My greatest fear as a parent has always been that one of my children would take their own life. Having my own struggle with mental illness and my history of suicide attempt is what has driven that fear.

A couple of years ago, one of my boys was in a very difficult mental place. He was the lowest I had ever seen him. One evening, he told me some things that put me on high alert and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I prayed and went to bed with a broken and worried heart.

The next morning I turned on my computer and pulled up my Facebook news feed. The first thing that came up was a video called, Sitting on the Bench: Thoughts on Suicide Prevention. It had just been released that morning. I watched it through blurry vision as tears welled in my eyes. I knew God was reaching out to me. In the video, Seth Adam Smith shared his story about his own suicide attempt and how his brother saved him. Recognition began to come over me and then I saw Seth’s brother, Sean, on the video. I knew Sean personally. He was a member of the leadership of my local church congregation and I worked directly with him as I was the leader of our church’s program for children. I immediately reached out to him through text and email. I shared with him what was going on with my son and that I knew God had guided me to him. He worked for the Anasazi Foundation which is an outdoor behavioral health program. Sean invited me to attend an information meeting at Anasazi Foundation that afternoon.

As I learned more about Anasazi I found other connections as well. In the last couple of years, I had read a book called Leadership and Self-Deception which had spoken to me on a deep level. One of my other sons had been assigned to read the book and had shared it with me. It was published by the Arbinger Institute. I then discovered that Anasazi was connected to the Arbinger Insitute and their philosophy was one in the same. Anasazi promoted a second book by the Arbinger Institute titled, Anatomy of Peace. The storyline basically followed what the Anasazi program was all about.

I knew that God was giving me the answer as to what we were supposed to do for our son. I didn’t know how we were going to make it happen, but I knew we had to find a way. Financially it would be a huge burden for our family. My son was also over the age of 18 which meant he had to consent to go, we couldn’t force him. My son had other health issues with asthma and allergies which I thought might prevent him from being cleared by his doctor to be on the wilderness trail for 7 weeks. There were so many obstacles. I never questioned what God wanted. I approached each obstacle and He gave me the strength to do what had to be done to overcome it. As a mother, it was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. It’s impossible for me to put into words the gut wrenching I had to overcome to push him out the door to go. To stand strong and not waiver. God gave me the strength to not crumble.

He went. He did it. Maybe someday he and I can come together to write about our experiences that were happening simultaneously in different places on the earth. For seven weeks I know God held our family in His hands. I will forever be grateful for the experiences we had. Almost 2 years later I see on a daily basis the effects of my son’s time in the wilderness. I know it forever changed his life. My son has a positive effect on my life on a daily basis because of the things he learned out there and because of the choices he now chooses to make.

There are no coincidences. I don’t believe it was luck that a specific video was released the morning after my desperate prayer. I don’t believe it was luck that Sean Smith was in my church family, having moved from Utah the previous year. It wasn’t luck that I already had a relationship developed with him because of each of our service to our church family. It wasn’t luck that I already had knowledge of the root philosophy of Anasazi through a book that my other son was assigned to read at school…

There’s one more twist to this story…

Almost a year after my son’s walk in the wilderness, we were invited to attend the annual Anasazi Scholarship Gala. The purpose of the gala, is to raise money to help families who have financial hardship, put a child through the program. We were one of those families that received financial help the previous year. The event includes an auction of donated specialty items, a dinner, recognition, and entertainment. One of the entertainers for this event held a special place in my own personal history of struggle with depression and suicide. I had once laid in a hospital bed watching CMT as I recovered from a suicide attempt, that should have ended my life. A video played over and over during my recovery… Somewhere in my Broken Heart by Billy Dean. Now, almost 25 years later, I sat in a room filled with hope for my own son’s future. Pictures flashed on a big screen of families being reunited, including my own. My breath caught and tears streamed down my cheek as Billy Dean stood in front of me and sang, Somewhere in my Broken Heart…
I knew God knew me.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, otherwise known as Mormons, have recently launched a website specifically for Suicide Prevention and Support. It is not specifically geared towards the church, but is a resource for anyone and everyone who is struggling with mental illness and needs support. There are 12 links on the site to other suicide prevention sites not affiliated with the church. If you are feeling hopeless, please go check out the site where you can find support and love. I know God knows you, just as he knows me.

This story was originally written on September 18, 2016.

I was 18. I would be graduating from high school in a few months… barely. I knew that the day was soon approaching that I would be done with high school and I would be considered an adult. It meant I was supposed to take a step in some direction. I was in love and thought that he would marry me and save me.

He was 26 when we met and I was 17. We had met six months earlier when my best friend had started dating his younger brother. We were introduced to each other one night at his house. He was kind. He talked to me. He asked me questions and he listened. I can still remember walking with him down the front walkway to my friend’s car and feeling happy inside.

The four of us started hanging out together. After not long, my friend and his brother stopped dating, but we continued to spend time together. From the beginning, it made no sense to me that he would want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand what he could possibly see in me. There was such a huge gap in our ages. He owned his own home, a boat, a car, and a truck. His life was well established. He worked hard. When he wasn’t working he would spend his time with me. It didn’t make sense… but it felt good that he wanted to be with me. I was young. I thought he was everything. It didn’t take long for me to envision being married to him. He would take care of me. I would have a safe place with someone who cared about me. He was my way out of my life.

I would stay the night at his house sometimes on the weekend. He let me drive his cool car, a restored Monte Carlo. We went on a couple of overnight trips. I thought I was his girl. Looking back, I can see that actually he was just my friend. Our relationship was about being together. He was there for me. He cared about my wellbeing because that’s the kind of person he was. He gave me attention that I needed. It’s as if he was just keeping watch over me. At the time, I assumed he had romantic feelings for me because it’s what I wanted. I don’t think he ever really felt that way about me.

When he told me he didn’t want to spend time together anymore, I was devastated. Suddenly I felt I had nowhere to go. I was lost again. I had no value. I had no purpose. I had no reason for living. I could see nothing in my future. Nothing.

It was evening. I was in my bedroom. I had a bottle of Tylenol. I began to put pills in my mouth one at a time and swallow them. This wasn’t the first time I had done this… but this time was different. I didn’t count the pills. I just kept swallowing them. When I was done, I laid down on my bed and cried until I didn’t feel anything anymore.

Morning came. My aunt came in to wake me. I was lethargic. She asked me if I took pills. I didn’t want to wake up. Tears wet my face.

There was no reason to pump my stomach. Too much time had passed. They made me drink something on a timed schedule to attempt to protect my liver from damage.

I laid in a hospital bed for days with CMT playing on the TV. I specifically remember watching *Billy Dean’s video Somewhere In My Broken Heart.

The doctor came in to talk to me the last day I was there. He told me it made no sense that I was still alive. He had no explanation for my body surviving what I had done. There was a teenager who had died just days before me that had less Tylenol in their system than I did. He told me that it was a miracle. He said that God had something important for me to do on this earth. That He had a purpose for keeping me here. He could not explain it any other way. He was solemn and deliberate with his words wanting to make sure I understood what he was saying.

That was 25 years ago. My aunt and uncle still live in the same town and cross paths with my doctor. When he sees them, he always wants to know what I’m doing and how I am. I suspect he’s watching to see how far God’s miracle will reach…

*This connection to Billy Dean and my memory of watching his video over and over again came full circle in November 2015. I will share that experience in an upcoming post.

If you are feeling lost or hopeless please reach out to someone. My situation is unique in that I survived my suicide attempt. Tylenol poisoning is a slow and painful way to die. Overdosing is not something to mess around with or to use as a cry for help. Please tell someone how you are feeling and what you are thinking so that you can get help and support. The hopelessness you feel will not last forever. You can and will find joy again. You are stronger than you think you are.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline
1-800-273-8255

That first year that I lived with my aunt and uncle was amazing. After the turmoil I had been in during the previous years, it felt good to be settled in one place. It felt good to go to the same school all year and make real friends. I felt safe. I wanted to stay there.

That summer my mom decided she wanted me back home with her. She was still living with her boyfriend*. I was still terrified of him. I didn’t realize when I went to visit her that she was going to make me stay. Once I was back at her house she told me I wasn’t going back to live with my aunt. She said she only agreed to one school year and now I was going to live back at home with her.

It was a house I had never been to before. It was in a new area of the valley that I didn’t know. I had no friends. Living in the house were my mom, her boyfriend, my older brother, and younger brother. Being there felt like I was in a foreign country where I was terrified of what would happen to me.

My mom wasn’t my mom. The days were spent with clients coming in and out of the house. They met with her in a special room where she would do readings with them. Before the scheduled appointment, mom would go into her bedroom, put on a white karate gi, and channel** a spirit that would counsel with the client.

My brothers were usually watching movies or playing video games. I was just there. All I could think about was finding a way to escape before my mom’s boyfriend did something to me… or my mom hurt me***.

I spent most of my time huddled in a corner in the bedroom with my blankie that was constantly soaked with tears. When mom and her boyfriend were busy with clients, I would sneak out of my room and go unplug the phone and bring it into my bedroom. Every time I did it, I was scared I would get caught, and worried about what would happen to me when I was. I would call my aunt collect and beg her to come and get me. I felt like I was going to die. I had no hope. I just wanted to disappear in that corner.

After weeks of this routine, my aunt finally got my mom to agree to let me and my two brothers go up north to her house for a visit. The understanding was that we would spend a week there, I would pack up all my things, and the following weekend my other aunt would drive us back down to mom’s house.

I’ll never forget how I felt when I finally saw my aunt and I was in her car driving away. It’s something that is impossible to put into words. Looking back, I think I was in shock from the trauma of those weeks feeling like I was trapped with no way out. I just stared out the window. It’s like I was holding my breath all that time and finally I was able to gasp and get some air. But there was damage. I couldn’t just start breathing normally… especially since I knew that I was supposed to turn around and go back a week later.

That first night back at my aunt’s, I just remember laying on the bed in a trance like state of softly crying, and my body going between feeling stiff and like I was convulsing and couldn’t fully control what my arms were doing. I kept repeating, “I can’t go back, I can’t go back, I can’t go back…”. My aunt comforted me and told me I wouldn’t have to go back.

The day came when I was supposed to go back to my mom’s with my brothers. I felt panic and told my aunt I couldn’t get in the car. She said I didn’t have to. My brothers were confused when I didn’t get in the car with them. I remember my older brother being angry.

That afternoon, I started my period for the first time. I remember feeling so thankful that it hadn’t happen while I was at my mom’s. I imagined how horrific it would have been, being on my own to figure out what to do, and that it might have signaled to my mom’s boyfriend that I was a woman now and fair game.

A few hours later, the phone call came. My aunt talked to my mom first. I have no idea what was said. The phone was handed to me. She yelled. She was angry. She said hateful things and called me a f-ing bitch. I had never been called something like that before… and the fact that it came from my mom, sent the sting even deeper. Disbelief. I felt hated and like a piece of trash for deceiving her. I knew I was the worst daughter in the world. Then she hung up on me.

That was the last time she ever talked to me about going back to live with her. A year later, she sent my youngest brother to also come live at my aunt’s house…

*This is the same boyfriend referred to in Blue Tile and Time After Time. She eventually married him.

**My mom had become involved in metaphysical beliefs, channeling, energy work, tarot cards, crystals, readings, etc. several years prior. Her involvement continued to grow as time went on. This wasn’t the first time I had seen her do channeling work. It scared me. I didn’t understand it. All I knew was that her mannerisms were different and so was her voice. I didn’t know if it was her or not. I just knew it didn’t feel good.

***The truth is, I worried that she might channel a different spirit that was evil and would hurt me or my brothers. I viewed her as not having control over her body or her decisions.

One of my previous posts titled, An Object, is actually based on the experience in this story and my feelings that connect me so deeply to the movie The Abolitionist.

I hate that song. I rarely use that word. I feel that it’s such a strong unforgiving word.

Songs can have deep anchors to memories. This song is probably one of my strongest anchors to a memory. The second I hear it, I turn it off. The feelings it brings up are so uncomfortable that if I’m caught off guard, it makes my eyes water. I feel pain in my chest.

I was standing in the hallway. My mom was there. She was embracing me. I had been crying. I was upset. She had just told me something that didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t understand what it meant. It scared me. It made me want to hide.

What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to act? What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to respond? What was supposed to happen next?

She was holding me in a tight embrace. We were standing on the cold tile floor. I could smell the cabbage soup cooking on the stove. The song began to play. She started swaying back and forth to the music as she held me. She was trying to soothe me. Comfort me.

It didn’t make sense.

She was telling me things that a young girl shouldn’t hear. He was sexually attracted to me. It wasn’t just me. He had a daughter younger than me. She said that when his daughter sat on his lap, he would get a hard on… he was sexually aroused by her. I thought about how young she was. Maybe he had touched her in private places. Maybe he would touch me in private places. I was trapped.

She held me as she swayed to the music… and I cried. I wasn’t a baby who could be consoled by rocking… and neither was I an adult who could protect herself. I was a lost girl somewhere in the middle.

There was no safety to turn to.

The song ended and the embrace broke.

She put blankets out on the floor. She said she would stay with me. Soft music was playing. I wanted to feel protected by her. I needed to be protected by her. She laid down next to me. Eventually I went to sleep.

I woke. It was dark. No music. I rolled over. Mom was gone. She was supposed to stay with me. Protect me. She wasn’t there. Where was she? I heard noise. I got up. I walked toward her bedroom. I heard the noise clearer. The door was wide open. I saw them. She was supposed to be protecting me. She was with him. The same man who wanted to have sex with me.

“You could at least close the door!”

I slammed it.

I heard laughing.

I was furious. I was hurt. I was furious. Anger surged inside of me.

How could she do this? How could she be with him? He told her he was sexually attracted to me. She told me. I was hurting. I was gutted.

SHE’S SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME!

I wretched.

I hate that song.

This story took place before Blue Tile and connects to the same man.

If you are a mom or dad in a relationship with someone who has admitted to you that they have sexual feelings towards one or more of your children, it is your job to protect them. This is not a situation that you can fix by telling your child. Telling your child is not going to keep this person from harming them. You cause harm to your own child when you tell them they are in danger and then you don’t remove the danger. You break a trust. Your child will feel unloved and unworthy of protection. Your child will feel like they did something wrong to deserve this treatment. Your child will feel trapped. Your child will feel dirty… but won’t know how to clean away the dirt. Please, even if you have a feeling that your boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife has any level of sexual or abusive feelings towards your child, do the right thing and remove this person from your home. If you are incapable of doing this, then remove your child to a safe environment where they can be properly cared for and protected.

I was a hider. We lived in our current home for over seven years before I really began to make friends. I kept myself closed off and didn’t allow myself to show. The anxiety I battled and my struggle with keeping my home clean kept me mentally in a place of shame. The idea of letting anyone down or of someone seeing my home in it’s constant chaotic disorganized state made me keep up a wall.

What if someone asked me to do something and I was too sick to follow through? I would let them down. The thought of that kept me from showing any talent or capability that I had. I mean, what if someone asked me to cook a dinner for a family in need and I became too sick myself to do it? What if I had one of my anxiety episodes and it took me down to that place of not functioning in the world? There’s no way I would take the responsibility  of saying I could do something for someone when I felt that my anxiety could hit at any moment it chose to. If I didn’t let them see me, they wouldn’t ask me to do something, and I couldn’t let them down. No one would have an expectation of me and that’s the way I preferred it.

I felt awkward at places like church on Sunday. Isn’t church supposed to be a place to feel comfort and love? Isn’t it supposed to be a place where you find others with common values and goals? You’d think it would be such an easy place to make friends. Not for me. I was painfully shy. I thought there was nothing of value that I could contribute to a discussion. I felt my place was at the back of the room where no one would notice me. I didn’t step outside of my little comfortable space. I was nice to people, but I didn’t go out of my way to make contact. I knew people and occasionally I would go to a home party or a church activity… but I never felt comfortable there. Every moment I was self conscious. I was worried that no one would like me and at the same time I was afraid someone would.

What if I made a friend? When you have friends, that means you do stuff together. That means they might even show up at your house to pick you up to go out, or they might expect that you would invite them over to hang out and watch a movie, or have a playdate with the kids. They might even want to lean on you and ask you to take care of their kids sometime when they needed to go to an appointment.

A friend gets to know you. Gradually, as you spend time together, you begin to learn things about each other. I didn’t like what there was inside me to discover. I had mental problems. The depression and the anxiety… they would think I was completely nuts. Who would want to remain friends with someone like that? What value did I have? What would be their reason for sticking around? The inside of me was way too ugly and once they saw that, they would run away.

If I had a friend and they passed through my front door, they would think I was a total mess. My house was a total mess. My house is a total mess. They would actually see within me and see I was flawed. Deeply flawed. They would think I was a total slob. They would think I don’t care about my family. They would think I wasn’t the kind of friend they wanted. Once they saw the mess inside, they would turn away. They wouldn’t understand how I could live that way. How could I live in the mess? Why didn’t I have each room perfectly decorated, the floor vacuumed, and things put away? Why was there stuff everywhere? They wouldn’t understand that all those things didn’t ever really have a place they were supposed to go. They wouldn’t understand that I didn’t know how to make a permanent place for them and keep them there. They would think there was something wrong with me. They wouldn’t want to be my friend.

I was a hider.

Somehow, about five years ago, I chose to start showing myself. As I faced my anxiety and learned how to overcome it, I began to be more confident that I could do things. My arsenal of weapons against the anxiety grew stronger… I grew stronger. I slowly began to have victories over the anxiety.
I learned to look it straight in the face.
I learned to call it what it was.
I learned to put it in its place.
I learned to remind myself that I had come through a panic attack before.
I learned to remind myself that I did have moments of joy and that I would have more.
I learned to pull the anxiety in and hug it.
I learned to embrace it and tell it that it was okay.
I learned all people feel anxious sometimes.
I learned that God gave us a range of feelings and emotions so that we could grow and learn from them.
I learned that the anxiety was fed by negative thoughts.
I learned that it was okay to feel the anxiety.
I learned that most of the time the anxiety came because of the perspective I was taking in looking at something.
I learned that I had the power to change my perspective.
I learned that life is not supposed to be easy.
I learned that as I came through those hard moments I became stronger.
I learned that I had value.
I learned that my experiences made me who I was.
I learned that deep compassion came from the things I had experienced and the struggles I faced.
I learned that if I took those experiences and shared them with others I didn’t feel so alone. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who knew what that feeling, of feeling so bad you wanted to just die, felt like.
I learned there were others struggling.
I learned that if I showed my love and compassion to those people it made them feel better and I could not keep myself from feeling better.
I learned that as I took the focus off myself and how I was feeling, I could be a strength to others.
I learned that God wanted me to show who I was.
I learned that He allowed me to suffer so that I could love and support others who are suffering.
I learned that I am beautiful inside.
I learned that I am loved by God and that He has a purpose for me.
I learned that I have great power within me to touch the world around me for the better.
I learned that I feel the greatest joy when I lift another.

I’m still learning.

I am here. I am open. There’s no more hiding. I am exposed. I am a million pieces of different experiences all weaved together into a breath taking masterpiece. Everything the Creator makes is perfect in His purpose.

You are not alone in your struggles. I know your struggles are real and not made up. I know they are hard. I know that they can be overwhelming. I know that sometimes you feel there is no hope. I know that you feel like things will never be better… that you will never be better. I promise you, if you’ll take just the tiniest step outside of where you feel comfortable, you will begin to change. You know where your place of comfort is. You know where you need to take the step. It just has to be a step toward something new or different. Do it. You can do it.

The broken place was so dark and lonely. There was a stench like wet rotting boards. I kept hammering nails into them trying to keep them up sheltering me. I thought it was safe there. I thought no one could hurt me there. I just sat in the old. I was just surviving. I was breathing in and out. Light could not come in. There was a haze of damp air that hovered around me. I was exhausted. Staying there consumed me and I was starving for light.

This new place that I’ve found… you’ve got to come and find it. Loosen your grip and open up your arms and you will find something beautiful. It takes time. There is no rush. One tiny step.

Have you been wondering why I haven’t written anything in a few weeks? The truth is, I have written a few things, I just haven’t published them. I guess the frame of mind I’ve been in has been keeping me from thinking that it even matters. That’s not the best place to be in. I’m finally deciding to publish something today! Below you will find something I wrote on August 12, 2016…

I’m pretty sure I’ve been fighting some depression. I can’t believe I’ve gone a couple of weeks without writing anything here. Truthfully, I have written a few things… but I just didn’t feel like publishing them. I’m not completely sure why. I suppose that due to being in a hard place I just didn’t feel like putting any of myself “out there”.

Here’s one issue I have… I seem to be more motivated to do things for others rather than myself. Therefore, if I look at writing my blog as something for me… then it’s going to be hard sometimes to follow through. I know it’s one of the things I feel deep inside that I’m supposed to be doing… but sometimes I deny myself things.

The depression is a result of many things. Most of all, it’s the result of me feeling sorry for myself. It’s a result of losing my focus of looking outward and searching for the good in all things. I guess I’ve just felt bogged down mentally and physically. There are some specific things that have been on my mind…

I  know that every human on this earth faces personal struggles. I am no exception to that and I shouldn’t be. Every once in awhile I just let them all stack up one on top of another.

Why can it become so easy to focus on our flaws or struggles? There’s part of me that realizes this can be good because you can’t improve on something unless you recognize there’s a problem. But when does it become a flaw that isn’t really a flaw but rather just part of who you are? So much comes from the flaws and struggles depending on how we approach them. Sometimes I just want to smack them away… but sometimes I can see so clearly what a blessing they are.

What are some of my struggles that I haven’t even shared here or at least have shared very little?

How about adult ADHD? Not that I think I suddenly contracted that when I became an adult, it’s pretty obvious to me that it’s always been there. I remember being in elementary school and struggling with reading comprehension. I didn’t have any difficulty reading. It was a matter of content and if I found it interesting enough for my brain to grab onto it. My bedroom was always a mess. My mom used to say I was the slowest eater… even when I was a breastfeeding baby. I’d eat a little and then look around, then eat a little, then look around, on and on. I didn’t want to miss anything that was going on around me. I was distracted and fascinated by my environment.

Given the chaotic upbringing that I had, I received my diagnosis in my early 20’s after being treated for anxiety and depression. I know there are people that would like to shrug off ADHD/ADD as a made up disorder or that would say there is a lot of over-diagnosing of this disorder. My response to that is that it is real. It’s hard to know it’s real if you don’t personally experience it or have a close relationship with  someone who does.

Here’s a peek into my inattentive ADHD brain…

My home is a constant mess. This is one of the biggest struggles I have had to face on a daily basis. I have beat myself over the head repeatedly for having a messy unorganized home. Here’s the problem. There are a million more interesting things that I’m daydreaming about. I can think of so many different ways that something should be organized that I can never pick the one that would be the most beneficial. For this reason, things end up not really having a place that they belong. When I use something, I’m not sure if I’m really done using it, so it ends up getting left right where I used it last. If things are out of sight, then they are out of mind and I forget I have them or where they are. I have a hard time wrapping my head around things like folding laundry and putting it away. When I think about it, it seems like such a waste of time. I’m just going to wear it and it’s going to have to go through the wash again and then I’ll have to fold it again and put it away. It’s so much easier to just throw the clean clothes in a basket and grab what I need from there… no time wasted on that folding and going up and down the stairs to put it away. Most of the time I’m not even really that aware of the mess around me until someone says they are going to come over to visit. It’s like a person putting on glasses for the first time and they suddenly see crystal clear. In an instant I can see every little piece of everything and I freak out internally about what other people are going to think.

I’m highly creative and always wanting to try something new. I see something I like and I instantly want to try and make it myself. I’m almost always up for the challenge. I’ll impulsively purchase supplies and tools that I need to try a new craft or skill and then never even touch the bag sometimes until a year or two later. This is also why I can’t get rid of stuff. I’m seriously always going to work on that tomorrow. With so many ideas drifting in my head it is difficult to make a decision about what I’m going to do on any given day. There’s a war going on inside my brain between spending my time doing something that I think society thinks I should be doing as my role as a stay at home mom and what I feel passionate about doing. Even within those individual realms it’s difficult for me to make a choice about which thing to take on because there are so many options. Within those options I can rate the importance of them in so many different ways. There’s never a clear order to things… just constant ideas about how to rearrange them. There are so many ways to determine what is the priority. Do I use logic? If so, I still can’t decide because logically I can see the answer differently as I look from different angles. Are you keeping track of the layers of the thinking that goes into just deciding if I should do the dishes or go work on laundry?

Even within something like writing my blog… there are so many ideas swirling about.

Another element is boredom. I can totally get into learning something new and quickly become good at doing it… but then the newness starts to wear off and I see something else shiny catching my eye. Now I want to try the new thing. Sticking to a decision longterm feels impossible. If I don’t have a level of accountability to someone then I end up dropping things very easily. There’s so much information that I want to consume that I end up trying to consume many different things at the same time. I can have a pile of 5 books that I’m currently reading and never get completely through any of them. My focus dies too quickly or I get confused about where I should put my focus.

I have this hyper sensitivity to wanting to do the right thing or make the right choice. It’s a difficult combo when you can see so many right ways. It becomes debilitating at times and I just end up paralyzed. I spend so much time trying to decide what to do that I rarely complete any task from start to finish… or I rarely do it on a consistent basis. I can focus in on one thing and do really good at it for awhile, but as soon as I try and add in a new thing to focus on, I end up dropping the ball of the other thing I just mastered.

All of this is frustrating in and of itself if the only two things I had to think about were keeping my house in order and doing things I feel creatively passionate about. Can you imagine what it becomes when you factor in caring for five sons and a husband? What about the element of my health? Let’s chit chat about diabetes for a moment.

Type 1 diabetes is a disease where you have to constantly think about food. What’s in it? How many carbs does it have? How will those particular carbs get absorbed into my body? What will happen to those carbs if I do physical activity? How will my body react to any of a zillion different foods I put in my body depending on my menstrual cycle or stress level? What about the temperature outside? What about the exercise I did two days ago… how is that going to affect my blood sugar today? What if I’m sleep deprived? My CGM (continuous glucose monitor) goes off three times in the night waking me up and I have to eat sugar and make sure my level goes back up before I go back to sleep. Why did that happen? What do I need to change? Did I eat the wrong kind of carbs at the end of the day? Did I eat too many carbs or not enough? Does my insulin dosage during the night need to be changed? There are ENDLESS scenarios when trying to maintain blood glucose levels manually instead of your own body’s pancreas doing it automatically for you. Keep in mind, if you screw up… if you accidentally give yourself too much insulin or you forget to eat at a specific time you could go into a coma and die. That’s not an exaggeration.

Somehow in all this chaos going on in my brain… there’s another aspect of being hyper aware of other people. Their feelings, situations, remembering certain things about them. A certain person being triggered in my brain because of something I see that connects to something I remember them saying, or posting on social media, or something they like, or something they are interested in, or something they are going through, etc. Thoughts telling me to do something for other people. Thoughts saying I need to serve them. Thoughts telling me that I’m capable of helping with something and I should drop everything else.

The thoughts are exhausting. It’s constant confusion. There’s no order. It’s a big jumbled mess of awesomeness. I know I am capable of achieving incredible things… which makes it that much more frustrating to be stuck in confusion. There are specific parts of our brain that are supposed to guide us and help us navigate all of the tasks and options… those parts of my brain suck. The other parts of my brain are amazing.

There are obviously some things that I have been able to prioritize and follow through on. As a mom, I make sure my kids have food to eat, I make sure they get to school on time, I make sure they have clothes, etc. As a diabetic, I have to know what food I’m putting in my body and do calculations and know how much insulin to give myself, etc. These things that I have learned to prioritize, take a lot of energy for me to stay focused on, and keep at the front of my awareness. Sometimes I reach a point where I feel like I can’t keep doing it. I begin to lose my grip on forcing myself to pay attention. I’m so fatigued that I feel like I just need to come up for air. I need to focus on not focusing on anything. That’s when I’m in jeopardy of crashing… I start flailing around not grabbing onto anything and I become totally disoriented. Those are the moments I want to just get in the car and drive forever as if I can get away from myself.

Other things weighing on me… my responsibilities as a youth leader, dealing with the endless boxes of my mom’s things that have been sitting there for over a year now, being the only connection to any family that my older brother has now that our mom is gone, filling the void for my mom’s best friend who had a stroke several months before my mom passed away who has no close family… the list is endless. Some days I can let it go and some days I can’t.

Last year on this day, I shared this picture on social media.

Someone sent me a personal message saying that I dishonored my mom by sharing the picture. I immediately took it down and posted this status in it’s place:

“So, where did you and your family go this summer?”
We didn’t.

“How much money did you end up spending on new school clothes?”
We didn’t.

“Hey, let’s see your first day of school pics!”
We didn’t.

We didn’t…
go on a vacation.
go to amusement places.
go out to eat.
go visit family.
buy new school clothes.
buy new backpacks.
buy new shoes.
buy new lunch boxes.
buy new water bottles.
take a picture on the first day of school.

We did…
share hugs & kisses.
say, “I love you.”
take random pictures of silliness.
make our own lunch most days… including the youngest.
more chores than ever before.
wear the clothes we like and are comfortable in.
take time to take care of health.
spend a lot of money on medical supplies and medications.
get my anxious son to the first day of school with no breakdowns or tears…
GET MY ANXIOUS SON TO THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL WITH NO BREAKDOWNS OR TEARS!!!

My sons are my HEROES. They are doing it. They are figuring it out. They are learning how to get themselves through the rough spots. They are learning to appreciate that money doesn’t come easy. They are getting the concept of need vs want. They are appreciating what they have more. They are becoming more self-sufficient. They are expressing more thanks and gratefulness. They are pushing themselves to do what they know they have to do.

I am the PROUDEST MOM ON THE EARTH!

This was the BEST summer ever!

This was a VICTORIOUS first day of school!