Darkness

Today, my 4-year old reminded me that last December (her memory is a thing of miracles) I bought silly putty for another child -not her. And she was sad.
And she's still sad.
So shouldn't we go to the store NOW?  And buy her some NOW?

Sadness must be chased away, right?  It feels unnatural.  And so it is, maybe, to us when we are brand new and heaven-fresh.  But part of being mortal is feeling sad.
What do we do with sadness?
Chase it?  Keep it?
I chose Door #3: Have it in for a cuppa and observe it.  Ask it stuff.  Like why? Why are you here?  And why are you so big right now?  And do you have something to show me?  Teach me?

So I like books.
And in one of the finest works of Literature to ever come out of the bravery of the Bronte minds is a line from Jane Eyre.  Jane Eyre is teaching her pupil how to pencil sketch and simply says, "Remember, the shadows are as important as the light."

The line sticks like glue to my veins.

By nature, I am bubbly and light.  My home décor is full of pops of bright color -so is my closet.  I open windows always.  We just bought a car with a sun roof and I feel like I was just born.
Life can really begin now that sunlight can filter into my car, f'real.

I used to chase sadness away with movies and food and gossip because in my light-hearted and sun-filled soul, sadness = wrongness.

But my light-hearted and sun-filled soul now realizes that the brilliance in the sun and light only comes BECAUSE of the darkness and sadness.  They are equal partners.  My bright colors wouldn't pop without darkness to contrast.  Darkness deserves reverence.

So I like art.
There's been a few pieces of Christian art that have punched through my feelings and left me with a deep sense of longing.  I want them in my house sooner than later.
But they are dark.
DARK.
That used to be a deal-breaker for me, but now?  The darkness in these paintings is just as important as the light that emanates from the window over my kitchen sink.

The first one is "Worlds Without End" by Greg Olsen.  The first time I saw this painting, I felt some deep resistance, but the more I sat with it, the more I felt a deep attraction to the stillness.

This second picture is also by Greg Olsen and something of a companion to "Worlds without End" and depicts a younger Jesus with his mother, Mary.  It is titled, "For Just a Moment."

Third (and last) is this beautifully dark piece by Liz Lemon Swindle titled, "Against the Wind."  I can't stop looking at Christ's hands, His wet robes, His strength, His surety.

The shadows are as important as the light.
The sadness is as important as the happiness.
The night is as important as the day.
Each and all deserve equal reverence.

Freedom

Currently listening to:


As I've continued reading on in Desmond Tutu's, "Book of Forgiving," I've made a conscious effort to highlight the word "free" every time it pops up.
Free, freedom, freeing -beautiful words.  Words I want in my life.

About a year ago, I was aching over some family stuff -hurting over the choices a loved one was making.  I love them so much, and I was watching them make some crazy choices... I think what hurt most of all was knowing that the choices they were making were pulling them farther from me.  They'd already been pulling away, and I was missing them as it was.
They were actively pulling away.
One night, it was hitting me hard.  The ache hit hard.  I couldn't sleep, and I just started praying.  Tears flowed.  I can't say whether I cried or prayed myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up and rolled out my yoga mat.  I sat in silence, my eyes closed.  I created some space in my mind, and as I did, I felt God speak.
"That which we seek, we shall find."
Yes.
Simple.
God always speaks to me like that.

My loved one was finding the life he was seeking, and I have the power to seek my own truth and stand in it, even if I sometimes shake, even if I sometimes fall, even if I scare others.

Benjamin Franklin said he spent his life seeking truth, and I feel like most of us are out there doing the same thing.
John Jaques penned what became the lyrics to "Oh Say, What Is Truth":

Oh say, what is truth? 'Tis the fairest gem
That the riches of worlds can produce,
And priceless the value of truth will be when
The proud monarch's costliest diadem
Is counted but dross and refuse. ...

Then say, what is truth? 'Tis the last and the first,
For the limits of time it steps o'er.
Though the heavens depart and the earth's fountains burst,
Truth, the sum of existence, will weather the worst,
Eternal, unchanged, evermore.

Truth and freedom seem -to me -to be synonymous.  Freedom is truth, Truth is freedom.
Forgiveness pals around the same block.

As I've delved deeper into Tutu's recommended meditations, journaling exercises and stone rituals, I've found forgiveness and some miraculous healing.

A dear friend of mine recently said she feels like having a relationship with Christ reminds her of the "kissing scene" in Hitch where Hitch tells his buddy, "you go 90%, let her go 10%."
God goes 90%.
The work I've been doing has been my 10% and over the weekend, God showed up 90%.
It was breathtaking.

I was able to release pain I didn't even know I was holding.  Was it while I was journaling?  Or meditating?
No.
Though I believe both practices are key healing tools.

It was because I was seeking.
I was journaling, praying, meditating, seeking.  And then I was living.  Showing up for life, for my messy house and busy kids.  Showing up for my health as best as I could.

And in the middle of the showing up, a miracle happened.
An unplanned, unscheduled organic miracle.

And today, I feel the serenity of freedom.

Tutu and My Little Warrior Woman

I watched Wonder Woman last Thursday and cried because of so many right reasons.  Thursday was the 4th day of this new cleanse I'm doing.
I've never done a cleanse before, and I think as part of working my Step 7 (humbly asking God to remove my character weaknesses), God has basically just targeted everything I used to scorn and mock and brought it front and center into my life.
That means I'm gluten free too, folks, in case you're keeping track.

As I began this cleanse, hoping to give my intestines space from irritants and give them a spa day to heal, I was terrified.
I use food for comfort and fun and rewards.
Today, I'm one full week in and the effects have been really hopeful.  For the last two years, I've only felt let-down by my body, as if it had lost the ability to heal and was only trekking downhill toward knee replacements and pain-pill popping.  But one solid week in, and my body is responding really well.  My joint inflammation has been significantly reduced, and I've sluffed off some (what I think is water) weight.  I feel light, in every sense of the word.
Darkness and heaviness are exiting stage left.



A few days into my cleanse, God reminded me that last summer I read Desmond Tutu's, "The Book of Forgiving." (affiliate link) It comes with meditations and journaling exercises that I avoided last year, but this year, God said, "It's time."
I've taken full advantage of this cleanse by exercising at least 20 minutes per day and making my daily morning meditation practice non-negotiable.
God is calling on me to HEAL MORE.  This is shoulder-to-the-wheel healing time.

In order for me to heal fully, I need a safe space.  I can create my own safety -something I didn't know 7 years ago. Right now, I've added some definite boundaries in my life because I can cleanse for weeks and forgive 70 x7, but if I'm not safe, I will never fully heal.
Because My Little Warrior Woman comes out and won't sleep.  I can't heal unless she's asleep.

When I'm not safe, she comes out.  She fights.  It looks and sounds like control when she comes out.  I try to manage the level of pain that's inflicted on me and my kiddos.  I fight, I shield, I protect.
She's my mini-wonder woman.
I love her.
BUT
I can't HEAL with her on the warpath.  She only comes out when I'm in unsafe territory, and this means for me to walk the path of healing, I gotta get OFF the battlefield.  Create my own safety instead of waiting for the enemy to stop firing, if you know what I mean.

So last night and this morning, I did.  Boundaries set, battlefield in the rearview.  My Little Warrior Woman is sleeping now.

Healing can commence.

As I've delved into Tutu's "Book of Forgiving" for the second time, I'm really just pleased all over again.
I'm not good at forgiving.  I'm really not.
This book has given me a "HOW" behind the whole entire process without an ounce of shame.  Nowhere in it's pages are the words, "You were raised with a Bible in your home and you don't GET THIS?!  You must be an idiot."
Over and over, Tutu affirms that forgiveness isn't easy, sharing his own experiences and those of his loved ones.
A few stand out quotes I wanted to share from the first chapter.
Speaking of Christ, he states:

He must also have been able to obliterate the signs of the torture and death he endured.  But he chose not to erase that evidence.  After the resurrection, he appeared to his disciples. In most instances, he showed them his wounds and his scars. This is what healing demands. Behavior that is hurtful, shameful, abusive or demeaning must be brought into the fierce light of truth.  And truth can be brutal. In fact, truth may exacerbate the hurt; it might make things worse. But if we want real forgiveness and real healing, we must face the real injury.

That quote struck something in me -I'd never, ever thought of Christ's scars in that way. He showed his wounds and scars.  Healing demands that we show them, maybe not publicly but we must face them.  We must speak them.  That's how forgiveness starts... by simply looking at the truth of what happened to us and bringing it into the fierce light of truth.

At the end of the chapter, there is a beautiful poem in which we find the words:

"...I am bigger than the image you have of me. 

I am stronger.

I am more beautiful.

And I am infinitely more precious than you thought me.

I will forgive you.

My forgiveness is not a gift that I am giving to you.

When I forgive you,

My forgiveness will be a gift that gives itself to me."

I have ben practicing the recommended mediation in the chapter -it is helping me to visualize forgiveness in a way that I feel is helping me to spiritually create it, even though I haven't physically done it yet.
Tutu also includes a "Stone Ritual" at the end of every chapter.  He recommends selecting a stone to use while reading and working through his book.  I chose to use a hunk of rose quartz because it's pink.
And I like pink a lot.
Pink and sparkles.
I bought a sparkly journal just to go with my journey through this book.  As Tutu says, it is my own "book of forgiving."

For the first "Stone Ritual," I held my rose quartz in my hand for 6 hours (it ended up being seven on account my sleeping through a few of those hours) in my non-dominant hand.  I did that yesterday and then answered some questions about it today.

It was a really cleansing experience for me.  The exercise also has you list people I would like to forgive and those I would like forgiveness from.  I've been stuck on Steps 8/9 (making a list of all people we have harmed and become willing to make amends to them all and then go forward and make those amends) for over 2 years, and this book might just be the game-changer for me.

It just might.

God has led me to it.

I'm cleansing in so many more ways than one.

From my own book of forgiving:

#5) In what ways was carrying the stone like carrying an unforgiven hurt?

Carrying the stone is like carrying an unforgiven hurt because it hinder and binds me.  There is a certain freedom in forgiveness that I can't access right now.  I'm learning from resentments and anger, but only that I am anchored to a cause I do not believe in at my true core.  And holding the stone was literally stinky, just like holding resentment is figuratively stinky. I am capable of carrying the stone, just as I am capable of carrying resentments and anger and victimization. But carrying the stone hindered my routine health and well-being practices (like dishing up food, interrupting my sleep, making it hard to open my water bottle, and messing with my bathroom time), and carrying resentments, anger and victim-thinking also interrupts the natural flow of my health and well-being.  I've never known life -can't remember a time -when I had access to the freedom forgiveness and grace offer.  I have said that I fear losing my freedom -facing bondage of any kind -but I live in the bondage of "hinderment."

Meditation

{this post contains affiliate links}

Five years ago, if you had told me that I'd be meditating everyday -that meditation would completely change my life, I would have laughed out loud.
Because I thought meditation was for crazies.

Meditation has been my greatest recovery tool. Period.

Meditation is the grace's vehicle -bringing it to cracks in my broken heart and damaged brain. It is where I commune with God each morning and come back to live from the divinity within myself.

Last night, I was wondering to myself what my life would be like without betrayal trauma.  What sort of person would I be?  I think of the amazing people I've met, the truths that have sunk down deep into my soul.  Maybe someday I would have found a meditation practice.  I'm not saying betrayal trauma is the ONLY way I would have found meditation, but I am saying that it DID bring it... and it brought it rapidly.  I really do feel like healing from betrayal trauma has put me on a fast track in many ways -a fast track to letting go of what I can't control (others, the past, the truth).

I am a pretty open person, so I talk openly about what I'm up to with others.  As meditation comes up, people often will ask me, "How?"

I wanted to share some of my process today.  I recently wrote about some discomfort I've got going on, and while I've been sitting with it and learning from it, meditation has been an anchor for me.

This video is a gem -it isn't even two minutes long:

See?
It's that simple.  SIMPLE is the key to meditation.


I first found meditation by accident.  In early recovery, I found a yoga video on Amazon, and at the very end, the instructor walked me through a body scan while I was lying down.
She had me tense my arms, shoulders, and chest and then release.
Then my leg muscles and release.
She walked me through sending breath and release to my internal organs.
At the end of the whole ordeal, I was completely relaxed -all tension was gone from my body and mind.  I had never, NEVER felt anything like it.  I returned to the video a few more times, but I soon found that I didn't actually want the physical work out... I just wanted that part at the end.
I went to youtube for help and found a myriad of "body scan guided meditations."  From there, I found guided morning meditations and guided meditations for anxiety.
I wasn't consistent in these meditations, but I accessed them when I felt I needed them.
Eventually, I returned to the practice of yoga.

Taura -THE Taura I talk about when I talk about my yoga practice -gave me a book by Baron Baptiste:


In this book, Baptiste guides the reader through 40 days of yoga and meditation.  He gives diet advice (which I didn't follow on account of some chronic health issues) and tells inspiring personal stories.  The book is filled with pictures to help the novice.  A dear friend of mine is a yoga instructor and she and I worked the program together using the voxer app (she lives out of state).
For the first week, Baron Baptiste has you meditate for 5 minutes.
The next week, for 10 minutes.
Then 15.
Then 20.

That was really a game-shifter for me.

I downloaded the "Insight Timer App" and began using their timer.  They tracked my progress, awarding me stars when I reached certain milestones.  I began guiding my own meditations, and though I still frequently use guided meditations, I found the freedom that comes from sitting in my own stillness -no noise, no voices.  Just me.
And soon, it was me and Christ.

My meditations are now filled with whatever affirmations or visualizations I feel I need.  I use crystals given to me by my sweet geologist brother, and I sometimes smudge my space with some palo santo wood (also given to me by my brother who I don't get to see often enough).


My meditation is constantly shifting and growing.  It changes according to my needs at the time, but one thing remains constant: it is my greatest healing tool.

In the 12-steps, step 11 is not to be checked off quickly.  It deserves a big space, a huge chunk of time, energy and devotion.

This morning as I finished my yoga and sat in my meditation spot on my couch, the words came to mind, "Not as a world giveth."
The world is stock-FULL of stuff that can bring us some measure of peace -not all of which is bad.  But nothing brings me the level of peace that Christ does, and meditation is the space where I access that otherworldly peace -it's the place I go when I'm homesick for heaven.

Foundations

My mom once fell off a horse and then fell into a coma for a few weeks.  As she woke up, she only wanted to listen to a few select albums including The Oak Ridge Boys Christmas album.  As I grew up, I found that Mom's penchant for listening to the same albums over and over and over was just... how she was.
How she is, brain damage or not.
There's still certain albums I won't touch with a ten-foot pole because it reminds me of that day in Elementary School where I took a bite of what was probably my 5,000th peanut butter and peach jam sandwich and had to run to the trash can because I almost puked.
So. literally. sick. of. them.

One of her favorites was the LDS Church Primary Songs -not the musical tracks, but the tracks with little kids singing.  There wasn't a single one I didn't come to have that sort of PB/Peach Reaction to.
But I gotta say.
Those lyrics, they do stick like peanut butter.
This morning, I keep thinking about this one: Where Love Is, There God is Also.

I've been thinking about how you could easily switch it up a bit to, "Where Chaos Is, There Addiction is Also."
I look at old family videos (from 2009) of my two oldest crawling around our floor in diapers and there is just stuff everywhere: old pizza boxes, piles of paper, clothes.
Some of that is because, yes, I had TWO KIDS IN DIAPERS.  But there's so much more to those videos.
We talk a lot about the chaos and disconnect that occurs with addiction, but there's also a sort of lethal form of SCARCITY that no one really openly talks about.
Our furniture was used and torn, but we were dead sure we couldn't afford anything else. Money was too scarce.
We would talk about how we needed new clothes but couldn't afford them, yet our house was strewn with clothing we only kind of liked but couldn't seem to part with.
We talked about how we didn't have enough time or money or or or...

In truth, at our cores, we believed that WE WERE NOT ENOUGH.  By the natural flow of the laws of the universe, because we believed in scarcity, scarcity showed up for us -ever constant, ever depressing.

I was so steeped in scarcity that I never EVER paid full price for anything, so I always ended up with 5 shirts on clearance that I wasn't ever sure I liked but thought I needed because my other shirts were getting too old or too small.
Scarcity brought on chaos the same way I push my babies in a stroller... they are beholden to one another.  And is it just me, or are they both wrapped up in a frigid layer of fear?

Rooting out scarcity and chaos hasn't been a quick fix.  No Condo Method or Fly Lady could have fixed my issues.
This has been a Jesus Fix, through and through.

Sometimes it got much worse before it got a smidge better.  For months at a time, I had to QUIT CLEANING altogether because of shame.  I found every time I did dishes, I was tense and stressed.  I had to finish them and be perfect about it.  I wanted to make my husband happy.  I HAD TO BE ENOUGH -clean enough!
It turns out, I never once did the dishes because I was grateful or felt true love for the offerings of food on my table.
I only did dishes because I was afraid of being messy, because I wanted others to be happy.

It was the same with laundry and vacuuming, with sweeping and dusting.  I was a homemaker, trapped in a hellish prison of workhouse shame.
Cleaning was -I thought -MY MAIN JOB and I was rendered paralyzed by shame.

So?
I quit.

I quit until I could wash with gratitude and love.  I quit exercising for the same reasons.

Those were hard days where I knew I was doing hard work but was frustrated because it wasn't the kind you could SEE.  My house was dirtier than ever and my body?  Sick and getting heavier each day.

It was like working Step 1 every durn day, "My life -my shame -has become unmanageable."

But gradually -GRADUALLY -good things came around.  Just as when I believed in scarcity and it showed up... as I believed in LOVE, it showed up!
Love.
Abundance.
God.

Pizza boxes started getting thrown away in a timely fashion.  Clothes started getting donated, and I found that I was worth paying full-price for clothing items that I genuinely loved.  I can actually have my laundry DONE sometimes for a few seconds... whereas even just last summer, I could do laundry all week and still be walking on clothes instead of my laundry room floor.
I began healthy, healing practices for my physical health.  I began walking without tension in my muscles, "How much weight am I losing?" slowly began to be replaced with a happy sort of presence where I just appreciated the place I was in -the fresh air and clouds, the birds and sunshine.
I began enjoying my time at the sink as I found appreciation for my dishes.  I recently rearranged my cupboards in a way that has substantially decreased the chaos.  I cleaned out my closet, and it's stayed clean because chaos and scarcity are starting to visit less and less and less and less.
I now keep freshly cut flowers and greens on my piano, and my house sports beautiful things from beautiful people: stained glass from a dear recovery sister hangs in the window over my sink, beautiful crystals from my brother are scattered here and there throughout my living room.  There's LOVE in my home and GRATITUDE and JOY.


Last year for Father's Day, I spent the day before cleaning my buns off.  I got armpits deep in the kind of sweat that they never talk about in Vogue, and mucked, mucked, mucked.
Then I went to the store.
I bought a bedspread, something I'd never done for the King-sized bed we'd bought YEARS earlier (because, as I said, I believed money was scarce).  I bought a new shower curtain (hadn't done that since we moved in -we'd just been living with the liner our landlord had put in).  I bought a matching bathmat and a few bathroom decorations.
I set everything up and then wrote a note to my husband, "Because you're worth it" and left it on the dusted, newly decorated headboard.

He still keeps that note where he can see it every morning, and a few months later, he returned the favor -cleaning our room and leaving me an answer "because you are too."

A few weeks ago, I noticed a thread-bare spot on our sheets, so I threw them out and bought new ones within the week.  In the last year, I've bought mascara TWICE instead of making one tube last for two or three years.

I realize these kinds of things come naturally for some -they certainly came more naturally for me before addiction and trauma took up cellular residency -but these things are now substantial miracles, folks.  Downright.

Anyway, last week I did The Awful Sweat thing again and mucked out my house.  Spring Cleaning is stupid, right?  It's a stupid farce.  It's like cleaning on Saturday.  Everyone talks about it like it's the NORMAL thing to do but everyone also knows that Sunday is the Great and Terrible Day where everyone trashes all the houses, so WHY?!  WHY do we clean on Saturday?!
I'll tell you what: I don't.  I hike on Saturdays now.  Or shop or play or whatever because CLEANING is for MONDAYS NOW.
And Spring Cleaning is now POST-SUMMER cleaning because who cleans at all during the summer time?  I don't really because there's swimming and hiking and sunshine and monsoons and mud and reunions, so why clean?
And let's start talking about how hiring cleaning help is one of the most beautiful ideas in the history of ideas.  I'm terrible at cleaning, and I appreciate that there's folks who aren't who I can pay to come work their mystical cleaning magic in my home.

Yesterday was Monday (cleaning day), and I made my bed.  I wore clean underwear and clean clothes, and I washed rugs and the 4 thick towels we bought to replace the 13 thin towels we'd been hoarding for ten years.  A few months ago, Danny and I bought a repo'd Kirby at a discount, and because our house is cozy (read: small), I can plug that thing in a central outlet and clean the whole house.  I run over all the carpets and then I switch out attachments and dust everything.  I go over our hard-surface flooring with the special hard-floor attachment.  Our ceiling fan gets a once-over... and I apologize to the spiders before demolishing and swiping their homes.

As I worked, I kept hitting on this idea of foundations.
My buddy Taura is a yoga instructor who now lives in the South and sometimes visits with her children who are so cute I almost forget that mine are cuter.  A few years ago, I was doing yoga in her backyard during the time in my life where I wasn't doing dishes and I was trying to figure out how to do yoga without hating my body.
Everyone around me was flowing and glowing, and I was weary and wobbling.
I'm all legs.  Did you know that about me?  Percentage wise, I'm 70% legs, 20% torso and 10% head n' hair.
It is never more apparent than when I'm trying to Zumba and can't make my legs move like the shorter folks move theirs -OR when I'm trying to make downward dog work like the girls next to me.
Comparison truly is the thief of joy.
"If you're falling, check your foundation."
That's What Taura Said.  Someday I'll write a book and call it What Taura Said and fill it full of quotes Taura probably had no idea she said.
I've never been able to forget that one.

If anything feels like falling, scarcity and chaos and fear feel that way.
So what, then, are my foundations?
Christ. Yes.
BUT
I'm realizing it goes a bit more shallow than that.
It's my undies, really.  And my made bed.  It's my dishes.  It's my Basic Human Foundations: the first thing I put on that send a message one way or the other.
Clean, crisp underwear let me know I'm worthy of a clean foundation.
Clean, orderly clothes let me know I'm worth the time and the money.
A nice, lovely bed makes for better sleep -sleep is a huge part of the foundation of my mental, spiritual and physical health.  So much healing happens in that sacred rest -even God shuts off the light in order for sleep to move in.
Pretty, clean plates are the welcoming mat for good, solid food.  I'm not just talking about green and clean -I'm talking about cream and oats, butter and bread, meat and potatoes!

Yes, Christ is THE FOUNDATION.
But where LOVE is, There God is.  And LOVE, my dear sweet healing sisters, can be found in a made bed.
Which thing I never before had supposed.

Trauma is for the Birds

My schedule is travel heavy right now.  Because I live the quintessential country wife life, I don't travel much farther than "town"... ever.  There's miles of wide open spaces right outside my window, and it feels so good.  My wanderlust is at an all-time low, and whenever it kicks up, I sit down with a hearty dose of BBC TV and all is well once again.

But I'm in the smack-middle of a travel fest (per my definition).  Lots of trips to the PHX area and one to SLC area -all for family celebrations: wedding stuff, baby blessings.  It's all good.
Except it's thrown me off big time.  I think maybe my chi or chakras or aura or something is off?  Or the moon phased?  Hippies, help me out here.

The good news is that recovery is saving my bay-cun.  Seriously saving it.  I'm hitting my dailies harder than ever, working to be daily accountable to a recovery sister for them.
#1) Prayer/meditate (I'm up to 20 minutes every morning, and it's doing wonders for my anxiety)
#2) Scripture study
#3) Eat ONE raw green food per day (after where I ended up in 2016, this goal is really shooting for the moon, believe me.  I was being literal when I talked about bacon earlier).
#4) Exercise (I added this one after supreme consistency with the other three for three weeks)

When there was huge family drama a few weekends ago, I was able to stay out of it and have my serenity *mostly* intact (I'm not super-human, okay?).
And last week, I was living a big-hearted small life where washing dishes felt meditative and rearranging my living room felt cathartic.  I have felt a soul-filling satisfaction that has washed my life with a calm that feels miraculous, and I found myself asking the Lord, "Am I allowed? To live this way?  It feels unfairly nice and I feel undeserving because I still struggle with loving my next door neighbor."
In Neal A. Maxwell's BYU Devotional from 1981, "Grounded, Rooted, Established and Settled" he said:
 But family life seems so ordinary now. Even so, some may still say, “Should I not be doing something else?” Ah, but that is not the real question! The real question is: “Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?” (Alma 29:6). That is the question.

I can say that last week, I had no desire to do more than the work to which I've been called today -and that work is dishes, cooking, serving my neighbors and -of course -my dailies.  Perhaps God wants to refine my patience, so my relegated tasks are routine, daily activities that run the threat of killing me with being FLAT, FLAT, FLAT.
I know that pre-recovery, it certainly felt that way.  I felt unseen by my husband and unseen every time someone puked on the sheet I'd just washed.  Even the trees were the enemy -showering leaves on the grass I'd just raked.

To feel that burden begin to lift as my perspective has shifted feels liberating.
It IS liberating.

But my schedule isn't liberating.  Though there be miles of open air and space waiting to be taken in front my kitchen window, there be no wiggle room in our budget or travel calendar. 
I feel the pinch, and I feel a bit more wobbly and ready for trauma to come visit.

My dailies have anchored me to Christ -or maybe anchored Christ to me? 
Even with them, and with Christ, trauma comes.  And it came, as the Grinch so wittingly observed, "it came just the same."

Sitting in my chapel (read: bathtub) I felt it physically ripping through me, and I recognized it.  I decided that now is the time to make friends with my friend that has chosen to lodge -without permission or consent -in my very own cells.  My body isn't playing host to my trauma... my body simply IS a host, like it or not.
It feels invasive because it is.

During my peaceful week last week, I hit on a podcast and listened to it 3x over (something I've never, ever done).
It's a really informative (borderline entertaining) podcast from On Being about how trauma lodges in the body:
LISTEN HERE

I didn't know when I was listening to that podcast that a big trigger was just days away, but God did.
Thank God for God -amIright?

And as I sat in my tub and let the trauma come in, I made a decision to let the trauma in FULLY.  I scraped my schedule clean and just sat it out.  In the days leading up the trauma, my body was sending me messages.  This is FANTASTIC because my body has felt utterly cut off from me since I hit my rock bottom.  But it had been SPEAKING to me. 
The pattern in my life went like this:
My husband betrayed me and then I betrayed my body, and someday I'm going to write a book called "Porn and Oreos" and fill it with every gritty, betraying detail.  Suffice to say: my body doesn't trust me just as I don't trust my husband.
But lately, it has said things to me like, "one more apple" and "let's go for a walk" and "mmmm ginger."
So you can imagine the pain I felt when my body slammed the door in my face after the trigger hit.  I couldn't HEAR my body anymore.  Nothing was getting through!  I couldn't even move my breath past my chest.  The last message that had come through before I was triggered was this:
"Good morning, beautiful day for sushi."
SUSHI.
And so it came to be that I was fixated on sushi because I didn't know what else to do with myself.

One big problem is that there's 80 miles of good highway between me and closest sushi joint, so with a little perseverance on my husband's part, Nori and Friends were secured and we made our own.
Nori and mango and avocado and cucumber and green onions and cream cheese.  It was glorious.

The next day was General Conference.  After the first session, I napped.  It's amazing how a big trigger can feel exactly like running a marathon.  It just hangs on, doesn't it?
After the second session, I noticed my 4-year old putting on her tennis shoes. She filled up her Beauty and the Beast water bottle and headed out the open front door into the brilliant Northern AZ spring afternoon.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Oh mother," she said, "I'm going to enjoy the birds."

She's my ONLY child who calls me that, and I never, ever correct her.  Who would?!

"Can I come?" I asked.

When trauma comes around, I can't find my toes.  I can't make a connection between my legs and my brain.  I forget I have fingernails -so you can imagine how in touch I am with the rest of the world.  The week prior, I had FULLY enjoyed the birds during my meditation and prayer in the morning... they really are so brilliant this season.  The birds' song is wakeful, an anthem for the season.  They sing and kids ride bikes where they weren't riding them a few weeks ago.  They sing and blossoms flourish and bloom.  The sing and the world stretches, wakes and gets back to sunshine.

And so my Alice answered the call, and I went with her. 
Being still and sitting with trauma isn't easy, but I've found that for me -it is the best way: let it move through while I find the line where my body and spirit connect again.  Is it called a Soul Line?
Maybe.  Maybe "Soul Line" will be the title of my second book?  *insert winky emoji*

The trigger is lingering, I can feel it. 
But my body is starting to open the door it slammed in my face (maybe because I stuck my foot in? and that's why I couldn't feel my toes?)

So here's to dailies and herbal tea and birds.
And kids who call me Mother.

The Terror is Over

On Saturday night, I went to the adult session of Stake Conference.  At the end of the meeting, the stake president had us read the account of Christ sleeping on a boat during a storm.

37 And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.

 38 And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?

 39 And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

I've read that passage so many times before.  I know I have.  But my life is different now -things looks different, I process things through different eyes and a soul that has been baptized by fire.

If Christ is our ultimate example, and he is able to sleep through "a storm of great wind," doesn't that mean I have that power within myself as well?  And if I have the power retain my peace and serenity during the storm, then surely I have the power to eventually calm the wind as well.

Addiction brings so many chaotic side-effects: physical, financial, spiritual, emotional!  How often I have felt like the disciples of Christ, feeling the need to shake Him awake -surely, SURELY He was sleeping through my storm!  

Don't You care?  I'm perishing, here!

Betrayal Trauma has been my deepest wound to date.  During an energy healing session last year, the woman working on me told me that I had come to earth with betrayal issues -that I'd carried them with me ancestrally. 

"When you carry it already within you and then it manifests in your life, it can almost be impossible to recover from.  It is just so hard."

Her words were a lifeline to me.  There seemed to be so many women around me suffering from betrayal trauma who were doing SO MUCH BETTER.  They seemed healthier, more active, happier in their own ways.  I felt so much pain and fear.  I was devastated.

Rhyll Crowshaw has often said that a woman's recovery generally takes 3-5 years.

After I read about Christ calming the storm Saturday night, we sang, "Master the Tempest is Raging."  Do you know how many times I've not been able to finish that song?  Tears have flooded (good use of the word flood, by the way) my eyes and I've just stared at the words on the page with pain in my heart.  The third verse felt dumb to me -like it was meant for someone else... someone going through a trial that was smaller, easier.  

Lyrics

1. 1. Master, the tempest is raging!
   The billows are tossing high!
   The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness.
   No shelter or help is nigh.
   Carest thou not that we perish?
   How canst thou lie asleep
   When each moment so madly is threat'ning
   A grave in the angry deep?
2. (Chorus)
   The winds and the waves shall obey thy will:
   Peace, be still.
   Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
   Or demons or men or whatever it be,
   No waters can swallow the ship where lies
   The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
   They all shall sweetly obey thy will:
   Peace, be still; peace, be still.
   They all shall sweetly obey thy will:
   Peace, peace, be still.
3. 2. Master, with anguish of spirit
   I bow in my grief today.
   The depths of my sad heart are troubled.
   Oh, waken and save, I pray!
   Torrents of sin and of anguish
   Sweep o'er my sinking soul,
   And I perish! I perish! dear Master.
   Oh, hasten and take control!
4. 3. Master, the terror is over.
   The elements sweetly rest.
   Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
   And heaven's within my breast.
   Linger, O blessed Redeemer!
   Leave me alone no more,
   And with joy I shall make the blest harbor
   And rest on the blissful shore.
5. Text: Mary Ann Baker, ca. 1831-1921.
   Music: H. R. Palmer, 1834-1907

The terror is over?  Are you kidding?  Peace felt like some kind of farce new-agey people posted memes about during their quarterly juice cleanses.  

I started my recovery 7 years ago.  That's more than 3-5 years.  That's almost *almost* double.  I've done a lot of stuff during that time: conferences, retreats, programs, workbooks.  I've felt myself fishing, fishing, FISHING for help, much like the apostles of old.

I tried everything that landed at my front door.  There was meditation and yoga and support groups of all kinds!  My cell phone was used more than my dish rags.  I called for help, I scrolled through articles.  There were sponsors (plural) and real life friends and online friends.  I prayed hard and long.  Sometimes I hated God, sometimes I ran away from Him because His answers were confusing and made no sense to me.  Sometimes I still do.

Here comes the big

BUT

During this last year, I have found peace in the wind storms.  Waves have crashed in my boat, just as they always have, and I have accessed this place of stillness and peace -no juice cleanse needed.

I have found contentment and acceptance, and I've realized getting present with where I am is the key to truly living life.

Things I knew in theory became understood.  

My finances -a big wave that have crashed at our door -are slowly beginning to still.  Why?  Because I AM STILL.  I'm putting them in God's hands.  My physical health is crashing in right now, and I know -I see now -that if I hold still and rest, the storm will calm around me.

I feel the truth of this.  I feel it fully. 

As I sang the 3rd verse on Saturday night, my heart burned within me.  Master, the terror is over.

The truth simply is this: when and if Danny acts out again, I will be okay.  God has me.  God has all of me.  It will be okay.  I will be okay.  

Pain and trials will come, and they won't be easy -but they will be different now.  I see it differently now.  Something has come undone and redone within me, and I wouldn't go back for any amount of money.

This takes a lot of work... working to let go.  The irony is not lost on me.  It isn't easy, either.  Church is harder now.  I hear things that don't feel right at all, and going to church isn't comfy like it used to be.  I listen to people judge others from the pulpit and I get so angry and THEN I JUDGE THEM, and so it is: church is the place I go to grow and sometimes it is awesome and sometimes it hurts like hell.

Those proverbial mirrors aren't fun to look into, but I'm glad I know they're there now.  I didn't know that before.

For whom God loveth, He chasteneth.

And wo unto Alicia when she is at ease in Zion.

She isn't at ease right now.  But guess what she is?  At peace.

Yesterday we cleaned the kids room.  I haven't taught my kids housekeeping routine stuff.  I've struggled with it in my own life, and working recovery for so long has taken precedence over dishes and dusting.  The kids' room has gotten so bad that it was dangerous.

Someone could trip or get mold poisoning, or something.

We banded together -the three kids and Danny and I -yesterday and we cleaned for 3 hours.  I asked the kids what they wanted for a reward for cleaning and they were united in their cause, "TACO BELL!"

Easy enough.

And kinda gross, but whatever.

As we worked together, I felt an old sort of feeling burning in my stomach and heart: goodness, happiness.  Those feelings always came up right after Danny relapsed.  The Honeymoon Phase was my favorite.  It felt so high and good and sweet and wonderful.  It is what kept me hanging on through the definitely NOT Honeymoon Phases.

Yesterday as my son disappeared under his bed and started throwing blocks and papers out, my oldest argued with Danny about WHY she NEEDED every RIPPED PAPER EVER, the youngest refused to put her kitchen stuff away until we chanted, "TACO BELL" and Danny and I passed the trash bag back and forth... I felt that old, familiar happy feeling.

But it used to hold a really painful element: I knew it was full of lies and false hope.  It was the doughnut kind of happy -it tasted so good while it lasted and was followed up with sickness and regrets.

But everything that happened last night?  The high wasn't as high as it used to be.  There wasn't that fake, shiny lining around it.  It just WAS.  And as we sat around a table at Taco Bell, I was happy.

I watched the kids stuffing their faces with tortillas and beans and cheese and laughed out loud. 

These days are rare and beautiful, and I can do something now that I couldn't before: I can show up.

The flip side is true as well:

I show up for the awful days.

I feel it now, I see it now.

I reach out like crazy -to God, within, and to others.

The terror is over, and now I look to God and work on sleeping through the storms of life.  I can pause and let go of giving circumstances more credit than they're due.  I am not my circumstances.

Which thing I never before had supposed.

Where My Demons Hide

Not so very long ago, I listened to Elder Holland give a definition of The Soul.  It isn't synonymous with "spirit" but the combination of the body AND spirit.  I've known that, I guess.  But something about that has hit home over and over again since then.

My body loves this earth -it loves to binge on food, chocolate and Dr. Pepper.  It loves television and money and flesh.  It has such an appetite.

My spirit loves heaven -it misses heaven.  I loves love, charity, beauty, grace, family.

If I could create a cool Venn Diagram, I would.  But all cards on the table, I had to spend a full 2 minutes googling around because I couldn't remember what the name of those circle chart thingies are.
VENN DIAGRAMS.

Math-ish Stuff,
You will forever evade me.

There is a hefty beautiful overlap between my body and my spirit.  It's filled with good music, beach sand, pine trees, miles of flat desert and fresh air.  Sometimes I lock eyes with my daughter and touch heaven.  Meditation brings me to the pearly gates.  Pushing my cold hands into warm, soapy water as the sun sets beyond the window that sits over my sink... that is one of those moments.
Harmony moments.

I disrupt harmony by listening to music that isn't the best.  I have the utmost respect for Eminem's talent.  That man has a WAY with words.  When I turn up one of his classics, there's a disruption in harmony -a dissonance.  I feel the same way after spending an entire day binge watching a series.
Dissonance Moments.

My Dissonance Moments quickly bring out my shame.
In the spirit of, "Inside Out" I will just say this: 78% of the "driving" in my mind is done by Self-Judgement.
I can't decide if she looks like a witch or demon or just a droopy, sad figure.
Maybe she doesn't even know.

My shame is mostly self-judgement.
How could you?
You piece of crap.
Those who know better, do better.  Except you. Because you're a freak.
You drive people away.
You're screwing up your kids.


The list goes on, but I'm feeling some pain here... so I'll stop.

How do I turn my dissonance back into harmony?  Christ.
I don't always do that, though.  Sometimes I reach for my measuring cups and my Doris Day Pandora station and I cook while she sings about pillow talk and black hills.  Harmony and balance start to creep back in.  I like to deny stuff.  I like to deny my worth:

I don't matter enough to Christ.
I'm not important.  He is.  And He's got enough to deal with, thankyouverymuch.

I'm realizing that I deny my body A LOT.  I don't want to face the appetites of my body.  I don't want to hold a very clean mirror up and look at myself objectively and say, "Okay, you want ALL OF THAT.  Now what?"
If I hide my body's appetites -even from myself -what the hell am I even doing here?
How can I possibly fully heal?  How can I live genuinely from my beautiful soul?  I'm slamming half of it down daily.

In some of my reading, I came across a quote.

I spent some time with it and made it fancy so it would be sure to know how much I appreciate it:

Accept myself?
Can I do that?
The past says, "no."

Am I brave enough to make this kind of an inventory?  To write down:
Who my body is
What my body wants
Who my spirit is
What my spirit wants

Look it over objectively without leaning toward one team or the other because THEY ARE THE SAME SOUL TEAM and then just

Accept?

This is Step One.  Acceptance.  I know I'm not the only one out there saying, "I will forever be on Step 1."
I think I've had times where I've thought, "I accept me.  SO GRATEFUL because self-acceptance is a sucky bucket of a journey."  But now I realize I've only accepted *parts* of me...

The parts of me that talk too much
The parts of me that look for humor everywhere
The parts of me that parent differently
The parts of me that won't ever look like they did when I was 21.

But what about the parts I've denied?

Heaven help me.  This is going to be such a sucky bucket.
But as a music major, can I just say? Harmony is worth it.  Dissonance is just the worst.

I've spent so much time playing God -trying to save myself, trying to save others.  But I've also spent so. much. energy judging.  I judge myself, I judge others.

These realizations will be painful, they will be me stepping into my mess.  I don't know what the ending result will be, not completely.  But I do know that I will come out of it with peace, and with that Soul Peace, I will be able to withhold self-judgement and others-judgement.

I will render unto God that which is God's... my demons.

A few days ago, I heard this song in the back of my mind.  I began humming as I walked around my house. When I had a minute, I pulled it up on youtube.  When God wants to tell me something, He pops a song in my head.  The message in this song felt Godless, so I listened to it until I found God.

God's telling me He wants my demons.  But in order to give them over, I have to recognize them.  This means I'll sit in church and wonder who I am really.  Who everyone around me is.  I have to let myself down, let my self-judgement fall as I take God's name upon me each week.

I'm handing my judgement over, Lord.  

I will sit fallen next to other fallen people.  I will let myself fall.  I will let others fall.
Can I face this?  Not alone.
I can't escape this now unless You show me how.

The Place

In my mind there always existed this imaginary sort of place where everything was as I felt it should be... my personality, my home, my finances.  I felt it was the CORRECT place.  For EVERYONE.

In that place, there was neatness, organization, optimal health, classy style that attracted but didn't flaunt, beautiful and culturally sound arts, good music, smiles, a few pets and a garden.  There are people who have pieces of that place, and I spent a lot of time studying them, using scriptures to back up each step in my journey.

Organize yourselves, people!

I felt tense when I was around someone who didn't fit into my place.  If they were too loudly dressed or refused to smile or didn't till their own earth or didn't place what I perceived to be adequate importance on dust and stuff, I felt uneasy.  I felt the need to control my external circumstances.

And it turned out that the place -the place I had in mind and kept a firm eye on always -was a very lousy place.  The journey toward it was forced and tense and filled with chemicals and workout gurus who talked about abs like they were the point of my workout.  I was in a constant state of worry -I worried about other people -what they weren't doing, what they were doing, what they thought of my home and outfit and mode of teaching and serving and cooking.  

The Place was so shallow I couldn't SINK INTO ANYTHING REAL.

I started Recovery for me but BECAUSE of Danny.

Today I worked my recovery for me BECAUSE of me.

My last post was about progress -how I'd seen it in myself.  I knew typing it was risky.  Yesterday, I was hit with

LOOK you need improvement here.

LOOK you can improve here.

LOOK you just played the martyr.

LOOK you just made a decision motivated by control.

LOOK you are more worried about what others think than God.

LOOK you are triggered!

I came home from work, sat in the big, ripped up recliner that The Place had chucked far from it and prayed.

The recliner is situated right next to three big windows, though no sun shone through.  The day was overcast and grey.  My legs were covered in a big blanket.  As I sent up my plea to Heaven asking for I don't even know what, the sun came out.  It covered my body and I felt literal warmth.  My body relaxed and I fell asleep.

It was as if God reached through the clouds and commanded the universe to let me sleep.  I would open my eyes and they'd fall again.

I needed heavy, quiet sleep.

I woke up to My Place.  It isn't THE PLACE.

My house looks like the inside of my soul -cluttered, colorful, creative, and a little crazy.  

I don't believe My Place is for everyone.  This isn't hypothesis.  My Place makes other people uncomfy to the point of action.  People clean My Place a lot.  There isn't optimal health here, but there's a constant striving for truth about our bodies and the miraculous science behind them.  There's protein in the fridge and vitamins in the cupboard and yoga mats against the wall.  The point of the workout in My Place is truth, not abs.

As I drove to work today and snowflakes fell on my windshield, I was hit with God's ever-present passion for variety.

Nature varies beautifully -the desert holds a sacred kind of beauty I can't seem to even WANT to leave... the space, the air, it has nothing to hide, nothing to hold back.

Every snowflake is different, the prints on my hand are different than the prints of the hands that GREW inside of me!  The very waves on their hands were shaped and formed by the fluid my body created to protect them while they formed. The mountains in the distance that shot up in the horizon with no pattern, no symmetry at all.

Hair colors, eye colors, body colors.

Zebras, for crying out loud!  Can you get more varied than a white horse striped all over in black?  Or is it a black horse striped all over in white?!

I'm sure this is God's favorite riddle for the world.

I thought of Satan's plan -effective as it would have been to have make the choice that would bring us salvation, it lacks variety completely.

The Place was built sort of upon The Principle of Opposition.  One Way to Rule Us All!

But there exists in me a drive that goes BEYOND this life... a drive that existed before my fingerprints and hair color and passion for yarn... a belief that variety and choices is MY way.

My Place is simply that -Mine.

Because I've never had enough self-love to give validity to My Place, it has waited in a dark and dusty corner, shivering and ratty and patient.  I loved others more than myself, and others had Their Place.  I wanted that.  I wanted a Home Within.  Recovery has helped me dust it off, polish it up and start really setting up camp.

I started the process BECAUSE of Danny, and YES I was resentful as I polished.  Sometimes resentment gives me my very best grunt work performances.

But presently, I work on My Place BECAUSE of me and BECAUSE I love God and Jesus very much.  Very very much.  I loved Jesus before, but I didn't love Him with THIS kind of love -the kind of love that proves there IS A HEAVEN because THIS love is deeper than mortal love.  I can't wrap my mortal mind around what I'm feeling, you know?  It goes beyond romance, it goes beyond sibling love, it truly goes beyond anything mortal!  It's immortal intimacy.

Yesterday I talked about progress.  Today I'm talking about NOT PERFECTION.

My Place is a friggin' mess.  Probably forever.  But okay.

Today I did yoga with the mantra, "I awaken" and I added what came natural afterward.

What came natural?  Well, thank you for asking:

I awaken my true identity.

I awaken My Place.

I find I still lean toward others, longing for Their Place.  It gives me nothing but grief and a cleaner microwave.

Today I did some dusting in My Place.

I thanked God for others and their places, for what they all send out into the world -their gifts, their process of healing, their methods and magics.

And I practiced gratitude for the way I am -the open Alicia with all her ways and workings.

Then I logged on here and was vulnerable because although it makes other people squirm sometimes, I am vulnerable for a reason.  I've been chucking it down lately in the name of conformity which is just a fancy was of saying, "I'm scared."

I hope Your Place gets dusted today and that you're able to do something very Your Placey.  Like garden or spit or run or build or sketch or chart or wash or cry or dance or sing or rhyme.

Your Place has the potential to save lives, namely your own. It has the power to tap you into spirituality, health, serenity, and peace.  

For though our places are different, they share One common denominator:

GOD.

And where God is, so is a love of variety -within you is a deep and relentless passion for variety, for YOU and not HER.

Comparison is the thief of joy because it chips away at that core passion.

So here's to Places.  To our Zions within.

It takes a very real trek to get there, and you won't trade it for anything.

Pain Shame and Rug Sweeping

A few days ago, I came across a post on facebook that was being shared like wildfire among mothers -particularly young mothers.  A sweet sister had lost her baby just before delivery.  She wrote out her pain on social media which I'm not against, but I began to feel my own pain when she asked the readers who were complaining about being up with their own baby at night to remember: she had no baby.
I watched in sadness as my fellow sisters shared, shared, shared the article and shamed themselves.

"Such a good reminder to me to quit complaining."
"I needed this.  I'm such a whiner, and I need to shut up and be grateful."

My heart began to burn and I closed out of facebook -my serenity vanished and my heart swelled and ached in that uncomfortable, unmanageable way.
I'm all for gratitude in trials, I am.  I AM.
I am NOT for using gratitude to sweep pain under the rug.  Pain does not belong under the rug, especially when the hands holding the broom are coated in shame.

"I need to shut up and be grateful," sweep, sweep, sweep.

Using gratitude to shove pain in places where I can't see it for awhile or feel it for awhile is simply my way of trying to deal with my own pain... the VERY pain that Christ died for.  Sometimes I feel like He shouldn't HAVE to take it because it is so very "small" compared to other pain, but Christ doesn't care about the size of pain.  He suffered for IT ALL.
And for what it's worth, in this particular case, the pain of being up with a child at night while I'm sleep deprived, post-partum, nervous, confused, and trying to see straight through a blur of hormones that haven't balanced and sit on a bottom that does NOT want to be sat upon... IS INCREDIBLY HARD.  Not small pain by any means!

So many of my sweet friends who are battling post-partum depression, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, depletion, and anxiety were in tears over their own lack of gratitude when they read her post, and I wanted to hold them tight and say, "Give me the broom."
Because I know.  I KNOW that their own individual pain will come out from under the rug very soon and it will be bigger, more angry and probably out for revenge.

And the beautiful part about pain is what a wonderful, necessary gift it is.
Pain is the opportunity to turn fully to Christ, to have a conversation with Him about how it feels because HE HAS FELT IT.  He is the ONLY Man to know the pain of birth, hormones, sensitive emotions... He knows!
I've had so many frustrating conversations with caring folks who just don't GET IT -they WANT TO, but they don't understand what it's like to live in a marriage like mine.  But you know what?  GOD DOES, and when I take to Him honestly and say, "THIS HURTS!"  I don't feel God telling me to sweep anything.
I reverence gratitude in it's pure form, but I do not reverence gratitude in it's piggy-backing shame form.  I can't.
God doesn't want us to shut up and be grateful when we're up at night with a baby who won't sleep because someone else CAN'T be up with a baby they lost.  He suffered BOTH pains, and He desires BOTH PAINS.
Not just the "bigger" pain.

My trial isn't the kind I can take to social media and say, "Please remember when you're celebrating an anniversary that my anniversaries have been painful."
Does that make seeing posts with couples appearing happy hard for me?  YES.  But that is MY PAIN, and I WANT IT.  It's part of my journey and process.  I don't want others to stop posting their happiness.  Even when it hurts, even when I THINK I want them to be miserable with me, I don't.  Not really.
What I really want is to turn to God and say, "OUCH."
I have asked Him why.  I have asked Him if I'm not worthy of an easier marriage.  I've hashed out all there is to hash for now -and I'm sure I'll find more to hash today and tomorrow!
I've tried to sweep my pain under the rug.  I've tried to numb it out with food and business.

But the only truly healing thing I've done is taken it to God when I've been ready.  Sometimes I feel a release from the pain, sometimes I feel God nudge me toward work that still needs done.
Pain is a gift -a bridge in my relationship to God, and a teacher!  It isn't the nice, sunny, posh sort of teacher who speaks softly and has twinkly eyes... but I'll be danged it if isn't one of the most effective teachers I've ever had.

So many sweet women I've met have held back from living genuinely for fear of hurting others, and I must say: you are robbing the world.
Satan's trademark is taking truth and warping it -here a little, there a little.  I see him taking on the compassion that so effortlessly becomes women and using it for his gain.  He takes our desire to not hurt those around us who are struggling and morphs it into self-censorship of the vulgarest kind.  We are censoring our authenticity -we are hiding our lights under a bushel.
I don't believe for ONE SECOND that we are naturally out to hurt or cause harm.  Does it happen?  Yes.  But that is part of the plan, the path, and the test.   

But to try and manage another's pain? Can this REALLY be done while being true to ourselves?  No, it cannot.  Because their pain is not ours to manage.  Our OWN pain is barely ours to manage.

The world needs your authenticity.  They need to hear about how hard your children can be sometimes, even if it pains those who can't have children or who have lost children.  They need to know that your house is dirty -even though there are those who can't afford a house or who have been turned out.  I can't go around censoring myself under the guise of compassion because all I'm really doing is trying to manage the pain swirling around me.  But I can't, and I don't.  Because it negates Christ's sacrifice.

I have personally sat with a family member who has suffered a loss of a 9-month old baby, the loss of a late-term miscarriage at 20 weeks, several early miscarriages and 7 years of infertility... who told me how HARD it was to have kids who didn't sleep and who poured syrup on the floor and then PEED ALL OVER IT.

Her pain needed validation, all of her pain needed validation.

I don't want to invalidate the pain of the sweet sister who lost her baby -that is unimaginable.  I simply want to extend an invitation to the sweet sisters who immediately and so easily set themselves to shame and self-blame because of it.

I messaged a good friend about this, wondering why it was touching me so deeply, and she talked about the problem of "Pain Shame" we have, especially among women.
Yes!
PAIN SHAME.
We feel shame because our pain is "less than" the seen pain of someone online -someone with cancer or loss.

God doesn't see our pain as "less than" and I don't believe He sees our pain on individual little strips of paper.  I don't believe He suffered for "sleep deprivation" and checked it off the list.
I believe He suffered for the deep pain I would feel attending church alone with two small children, little sleep, overcome with anxiety over my husband's addiction and lack of recovery -God suffered for my BIG PICTURE.

There is room under the rug for pain.  It's true.  And it's as good a place as any to put pain until we're ready to hand it over.
I just want to share my love, ladies, and say: your pain is worthy of God's suffering, no matter if you feel it isn't.

The pain I feel watching my dear friends so easily set to hating themselves for pain that needs validation instead is ALSO something God suffered for, and I've talked with Him about it!

Live genuinely today, feel your individual pain without holding it up against the pain of the girl next door.  Practice gratitude for what is in front of you right now and leave shame out of the picture.

Christ died for you.
We all have a measure of divinity within us -it is our equalizer.  I am JUST as much a daughter of God as every other girl on earth, and God suffered equally for us all.
I see now -I SEE -that His precious, sacred suffering for me was going, frankly, in vain.  I was semi-pro with my shame hands and my rug-sweeping.  Learning to put my own superficial management tools aside and take up God's atonement is hard work, but it is the best work.

Pain has gotten me there.

And for this, I reverence my own individual pain.  Today I will honor it, lean into it and learn what I need to learn from it.  I will take it to God, and we will discuss it together.

Pain is the pathway to progress.