Tag Archive for: fear

Prioritizing mental health in the midst of this pandemic.

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I find myself staring off into space, unable to open my mouth to answer a simple question. I feel frozen in melancholy, stuck in a way I haven’t felt in years. As the weeks turn to months, one thing is very clear: this pandemic has been so very hard on us mentally. Not just inconvenient, but actually dangerous to mental health. Friends of mine who have never struggled with feelings of anxiety, depression, panic are feeling these things for the first time and finding it hard to know where to turn to get help. And still those of us who have known this journey for many years may be be finding ourselves in just the pit we dug ourselves out of many years ago.

We’re faced with a real predicament: protect the physical health of ourselves and others and risk a real mental breakdown or find the safest ways possible to meet our emotional needs while trying to ignore the judgement that might come from those who might assume we are not taking this pandemic seriously. Because the truth is we absolutely are, but we are not willing to die for it.

A friend of mine shared with me in confidence that she “broke down and took her kids to her mother-in-laws”. Her husband is working long hours and she (struggling with anxiety, OCD, and panic attacks) felt she had reached her limit. She admitted that she felt guilty for doing so. She was worried about the ways in which that choice might affect the physical health of those closest to her. She was between a rock and a hard place, trying to choose physical health over mental health in a situation where both could be dire.

Another friend of mine is bipolar, a wonderful mom of two little ones. She makes an effort everyday to keep herself grounded so that doesn’t slide into the hole of depression she knows so well. Sometimes it keeps her down for months, where she’s not even able to text those closest to her. But in the midst of this pandemic, she feels like she’s struggling. Really really struggling. Her best coping skill is going to the beach, sitting by the waves, breathing deep. She feels guilty about considering going to the beach for the afternoon. “How can I risk it?” She asks me. “How can you not?” I say.

Mental health is not secondary to physical health. We can do both. And maybe sometimes we have to risk it a bit with one to save ourselves from the other. For instance, how many of us are severely afraid of needles and yet we would get the blood drawn for the sake of our physical health? And how many of us are pushing ourselves to our limit every day mentally in order to do our part in flattening the curve of this virus.

Am I suggesting we all go dance in the streets and hug all of our neighbors in the midst of a pandemic for the sake of our mental health? Absolutely not. But if you are struggling, really struggling, and you know you have reached your limit, please remember that your mental health is not something to take lightly. Call your mental health professional or someone you trust for guidance in how to best meet your emotional need while adhering to the stay at home order to the best of your ability.

And stay safe. Physically. And mentally.

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. I’ve 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 knowledge 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 Friday dear friends!

When Doing Nothing is Everything

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I’ve always been drawn to excitement, adventure, newness, importance. I want to be a part of big things, and make big, beautiful waves with my little life. In Sunday School I was always taught that God had a big plan for my life. And so my little heart dreamed real big, like being the next mother Theresa, or carrying Jesus in my womb, or being a movie star. But what I didn’t quite understand is that God’s big plans often look pretty small and insignificant to us.

We search and search for that big plan for our lives we’ve heard so much about. But in reality, we’re already living it. Many of us won’t do a “big thing”. We won’t cure cancer, or become a well-known vlogger, or be the chef at Buckingham Palace. And the truth is, If we end up in any of those places, chances are that isn’t the “big thing” in our lives anyway. Because the little things, those are really the big things.

As I sit here staring into the eyes of my rambunctious little toddler, I’m wondering about the big things. Last week I turned down the opportunity to audition for a play I desperately wanted to be a part of. But the timing felt wrong, so I didn’t. And that felt like a much bigger “thing” a much more fulfilling purpose then choosing to be home to put my baby to bed every night. But I know, those little things matter. The cuddles, the diaper changes, the many “I love you’s”, the hand holding while I’m trying to drive. Those are really big things.

Sometimes people tell me I should write a book. In fact, I have some beautiful people in my life that believe in my big dreams more than I do. But the truth is, I may write a book, I may not. I may become a known author like my dad, I may not. But I’m learning not to care so much about the outcome, the goal itself. The meat of our lives, the shaping of who we are, it’s all about the journey. The good the bad, it all somehow means something.

Yesterday I had three panic attacks. The day felt like a total flop. Yes, I got some things done, but how am I making any kind of difference in anyone’s life, including my own, if I can’t even get through an allergist appointment without sweating through my sweater. But every panic attack is teaching me. It’s teaching me that I can mom even through really hard moments of anxiety. It’s teaching me to cling to Jesus because my moments feel out of control and scary. And it’s teaching me to slow down, to care for myself, to ask for help, to breathe deep. Important lessons that should not be ignored.

If you know me at all you know that I love David. David from the Bible that is. I love his story. Lowly shepherd boy, doing the dirty work. How boring to be a shepherd? How stressful to keep the wolves away from the sheep? How chaotic to herd all those fluffy little things exactly where he needed them to go. But guys, David became a king, and I’m sure you can guess how all of those mundane tasks translated into him ruling a nation. And yes, he might have kind of messed up a bit by having a dude killed so he could sleep with his wife. But the point is, he was just a human guy, being a shepherd, and God used that.

Okay, but we probably won’t end up ruling a nation or anything right? So what if we’re just a shepherd our entire life and it doesn’t amount to anything bigger? It always amounts to something bigger, we might just not always see the bigger or be acknowledged for it. Our lives have a ripple effect, causing shifts we know nothing about.

A few weeks ago our pastor spoke a bit about Mother Theresa. Now there’s someone who did something great, right? We can all see it, and secretly, we all want to live a life with that much purpose. But what struck me was what he said about her mother. She wasn’t extraordinary to the human eye, but she always welcomed people into her home. She told her daughter from a young age “never eat a mouthful without first sharing it with others”. That example she set for her daughter changed the world.

The little things matter, they really do. Because in the end, they really are the big things. So in the mundane day to day when it all feels like a jumbled mess, or when you’ve lapsed back into unhealthy coping skills, remember that it’s all important. It’s all about the journey. Maybe doing “nothing” is everything.

When Beau Was Born.

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Never in my life did I think I would give birth without an epidural. Mostly because I’d rather not be in more pain than I need to be. But also because I really didn’t think I could do it. And when my baby’s head was inching its way out of my body in the triage room bathroom, I was more terrified than I can ever remember being.

My labor with Lilah was odd. It wasn’t like how I’d been taught in my birth classes. “5-1-1” was what they told me and then head to the hospital. But my contractions were never that way. One minute, 30 seconds, three in a row, a few minutes between. They were all over the place. And in the early hours of November 19, it was just the same.

Around 4:30am, Eric urged me to call my doctors office after I announced that I felt like my pelvis was splitting in half. “Doesn’t sounds great, Lizz”, he said and handed me my phone. The doctor on call assured me we had time, after all my contractions were all over the place. Even after sharing my previous birthing experience, she told me to wait until 7am to come in. To be honest, I wasn’t even convinced of my own labor, and was afraid I’d be sent home, so I agreed. A half hour later I hobble down the stairs amidst intense sweats and bouts of nausea, stopping every few seconds to get through another wave of pain. This baby was on its way, that much I knew. I just had no idea how “on its way” he really was.

We pulled into the hospital around 5:20am and parked on the roof. I refused to let Eric drop me off at the front door. I was terrified to be left alone. My contractions were now one big block of pain. As we exited the elevator a surge of pressure caused me to wonder if I was about to give birth right there on the sidewalk. We waddled a bit faster and I collapsed in a wheelchair at the door. Up on the 8th floor I could barely give them my name. They wheeled me back to triage with the promise to check me in properly, once I got settled. We sat in the hallway while they prepared the triage room for us. A janitor reminded me to breathe through the pain as I contemplated how I was ever going to make it an hour until the anesthesiologist could get there.

Once in the room I decided to try and pee before the poking and prodding began. No sooner had I sat down, I felt this undeniable urge to push. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. It was like my body had taken over and I was just a crying, blubbering shell. Eric thought my cries of “he is coming now” were just my dramatic nature (which in his defense is completely valid). But once he realized there was indeed a head coming out of me, he ran to the hall. A few nurses flooded into the bathroom, took one look at me and began shouting instructions. I remember telling one of them “I can’t do this” and she said to me “but you already are. You’re doing it!” *mental note to find that nurse and buy her anything she wants*

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror before they waddled me out into the room and onto the bed. I looked straight into my eyes, those same eyes that have overcome so much deep fear and many dark days. I remember thinking in that moment, “I think I’m going to die or at the very least pass out”. But the body is an amazing thing, the female psyche is an amazing thing.

Somehow my shoes and sweatpants made it off and there I was, my head hanging off the bed, pushing my baby boy into the world. 3 big pushes and he was out. I have never been so relieved in my entire life. I have also never been so proud of myself or so certain that I can do hard things.

I don’t always believe that I can get through hard things without breaking. But all signs point to the fact that I have, and I can, and this little guy will always be a symbol of that. In the weeks since, I have already been hit with moments I don’t think I’m strong enough to face. I don’t always believe that I can get through hard things without breaking. But all signs point to the fact that I have, and I can, and this little guy will always be a symbol of that.

 

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.**

Thankful and a Mess.

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My most vulnerable posts get the most social media attention by far, as do my writings. As humans we are drawn to humanity and in the same breath struggle to accept it. It’s the contradictions in life that keep us whole and balanced. But I’m not sure yet if that is widespread knowledge.

It still seems like a foreign concept that someone could be miserable and yet not on the edge of a mental breakdown. Or that someone could be joyful and yet drowning in sorrow. Or even still, that someone could be defeated yet motivated. But we navigate those waters every day. Maybe we don’t even realize it.

I always preface my “negative” feelings with the “acceptable” ones. For instance I might say: “I am so thankful, but I am also really emotionally tired”. Both are true, but one is more culturally acceptable, and so I fall into the trap of leading with that one so that I don’t look quite as messy.

But when did messy become such an undesirable thing? We wear shirts that say “bless this mess” and “hot mess express”, but underneath a trendy t-shirt are we willing to sit in the actual mess with someone else? Or do we just want to fast forward to the happy feelings and organized emotions. Is our goal to fix things or experience what needs to be experienced?

Being human is weird, and it’s hard, and if we’re really honest with ourselves it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’m overwhelmed every day by my humanity, but I’m convinced it’s the very thing that brings me straight to the feet of Jesus. Actual Jesus. Not media Jesus. Not the Jesus of the modern evangelical church. Real Jesus. The one who gets what it means to be human and emphasizes loving ourselves and others IN THE MESS.

So basically messy is in right now, and so is joy. And both of them together? Well that’s just downright trending.

Love you guys, my messy readers.

Round 2

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By the grace of God; Eric, Lilah, and I will be welcoming a baby into our family in November. The last few months have been emotional and physically exhausting, but we are so very grateful and do not take this gift lightly.

In the spirit of full vulnerability, I want to share my initial reaction to my pregnancy:

Pregnant. The digital pee stick told me so. Well to be fair it told me “no” twice first. But, in the middle of a hectic morning, “pregnant” flashed across the teeny gray screen. My stomach leaped with excitement. Another one. More cute fingers and toes, sloppy kisses, and little baby snores. But quickly followed the dark thoughts that know how to steal my joy: more sleepless nights, postpartum emotions, breastfeeding, sickness, tantrums, not knowing what the hell I am doing. Can I even do this? Two? Can I even handle one? Actually, let’s be honest, can I even handle myself?

But this is what I know to be true, when I am uncertain of my own abilities:

“Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ to my right, Christ to my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down”

-St. Patrick

We are so thankful for this adventure. And I will try to be as honest as I possibly can throughout.

Love to you all, my friends!

Lizz

The Place That Brought Me Back To Life.

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I look at this picture, stare straight into the eyes of this woman, and I catch my breath. There was a time I hated the eyes that stared back at me, banged my head against the mirror in agony, shuddered at the thought of my future. My life is not perfect, but there is a strength and a hope that was never there before. I am thankful for my journey. So thankful.

Spring triggers the memory for me. The smell of new rain on the earth, bonfires, the feel of warm sun on my face. The most unlikely of places brought me back to life 12 years ago.

We weren’t really a camping family. Sure, I ran around barefoot all summer and climbed trees like a monkey, but nothing that quite prepared me for this.

I arrived terrified beyond anything I’ve ever felt. The truck bumped along the gravel driveway for over a mile before grinding to a hault next to a brown ranch building. I went in the front door with only the clothes on my back, and came out ready for the next two months of my life. My hiking boots pinched my feet, and the cargo shorts they’d given me clashed terribly with my new yellow t-shirt. I climbed back into the truck, refusing what they called “the last supper”, a Big Mac and fries, before making our way slowly up the mountain to the drop off point.

We stopped at the edge of a thick forest, and the door opened beside me. My driver helped me out of the truck and clipped my pack to my back. Another man was waiting for me by the woods, ready to take me to what was next. I wanted to scream and cling to the bearded man who’d brought me here. I’d only known him for a few hours, but the sound of his truck driving away felt like deep abandonment.

The new man hiked in front of me as I stumbled along behind. My pack was too heavy for my small frame even though it had barely anything inside. By the time we arrived at the campsite, my hips had been rubbed raw.

Little did I know the hardships I’d experience over the next two months; the agony of missing family events, of finding out I would not be going home again, the physical pain I would overcome as I hiked through the Blue Ridge mountains. But deep suffering does something to us doesn’t it? When we are stripped of everything we find something underneath it all. We find grit we didn’t know was there. We find those many wonderful things God gave us as babes that we forgot were even there.

I struggle with suffering. I want it to go away. In fact, I spend much of my life subconsciously trying to avoid it. But when I stop and really consider, suffering is what grounds us. It grounds us to God, ourselves, each other, our humanity. Over the years has come this understanding that for us to fully live as we’ve been created to live, we must experience suffering. Our choice is how we to choose to navigate through the hard.

Fear in Faith.

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I feel vulnerable, afraid, unsure. Am I doing it wrong? Am I searching too much, learning too much?

For years now I have been exploring my faith on many different levels. And I don’t just mean, tearing through my bible with a highlighter. I mean studying other religions, following the lives of people whose beliefs differ from mine, pushing myself into corners that are uncomfortable for me.

This morning as I lay in bed with a book in my lap, I realize that I am terrified. I thought I’d already done it-already entered into the scariness or doubt, seeking, not knowing- and yet I am finding myself in yet another layer of seeking God. One that feels entirely new to me. I feel like a vulnerable lamb in the middle of a forest.

We know faith is scary, right? It’s believing what we cannot see and cannot fully know. But even more than that, the exploration of faith, of God, of our own humanity, is so incredibly scary. And to be honest, I don’t really want to know anything else. I don’t want to explore anymore, I don’t want to know myself better, know God better. I’m just exhausted. Terrified. I could really just throw a temper tantrum about it all.

But something in me is bigger than all of that fear. This desire to know God so deeply that it pours out of my very energy. And in order to do that, I MUST journey, ask questions, doubt, meditate, swim in the unknown. It’s the only way.

I hate this feeling. This feeling of falling through the air. I’m a control freak, a perfectionist. This goes against everything that keeps me sane. But I don’t want to sit in a bubble of comfortability. I want more. We are called to more.

You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. -Jeremiah 23:19

When Doing Nothing is Everything.

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I’ve always been drawn to excitement, adventure, newness, importance. I want to be a part of big things, and make big, beautiful waves with my little life. In Sunday School I was always taught that God had a big plan for my life. And so my little heart dreamed real big, like being the next mother Theresa, or carrying Jesus in my womb, or being a movie star. But what I didn’t quite understand is that Gods big plans often look pretty small and insignificant to us.

We search and search for that big plan for our lives we’ve heard so much about. But in reality, we’re already living it. Many of us won’t do a “big thing”. We won’t cure cancer, or become a well known vlogger, or be the chef at buckingham palace. And the truth is, If we end up in any of those places, chances are that isn’t the “big thing” in our lives anyway. Because the little things, those are really the big things.

As I sit here staring into the eyes of my rambunctious little toddler, I’m wondering about the big things. Last week I turned down the opportunity to audition for a play I desperately wanted to be a part of. But the timing felt wrong, so I didn’t. And that felt like a much bigger “thing” a much more fulfilling purpose then choosing to be home to put my baby to bed every night. But I know, those little things matter. The cuddles, the diaper changes, the many “I love you’s”, the hand holding while I’m trying to drive. Those are really big things.

Sometimes people tell me I should write a book. In fact, I have some beautiful people in my life that believe in my big dreams more than I do. But the truth is, I may write a book, I may not. I may become a known author like my dad, I may not. But I’m learning not to care so much about the outcome, the goal itself. The meat of our lives, the shaping of who we are, it’s all about the journey. The good the bad, it all somehow means something.

Yesterday I had three panic attacks. The day felt like a total flop. Yes I got some things done, but how am I making any kind of difference in anyone’s life, including my own, if I can’t even get through an allergist appointment without sweating though my sweater. But every panic attack is teaching me. It’s teaching me that I can mom even through really hard moments of anxiety. It’s teaching me to cling to Jesus because my moments feel out of control and scary. And it’s teaching me to slow down, to care for myself, to ask for help, to breathe deep. Important lessons that should not be ignored.

If you know me at all you know that I love David. David from the Bible that is. I love his story. Lowly shepherd boy, doing the dirty work. How boring to be a shepherd? How stressful to keep the wolves away from the sheep? How chaotic to herd all those fluffy little things exactly where he needed them to go. But guys, David became a king, and I’m sure you can guess how all of those mundane tasks translated into him ruling a nation. And yes, he might have kind of messed up a bit by having a dude killed so he could sleep with his wife. But the point is, he was just a human guy, being a shepherd, and God used that.

Okay, but we probably won’t end up ruling a nation or anything right? So what if we’re just a shepherd our entire life and it doesn’t amount to anything bigger? It always amounts to something bigger, we might just not always see the bigger or be acknowledged for it. Our lives have a ripple effect, causing shifts we know nothing about.

A few weeks ago our pastor spoke a bit about Mother Theresa. Now there’s someone who did something great, right? We can all see it, and secretly, we all want to live a life with that much purpose. But what struck me was what he said about her mother. She wasn’t extraordinary to the human eye, but she always welcomed people into her home. She told her daughter from a young age “never eat a mouthful without first sharing it with others”. That example she set for her daughter changed the world.

The little things matter, they really do. Because in the end, they really are the big things. So in the mundane day to day when it all feels like a jumbled mess, or when you’ve lapsed back into unhealthy coping skills, remember that it’s all important. It’s all about the journey. Maybe doing “nothing” is everything.