do this because my need to be loved by others was greater than my need to love myself. I let Fear control me in the hope that I could shame myself into becoming someone other people could love. I have always had an intense desire to be fiercely wanted, to be truly accepted, to be intimately understood by another person. I have believed that such things were more important to my happiness than anything else.  Now, as I let go of Fear, I see that I can love, understand, and accept...

Today is Halloween. The kids and I met Stephen at his family's house. We visited with his family for a bit and then went out to take pictures and start trick-or-treating. Stephen and I walked with our children from house to house, encouraging them to knock on doors and say thank you for the candy. We smiled at their excitement and reminded them to hold our hands as we crossed the road. We said hello to the neighbors and helped our babies open their treats. Afterward, we rejoined his family for a little bit of dinner. We all talked and laughed. We teased each other and commented on how cute the kids were. Things were happy and lighthearted. For me, it all felt comfortable. A few times, I passed Stephen on my way to the kitchen sink or as I walked into another room. Subconsciously, I wanted to reach out and grab his hand or put my arm around him. I didn't, of course, but a part of me still feels a little confused. A part of me misses a part of him. A part of me will alway...

(I know I'm not a great poet, but please do your best to overlook the awkwardness and understand the emotions behind the flawed words.) I feel I feel something But I don't understand My mind races Searching for ways To quiet the discomfort "Shh. We'll fix this real quick." I open a bag of chips I grab a box of cookies I stare at my phone For hours Searching for peace It's not there Peace can't be found In food, on my phone, On my computer In other people Finally, I walk to my room I close my door I breathe I close my eyes My heart is a box I open it Just a little bit What's in there? What am I feeling? Anger Resentment A need to control What else? Those things are loudest But they're not alone They're not the truth I open the box a little wider More light creeps in Fear Sorrow Pain Ah. I see you now I see my truth I hurt I see myself as a child Confused and afraid Hurting and crying Alon...

Today, Stephen and I went to mediation. In a divorce mediation, the two parties typically sit in different rooms with their respective attorneys, while a mediator (usually an attorney who specializes in mediation) goes back and forth to help the parties come to a mutual agreement. This morning was stressful. We woke up a little late, it took longer to get ready than I'd anticipated, we were just about to head out the door when Baby Girl had a nasty diaper. My heart sank. I had arranged to take the kids to daycare for a few hours while I was in mediation, but I knew that most daycares won't accept kids who are sick. I finished getting everybody ready and we got in the car. As we pulled out of the neighborhood, I called the daycare. I was right. They wouldn't take my daughter today. I pulled over to the side of the road and cried for a minute. Despair threatened to overwhelm me, but that strong, bright part of me that I've been getting to know lately seemed to burn wi...

Since my second pregnancy two and a half years ago, my gag reflex has been more sensitive. So this morning, I was brushing my teeth and I started to gag. I thought to myself, as I rinsed my toothbrush, "It's funny how this pregnancy symptom never really went away...unless maybe I really am pregnant." But I remember that my stomach has been getting flatter the last few months, not bigger. I remember that I have no more chances to get pregnant. Maybe not ever. I feel hollow. Pain squeezes my heart. I might never be pregnant again. It feels so final. It breaks my heart to think I may never have another baby. I had briefly considered this possibility before but it hadn't really bothered me until now. Now I feel it. I feel the pain of loss. Even if I do get married again and have another baby, he or she won't have quite the same family. Not that he or she won't be happy, loved, and perfectly fine. But the family my other two kids have is broken. That thought br...

I'm on vacation, visiting one of my best friends. We've been watching fun movies, eating good food, talking for hours, and generally having a wonderful time. This afternoon, I've been feeling a little more disconnected. I've been scrambling around a bit, trying to remember what she and I have been talking about so we can start another good conversation. I feel responsible for supplying my fair share (or more, if possible) of the connection in our friendship. I realized I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself that way in most of my relationships. In times like today, when I struggle to put words together or feel social, I've often let my Fear shame me for it. "You were totally articulate and a social butterfly last night. What happened to you? What's the matter with you? Get it together, or this will be just one more piece of evidence to support our hypothesis that you suck and always will." I feel the need to prove Fear wrong, but I can...

I've heard the phrase "speak your truth" many times before, and it's been bouncing around in my head the past few days. Sometimes, I'll write a little Facebook post, make a video, type up a blog post, and when I hit "publish," I feel warmth settle through my body and these words come to mind: "I'm speaking my truth. This is my truth and I'm talking about it. I'm not apologizing for it anymore. I've found my voice." I smile like an idiot because I'm so happy to have found my voice and my truth. I giggle to myself because I'm thrilled to have discovered these secrets. It feels weird to finally be speaking my truth. Sometimes I go back and read through the things I've posted and think, "Oh geez, this sounds so hokey. People are just going to roll their eyes and think I'm cliche and stupid." But then I remember that the things I'm saying are coming from my heart. I feel them deeply. They are the truth...

I've been sharing a lot of feelings lately. Plenty of strong, happy, light feelings. Lots of uncomfortable, dark ones. I think the dark ones make people nervous. I think they make me a little nervous. A lot of people don't talk about their dark feelings until they're desperate for help, until they feel that those feelings are eating them alive. There seems to be an unspoken rule in our world that we don't talk about the darkness until it's about to consume us. Why? Why can't we talk about the darkness as it comes? Why does acknowledgement of the darkness have to incite panic in the speaker and the listener? We all experience darkness. Trying to ignore or hide it gives it power. I've been ignoring it in the hope that it will go away, but that's not how this works. There is something hiding in the darkness: a creature. We often live in terror of that creature hiding in the dark because we don't know how painful it will be to look at it. We do...

This one's a little dark. But sometimes I am dark. I am human and humans get a little dark sometimes. I am and will be okay. But I can feel and I will feel and I will never again apologize for feeling. Please don't apologize to me because I am feeling. Please don't panic and try to make me better. I want to feel. I love this and hate it at the same time. I need this. I feel naked Alone Afraid Afraid to feel Afraid to hurt Afraid to cry Afraid that I'm weak Afraid of that voice That tells me I can't I never could and I never will Afraid that I'm strong And strong means that I shouldn't be crying That my tears are little lies Sliding down my face Afraid that I'm all wrong That I've just been hurting everyone This whole time Afraid to be right Because what if I am? And the people I've chosen Don't like it? Don't like me? Afraid to be me To trust myself Because what if I'm the only one I can trust? Afra...

**Trigger Warning: This post contains mentions of suicide and self-harm** Is there a difference between "baby blues" and postpartum depression? Yes. Most certainly.  Many women experience the "baby blues" after having a baby. Hormone levels are all over the place. You're making some huge life adjustments that you can't possibly fully prepare for. It's a wonderful, exciting time, but it's also stressful and exhausting. Hence, the ups and downs, the fatigue, the anxiety. Postpartum depression is more than that, though.  After Sweet Boy was born, I had the "baby blues" for the first week or two. I was exhausted, sore, and irritable. At times, I resented the many "inconveniences" of having a newborn baby. Sweet Boy was born three days before Thanksgiving, and I remember sitting down to eat the feast my family had prepared, exhausted and grouchy, just as the baby started to cry because he was hungry. My frustration and anxiet...

This is Part 3 of 3. Click here for Part 1   and  Part 2 .  We drove to my midwife appointment. The surges seemed to slow down while we were in the car. That made me worry a little, but they were still pretty strong, and they picked up again when we got out of the car. I just decided to be grateful that my body gave me a little break, since being confined to a car seat during surges isn't very comfortable. We checked in and I had a surge while the nurse was asking me questions. I quietly gave a couple of answers while trying to relax and breathe. She looked questioningly at Stephen and he said I was having a contraction. The nurse looked a little surprised, but typed for a minute on her computer and told us the midwife would be right in. The midwife came in and said, "So you had a contraction while the nurse was talking to you? You think you're in labor?" We said yes. She checked me, and I was dilated to a 5, 90% effaced. She looked at me and said, "We...

38 weeks with Sweet Boy and 38 weeks with Baby Girl This is Part 2 of 3. Click here for   Part 1  and  Part 3 . Baby Girl was born almost two years ago, on a warm June day.  I was 39 weeks pregnant and so ready to be done. I was pretty sure this baby was bigger than Sweet Boy had been, mainly because my belly was noticeably bigger and I'd had a lot more pressure and soreness in my pelvic area those last few weeks. The top reason I wanted Baby Girl out was because I'd had multiple "false alarms" and was getting pretty discouraged. At 37 weeks, I started having mild but regular surges ( Hypnobirthing language for contractions), 2-3 minutes apart for several hours. We got packed up for the hospital, convinced we'd be heading there in the middle of the night. But almost as soon as I lay down to get some sleep, they stopped. Both Stephen and I were a little frustrated.  A few days later, it happened again. We got all excited, but once again, the surges d...