Thank You. Love, Me.

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I was 16 years old. Sitting alone in the middle of an international airport. I knew my dad would catch up to me soon. I’d just escaped a plane ride to a destination I greatly feared. I had every intention of bucking up, bravely enduring the trip and what was to come after, but in the end, the fear was too great, I had to get off. He had followed me, I know he had, grabbing our bags in the process. I knew I was in trouble.

I was ashamed, still afraid, trying to get control of a situation I had zero control over. You see just 24 hours earlier my parents had told me I’d be going to Georgia, to a therapeutic wilderness camp. I’d looked it up online, researched my fate, made peace with it. But as the hours passed, It felt too scary, I wanted to be brave, but I couldn’t.

Back at home after our first attempt to go, the fear overtook me. I sobbed, I self harmed, I screamed a million obscenities at everyone in my path. I was 16. Bigger than a child, but yet still a kid. And I was scared. Scared I would never make it through a wilderness camp, scared of what life looked like ahead of me, scared I would never live a life of peace and joy.

So much in my past that makes me cringe to remember, that causes tears to roll down my cheeks when I write about it. “Who even was she?”, I wonder aloud. “Thank God I’ve grown,” I commend myself, “I’ll just forget about it all, leave it in the past, cover it with this newer model of myself. One that is a little more mentally stable, more sure of herself, more socially acceptable”.

God, no I hope I never do that. I hope I never forget, never stop sharing, never stop thanking little me for everything that has come before now. I’ve been fighting since I was a teeny little thing. Fighting for a better life, for hope that I knew deep down existed. Battling mental illness, and traumas that rocked my little epathetic self. How brave I have been. How dedicated to my future, to the real me that lives deep down inside, to exposing the mess and embracing the truth. So brave.

It’s so much easier to blame the past isn’t? Or to mourn everything that the past could have been had we only done something different. But we didn’t. We have done the very best we’ve ever been able to do in order to survive. The “me” we are today has everything to do with all that came before, the person we’ve been, the choices we’ve made. We are they and they are us.

I’ve been brave. I’ve been strong. All that I am has brought me to this place.

Thank You. Love, me.

? Marisa Kinney photography


I’ll leave you with this, my friends:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3Y_YiZp6gM

“I am the Lord your God, I go before you now
I stand beside you, I’m all around you
Though you feel I’m far away,
I’m closer than your breath
I am with you, more than you know”

New Years Resolutions, Dreams, and Motherhood.

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I’ve never been much of a resolution gal, but I’ve always been a dreamer. And who doesn’t perch at the beginning of a new year and daydream about what is to come? Some of us make one big goal, some choose a word, some choose so many goals that we collapse overwhelmed three days in.

But as I sit here on my couch, in stillness, my dreams for the new year feel a bit jumbled. There are dreams for my family and our future that come easily and without much coaxing. And there are dreams for just myself-big ones, impossible ones, things that once seemed attainable. But there’s a shift once you have a little person or two relying on you for life…your dreams take a back seat. They just do, it’s the nature of things. And the backseat is fine because they’re still in the car, they’re just not the focus, the one up front controlling the radio. But how do I honor my dreams just as strongly when they’re not in the forefront? Is it even possible to have dreams and change diapers?

Of course there is, right? Women have been doing it for ages. But sometimes when you’re up to your elbows in someone else’s poop, it doesn’t really feel like there are dreams beyond motherhood.

So what do we do? Where do we turn? Do we just throw in the towel and “wait until their older” to honor our souls? Big fat NOPE. Baby steps my friends, that’s how. Because achieving the goal isn’t really the purpose, it’s about honoring ourselves enough to reach towards the goal, and move into the space of accepting our dreams.

This year I’ve come face to face with the reality that I have given up on the dream I have had since I was a little girl: the dream of being a professional actress. I used to stand in front of my mirror and accept an Oscar over and over again. I’d sing the songs from Les Miserables until my throat was sore . But life got in my way a bit, and over the years the dream was pushed to the side. I remember being accepted into college, crying inside that I had never even tried to get into NYU as I had always dreamed.

The truth is, my life has changed. But that dream is still there asking to be acknowledged in some way. And so I will continue to honor it by bravely auditioning for shows in my area, and taking dance classes at 28 years young. And maybe just maybe I will stretch way out far and be an extra in a movie. Baby steps.

There are other dreams too-to write a book, to get back into half marathon shape, to travel more. And they all begin with baby steps. Dreams that I give life to in even the most minuscule of ways. Who cares if I “get there”, all that matters is that I reached towards it, even while momming.

And can I just say friends, let’s not forget that reaching for our dreams is an absolute privilege. I do not take for granted the freedom I have to dream and do something about it.

Dream big this year mamas, and baby steps.

When your joy has jumped ship.

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What a loaded season. For all of the joy and festiveness, there is equally as much pain and sadness. Wounds are that much deeper around the holidays. The loss of loved ones, sickness, mental health struggles, financial struggle, relationship hardship, loneliness. The holidays seem to open the wounds and pour salt directly on them. For many, the holidays are a time of memories and tradition, so when that is lost or doesn’t feel like it used to be, there is much pain.

I’ve experienced both types of holiday. The ones where joy and laughter abound, and the ones where I can’t keep my head above water. But as a general whole, I always feel stressed around the holidays. Expectations are high, and consumerism is rampant, and my heart gets bogged down with it all-trying to find balance, rest, and peace in the midst of it.

What happens when our joy has jumped ship? When we’re trying to find that bubble of wonderment in everything we do but it’s just gone missing? The messages around us are clear-do more, be more, buy more. I wonder what would happened if we moved into the lack of joy. If we didn’t find fear in it or judgment, but just acknowledged its presence. Could we find the bittersweet? That place where pain, joy, and gratitude meet? Could we honor the journey and not wish it was something different?

It’s okay if your joy has jumped ship. In fact, it’s normal. Most of us are faking our way through the holidays in one way or another (and life for that matter). Its just not human to keep it together all of the time. I would even argue that we were created to journey, not just to arrive.

Having joy in every circumstance is a tall order, one that gets a bit misunderstood I think. It’s more than a smile and a warmness in your belly. Joy can be a distant understanding of Gods ultimate goodness, or a fractured memory of a loved on peeping through the darkness. It might not look like you have any joy, but I bet it’s there-looking so much different than the Christmas decorations say it should look. It might be tattered, broken, dusty, dirty-but it’s there!

Your joy hasn’t jumped ship, it’s just in a different package than expected.

Love you guys, wishing you true peace and rest this holiday season and throughout your lives.

**special note. Let us be sensitive and overwhelmed with awareness and empathy for those around us suffering this holiday season.**

When it feels like God screwed you over.

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I’ve never been able to compartmentalize my feelings to one situation. If someone has wronged me it spills over into our entire relationship until I have properly dealt with it. But until I do, it affects everything. I don’t love that about myself, but I know it’s a part of who I am. It goes hand in hand with being empathetic and sensitive, always asking deep questions and needing the answers.

I know I need God. My head believes in a higher power that looks out for us in ways we can’t comprehend. I believe that there is good in every situation and that angels surround us, stroking our hair when we cry and as the world falls apart around us. But the God in my head and the one In my heart just aren’t the same.

I came to this conclusion a few weeks ago with the help of my therapist. I have been feeling distant from God, craving lots of space from the evangelical normalcies I had grown up with my whole life. I can’t connect to many of the things that the modern church stands for, and yet there’s so much I love as well. Ive realized that there’s a divine being that I know that I need, one I’ve been searching for my whole life, and then there is the God I’ve been hearing about my whole life. And the two are not the same.

As I grow and gain life experience, I am not willing to pretend anymore. I will not accept answers that explain away doubt and fear. I will not settle for another bible verse to stick into every situation. I want way more than that.

But in order to get there, I know I have baggage to resolve with the God of my heart. My past is riddled with painful moments where I don’t believe with my heart God was present. Everything I have learned might tell me that of course He was. But I’m not there. I’m not feeling it. I need to work through the junk standing in my way so that I can cling to the feet of Jesus once again and fully believe that He is with me as has been with me this whole time.

Denying that I feel this way won’t help me. Walking through life submitting to the beliefs of others won’t free me. This is my journey to a deeper relationship with God. A deeper knowing of this higher power who I am sure is much less like the God of the modern church than many of us think.

Are you there? Are you desiring God but unable to fit yourself into the box He’s been put in? Do you need to know it’s okay to rearrange every piece of your faith? Tear it all down people, rebuild brick by brick. Take the time to figure out who God is. Learn to separate that from cultural Christianity and find freedom in the beauty of both. You are not alone. So many of us are doing it. A journey to die to our own selves, and to really be more like Jesus-not who others say He is, but who He actually is.

Happy Tuesday dear friends!

What Motherhood Replaced.

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I told myself I’d never be that mom. I’ve watched women I love and respect leave themselves behind as they navigate motherhood. Dreams get forgotten, passions get forgotten, showers get forgotten. Emotions get pushed to the side in an effort to meet the needs of these little people you love so intensely.

I told myself I wouldn’t do it. I’d continue to pursue my dreams, my passions, shower regularly, keep up with the latest trends. I’d model for my baby girl a mama who considers herself a priority in the healthiest way.

I do believe it. That I’m a priority. Im still trendy (when I leave my house), I’m still chasing after my dreams and passions (then again I only have one kid). But it’s much harder than I expected.

Last night I cried to Eric about the person I used to be. “I’ve been trying to hang onto her, but she’s slipping away”. What I didn’t take into account when I had big plans not to “lose myself” to motherhood, is that there would be no way for me to ever be the same again. Everything has changed. I am a mom. A little person relies on me for everything. My life can’t look like it used to, no matter how much I am honoring myself and my dreams and passions.

I think the sooner I accept that and move into this new version of me, the better. Mourn what used to be, accept that at times I will miss it, and step into this new opportunity to be all that I have been created to be while also being a mom.

Being a mom has engaged a whole new part of my heart and soul that I would never have been able to access otherwise. And when I look at it as an entrance into a new realm of learning and knowing myself, it becomes this opportunity to become something more than I was before.

So maybe motherhood replaced some things. Priorities shifted and life has changed in a way I didn’t expect, in a way you didn’t expect. Maybe you’re in a phase where you are mourning who you used to be, wondering who you are now. You’re still her, just a little bit different. It’s okay to let her go a bit and step into what is to come. Motherhood doesn’t put an end to you, it just shifts it a little bit. You got this mama!

Is it enough to be her mom?

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After an exhausting weekend with a sick baby, I am hunkered down at a local coffee shop before church. Much needed alone time. I have felt my energy depleting these last few weeks as Eric works massive overtime. Most days we make sure to get out of the house once or twice, and being the introvert that I am, the rest of the day is spent resting from those outings. It’s not a bad life to be honest. But most days look very much the same.

Today I journaled ” it doesn’t feel enough that I am raising lilah. Is that enough? Shouldn’t I be doing more?”

I spend a few moments pondering where this pressure is coming from. This pressure to constantly do more than I am, live up to expectations I will never reach. I look around me and it’s EVERYWHERE. People hustling constantly. Stay at home moms with 2 or 3 side gigs, marketing themselves with increased intensity. More power to them, but what does that have anything to do with me? Must I do more just because someone else is? Who is telling me that the little steps I make in the wood floors of our little house every day aren’t just as impactful as the steps of anyone else?

I do.

I let that sink in a minute.

I hold myself to these impossible standards. This unattainable perfection. I want to be good at everything, approach life with constant ease. Maybe that’s you too. Maybe deep down you are holding yourself hostage with expectations like I am.

I want the freedom of days that flow in and out without my fists clenching each moment in control. I want days that feel purposeful and days that don’t, trusting that God will use every little bit for good.

I am reminded of my favorite Bible character, which is saying something as the Bible and I have been in some tension recently. But love David’s story. Specifically the many years he spent as a lowly shepherd, in which God was refining his character to use him later on. Not perfecting, because as we known David did some really crappy things later on, but refining him to have the heart needed to do Gods will.

So here I am. In my shepherd moments. Herding little helpless hands and feed through daily activities. Wondering what it will amount to. Begging to be used in big ways right now, but being asked again and again to just do this. To love inside my own home. To work through my past traumas, to help those close to me do the same.

Is it enough to do what we are asked to do right now? Even if it feels like very little, not enough, monotonous, uninspiring.

Yes. It is enough. We are enough. Big things, small things, those are all just things on the movie reel that is our life. It all leads to something, even if to our eyes it may look like not much.

When you’re a mom with anxiety.

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I have always been a little scared of being a mom, and at times very terrified. Anyone who has ever had a panic attack can identify with the need to have an escape at all times. What would happen if I had three kids in a shopping cart in a store and had to get out of there ASAP? I’d be stuck. What about when my kids get older and start to realize that mommy is afraid of certain things, breathes really fast in certain places? What about the days when my OCD has such a hold on me that I can’t get myself to stop organizing for even a second, plowing through my kids imaginative play in order to create my own illusion for control? And then the biggest fear, the one I don’t dare share; what if life becomes too much one day and I leave my babies behind?

I come about it honestly. My whole family struggles with anxiety. Having been a child of two parents who struggle with deep fears, I know first hand how it can affect our teeny people. No judgement-my parents did the very best they could and we all turned out pretty good, but I felt their anxiety and it greatly affected me. Knowing this, I am so very sensitive to what my anxiety could do to my baby girl. I wonder if she notices, even now, the differences in my days. But even if she can’t sense my deep feelings now, I know that someday soon she will. How do you show those hard parts of yourself to your innocent babies? How to you lay your cards all out on the table, lead by example in navigating hardships, all while not burdening them with your baggage?

How am I ever going to do this?

Before I had Lilah, my life was self centered. It had to be, it was how I survived. Every move was planned perfectly to avoid as much fear and uncomfortability as possible. I had it down to a science. I had a dozen excuses in my back pocket, knew my escapes to avoid certain situations. But I can’t quite do that anymore.

There’s more going on here now. I have to learn to do it a little bit differently now then before. If I want my babies to experience life to the fullest then I’m going to have to do some of those hard things. If I want to avoid losing my shit at home with a baby all winter then I’m going to have to go to those play dates, run those errands-stretch myself to reach those places.

But guys it’s really hard. It’s hard to recharge enough to get myself to the places I need to be and to do the things I need to do for my baby. It takes a lot of intentional time to myself, a lot of understanding exactly what I need in order to be at my best. And still some days, most days, lulu doesn’t get my best. She just gets what I’ve got to give in the moment, even if it’s teary snuggles in front of the TV.

I’m learning to have grace for myself when I don’t feel like I’m being the parent I should be. When I’m scared that I’m hurting my child by being a mess. When I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle raising her and any other babies we might parent. One step at a time right? Deep breaths, baby’s steps. That’s often all I have to give. Can I trust that is enough? Can I trust that my love for her is making the difference? I have to. Because my battle with anxiety is lifelong and it is difficult. The last thing I need is the pressure to leave that part of me out of my parenting game.

You can do this mamas. You can. We can. We will!

Even if.

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I’ve always known I had a choice. I can live in constant fear of the worst happening, or surrender to the fact that I have no control.

This is the lesson that I have been learning my whole life in various ways, but parenthood has really slapped the icing on the cake. Because now there’s this teeny tiny person who relies on me for everything and yet I ultimately have very little control over her life. Yes I make choices that affect her on the day to day, but in the grand scheme of things, her life is out of my hands.

It happened on day one. I had already been wrestling with how my relationship with God might navigate parenthood. Pregnancy had brought with it more anxieties then I had expected. But when Lilah was born she was taken to the NICU. This was it, the moment of deciding what kind of parent I was going to be. Eric and just looked at each other and I said, “I guess this is parenting. We don’t have control of this.” And we didn’t. She only spent five hours in the NICU and ended up being okay, but at the time, we had no idea what was happening. I wasn’t happy about it, but I knew that if I was going to survive the rest of my life without fully breaking down mentally, then I was going to have to learn to take things as they come.

That’s always been quite hard for me. I come from a long line of senseless worriers and so I come about it honestly, and have lived most of my life walking in the ever pacing footsteps of my anxious relatives. But I’ve always wanted it to be different. Deep down I know that the only way to live a life free of deep worry is to open my hands and say “God, even if, you are with me”. Ugh but that is hard. Because how can God really be with us if the worst is happening all around us. If God is good, and just, and loving, then why is there so much pain and suffering? Well I don’t claim to be the theologian in the family but I can tell you that on my best days I believe God is all those things despite the horrors that may unfold around us. I believe that there is more to the story than we will understand. I believe that God mourns with us. But on my darker days, I can’t imagine how any of that make sense. And that’s okay too. Wrestling with these things is crucial, I believe.

But this is what I know without a shadow of a doubt. That even if, for reasons we may never understand, God does not heal your loved one, or prevent that hurricane, or stop that shooting, he is there in it all. When we hear stories of joy and goodness coming out of pain, that is Jesus. That friend who lost a loved one, but feels a strange sense of peace, that is Jesus. It may not always make sense, but we see it, right? We can feel it.

While the questions still remain, I can offer this: Even if, God sees you and is holding you and loves. If you don’t believe it that’s okay, I don’t always believe it either. But I do cling to it, because I’ve experienced it and seen it and choose to believe that it is true.

The thorn in my side.

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This thorn in my side anchors me to Jesus.

My eyes wander, my heart flutters to other things to fulfill it; but my anxiety, that thorn in my side, it is the most uncomfortable blessing. It keeps me clinging to Jesus because I have no other choice. Even when I’m unsure of my faith, the theology surrounding me, my place on earth-there’s this still small voice experiencing something greater than myself.

When I was a teenager I was sure I wouldn’t live to be 21. In fact, I didn’t want to live to be 21.For someone whose life felt like constant turmoil, It seemed like an absurdly long time to be alive. Childhood trauma had festered into wounds I had no idea how to heal. I was self medicating and limping my way through life. Christianity was a muddle of “dos” and “donts” that I couldn’t keep up with. I felt deserted by the God that was supposed to be with us in our pain. But regardless of it all, I still found myself clinging to Jesus in the recesses of my subconscious, on the off chance that he actually existed and cared. And so it’s been my whole life.

I’m 28. I’ve lived well past my 21st birthday. In many ways I am so different than I was 10 and 15 years ago. But even though I’ve worked through so much emotional pain, I will always be an empath, sensitive to others and the world. Earth will always feel a little unsettling to me. But when I find myself seeking comfort in things that ultimately give me no true joy- like endless shopping, seeking the illusion of perfection, self medicating. I am reminded of the gift that I’m too much of a mess to ever think I can do it on my own. Thankfully. If I didn’t wrestle with daily anxiety, emotional ups and down, chronic OCD and perfectionism, I can’t say I’d cling to God in the same way or be able to acknowledge my need for that relationship regardless of whether or not I am angry at God in that moment.

I’m not in love with Jesus all the time. I ask lots and lots of questions and demand answers from God which may or may not include a few expletives. I am daily confused by modern Christian theology and cannot stand the constant use of Christian buzz words.

I’m just figuring it out. Still navigating through past traumas and shame, still experiencing panic attacks and dark days and lots and lots of messiness. But I do know that whoever God is, whatever he or she is really like. It resonates deeply in my soul. So when nothing else makes sense and I don’t know quite where I belong, I just cling to that.

We’re all trying too hard.

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There’s still makeup on my face from this morning, but I’ve exchanged my “trendy” ripped jeans and cute top for Erics old t-shirt and my maternity athletic shorts. “Now that I’m home I can relax” I tell myself. Ugh what a tall order. Who says relaxing is a thing just for home?

That’s part of my problem. Home is where I relax, but the rest of the world is my stage-where I perform. I don’t like that it’s like that. I don’t like that I sat at a table this morning with a bunch of wonderful women and pretended like I don’t have social anxiety and I wasn’t in the midst of the worst period of my life. Granted they were strangers, and there is something to be said about good boundaries and stuff. But it still makes me wonder what it would like if we weren’t all trying so damn hard all the time?

I toyed with the idea of wearing this outfit today. Erics baggy t-shirt, these shorts with the elastic so forgiving, but then I didn’t. Better look somewhat put together at least for our first meeting right? There will be time to look like crap later on. And heaven forbid Lilah not be wearing an outfit that coordinates pants, shirt, and hair bow (OCD coming into play. She matches even when she’s going to bed-send help-I have issues).

But I don’t want to be exhausted every time I leave my house. I don’t want to put on a mask for the world that I can only take off in the privacy of my own home.

And maybe some of you who know me are thinking that I’m an open book. I try to be. I try to be vulnerable and open and honest. And in some ways I am. I have no problem talking about my struggles, my poor choices. But you know what’s really hard for me? FEELING the pain in front of someone else. It’s even hard for me to feel the pain in front of myself.

So today I want you to know that I’m struggling with finding the right medication dose for my anxiety. I’m flailing around between scary postpartum thoughts and so much energy I can’t sleep. Eric and I are navigating a rocky road of his work schedule and my emotional needs. I continue to wrestle with stomach issues and face defeat in my postpartum weight loss battle. But most days you would never know it. I pride myself on holding it together. I never want to be “too much for anyone”.

And I know that today, in a room of so many women, we were all trying too hard. Trying too hard to get it together for two hours so we didn’t look like a blubbering mess to everyone else. Trying too hard to get it together for ourselves so we could feel normal for one second and not like just a mom with no life.

We’re living in a world of trying too hard. And that doesn’t mean we can’t dress up if we want or leave our problems behind for a little while. I will never stop loving fashion and picking out outfits and overspending on poshmark “cuz it’s so cheap”. And sometimes I NEED to pretend for a second that I’m not drowning in anxiety and obsessive compulsive thoughts.

BUT…

We don’t HAVE to. We don’t HAVE to try hard. We aren’t a slave to it. We can try hard or not try hard and pick and choose when and where and why.

My challenge to you and myself today. Go somewhere today and don’t try at all. Just be-whatever that means. And since my introvert self just had a big morning, the farthest I’m getting out is for a walk around the neighborhood, but you better believe I’m still not gonna try. I think it’s a laundry not done, bed not made (not that I EVER make it), cookies for lunch, chipoltle for dinner kind of day.

Who is with me?