“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 (NIV)

This helped me and I wanted to share it.  Go here (it’s a devotional).

Welcome back!

ONE

A couple of weekends ago, we visited some friends out of town.  While we were there, we were able to experience two different groups of married couples.  Each group was…well, it’s hard to explain, it was unlike anything Steven and I had really encountered before.  It was a group of people from different churches, all couples coming together to celebrate God and their marriages.  Each couple shared their difficulties and their triumphs.  But, the most amazing part was the depth of the things that were being shared, and the accountability that followed.

And, we were inspired.

“How do we do this…at home?”  We asked.  After a lot of discussion, we realized it might be near impossible at home to implement such a group with such security and commitment quickly, and we seriously entertained the idea of moving CLOSER to that group, just so we could have that for ourselves.

For those of you that know us, you would know Steven and I have had a really difficult go at the last (and first) 5 years of our marriage.  It’s been rough, beyond rough.  There have been times when counselors, marriage therapists, and even peers have told us that there was just no way, that the problem was too big.  I kept looking everywhere for answers.  I searched the internet and found a group of people who had gone – and were going through – some of the same things I was.  It put a “name” with some of the “symptoms of the problems”.  I scrolled down, reading each post, tears sliding down my cheeks as I could relate to each and every one.  I had found it.  This would be my answer!  This would tell me what to do!  But, it didn’t.

Instead, it told me the same thing almost everyone else had: Somethings never change.  Better to cut your losses now.  And, on some level…I found myself agreeing.

But, one thing held me back.  I KNEW God had brought us together.  Without a doubt.  And, to give up would mean that I’d be doubting my God and facing the possibility that He’d paired me with the wrong man.

Not ONCE did I seriously take into consideration praying for my husband.  Sure, there were a couple of women who had suggested it to me, but they were also living lives completely different than mine – they believed wives were almost inferior to their husbands, that a man could even HIT them, and they must stay.  So, I didn’t take them seriously.

Now, I can tell you our marriage has changed much.  Sure, we still deal with the aftermath of 5 years worth of storms, but we’re piecing things together, we’re healing.

What changed?

One day, God told me something.  He told me that one day, I would come back to that message board I had found and I would be a voice of hope.  I would be able to give Glory To God for a repaired marriage that no man could fix.  What changed was that at some point, I realized that God needed to be invited back into our marriage because I COULDN’T FIX THIS.  BECAUSE OUR MARRIAGE WOULD FAIL WITHOUT HIM IN IT.  –THAT, NO AMOUNT OF “SELF -HELP” WOULD FIX THINGS.  ONLY, GOD-HELP.

With that realization, both Steven and I have found a desire in our hearts to help other people in their marriages.  First, we thought about a Bible Study for married couples…or, a class…but, neither of us felt like we could do it any justice.  After all, our marriage is still far from perfect.  Better…recovering…but so much work left to do!

Then, after deciding that even these small groups would be near-impossible to recreate without YEARS of relationships, God spoke.

He gave me the details:
-8 couples ONLY
-No children allowed in the room
-One night a week, to begin each time with a meal
-Young AND older couples

I tried to brush it away, knowing that most of the people I know would either be too uncomfortable or too busy to want to really commit.  Finding 8 couples would be like trying to find 16 people who would joyously allow me to pull their teeth.  This group would be about making changes in their marriages.  It would be at times difficult and possibly even, embarrassing.  It would require strangers to commit themselves before each other and God to their spouses, God, and each other.  This wasn’t like asking a bunch of people over to play wii and eat free food (much easier to do).  It would mean that we would be truly accountable to each other and ask each other the difficult questions and give difficult answers.

AND, to top it off…who are we to lead a group based on marriage?   – Couldn’t it be on something else?

And then, He told me that I had it all wrong.  My job was simply to invite the people, He would get them to come (those that were supposed to).  And, my job was NOT to lead the group, just set it up…HE would lead it.

So, I listened.  I began inviting people.  And within a few hours, a group was formed.  I thought it would take forever to get it going, and now I’m fearing we’ll have to tell people we’re full!  We have only a few more openings left, but I think that has more to do with hearts being in the process of being molded.  I invited those I was told to and the rest?  Will be up to Him.

God is amazing!

TWO

In the past couple of weeks, Lorelei’s attitude seemed to have gotten crazy.  Whining, back talk, issues in obedience, ignoring…all of it.  My sweet little girl seemed to have suddenly gone a little wild.  My anxiety began mounting, going through the roof.  Then, a friend mentioned a book.

I don’t think it was a coincidence at all.  A God-incident maybe.

To Train Up A Child is the book, and while I don’t necessarily agree with everything it outlines, we’ve adapted our own parenting style and beliefs and have adopted those.  In less than 30 minutes, there was a difference!

I read that “popping” a child on the behind with your hand can misalign the child’s spine – regardless if there is a padded diaper.  It’s the impact.  So, we stopped using that.  Instead, we have begun smacking her hand, but the real difference is that INSTEAD OF WAITING UNTIL I’M TO MY BOILING POINT, I “TRAIN” HER WITH EVERY INFRACTION, NO MATTER HOW SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT.  Before, I would let certain things go.  I would follow through if I said she’d receive some form of correction, but I was afraid that punishing her for  every  little infraction made me impatient, that it made me a bad mommy.  What I didn’t realize was that by letting her to even the tiniest little things, I was letting rebellion breed in her little heart.  Granted, most of her “rebellion” is pretty small stuff…nothing hateful.

The book that I’m reading is a very rod-oriented book, and while I am not comfortable using a “switch” or a belt on my sweet 2 year old, we will have to incorporate something extra for when the hateful acts begin (IF they do). But, I was thinking more…fly-swatter.  I’m praying that will work.  And while I have trouble with a few parts of the book, there was one thing amazing Pearl mentioned – that it’s SO important to break their (defiant/stubborn/rebellious) WILL, but NOT their HEARTS.  In practice, that means they have to know how to behave, know to obey, but that you don’t spank and spank them into submission without loving them.  It doesn’t mean you beat your kids so they’ll fear your word, it means you train them (even if it means a little discomfort) so they can hopefully bypass a lot of potential misery and pain. It means you do it calmly, never when angry. It means you take the time to get to know them and develop a relationship with them.  And, it means…you know when and where to stop.

For us, the “hand spank” as we call it is working awesomely.  Lala has begun to realize that if she chooses to break the rules, there will be a consequence.  The thing that surprises me most, though,is that I am less stressed and training her MORE means less discipline for her.  She knows that any rebellion at all will lead to the same thing, and she’s calmed down.

And, the hugs she gives me (even right afterwards) lets me know we’re on the right track.

Psalm 5

¹ O Lord, hear me as I pray;
pay attention to my groaning.
² Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God,
for I pray to no one but you.
³ Listen to my voice in the morning, Lord.
Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.

⁴ O God, you take no pleasure in wickedness;
you cannot tolerate the sins of the wicked.
⁵ Therefore, the proud may not stand in your presence,
for you hate all who do evil.
⁶ You will destroy those who tell lies.
The Lord detests murderers and deceivers.

⁷ Because of your unfailing love, I can enter your house;
I will worship at your Temple with deepest awe.
⁸ Lead me in the right path, O Lord,
or my enemies will conquer me.
Make your way plain for me to follow.

⁹ My enemies cannot speak a truthful word.
Their deepest desire is to destroy others.
Their talk is foul, like the stench from an open grave.
Their tongues are filled with flattery.^[a]
10 O God, declare them guilty.
Let them be caught in their own traps.
Drive them away because of their many sins,
for they have rebelled against you.

¹¹ But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
let them sing joyful praises forever.
Spread your protection over them,
that all who love your name may be filled with joy.
¹² For you bless the godly, O Lord;
you surround them with your shield of love.

Lord,

You destroy deceitful hearts and you bring joy to those that exalt your name.  Lift up my heavy heart, O Lord, make this burden easier for me to carry.  Show me where to walk, for I am seeking your path…your face.  Teach me patience, teach me unfailing love, teach me joy.  And, most of all…

teach me forgiveness.

Amen.

I write this blog for a variety of reasons, and what I choose to or not to write…I also choose for a variety of reasons.

Sometimes I write things just for the sake of remembering them.

Sometimes I write so I can analyze my thoughts.

Sometimes I write, hoping for input.

Sometimes I write just to know I’m not alone.

Sometimes I write so others know that they are not alone.

Sometimes I just need to get things out of my head.

Sometimes I write so family and friends can “keep up” with our lives easily.

Sometimes…I just write.

And, sometimes…I wish I didn’t.  Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to a diary or journal of sorts that is hidden from the eyes of the world because sometimes it’s easier for nobody to know than everyone to know but only a few care out loud.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’d be better just to keep my mouth shut and smile, no matter how I feel inside – but, I know deep down that that won’t really work.  This is generally the one place where I really open up (unless probed with questions), most of my life is a string of jokes and smiles…regardless.

I’m trying incredibly hard to claw out of this deep hole I’ve found myself in.  After a long talk with my doctor and friend, we decided to add another medication to the daily arsenal.  Hopefully, I’ll notice improvement soon.  Many days, I feel so lost and over the last few days, things got much worse.  Terrifying thoughts haunted my mind, thoughts meant to destroy me and everything I could ever want.  I began using some of my time trying to find ways to escape the darkness, to find peace… to be released.

I know that I have to be honest about where I am and the battles I’m facing – because, I know I can’t do this alone.

I write so much on this blog, but it’s really a Catch 22 for me.  It’s HARD for me to not immediately push DELETE on the touchy posts.  It’s HARD for me to share with people that won’t be sharing back in most cases.  I’m ASHAMED of the feelings I feel, of the darkness that cloaks my mind.  I know I have a wonderful little family and friends and despite the recent happenings in our life, we have still been incredibly blessed.  But, the depression doesn’t care.  I know a lot of people don’t really understand depression, so let me try to explain it for you.  (And if this is how you feel, call a doctor…or message me)

Depression isn’t just a bad mood.  It doesn’t just get fixed with flowers or a funny joke.  Those things help, but those that are depressed fight MOMENT BY MOMENT.

Sometimes, depression can be healed by medicine, prayer, therapy or a combination of those.

Not all depressed people look “dirty” or like they don’t take care of their appearances.  Textbooks give that as a warning sign, but I can wear makeup and dress up and smile and still be fighting on the inside.  In fact, some of us will and have laughed even on our deathbeds.  Some of us make jokes, it’s what we do.

Depression isn’t one of those even paths where a person’s emotional state doesn’t change from one hour to the next.  For some, it comes in lulls from bad to worse, depending on a variety of circumstances.

Depression is like being trapped…

The best way I know to describe it is being trapped underwater in the deepest darkest parts of the sea where there is no light and you feel alone and scared…and alone.  Occasionally you’ll see a glimpse of something, and think it’s the light and surface, but it’s only a bubble.

Imagine the pain of someone close to you dying and feeling that…every moment of every day times 10.

Depression isn’t so much logical and people can’t just decide to be happy at this point.

We need moment-by-moment reminders that people do love us and will stand by us and little “happy things.”  We need to talk, to vent, to hug, to be loved.  Mostly, what we need to know from our friends and family is that they’ll hold our hands as we try to swim back to the surface, even if it takes us a while to find our way.  We need to know they’re beside us, not just looking down and waiting for us to drown.

These last couple of posts have been difficult for me.  I procrastinate, putting them off, hoping I’ll feel better the next day and therefore have no need to write them.  Then, I realize I don’t…and won’t.  This is real.  Too real.

In May of this year, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  And… I felt great.  I was happy.  With Lala, I had some postpartum depression, but this time…I was doing great!  The doctors warned me that it may come and they kept trying to comfort me about a condition I was sure I didn’t have.  So, I smiled and willed them to just go away so I could smile and coo at my new baby and goofy toddler.

Slowly, the “bad” days seemed to grow more frequent.  I assured myself it was simply me becoming acquainted to being a mom of 2 and dealing with being without job and some of the other issues we have been facing.  I figured it was normal.  –Until the bad days began to slowly get more intense, making me want to be alone and not all at once.  I knew the signs but have fought this before and was so confident that it was no big deal.  And, it wasn’t, really.  I’d just have to determine each day that I would be happy.  I had to fill my day with little things that would make me happy (a piece of cake, a fun activity, crafting, helping others…) and I had to keep shoving myself out into public just to keep myself from being alone on the bad days.  It was manageable, I knew how to do this.  And, before I knew it, I was having a string of good days again.

But…then, we lost our insurance.

I understand that a lot of people live their lives without insurance.  Or, 20% of Americans do (so they say).  I know that a lot of people do it and they do it with happy hearts.  Kudos to them.  For me…it means I’m failing my family.  It means I’m not taking care of the two little girls God placed in our care.  It means that the medical debt we just paid off is going to grow again and we are no longer slowly climbing the long hill out of debt but rather, sliding fast back in.  It means that I can’t get the pain relief I need.  It means another bit of security has been ripped from my life.

So, this one thing sent me spiraling.  Spiraling, quickly…and too close.  Too close to bottom.  I’ve been to the bottom before…the place where you begin looking for an OUT.  The place where logic no longer reaches you and you just want it to be over.  Because, you’re done.  You’re tired of being in pain, the pain on the outside sears your brain and the pain you feel inside shreds your heart into tiny pieces and you feel like you’re drowning and nobody can save you.

It’s really hard for me to admit that.  It’s even harder for me to take a pill to make me “happy.”  But, I know this disease all too well.  I know the cycles, I know how it affects me, and I know how it ends.  I know how illogical I become and I know that I can’t get out alone – alive – without some help.  So, I’m taking the help I get.  Right now, this help comes in the form of a tiny pill that I can’t really tell if it’s working or not, yet.

It’s hard for me to grasp that I could be having post-partum depression FIVE MONTHS after my baby was born…but, I guess I’ve had it for a while…just mild and manageable until recently.

I went from a daily struggle to be happy to a moment-by-moment basis.  And, quite frankly…it’s kicking my ass.  Suddenly, I don’t have the options to put myself in therapy or try out a string of medication…because now…I can’t afford them.  This one just happened to be on the $4 list at Walmart.  I will myself to be happy.  I throw myself into public situations while my entire being protests.  It’s like there are two parts of me – the logical part that’s just trying to not disappear, screaming that I don’t need to be alone…and then the rest of me…that just wants to find a closet to lay down in.

Somedays, I think I’m too good at pretending for my own good – fighting with all my might to survive while I pretend to be JUST FINE with smiles and laughter to hide what I feel.

So, why am I telling you…the world…then?  Because I have to.  Because I need to write it down.  Because no matter how much I want to NOT feel pathetic and weak for feeling this way, I do.  Because no matter how much I don’t want you to know how pathetic and weak I feel that I am, I need you to know.

I’m fighting a tricky battle – one more deadly and filled with terror than any that could be fought with swords or guns because this battle lies within and surely a part of me must lose to win.

As I keep reading through this book (Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge), I’m amazed by the messages that seem to hit so close to home for me…

“As women we tend to feel that ‘it must be me.’  That’s the effect of our early wounds.  ‘Something is fundamentally wrong with me.’  So many women feel that way.  (Why are we working so hard to improve ourselves?  Or why do we keep so busy that the issues of our hearts never have to come to the surface?)  We also feel that we are essentially alone.  And that somehow the two are related.  We believe we are alone because we are not the women we should be.”

I was reading something a friend wrote the other day – about their desire to meet and know truly WHOLE people, people who would need nothing from them or anyone else.

It took me a while to digest that statement. Is there really such a thing as a WHOLE person – a person who doesn’t need anyone else? Furthermore, could I be such a person (because in theory, it DOES sound nice). Or, are WHOLE people really just great pretenders and deniers?

Don’t get me wrong – I believe there is a huge difference between wallowing in self-pity and blame and actually working through your wounds, struggles, and pain. To me, a person who strives for complete WHOLENESS by themselves (and in /of themselves) is a person setting themselves of for failure.

The past few years have been an amazing time for me – loaded with some intense pain, but also major self-discovery and triumphs and healing. As I read through Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul by John and Stasi Edredge, I feel…less alone. In a way, it’s freeing to know so many women feel the way I do (while in other ways, saddens me).

My journey of healing is no-where near its completion and yet I feel drawn to begin chronicling it already – as I believe this in and of itself will aid in my healing.

And, in order to heal we (I) must first be willing to strip down the walls of our (my) own
“Shack” (another great book, by the way). In John and Stasi Eldredge’s book, there is a chapter named “Wounded,” where they implore the reader to take inventory of some of the pain in their past and the messages those wounds inflicted upon our hearts and minds – ONLY so that we may begin to heal.

I wrote previously in my series fille stupide about being raped and I guess many of my deeper wounds BEGIN there. I wrote much about the event itself but almost nothing of the aftermath…

…the best friend who turned her back on me, teaching me once again that friends will only hurt you and you can only trust yourself.

…the struggles that developed between my parents and I, leaving me feeling so alone when what I needed most was understanding and a hand to hold. Instead, they mistook my silence and withdrawal as a secretiveness and I took their words and actions of disapproval and punishment as a message that told me being raped was MY fault, therefore they disapproved and needed to punish me. (SIDENOTE: Now, 8 years later, I can say that I fully believe my parents did what they thought was best – they interpreted and dealt the only way they knew how. Two parents trying to understand and a hurting 15 year old sometimes don’t make the best teams for healing. And, while it may have taken both sides 8 years to realize what had been going on within each of us, we have finally reached a point of healing for us both.)

…the looks and taunts of my classmates as I returned to school. As I heard the whispers, “whore” and “slut” over and over again (some from my previous best friend), I felt alone and unloved and even began to believe that perhaps I had brought it all upon myself – that I was unworthy of their love and support.

…At the age of 16, I began having sex with boys just to see if it would happen again. I wasn’t just raped when I was 15, but my body was physically injured in a major way and I felt that that too was MY fault. That there was something wrong with me. I wondered if perhaps it hadn’t been his fault at all, and all of mine. So, I began having sex in an effort to prove to myself that I would be okay – that sex for the rest of my life would not result in blood and pain and misery.

…I then began seeking older boys’ attention – boys who never had my best interests at heart – because I wanted (needed) to believe I was worthy of love (by a man). This had nothing to do with sexuality, and everything to do with seeking someone to love me and see me for who I was.

…The heartfelt letter that was thrown in my face when I expressed how sad and lonely I’d become and was even considering taking my own life. I had carefully considered each word and letter of that letter, words I couldn’t say aloud, and having them shoved in my face along with bitter words of disgust further concreted the self-hatred and disgust that I was sure everyone else felt for me, too.

…These wounds never really healed, but only festered and burned. Time and time again, I was hurt and with each incident, as if a lashing to my soul, I began closing the walls of my heart. In college, every message I’d seemed to retain from the betrayal and hurt began to build upon each other. I just wanted it to end. And, so by my own hands, I tried to end my own life. I was certain that not only was I unloved, but that I was unworthy of such love – that by removing myself from this world, it (and the lives in it) would be improved.

…In my adult life, I fought hard to overcome the betrayal and hurt I’d been caused before. I tried to push it away, tried convincing myself that it was due to immaturity and people were different now, as adults. I hoped to start anew, but the wounds still burned deep inside and as each new friendship I sought waxed and then waned, only to burn out – I began to feel again the hopelessness of being unworthy.

…I finally began to blossom and grow after I met my (now) husband. I felt safe and that I could truly be myself and would still be loved. I had accepted that I may never be able to trust anyone outside of our marriage, but that he would always be a constant of love. Until one day he wasn’t. The betrayals within our marriage kicked me hard and in an intense way, sending me spiraling into depths of darkness I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to overcome…

…When I finally reached out to a church for love and support, I was turned away. I was told that my baptism had essentially not been good enough, and therefore unless I was re-baptized, I would not be accepted. I had finally come, searching again for a church in which to find God, and now I was being turned away. Not even a church could love me.

…And, when the doctors told me I may never have a child of my own, I cursed my God through steamy tears. This, being the only thing I wanted more than ANYTHING, I felt like my own Father in heaven had turned HIS back on me, as well. If he couldn’t love me, who would?

To me, the messages were clear.

I was undeserving of love and hope – so much, in fact, that not only my closest friends and family seemed to fall away like dominoes, but even my God was not above abandoning me.

Some people chose to be alone, but it seemed to forever follow me.

So, this is my journey – from desolation to something more. I’ve only just begun and yet I’ve come so far.

(PLEASE NOTE: While my “wounds” are real, some have been partially healed. Some of the messages that were ingrained in my heart at 15 and 20 years old are NOT THE SAME. This is my journey, and I am choosing to chronicle some of the “beginning” in order to better understand and heal the past. I have come a long way from where I first begun, but can still feel some of the scars from previous wounds.)

Your turn – if you want it. If you were to strip away the walls you’ve built and the wounds you’ve covered, what would you see? What are some of your wounds? (Feel free to join me and write in the comments or leave your link – or email it to me..)