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!

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!

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.

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

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.

Naps Change Everything

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I’m obsessed with sleep these days. Constantly thinking about my warm comfy bed, or more often, how to get lulu to stay asleep long enough for me to close my eyes. She’s a professional sleep fighter like her mama. Not sure why, but sleep feels like letting go, which is hard for me, and apparently my poor daughter has inherited her mother’s odd sleep habits. Sorry babe!

But oh how a good nap soothes the soul, both hers and mine. We’re different people when we rest, kind and gentle. When I’m tired, I can barely make a sandwhich, I snap at everyone, use flowery language because no filter. I’m really a mess without sleep.

It’s gotten me thinking a lot about rest. How our culture leads us away from true rest, and yet how much we all need it. I don’t know about you, but I get anxiety when I don’t have my phone. For years before we had Lilah, I needed the TV on to fall asleep. The quiet rest is what is missing. It’s hard to shut off our brains isn’t it? A little boring to meditate or sit in silence. One of the reasons I love to run is because it’s a rest for my soul, yet my body is still moving. I think that’s as close to real rest as I’ll ever get.

But I wonder how our lives would change if we rested more. And I don’t mean naps or Netflix binges (although nothing wrong with a little Greys anatomy). What I mean is a break from all the noise. Driving to work without the radio, doing chores with just our minds to occupy us, taking a walk with just ourselves-phone away. As silly as it sounds, many of us are fearful of being alone with ourselves. Our thoughts and feelings can feel scary or overwhelming. But it’s a disservice to not know ourselves. Every corner of our heart and minds should be explored. How can we love well if we don’t take the time to rest and know who we truly are?

In a world where there is so much noise, so much doing, so much chaos, my soul craves true rest. I find myself floundering when I can’t find that. And while I know true rest is found in the presence of God, I also know that the noise all around me makes it hard for me to hear God, see God, follow God. And sometimes I’m too angry about life’s hardships to seek and so I just rest, and that is enough.

Connection to self is connection to God. Knowing God is knowing self.

Even if the sight of the word God on this page makes you cringe and roll your eyes. Know that is my journey and my truth. Whether you bring God into it or not, rest your soul today.

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.

Making Real Memories-resisting the urge to capture perfection

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For many many years of my life I struggled with an eating disorder. Perfection was my goal and my expectations were unattainable, and yet I starved my body to try and reach it. Still years later as I live in recovery and continue to learn to love food and nourish my body, the need for perfection creeps in every so often. And when it does, I expose it. Because I will never go back to that place. I was made for so much more. My weight does not define my purpose or my beauty. But that doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t try to pull me back to that dark place, where all that mattered was on the outside.  For me and many mamas I know, those months after childbirth, when everything is a little bit bigger and clothes don’t quite fit, can be a source of so much frustration, sadness, self doubt.

Two weeks after Lilah was born we had a photographer in our home to capture our new little family. I spent hours at the mall with Eric a few days prior, trying to find an outfit that would hide my new mama body. After lots of dressing room tears I found something that I thought would kind of work. Hopefully the photographer would get all of my good angles so that I would look skinny. The day of the shoot I cringed as I put on my outfit. As I put on my makeup I thought to myself, well at least my face looks okay, and I tried not to stare at the lumpiness spilling over the waistband of my jeans. The photo shoot itself was magical. I was on cloud nine, in my own little world with my Eric and my Lilah. I remember thinking, what could be better than this?

A few weeks later we got the pictures back and they were breathtaking. Our sweet little baby looked angelic, and all her tiny features were captured so perfectly. And then there were the family moments, the mama and Lilah moments. Those were breathtaking too, freezing those moments of connection in time. But my eyes couldn’t help but drop down to the thighs that were quite a few sizes bigger than what they once were, and the belly that hadn’t yet shrunk from housing my little girl. I cringed again. I decided I would just post the pictures that didn’t showcase my new size, that way no one would notice that I wasn’t “perfect” anymore. I would just frame the ones where I wasn’t one of the main subjects of the picture. That would keep me hidden.

Fast forward a few weeks, to right now, this moment as I sit in bed watching my baby’s chest rise and fall as she sleeps. The moments. Oh how precious they are. I want to remember as many as possible, bottle them up and save them forever. And then I realize, ALL the photographs we have of these first few months are so precious. The ones of us giving Lilah her first bath, where I still look pregnant and puffy, but my smile stretches from ear to ear with pure happiness. And still to come are the Christmas pictures where I am still 50 lbs over my pre-pregnancy weight, and nothing quite fits me yet. But am I willing to sacrifice the memories just because I am not currently meeting my own standards of perfection? Lord no. NO NO NO NO NO. I want to remember. I want to look back on these pictures and remember how my body grew this little person, and fed this little person, and spent nights rocking and burping this little person. I want to remember all the squishiness, every single pound.

And when Lilah is older I will resist the urge to mention how huge I was when we look through her baby photos. Instead I will say, “look how happy mama was to finally have you in her arms”, “look at her smile and the way she looks at you”. Those were the best days baby girl, the very best days.

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.

 

 

 

Relaxing Into The Lull.

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I do everything without stopping. Eric tells me that watching me eat can be kind of gross  because I barely stop to breathe. 

I apologize. That doesn’t sound very pleasant to watch or listen to.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have always been looking ahead to the next thing. Which in many ways is characteristic of all of us. We can’t seem to just settle into right now and trust that it’s just as important as what is to come.

We’re all waiting for the next thing.

I am waiting right now. Waiting for what I’m “supposed to be doing”.

I am in the lull between what was and what will be.

Friday was my last day at a job that I have had for 3 years. For many reasons, It was time for me to move on. 

So here I am, in the lull.

Right now, it’s the place between a job that I was ready to leave, and whatever is next. 

A place that normally I would shuffle through with my head down and a scowl on my face.

But finally after years of missing out I know now that I cannot possibly afford to waste it.

Wishing and waiting for what is next robs us of right now.

I will not let what’s next rob me of what’s now.

I have this gift of time with no expectations. 

What an opportunity. One that I cannot afford to waste with fear and the cultural pressure to “figure it out”.

Right now is a gift just like what’s next will be and what was before me was.

Every moment that we are living and breathing has purpose.

We can’t count on what’s next. All we have is right now.

 

 

picture courtesy of Holley Gerth http://holleygerth.com/free-words/ check her out, her writing is cool water for the soul!