I recently got together with some friends for a play date. While our kids ran around outside we sat in the shade and swapped stories about parenthood. I love hearing about the antics of other people's kids, it helps me feel normal when my kids do seemingly odd and often infuriating things. Pretty soon the kids were milling around looking for a snack. I hadn't brought anything because I am anti-snack, but one of the ladies had brought a sack full of oranges and a knife and a plate to slice them with. Talk about forethought! Not only a healthy snack but also all the tools necessary to deliver it in a kid-friendly form. While the kids were grabbing orange slices and making cute little orange smiles, her youngest son got into her bag and pulled out a whole orange and the knife. He sat down and proceeded to saw away on the orange in an attempt to cut a few slices for himself. Now, in case you haven't had the fine opportunity to see a toddler with a knife, let me paint the picture for you. There is something terrifying about seeing a sweet, small person with a knife that always looks gigantic in that chubby little hand. He could have gotten a hold of a paring knife and it would look like he was wielding a machete. When she noticed the knife in his hand she exclaimed "I'm a bad mom!"
Just like that all her efforts to provide a fun and social experience for her kids and to nourish their bodies with good food all went down the drain. Because her son had almost hurt himself, she was a bad mom.
I wrote this post to reassure her, myself, and pretty much every mom ever that you are not a bad mom. To me, being a mom means trying really hard to do my best and asking for forgiveness when I mess up. Whenever I'm getting down on myself about not being a good mom, I try to think of what I really want from my mom. I don't want her to protect me from everything or do everything for me, mostly I just want her to look at me and listen to my ideas and laugh and cry with me when I need her. I think we all know how important it is to be a good parent and I believe that all parents love their children and want to provide for them. So the next time the thought "I'm a bad mom" springs to mind, counter it by thinking of all the things you do big and small everyday that make you a great mom because there are plenty.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Status update
I can safely say I am no longer a depressed person. Anxiety still rears it's ugly head in my life, but I am learning to identify it and disarm it quickly. Plus I've attributed some of my heightened awareness to having 3 small children and all that that entails.
My kids are still coughing with what I hope is either allergies or just a harmless lingering symptom of their latest cold. I am trying a gluten-free diet for the next 30 days to test for gluten sensitivity. I'm a little ashamed to admit I've jumped on the gluten bandwagon. I used to just shake my head at this new trend; but I've done a lot of research and talked to a few people who are gluten-free and many of my present health concerns are outlined in gluten-intolerance information. So, I'll try it. I've been a vegan, a vegetarian, I've avoided dairy whenever possible, so why not try eliminating gluten right? (I just want to throw in a disclaimer here that I do eat, a lot! I just eat a lot of fruits, vegetables, meat and other whole grains, just not wheat.) And I still occasionally eat at McDonalds, don't judge, I know you eat there too.
I've also been more disciplined about getting daily exercise and sunshine. My vitamin D levels are low which can cause fatigue and depression, two things I am well acquainted with, and being out in the sun helps me feel alive and healthy verses feeling sick and tired when I lay on the couch in my robe.
There seems to always be a heaping pile of laundry on the floor in my room (it's usually clean, sometimes mixed, but a quick sniff is all it takes to sort it out). I love my husband and my kids and all my crazy relatives. I love the Lord and believe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church. I sometimes wonder why God lets bad things happen and I often feel scared of the things that could go wrong in my own life. I'm trying to understand God and His plan for me.
Anxiety and depression can both make a person second-guess their thoughts, their spirituality and their judgment. I still struggle with separating mother's intuition, guidance from the Holy Ghost and just plain paranoia. Anxiety is often about control and the delusion that certain behaviors, or thoughts, can increase control over the environment and that other thoughts or behaviors decrease one's control over the environment. It's hard to draw the line around what is realistically in my control and what isn't in my control. Small children especially test these boundaries because often diligent supervision really does prevent negative events. My one year old is constantly putting things in his drooly, toothless mouth. And no matter how many times I go through the toys and sweep the floor and lecture my toddlers about leaving their small things out, he still manages to find small objects to put in his mouth. Sometimes I feel like giving up. I tell my husband that there's no way this baby will ever live to adulthood! But my heightened diligence will hopefully pay off and he won't choke on anything and he will live to be a happy, healthy adult. After that he's on his own!
My husband and I often fantasize about how independent our children will one day be; washing their own hands and faces, getting themselves bathed and dressed. I know there will be things about this phase of life that I will miss but I look forward to getting to know my kids as they discover themselves and develop more and more and to having more time to myself to explore my own talents and abilities.
My kids are still coughing with what I hope is either allergies or just a harmless lingering symptom of their latest cold. I am trying a gluten-free diet for the next 30 days to test for gluten sensitivity. I'm a little ashamed to admit I've jumped on the gluten bandwagon. I used to just shake my head at this new trend; but I've done a lot of research and talked to a few people who are gluten-free and many of my present health concerns are outlined in gluten-intolerance information. So, I'll try it. I've been a vegan, a vegetarian, I've avoided dairy whenever possible, so why not try eliminating gluten right? (I just want to throw in a disclaimer here that I do eat, a lot! I just eat a lot of fruits, vegetables, meat and other whole grains, just not wheat.) And I still occasionally eat at McDonalds, don't judge, I know you eat there too.
I've also been more disciplined about getting daily exercise and sunshine. My vitamin D levels are low which can cause fatigue and depression, two things I am well acquainted with, and being out in the sun helps me feel alive and healthy verses feeling sick and tired when I lay on the couch in my robe.
There seems to always be a heaping pile of laundry on the floor in my room (it's usually clean, sometimes mixed, but a quick sniff is all it takes to sort it out). I love my husband and my kids and all my crazy relatives. I love the Lord and believe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church. I sometimes wonder why God lets bad things happen and I often feel scared of the things that could go wrong in my own life. I'm trying to understand God and His plan for me.
Anxiety and depression can both make a person second-guess their thoughts, their spirituality and their judgment. I still struggle with separating mother's intuition, guidance from the Holy Ghost and just plain paranoia. Anxiety is often about control and the delusion that certain behaviors, or thoughts, can increase control over the environment and that other thoughts or behaviors decrease one's control over the environment. It's hard to draw the line around what is realistically in my control and what isn't in my control. Small children especially test these boundaries because often diligent supervision really does prevent negative events. My one year old is constantly putting things in his drooly, toothless mouth. And no matter how many times I go through the toys and sweep the floor and lecture my toddlers about leaving their small things out, he still manages to find small objects to put in his mouth. Sometimes I feel like giving up. I tell my husband that there's no way this baby will ever live to adulthood! But my heightened diligence will hopefully pay off and he won't choke on anything and he will live to be a happy, healthy adult. After that he's on his own!
My husband and I often fantasize about how independent our children will one day be; washing their own hands and faces, getting themselves bathed and dressed. I know there will be things about this phase of life that I will miss but I look forward to getting to know my kids as they discover themselves and develop more and more and to having more time to myself to explore my own talents and abilities.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Your past is just a story
I read this quote recently and it was very comforting to me. This perspective helps me separate my present self from things that I have gone through in the past. My past is not me, it shapes me in some ways but mostly I feel bigger than my past; taller, stronger and more than I was. Having gone through three bouts of postpartum depression, I can now say with a huge sigh of relief that I am well again. Tim gave me a priesthood blessing a few years ago wherein I was promised I would soon be well and better than I'd ever been. At the time I was scared of this pronouncement, scared of the pressure of getting better and being better than I'd ever been. I had no idea how I was going to make that happen. I could barely function let alone work out my mental health issues. Now I know, I didn't make it happen. I essentially held on and put my trust in God. He made me better, stronger, more than I was. People around me were His hands in serving me and my children, my husband.
It is with huge relief and a sense of accomplishment that I can now say I am well. I am strong and happy, sometimes giddy with happiness at my wonderful life. I am healthy, my children are well and happy, my husband is loving and good, I am surrounded by wonderful people. All of my needs are met and most of my wants as well. I feel fulfilled and content in my roles as mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend. I just wanted to reassure all who read my blog that I am not still struggling in the ways I often write about. I am more than postpartum depression and more than mental illness and if you or someone you know is suffering from one or both of these issues, take courage! You too can be better than you've ever been.
It is with huge relief and a sense of accomplishment that I can now say I am well. I am strong and happy, sometimes giddy with happiness at my wonderful life. I am healthy, my children are well and happy, my husband is loving and good, I am surrounded by wonderful people. All of my needs are met and most of my wants as well. I feel fulfilled and content in my roles as mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend. I just wanted to reassure all who read my blog that I am not still struggling in the ways I often write about. I am more than postpartum depression and more than mental illness and if you or someone you know is suffering from one or both of these issues, take courage! You too can be better than you've ever been.
Friday, December 26, 2014
a police officer, four fire fighters, a grandma and a walmart worker
My day started out easy enough; we'd been up late the night before so we all slept in (which means my two toddlers watched a show on my phone and Tim fed the baby while I slept in). Tim fed the girls while I got dressed and I even took a little more time to put makeup on and curl my hair. The kids and I loaded up and picked my mom up then we all headed down to Springville to celebrate my niece's 1st birthday. Sure, we were an hour later than expected but we didn't have any solid plans so it was fine. While driving through Sandy we decided we should stop by IKEA, get some lunch and do some shopping. I felt proud of my idea to eat at the cafeteria at IKEA where we could get some real food instead of just hitting a fast food stand. We unloaded in the following order: me, my mom, older toddler, poopy baby (ugh! poopy baby! unroll my changing pad, lay him on the floor of the van, oh how I love my van! wrestle all his clothes off him, use half my wipes to clean him up, new clothes, done!) at this point I realized I needed to get the stroller out before I got the baby out so I could heft the stroller out of my trunk with both hands then set it up and put the baby inside. Well, being a responsible mother, I shut the van door so my baby wouldn't roll right out of the van while I went to get the stroller. I shut the van door. With the keys inside. Locked inside. With my baby rolling around on the floor and my other toddler still strapped in her carseat. No! No! No! I could have screamed I was so mad at myself! What a dumb mistake. One I'd like to say I've never made before but that's not true. Now thinking about how many times I've done this...it's too many to admit, you already think I'm an imbecile, let's not make it any worse. So back to the emergency at hand, luckily my mom had her cell phone so I looked up a locksmith in the Draper area. After the third attempt to get someone to help us pronto I finally just called 911. I'm proud to say I remained very calm, cool and collected while I related my emergency to the dispatcher and she assured me an officer would be right there. A few minutes later we saw a police car cruising through the parking lot. I went running after him and flagged him down directing him to my parked van. My mom, my toddler and myself had spent the last 5 minutes with our noses pressed against my dirty and increasingly hot van windows talking and singing and trying to reassure my already sensitive toddler that it will all be ok and she will be able to get out of the car soon. She was especially nervous about the police officer using his tools to try to break into the van. After a few tries, an ambulance pulled up and four firefighters hopped out with more equipment to rescue my babies.
A few minutes later the doors were open, the alarm was blaring, and I was holding both babies in my arms. I thanked the officer and the firefighters profusely. If my arms hadn't been full I probably would have hugged them. What sweet relief to know I could call for help and they didn't berate me for my stupid mistake, they just helped and when the job was done, they left, on their way to help someone else in need. Oh how I love and admire firefighters and policemen. My girls still ask me to tell them the story of how the firefighters and the policeman saved them.
Well, the story doesn't end there. We drove to Springville and went straight to Wal-Mart so we could get some balloons for my niece. My mom and my oldest toddler went into the store while my second toddler, the baby and I stayed in the car. (Hoping to minimize opportunities for getting locked out of the car again). A few minutes after they left, my second toddler informs me she needs to go to the bathroom, badly. So I very carefully take the keys out, unload toddler and baby, and lock the doors. I heft both kids in my arms and into the restroom at Wal-Mart (which are always disgusting) and try to juggle them both while one baby goes potty and the other holds on for dear life. Trying to lift my toddler while carrying my baby so we can both wash our hands was pretty taxing. A Wal-Mart worker came in as I was attempting to do all this and she, in broken English, offered to help. She held my toddler and helped her wash her hands. Then tenderly set her down and dried her off. I was so touched by this simple act of service. Nothing melts my heart faster than someone being kind to my kids. Some people complain that as a society we don't value children, that babies aren't adored like they used to be and that mothers aren't revered and praised as they should be. But I have found the opposite to be true. Whenever I am brave enough to venture out with my three littles, I have found people to be incredibly accommodating and understanding of how difficult it is to get anything done with three babies in tow. From holding doors open for me and my front pack and larger-than-life double stroller, to returning socks that slipped off somewhere in the store, I have been impressed with how loving and kind people can be and how most people understand that you do need help and you are doing your best no matter what that looks like.
A few minutes later the doors were open, the alarm was blaring, and I was holding both babies in my arms. I thanked the officer and the firefighters profusely. If my arms hadn't been full I probably would have hugged them. What sweet relief to know I could call for help and they didn't berate me for my stupid mistake, they just helped and when the job was done, they left, on their way to help someone else in need. Oh how I love and admire firefighters and policemen. My girls still ask me to tell them the story of how the firefighters and the policeman saved them.
Well, the story doesn't end there. We drove to Springville and went straight to Wal-Mart so we could get some balloons for my niece. My mom and my oldest toddler went into the store while my second toddler, the baby and I stayed in the car. (Hoping to minimize opportunities for getting locked out of the car again). A few minutes after they left, my second toddler informs me she needs to go to the bathroom, badly. So I very carefully take the keys out, unload toddler and baby, and lock the doors. I heft both kids in my arms and into the restroom at Wal-Mart (which are always disgusting) and try to juggle them both while one baby goes potty and the other holds on for dear life. Trying to lift my toddler while carrying my baby so we can both wash our hands was pretty taxing. A Wal-Mart worker came in as I was attempting to do all this and she, in broken English, offered to help. She held my toddler and helped her wash her hands. Then tenderly set her down and dried her off. I was so touched by this simple act of service. Nothing melts my heart faster than someone being kind to my kids. Some people complain that as a society we don't value children, that babies aren't adored like they used to be and that mothers aren't revered and praised as they should be. But I have found the opposite to be true. Whenever I am brave enough to venture out with my three littles, I have found people to be incredibly accommodating and understanding of how difficult it is to get anything done with three babies in tow. From holding doors open for me and my front pack and larger-than-life double stroller, to returning socks that slipped off somewhere in the store, I have been impressed with how loving and kind people can be and how most people understand that you do need help and you are doing your best no matter what that looks like.
For the men...
This post is a tribute to all the men who love and support women as they enter motherhood. And specifically to my husband, Tim, who has endured so much while at my side. I am so grateful for the knowledge that we are sealed together for all time and eternity. Thanks for sticking this out with me babe, I'm so glad we get to do this together.
Tim has endured my irritation, my mood swings, my weepy and melancholy days. My diagnosis, my medical bills, my therapists, my search for treatments, my attempts at self care, my failures and frustrations. While reading a bedtime story with our kids one night, we came across the phrase "kaleidoscope of mope." Tim teased that it was describing me! He, on the other hand is as happy as a clam. Especially when he gets "Tim time" outside hunting, fishing and hiking. So to live with the emotional roller coaster I have been these last 3 years has been very trying for him. Not to mention the worry, the constant fear for his wife's sanity. Will she ever be better? What can I do? Why is this happening? Is she safe? Is our baby safe?
After one night of constant crying, (me and the baby) I was so low, so dark and so angry. I was afraid I would shake our baby in my frustration. I put her in her swing, still crying, and I ran outside. I paced back and forth on our patio under the full moon. I longed to bash my head in. To just grab the corner of the house and bang my head into it repeatedly. I longed to find the release that seemed to wait for me in ending my life.
Tim came and got the baby but I'm sure he was so torn; he had to care for the baby but I was clearly acting crazy and couldn't be left alone. I remember pacing and panting and deciding to go into the garage to get in the car. Tim came after me, wide-eyed, holding our firstborn. "You're not well right now and you need to come in the house right now" he said in an authoritative voice. I rushed into my bedroom, through our bathroom and into my closet. I flipped on the light and crumpled to the floor. I was going insane. I knew it. I knew I was crazy and I would have to be committed to a hospital. I may never see my family again or my home. I didn't want to go crazy, I hadn't done anything to provoke this departure from reality and sanity. Yet, here I was, on the floor of my closet, wrapping my arms around myself trying to hold the pieces together. I sobbed out a prayer for relief from the darkness encompassing me. Soon, a warm, calming, comforting reassurance came to me. I knew I would survive this night. I was strengthened by the memory of my Grandma Jensen. She passed away a couple of years ago and we weren't even all that close, but I know I felt her presence, her reassurance and love that dark and lonely night.
The next morning Tim urged me to set up an appointment with my OBGYN. Luckily, he could take care of Hazel while I went to my appointment. He encouraged me to be open and honest about my thoughts and feelings and to ask for her help. His mantra that got us through the months after our first baby was "lots of people have done this, we can do this." He sensed my feelings were not unusual and hoped they were treatable.
We weren't taken completely by surprise when I started experiencing postpartum depression. I had struggled with depression and anxiety my whole life which made me more susceptible to postpartum episodes. Also, Tim has a sister who struggled with postpartum depression. I remember talking to her about it and Tim saying "You're a dead-ringer for that." I resented his prognosis and hoped to prove him wrong. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
My OBGYN was very understanding and reassuring. She diagnosed me with postpartum depression and prescribed 50 mg of Zoloft. She said I should feel a big difference right away and to call daily to report my mood. She also gave me the name and number of a Licensed Clinical Social Worker or LCSW. At the time our insurance wouldn't cover much of the cost of visits to a LCSW so I decided I would just take the medicine and hope for the best. It helped right away. No more dark doubting days, no more longing to end my life. No more pacing and crying and willing the hours away. It was still hard, my baby still wanted to eat every 2 hours and it took her 45 minutes to eat so I was only sleeping for an hour at a time. But that only lasted about 8 weeks and then she would go 3 hours at night and then 4 hours without eating. Tim and I still joke about the steep learning curve that we experienced with our first newborn. Soon, life gets back to normal. A new normal, one with a sweet chubby cherub of a baby that we both love more than we ever knew we could love anything.
So here's to the men and to my man for riding the waves and enjoying the peaks and holding my hand through the valleys.
Tim has endured my irritation, my mood swings, my weepy and melancholy days. My diagnosis, my medical bills, my therapists, my search for treatments, my attempts at self care, my failures and frustrations. While reading a bedtime story with our kids one night, we came across the phrase "kaleidoscope of mope." Tim teased that it was describing me! He, on the other hand is as happy as a clam. Especially when he gets "Tim time" outside hunting, fishing and hiking. So to live with the emotional roller coaster I have been these last 3 years has been very trying for him. Not to mention the worry, the constant fear for his wife's sanity. Will she ever be better? What can I do? Why is this happening? Is she safe? Is our baby safe?
After one night of constant crying, (me and the baby) I was so low, so dark and so angry. I was afraid I would shake our baby in my frustration. I put her in her swing, still crying, and I ran outside. I paced back and forth on our patio under the full moon. I longed to bash my head in. To just grab the corner of the house and bang my head into it repeatedly. I longed to find the release that seemed to wait for me in ending my life.
Tim came and got the baby but I'm sure he was so torn; he had to care for the baby but I was clearly acting crazy and couldn't be left alone. I remember pacing and panting and deciding to go into the garage to get in the car. Tim came after me, wide-eyed, holding our firstborn. "You're not well right now and you need to come in the house right now" he said in an authoritative voice. I rushed into my bedroom, through our bathroom and into my closet. I flipped on the light and crumpled to the floor. I was going insane. I knew it. I knew I was crazy and I would have to be committed to a hospital. I may never see my family again or my home. I didn't want to go crazy, I hadn't done anything to provoke this departure from reality and sanity. Yet, here I was, on the floor of my closet, wrapping my arms around myself trying to hold the pieces together. I sobbed out a prayer for relief from the darkness encompassing me. Soon, a warm, calming, comforting reassurance came to me. I knew I would survive this night. I was strengthened by the memory of my Grandma Jensen. She passed away a couple of years ago and we weren't even all that close, but I know I felt her presence, her reassurance and love that dark and lonely night.
The next morning Tim urged me to set up an appointment with my OBGYN. Luckily, he could take care of Hazel while I went to my appointment. He encouraged me to be open and honest about my thoughts and feelings and to ask for her help. His mantra that got us through the months after our first baby was "lots of people have done this, we can do this." He sensed my feelings were not unusual and hoped they were treatable.
We weren't taken completely by surprise when I started experiencing postpartum depression. I had struggled with depression and anxiety my whole life which made me more susceptible to postpartum episodes. Also, Tim has a sister who struggled with postpartum depression. I remember talking to her about it and Tim saying "You're a dead-ringer for that." I resented his prognosis and hoped to prove him wrong. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
My OBGYN was very understanding and reassuring. She diagnosed me with postpartum depression and prescribed 50 mg of Zoloft. She said I should feel a big difference right away and to call daily to report my mood. She also gave me the name and number of a Licensed Clinical Social Worker or LCSW. At the time our insurance wouldn't cover much of the cost of visits to a LCSW so I decided I would just take the medicine and hope for the best. It helped right away. No more dark doubting days, no more longing to end my life. No more pacing and crying and willing the hours away. It was still hard, my baby still wanted to eat every 2 hours and it took her 45 minutes to eat so I was only sleeping for an hour at a time. But that only lasted about 8 weeks and then she would go 3 hours at night and then 4 hours without eating. Tim and I still joke about the steep learning curve that we experienced with our first newborn. Soon, life gets back to normal. A new normal, one with a sweet chubby cherub of a baby that we both love more than we ever knew we could love anything.
So here's to the men and to my man for riding the waves and enjoying the peaks and holding my hand through the valleys.
Friday, December 19, 2014
A village? I say it takes an army!
Two things happened recently that reminded me of how fortunate I am and how indebted I am to so many people who have seen me through my darkest days over the past few years. First, a boy I grew up with took his own life. It is shocking and incredibly sad to know someone who was in so much pain or who was so sick that ending his life seemed like his only option. I don't know very much about the circumstances surrounding his death but my heart goes out to his family for the pain and confusion they must be experiencing. I feel some survivor's guilt knowing I was there, I was right there. I have been so close to taking my own life and I was saved. So why not him? I don't know what I have done to deserve to be surrounded by so many saviors, to be saved time and again from myself. I wish I could have helped him, I wish I could have shared the army of strength and encouragement I have received with him and his family.
His circumstances have motivated me to share more about my experiences with postpartum depression in an effort to tear down some of the misconceptions about mental health and to encourage people to reach out to others. You really don't know how influential you can be in someone else's life.
The second thing that happened is I saw this video on my church's website entitled Sitting on the Bench: Thoughts on Suicide Prevention. I've watched it again and again. It is so comforting to know other people have felt what I have felt, that I'm not alone and that there's help for me. To be reassured that there are people who love me unconditionally, who will "sit on the bench" with me. People who won't shy away from my scary thoughts, people who will advocate for me and my health, people who are cheering me on, who believe in me, that I can make it, that I can get better and be better. People who can see me separate from my depression.
I remember one night last fall when I was driving back to my parent's home, pregnant, with my two little girls in their carseats in the back, and I couldn't stop crying. I was so overwhelmingly sad. Depression has been the most powerful emotion I've ever experienced. I could not stop sobbing and I was so scared. I knew from previous experience that I should not be alone. I tried to muster up the courage to drive home alone, to be alone, to get my girls in jammies and diapers and bed. I just couldn't do it. I find that depression is so powerful and overwhelming that it compromises my ability to do even the most menial tasks. I needed help. So I called for help. I called my aunt, I called my sister, I asked for help. I was embarrassed and confused; I couldn't really explain why I was so sad, I was just really depressed and terrified of being alone. My sister and brother-in-law were at my parent's house when I got home. They helped me get the girls to bed and then we just sat together and watched HGTV. We didn't talk about my sporadic sobbing, they didn't try to console me or hush my fears, they just sat with me. When I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer my sister came downstairs and laid by me until I fell asleep. It's still one of the most touching things anyone has ever done for me. I don't know how they felt about being with me, but they didn't seem uncomfortable. I hope they didn't worry about saying the right thing, they just stayed with me until the storm of sadness had passed. They didn't chide me for being so emotional or tell me to just snap out of it. They reassured me that what I was feeling was real and that I didn't have to weather the storm alone.
When I had my third baby we were all apprehensive about how I would feel afterwards. Especially since I had been depressed on and off throughout my pregnancy. The Relief Society President from my church worked with me and my mom to organize volunteers from our church to come and help me while my parents worked and went to school. (My mom was pursuing a Bachelor's Degree from BYU-Provo and my step-dad was working from home). For two months ladies came almost every day and cared for my two girls or sat and visited with me or fed my baby boy. Their visits bolstered my strength, they told me stories of having their own babies, of grand-babies and hopes of future babies to be born. They took my girls to the park and into their own homes to play with their children. Meals came every night from ladies ready and willing to help me and my family. I can honestly say my children have a mother because of the strength, the service and the love of my family and the women of the Relief Society. I will never be able to repay all the people who have reached out to me with reassurance, encouraging words and loving kindness. I hope to be able to be an influence for good in the lives of others and to inspire people to notice those around them who may be suffering and to look for ways to help.
So if you know someone who is suffering or if you feel prompted to visit someone, give someone a call or send a text, do it! Your words may be just what they need to tip the balance from despair and desperation to peace and calm.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Breaking Point
I realize, with some misgivings, that this isn't a blog for polished thoughts. When I have time to polish things like my thoughts, I will launch a new blog where I can market myself as a writer and further my writing career. But presently, I am unable to polish off anything except my children's Halloween candy, so I will continue to post rantings, musings, and journal entries from my hectic life as a mom of 3 littles. I hope someone out there on the interweb will benefit from reading my blog but mostly it's just a relief to get things off my chest.
That being said, I had a breakdown today. I had two or three mini breakdowns this week but today was the actual breaking point. Today I said "enough is enough! I'm outta here!" I wanted to drive away and never return. Luckily my husband was home and it was nap time for the kiddos so I could actually drive away, by myself, in our sporty little car, I didn't even have to take the minivan.
So, here I am, newly liberated from my very demanding little family, and all I can think about is how much I hate being a mom and staying home all the time. I should clarify: I hate the wiping noses, whining toddlers, picky eaters, poopy blowouts, kind of mom stuff. But doesn't everybody? A dear friend recently pointed out that she definitely doesn't like everything about being a mom. This was a revelation to me. I felt guilty any time I didn't just jump for joy at the most mundane things about motherhood like diapers and tantrums and yoga pants and pony tails. She helped me realize being a mom is often a hard, thankless, job and it's ok to admit it. Sunday nights when I whine to my husband about not wanting to spend another entire week with our brood, he admits he wouldn't want to be with them all day either and he's so glad I stick it out.
So sometimes I hate being a mom, not all the time, not even most of the time, but sometimes. Other times I am so grateful that I get to mother these three beautiful beings and I thank my Father in Heaven for giving me the opportunity to grow and become better and lead and guide these young people. I promise to blog more about that some other time. But now, I need to relate how difficult motherhood can be for me.
Soon after my second baby was born, I was ranting and raving to a friend about how hard motherhood is and how demanding my kids are, I paused to reassure her that I really do love my kids, despite the challenge of caring for them. "I know" was all she said. She knew I love my kids because I do take care of them, day in and day out, sometimes 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Of course we love our kids, they can be adorable and ingenious and silly and fun and energetic and so blissfully happy! I think we often see this side of motherhood in perfect family pictures, on Pinterest, Facebook and on many other mommy blogs. And that is one of the many reasons I started this blog; not only did I want to give myself a voice, to be heard, and to practice my writing, but I also wanted to put it out there that motherhood isn't all kissing chubby cheeks and singing lullabies, and I want others to know they are not alone when they struggle fulfilling their roles as parents.
I believe families have eternal significance and that no other work I perform in my entire life will compare to the impact I will have on my family. I have been taught these truths my whole life. What I didn't realize until I actually had a child and now even more so with three of them, is that motherhood will most likely be the biggest challenge of my life as well. It's probably a good thing I learned about the importance of the role of a parent before I learned about how intensely trying it can be otherwise, I don't know that I would have signed up.
After we had our first baby, Tim and I marveled at how and why people ever had more than one. It'd be like jumping into freezing cold water when you have no idea how to swim and just when you start to figure out how to keep from drowning, someone hands you a baby.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a wimp. Compared to my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother, I have so many modern conveniences; dishwashers, clothes washers, a car of my own, grocery stores, a steady income. I used to feel so guilty that I struggled with motherhood so intensely when I seemed to have it so much easier than others do.
After some contemplation, I have come to believe that every person born on earth has unique struggles. Challenges that are choreographed and individualized especially for them by a loving Heavenly Father who knew and continues to know exactly what we need to experience in this mortal life in order to grow, to become more, to achieve what it is we came here to do, become like God. To overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles physical, emotional, spiritual, all obstacles. But I also know that I cannot do it alone. I need a Savior. Someone to save me from myself, someone to "comfort me when faint." Someone to make up the difference when I just can't do it anymore. I love my Savior Jesus Christ and I know He sends angels to buoy me up during difficult times. Most times my angels are friends, family members and occasionally even strangers but I know they come to me from my Savior to life me up and help me be more so I can raise these sweet babes.
So I started out with the intention of decrying my frustratingly ineffective parenting skills, and I ended up bearing my testimony of Jesus Christ, how's that for roughewn?
That being said, I had a breakdown today. I had two or three mini breakdowns this week but today was the actual breaking point. Today I said "enough is enough! I'm outta here!" I wanted to drive away and never return. Luckily my husband was home and it was nap time for the kiddos so I could actually drive away, by myself, in our sporty little car, I didn't even have to take the minivan.
So, here I am, newly liberated from my very demanding little family, and all I can think about is how much I hate being a mom and staying home all the time. I should clarify: I hate the wiping noses, whining toddlers, picky eaters, poopy blowouts, kind of mom stuff. But doesn't everybody? A dear friend recently pointed out that she definitely doesn't like everything about being a mom. This was a revelation to me. I felt guilty any time I didn't just jump for joy at the most mundane things about motherhood like diapers and tantrums and yoga pants and pony tails. She helped me realize being a mom is often a hard, thankless, job and it's ok to admit it. Sunday nights when I whine to my husband about not wanting to spend another entire week with our brood, he admits he wouldn't want to be with them all day either and he's so glad I stick it out.
So sometimes I hate being a mom, not all the time, not even most of the time, but sometimes. Other times I am so grateful that I get to mother these three beautiful beings and I thank my Father in Heaven for giving me the opportunity to grow and become better and lead and guide these young people. I promise to blog more about that some other time. But now, I need to relate how difficult motherhood can be for me.
Soon after my second baby was born, I was ranting and raving to a friend about how hard motherhood is and how demanding my kids are, I paused to reassure her that I really do love my kids, despite the challenge of caring for them. "I know" was all she said. She knew I love my kids because I do take care of them, day in and day out, sometimes 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Of course we love our kids, they can be adorable and ingenious and silly and fun and energetic and so blissfully happy! I think we often see this side of motherhood in perfect family pictures, on Pinterest, Facebook and on many other mommy blogs. And that is one of the many reasons I started this blog; not only did I want to give myself a voice, to be heard, and to practice my writing, but I also wanted to put it out there that motherhood isn't all kissing chubby cheeks and singing lullabies, and I want others to know they are not alone when they struggle fulfilling their roles as parents.
I believe families have eternal significance and that no other work I perform in my entire life will compare to the impact I will have on my family. I have been taught these truths my whole life. What I didn't realize until I actually had a child and now even more so with three of them, is that motherhood will most likely be the biggest challenge of my life as well. It's probably a good thing I learned about the importance of the role of a parent before I learned about how intensely trying it can be otherwise, I don't know that I would have signed up.
After we had our first baby, Tim and I marveled at how and why people ever had more than one. It'd be like jumping into freezing cold water when you have no idea how to swim and just when you start to figure out how to keep from drowning, someone hands you a baby.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a wimp. Compared to my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother, I have so many modern conveniences; dishwashers, clothes washers, a car of my own, grocery stores, a steady income. I used to feel so guilty that I struggled with motherhood so intensely when I seemed to have it so much easier than others do.
After some contemplation, I have come to believe that every person born on earth has unique struggles. Challenges that are choreographed and individualized especially for them by a loving Heavenly Father who knew and continues to know exactly what we need to experience in this mortal life in order to grow, to become more, to achieve what it is we came here to do, become like God. To overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles physical, emotional, spiritual, all obstacles. But I also know that I cannot do it alone. I need a Savior. Someone to save me from myself, someone to "comfort me when faint." Someone to make up the difference when I just can't do it anymore. I love my Savior Jesus Christ and I know He sends angels to buoy me up during difficult times. Most times my angels are friends, family members and occasionally even strangers but I know they come to me from my Savior to life me up and help me be more so I can raise these sweet babes.
So I started out with the intention of decrying my frustratingly ineffective parenting skills, and I ended up bearing my testimony of Jesus Christ, how's that for roughewn?
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