The great Brene

A friend shared this video by the great Brene Brown (Pronounced Bre-nay).  SO powerful! And I tell you what, I've got some things to work on.  And I love the encouragement I get from this brave warrior.  EMPATHY. Not Sympathy.  Seriously.  I don't even know where to really go with a full response to this video.  But watch it.  20 minutes. Turn it on while folding laundry (which I have slated for the ENTIRE day- I hate getting behind on laundry).


I am afraid of telling people my story. My pain. My life.  Because I am worried they will Sympathize and not Empathize.  That I will be more shamed for my struggles.

But this is me.  My pain.  My struggles.  They are real.  And it is a journey of learning and growing (and many mistakes along the way.)

Where does you lied to me turn into you are a liar?  Our mistakes do not define us.  At least they shouldn't.  Blaming?  Ooooh. I identify with THAT.

So watch it and email me what you think.  Or comment.  Or just enjoy.

Beauty in scars.

Scars are dead tissue.  What caused a scar is usually very painful.  Unsightly lines that disrupt the beautiful.  But in their own way, scars are powerful and beautiful.

Scars tell the story of what we have experienced.

I have a scar on one of my knees (correction I have scars on BOTH my knees but only one is from this experience) from when I was in 7th grade.  I was on the cross country team and for practice we'd run a loop that went by the tennis courts.  I tripped and fell hard.  The scar is still there.  Cross country wasn't easy for me.  I don't actually enjoy running to someone else's command but my friend convinced me to join her.  It wasn't something I had confidence in but I persisted anyway.  I never won any prestigious ribbons.  I came in last, pretty much every race.  But I did it.  I have the scars to prove it.

I have a scar on my chin from sliding in the gutter chin first when I was no older than 7.  I had on fancy dress shoes, I don't know if it was a Sunday or if I was just dressing up.  I was out in the front yard tossing the Koosh ball with my brother and it went into the gutter so I dove for it.  Oops.  Didn't have stitches, just a butterfly bandage.  And now a wrinkly scar on my chin and a memory.

I have a scar on the knuckle of my right thumb from a time I baked my best batch of cookies ever and hit my thumb on the top rack pulling them out. I think they were the perfect batch because I never intended to keep them.  I baked them and mailed them to a friend.

I have a scar on the back of my head somewhere.  I can't see it because my hair hides it.  I fell out of a wagon when I was little.  6 maybe?  I was pretending to drive, steer with the handle while others pushed.  The slope of the driveway made me tip.  I did have to get stitches that time.  My friend's mom took them out for me a few days later. I remember being very scared and brave.

I have a scar on my right shin from running up the bleachers and hitting a bench.  It's numb all the way to the bone still and didn't bleed much.  It was embarrassing but I learned the power of laughter to dispel fear.

Scars are ugly.  And beautiful.  For without any scars what would remind us of our stories?

I hope someday, when this one heals I will be able to tell the story of how this scar showed me that I am stronger than I thought possible, more compassionate than I knew.  I hope to find the beauty in this ugly scar.  I'm beginning to see some of it already.  And that is a wonderful blessing.

Stitches

I received some "love mail" today. You see, my dear Mom sent me a package and I got it today.  In it was this book: STITCHES: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott.  (click the link-I don't know how to link the picture)

Oh. My. Heavens.

SUCH a WONDERFUL book. Seriously.  Buy it.  I read it with an orange colored pencil in hand and highlighted MANY wonderful passages and quotes.  It's 96 pages long and yes, I read it all in the 6 hours I've had it (which if you do the math is on the slow-ish side of reading, but I promise you I took time to feed my family dinner, left over sloppy joes, and bathe the smallest wee one and put him to bed, sent the other brothers with Daddy on a project, I also let my kids watch Netflix this afternoon.)

My all time favorite quote, it has a heart by it in my book, and perhaps fellow sewers will love this as much as I do;

Sewing is the finger and heart equivalent of putting one foot in front of the other.

So many other quotes I want to share but there's a reason this one stands out.  Remember my Correspondence Course in Self Care? (If not click the link) Those strips of fabric were meticulously crafted into the beginnings of my very own quilt top.  See?

This pattern starts with sewing the strips together at angles to create the LONGEST STRIP OF FABRIC KNOWN TO MAN.  Seriously.  Football field length.  Then you fold in half sewing that strip to itself lengthwise.  Which takes FOREVER.  

This is me hard at work. Just when you think you can't sew another stitch, that you MUST be close to the end you look down and see that you're not even halfway.  It's disheartening.  So fifteen minutes later (not kidding and this is after an hour of making the longest strip known to man) you might have that first strip done.  From there on out it's easy peasy.  The rows double in size each time so the length you have to sew is 1/2 as long.  (Doesn't make sense, I know- but it's not a tutorial on how but the lesson learned.) The agony of that first strip is real.  It is hard.  It is exhausting and butt numbing.  And yet you plod on.  With hope that it won't turn out an ugly mess.  And guess what?  You were right all along.  It's wonderful and far different than you had ever imagined.  

And isn't that our journey through life?  Our journey as WoPAs? Trying to figure out how to plod on with this forever long stitch?  Having to unpick and resew when the pattern gets skiwampus? 

This is a metaphor that I will cling to.  For I've always been a pretty fearless sewer.  And now I'll start applying that to the rest of my life.  

One foot in front of the other. 

One stitch and then another.  Some unpicking.  Some re-sewing.  And a beautiful unknown pattern will reveal itself.  

Little Man Complex

Revelation comes line upon line as we are ready for it.

I'm not worthy.  I am inferior. 

That is what the negative tape in my head has been saying for... I don't know, my whole life?  I don't think I can pinpoint why I feel this way.  Maybe it's a second born thing.  There's not an experience that sticks out in my mind that says, "YES! That's it! The root of my shame and self-loathing."  There are particular experiences over the years that stand out in reaffirming my own belief, unbeknownst to anyone involved.  But for a long time I remember feeling this way.

Mind you, as a child I was bubbly.  Happy.  Always smiling.  People remember me as a jovial, carefree child. I do remember being happy and care free.  But I don't know if I learned to wear the mask well as a child or if that was a skill acquired later in life to hide my pain from people who might hurt me further.

Being a teen was rough, as it often is.  My family life was flipped when my parents divorced.  I never felt accepted among the kids at church, except for the rare few who are still precious friends to this day.  So I hung out with people who accepted me.  I showed them the real, raw, broken me and they held me close and loved me anyway.  It always saddens me to think that we've somewhat parted ways but I will always treasure the genuine feedback and support I received from them.  My relationship with my Dad fell apart (what was left to fall apart) when my parents divorced and he quickly remarried.  It was messy.  For years.  It's better now, but mostly because I have come to accept it for what it is, not that much has changed over the years.  Some, yes, but not much.  There are so many incidents that come to mind in my broken relationship with my Dad that reinforced my mentality that I was inferior, lesser.  Wounded, I would return to the safety of my Mom's house (or just her voice) and she would tell me what my core knew: I am worthy and worth loving.  I am important.  I belong.  That's not to paint my Mom as a saint and my Dad as a devil but more often than not Mom was safe and Dad was not, emotionally.

When I was a junior in high school (parents split the summer before) my Dad remarried.  The mom of one of my friends then became my stepmom.  We weren't very close but had been when we were younger.  Did you ever dream of your parents marrying your best friend's parents so you could be sisters?  I did.  Parent Trap.  Thanks Disney.  Reality didn't work like that for us.  It became a forced blending of families and none of us were allowed to have any opinions contrary to what the parents had decided.  Or we would be met with huge amounts of guilt.  And more infusions of "I am not worthy. I am inferior." I never felt like I had a right to say anything at church because our family wasn't one of the "old" families of First Ward.  I didn't have an in with the ones who were.  We were friends, but only superficially.  We were poor.  Talk about feeling "I am not worthy.  I am inferior."  Society chalks that one up to a given, except for the few who fought and worked their tails off and didn't believe that nonsense to make something of themselves.  But I was not one of them.

College was an interesting time.  I felt some of this negativity early on, but I also learned that I was worthy.  I could do great things.  I could do hard things.  This confidence is probably part of what my husband was attracted to (I hope.)  I had my moments of self doubt.  "Does he really like me?"  which I think are normal.  I decided that he did and I was thrilled.  The rest is history, as they say.  I do find that old enemy around though.  Driving, I always think other people are judging me of how I drive. (Why are we so critical of people's driving anyway?)  I find myself giving in to this thinking more often than I realized.  Lately it's been worse with coming to grips with the massive amounts of pain I have been avoiding.  I'm hurt. Raw. Bleeding.  I don't show many for fear that they'll stick their fingers in the wound or point out that it's oozing and infected (like I didn't already know).  I hide. I don't think many of my inlaws even know many of my real opinions on things because I'm so afraid of the rejection or talking behind my back (as they often do about others so why not me) that I either shut up or find myself agreeing with them because (I think) they think I am unworthy of holding my own opinion that might be contrary to their own.

My inner voice tells me not to believe that "I am not worthy.  I am inferior."  My inner voice says that's bullschnit.  It's hard to hear sometimes.  That inner voice.  She's getting stronger though.  And now that I recognize the faulty thinking maybe I can break past it.  Thank heaven's for Addo.  What a beautiful blessing.  (One of the lessons brought all this to the forefront.)

As the wonderful, Brene Brown points out, "I am worthy of love and belonging." 
And the great Dr. Skinner reminds, "I am good.  I am strong and I have much to offer."
And from dear Scabs, "I am brave."
And one altered from What About Bob, "I am good. I am great. I am wonderful." 

I sure hope having it here in written form will help me remember. 

The Love of God

Woman is God’s supreme creation. Only after the earth had been formed, after the day had been separated from the night, after the waters had been divided from the land, after vegetation and animal life had been created, and after man had been placed on the earth, was woman created; and only then was the work pronounced complete and good.Of all the creations of the Almighty, there is none more beautiful, none more inspiring than a lovely daughter of God who walks in virtue with an understanding of why she should do so, who honors and respects her body as a thing sacred and divine, who cultivates her mind and constantly enlarges the horizon of her understanding, who nurtures her spirit with everlasting truth. God will hold us accountable if we neglect His daughters. He has given us a great and compelling trust. May we be faithful to that trust.~President Gordon B. Hinckley 

Elder Richard G. Scott spoke at a broadcast for Stake Conference today (twice a year gathering of church member to hear from local leadership- this time also had a broadcast portion).  He referenced some quotes that touched my heart.  We are vastly important to our Father in Heaven.  He has not forsaken us.  He cherished us.  ME.  I am important.  I am beloved.  I am cherished.  

"May we be faithful to that trust."

Ouch.  What happens when those we love are not faithful to that trust?  It hurts.  A LOT.  Elder Scott also quoted President Thomas S. Monson:

"Tears inevitably follow transgression.  Men, take care not to make women weep, for God counts their tears."

We are loved. I am loved.

I know, too that my Father in Heaven loves my sweetheart.  That he has given us all the opportunity to restore trust, to ask forgiveness and to be forgiven.  What a tender mercy that is.  Forgiveness is not the same as trust.  Forgiveness is the willingness of the heart to let go.  Trust is a willingness to put that same heart back into the hands of my husband.  I'm not there yet.  But I have hope that I will be.  And I am counted as a daughter of the Most High God.  Incredible.  And incredible how easily I forget.  We are mortal.  We make mistakes.  We hurt other people, even those we love dearly.  And I can feel my heart beginning to soften.

Square 1

My husband pointed something out to me that I think I was hoping to ignore.  But it hurt and I'm sharing it.  Because I don't want it to become shameful.  (Shame hates being spoken you know.)

If we had kept moving forward when we first found the word "addiction" we would be at a 3 year mark.  I say a 3 year mark not "the" 3 year mark because I don't know what 3 years would mean.  3 years where we still denied it for 2 1/2? Or 3 years with real insight and discovery and HEALING.  In that time we moved 7 hours away, in with inlaws, had a baby, moved out, bought a house (fixxer-upper) back in with the inlaws, out again as we continue to work on our house.  Not to mention day to day life.  3 kids.  Extended family weddings and other gatherings.  Hectic. There's been a lot to distract us from the pain.  And so here we are now.  It hurts to be at square one. To feel like the road is so long ahead and we've only just begun.

I know that every journey begins with a single step.
I know that I can only focus on where I am right now.

But sometimes I look at the road.

I see others ahead of me who have found peace and I am sad because that is NOT where I am right now.  Right now I feel like our relationship has so many ups and downs (because I feel the ups and downs personally I assume that's our relationship too).  We had a good day again the other day where I felt like he was actually hearing what I said.  Like he saw ME, the real me not just the shell.  And now I'm back down.  And feeling like I let myself down.  Three years from now our kids will be 5, 7 and 9.  And for some reason that makes it hard for me to breathe.  Which brings me back to the beginning of this blog when I thought it was all about my healing from depression.  I don't know how much is my trauma and how much is my familiar depression.  Good ol' pal.

I'm trying to do self-care and self-comfort.  But again, that's really hard to do when there are three children looking to me to entertain, feed, clothe, listen to etc.

But I needed to put that out there.  That I feel the weight of weariness looking ahead.  And so I'll leave you with one of my theme songs.  Because it always makes me feel better.

Take no thought

I did my first phone in PASG (Porn Addiction Support Group) for women last night.  You can find one HERE.  Where I live there is NOT a support group for family or friends of addicts (of any kind-not just pornography).  I was really sad about that when we moved here because the group we had been in previously was so healing and I was sad to see that stop.  So when my husband mentioned that he was going to do the call in group for men and that they had one for women I was grateful.  (And a little standoff-ish because I don't like being told what to do- but he wasn't telling me WHAT to do- just pointing out an option I missed and for that I am grateful.)  It was different, and a little weird.  But it was positive.  And I needed that. 

Yesterday I didn't want to go to church.  Really, there are many Sundays I just don't want to go.  With three kids and cousins that share our pew (I hate "assigned" seating) it is loud and distracting and stressful and hardly the spiritual uplift I need.  The next two hours I'm in Primary and don't feel I get much out of that either (and I recognize that some of that is on me). But I dreaded going.  45 minutes before I was still in my jammies telling my husband I really just didn't want to go.  I should say I didn't want to go with all the noise and confusion.  I wanted my soul to be uplifted and so often I'm busy wiping noses and shushing children (who are speaking quite loud) that I can't hear that "still small voice".  But I went.  Because I had responsibilities.  And I hoped for a glimmer of uplift.  But mostly because there would be more questions if I didn't go.  

I was fasting for myself, for my healing, for hope.  I wanted to block out my life and listen to the Spirit.  Part of the meeting was distracting, some of it was thank-a-monies, and some were sad stories of sad lives.  But to start off the meeting a friend got up and bore a beautiful testimony.  He and his family have had a hard year, to say the least.  He has an undiagnosed health problem that is unpredictable.  Some days he'll fall in the kitchen and his wife will have to help him up.  Others he can run 5 miles.  There's no telling when he wakes up which one it will be.  He hasn't worked this last year which has meant that their finances are in dire straights.  His wife is now doing daycare and they're getting by.  Barely.  With his illness because they don't know what it is, they don't know what that means for how long he'll live or if it'll get worse, or if there is any sort of treatment.  And he started his testimony by saying things are so great. GREAT! Not good, or we have our moments. And he acknowledged that has been the hardest year of their lives and looking forward is likely to be as bad or worse.  But they have each other.  They have the Lord.  They have love.  They are scraping by, by the grace of God and the kindness of others.  I can't really describe it.  I'm not doing it justice.  But just know this; it touched me so deeply.  THAT was exactly what I was looking for.  I really wish I could have gone home on that note.  (And I could have but chose not to.) 

Then the day went by and it was ok.  I was surviving it but not feeling the Spirit like I had hoped.  Then it came time for group.  It wasn't as huge a lift as my friend's testimony, but it was positive, and hopeful and uplifting. Rather than falling into the pain and misery and hopelessness.  I didn't get the quote exactly but someone said, " Let Heavenly Father have the pain of the past and the fear of tomorrow and live in today." And that was what I needed to hear.  I am grateful for the tender mercies that allow me to feel hope when I didn't know I could. This is a path I never would have imagined, but I have found that usually the most beautiful vistas are found after long and weary journeys.  I look forward to that.  

And I will try to remember what my Savior said, "Take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Matthew 6:34

Triggers come in all sizes.

3:40 the red numbers say.

ScrtichScratch.

Ugh. Seriously?!

A mouse again.

It triggered me. BIG TIME.  I wasn't expecting that. Maybe it was being so tired that allowed me to follow the trigger to anger.  Whatever it was, I went there.  Yet ANOTHER thing I can't control. AGH! So mad.  I could tell I needed to calm down.  I was already starting to get a tension headache, and my back, which already hurt, was now hurting in new places.  So. Mad.  I hate the stupid little rodents.  I hate their sneakiness.  I hate the deceptions- "Oh no, we don't live here- what that poop? That's not mine- must be from some other mouse." F'real? I laid awake FUMING for a full hour until it started to dissipate.

Husband asked is I was mad at him.

"No. The mouse triggered me."

I feel stupid for even admitting it- but there it is.
And so no, I wasn't directly mad at Husband.  But I was mad that this mess was brought into my life.  And that is on him.  And so I was kind of mad at him too.  And THAT is on me.

I did finally fall asleep- sort of.  Husband got up around 5ish- I don't know what time it was because I didn't want to look at the clock again.  He decided that if he had any hopes of getting his scripture study in this morning he'd better get up. I'm proud of him for keeping on his track though I was derailed.

So now here I am, tired, at 8am, sore and in my footie pajamas with a hatred for a wee bitty rodent and a giant elephant named Lust.  And I own that.

A mouse triggered me folks.

It's going to be a long road ahead.



And you'd better believe that the first thing I do when I get outta these footie pajamas is to go buy more mouse traps and poison.  No mercy in battle.  (And with the addict- no mercy with addict- mercy is reserved for HUSBAND.)

Love songs

I found this song tonight and it touched me.
I'm not sure if it's a song to my husband or what I wish he'd say to me.

Higher Windows:

For all the times I tried for this
And every chance at you I missed
I've been known to go my way but I confess
It made me miss you more

I drew my line across the sand
And set my flag in no man's land
But here I am, the one man band
With a song that's meant for two

And there is a light from a higher window
Shining down on you tonight
And the music floats on the breeze
Bringing an easier time

And all of our cards are on the table
Tell me what you want to do
Just don't tell me that it's too late
For me to love you

How perfect we were meant to be
Our warm and silent symmetry
It's times like these when all, all we need
Is to be reminded

Whoa, and I have flown a thousand miles
To empty rooms and crowded aisles
And we went from cathedral bells
To show and tell, and wish you wells

And I, I still look at you

And I am blinded, I am blinded

Because there is a light from a higher window
Shining down on us tonight
And the music floats on the breeze
From an easier time

And all of our cards are on the table

Tell me what you want to do

Just don't tell me that it's too late
Don't tell me that it's too late now

Just don't tell me that it's too late
For me to love you

Read more: Josh Groban - Higher Window Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

Correspondence Course in Self Care

Today I received two packages that brightened my day.

In two acts of self care this past week I ordered a picture of Christ that i love and prepared the frame with quotes i love.
The little frames along the edges read:
"Be STILL and KNOW"
"If for a while the harder you try the harder it gets, take heart. So it had been with the best people who ever lived.-Elder Holland"
"You are STRONGER than you realize. You are more CAPABLE than you can imagine. -President Uchdorf"
"<3 it is BRAVE to close your doors."

The other package was strips of fabric for ME. I'm making myself a quilt. Because it's about time,  dangit. I usually put everyone and everything else first. I contemplated making a quilt for someone else (especially when the fabric I wanted and had then set my heart on seemed to be sold out everywhere except Massachusetts). But then decided that it's my turn. So I paid extra for my fabric and talked myself down from feeling guilty.  I'm really looking forward to a quilt class on Wednesday. I can't wait to show you the progress. (As I work on my own healing, I feel the same way.)
I highly recommend you look into your own Correspondence Course. (The picture was $7 from LDS bookstore on Amazon.)