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?

A letter for the depressed days.

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DISCLAIMER: I am okay. I am very aware of myself and my feelings and have support systems upon support systems to help me navigate hard days. I know when to ask for help from my people. Thank you for your concern, but this is just me being vulnerable.

Anxiety is more what I am used to. Constantly repeating things in my head, wondering if I am offending anyone, doing enough, getting it all done. And so when depression seeps in, it terrifies me deep to my core. I am not quite sure how to navigate it, what to do with those incessant and gloomy thoughts, the fatigue, the all around effort it takes to enjoy what is around me. My mind tries to beat myself into submission, “get over it”, “your life is great-what are you sad about”, “you will never make it through this, you’re weak”. And with motherhood zapping me of energy and stealing my precious, much needed sleep, the voices are stronger, deeper, rooted in all the things I ever hated about myself.

This morning, as the rain beats down on our roof, I have felt this pull to bring these things into the light. To challenge all of the thoughts that grip me in these moments and to take control of them, even if just for a moment. Hear me when I say, I do not believe that depression is a mind game that you can just get over. I believe in medication to help battle chemical imbalances out of our control. Also, if you have access to therapy, do it. If you do not-message me. I am not a therapist, but I can be a friend.

Dear depressed me,

You are still you right now, just with a little depression attached. Feelings are just feelings- they don’t define you, remember? You get to decide how today goes. Bring the darkness into the light. Text your friends who get it, write about it, make an Insta video. Just don’t hide it, ok? You know that it makes it worse. And also, you’re not the only one who feels this way, so don’t believe that lie either. You are not weaker, a worse person, a broken person just because you are feeling this way. You are just you, battling your way through today because this is just what it is.

Remember all of the amazing things that you can do because you are so sensitive to the world? You’re empathetic, and creative, and passionate. You connect deeply with God because you have to cling to him/her to survive. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but that’s a gift. You’re really awesome and you’ve got some really good stuff going on. This stuff, the hard stuff, is just a bump in the road, but it’s not the whole road.

You can do this, because you always do. Today is no different than those other days. One step at a time, deep breaths. There is another side and you will get to it.

Love love love,

Lizz

Getting Over Myself

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It sounds harsh, but it’s really not. It’s actually the most self loving thing I do for myself. It’s what I do when all other options have been exhausted, and all that’s left is me and a pile of things I am wallowing in.

Mind you, I’ve been in therapy for almost my entire life. I know all the coping skills and therapeutic jargon. I spent two months in a therapeutic wilderness camp and 16 months at a therapeutic boarding school. So you might say I’ve made a lifetime of working through my issues. That being said, I haven’t been able to rid myself of my humanness, and so, many of my issues still remain. I’ve learned over the years that there are times when I need to really nurture the sensitive parts of myself and times when I just have to get over it.

And the best thing is all I have to do is snap my fingers and voila! I’m over it!

KIDDING.

It’s a state of mind and active work.The thing I’ve been struggling with the most recently is my brand new post baby body. It is not easy to watch your body change throughout pregnancy, and even less easy to watch it stay the same after. For some, the baby weight comes off steadily. For others, like myself, healthy eating and balanced exercise does nothing. And guys, it’s been really hard. To not fit into my favorite outfits, a meltdown leading up to any event that I can’t wear Erics t-shirts to. My perfectionist little self doesn’t know what to do with this body that I can’t control. Everyone can see I’m not “perfect”-que panic attack. This struggle is the perfect “get over it struggle” and here is why:

  1. I am not currently struggling with an eating disorder
  2. I am doing everything I can (in a healthy way) to keep my body nourished and strong.
  3. I had a baby 8 months ago
  4. Hormones are still wacky

The above reasons show that I am in an overall healthy emotional state, doing my best to change my situation, which includes factors outside of my control. That last one is a huge one. Baby weight is out of my control. Totally. I’m doing my best and it’s still here. So basically I have two options.

  1. Spend the summer miserable and hiding in Erics old lacrosse pinnies.
  2. Recognize it’s not ideal, give myself grace, buy a few new outfits that work with my current self.

Spoiler alert: Ive chosen number 2. But it’s not over yet. Daily I must remind myself that it’s not the end of the world. I’m okay. It’s summer and I don’t have to wear pants if I don’t want to-YASSSS! My journal is filled with reminders. The mornings are filled with music that uplifts me and points me to Jesus. My thoughts repeat over and over “this body gave me Lilah. I honor this body for its strength”.

If I am not intentional, then choosing to get over it is pointless. You must get over it every single day, hour, second. Bettering ourselves is HARD work. That’s why sometimes we choose to just be crappy people or wallow in crappy situations. But wallowing steals joy and purpose. And I want both of those things in my life. What about you? What do you need to get over?

Love to you on your journey. It’s all so worth it.

Forgetting Jesus

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Jesus has long been my confidant when God just seems too big, too busy, too far away. Jesus has always made sense to me. He lived on this earth, experienced the bittersweet that is life. He cried (more on that later), got sick, was betrayed by friends. He was fully human. And so when I feel like maybe God is just a little bit out there, Jesus always makes sense.

And yet today I forgot about Jesus. Not completely. I woke up thinking about how it was Good Friday and how I should probably carve out some time to rest in the presence of God or to sit at the feet of Jesus, something Good Fridayish. But then Lilah woke up screaming, I burnt my eggs at breakfast, Eric got home around lunch time to let me escape. And all of a sudden my to do list was way more important. It was Loooonnngggg and I was itching to check off all my boxes (literally).

I just happened to be texting with my cousin this afternoon who is one of my mama peeps-she keeps me sane, and on track, and in the know since she’s seasoned. She told me about a beautiful service she had gone to this morning and I immediately thought, “oh right, Jesus. I should probably make time for him today” and then I literally cringed at myself. Ugh. I’m doing it again! My to do list is light years ahead of my desire to sit with Jesus.

But despite the fact that I might have missed the mark a little bit today, there are two things that I found myself thinking about all day today:

1. Jesus wept (okay this isn’t technically the Easter story, but who cares)

2. Jesus had help carrying his cross.

“Jesus wept (John 11:35)” has always been one of my favorite verses. It’s even proudly displayed in our living room. People give me all sorts of odd looks when they see it and the bolder ones ask if it’s an inside joke. Seems a little bit dismal, huh? Well not to me. This little verse screams HOPE to me. I feel like a kindred spirit with this Jesus, the one who cries when life is scary and sad just like me. I can get behind a God who cries, yes I can.

Similarly I love the image of a man from the crowd, carrying Jesus’ cross for him. Hallelujah, it’s not just me, the God of the universe has help when times get tough!

Last week was a nasty one for me for many many reasons. One of those weeks where you’re just barely bobbing above the surface of the chaos. I had a few meltdowns, and then a few more. I begged Eric not to go to work, and cried myself to sleep. That kind of a week. Eventually I called upon my friends, although it took me a while to get there. And they came through so beautifully! But I wish I would have remembered this piece from the Easter story-that Jesus needed help too. He couldn’t carry the weight of the world on his own, he was tired. I hope that I will remember this next time (because for sure there will be a next time) and I won’t hesitate to call on the people around me when I feel like I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

People, religion is messy, scary, really disappointing a lot of times. But I can honestly say that Jesus has always been a constant. He gets it, he’s been there, he knows. And so when nothing else makes sense, I will call on him.

Parenting-amazingly exhausting

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It’s like everything worthwhile in life. Beyond amazing, yet beyond exhausting. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, and yet I’d give anything for just one day to myself.

When I look back on my life so far I see this pattern. The things that are most worth it are the ones that stretch my every limit and leave me wondering, “can I do this?”. Author Shauna Niequist would call it the “bittersweet” of life. The real, raw, intense, excruciating is also the most beautiful, the most rewarding.

I love the bittersweet in life. I love the challenge and the uncertainty, the deep joy, and peace. But I also don’t. Because anyone who knows me knows that uncertainty when it comes to what’s next is NOT MY THING. I spend a lot of my time clinging to the illusion of control (working on it).

So God gave me Lilah Grace. The most beautiful little person I’ve ever set my eyes on. She is pure JOY. And yet she fights sleep like I’ve never seen. She won’t take a bottle. She knows exactly what she wants and my schedule is out the window. It makes me chuckle. There’s that bittersweet again. All the best things in life have it.

And if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m unbelievably exhausted both physically and emotionally. And I’m ridiculously happy. In the same day I’m texting Eric to “please for the love of god get home right away I’m going crazy” and sending him videos of our little lulu cooing away. I find it amazing that the two can go together even at all.

When I hit the bittersweets in life I always know I’m going to be learning and growing. Here’s to parenting, the most bittersweet thing I’ve ever done.

You’re a Good Mom If…

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For years I have heard mothers labeled as “good moms” and “bad moms”. As a middle class white Christian woman, most of the people I know are labeled by society as “good moms” (which is a whole other issue of discussion). However after working years in foster care, I have also gotten to know the ones that many call “bad moms”. And oh it breaks my heart. It breaks my heart that there’s this division between who is a good mom and who is not. A “good mom” is really one step away from a “bad mom” if we take away her resources. Could any of us really do it if we had a colicky baby in a one room apartment with no partner or family to support us, barely any money for food, and an addiction that has gripped us for years? And yet some of us have all the resources and struggle still.

Motherhood is NOT easy.

I want to scratch “good mom” and “bad mom” from our vocabularies. Because it produces shame, plants guilt, fosters hopelessness. I think many of us wonder if we are truly a good mom, regardless of how the world labels us. We wonder if we’re giving our little one everything they need, supporting their development, creating a healthy bond. But there are so many colors and shades of those colors when it comes to motherhood. We all do it differently. And that is more than okay-it is a gift.

You’re a good mom if you breastfeed or bottle feed, or whether you get milk from a donor whose producing like a farm cow. You’re a good mom if you vaccinate or don’t vaccinate-because both can be scary and the choices can feel hard. You’re a good mom if your baby sleeps on you all day or if they have a beautifully designed sleep schedule. You’re a good mom if your hair looks nice every day or if it’s in a greasy messy bun. You’re a good mom if your house is a mess or if it’s clean and organized. You’re a good mom if you lost all that baby weight upfront or if it’s hanging on for dear life. You’re a good mom if you struggle with a mental illness or if your seratonin functions like a champ. You’re a good mom if your kids have never had a Dorito or if it’s Dino nuggets for dinner every night. You’re a good mom if your little people get baths every night or once a week (if you’re lucky). You’re a good mom if your kids go to private school, public school, or are homeschooled. You’re a good mom if you’ve lived in the same house they’re whole lives or moved around a bunch. You’re a good mom if you back delicious treats for your kids or if you use your oven as storage. You’re a good mom if you’re up in the morning with a pep in you’re step or if you need 75 cups of coffee not to yell everything that comes out if your mouth. You’re a good mom on the days you have patience and the days you do not. You’re a good mom if your kid ends up in rehab, or if they struggle through a mental illness, or if they defy everything you’ve ever taught them. You’re a good mom if you love your kids and are doing your best-whatever that looks like for you. And sometimes that means dumping the kids on someone else for a few hours and crying under the comforter. Sometimes it means taking 3 buses to get to a one hour visit with your kids, trying not to cry as you wonder how you lost them. Sometimes our best is barely breathing. And sometimes we’ve got to pull up our bootstraps and do the things anyway. But we’re all different. Motherhood looks different for all of us. And at the end of the day all of our kids will need therapy anyway.

Mom Expectations-No Thanks

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Yesterday I got out of the house AND took a shower! Double win!  I spent my time out getting myself a 2018 planner because I’ve been without one for over a week now and I’m barely surviving (type A personality problems). When I am out on my own, I feel like I can breathe again. Lilah needs so much from me that sometimes I don’t even realize that I’ve neglected myself until there’s someone else watching out for her and I can just take a minute to be fully in my body. I don’t know whether it’s my own personality, or the pressure of our culture, or just this overall sense of fear that these moments will disappear and I won’t be able to get them back, but I often feel mom expectations strangling me.

It started when I was pregnant. The pressure to adorably capture every single week with a bump picture was suffocating. I never remembered, and part of me just didn’t care about doing it. But I would see other pregnant friend’s posts on social media and I would immediately panic because I wasn’t doing that. Was I missing something? Was I neglecting to capture these memories for my baby girl? And now she’s here, and the pull to capture every little moment, and document every smile, is even stronger. Sure I take a lot of pictures (have you seen that sweet little face?), and I journal most days and include Lilah milestones in that, but not a lot of planned memory capturing going on here. Of course I had high hopes going into this mama thing that I would create an organized online photo album and write all about Lilah’s day every single evening. But instead, our pictures of Lilah are hanging out somewhere in the cloud, and sleep is much more important to me at night than anything else.

Yesterday afternoon, after a particularly panicky moment in regards to my failure to organize my daughter’s memories, I found myself thinking about what is important to me from my childhood. My amazing mom kept journals and calendars for us and it really is fun to see what I was doing 2 weeks after birth, but honestly I can count on one hand the amount of times I have looked at those. But that picture of me running down the beach in my duck bathing suit? I look at that all the time. And that blanket I slept with until I was 10? It houses more memories than I can even explain. And above all else the most important things have been the things my parents taught me. The hours and hours a day my mom spent teaching me to read and write my name. The evenings when my dad would come home and wrestle with us until we could barely breathe we were laughing so hard. Those things above all else, I hold onto.  The other stuff, while sweet and fun to look at, isn’t a must. I don’t have to do it, and Lilah will be okay, I will be okay.

When wrestling against a certain expectation, I always ask myself if this would be important to the Ingalls family (you know, Little House on the Prairie). And what I mean by that is, was it something that they needed to survive or be happy? It’s my favorite way of bringing myself back to the basics. What do I need here? What does Lilah need here? Is this thing I am obsessing over really all that important? Did Ma and Pa keep endless memory boxes for Laura and her siblings? Nope. They didn’t even have photographs then and yet no one cared that they didn’t know what they looked like as a baby. And I bet that Ma spent way more time experiencing and way less time documenting. And hey, that’s not to say that I’m not going to bask in the beauty that is modern technology, but I’m sure I can learn a few things from the way that they lived their lives.

While I know I will forever battle these expectations of momhood- which bottles to use, or if co-sleeping is safe, or should you really give an infant Tylenol before shots-I am working every day to  create experiences whether I capture them forever or not. Documenting events will not be my obsession, but experiencing them. Lilah may not have a neat little picture album, and the journal of her first year of life may be filled with her mama’s own struggles and insecurities, but I will make sure that she has beautiful, challenging, comforting memories to hold onto for her entire life.

Nothing is done and I don’t care.

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It’s not in my nature to turn projects loose unfinished. I obsess over the little things until I am so tangled up in my own thoughts and feelings that I can barely function. So it is quite out of character for me to publish something on this blog of mine that’s still a major, slow, work in progress.

Yet here I am.

This morning when I woke up, it just hit me. I don’t care if this thing is perfect. I just want to write. I want to write for that piece of myself that needs to share my heart. I want to write for my baby girl, who will always know that her mama has dreams and hopes and stories. And I will write for all my friends out there who suffer in silence. Who carry burdens without saying a word. Who feel alone in a scary world, alone in the midst of a faith they can’t make sense of, alone in this world where expectations feel so high and grace feels so low.

What I am learning about myself is I am incapable of pretending. Of course there are times when I fake it-we all do. But in the general sense of the word, I just can’t. If I don’t live with my heart on my sleeve, something inside of me starts to shrivel. It’s always been one of those things that I could barely stand about myself. I always felt like the annoying girl who was prone to word vomiting all her life experiences. But then one day, Eric told me that is one of the things he loves most about me. My bravery with my words. How he never has to guess what’s going on in my heart and mind.

That changed everything for me.

So here I am. Messy blog, messy hair, messy house, messy life. I vow that this will be a safe place. Not only for others, but for myself. No expectations. No standards to live up to. Just a blank space to write it all down.

For The Days You Just Can’t.

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Sometimes I have one of these days every couple of months, sometimes they come all in a row for months on end, threatening to never leave.

For a little over a month now the days “I just can’t” have been hovering over me like a dense fog, allowing me to function but just barely. Our family is facing great pain, I am struggling with purpose, money is tight, and each time I find a job it seems to fall apart.

Defeated.

Have you been there? Are you there right now?

The other day I spent 12 hours on the couch. I had the day off, and I sat down to watch the news while eating breakfast and decided that it was a day I just couldn’t and so I didn’t. I planted my butt in front of an NCIS marathon and did everything in my power to love myself with grace for the entire day.

I think that’s the key to days when we just can’t. Sometimes we have to go to work and meet deadlines and feed kiddoes and run errands, and so we muster up all that is within us and we go and do it.  Maybe on those days we get a scone and caramel latte and all the strength of Jesus we can get. But every once in a while, when we feel like we just can’t, maybe we don’t.

Are you with me?

Maybe some days we stay in bed. Who cares?

And maybe some days we eat ice cream for breakfast lunch and dinner because it was a really hard day and we just need to have so much grace and love for ourselves.

I am learning this.

As I claw my way through the dark days, desperately clinging to Jesus, I am learning to have grace for myself.

I am doing the best that I can, you are doing the best that you can. And when it really comes down to it, there’s a reason for the days we just can’t. They mean something. It is our psychological response to something that’s too big for us. Sometimes that thing has haunted us for our entire lives, sometimes it’s just for this season, but it’s almost always something we can take a closer look at.

Hidden beneath every struggle is a better version of ourselves, if we can just listen.

So you who are sitting in a day you just can’t, or a series of days you just can’t, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. We can Skype if you want. And it’s okay if you’re eating cereal out of a mixing bowl, and haven’t washed your hair in 4 days, because I know that place.

Together we can do this.

An Open Letter To Myself On A Wednesday In February

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You are enough. You are enough. You are enough.

Hold onto that truth.

I know it feels like the world is spinning too fast and you can barely see straight in front of you. But keep moving forward. One step at a time. Moment by moment.

Deep breaths, baby steps. You got this.

Give yourself SO much grace.

Love yourself in every way you know how.

You can do hard things. You’ve always been able to.

You are not alone. Never have you ever been. The God of the universe is holding you in His hands. Can you believe it? He’s got you, there is nothing to fear! Lean into Him, let Him take it all from you.

Rest.

You are okay.

Nothing that you do or do not do defines you.

You are enough, just as you are.

Now snuggle into a million fluffy blankets, breathe deeply, and rest.

For you are so loved and you are fearfully and wonderfully made.