Homework

In my therapy each week, I'm sent home with homework. The last 2 weeks have been tough....having to start changing the way I think and process and view myself(!) is no small task. Yet I'm determined to do the work and grow and change and be the best version of myself. This week, my homework is to write something, anything, everyday. As someone who longs to BE a writer and write wonderful,  witty, inspirational, encouraging, words (dare I say the word books).....who loves to share my experiences to help myself clear my head AND hopefully let anyone having similar issues know they are not alone....you'd think this would be an easy assignment. Given that she gave me a topic, it is....but it isn't.

I've written everyday but the first day. I published one blog already this week. It was slightly controversial, I suppose, but the kicker with anxiety is the over-thinking. Did I upset anyone? Was I clear in my thoughts? Does anyone think less of me? Am I now thought of in a way I don't want to be? Am I a heretic? Did I show love? Is my crazy showing?


This morning, I busted out my red journal that  my daughter has taken over with her doodles, and wrote the following about what anxiety is, for me:

Anxiety is being aware of every. Single. One. Of your flaws
Anxiety is being ashamed of your gifts and talents for fear you may come across too strong/with an ego
Anxiety is being afraid to fail and afraid to succeed
Anxiety is both your straight jacket and your security blanket
Anxiety is thinking you can do everything and unable to do anything
Anxiety is wanting to control the things you cannot
Anxiety means everything is death
Anxiety fuels an actual diagnosis by confirming fears and beginning new ones
Anxiety is how I've decorated my house and I want to burn it down
I'm not free. I'm not at peace. I may have happiness but I have no joy. It is both the chain on my ankle and my crutch. It lingers behind every smile, every bedtime, every trip....waiting to steal any glimpse of peace of mind. It's a pot that always boils.

Anxiety is crippling. It makes me question every relationship. It forces me to replay every conversation and worry that I said the wrong thing. I focus too much on what others think of me and if they like me rather than just living my life on my terms and as a woman of faith. As a Christian with anxiety, it only fuels the feelings of inadequacy. Statements like, "just give it to God" sound so nice, but it's harder than that. And while I know those statements are made in love and a desire to be encouraging, they sting like a whip. I can't just give it to God. I can't shake it. Random visual--You know when you get attacked by the sand bug things in super Mario brothers 3 and you have to jump a bunch to get them off of you? There's me. Trying to jump away the anxiety that's  stuck to me. It's like a chicken nugget from McDonald's....they don't really taste that good, but they do in their way and it's nearly its own kind of comfort food...familiar and consistent. And then you realize they're nothing but pink sludge. Anxiety is pink sludge. #themoreyouknow

For as long as I can remember, I have known fear. I have memories as far back as 2 years old. I remember turning 3. I used to walk down my hallway, as a child, with my hand on my back because I always felt like something was behind me. When Chris and I were first married, I had our apartment blessed because at 26 years old, I still felt like I was being followed. That feeling stopped, but the fear remains. The fear of death, of my children dying, my husband dying, my parents dying...I fear an accident that could leave my children motherless and Chris a widower. Then I worry about him getting remarried to someone who can do my job better than me, that he could love more....my children would only know her as their mother. Y'all.....

These are REAL fears for me, even though my current reality is nothing close to that. Anxiety does not care about real. It focuses on possibilities. It focuses on the what ifs. It reminds you, constantly, that you're not special or immune and highlights all of your insecurities. Anxiety is a thief....it steals peace, kills joy, and plants doubt. It makes me question the God I'm trying so hard to know. Is He good? Is He loving? If it's all for His will, who is to say His will isn't my tragedy? Anxiety makes you FEEL all the fear, doubt, worry. It feels like exhaustion because it is exhausting. The reality, though, the real question is--does the way anxiety makes me feel equal truth?

Lord, I hope not....

The Gong Show

Im trying something new tonight, folks, so get ready!!! A MOVIE REVIEW!! Wootyhoooooo!

If you're anything like me (35 year old mom who still likes a Disney movie, and considers those that came out in the 90s pure classics), you were anxiously awaiting the live action beauty and the beast. I could not wait! I love Emma Watson. Even though I'm still mad at Dan Stevens because of his departure from Downton Abbey, he made a great Beast. I had my reservations about ol dude playing Gaston (he simply wasn't BIG enough), but gosh darn it he owned it. Then comes my beloved Josh Gad playing LeFou. He was the best cast character, to me, prior to seeing the film.

Then, however long before the premier of the movie, comes the uproar. "LeFou has a gay storyline!" Egad! And then boycotts and blog posts and lamenting over explaining something to their children. I've got three words for this: ay yi yi.

Y'all. Cmon. This is a FAIRY TALE. The characters are not real. I'm not going down the path of a story about "beastiality" either because that's just as dumb. It's made up....and besides, he was a human, just turned into a beast because of MAGIC. So, can't really be beastiality. Duh. And they didn't smooch til he was turned back to his human form. On and on....HOWEVER, this whole storyline with LeFou was blown WAY (and I mean it, people. WAY!!!) out of proportion. Had no one said anything, anyone seeing it (Christian, Jew, liberal, conservative, peacock) would have chuckled and gone on their merry way. But because a big deal was made over a 2 second shot on the screen....Lord, help us.

So many people are offended by SO many things anymore. Prayer is offensive. Liberals are offensive. Women are offensive. Men are offensive. Conservatives are offensive. Religions are offensive. Companies are offensive. Disney making reference to homosexuality ever so slightly is offensive and results in a boycot. I'm ALL ABOUT people staying true to their convictions and their conscience. I'm not here to spout off at the mouth about anyone being wrong in what they feel is right. I AM here to say that there are gays in this world. There are gays in your communities and neighborhoods and, please Jesus, in our churches. And a mass boycot over something so truly non-life shattering as LeFou.....what does that show?

I'm well aware of what the Bible says about homosexuality. I'm well aware that conservative christians see it as the sin that is celebrated in ways that other sins are not. I get it. I hear you. I see you. However, in my life, I have been BLESSED by members of the gay community. I am fortunate enough to have met and become friends with and love and BE loved by some of the most amazing people who are gay. I struggle with it from the stand point of Christianity.....and what makes them happy, and consequently me happy for them, may not be what makes them holy. And yet that is not for me to DECIDE. I am called to love and have relationship with people. I thank God above I have the good knowledge of those in my life, both past and present, who are gay. What makes me grateful for them has nothing to do with their gayness, but everything to do with their hearts, their compassion, their humor, their talent, their honesty, and their love. Anyone who may be reading this who didn't go see Beauty and the Beast bc of the LeFou/Gaston stuff, know I'm not judging or condemning or any of that. It is just so heavy on my heart to say something....and this is how I handle the heavyonmyheart stuff. I've gotten up from my chair 3 times while writing this to eat spoonfuls of shells and cheese, cold from the pot on my stove. Who of you will boycot my blog for gluttony? Who of you will refuse friendship with me bc I chose to eat 3 (yes 3) cheeseburgers in one day this week? Who of you will be concerned for my soul bc I made light of it and joked on myself for eating all the things and pretty much celebrated it by tossing back 2 glasses of wine? You're not going to boycot me. If you did ANYthing at all it would be to come to me in love and ask me what's up. Because what came first with Jesus and the woman at the well? Telling her to go and sin no more? Or a conversation?

Relationships. Love. Those are the things. I'm not saying you're a bad Christian or person for not seeing Beauty and the Beast. Lord knows. (But you ARE missing Audra McDonald and that is a true travesty. She is amazing and I want to be her when I grow up.) I just feel so much for people, and I hurt when they hurt, and I become sad and frustrated when I see fellow Christians thinking they are following the Word of God by not engaging at all(!) with gay people. This world, overall, has become a world where it is more important to be right than to show love.

1 Corinthians 13:1 If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn't love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

Nevermore.....

I have wanted to blog so many times over the past 10 months....I have a ton of random scriblings on church bulletins and my journal pages, but nothing that I wanted to actually show the world. Not that what I was thinking wasn't worth the paper it was written on, but because I feel like EVERY SINGLE TIME I publish something on here I'm wearing all black and have a crow on my shoulder. Gloom and doom. While I don't consider myself to be a negative or very sad person, a passerby of this blog would probably argue otherwise. On here it's all of the sadness, none of the stories in my life that are hilarious or just special. And this one is NO DIFFERENT! Hang on, friends. It may not be funny, but it's about to get real. When you're a woman, who has the body that she's both given herself (i.e. Post baby mid thirties all the starches) and been given (i.e. Autoimmune disorder genetics all the pain), it doesn't just wear on your emotions and physical being, but your very spirit and your mind. Mental illness is something that can be traced way on back up in my family tree. It hasn't skipped my generation. I have anxiety issues. I've started having depression issues. I'm dealing with body image issues and just general self-worth. To say my autoimmune disorder is crippling is completely understood and makes me a sympathetic character in my story. To say I have mental illness makes some people kinda recoil back and both not want to know all the details AND think they already do. I get it. Even I, with all of my Facebook overshare, thinks discussing mental illness out in the social media open may, in fact, be too much. But oh well. Please do not think I'm suffering from suicidal thoughts or self-harm. That's not my particular issue. I'm so terrified of death, the one thing none of us can prevent, that I wouldn't dare take any of that upon myself. I've cried at the thought of my own funeral. It's both extremely egotistical and pathetic all at once. No judging. I'm currently on a low dose of generic Zoloft and recently started some one on one therapy. So far, both are just ok. The therapy is in purge mode, and I'm not convinced the meds are doing much of anything. I worry about everything, including being too much for my therapist. Or making her think SOMEthing that I didn't mean for her to. Because I control therapy. Obviously. ::frustrated emoji faces:: I just came home from a quick trip down to my favorite hometown of Mobile, Alabama. My best friend from there experienced the loss of her mom, and the service was Saturday. I needed to go, both for my friend and myself, and I am so thankful I was able to get away. Twenty hours in a car for a trip that surrounded a death will do a lot for you...especially if you're a mom of three and suddenly On said car trip SOLO. It was peaceful. It was quiet (when I wasn't singing JUST LIKE Aretha). It was reflective. People, I am a mess. Today, like all of my mornings for the past month, I woke up in pain. I went to bed last night, like all of my nights for the past month, in pain. I slept not in restful bliss, but in tortuous naps...where I thought more than once to just get up and be done with trying to sleep. My shoulder, my hips, my low back, my neck....all hurt. Then today, I am exhausted like I am everyday...both from general lack of rest as well as the tiredness that accompanies my disorder. To say it's hard to function is an understatement. It's all a mess because I'm frustrated with the state of my house (clutter), but am both too tired and too overwhelmed to just fix it. Im disengaged with my children and scared I'm a bad mom, that they notice mommy is tired and frustrated more than they notice my intense and fierce love for them. I want to fight and scream and conquer and do and BE, but instead....I don't. I am not. I cannot. Most evenings are spent staying up too late, scrolling my phone for something to numb the feelings of numbness. i feel like I go about my awake times like I go about my sleep....in spurts. I lay down but I don't sleep. I'm awake but I'm not alive. I go through the motions. I hit the basics and nothing beyond. I aggravate myself. I can only imagine the frustration of my husband and I'm terrified to even think if my children are affected by their less-than mom. I do not say this for pity or attention or some weird need to be told, "no you're not that way!" I am that way. I'm hyper aware of myself, especially the negative parts of me. maybe I'm too hard on myself, as far as not acknowledging the good things about me as easily as I can the bad, but I know what my days look like. I know what happened here today. I know that I could have done and been better. Yet at the same time, I couldn't have. My physical ailments prevent mobility and mock me. I just want to rest and feel rejuvenated, but for me to be still means my body turns to stone and turns on me. Yet for me to be active and keep my body loose means I need to exercise and get good rest. My body can't take the movement, my body can't take the stillness. Likewise, my mind can't take the movement, and my mind can't take the stillness. I look at my naked body and when my eyes finally reach my face after the difficult trek around my thighs, belly, and arms...my eyes reflect both my soul and my physical state: sad. Only if I were placed in cement could I be more immobile in both body and spirit. After all of that, know I am seeking help. Actively. I finally have a therapist but I do utilize those closest to me for venting and reassurance, love and guidance. I am as honest as I can possibly be with my husband when I'm having a bad day. While I don't want to embrace my issues, I do have to acknowledge them. They exist. Me trying to hide them or make excuses does no one any favors. i am not sad all day everyday. But I am sad for a bit here and there everyday. It's hard to have my thought pattern. It's hard to live in a broken body. It's hard to be a woman and not feel as if you're living up to the American standard of pretty. I'm vain. That's hard for me and I'm not asking to be told I'm pretty. My face is not my issue (hence 1012 selfies on my phone and in your newsfeed), my body is, both in how it feels and how it looks: Disappointing, all the way 'round. It appears to me as the manifestation of how I feel---sick and tired. I've only recently really started to accept that I do have both this physical disorder AND this mental illness. I've always talked and joked about it, that I'm a unicorn and hypochondriac and crazy. So many jokes. I even poke fun at my "90 year old self" because hell. It's how I feel! But some days, like today, and other days I've posted sad, depressing, could have been written by Edgar Allen Poe blogs, i just have to write out the sad and shake it off. I will feel better when this is done....after I obsess over whether or not I should have actually published this. I write to work things out as much as I write to be real and relatable and transparent and to maybe even help someone who feels the same. We are not alone, none of us. I am not the only person who feels overwhelmed, or less than, or crazy, or fat, or anxious or sad. And neither are you. I also know I'm pretty and loved and funny and generous and kind and empathetic and loving. Just today the physical pain is making the mental pain exacerbated. And I've medicated with Oreos and blogging, because that's real life. ❤