Not Another Resolution

I haven't really been one for New Year's Resolutions in awhile. Possibly, that's because I tend to be a doer- so setting up a list of things to do doesn't actually seem that daunting. Or perhaps it's because I have learned that when you have young children, it's really best to just take things one day at a time. And because I am that aforementioned doer, I set myself up for disappointment if I set some big goals or changes that I can't meet because of, well, how life might unexpectedly shake out with those tiny humans.

But some time during the last five years, the five years, incidentally, that I have stayed home with my kids, I have morphed into a doer without purpose. It's one thing to make a list, check it, complete it and wake up the next day to do it again. It's fine, it keeps things moving, helps a family function. But it's quite another to wake up on purpose- to look forward to what the day brings, for one's first thought to go deeper than looking forward to when she can next lay back down.

Friends, that's pretty much where I am, here at the end of 2018.

Exhausted. When my alarm goes off in the morning, my first thought is not what is coming that day, it's almost always of how soon I can get back in my bed.

One step, the next step...and all day long just dreaming of the moment I can lay down again. Be alone. Make the worry go away, stop being anxious and wondering what I've missed in my quest to help my son, to pray that maybe this will be the night after which I wake up rested and hopeful and ready. For something. Anything.

This is about to get raw. But it needs to be said.

Staying home with my children for the past five years has been the absolute hardest thing I have ever done. It has brought me to the very edge of myself. I have developed PTSD from parenting a special needs child (gasp) but you CANNOT say that out loud in polite company. And on top of my PMDD, my friends, that pretty much means I am always one step away from falling apart.

Two weeks ago, it caught up with me. I woke up one day and I thought, "I can't do this. I don't know who I have become. What has happened to me?"

To be honest, it was probably the scariest moment of my life.

But because I have an awesome husband and some amazing friends who stepped in when I couldn't stop crying, I managed to get to the doctor for a checkup. That day. And to the counselor for a session. That day. And came home with a new "routine" and some medicine for my PMDD and the teensiest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could change with some really hard work and the ability to ask for help.

For two weeks now, we have tried our best to stick to my prescription. I was told to get a two hour break from parenting every single day. To get at least 30 minutes of exercise every day. To practice mindfulness and prayer when I start to panic. To breathe deeply multiple times a day. Never to skip my medicine.

I might have scoffed at this a month ago. Thought it wasn't possible with our chaotic life and our "divide and conquer" style parenting.

But when you are as low as you ever remember getting, even lower than the miscarriage and the ensuing years of infertility and the adoptions that fell through, you are willing to do whatever someone tells you to do. Or at least, I am. That rule-following thing. It was honestly nice to be looked straight in the eye and told in no uncertain terms that something had to change and that it was OK that I needed it to change. That there is no actual way to carry the burden of this parenting challenge alone day after day. And that it was acceptable that being a stay at home parent just wasn't really enough right now.

There. I said it out loud.

Being a stay at home parent isn't enough for me.

I need more. And I've always known I needed more. When I chose to stay home five years ago, I imagined it to be temporary. But no one plans on a kid with special needs. No one plans on pulling him from school or spending hours of your life researching treatments and options and fighting with insurance companies. You just do it.

But somewhere along the way, I lost my purpose. My joy. My hope.

And friends, I really miss those things.

So, as 2019 approaches, I am not filling it up with resolutions. I am not making a huge to-do list.

I am focusing on one phrase: "new life."

A sweet friend of mine gave me a bracelet this summer after her trip to Hawaii. It's gorgeous. And the symbol on it means "new life." When she gave it to me, I knew it meant something, but I wasn't there yet. I couldn't see through the bog yet.

But as I have slowly emerged over the past two weeks that have been full of exercise, parenting breaks, enjoying my new calming corner, lots of deep breaths and long runs and an unexpectedly joyful Christmas, I feel like it's time.

With my new classes starting in less than two weeks, with some new boundaries in place, I am going to focus in on that.

New life.

It's something promised to us by God. It's something offered, no questions asked. Second chances. New beginnings. No matter how low we have sunk, how far we have strayed, how much we have despaired. We can always claim this hope.

Anyone else with me?