Good Enough

 Having to actively fight the perfectionist side of myself while I take these three classes is a true battle. I want the A. Gosh darnit, I want the A+. More than that, I want to know without a shadow of a doubt that I have given something my absolute best effort. "Good enough" is a really hard phrase for me, it's always felt like a cop-out, a failure, an excuse. 

Today, after spending five straight hours without a break on homework, I felt myself looking for a reason to justify taking a break. I honestly didn't want to because I wanted to accomplish more but I also felt this little niggling in my body telling me my brain was getting tired. I had just read a whole chapter of Anatomy & Physiology, listened to and taken notes from a lecture from that same course, completed two labs and a homework set, completed a chem lab and done a quiz for Medical Terminology. 

But no…I needed more to justify stopping. To let myself breathe. I had taken a five minute break for lunch but had only noticed it was lunchtime because my hands started to shake with low sugar issues.

Yikes. 

I thought I had outgrown my need for everything to be complete and perfect, but clearly the old demons die hard. I texted my husband what was obviously a desperate plea to my inner voice to just let myself rest for a few and he, in his wisdom after 22 years of experiencing my special brand of insanity, came out of his office, looked me in the eye and said "I can tell you are trying to fight the guilt of taking a break. It's ok to rest." 

In that moment, I instantly had a flashback to high school me on the night before a math final. The phone rang and my mother picked it up. It was my math teacher, urging her to make me stop studying and take me out for ice cream because he knew I was ready but would probably spend the whole night buried in math equations if someone didn't force a little break on me. I remember arguing with her. I honestly don't remember who won. 

These same demons that crop up in pretty much everything I try to accomplish tend to taint my spiritual life as well. The concepts of grace, of unconditional love, of sacrifice for me…they feel foreign, almost wrong somehow. Rules are easier. Measurable. Grace is unmerited, unearned, unfathomable. A clear 10 step plan to being a good Christian? Bring it on. Just resting in His love- HOW IN THE WORLD DO I DO THAT? 

I’m not alone in this struggle, I know other friends who tend in the same direction. To earn, to strive, to find their worth in what is attainable. But I also know that it is never enough. The A feels good, but it doesn’t truly fill that ache. It never can. That ache to be perfectly content in who the Lord has made me to be as I walk with Him. 

I mentioned in a recent post that I have been leaning into new rhythms to try to open up that side of me that needs to be able to just rest, sit, learn, accept the love of God. 

A book called “Breath As Prayer” by Jennifer Tucker has been a literal Godsend. The whole idea of the book is that our breath, our very being, is found in the Lord. So as we physically breathe, we use words straight from scripture to calm our minds even as the breathing calms our body. It’s rooted in both science and the Word (swoon!) and the author puts it like this: 

“Breath prayer can help calm your anxiety by connecting you to your Creator and aligning your breath to the rhythm of His grace. Anxiety makes us focus on ourselves and our feelings and the discomfort that those feelings and emotions are causing us. In breath prayer, we reorient our thoughts toward Christ and He becomes the center of our focus, not our feelings.”  

Tomorrow, I’ll need to study again. I have a test coming up. I can already feel my body ramping up…flashcards to be created and studied, careful reading through my notes, working through the study sheets. It will be easy to overwhelm myself with the stress of striving for that A+. Old habits die hard, after all. It will be hard to shut off that inner voice that says "try harder, work longer, you are not doing enough". That voice is loud and powerful, after all.

But, I’m heading into it with this prayer from the book in mind: 

It's not magic and it's not perfect. But even taking tiny steps to learn to pause, to feel the heart racing with the need to achieve, to earn...and to then learn to pause, feel it and inhale and exhale truth and literal, life-giving oxygen, is huge.

Not easy, but huge.

And maybe, in that breathing, I'll be able to realize that what I have accomplished is good enough. That the Lord is pleased. That I can stop. That I can rest. Because who I am is NOT rooted in what I was able to do that day.

No Resolutions, Just Rhythms

It's easy this time of year to fall into the "dream big, make resolutions, change everything" trap, isn't it?  American culture tells us we get a new beginning, to choose our happy, to put ourselves first and make this OUR year. And for many of us, the prospect of NEW is enchanting. Particularly after years of Covid and culture wars and the challenges of parenting and putting the time we need to into our marriages, our jobs, our friendships, our kids.

It can be so tempting to try to warp the gospel to fit into that narrative that says if I make myself healthy, everything else will fit into place.

For a number of years I have LONGED for something to change. To not be so exhausted and chaotic and to stop operating in survival mode with our challenges.

But just this past year, I really sat down and asked the Lord why I was so tired. Why my scripture time was so empty. Why I didn't really want to pray. Why I felt exhausted and disheartened and, frankly, abandoned in our journey to help our two younger sons recover their own health.

And one day on a run, it came to me.

God hadn't changed, but I had.

I was trying to connect with the Lord the same way I did when I was 23. Before marriage. Before three children. Before a mortgage and the pressures of navigating medically complex kids, before my own struggle set in with PMDD, before miscarriage and infertility and two cross-country moves and family deaths....and...all the things that happen in 20 years of living life.

I had grown and changed and, with that, my needs and my rhythms for how and when to spend time with God had changed. I was so busy keeping to what I thought I knew to do that I ended up making God into my own image, an easy checklist, an empty to-do.

So I stepped back. It wasn't January. It wasn't when we are told to start new, dream big, change ourselves. It was a still, quiet morning when my body was tired and I just told God I missed Him. That I needed a new way, a new perspective, new habits and rhythms that match where I am as a 44 year-old mother, wife and coach pursuing a late-decided career in medicine. With all my wrinkles and scars and wounds and, yes, my resurrected places, too.

I can tell you confidently that God met me in that. I stopped trying to force a "quiet time" at an hour of the day that just didn't work with my family's rhythms. I leaned into new spiritual practices that I hadn't traditionally connected with, like breath prayers and stillness. I let the Lord into the grief in my life and learned how to breathe and process it and run less on rage and chaos and more on peace and hope and mindfulness.

That, my friends, is what a new year looks like. Not some big extravagant promise to change myself, but the quiet surrender to let God change me.

It's slow. It's up and down. But it's good. So when January hit six days ago, it wasn't much. Just another day that I woke up and tried to embrace that same new posture of surrender. The new rhythms, new breaths, new prayers, new hopes.

It's not easy to undo decades of perspective and practice, but it's sure worth it to try.

Blessings to each of you as we set off into 2023, full of whatever it will bring. Let us mark it with honesty, integrity and letting the Lord continue to mold us into who he has created us to be, not into what we can make ourselves apart from him.

On Raising Special Needs Kids

 One of the things I have learned most acutely through the last seven years is the importance, really, the absolute necessity, of having friends who are also raising kids with special challenges. Doing this alone is empirically impossible- the feelings of loneliness, confusion...the inability to relate to people with neurotypical kids. It's a lot. Consequently, I have been so grateful to have a close friend since we moved to Virginia who GETS it. Who has lived it. Whose son is a little further along than mine at this point and can empathize and insert hope into situations. Tonight, she sent me a text as we have been in the trenches helping our son recover from Covid reminding me that it's normal to be exhausted, that our lived experience is so different from so many others, that I need to hang on but it's ok to have feelings of being alone, overwhelmed and, yes, even hopeless sometimes. 

I have her permission to share her words. My dear friend, Kim Rodgers, gives us a small, but very honest glimpse into the world of parenting kids who are outside the mold. I will warn you - these are really raw words. There is no happy, contented words to conclude. Just a glimpse into the challenge. I encourage you, especially if you are NOT a parent to a special needs kid, to read this and seek to empathize. We are a lonely bunch.  

"We are in the shadows of life and the world. Just trying to make it through. 

We are trying not to compare our now to our friends, family's or neighbor's now. Trying not to be jealous of the routine or lack of. Or the trips they take. Living life on a whim verses planned and rigid- because an unexpected change or shift ruins and hour, a day or even a week. The errands that can be run spontaneously. The "normalcy" of school days without IEPs, 504s and behavior issues.

The friends that a neurotypical family takes for granted the level of normalcy that brings to a child's life- friends that come to play and play for hours. Going to a friends house and playing for house. Snacks that don't have to be planned and monitored. Sleepovers, always having a friend in class, at lunch, in activities. 

As opposed to the special needs family that prays every day for someone to just be nice and accept our child for that one day. That they don't get picked on. That they have a nice lunch- maybe even peers that talk to them or include them in whatever nonsense is happening during an elementary, middoe or high school lunch time. That they have ONE friend to play with at recess or that they get picked for a team. That they get an invite to the birthday party, the holiday party. 

Our worlds are so different they rarely merge. And the hardest part is as a special needs parent we are so used to trying to hide in the shadows or stay in the shadows because the spotlights that get put on us are never the ones of the starts but the ones of shame, judgment and disgust. 

So we bury ourselves. Deep. To protect. To survive. Because we aren't in the light as we try to hide. We are all of the tired. All of the hurt. All of the scared. All of the embarrassed. All of the pain. And all of the worry." 

Thanks, Kim, for your honesty. And for always, always reminding me we are not alone. 

Rumors of My Death

Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

Ok, ok, I'm actually fairly certain that those rumors don't ACTUALLY exist, but I certainly have gotten a number of concerned emails and texts checking in if I am alright...all because I left Facebook. I did it with zero pomp and no circumstance. No pious letter goodbye or parting darts at what made 2020 so extra crazy. 

One day I was there and the next day I deactivated.

Friends, I'm ok. I promise. 

There comes a time in a woman's life where she just has to, if you will pardon the language, get past the bullshit. I don't say that to debase how everyone else chose to use Facebook.  I say it to call out how I was using Facebook. As I tell my kids just about every day (erm, hour), "not you, not your business. You are only responsible for how you react to the situation."

Let's just say that it was increasingly clear that I wasn't reacting the best way that I could to what was swirling around me.

No, I didn't create an echo chamber. I didn't unfriend people with whom I disagreed. I got into hearty debates and I generally stayed out of the topics on which I have no business commenting. (For pretty much all of that second category, the number is significantly higher than we pretend it to be.) 

The bottom line is that I let it consume me. Distract me. Inform me. Infuriate me. I set terrible limits. I allowed way too much anxiety in my life. I tried to keep up with way more than any one person should actually be able to do. 

One day I said enough. (My husband, if you are wondering, was DEEPLY influential in this decision. He still barely has a Facebook profile.) 

I realized about a week into leaving after a few frantic texts from our Swim Team President that there were some unforeseen consequences to my hasty departure- namely, that thousands of pictures I had uploaded to our site as the swim team photographer were now inaccessible. After a little back and forth, we figured out a new way to store and share pictures and I'm working on that in my spare (ha!) time. Crisis averted. 

And as far as I can tell, what I am missing is a myriad of people's opinions on news articles from sources that may or may not be trustworthy. I am missing hateful speech and name calling and a remarkable lack of humility. I am missing lies being shared as truth. I am missing thinking up my next status or wondering what people will say. I am missing the false connection, albeit lovely in the moment, that disconnecting from the real life around me and logging into Facebook creates. I am missing making Facebook WAY more important than I should ever have given it the power to be and I am missing letting it compete with God for my attention, heart and mind. 

In short, I am missing mothing at all, friends. 

Nothing that I can't gain through phone calls and emails, texts and marco polos, and when covid allows, in person visits. Real life hoohah celebrations and grace sister reunions and actual family time face to face. Firepits in my backyard and a Christmas sing-a-long on my driveway around a firepit with my neighbors.   

You remember. Life before Facebook. Before social media. When, as Phoebe once so elegantly put it, I spent more time with the three dimensional people in my life. When we didn't spend actual time with people thinking about how we will respond to the next jab or barb or how we will filter the story about it later. We just SPENT TIME with them. 

So, I suppose if there are rumors of my death, after all, they aren't actually all that exaggerated. I have put to death, in a way, that part of myself that couldn't tear herself away. That looked for friendship and well-being and hope and peace in an app that was only ever meant to steal those things from me. The part that couldn't set healthy enough limits to keep myself from destruction. 

I don't plan on coming back. I do plan on writing. If you've followed my blog via facebook, feel free to follow me here so you can continue the journey. I've cherished the feedback from my friends during this 10 year writing journey and I know that being off facebook and more mindful in my day is opening me up in new ways. I'm excited to explore them. I'm conquering old demons that have needed to be conquered for decades. I'm choosing life. In Person. I'm not running anymore from the parts of my story that build walls. 

Hopefully never again. 

Maybe this is my official Facebook goodbye, if it ever makes it there. I don't plan on going on to post it myself. 

Instead, I'm about to go cuddle with some of my favorite three-dimensional people and then call it a night. 

A Brighter Day

 One of the perks of being a one on the enneagram scale is that when I decide to do something, I plan it out and it gets done. Lists are my friends, spreadsheets my loyal companions. I have been called a lot of things in life, but the word that tends to come up a LOT is the very unromantic descriptor "responsible." In movies, my character tends to throw off all inhibitions by the end and do something reckless that manages to transform her life for the better, but that's just Hollywood's spin on learning how to be yourself. In real life, I am definitely learning spontaneity in ways I never would have imagined before I turned 40, but not at the expense of my good traits - as a complement to them. 

That said, I have had the song Brighter Day in my head for a few days now. If you don't know it, it's an old school Kirk Franklin song playing off an even older school Bill Withers song has a catchy refrain that goes "it's gonna be a brighter day, brighter day, brighter day, a bright-er day!" (Go ahead and take a little dance break if you need it, I'll love you even more for it.)

And as it's been tooling around in my head, I have been pondering just how insane the last six months have been. So much uncertainty. So many unknowns. So MUCH togetherness in the family home. So many days that do not feel any brighter than the one before. It's been truly difficult for so many of us, adults and kids alike, to have so little of life be familiar or plannable. And for those of us with kids who may now be planning to guide them through at-home virtual learning and IEP's and homeschooling, it's so easy to be focused on what we are doing to keep the family functioning, to help our kids' mental health as we transition into yet another unknown, and for many, uninspiring, reality. 

It is so very easy to feel like we are in the dark. To feel sad. To feel angry or hopeless. And it's so very easy to neglect ourselves when so many around us need so much to stay stable. 

I've mentioned before my struggle with PMDD. After a few years of trying more conventional methods to treat it, I stumbled upon a book by Dr. Jolene Brighten called Beyond the Pill. As the pill is the most commonly used way to treat it but as someone who does not enjoy its unhelpful side effects, I was eager to hear if there were alternatives. I read the book immediately (another thing us ones are good at), developed a plan of action and took it to my doctor. I refrained from boring her with a powerpoint presentation about why I should go off the pill and try it, but I was sorely tempted. Thankfully, she was on board with the protocol as it was rooted in nutrtion, exercise and rest (woohoo, science!) and the next day I was busy buying supplements and making schedules. 

Oh the sweet joys of a freshly minted calendar and plan! Within a week, I was happily ensconced in the challenges of lifestyle changes that I knew could make a significant impact on my health. 

One year later, I have seen amazing success when I have stuck to it. I have learned about my body in new and amazing ways. I have a deep and newfound respect for my adrenal gland in all it's glory and power. And as I sit on the cusp of all these changes for my family, I have been reminded anew that I need to get back on this protocol with a new focus. It fell to the wayside when all my kids ended up home from school in March. It was just too much to keep up with three super-energetic boys (one with significant challenges himself) AND the protocol. It was survival mode.

But I can't abide living in survival mode for too long. I want a brighter day. 

I know, it feels like the last thing most of us need, to add something to our life, our schedule. But I know for some of us, this has been such a hard time of sacrifice that we are in danger of losing ourselves, our health, our sanity, to this pandemic. Stress deeply affects us as women. Our hormones respond in ways that make us feel absolutely insane sometimes. 

So today, I picked the book back up while my littles swam at the pool. (and yes, I paused and issued a prayer of gratitude that at the ages of five and six, I can trust them to swim without me in the water, may God bless swim team and all the saints in heaven.) I turned to the chapter with the quiz that helps you isolate what's going on in your body. And lo and behold, my answers had changed after a year. What I had focused on over the past year was doing so well that it is time for me to move on to focus on a different area of health. Adrenal glands check, now we conquer the ovaries :) 

Am I oversharing? Quite likely. 

But I have learned as I hit my late 30's and now have moved into my 40's that we women need to talk about this stuff - hormones and sex drive and body image and reproductive health.That so much of how we grow up talking about these things and learning about them ends up steeped in shame and secrecy and that is NOT any way to be living our lives in connection to this beautiful vessel, our bodies, in which we travel through life. 

So, if you have STUFF going on with your parts. If you don't love the way you feel, if you are struggling with body image or health issues or PMDD or PCOS or menopause (can I get a witness on how MANY fans I now need on in my room at night?), I'd like to issue you a friendly challenge. 

THINK ABOUT YOU.

Seriously. Think. Do you want to feel better? Do you want to be a healthier version of the already beautiful you? Are you tired of people promising quick fixes and just want to make some lasting changes in your life that take a shot at it being a brighter day?

I may not be great at empathy or helping us figure out our emotions, but heck am I good at accountability and dreams! 

So in a moment of spontaneity, BEFORE I have made any lists or plans on what it would look like, I'm diving in.

I'm going to reboot my journey with Brighten because I know it worked for me and I know I need to concentrate on my health as I move into a new phase of helping my kids learn at home. I am not selling anything, nor am I an expert. If no one wants to join me, I'm doing it anyway, because I'm also a raging introvert and perfectly happy to do something alone. 

BUT, if this resonates with you at all, I'd love to invite and challenge you to join me. We can do it together. It's a plan written by a doctor and based on science that involves exercise, nutrition, rest, spiritual growth and joy. 

Adding community to it can certainly only help. 

Who is in? 

Facebook, Friendship and the Trials of Seventh Grade

Her text came through at a moment that I wasn't ready to read it.

"You are isolating yourself again," it read. I glanced at it, ignored it, and moved on with my day. It's a pandemic, for goodness' sake. EVERYONE is isolating him or herself. There's no problem here.

Except, there was. There IS, really.

About two weeks ago, I decided to get the heck off facebook, for the most part. I found that watching people call each other names, watching bullying, watching the extreme ways in which we are willing to be keyboard warriors that shout and rant from the privacy and seclusion of our homes was taking a huge toll on me. Particularly on top of all the uncertainties with the pandemic. It was affecting the way I parent, how I do my job, which thoughts and voices I let set up shop in my head during the day. It was sucking time from my day and energy from my soul. It was distracting, disheartening and, most of all, paralyzing. 

But why? 

As I have slowly detoxed from that world, God has brought something sharply into focus for me: Seventh grade is still a big part of how I do life.

Seventh grade was 30 years ago. I really only remember small details of that period in my life. A lot of what I know about it is what my mom has told me. Apparently I cried. A lot. Probably more in that year than I have total in the 30 years since. I dreaded school.  I isolated myself because the risk of friendship became too painful. I had very few friends and basically none at school.That was the only year of my life where that was true. I have mostly loved school, craved learning. I was mocked for being smart, left to sit alone at lunchtimes. In recent days, I've started to remember how closely I watched the clock on the wall in the cafeteria, begging for free time to finish. It's made me wonder if my inability to sit peacefully in the now, to practice mindfulness and presence, is rooted in that wish for time to hurry up and finish then. I started my struggle with insomnia, a struggle I deal with to this day. I started running to dissipate the anger and sadness, a practice that has served me well, but has also sometimes taken the place of the hard work of lament and healing. 

Mostly, though, in this past week, it has become clear to me that the way I view female friendships, the way I retreat and isolate and keep to myself, is largely a product of that time. I don't trust women. I don't trust that they aren't gossiping. That they don't have nasty things to say behind my back or, honestly, straight to my face. Have I had some truly amazing friendships with women since 7th grade? Absolutely. However, do I assume those women are rare and unusual? I do. Do I avoid all women's ministry events at church? 100%. 

As I think about how I feel after I spend time scrolling or commenting, I recognize that facebook doesn't bring out the best in me. Nor in many of us, if we are honest. It reinforces my assumptions. It tightens and defines the boxes I have built. It allows me to villify and "other" people and it drives me inward. Bottom line, it usually makes me worship and focus on what I can do or say or believe much more clearly than who God is or what He is doing or saying. 

And that's a dangerous place for me to linger. 

Seventh grade still has power. But I don't want it to. I have never really sat down and hashed it out. I've never truly asked God to heal me of those deep wounds. To show me the ways I have let the pain of that year drive my relationships for 30 years now. So while I am grateful to facebook for unearthing how clearly that period still has power, I also know that it's time for a real and true break so I can lot God do the deep work of healing that He is clearly in the business of doing.

If you have been a friend I have pushed away, I truly apologize. If you have been a friend I have othered or vilified, may God reveal that to me so I can ask for forgiveness. If you have been a woman who has pursued me and tried to love me and been met with rejection, please know that I am working on this. I truly am. Part of what God has been showing me during this pandemic is who I truly am, in all the areas that are good and beautiful but also all the areas that still need growth.   

In the meantime, I'm going to sit back and breathe. Journal. Paint. Run. Speak with humans face to face. Stay pretty much off of social media. Garden. Try to find my laughter and smile. Love and serve the heck out of humans on my ambulance. Pursue my husband. Use my punching bag. Pull out the guitar. Have amazing conversations about justice and shalom and grace because those things give me life. And just ask God to heal. To reveal. To redeem. And to infuse my soul with hope that this pandemic WILL one day end and that I will come out of it stronger, kinder and a better friend. 

End of an Era

March 2020

Two weeks ago, I had my last conversation with my Granny. She had been talking about having dinners in her memory care facility and talking with the men there. I asked her if she had a boyfriend. She replied "I don't remember...most likely!"

Sass until the end.

I didn't know that would be our last conversation. She was doing relatively well at the time. She remembered who I was, but wasn't sure at all who the little four year old with me was.

Me and my grandparents, 1979

Just a few days ago, it became clear that things were coming to a close. And in the midst of all that is going on in the world, we all knew that meant that she would be mostly alone when the time came. My mom, thankfully, lives close by and they lifted the Covid-19 visiting restrictions so she could move in with her for those final days.

Since there is no real place to be alone right now, I spent an hour in my car yesterday morning. I recorded my granny's favorite hymns (How Great Thou Art and Holy, Holy, Holy) on marco polo and my mom played them for her. What a miracle technology is! My mom is certain she heard me singing. Afterwards, I told her I loved her and that it was ok to say goodbye if she was ready.

But now.

Granny and her whole crew, late 80's

She's gone. 41 years of memories of an incredible woman are all that remain for me. Some of those memories are just captured in pictures but many others are clear to me...summers on the Cape with all the cousins and her digging for clams with our heels, the balcony view in her Florida condo. The hilarious interactions between her and her twin sister, Ann. She and my Gramps shouting back and forth when they both became hard of hearing. She was always up for a trip to the beach and she knew EVERYONE in her neighborhood. You could find her in the hot tub talking with anyone and everyone or on the golf course or taking classes just to enrich herself or at mass. Bringing my besties in high school down for spring break and then again my Hoohah friends down four short years late and Granny just fussing over all of us the whole time. My husband and I visited her the week after we got engaged and she insisted on taking us to the "club" for dinner and dancing. I will never forget she and my Gramps dancing to their song (Harbour Lights) and wishing us the best in our own upcoming nuptials.

She was a one-in-million kind of lady.

Their family: 60's

And now my family wrestles with how to say goodbye when we can't go travel. When there won't be a funeral anytime soon. When we have to grieve alone in our homes while the demands of everyday life continue around us.

I'm not sure where to go from here. I'm not sure exactly what grief looks like during a time like this.

I guess, just like real life right now, it's one day at a time.

Hank and Bea

I got the news of her passing just as I was getting my littles down to rest. They didn't really understand why I was crying and why I couldn't really read them books or do all the normal things. After I had them settled, I sat on my bed and looked through pictures and just remembered. Remembered a woman who always made me feel safe and loved. Who always made me laugh and stuffed me to the brim with food. Who insisted I take pre-frozen bottles of water from her freezer to the pool anytime I ever went. Who wasn't afraid to call out bullshit when she saw it but always did it in love. Who loved God and her family fiercely and faithfully.

Granny, words can't fully express how deeply you were loved and how much you will be missed. I can't wait for the day when all this current craziness passes and our family can give you the celebration you so truly deserve.

Rest well, good and faithful servant, beloved mother and grandmother. The world is changed forever.