Month: May 2016

When the fog clears…

When I was young, my favorite mornings were foggy ones. I loved the stillness and heaviness and isolation. I still do, but I don’t see many foggy mornings these days.

I’m usually arms deep in dishes, diapers, and laundry. I’m also frequently bundled up on the couch with a baby or toddler or both.

That fog that’s nice when it’s clinging to the grass is far less pleasant as a mental barrier.

I shared a bit recently about my depression. I’ve always been thankful that while my periods of depression are often intense and impairing, they don’t linger for long. This isn’t true for everyone or even most that struggle with depression.

As a lover of learning, I’m always trying to know more and look deeper. Sometimes I wander to far and sometimes not far enough. But this season of mental fog is starting to clear, and I’m finding the balance between my extremes again.

My God given friend, Lisa, is highly skilled at staying in the balanced spot of my extremes. She knows how to talk the monsters of perfectionist, approval junkie, and overthinker down from the ledge and she’s great at finding ways to give me a boost by pointing out things I’m good at. I value her greatly, and she’s done more than she’ll ever know in this season of my life.

In my extremes, I get a foggy brain and foggy emotions. I get too still, too weighed down, too isolated. It’s where I’ve been for months now and sometimes it’s been scary. I’ve been afraid of losing myself, of falling down forever, of throwing away my progress. I’ve been afraid to be vulnerable and afraid to be real.

But my people, the few cherished and loved people, who look at me and know me and show me over and over again that my value is not in what I achieve, not in what I excell in, not in what I manage to do well. My value is in being a wife, a mom, a daughter, a friend, and an accountability partner.

The fog always cleared away quickly under the business of the day. As the world awakened and did the business of reconnecting, the fog grew thin and dissipated.

My husband, my friends, my mom, my sister. These are my people. They are there when the fog is thick, and they are there when the fog clears.

God has given me so many things to be thankful for and so many things to find strength from. And all of these things point to Him.

The fog is something I cannot always control, but He is a God that intimately knows the voice of the wind, and He knows just where it’s needed to bring the light back in and sweep away the fog.


The night before…

Mother’s Day.

Despite the fact that I have three children of my own, my husband still has to remind me that this holiday is for me too. I laugh because he’s right, and I forget.

I still see it as a day to honor my mom and grandparents, and sometimes I feel like I have to be older to claim a right to it. But I’m starting to see that maybe a piece of being a mom is in never really feeling like we deserve the holiday.

I just spent hours doing an annual self evaluation with my mom. Neither of us knew it would happen before the conversation started but we sure knew it part way in.

I’m introspective. Too far sometimes. I wander in the depths of my psyche to places I have no business or reason to go to. But I sometimes do, and I sometimes need a helping hand back to the light.

Tonight I needed it. She provided it. Even though she was tired and had little left to give, she gave it to me. She always has when she could see I needed it.

I’ll surprise you all by keeping it short tonight.

I’m grateful. For my mom and all the broken moms back to Eve that have raised and loved broken people. I’m grateful that God chose me, chose my husband, and then gifted me my children because He saw fit to include me in this line of life bearers, life givers. I’m grateful for all those mothering hearts that choose people who don’t share their blood to give themselves to because motherhood doesn’t always look like pregnancy and birth.

Lord, I’m grateful that wandering is not the same as growing stagnant. It just means I sometimes need someone to shout the directions a bit louder.

Your promises are true. Your love is deep and sacrificial and abiding. You have given me a mother and children so that I won’t and can’t forget.

Thank You.