swinging and bending, part 6: the tempest of divorce.

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

--Anais Nin

Read the first part of this story, here.  
the second part, here.

the third part, here.

the fourth part, here.

and the fifth part, here.

through my childhood, my parents had separated and spoken of divorce so many times that i grew to expect it.  each time they wouldn't follow-through with the threats of dissolving their marriage, i became more callous to the idea,  disconnecting myself from the tumultuous thunderstorms of their relationship in order to protect my heart.  i loved both of them deeply, and internally struggled navigating my dynamic with them as their child, while watching them hurt each other as spouses.

so when the separation and impending divorce was announced, i was taken by surprise.  the timing was off--they were through the most stressful parts of life, on the other side of child rearing and the growing pains of early marriage.  there was a lot of heartache in their years together, and i viewed them as either survivors and characters of a great love story, or two people who had learned to cope, settle and enable.  i guess when things grew quiet for them, reality set in and it was too much.

when we were told the paperwork for divorce had actually begun, my siblings and i were all grown, married, and living with our own families.  i naively assumed we would be left out of the gritty details we had been sheltered from as children.  instead, the underbelly of their relationship was exposed, bringing forth details of resentment and pain that had lasted for over three decades. i found myself questioning all i thought i had known--and felt tricked by a life of possible hypocrisy, being brought up in a home i was now being told was run by two people who, at times, were doing the opposite of what they had taught me to do.  i didn't know how to make sense of a childhood built on an idealistic viewpoint, unable to decipher truth from what was now being told to me through tears, humiliation, and gritted teeth that were searching for validation.

during their separation, i felt placed between two victims who wanted me to fight their battle and join their side--one thundering so loudly at times it was deafening, the other like lightning, striking quietly and randomly but leaving a singed scar.  emotionally i shut down, tuning out the conversation when it turned to character defamation and verbal assaults.  forming any type of boundary was extremely difficult for me during this time.  i loved my mom and dad, and wanted desperately to try to ease their pain and carry some of their burden.  when i couldn't, it tortured me to realize there was nothing i could do to stop the tempest between them that continued for months.

with my lack of boundaries, i felt like a ping-pong ball in a wickedly fast and angry game.  i continued trying to fill my role as the "good child" and be there for them no matter what.  this quickly took its toll, because you can't be the "good" everything to everyone, especially in situations like this.  my siblings were in the same boat, trying to navigate their love for them outside of the mistakes they had made toward each other and move forward in this new dynamic.  we couldn't find a smooth transition, and my parents' need to defend their own characters against accusations form the opposing side only made it more difficult.  i worried we were pawns in the death match of a 32 year relationship.

when ben and i accepted the job in north carolina, i felt relief with the distance of moving across the country.  i could no longer physically be put in the middle of their divorce, and managing the group home gave very little space for me to give to anyone else emotionally.  i could listen to details of the latest fight through the phone, and stay detached.

unfortunately, my older sister bore the brunt after i left, and i could hear from the despair in her voice how she was slowly being destroyed.  i felt guilty for abandoning her, and am just now realizing the full effect the year of my parents' divorce had on her and her family.

while we were in the group home, i was quickly learning two things:

1)  all about boundaries:

what they were, why they were healthy/necessary, that i did not know how to have them, and that i not only needed them in my relationships with the teenagers, but i needed to implement them in every relationship.

2) that i had true anxiety:

i knew i had issues with caleb driven by fear, but i assumed it was because of the trauma we had been through with him.  living in the group home triggered a deeper form.  i had been thrown back into an environment that was out of my control;  full of contention, chaos, and anger.  just like my childhood, i could not love them enough to make the madness stop.  i rarely slept, and when i did, i had terrifying nightmares.  there were moments of happiness and laughter, but my heart could not find peace.  when i finally brought my symptoms up to ben, i realized the environment in the group home was mirroring much of the environment of my childhood home.  i talked about the idea of therapy, but wanted to see if leaving the group home would help settle the anxiety inside.

once our year contract was over, we left for arizona to start grad school.  in between our moves, i stayed in utah for a few weeks to visit family.  during my visit, my little brother handed me a book that completely altered my course in life.

finding peace from the inside out.

“Pain is a pesky part of being human, I've learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.” 

― C. JoyBell C.

today, for the first time in 6 years, my brother, sister and i had lunch with my mom.

i write many personal things on here, but this is one that i have grieved privately, and will continue to remain guarded when i write about it.  not because i'm embarrassed or ashamed or angry, because i feel none of those.  i have achieved a peace i never thought possible.  honestly, my quiet has been for several reasons; fear of damaging or hurting what fragile thread we still had between us, concern because there are delicate details of this story that are not mine to share, and also because i have continued to feel fiercely protective of all who have been involved in this painful, but miraculous process.  i love my mom--much more than i can even comprehend at times, and regardless of where she and i are in our relationship.  the protectiveness and quiet has also served a purpose, giving me room to heal inside of it, working through emotions within the walls of the bubble of silence and vagueness.

i have been stuck on the series i was writing, "swinging and bending," because this is where the story becomes tricky.  i want to write honestly, owning and expressing only my piece, but it's interwoven so thickly with hers that i haven't been able to figure out a way to extract only what is mine.  she used to read this blog, and regardless of whether she still does, i feel a need to continue down the journey of my healing and no one else's.  so, i stay stuck for the time being, but i can sense it coming--working its way out, untangling the details so my side becomes that.  just mine.

what i will say is this:  the title of this series was chosen because during the time i have worked through our rocky relationship, i felt these things happening inside of me.  the swinging pendulum began on one side, back when i was unaware i was the very definition of "codependence."  it was what had been created from a childhood bursting with the belief that love for me was only conditional.  once i saw myself as i had become, i was so terrified that i swung all the way over to the other side of codependence, shutting the doors of unhealthy relationships with a loud slam, without even glancing back.  i convinced myself i was choosing a better way, a higher path, a thicker skin.  but as the door slammed, my heart ached.

i was not built for absolutes--i think we try to convince ourselves we are, but i don't know if anyone is, really.

the pendulum had swung to the extreme opposite side, slammed with the intent to regain some sort of control, the control springing from fear, the fear creeping up from the depths of an inability to truly love myself, regardless of whether anyone else loved me.  even my own mother.

the rejection i faced was so brutal and painful that it knocked the breath from me, yet i was the one who had caused it.  i felt it in my chest--a confused chaos--and had to continually convince myself i was doing the right thing for the right reason.  i used words like "toxic" and "unsafe" as justifications of my swinging pendulum.

i look back and see now how i needed this shut door in order to separate myself and heal from the damage that had been done.  i also needed it in order to see my own unhealthy patterns, and change them.  i didn't have the ability or emotional maturity at the time to change while still inside of this dynamic, so the shut door provided the room for that growth.

but, now that i have changed and am healing, i see that the pendulum does not have to be swung in extremes.  instead of breaking under the weight of the pain someone else is carrying, i have learned how to bend, because i have found how to only carry my own.  i have found the ability to fill up my own cup, without the need for outside resources aside from God.  this is how my internal pendulum has found its balance to rest in the middle instead of drastically perched on one side or the other.

my belief is this:  there are not really "safe" and "unsafe" people in this world.  there is only our individual ability to take care of our own selves and spirits, regardless of where anyone else is at in life.  it takes work, humility, grieving, and a lot of painful stretching, but it can be done.

this is just a piece of what i have found as Truth:  love without fear, boundaries without breaking under another's pain or slamming doors to gain control, extending oneself to try again, forgiveness without grudges or resentment, and a peace that only comes from the inside out.

for me today, while sitting across a table and looking into the beautiful blue eyes of my mom, that peace presented itself within me again.

swinging and bending, part 3: the carrying.

{can't find the link to this picture--found on google images}

Read the first part of this story, 
here.  

and the second part,
here.



as luck would have it, once ben finished school we found ourselves moving back to utah.  we were jobless, penniless, and insurance-less.  i was 5 months pregnant with our first child, a boy who was going to be called caleb.  we moved into the basement apartment of my parents' home, with ben's family home just a couple of streets away.

we decided to try our luck with a new path: finding a career.

placing all of our eggs into the basket of luck was tricky, and we returned back to the drawing board empty-handed time and again. ben was severely discouraged--this fresh college graduate, who had set out to change the world with his dreams, wound up working for $7.50 an hour taking care of adults with autism.  as hard as it was for him to feel like he was continually failing in the world's definition of "provider," he was surprisingly fulfilled in this job.  he knew when he clocked out at night that he had helped someone who was unable to help themselves, and this meant more to him than any amount of money deposited in our bank account on payday.  it's in the seed that was planted during this time that i can see God's plan for him, for us.  this was the beginning of his journey in the mental health field.

with a baby on the way and the intent to live in our own space, he moved on to a new job, working 2 days on, 1 day off at a lock down facility for troubled youth.  i spent most of my time at home, growing a baby, grateful for a break from being the full-time provider.

living in the basement with my parents was somewhat surreal, in the way that i vacillated between who i had been and who i was becoming.  i didn't know how to navigate the extraction from my previous family role while living in the environment that bred it, and found myself slipping easily back into who i had been before married life.  i took on the role of pleaser, buffer and rescuer without even realizing it.

the storms between our loved ones continued, and it became increasingly difficult to navigate between them.  we tried to declare our little space as neutral ground, offering peace and switzerland to whoever entered it.  but because of hard feelings between others, our neutral territory didn't last long and the boundaries we asked to be upheld were continually crossed. i was fearful of the possibility of contention to bring it up when it happened, so i stayed quiet and accepted what i believed i could not stop, instead going behind the scenes to do damage control.

i began again to carry what others gave me; their anger, their fear, their insecurities, their guilt, their shame.  i told myself i could take it, because i was the "good girl," the obedient one who would be there "no matter what."  subconsciously i stood with my arms outstretched, letting the toxicity of my loved ones pile on, until my back ached and my arms and legs began to bend under the weight of their load i accepted to bear.

ben sensed the change in me as i reverted, but didn't know enough yet to put his finger on it and say it out loud.  as grateful as he was for the comfortable surroundings we were quickly and graciously provided when we needed it, he told me he felt an urgency for us to move out--he was feeling suffocated.  i could see glimpses of the unhealthy dynamics going on, but only with the part he was playing in his family instead of my own.  it was easy for me to recognize his aching back, the arms and legs bending under the weight of his own role returning.

as turbulent as this time sounds, there were really a lot of good memories during the year we spent in the basement apartment.  but this was an integral point in our lives, where i can now see the carrying and bending that eventually led to the breaking years down the road.

while we were still living there, caleb was born.

swinging and bending, part 2: the gathering.

{image found here}

Complicate this world you wrapped for me 

I'm acquainted with your suffering 

All your weight it falls on me 

It brings me down 

All your weight it falls on me 

It falls on me 

--"heavy"
collective soul




Read the first part of this story, 
here.  

cumulonimbus.  cirrostratus.  cumulus.  nimbostratus.

the clouds gathered around ben and i as we lived in the sunshine of our newlywed bliss of the first two years of marriage.  we were happy, life was peaceful. we made friends in our married student ward in rexburg, idaho.  we held parties at the park across the street, inviting couples to join us as we laughed over barbecued chicken, spinach salads and homemade oreos.  we played cards late into the nights with our next door neighbors, and laughed through mcdonald's mcflurry runs with our friends down the road.

we both served in busy callings in church; ben was the sunday school president, i was the 2nd counselor in the relief society presidency.  most of our sundays were spent teaching, in meetings, or out visiting others. serving was not a hinderance in our minds--we both looked at it as opportunities to socialize and provide help where it was needed.  the ward we were in for our first 2 years was full of good-to-the-core people and still have a lot of them as friends in our lives today.

though married life was effortless inside the walls of our home, outside the storms were brewing.  they had been for months, from the time we had started dating each other seriously.

ben and i played similar roles in our immediate families--the buffer, the peacemaker, the comic relief, the pleaser.  it wasn't just that we were placed in this role, we also chose it.  without consciously realizing, we had built much of our identities on these roles.  i wrote that he and i shared similar strengths and weaknesses, and this became glaringly obvious as we began to attempt to extract ourselves from our family roles.

when a dynamic in a relationship changes, there is often resistance, especially if the dynamic has unhealthy pieces in it.  naturally when we were married and moved to idaho, our individual roles in our families shifted.  as we extracted ourselves, resistance did come, in the form of anger and hurt feelings, insecurity, jealousy and competitiveness.  the undercurrent of issues felt constant and though we lived over three hours away, we could hear the thunder of the continual storms rumbling toward us from across the miles.

ben and i couldn't understand what was happening or how we found ourselves perpetually in the middle of the storms of the people we loved.  we fervently tried to keep the peace, standing on the fence and seeing both sides, playing neutralizers and validators as we ran putting out one fire after another while trying to maintain the smiles on our faces.

yet the storms raged on, and we grew weary.  our best efforts could not force others to forgive each other, and deep wedges were formed.  soon we began to have our own intentions questioned by our loved ones.  we were seen with the cynical eyes of others who picked apart our motives piece by piece.  suddenly we were defending our own words and actions, desperately trying to prove the purity of our hearts.

if it sounds like i'm writing this from the "poor us" point of view, it's because that's exactly how we viewed the situation.  we felt victims of circumstances beyond our control.  instead of being able to see and own our pieces of this disturbing puzzle so we could find a way out of it, we continued to join it.

we know better now.

like lone trees standing meekly in a field, we reached for each other while the clouds burst and began pouring down.  as the winds broke our branches and ripped off our leaves, the heavy rain bent our trunks, loosening our freshly-planted newlywed roots.

an opportunity to share.

i've been an avid reader of CJane's blog for years, and have grown to admire her so much through the beauty of her vulnerable and real writing.

a couple of months ago, she wrote about an experience she and her husband had one night while visiting a home that housed severely abused teenagers.  after her post, she asked a question about boundaries--what they looked like to her readers, and why they felt they were important.

normally i'm too shy to actually comment, but when this subject came up, i couldn't help myself.  when ben and i worked at the group home in north carolina, learning how to set and implement boundaries was a year-long struggle, but one that i realized brought me down a path of learning that changed my life significantly.  

through my comment, she asked if i would be willing to write a guest post for her about what i have learned.  i'm not going to even try to hide it, i almost wet my pants on the spot. i was extremely nervous--not only because this was a request from someone i admired from afar, but because i wasn't sure i could put into words what i learned through our experience. 

i had to work really hard to silence the insecurities that started popping up internally all over the place.

i started writing.  

the process of writing it down was unexpected; one that provided a reminder of how far a journey i have been on, and how much i have changed.  there has been a lot of pain and tears along the way, but one that has undoubtedly brought about a much more rewarding feeling of peace.

if you're interested in reading it, here's the link for the guest post:

Picking Up The Pieces 

{A Story About Boundaries and Love}

a huge thank you to Cjane for being willing to read my story and post it for her readers!!

and an even BIGGER thank you to the small support group i had while writing....

i know i was a semi-nutjob there for a couple of weeks.
i hope you know how much i love you & appreciate you.  so, so much.
{ben, lauren, andrea, rachel & clancy}

if you want to read more about learning while at the group home,

here's another post i wrote a couple of years ago.

giving it all to those who deserve it, and only pieces to those who don't.

finding the worth of a soul. {on mormon feminism and wearing THOSE PANTS!!}

I grew up feeling unequal and unworthy.  Feeling less than.  

Was it unequal specifically to men?  No, the inadequacy I felt had no boundaries, did not differentiate between race, color, gender, religion.  It was all encompassing and all-consuming.  

I have mentioned before that I also grew up believing that God's unconditional love did not apply to me.  That somehow I was missed, skipped over unnoticed, or did not deserve it.  I mention this again to talk about a different aspect of the places of my life--specifically in my LDS religion--where this idea and belief was affected.  

My religion is thick with culture.  One of my friends in high school was not Mormon and I remember his religion being the topic of conversation once, or maybe twice a year.  On Christmas and then occasionally on Easter.  This wasn't because we weren't open to talking about it, but more because these were the only times he would actually talk about attending his church.  As a young girl, I couldn't grasp the concept that religion did not mean giving of your entire life to dedicate to it.  Sundays were sacred and focused specifically on God and Jesus--whether it was attending a meeting to talk about Him, or following up those hours after the meetings to listen to music about Him, read articles and books written about Him, and spend the day thinking and doing as He did.  And it didn't stop on Sundays.  Throughout the week I attended family activities, meetings, and group service projects.  What I'm saying is this: as a Mormon, the religion becomes a way of life.

I also grew up fearing God.  Don't get me wrong, I think a little dose of God-fear can do a soul some good, but I took it to a place of unhealthy.  I was raised in a very black and white world:  don't consume alcohol, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't have sex before you get married.  No rated R movies, don't date until you're 16, and moderation in all things.  Forgive 70 times 70, turn the other cheek, strive for perfection.  Wear skirts to the knees, one-piece swimming suits, and no swearing.  The list continues on.  I believed that if I--or anyone that I associated with--went against any of these rules, that it meant they were bad.  Naughty.  Rotten to the core.  The black sheep.  

And that...obviously...I, or they, would be disappointing God and he would no longer love or bless the sinner if there was any sort of rebellion against any of these expectations. I remember consciously thinking this about myself or others around me if we strayed, even just for just a small fraction of time.  

I know that this way of thinking is what fed upon my already planted seed of shame and unworthiness. Combined with other circumstances in my life, it is what created the perfect storm to attempt to squash the thread of self-worth that I was so desperately clinging onto, destroying it to become almost obsolete.  

When I finally came to the end of my frayed, self-deprecating rope, I had the choice to dig myself out.  But that meant truly finding a self-worth that was not built upon the often dangerous and even more often--faulty--opinions of others.  It was a heart-wrenching process, and caused somewhat of an identity crisis for a while.  

There has been a lot of talk of Mormon Feminism around these parts lately.  Now there is a growing number of women who are ready to show their feminism by wearing pants to church on Sunday.  From what I have read and researched, it appears there are many Mormon women who feel they have been dealt with unjustly, and they are tired of it.  They are demanding equality!  Respect!  For someone to finally stand up and say they have worth by allowing them to bless, ordain, hold specific callings, and pray over a pulpit!  To band with other women who feel this way and not feel alone anymore!

And, from what I gather, they want to see tangible results, not just hear someone say it.  But for it to be proven to them, in the form of:

-being able to hold the priesthood, along with other callings that are currently only held by men of the church
-going on a mission for a full 2 years instead of 18 months, and being allowed to leave on that mission at the same age as the young men leave
-feeling supported when they choose to work outside the home instead of rear children
-not feel labeled as a failure if they are un-married or child-less
-being allowed to say a prayer over the pulpit during General Conference
-balancing the budget between male and female extra-curricular groups and events so that it is the same amount for both sides

I know there are countless others, these are just the main points I've heard/read repeatedly.

Now.  I can't recall any specific times in my life where I have actually felt from another member of my religion that women are not worth as much as men.  I didn't have a traumatic experience where I was yelled at and told that I was less than by a male member of my ward.  I didn't look upon men in callings of authority as above me and all other females.  I just didn't.  

I understand though, there are women who have had those experiences, and I don't take them lightly.  I don't say, "just get over it" to them, even if I haven't felt their specific pain.  Pain is pain, and should be treated as such, regardless of whether I deem it pain-worthy or not.  

I have been in many situations where I was told by both actions and words of an individual that I was not worth much.  Not directed toward all women, but me in particular.  So I know the feeling, I know the pain, and I know what it does to someone's spirit when they actually believe the lies of their worth that are told to them by someone who is inflicting hurt.  

But what I feel about this Mormon Feminism wave, that seems to be gathering more and more force as it continues to progress, is this:

no one can define your worth for you except for you and God.

And whether or not you're granted the priesthood some day, or your mission is extended 6 months, or you're praised for your career choice outside of the home, or there is a parade thrown for you with every single member of your ward attending because you're unwed and not a mother, or you get the phone call from one of the higher-ups, requesting for you to pray during the Spring Session of conference next week, or you get to go on a boating excursion with the new and improved budget....

Those things may provide a temporary relief from your pain, but it will not cure it.  

I have come to know this in a very personal way.  Because it didn't matter how many times someone told me I was beautiful.  Or how many times someone's actions or words said that I had earned--and deserved--their love, or the various ways that I was shown and told that I was good and did have actual worth, 

those good experiences did not cure me because I did not believe it.

I chose to instead believe the ugly lies and thoughts and actions of the imperfect people who told me the opposite.  But guess who's fault that was?  Not the abuser's, not the disgusting pig of a boyfriend, not the teacher's or the bishop's or the prophet's....

It was mine.  My choice to believe it.  My choice to let it fester inside, and build and cause anger and bitterness with tentacles that reached and created,

a victim.  

Which in turn, led to a great struggle.  The tiny slice of my self-worth that was still in there, the last shred of my dignity began to fight this self-loathing victim.  It scratched and screamed and clawed and decided to finally DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT TO MAKE SOMEONE SEE THAT I HAD WORTH!!

When really, the only person who needed to see it and recognize it, 

was me.  

But it worked. This soul-wrenching temper tantrum.  In an extremely painful way...it worked.  I was brought to my knees, and found myself begging God to help me see my way through it and start to truly love myself for the first time.  To rid my spirit of the shame and loathing, to rip the tentacles from my heart and thoughts so I could see a glimpse of clarity for the first time in my life.  Looking back now, almost 3 years down the road from then, I am no longer

a victim.  

The great thing about choosing, even if at first you choose unwisely, you can always change your mind and choose a different path. 

Truthfully, for a while I did have to separate my way of thinking from the culture of my religion.  I didn't stop going to church, but as I walked through the double doors, I began shedding the skin of the little girl who believed she was unworthy if she made a mistake, or didn't live up to the "potential" of what the culture told her she needed to.  The imperfect culture and imperfect people of the church truly give it such a bad name, and a hard reputation to defend sometimes. 

As I shed that skin, my heart ached to find a world inside of this religion that was no longer black and white, right and wrong, good and bad.  Whether it could be defined as "gray" or not I don't know, all I knew was that I wanted to be able to see past another's actions and find their worth, regardless of their choices, because I needed so badly to see my own.

And I believe that I am finding it.  I am a member of this church because I believe in its principles, its doctrine {including all of it, that depicts our different responsibilities as men and women},and that deep-down, underneath all of its layers of imperfection...is love.  My testimony of its truth has never been more solid, and continues to grow daily in its solidarity. I no longer care whether someone comes to church as a homosexual individual, a pot-smoking individual, a pornography-addicted individual, a Mormon feminist, an unmarried individual, or a two-piece bathing-suit-owner.  Let them come and sit by me and know that I love them and am not there to judge them or burn a scarlet letter into their chest, just as much as I'm not there for their approval..... or for the male leader's approval, or for my husband's approval, or for the relief society president's approval. 

I am not there for anyone's approval,

only to worship my God.

I no longer live my life for anyone's approval.  The small and seemingly insignificant choices that I make daily, and the larger, more life-altering choices that I make in the grand scheme of things are made because they are what I believe is good for me, and bringing me happiness.  They're no longer made out of shame or fear.  

My worth as a child of God has nothing to do with which responsibilities I do or do not hold, or which callings I do or do not serve in, or whether or not I wear a dress or pants to church.  

God speaks to me now-- daily in fact, if I am listening.  There has been a peace that has come into my heart I have never had before, and I have become a vessel of his. I believe I would be this regardless of my gender, even regardless of which church I belonged to. I believe I would still have the potential to reach this as long as the way I am living my life is inside of truth for me.  As his vessel, when I am open and in tune, I have had the ability to reach those who have been unreachable.  I have had the ability to hear His words meant for others and have Him speak through me.  I do not need to lay my hands upon their head to know it, the words have simply been spoken to me to speak to another.  I also know that when there is no priesthood authority close and I am in need of His voice, or His blessing, or His comfort, I can kneel down and ask for the powers of heaven, and it will be there.

I know not everyone is at this place in their life, and maybe this movement is going to be a piece of getting them closer to achieving it, who knows?  

I have taught, and continue to teach, my children about the "fairness" game.  If they are constantly comparing themselves to another--feeling "less than" and yelling about how this isn't fair or that isn't--I teach them this feeling has nothing to do with anyone or anything outside, but only from the inside.  Insecurities, comparison, jealousy....they all spring from a lack of self-worth, when you really get down to it.  

So I guess what I recommend is asking yourself, while pulling on your church clothes this Sunday, one leg at a time is....

Is this just a cry for someone, anyone {even if it's for yourself}, to recognize and finally acknowledge your worth?  

I don't know....I can't speak for those planning on doing it.  I could be way off base here, and I'm open to the idea that I might be.  Maybe it really is just about women wearing their pain on the outside instead of the inside.  To prove to themselves that they matter, that their pain matters.  But if it were, why does church have to be the forum for that? I definitely have written about my own individual pain, and found outlets to talk about it and own it and show it and mourn it and I didn't have to read it over the pulpit in testimony meeting.  I didn't call my offenders to the forefront and demand change.  As I changed, and healed, the need to bring about my idea of justice and balance and equality to those offenders faded.  It was no longer needed, because I no longer defined myself from the opinions of anyone but me and my Father in Heaven. 

That doesn't mean that another individual's way of working through something is wrong. You want to wear pants?  It's going to help ease your burden, heal some of your wounds?  Then go right ahead.  And I think if I had read an article where one lady had done it and what it signified to her, and how it helped her overcome something, I would be standing up and applauding for her.  It just feels strange that the women who feel this way seem to be unable to voice it individually.  Why the need for a big group support moment?

It just feels like it's more than about being vulnerable and you've been through hard things and you're no longer afraid of showing it on the outside.  Because I believe deep down, that if that's truly what this was about, I would be able to feel that and run to start putting on my own pair of jeans.  But it's coming across to me more like a situation where there's safety in numbers, and hopping on a bandwagon, and proving something, which then eradicates the vulnerability aspect in my eyes and makes me question the sincerity behind the intent.  

I feel like if you really do already know your worth, you don't need to do or wear anything to prove it to someone else.

And I know that, because I have lived through it.  

swinging and bending, part 1.

{image found here}

i was walking up to the parking lot, when i spotted him.  i could immediately tell something was wrong from his posture; his head down, his shoulders slumped, his eyes staring at the cracks in the pavement.  

when i reached him i stopped, and wrapped an arm around him as i crouched to his eye level.

"everything okay, buddy?"  i asked softly so that others standing close wouldn't hear if he didn't want them to. i know my son, and he is easily embarrassed when something is wrong.

with my touch, his face crumpled.  

"we were playing ball and i accidentally hit him in the face!  i said i was sorry but he told me he didn't forgive me and that he was telling on me!"  tears streamed down his face as he choked out the words.

"well if it was an accident, and you said you were sorry, then that's all you can do.  it's okay if he needs some space for a while, and time to calm down. he'll come back, he knows you love him and he loves you.  you did the best you can do,"  i wrapped my arm tighter around his small frame as i spoke.

then i heard him whisper,

"but my best isn't good enough."

at that comment, i raised his face to mine and stared straight into his beautiful, 7-year-old hazel eyes.

"no caleb, that's not true.  your best is good enough, and if he chooses not to forgive you when you've sincerely asked for it, then the mistake is now his.  you can't control his reaction, or his forgiveness.  so if he wants to stay angry with you, the only way to feel peace in your heart in this situation is to walk away and let it go.  it is now his to carry."

i knew then that what i was telling him was heavy, and had a moment of wondering if i was speaking too far above his level of comprehension.  but he said, "okay," wiped his eyes and a couple of minutes later was smiling and laughing again, free from his previous burden.

************

************

i have been asked several times, what happened after the beginning of seeing my Truth.  the Truth that involved abuse, which in turn created a girl who didn't know who she was.  just how does someone change after that realization, and after three decades of being one way--how do i tear down most of who i used to be and rebuild who i wanted to become?

i was something different, to almost everyone i suspect.  i wanted to be, because i ached to be the person that everyone liked--that everyone trusted--that everyone felt close to--that everyone thought was, well...good enough.

codependency sprang easily from my personality, who was born a lover not a fighter.  i shriveled around contention, could not confront another to save my life, lived with constant guilt about all of the things i was not and had not done enough of, felt absolutely internally tortured if i ever found out i had offended anyone, and grew up believing i had been created for the purpose of being one who could always put another's needs above my own--even if those needs inflicted pain upon me.  many times i felt that those who were searching for another person to take advantage of only had to simply put their nose up in the air, inhale deeply, and sniff me out.  

growing up, i had a very clear idea of who i did not want to be. the road had been paved before me with characteristics that not only terrified me, but caused the internal pendulum of my personality to swing as far to the other side of those characteristics as i possibly could. but the swinging pendulum is such a dangerous game.  by being victorious in not becoming that person, it caused me to end up in relationships with those who possessed the very characteristics i feared.  they sniffed the air, and called, and i followed.

3 years ago i wrote about the time when ben came along, in the midst of the realization that my swinging pendulum was only continuing the cycle that had been set before me.  i was in a very lonely, self-loathing place, where i knew that something was wrong....and wrong enough to take a serious break from dating anyone, though i was at the peak of the dating period of my life.

so when he walked into my path, with his easygoing, fun personality and kind heart, i felt the concerns fade, though i was wary and careful.  here was someone who was more like me than anyone i had met.  we talked about how we shared similar weaknesses and strengths, and considered it a bond we had both been searching for.  i knew that he was safe for me in the way that he would not take advantage of the soft pieces of me.  i knew deep down that he was the place i could heal my previous wounds, and felt my pendulum swing more to where, years later, it would eventually find its middle; its balance.

but finding someone who is so similar to yourself can also be tricky.  if there are two explosive tempers, it can be deadly.  two addictive personalities and it can be destructive.  fortunately, neither ben nor myself had much of either one of those; in fact, we had the opposite.  we were so concerned with confrontation or contention, we each learned to stuff any of those "unattractive" feelings down, hoping they would never resurface.  our marriage was a peaceful one, right from the start.  we couldn't relate to friends who spoke of those "rough, first couple of years" as a married couple.  we got along so well, didn't argue, loved spending every waking minute together.  in a way, i think we were each other's respite from the choppy waves of our own rocky and tumultuous oceans of the past.

our individual pendulums had not yet found their balance. during those first two years, were we truly happy?  yes, we were.  but we were also two naive codependents, trying to brave a storm full of circumstances beyond our control, circumstances that would threaten to break apart our interlocking fingers with its whiplash.

looking back now, i can see the dark and heavy clouds gathering around us.


{think it's probably a bad idea for my randomly-blogging self to post a part 1?  based on my past history of struggling to finish these part-blogs, i do too.  but it's too long to write all in one night, so i'm going with it anyway.  fingers crossed i finish it before 5 years has passed!}

what i have learned in therapy.

with leah, june 2009

a couple of weeks ago, i went to my last meeting of group therapy. 

i've been seeing a therapist since february of 2010, and then stopped doing monthly one-on-one visits, and switched to a weekly group therapy in june of 2010.  i didn't really want to stop group therapy, we were just getting started into the trauma work which i had been wanting to do for months.  so it was a sad time for me to stop, but because of a new baby and ben's school schedule, i decided that at least a break was needed for now. 

sometimes, i look at who i was back in february of 2010, the super-intimidated girl who was sitting on the couch and not knowing who she really was, and i can't recognize her.  other times, i feel like that same girl until i hear those closest to me say, "wow you've really changed" {in a good way} or "i can't believe you did that!  you've really come a long way!"  and i'm reminded that i am different.

i know there's a stigma.  i know that some people think that therapy is crap.  that you're just going to lay on a couch and ramble on about your childhood and bring up old things that don't matter.  or that others think that therapists want to tell you everything that's wrong with you so you'll keep coming back to them to fix you & put money in their pockets so they can pay back all of those student loans they accrued.  and there may be some therapists out there who do that, i don't know.  i can't vouch for all of them.  what i do know was that wasn't my experience whatsoever.

and it's my belief that those who say those things about therapy have either never gone, or have gone when they weren't ready to really work.  it isn't easy to look at unhealthy or ugly pieces of yourself, or of your family or of your past.  it can be embarrassing or humiliating, or shameful, or scary, or just uncomfortable.  and those that i have been around who have not been ready to see those things yet and change them, always seem to blame somethings....or someone else, and stop going.  or never take that step to go in the first place.

it was scary to take that first step.

i went into therapy already knowing what was wrong with me, i didn't need someone else to tell me.  i had some anxiety, i had a low self-worth, i had trouble with boundaries and saying no to people, i let others treat me unkindly and would take it over and over again because i thought it was the "right" thing to do.  i allowed myself to be guilted into a lot of unhealthy things.  i felt that anger was bad and so i rarely allowed myself to feel angry over anything and instead i stuffed it down and didn't deal with it.  i had experienced trauma, and had never acknowledged it or talked about it.  and there some things that happened in my childhood that i did need to work through.  we are products of where we have come from, so if i had issues, i wanted to dig them out from their beginning source and process them.

i knew my issues, but just didn't know how to work them out completely by myself.  i knew what to do on nights when i couldn't sleep because my mind just kept spinning and spinning, going through what lay ahead the next day, or worrying about caleb's health problems or our student debt or relationships with others that were getting rocky. 

i could distract myself by reading a book, or watching t.v. or something like that.  i just didn't want to have to do that anymore.  i wanted the anxiety to be gone, or at least less frequent, and i didn't want to take medication for it.  i hadn't taken any yet, and am not against medication if it's needed.  but i wanted to get to down to the cause of why i couldn't sleep, couldn't let go, couldn't relax.  and work on those things so that i hopefully didn't need medication.  i was worried that if i found a medication that could just help me sleep and put a band-aid on the cause of my insomnia, that i would use it as a crutch and never work things out or change my pattern.  and that i would have to rely on it for the rest of my life.  {like i said though, i'm not against medication if it's needed.  but i do believe that those who use medication for these purposes should also be seeing a therapist to see if they can be working on the things that have caused the need for medication in the first place.}

anyway, once i started therapy, it was like i couldn't get enough of it.  i felt an immediate change inside of me.  my friend andrea described it perfectly by saying that for her, it was like she had been in a dark room and someone turned a light on.  that's exactly how i felt.  but once one light had been turned on, i wanted more light.  i literally felt my spirit hungry for it.

i came to a lot of realizations and some were not so much fun to see.  i wrote about one, {the lies that bind us, part 1}   and poured my heart out while writing.  i vowed to never go back to being that person again.  one that could not admit my fears or faults or even recognize them until it was almost too late.  i'm not grateful that i had that experience, but i am grateful for what i learned through it.

as i went through a few months of shedding layers, my therapist suggested moving to a group therapy.  her belief was that group therapy speeds up the process of moving and changing.  because you are with others who not only see good things in you, but that can sometimes bring out the worst in you.  and it's hard, but it causes you to then have to work again. 

once i got in the group therapy, i never looked back.  i've written several times about my experiences in there.  not a lot, but just little pieces that i was learning.  it was scary {again} that first day.  i was shy, {which i know is a shocker, coming from someone who blogs a little TMI quite often} and pulled back.  i didn't know how to trust these 11 or 12 other women.  i thought that i had problems and they probably didn't so much. i was scared to open up, and to trust them. but i kept going, and kept learning. 

we were given different assignments to work on.  dealing with anger, or losses, or trauma.  i worked on these assignments even if i didn't want to.  where there is emotional resistance, there is something underneath it.  so i pushed myself to do these assignments with my whole self.

we would each take turns getting up to describe our assignments.  i hate hate hate speaking in front of other people like that, or being put on the spot.  i don't like an assigned spotlight.  but i also knew again, that standing there vulnerable in front of others would push me.  so i did it.

and one day, during one assignment, something happened to me.  i won't go into detail here, but as i stood in front of those near-strangers who were becoming my friends...i made a decision to be honest.  100%, all-ugly truth honest.  i talked about things that only ben, myself and God knew at this point.  and i cried.  the cry where you can't talk because it literally hurts for the words to come out of your throat.  tears streamed down my face and yet i stood up there, and finished what i needed to say.

after i was done, my therapist had me sit in a chair and let the other women gather around me and say things to me that were kind, and honest.  i'm hard on myself, especially hard on myself when it comes to my faults.  and hearing others say the good things that they saw in me even after i had told them the worst things....well that day, for me, the healing really began.

and that was when i wrote these:

my last lecture, if i had one.

in my garden.

the art of building up walls.

putting myself to the test, and my resolve for 2011

i started to see the good in myself outweigh the bad, for once.  i became more honest than i ever had been in my life.  and i was no longer ashamed of my mistakes or my faults, or my weaknesses.  i began to allow myself to believe that i'm beautiful, no matter what size i am or what my skin currently looks like.  

my relationships were changing with everyone around me.  most of them for the better.  my therapist had said that as i really began to dig out the unhealthy, i would start attracting more healthy relationships, and the unhealthy ones would either change or most likely end, and i really found that to be true.  there was some sadness along the way, and loss.  it hasn't just been easy or fun or happiness and rainbows.  but the benefits have definitely outweighed the negatives.  the relationships that i do have are based on trust, and love, and kindness, and respect.  being able to say hard things to each other in kind ways, and hear hard things from others.  work through those things, forgive and keep trying.

my relationship with God has changed, deepened, and i am coming to a place where i truly know that he loves me.  not just believe it, but know it.  and more importantly for me, know that i deserve that love, just by merely existing.

i believe that therapy literally changed the course of my life.  i could keep going the way i was going, and struggle sometimes, but be just fine.  but i don't want to be 'just fine' anymore, i want to be great.  and at peace with myself, and take care of myself.  and it's not just for me, but for my husband and my children, my family and my friends.  

i'm going to keep going when i can, doing trauma work through one-on-one appointments with a therapist.  and honestly, if anyone is even considering going, and wanting to change.... my advice is to just do it.  if you go once and hate it, then change therapists and go back.  and keep going back until you stop hating it. 

it's so worth it.

at least it was for me.

p.s.   no, i was not compensated in any way by my soon-to-be therapist husband.  i know you're thinking he put me up to this as a plug for his impending future.  :)

shaking things up.

{easter sunday, 2011.  

a visit from my favorite brother ty & his wife kirsten.  

i just love these two.}

so these past few weeks have felt like nothing but "to do" lists, mixed with a little bit of fun.  mixed with the usual strader sickness.

***********

ahhhhhh, the irony.  literally as soon as i finished typing that sentence, i heard leah gagging in her monitor and ran up the stairs two-at-a-time {which is difficult in my blooming state.  i use "blooming" to make myself sound more pretty than i look.  like i'm a blossoming flower or something. ha!} and snatched her out of her crib to rush her quickly to barf in the toilet.  we made it, for the most part, luckily missing the carpet in her room but making sure to hit both rugs in the bathroom, her blankets, and covering both of our clothes.

i'm not sure about other kids, but both of mine seriously make things more difficult on themselves and me while throwing up.  it doesn't matter what i'm trying to do to help them, whether it's trying to get them to hold their head over the toilet, or a bowl, or a towel.  trying to calm them down, and hold them to make them feel better.  they arch their bodies and reject whatever help i'm offering, screaming in between gags and shoving my hands away, or specifically tonight, leah turning into me to try to get me to hold her to my chest as she continued.

i'm sorry, but unless we want to have both of us barfing at the same time, i could not have her facing me and aiming it for me.  then who was going to hold my hair back?  i joke, sort of.

i get that it's scary for them to throw up, i still get scared myself when i know that throwing up is coming & inevitable for me.  so i get it, but. 

but, ugh.  by the end of poor little leah's gagorific experience, we were both stressed out and smelling awful.  i put her in the bath and set to work cleaning it all up.  

she is now in bed, smelling again like my sweet baby girl, but still coughing.  i'm typing with the baby monitor next to me, pausing every time she coughs.....which is like every 5 seconds....to hear if it's a benign or concerning one.  where i need to risk my life to fly up the stairs again.

back to what i was writing before this.....

**************

we're trying to move.  and quickly.  due to the fact that all fingers....and petri dishes..... are pointing to a mold problem in this house.  it's fun thinking about this and then google searching, "pregnancy and mold exposure."  try to not be paranoid after that one.

so ben is in finals, leah & caleb are rotating respiratory and stomach illnesses every week, and i'm trying to stay healthy and keep going.  trying to find a house, trying to clean out what we already have, trying to set up mold exposure testing for all of us, trying to fight the owners of this house to do what is morally and ethically right.  not just for us, but for any future tenants here.  trying to get caleb's health issues manageable and ready for the future.  trying to get his paperwork done for first grade for different needs that he has.  among other stressful things that are completely un-related to any of these issues.  

it's not as devastating as i'm making it sound.  i'm not devastated anyway.  but it is reality.  it is busy and it is non-stop, without any reassurance right now that it will slow down sometime soon. 

there are blessings surrounding us.  so many good people in our lives, those who are willing to help and listen and love us.  i have a lot of support and i'm grateful for it.  i have been repeatedly reminded that God is aware of us, even though sometimes i can feel so insignificant and that my worries are so tiny.  but i am always reaffirmed that they are not, that i am not.

and also, after i got over that initial hump of feeling overwhelmed, i'm just trying to take things in stride.  instead of focusing on what i had hoped this time would be, and how it has turned out to be different....different doesn't always have to be bad, it's just different.  this is just our new reality, for now.

something inside of me has changed i think.  it took some hard experiences to make me realize that i am different, and in a good way.  i have been digging deep for a long time now, and it is starting to pay off in ways that i can actually see and feel, in ways that others are noticing and are tangible.  

i no longer take the burdens of others and carry them as mine.  that in itself is huge.  it doesn't mean i am callous, and unable to mourn with those who mourn.  there is a difference and i am finding the balance between them.  because that is something that is a good part of me that i don't want to change.  but for those experiences that try to make me take two steps backwards, i no longer let them.  and the feeling of peace that has come from doing things the right way for me, instead of out of guilt, well.  it felt so foreign at first and is now becoming a feeling that i am getting used to.

and letting myself feel things, instead of stuffing them down.  even if those feelings are sad, or angry, or upset, or overwhelmed.  i feel them, own them, work through them, and then the best part is....i get over them.  i let them go.

stuffing them down didn't make them go away, it actually made me feel them over and over and over again as they leaked out in other ways.  and i'd find myself crying over a commercial, or angry at the birds cheerfully chirping outside of my window.  so this is new stuff here.

i get that these things may not feel big to some, but they are huge to me.

i'm not finished by any means.  baby steps of progress.  but still, it's something.

i'm so grateful that ben is not just standing next to me during this time, but actually my biggest cheerleader.  supporting me in a way i never knew he could....only because the situation hadn't presented itself very often.  i don't even have to ask for it, which is also so nice.  he urges me forward, he tells me how proud he is of me, how he's grateful for this person i'm becoming.  and even though i don't need that to keep going down this path, it sure feels nice.  oh my goodness i just love him.

i know not much of this makes sense, and if i had more time & energy to go into my thoughts i would expound. 

and on that note of random blogging, leah is crying again.  so now, i'm going to go lay on the air mattress outside of her room, {which honestly is much easier than having to get up 10 times on nights like these} and try to sleep.

and hope that i can again carry her to the bathroom in time.

giving it all to those who deserve it, and only pieces to those who don't.

provided by google images.

  


***originally posted on our private group home blog, 11/27/07.


ONE FLEW INTO THE CUCKOO'S NEST


so yesterday i came walking down the stairs when to my left i heard some frantic chirping and fluttering. 

i looked over to see a small bird had flown through our front door which had been left open accidentally about 5 inches. 

i called for ben and he did his best to summon the small creature....think a male version of mary poppins with a spoon full of sugar but with more facial hair, and without the awesome purse hiding a lamp inside. the bird actually sat on ben's hand for a minute, but the as soon as ben would move or even look like he was going to move, the bird would flip out and start frantically ramming into the windows. crashing over and over, it became disoriented and i was afraid it was about to do some harm to itself. finally the bird caught on to the fact that we were trying to help him, and flew out the open door, stretching its wings and embracing its freedom. 

my dreams of one day owning my own aviary or possibly whistling a duet with a bird while convincing the british children i was baby-sitting to tidy up or take their medicine were shattered, but i watched it take off, and felt peace knowing it was back where it belonged.  

 these few moments got me thinking...we had a really REALLY bad day with *carrot top  yesterday. to the point that he did some more property damage, standing on the top of the countertop, removing every glass dish in the home and crashing it to the floor, shattering it into pieces.  he moved to the family room, taking every book off of the shelves, throwing them across the room.  he overturned the couches, yelling and cursing as loudly as he could.  when that didn't get the results he wanted {your guess is as good as mine as to what those results are}, he then decided to try to get some negative attention by doing some self-harm, picking up a fork, scraping it down his arm repeatedly, until blood was drawn.  this is what he did while sitting on the couch, as i taught our family home evening lesson to the other kids. 

 he goes through this cycle every so often of not knowing how to deal with his anger...or boredom...or fear...or whatever it is.  there is no telling when it will stop, or if anything that we say will break through to him.  even though i know it's not necessarily by choice, as i was sitting there, teaching on "loving one another" and watching the metal prongs of the fork scrape up and down his arm out of my peripheral vision, it sure felt like it was all a show.  a cry for attention, in its worst form.  i didn't give him the attention he sought, because i know the pattern of this, and to show any type of concern/frustration/anger/sadness, will only make things worse.  will only exacerbate this.  so instead, when i watched two drops of blood slowly drip down his arm, i stood up without breaking my sentence of changing the inflection of my voice, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel and handed it to him.

i know him.  i know his history.  the experiences he had to endure in his beginning make me sick in my gut and make my heart cry out.  he is a child of God, i remind myself.  and at 16 years old, he has no idea what that means.  but all of the ways we are trying to teach him what this means, he does not see it.  whether that is by choice, or a result of his beginning circumstances, i do not know.  

i thought about this little bird, as ben and i were doing everything we could to get it to safety & freedom, the bird continued to flutter about, bashing itself into walls and windows. i was so extremely frustrated with carrot top yesterday and couldn't believe the level he will take things just to get negative attention, again disrupting the home into a chaos that feels like it will burst the very walls of its foundation.

before family home evening and the forking episode, ben and i and carmella (our awesome staff member) were there, talking softly, reasoning, trying to make him laugh, teaching and teaching some more, and when that all failed, finally telling him he is sinking his own ship and needs to start bailing himself out, that there is nothing more we could do. he had to make his choices.  and he just kept hitting himself against walls, windows, dressers, couches, you get the idea.

what i'm saying is that i got a little perspective yesterday. that i don't know how much time it will take for carrot top to understand that the front door has been open the whole time and all he needs to do is just stop fighting and start flying. 

maybe he will never understand. maybe it will just take some time, like the bird. 

but whatever he chooses, ben and i will be standing there with our hands open, ready to help.  ready for him to see his way to freedom.

****

most people who read this blog know that before we moved to arizona, ben and i lived in & managed a group home for troubled teenagers for a year in north carolina. when i look back on that year it feels like an out-of-body experience, that it was me there during all of the craziness, but it really wasn't.  most days i felt like i was on robot-mode.  doing the work, day in and day out, but not really living.  i'm not sure how better to explain it.

when i was in seattle last weekend, lindsay jane asked me, if i had the chance and knew what i was getting into this time, would i work at the group home again?

i've thought about that question since she asked me.  

when i answered lindsay, i said no, i wouldn't.  at least i wouldn't do it with the me of 2007.  i felt completely unprepared for the things that we faced in that house, and the issues it brought forward inside of me that i didn't even know existed, bubbling under the surface.  it's not that i didn't want to ever face those issues, i just didn't want to have to face them while living in a somewhat traumatic situation that i couldn't escape.  where i felt i couldn't even take a breath for the majority of that year.  

a lot of times i felt like i was behind bars in that home.  like the kids weren't trapped there with me, but i was trapped with them. i tried to be as happy as i could, given the situation.  ben & i had a great relationship, and we made close friends with our co-workers.  but i often felt like i was suffocating in the chaos and the screaming of those kids, the overturned couches, broken dishes and punching walls.  it triggered something inside that caused pretty severe insomnia.  and when i could sleep, i had terrifying nightmares. 

i had no idea that i even struggled with anxiety until about 9 months into our year there.  i brought it up to ben, what was going on.  how when one of the kids would "go off" which meant in a pretty severe way, my mind couldn't relax and let go from the events that would occur.  over and over again, i would go through the details of the conversations with the kids and be up until 3 or 4am.  and if one of their tantrums really ended badly, where they had to be restrained, or hospitalized?  my mind wouldn't let go for days.

i recognized what it was, and also recognized what triggered it.   i had no control over the environment of my own home, i could not feel peace there.  and what bubbled underneath, from years of my childhood where i experienced this same situation, came bursting to the surface.  and yet dealing with the old hard & ugly while trying to create peace in this new hard & ugly was overwhelming.  i did my best to compartmentalize, and put my issues on the back burner to hold it together for the kids, and for myself.

knowing now what i didn't know then, i wouldn't have accepted the job offer if i had known what we were getting into, because of caleb.  our 2 1/2 year old, special needs son.  granted, he was never harmed or even saw much of what the kids were doing, but that was because after the first week or two of us living there & me getting a taste of what life in that home was really like.... when the first boulder came crashing through the window and the first broom broke through the glass on the door, while he and i were sitting only a few feet away, i kept caleb separate.  he spent most of his time upstairs in our place, or ben & i would split our time where one of us would be out with him while the other one worked our employees and the kids.  i just couldn't trust them, they had proven that to me, specifically targeting him with threats when they were upset.  and knowing that i couldn't trust them around caleb made me even more anxious.  

whenever caleb was downstairs with us, i was on hyper-alert.  i couldn't relax, and wouldn't let him out of my sight.  at the first glimpse of one of the teenagers freaking out, i walked caleb upstairs and would situate him with toys and a show so that he wouldn't have to hear the crashing or yelling.  or worse.

there were good things that came from that year, like it brought ben down the path of returning to school for his psychology doctorate.  before that year we had been floating from one job to the next while he tried to figure out what he really wanted to do.  ben was so amazing with those teenagers, and his patience and unconditional love was spotlighted in that situation.  he is going to make one fantastic therapist, and is planning on working specifically with teenagers.

i learned how to shed the layers of a really difficult-to-love individual, and see them through God's eyes.  the year pushed me to find a strength that i didn't know i had.  to not give up, or quit when internally i was struggling desperately to hang on.  i relied so much on God that year, praying night and day that i could find the strength to go on.  that i could remember and firmly grasp the reasons that we accepted, and remember too that this job wasn't something i felt that i wanted to do, but had to do.  it was my first experience of receiving a personal witness that at that time in my life, i was living and doing exactly what God wanted me to.  

aside from the anxiety that surfaced, i also realized something i hadn't known before about myself.  i thought that i was a pretty loving, open and accepting person.  and i think that in general, i still am.  but i came to see that i am also someone who completely shuts down emotion when i have been repeatedly hurt by another.  i did not know how to love those teenagers for where they were at, and not internalize their issues.  their emotion was contagious to me, and when they screamed curse words in my face or even tried to physically hurt me, i could not separate that it wasn't really me they were mad at & hated.  their words pierced me, and the anger they sent my way devastated me.

i walked into that house and wanted to give each of them all of my heart.  

but i have learned that in life, there are some people you can't give all of your heart to.  because they aren't in a good enough place to take care of it and not hurt it.

these are the people you can give only pieces of yourself to, and then the rest you protect.  i just didn't know how to do that yet, without being hurt.  so instead, with the kids, and specifically carrot top, i shut down.  i would feel anxious when he was coming home and that anxiety would manifest itself into a state of almost loathing him when he walked through the door.  i'm not proud of this, i just didn't know how to do it any differently.

through a story involving my kids, i wrote last year about what healthy boundaries look like, for me.  i didn't know healthy boundaries yet at the group home.  i had truly believed that if i was good to the teenagers, and loved them, they would return that with love and kindness toward me.  they would change, and blossom, and understand.  and know that through my love and ben's, we were projecting the love from God.  and when it didn't happen, i felt like i had done something wrong and was being punished for some reason, and closed up.  

i know now how i could have taken better care of myself during my time in an extremely stressful situation.  a year of therapy has taught me that. 

i'm still not convinced that i would want to go back and do it all over again.  i definitely wouldn't do it if i had to bring my own kids into it.  

but if it were just ben & i?  and i'm lynsey, 2011?  

i don't know....maybe.  i know that the year at the group home forever changed me.  as a mother, as a wife, as an individual.  as someone who has the potential to be able to become a mirror to hold up to another who is broken to reflect God's love for them, whether they choose to see it or not.

but i have also learned that i am someone who needs a peaceful living environment.  there is happy chaos, which i can do, and there is angry chaos.  the angry chaos is something that at least right now, i cannot sign up for.  but to not actually live there?  to be able to clock in & out?  return to my own sanctuary?  i'd consider it.

i think of these kids often....the 10 year old girl who screamed that i was raping her in hopes that someone walking by our home would call the police on me. that same girl only a mere 4 hours later, hugging me tightly, apologizing as tears streamed down both of our faces while we said temporary good-byes through the glass on the 4th floor, the psychiatric unit of the hospital.

the unintentionally hilarious 15 year old boy with the desire to excel, whose autism and intelligence was a gift to our home, with the long unkempt hair, the grey sweatpants he refused to change.  he was so easy to be around, so likeable.  and when we got through his unemotional exterior, and he expressed his love for us, i felt like i had been handed one of God's greatest gifts.

the 12 year old boy with the big brown eyes that could melt your heart, even as you watched him light cigarettes on the burners of the stove in the kitchen and blow smoke in your face.  who ran away after only a month and a half, having friends in all the wrong places who hid him for months.

the 11 year old, whose past i only knew fragments and pieces of.  his thin frame, his enormous eyes missing the eyelashes he had pulled out.  he was the one that all of the employees worried most for, the boy who could unsettle my insides with just his gaze.  the one we feared would end up on america's most wanted someday, with a rage inside of him that startled and disturbed even the most seasoned psychiatrist.

our other 15 year old, with almost no impulse control, bringing a 6-inch blade to school, climbing up to sit on top of the roof of the house, throwing the barbecue grill off of the back porch.  the boy with the purest heart, who brought us all to tears as he announced through choking sobs that he had been saving money for ben and i for months, with the intention to give it to us so we could afford to buy a house of our own, so we would stay in north carolina after our year contract was up.

and the 16 year old, with his freckles and chewed off fingernails, and his furious blinking as he stood statue-still, flipping me off with both hands.  who left the home with his head hung low, those same hands handcuffed behind his back, never to return. that same freckled boy, whose pants accidentally came off when he had to crawl under the porch of the house to retrieve an escaped baseball, and we laughed with him for 20 minutes straight.

2 weeks after he left the home, he called us, and apologized.  and my heart knew what to do, even after i thought it had shut down, even after of the chaos and damage he had incurred, the holes in the walls, the shattered dishes on the floor, the drops of blood slowly dripping down his arms....even with all of that, my heart opened back up, and loved him.

they haunt me, these memories.  in an achingly hardbutgood way.  now that i am through that year, and have evolved to be able to only give pieces of my heart, i can easily love each of them, being able to pull myself apart from those oftentimes traumatic days and exhausting nights, knowing deep down now that they were not about me. and i know that what we had in that one year is an experience that i could never put into actual words.

i wish that i had been the person there that i am now, but i can't live in reverse.  and it was a stepping stone to getting here, to lynsey 2011.

the things that i learned, the ways that i changed.  after that year, i will never be the same.

*name changed to protect the innocent

***i've been working on the "fear cycle" and have learned so much about anxiety and control and surrendering.  i'm thinking i might write about that one next.