mommy is broken

{I wrote this months ago when the anxiety and depression had been gathering like clouds and finally broke--wild and storm like--on my heart.  It was a very difficult time. But, praise Jesus, I'm doing much better now. He's brought me healing and given me the freedom to share about it. May He use my story to make you brave about yours. The picture is an old treasure that I never shared and speaks to the sweet relationship I've been given with my boy. Thank you for reading. }

There's something I wish I could tell him. This child of mine with his young soul that wrecks me by it's beautiful presence in my life. There's is something he needs to know:

Mommy is broken.

I know he's too young to understand the complexities of that statement--and I wouldn't have him bear that burden anyway--but I feel that he deserves some sort of explanation. Because maybe in the precious innocence of his young mind he's wondered what's wrong with me lately. Perhaps he's tried to figure out why I was sobbing into Daddy's arms (again). Or why I can't play with him because I'm too tired . Or why I yelled at him. I know, I'm so sorry. It scared me too.

First, he needs to know that Mommy never wanted to be this way. It shatters my spirit that I can't be perfect for him. He deserves that. Big words like antepartum depression and sin nature are terms he can't understand so, I'll just say what I said before: Mommy is broken.

Yes, I am broken and I need help.

Sometimes that means his Grandma comes over to clean the house and play cars with him. Sometimes that means Mommy has to ask him for a big word called 'forgiveness'. Sometimes that means Mommy cries a lot and can't tell anyone why.

But it never means that I'm going to stop fighting back the darkness for his sake.

It never, ever means that I don't love him.  

>>>

One day he's going to grow up and discover the uncomfortable truth that he doesn't have it all together. He's going to realize, like I did, that he's not perfect. And that, in fact, it's impossible for him to ever reach the unattainable goal of perfection. I don't want him to fear this.

My prayer for him is that he doesn't run from his humanness. I pray he doesn't construct a mask and hide behind it. May he never be ashamed to admit the one truth everyone has to come to terms with: we're all broken. No one escapes this. No one gets a free pass to never making mistakes or suffering the consequences of a fallen world.

I'm broken and so is he. And that's ok.

I want him to know now what I wish I known a long time ago: that humbling yourself and saying the following three, life giving words will heal him more than hiding ever will.

"I need help."

Trust me when I say that it's alright to need help; to be on the receiving end of being offered grace. This is a beautiful thing. Because when you admit you need help because of your brokenness you get to discover how loved you really are.

>>>

The other day I had to explain to him why I was staying home from the grocery trip Dad was taking him on to give me a break.

"You comin' wif us?" he asked with eyes peering into mine like blue moons.

"No." I said simply, not able to explain to that my depression had won that day and why I really needed rest. "Mommy is staying home."

He kept staring right into my face and perhaps he saw the heaviness there because then he asked, "You sad? You cryin'?"

I knew then that he'd had put it all together in his own little way and it broke me. I couldn't stop the tears from really coming then. I never wanted him to see your mother like this.  

But maybe it's a good thing after all.

Maybe the fact that he's see how broken I am can also show him how I'm not able to do this alone; how no one can do life alone. The truth is, I can't live without grace, without love. And, as painful as it is to reveal, it ultimately proclaims for all to see--and especially to my child--how desperately I need Jesus.

I might not want him to see me this way but, if it shows him how God's love really does conquer all, then it's worth it. If it shows him that sometimes the strongest thing he can do is admit how weak he is, well then, I believe my battle with depression isn't in vain.

And so, I thank God for gift of this burden and for Him giving me Behr to be reminded of why I carry it. I'm never giving up and he's the reason I have hope to keep bravely walking forward.

Lake Cumberland, Spring 2017

Fair warning: this post is heavy on pictures and light on words. If only for my own family's sake, I want to start journaling like this again. It used to be a near daily practice and I miss it. Plus, I'm trying to exercise this blogging muscle before baby girl gets here. There's just something about a thoughtfully put together blog post that I love getting to look back on. 

All that to say, here's some personal documentation of our recent trip to Lake Cumberland. It's a simple place. The cabins are dark paneled and plain. There's not much to do but fish, breathe in the landscape and marvel at the sun playing in the myriads of trees. Come to think of it, I could always use more of all that. 

Things I want to remember about this trip: Behr being so excited to see the sun each morning. Coffee in tiny white mugs. All of us sleeping on the king size bed together. Slanted light through the old blinds. Jonathan looking rested. Behr never being able to pronounce 'granola bar' right. Watching my husband do the same things with his son at this place that his dad did with him. Reaching 31 weeks with our girl. Being reminded of how precious my time is with these two and how undeservedly blessed I am by their love. 

As silly as it sounds, sometimes I compare vacations or getaways that other's go on. I try to measure up our trips to see if they'd be as exciting or worthy of sharing about. It's embarrassing really. Isn't it a good enough reason just to travel and fall back in love with your dear ones all over again? And to be able to savor home in a fresh way once you return? I believe so. At least it is for me. If that's my mark, than I'd say this trip can be classified as worthy and good. 

an invitation

Thinking about--or wrestling with--the concept of community. An admittedly overused word, I know. I feel like it's been tossed around so flippantly, i.e. hashtagged into oblivion, that we can't taste the true meaning anymore. 

But don't we all hunger for it just the same?

A while back, I posed a question about doing some live videos on Instagram. I asked if anyone would join me? I received message after message saying, "I'll be there! I'd love to connect with you in that way!" I felt this stirring deep down, like perhaps this was the starting of something? 

>>>

My body is tired. 

On Saturday, I couldn't stop crying. Sobs heaved through my body like ocean waves. I felt like I was drowning for hours. Salt water soaking my skin, limbs flailing out like branches against a stark white sky. The reason (at least we believe) is thanks to a tiny pill I took after hours of pregnancy nausea the night before. We've discovered that my body reacts in a highly toxic way to certain medications. It's awful to feel like you're not in control of your body, your mind. It's terrifying to feel that alone. 

For what feels like months now, Behr hasn't been sleeping well. He wakes often in the night and so early in the morning that it's still black as pitch outside. As my bulging, third trimester body carries him from the crib to the couch he always tells me that he wants the sun to come up. Me too, buddy. Me too. This kind of exhaustion seeps past my skin and burst the hollows of my bones with it's weight. 

Like, I said. I am tired. 

I don't share these things to complain (honestly) but because I want to speak about the hard things. I want to say there's certain species of hope that springs from being buried in dark soil. 

>>>

I keep feeling this tension. The strain between suffering and the beauty born from it. Can you feel it to? How we can sometimes find ourselves wading into waters we never really planned on. And how lonely it can feel out here in the surging wild? Maybe there's a way to fight our way back to one another. Maybe there's away for us to create glowing, pulsing havens in the dark where we can hold each other safely. 

I want to carve out that space. Perhaps on Instagram, maybe in a newsletter, maybe in more live chats. I'm really hoping to discover what ways I can better reach out and show that it matters to me; this fostering community. I'm not saying social media interaction can heal all wounds but, maybe it can be a tiny flicker, a spark that burns fire in your chest to do more, love more. 

So with that in mind, here are two things I want you to know about:

I'm doing an Instagram Live this Thursday (April 6th) and you're invited! Would morning or evening work better for you? I understand that we all have lives and children and jobs but if you could just sit for maybe a few minutes with me, what time works best? Topics being briefly touched on:

• Things I do to keep me sane throughout the day. 
• My tips on how to be a creative and a mama.
• A fun giveaway of random, lovely items that I personally think anyone would love to have show up in their mailbox (like freshly roasted coffee or the new book from Coffee + Crumbs, for instance). 

And lastly, click HERE to listen to a playlist that I've lovingly curated to shower some hope over you tonight. I'll be listening and breathing deeply with you, friend.

As always, I'm so glad you're here.