Praise God For Hope

This picture used to be my pride and joy, but the past six months or so, I've tried not to look at it too much.  This family of mine has been through a pretty rough period, and it's not over.  

I never knew before that one I loved so much was capable of causing so much pain.  

But the healing process has begun.  We are rebuilding.  And would you believe it, we're already celebrating.  Tonight for Mother's day some of the siblings and their families went to Mom and Dad's house.  We had great food.  We shared laughter and memories.  We talked to Elder Monnett via Skype.  And when the guys were cleaning up in the kitchen, they randomly paused to serenade me in the living room.  Dad got Youtube to play accompaniment while Kendall sang the Philippino national anthem and Spencer danced the River Dance.  It took me straight back to the good old days. Growing up in a family of entertainers, there is never a dull moment.

And the truth is, the good old days weren't as good as I thought they were.  There was pain I couldn't see.  And now that pain is out in the open where the sun will dry it up once and for all.  We are moving forward and there is hope.  

Praise God for hope.  

The Breakup

Home school and I have decided to see other people.  It feels like a breakup to me, the kind where you say it's mutual to save face, but you're really being dumped and you're still pathetically in love.

TJ and I have decided to put the younger kids in a Montessori charter school this fall.  Ezra is too old for the charter school and anyway, he loves his online school, so he'll be continuing at home.  Isaiah is old enough for kindergarten, so he'll be going for a half day.  I began exploring the idea of this school mostly because Maria Montessori's ideals line up so closely with my own--but also because my depression has been harder to manage this spring than ever.  The decision was pretty much clinched when I asked the kids if they would like to go to school with their cousins, and they jumped at the idea.

I feel that God is leading me in this new direction: I hope that by lightening my load I can heal and be a happier, better mom and wife.  Paradoxically, the thought of no more home school in my life depresses me beyond all reason.  True to my usual form, I've been indulging in all kinds of what-ifs about how good a job I've been doing at teaching the kids, all kinds of pity parties about the fact that the kids want to leave me, and all kinds of willy-nilly waffling about whether or not I can go through with it. Thankfully and sadly, the kids are still in love with the idea, and they keep me accountable.

Friends and loved ones have been trying to show support during this change, but because in my heart I'm still truly a home school mom, it's hard for me to hear them without feeling judged one way or another.  I end up irrationally defending the institution like a girl who still loves her ex.  Some people express admiration that I tried so hard and for so long to do something that they consider nearly impossible.  They say funny things like "it's good that your kids will get some socialization now," or, "it's just healthy for a mom to have some time to herself every day."  And I listen to the love instead of listening to the words.  Other friends might feel in their hearts that I'm making a mistake--I'm not sure--but they're kind and show support anyway.  And still others have the amazing balanced view that I'm just following the Lord's will for my family as best I can figure it out. It is this self-image, and not the Hero Who Attempted the Impossible, and not the Failure Who Burned Out and Gave Up, that I'm trying to embrace.

I am struggling to reconcile my gospel ideals of fortitude, patience, and perseverance with my current situation.  I feel very much like I'm betraying my home school sisters in this community by walking away.  We stick to it, through thick and through thin--we cheer each other on, confident that if we can just get through the rough patches that occur in all of our lives, our families will thrive and be blessed.  All these past four years I've had so much positive direction from the Lord on my efforts in our home school, and we've had so much joy and success.  It is difficult to believe that he would direct me away from this fertile ground.

I was surprised and uplifted by relevant counsel for my life coming out of dreary old Jacob 5.  As we discussed the olive tree allegory in Sunday School, I was impressed that the Lord grafts his children where he wants them, for their growth and for the growth of the Kingdom.  Callings change, life circumstances change, relationships change, all whether or not we want them to.  The Master Gardener surely has directed this change, and therefore I trust we will still have a bountiful harvest.  

Cry More

This is a sacred space for me.  Just looking at my blog brings peace to my heart.  I have always tried hard to follow Mrs. Nielsen's example by only writing when there is something uplifting to say.  This is why you haven't heard from me a lot lately.

Unlike most of the tortured artists of the 21st century, I find my depression dampens creativity instead of fueling it.    But I've also found creativity to be a powerful antidote, and so here I am.

Last week I finally made it in to see a therapist, and we talked about a few things that have been troubling me.  My big takeaway, though, was that I am grieving and I need to honor that process more.  I literally need to schedule more time for crying.

I have gotten into the habit over the years of crying for a few minutes with TJ at the end or beginning of a hard day, and then drying my tears so that I can sleep or get moving.  Crying for too long, I thought, was just a waste of time.  But grief is different from depression, and lately I have felt those accumulated tears as heavy and unwieldy as a completely full, five-gallon bucket.  Every time I made a wrong move, tears spilled everywhere.  In church.  In yoga.  During home school.  I have often felt that I could cry for days and weeks straight and never, never run out of tears.  But never having given myself the freedom to find out how many tears were in there, I just didn't know.

My therapist encouraged me to take as much time as I need to periodically just cry until I can't cry any longer.  So I came home, and when I had taken care of everyone's needs, I locked the bedroom door, went into the closet and began to pray.  I poured out my heart the Heavenly Father, enumerating every weight and every pain in my heart, and then I sobbed and sobbed.   I cried my way through half a roll of toilet paper, and then I felt done.

The relief I felt was powerful and lasting, truly as if I had dumped a hundred pounds of tears.  I went about my daily activities with a sense of lightness and even well-being.  I can't believe how healing it was for me to cry it all out.

My bucket fills up more slowly than I would have thought, but I've cried in the closet twice this week and at other times to a lesser extent.

I don't know what exactly my Heavenly Father has in mind for me at this time.  It is hard to find purpose in suffering.  I hope that by acknowledging and truly expressing my grief, it will pass more quickly. 

So often when I'm in the midst of depression, I feel that I am defined by it--that this is the new me that everyone is going to have to get used to.  And I fight against that perception.  I fight by trying to be cheerful.  I fight by holding on to the things that used to be important to me, even when I'm not feeling it.  

But today I realized that when Jesus Christ introduced himself to the Nephites, some of the first words out of his mouth were to recount the agony he had passed through on their behalf: it had become one of his chief defining characteristics.

"And it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand and spake unto the people, saying,
Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.
And behold, I am the light and the life of the world; and I have drunk out of that bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father in taking upon me the sins of the world, in the which I have suffered the will of the Father in all things from the beginning."  3 Nephi, 11: 9-11

Of course, he exemplified bearing burdens in the best way; he became refined by them, and he used them to glorify the Father.

I'm trying to be like Jesus.  And that means that the weight I'm bearing is defining me in a way.  A good way.

I'm not going to lie, this week was harder, and next week looks even worse.  But Thursday was a bright spot for me.

I went to yoga for the first time this year.  The New Years' Resolutioners clogging up the yoga room for the first couple months of every year make it way less fun, so I stayed away completely until this week.  I was surprised by how much peace and relief I got from practicing again.  I wasn't aware of how much my body and mind missed yoga.

Thursday nights TJ and I go to sing with the St. George Chamber Singers.  Usually rehearsals are fun, but we're getting closer to our concert date and the pieces are really starting to come together. Chamber music feels like heaven when it's done right, and we did a lot right this week.  Very healing and soothing to my soul.

Several loving friends have reached out this week with love and prayers.  Thank you so much.

I try to make this a whine-free zone, but today I just need to share where I'm at.

My depression has gone from manageable to unmanageable.  My tricks and hacks and boosts are not getting me above water anymore.  My eyelids are swollen from crying all the time.  I can't sleep.  I can't focus.

I'm going in to see a good therapist sometime soon, to help me manage grief over my recent loss and the attending feelings of stress, anger, and despair.  It feels like a step back, since I felt I graduated from therapy about ten years ago, having sorted out all my negative patterns and beliefs.  And I'm not excited about the work ahead.  Cognitive therapy is a lot like physical therapy after a traumatic injury.  You have to go through a lot of extra pain to ensure proper and permanent healing.

But I know it's a step forward.  I choose healing and hope.  I choose not to hide my condition and let it fester.  I have learned from experience that pain, like Lanston Hughes' "dream deferred," can be a dangerous thing:

What happens to a dream deferred? 

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load
or does it explode?

If you can spare a moment, please pray for me and my loved ones.  And let me know when I can return the favor.  

Blogging my Way Whole

Guys!  My blog just topped 10,000 views, most of them in the past year!

Some of you big-time bloggers out there will laugh, but I need you to keep in mind that I'm not a big-time blogger.  A year ago I was lucky to get one or two views per month.

I felt inspired to take my blog public so that I could use it to share my testimony and my experiences. I would still blog about my family and my faith, but I started to be more open about my struggle with depression. I wanted to liberate others to talk about the battles they fight and I wanted to give them support and hopefully some practical advice.

Mostly I wanted to give credit where it's due.  My Heavenly Father has helped me to rise above my disease in very real ways in the past ten years, and I wanted to share that wonder and that hope.  I just didn't know it was part of his plan to use this blog to help me yet again.

I began by writing about how my faith and my depression coexist in He Gives Me Hope.  I was blown away that people liked what they read and wanted to share it.  It gave me so much joy that my miserable experiences could be turned into blessings for others.  I kept writing.

Surprisingly, opening up about my condition has really alleviated my symptoms.  I think this is because this blog has been an opportunity for me to serve and also to create.

In October 2008, I found myself lucky enough to be present in the conference center in Salt Lake City for the Women's Session of General Conference.  I will never forget the power of Dieter F. Uchtdorf's message, "Happiness, Your Heritage." He taught sisters that we will have greater joy if we strive to serve every day and create every day.

"The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul.  No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before... 

Creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment.  We develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty... 

You may think you don't have talents, but that is a false assumption, for we all have talents and gifts, every one of us.  The bounds of creativity extend far beyond the limits of a canvas or a sheet of paper and do not require a brush, a pen, or the keys of a piano. Creation means bringing into existence something that did not exist before--colorful gardens, harmonious homes, family memories, flowing laughter."

Okay, I'm in danger of quoting the whole talk right here, so I'll stop.  But the powerful impression Elder Uchtdorf left upon me that day paved the way for this blog.  And this blog has paved the way for deep joy for me.

Journaling is one of the most commonly recommended practices for healing and mental health, but writing a private journal has never been a joyful process for me.  My private journal entries are dull and unpolished.  But knowing that loved ones and even strangers are reading this blog impels me to think more critically, to tap into my creative self, and especially to do the work to get my real personality onto the page.  It is a joy to craft a funny phrase or record a great story in the hope that it can make someone smile.

The joy of creative writing has been the hook that motivated me to write about my experiences.  And writing about my experiences has brought me great peace and healing.  I have felt the Spirit testify to me of my divine worth, of my Father in Heaven's love for me, and of the sanctity of my life.  I have felt gratitude for the struggles that have humbled me and made me seek out my Savior.  And as I have revisited painful memories with the lens of faith, I have been able to see that He never deserted me. That is healing.  And it could not have happened without you, my friends.

My lonely road is now packed with fellow travelers, arms linked together.  Acquaintances who've read the things of my heart have in turn shared the things of their hearts, and now we are acquaintances no longer--we are sisters.  You are the greatest gift this blog has given me.  Thanks for bringing me hope, healing and joy by being a part of this journey.

To celebrate the blessing this blog has been in my life and hopefully in yours, I've added a couple of gadgets to the left.  Check out my most popular posts, and some of the ones that are popular in my own brain.  ;)  And don't forget to share, it seriously makes my day.