Breaking My Silence...

I've been listening to and reading a lot of Brene Brown the last couple years.  If you don't know her, she is a doctorate level social worker who has studied shame and vulnerability and it's effect on the human condition.  Shame, she says, requires silence in order to survive but the recipe for healing it is vulnerability and empathy.  Being a one on the enneagram (i.e. a perfectionist or the reformer depending on your edition), I could spend all day learning about shame.  I eat shame for breakfast in the form of an inner critic.  This voice, all be it my own inside my head, is not a nice girl.  She finds imperfections and criticisms to just about everything in my life.  "There's crumbs on the counter, you forgot to sign the permission slip, those bills look all messy put them in a pile, you look wrinklier, your hair is thinning, when is the last time you vacuumed the house?!?!"  You get the point.  Shame and the inner critic is a "B*TCH" and I often tell her that.  But she doesn't really go away regardless of how healthy or unhealthy I am.  Even if my house is clean, my kids are fed, and I am fitting into my goal pants, there's another thing that could be perfected.

So imagine me, 25, in grad school, planning out my perfect life with my then fiance.  I would have 2-3 amazing children, an adorable dog, a job that I totally loved, a nice house in Hamilton Co, with good friends, an active lifestyle and cute cute cute everything.  I was working hard.  Just a shade under a 4.0 GPA, scholarships, graduating early, and a job lined up after graduation.  My little inner critic, well, she could suck it, because despite all the negative, I had used my tough mental attitude to just get to be a better version of myself.  I was ready.  I was hopeful.

Fast forward a decade.  I have everything on that list.  Literally EVERYTHING.  I have been so blessed to see benchmark after benchmark in my life and I'd run past every one of them with hard work and persistence.  And then came the feedback that my precious kindergartner was struggling a bit.  So I did all the things that a "one" does.  We worked harder, read more, talked about behavior choices and empathy.  We set goals, we used strategies... but it got worse.  Test scores and reading levels plateaued.  Everything started to feel like we were walking in mud.  I called OT.  I called neurofeedback.  We talked to the teacher, the school counselor, the school psychologist.  Called more providers.  Waited.  Waited.  It continued...

Nothing, I mean, nothing I could do was really helping.  And for the first time in a very long time I felt powerless.  Everyone around me including the doctors said, "you are doing so much, it's all wonderful", but what wasn't wonderful was the results.  What wasn't wonderful was after a first round of testing, the psychologist said, "this is worse than I thought", we need to test more...

The perfect life I had been striving for, it didn't include Autism.  Even typing it now, I want to press backspace six times and be able to just type ADHD or anxiety (which were also diagnosed).  And since then I have been a wavering storm of trying to fix it and trying to accept it.  I cannot tell you how much paperwork I have done, doctor's and therapy appointments I have been to since we started to see sensory issues in 2016.  I don't want to think about the money spent, the time utilized, and the amount of books I have bought.  I have set up a sensory gym in my home, I have bought so many supplements and probiotics that I could start a health food store, and I have tried so many approaches and strategies to just get clothes on for school in the morning.  The issue is not my child, it's how her brain developed, her genetic make up, and how it's all wired inside.  And truthfully, I am learning, that there are often days and moments and opportunities where even if I do everything perfect, it all explodes...

By nature, I became a fixer.  I think I learned as a child that if I followed the rules, the directions or the orders, I would be safe.  It has served me pretty well.  So many of the dreams and goals I set for myself I can accomplish.  But the anger I get when I cannot do it right or the directions other's give do not work for our situation, or the supplements I researched and bought have zero effect on her attention span, well, that anger, it is a fire.  I would do ANYTHING for this child to be well, to learn easily, to just be able to coordinate her body to ride a bike or tie her shoes, but literally, all I can do is keep trying things until she feels good and can live the best quality of life she can while still maintaining a positive relationship with her.

Despite a bachelors in Child Development, a masters in marriage and family therapy, I often feel so ill-equipped that I shout out in my prayers for God to give me discernment.  Because all of those books, all of those articles, all of the feedback, well, it's saying we're doing all we can besides going really extreme or crazy.  High functioning doesn't mean less symptoms, it means her intellect is actually quite high but her social and emotional development as well as her coordination and processing is all effected by her brain development.  Reflexes that babies naturally integrate are not, and fight, flight or fear is a common pattern of interaction even just over putting on underwear or new shoes.

Autism has been on the front line of my client's lives.  I have held mother's after their diagnosis, and rolled tractors across the floor with kids who barely spoke.  I never thought it would be my life, my perfect dream.  And I decided to share it because in a way, I know I cannot heal, I cannot grow, I cannot accept it, if I keep hiding it in shame.  If I keep feeling like I can't help my child.  If I keep feeling like maybe there was something I could have done sooner to help her.

I know I will spend my life helping those with Autism.  Not because I fully understand what to do, but because we all need someone to stand with in the storm.  Autism has been by far the biggest battle, the most heart wrenching experience of my story.  My facebook and instagram are my reminders that God is GOOD.  We do have good days, moments, and swim meets.  We have amazing people in our life, in our Life Group, in our circle.  We have amazing providers and a treatment team.  We have an amazing new school who has set up so many good strategies and plans to help her grow.  And we have amazing doctors guiding us when we fall back.  I have faith that God will guide us.  I have comfort in knowing that He is using Autism in my story, even if I sometimes hate it.

So, that was hard...  But I hope that with 1 in 52 kids diagnosed with ASD or HF ASD that my dear friends are  able to read this and know "me too".  Brene challenged me in her research that the first step to healing, is breaking my silence.

My hope of my story is that I know I am the right mom for her.  Maybe not a perfect mom, but yet, a perfect mom for the fight.  We will continue to learn, grow and become a family, but we also recognize the pain and the brokenness of our story.  We surrender to the hard mornings and night time tantrums, frankly because surrender is our only option sometimes.  But we will continue to seek the love and support from our community because the more support she has, we have, the more I know she will thrive.  

And for me, just being reminded I do not have to do it all perfect, to be grateful for our blessings,  and to use my anger as fuel to keep persistence to seek wellness is all I can do.   I hope you, too, can find the strength to be vulnerable with whatever your mountain is...

The Unforeseen Mountains

I cannot believe that I have not written a blog in over a year.  Maybe, in a way, the past year until recently felt like a smooth sail.  No major dramas, no major emotional crisis. It could also be that the past year was very busy with the big one going to kindergarten and doing a year long swim club.  It could be that I had good girl friends for a bit that I was intentional with.  I was journaling more, praying more, and having intentional conversations.  All felt well in the world until about Christmas. 

I was getting out of the shower tonight when I thought about a few mountains I have been facing.  The imagery in my mind brought  me back to these writings of marriage, working in poverty, losing a friend to suicide, infertility, health issues, parenting, and dieting.  The blog I started to convey my excitement and desire to enjoy the moments transformed into a blog about enduring suffering and doing hard things.  The blog about expressing joy and transformation in grad school became my sage that life threw me as each chapter unfolded. 

And I had the pleasure this past year of hearing snip-its of stories from a Bible study group focused on sharing our stories and the core events who helped us to discover who God is but also what God created us for.  And I realized that the mountains that we climb are so much based on our own perception.  Many people come to my office and say, "I don't know why I am even here complaining, I bet you see a lot worse than this", and yet, I am also almost always finding a level of compassion even if the client before was climbing a mountain range in Nepal while the current one is merely climbing a rolling hill.  Because the truth is that our mountain, our problems, our life events, and our troubles and joys are all important to varying degrees in shaping us.  They create our life story. 

As I dried off my hair and just stood in the silence, I realized, I am on a mountain that I had no idea I would ever climb.  Maybe more like a series of mountains that keep rolling out each time I make it to the top of one and then seen the next. 

I think when we are on unforeseen paths, those that we never pictured ourselves in, we often hit a place of emotional desperation.  A place where we are plugging one foot in front of the other.  A place where we want to turn back but know we are too far out to do that.  A place where we desperately look for a guide, a map, some sense of direction of where to go next. "Surely, God will light a path."  We find comfort if we are lucky enough to have a trusted friend who walked the road before us (even better if they climbed higher mountains and tell you that you'll survive).  But often in the journey, a those stopping points where you breath and look back on how far you come, I think that I often think, "how did I even get here, this was not in my plan".

About four months ago, we bought our dream home.  Well, the interior was our dream home.  Fresh paint, new appliances, new counter-tops and carpet.  I could see my furniture in it.  I prayed over it.  Put our house on the market and made a contingent offer within a few hours of listing it.  I pined over this house.  I saw a beautiful story and a beautiful solution to an unforeseen redistricting of schools and I thought, "I have really made such a good choice".  Mind you, the weather was freezing, and it was not just freezing but the entire outside of our house for walk throughs and inspections were covered in inches of snow. 

I never thought I would be climbing a mountain and finally finishing the journey of almost 8 weeks of skin infections.  I never knew we had so much poison ivy/oak, and I definitely had no idea I would climb the mountain of "Sporotrichosis"  (a fungal infection transmitted through rose bushes and small cuts in the skin).  I looked at this beautiful house and I thought about my wonderful days mulching and planting flowers.  I saw the potential, the vision but I never planned the pain, the three prescriptions, and the countless dollars of over the counter creams, anti-itch, pain reliever, and astringents.  About a week ago, I finally got to sleep through the night for the first time in almost two months.  It was like a rebirth.  A suffering that was ending.  It was a minor set back in the big scheme and now if I can find someone to remove the poison ivy that is taking over my yard, I will be able to laugh at this mountain that was thrown my way, but not all mountains are temporary.  Not all mountains have a clear cut ending...

A midst the move and the busy-ness of the year, I started to wonder about the big one's performance at school.  Papers coming home 90% undone.  Random behavior logs needing to be signed.  Increased sensory needs and then lots of emotion.  School became harder, really hard, and then I think I saw her put her own emotional breaks on when the house was all packed up and we waited to move.  We knew we had to react, to make a plan, to respond in some way.  I felt like every turn was unforeseen, not how I had seen things in the past.  I started to read article after article.  I bought a stack of books.  We got back to therapies, started to reach out and consult.  There was a really big mountain in our way and for the first time, I really felt like I had no idea how to help, what to do, how to be the text book parent that she needed me to be.

I have written about sensory processing and still try to understand it, but this felt bigger.  This felt like I couldn't just twirl her in her swing and correct it.  The swim season ended, the sensory needs increased even more.  Sitting in our new wonderful house, we were drowning.  We were climbing a mountain that we did not expect.  We had a plan and had worked that plan.  No one expects a child who's gone to literally preschool since she was 12 months old would struggle with basic skills.  The morning routine was a nightmare, the bedtime time was full of nightmares, too.  The big man and I were scared, we still are scared, and we likely will remain that way.

Suddenly a new world and vocabulary was opened to us and we started having hard conversations with providers.  And I realized that I handle unforeseen mountains in two phases... first, I get very sad and scared and overwhelmed so I cry a lot, shut down, and overthink.  Then I realize that I do something that I am sort of proud of  myself for doing, I bare down.  I move forward.  I have these cleat-like shoes that dig into that mountain I have to face and I just start climbing.  I wake up with hope that God will help me and I will try to make every effort to help myself.  I start to look for others feedback and guidance.  I pray.  I talk about it... maybe to a default.  But I keep trying to climb. 

I never realized in my youth that giving up was totally an option.  Maybe that's a good thing in these moments where life brings you more than you can handle.  I think my fear of failure and my grit to succeed is forcing me to weed my garden, not run from danger, and to keep climbing each day, one foot at a time.

I wish I had some profound hope that this journey we are on gets easier.  I think in that first stage of emotionality and disbelief, I try to bargain with God.  I think we all do this.  "Why me?"  "Why now?"  "Why can't you just give us a break?"  "I don't want this cup..." Oh wait...

In my trying to gain perspective I often end up humbled that the cup I bare is never as heavy as the one He held.  The disappointments I face are hard, but they are never the ones He felt.  This life is full of heavy, dark, gut-wrenching loss and heartache and pain.  From suicides, to death, to poverty, and sexual perversion and assault, from cancer to drug addiction, from the death of a child who was supposed to make it, from sex trafficking, and hunger, famine, and injustice.  And His cup was bigger...  His mountain that He carried that cross was bigger.  His pain in his steps were far more painful.  His darkness around Him was far darker...  His isolation, betrayal from those who "loved him" was far deeper.  But nonetheless, He climbed and He willingly died...

Perhaps the unforeseen mountains are a glimpse of the suffering.  Perhaps it's all just coincidence and science and bad genes and poor landscaping practices.  Perhaps it's just bad Irish luck or bad juju.  Perhaps it's a chance to learn so I can serve others.  Perhaps it doesn't really matter why, but it matters how.  How will I climb?  With fear?  With hope?  With friends or alone?  With openness or isolation?  With joy or pessimism?  How will my story be told when I am gone?  Will I choose this mountain and seek Him, or will I stop climbing, angry and bitter and resentful that it was even made for me to climb?

My hope and my prayer is that I climb with His help, looking for places to stop and rest and to regain my spirit.  My hope is that I seek truth in my thoughts and my heart so I do not allow others to push me down or leave me feeling abandoned.  My hope is that I lean into my marriage, my friendships, and my family and grow closer and deeper in authenticity than to hide away in fear.  I want to show other moms that we can walk together in our struggles, not to feel we are all alone. 

I think that the intense skin stuff the past two months was a metaphor of what is to come.  If I had not asked for help, I wouldn't be healed.  If I had not stopped and rest, I could have gotten worse.  If I had not talked and shared I would not have ruled out that the infection was not poison ivy.  If I had continued to dive in without research and truth, I would have likely been covered head to toe in outdoor diseases and reactions.  But I stopped, went to the doctor, rested, asked for help from friends and I asked a lot of questions along the way.  I did not give up hope but my backyard is still a hot mess.  I am still so weary and tired from the ordeal, but I have hope that one day, some how, this backyard will be the dream I dreamed of.... even if it only lasts for a week until the weeds grow back in...  Oh foreshadowing... I see what you're doing there.  Now I just have to remember, step by step by step....

 Likely I will have more to process and glean from the journey we are on now.  We won't know for awhile still so why are just taking things one day at a time.  We are going to keep being hopeful, but we are also open to try new things and go new directions.  We want help, hope, hugs (eh, unless I am crying then do not hug me), and hopefully, we will see some healing.  I just felt like sharing because I have shared so much with many lately, but it still feels good to honor God in this process and to express my deep appreciation for those we are walking with along the way.  It's been wonderful to not walk alone.  <3

The Whole 27...

27 days ago, Chris and I embarked on a journey together.  Feeling extra fluffy after the holiday season, not only were our pants a little tight but our energy levels were crazy low.  We joined a wonderful pool last year, and so from May until September we basically live in a swim suit whenever we are not at work.  With not much on the calendar as far as celebrations and such, we thought it  might be a good time to get back on track and try something crazy to get us back to eating healthier and losing weight rather than gaining.  Chris, the sugar addict, was dipping into the kids snack box after hours, and me, the bland carb craver, had made Panera and Jersey Mike's a rotation at work lunches and my portion sizes were anything but light.  We were eating like teenagers but we now have adult metabolism (adulting is hard)...

So, its the Whole 30 but we only did the Whole 27.  With some success you might ask, "why give up at 27?", and sheepishly, I would tell you that at least for myself, I am notorious for pooping out in the last 100 meters of the race, however, I am trying not to look at it as pooping out.  We have a fun Easter weekend planned with our family, and honestly, we were just burnt out...  One can only eat so many vegetables in a month :)

But part of the Whole 30 is to reflect on the experience and that I think has emotional value to it... so here it goes...


Week 1 was a mixture of "we can totally do this" and "oh my Lanta my body hates me".  Within 48 hours of giving up all grains, sugar, and processed food (oh, and dairy), you start to feel sick.  Hung over.  Headaches, nausea, fatigue...  that "we can totally do this" was the first 48 hours, but after two amazing breakfasts of eggs, you miss the toast.  You miss the flavored creamer.  You miss your food routine, the crutches of comfort you have some how found after years of grocery shopping that just add a spark to your day.  Suddenly, every day is rainy.  You're standing in front of the refrigerator, frozen... what can I eat?  And everything your mind and heart goes to, your list says "NO".  And so you stand there... I survived by telling myself that I had eaten it all before and this was all temporary and to just suck it up and eat something on the list.

Some days were better than others.  The day I discovered W30 muffins, rekindled my love for bacon, and the day I ventured out and made paleo chicken salad.  There were mornings where I woke up and even with a full bladder, I felt less bloated and started to see that last of my baby belly deflate.  Those moments were what I held on to as positive momentum.  Those moments usually make the really hard moments somewhat bearable..  And I say that all very tentatively because I don't just like food, I really love it.  And I don't go for the good for you stuff, I go for absolute crap.

A few days ago, my relapse prevention plan started to fail me.  The kids were cracked out on some kind of cabin-fever-fed energy that no mother could contain.  The dull lack of sugar headache, which never really went away from me the entire 27 days, was starting to kick in, and I just felt deflated.  I got pink eye two days prior, couldn't run at the gym, and all of the sudden the need to eat at home to stay compliant felt like a prison cell.  In talking to a friend who asked what I ate growing up, I realized that compared to my childhood snacking habits, I had become a much healthier mother.  I rarely ate fresh fruit as a kid... I forced down a few vegetables at dinner covered in cheese or tucked amidst mashed potatoes.  But I never liked them.  Even bananas, I used to slice on top of cheerios with cow's milk and then sprinkled extra sugar on top!!

By fourth grade, my mom mentioned to the pediatrician at a check up that "I was getting a little husky".  He suggested cutting down on soda and switching to milk.  Get more active was the other suggestion.  But back in those days of latch key and summers home with my sister, we probably went every couple hours and heated up pizza rolls, other processed Sam's Club food, bologna sandwiches, chips, Oreos, tons of cereal, bagels and cream cheese, grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, pizzas, and various other carb laden crap that tasted good but in the amount that I was eating, was excessive.  Puberty hit and I grew taller.  I was always conscious of my weight after that.  Aware that I was "too big" so I would just eat less for awhile.  Started to do Weight Watchers plan in high school, low carb diets by college, followed by more Weight Watchers, South Beach, Adkins, Stop Light, 21 Fix, Paleo, Gluten Free... etc etc etc etc...

After being diagnosed with PCOS in 2015, it started to make a lot more sense.  My body craves sugar, struggles to process it correctly, and then turns it into my problem.  After having two babies, I have lost 55 pounds both times.  I have mastered the art of manipulating my food, pushing my body, and losing weight, but I haven't lost my relationship with food.  This Whole 30 business only proved that more to myself.  I felt isolated without food.  Hiding in my office alone during a lunch break instead of sitting by the fireplace at Panera felt lonely, tiring, and sad.  I ate the food on the list and it was fine but it wasn't fun,  The high of being skinny opposed to the social isolation of eating like a health nut wasn't balancing out my motivation.  Prep cooking was a high but the eating was a low.  All this built up and the food was mediocre at best.  Sometimes, I just did not want to chew anymore.

The upside?  Well, that's all the stuff on the website.  The need for an afternoon nap went away by week two.  I started to feel good at the gym and running and lifting was great and built on top of the high I was experiencing.  I felt good in my clothes, felt inches melting off.  I slept better and with less need to use melatonin or  Tylenol PM. My anxiety seemed down.  My caffeine intake was down and I saw the correlation that I was having with dining out, high sugar and increased caffeine.  Physically, I felt pretty darn good.

Mentally and emotionally was the challenge.  I was winning the battle but felt like as the month went on I was losing the war.  I know, totally not what the testimonies say....

Food has a symbolism for many of us that is connection, comfort, stress relief, sensory experience, or sometimes a medium at which to have social exchanges.  We can eat healthier foods but within a culture that cares little about the quality of ingredients, the number of carbs, fat, sugar or calories, I found that it was more anxiety provoking to try to go out to eat but remain compliant.  I found myself getting stressed out just thinking about the next meal.  Some days, I just lacked the desire to even eat but did it once my stomach growled.

So in a sense, the people at whole 30 would probably tell me I need to start over.  That's the point is to stop feeling with food... to start to eat for fuel not feeling.  But then I had this philosophical and theological question (inner conversation/ text message with my seminary sister) about if I truly want to lose the symbolism, the culture, and power that food can have if lived in moderation.  This month I have conversations with people who are vegan, vegetarian, ex-vegetarian, gluten free, paleo and long term whole 30.  It was fascinating to see how people came to adopt the lifestyle.  I never once felt I would be converted, but I knew my trigger food was dairy and Chris and I were addicted to carbs so it felt right to try this out to reset, but I did not come out of this wanting to be a purest.  An non-GMO, whole food eater who could only eat locally grown produce...  I am not that person.  I mean I love me some Indiana Farmer's Market (honeslty for the fried egg rolls and walking tacos just as much as the fresh vegetables... but even so there's still a little bit of my Flint heritage that I just don't think I will ever give up...

Sometimes, you just need a coney dog with the sauce, and the bun, and the onions, and ... the fries and a coke...  NONE OF THAT IS WHOLE 30, except the onions, but they surely are not organic.. Starlite Diner, you have my heart...  (http://www.starlite1966.com/history.html)
Sometimes, you need to make your 92 year old grandmother's German potato salad (even though she's Irish).
Sometimes you get to eat a couple goldfishes and a square of PBJ off your kids left over lunch plate...
Sometimes you take your kid through a drive thru and don't just order a crappy salad
Sometimes you sit with your spouse over janky Chinese food and a netflix movie on volume 12 to not wake the kids up on a date night...
Sometimes you have pizza fridays, and ice cream... or PORTILLOS... because the kids want to go...
Sometimes you go to IKEA and eat meatballs...
Sometimes you get a 10 dollar meal deal at Little Caesars and take it to the pool and eat with your kids while you all swim together...
and sometimes you go to Panera and sit next to the fireplace and eat a bowl of their cream of chicken and wild rice soup until you can clean the bowl with the crust of the baguette.

I am that girl...  But because of PCOS, because I want to be healthy and set a good example, because my kids are watching and I want to live to be 92 like gram... I have to find a balance.  I have to stay active.  I have to eat more vegetables and less processed food.    But I still have to be me...

So on day 27 of the Whole 30, I made two eggs but popped a slice of organic Ezekiel bread in the toaster.  I drank coffee with a splash of unsweetened almond milk and took the kids to the park.  We went to the grocery store and I bought almost ALL healthy clean food (besides KK's nutty buddies and the ingredients for grams potato salad) but then also snacked on leftover frozen pizza before the kid's nap time.  In a moment of defeat I said to myself... if you hate this so much, why are you doing it?  To prove you can make it to 30?  That's silly... that's not the point...  The point is to do whatever is going to be good for you, for your family, for your life... and the word "balance" kept coming out from the friend who wondered if daily headaches for 27 days were really worth it...

So, we asked the kids what they wanted for dinner and like a true Bears fan, KK said, "Portillos".... so we went... and it was just as we remembered it...  and we had an amazing time together and we came home and walked the dog over a mile and got ready for bed.  Easter weekend is here.  Christ died for our sins and rose again.  In this life, we are just mere grains of sand on the beach.  We have to eat out of necessity but it doesn't have to consume us and it shouldn't become an obsession of eating just right.  To me, that's it's own kind of eating disorder, one of shame and control that while makes you thin, doesn't fulfill the gifts of your spirit.  My parents used to say, "anything to an extreme is bad" and while I do resonate with that, I think being extreme for 27 days was enough to help me become very mindful of what food means to me.  It made me aware of how I want to change.  It might be more simple to just eat clean or do another round of Whole 30, but I want the challenge of finding balance in my life instead.  I want to in the world sometimes.  But I still want to continue to care for myself and my family by eating healthier the majority of the time.

Should you try the Whole 30, or the Whole 27...?  Sure!  I think change is always a good thing...

The problem with being lulled into believing that life can be simple is it creates impossible expectations-- we want happiness without unhappiness, entertainment without boredom, and love without risk. - Kenneth Hardy

Second Time Around

I recognized quickly that this time after having a baby it's been almost seven months since I blogged.  Some of it is because having two children is WAY harder than having one and often peace and quiet come only after 9pm.  At that point, I try to talk to my husband who has just become a teammate is knocking through an epic long to do list each day.  (We rock by the way).  But it doesn't mean I am any less in love with this little man.  I think for me, this time, I am far less anxious and negatively emotional.  PPD and anxiety were more than minimal.  So while I still sit in awe watching him sleep at night, I am not so overwhelmed with constant emotion that I have write about it or I will explode.  Having two is a lot more diapers and pull ups, a higher grocery bill, but its so much more warm fuzzies and instagram worthy moments.  It's a lot of emotions but a lot of business.  Way more dishes and tantrums...  I wonder what it will be like some day to look at one another while our kids are at sleepovers with friends and were alone, in the silence, on a Friday night...  I hope he still recognizes me and likes me by then....

What is true about having two is that your heart doesn't lose love for your first, you just stretch bigger.  You just love deeper.  And what is true for Rainbow Babies like this little man is that you love them with the depth of the children you've lost along the way.  When I see a mom with three kids, I often think, and there were two chances to have a little one in between my kids.  That could have been me.  It's a fleeting thought.  A breath or a moment in time, but it catches me.  And while I don't feel necessarily called to have three kids, I know I had moments with a child that never came.  I have baby clothes for two genders and I wonder which clothes would I have used had there been another.  Yet, I look at my big big (he is giant) baby, watch his fluffy hair flow when I breath on him, watch his tiny finger squeeze my hand, listen to his little snores and grunts, and squish his chubby but wonderful little limbs and belly, and I feel like I have been given more miracles that any one woman deserves.  I have a gratitude in my heart that is deeper than when I had my first but there's this bitter sweetness to it where I am reminded just how precious babies are.  Each baby is a miracle, even if you're the most fertile couple on the planet.

I read my blogs from the last two years.  They are gut wrenchingly painful for me to read.  Not because I am sad, but because of just how sad I WAS and I did not want to admit it.  Miscarriages, infertility, loss of professional relationships, and loss of some personal relationships due to life changes and different goals, left me broken.  Broken in a way that I managed and dealt with but in a dark isolation where I chose not to let others in.  I pride myself on my strength but I realized in my darkness, I pushed so many people out.  I created high expectations for others and was frequently let down.  I was bitter about my life and in turn became bitter when others did not meet my mark.  I blew up details and catastrophized issues which created drama and hate, but it was a necessary distraction from pain.  And I look back and see that I cleaned out my bench of supporters, friends, and at times, family, because I just wanted to be alone.  I know much of it was anxiety and depression and the perception of my world and the relationships in it, but nonetheless, I see how grief takes it's toll on someone.  Again, God gave me a gift of a painful experience that I now use in the office to empathize and provide mercy to others.

Chris told me a few months ago that he fears having another child or even trying because of the hell we went through.  Like most mothers say about child birth, you forget because you love them so much that you choose to let go of that pain.  In seven months, I forgot just how painful this journey to my baby has been, my journey over the rainbow.  But the peace that I have, the joy that I experience every day, and the love I have found in my life again, is almost enough to mute the deafening audio tapes that I would tell myself during those days, weeks, months, of waiting.  In this life we all have loss, pain, and certainly uncertainty.  And we get to experience it through so many different types of mediums, but in the end, it's our journey that allows us to then climb a larger mountain or provide love to others...

I realized in the process that I only turn to God when I want something that I can't get for myself.  I turn to him to celebrate for a moment, but I only dwell with him and commune with him when I am pining for something I think I need in my life.  And I have come to feel like an entitled bratty teen who waits for  money for the movies by letting her parents bore her with a few stories.  And when I recognized this pattern in myself, outside of feeling sheepish, I really feel like there are somethings I need to change about myself.  There's some parts of myself I need to get in check so as my kids grow they don't see a shallow mother who only seeks to complete her goals without regard for others.

I really want to learn to love more deeply with joy.  I have all I have ever asked for from God.  A family who loves me, a nice home, a good job with a purpose, two beautiful kids, and enough peace and quiet spaces to take care of myself.  Now, I need to figure out what it looks like to start appreciating the team behind me.  Those people in my life who wrote letters to me, sent baby gifts, who called, who made meals for us, who showed up and just sat with me.  I think of the list of people I wanted to turn to but chose not to, the people who loved me and I did not respond (or respond well).  Because part of having a gift like a baby is being able to share the love and the joy he brings.  God healed my body, my family's bodies from diseases and cancer this year.  God did bring people into our lives to support and love us, but many days I was too broken to see their hands reaching out to me.

The second time around has been so different and wonderful that I glow.  I feel a joy in my spirit like never before and I hope that it continues to shine.  My close circles sees that peace within me and I think they are amazed just how different having my boy has been.  I now look at my kids and think of adventure and excitement rather than feeling exhausted and overwhelmed.  I see each day as a chance to show up and be wonderful.  I have deep conversations with friends who struggle with PCOS, loss, infertility, or just sadness or anxiety.   And things are really looking up.  So if you ask me like an old friend did this week, "how is it having two?" my answer is, it's wonderful.  It's amazing.  It's all I ever wanted and more.  It's kisses and cuddles.  It's days at the library.  It's snuggles in bed on Saturday.  It's everything I dreamed of for my life.  And it's all of those things because the support we had along the way to keep trying, never give up and believe that God will provide."  Along the way, a friend told me that people who truly loved us would become our tribe and the rest would weed themselves out.  And I'm finding my tribe is big and deep and wide and it's got some who are always near and some that are far but love us just the same.

I am so thankful for you, my friends, my family, my support for carrying us through.  I am so thankful for my husband who dealt with tears, lots of tears, and lots of doctor visits and co pays and crazy diets.  I am thankful for family, for therapists, for pastors who loved and prayed on us.  Thankful for my girls at work who built me up and even held me as I sobbed through joy and sorrow.  I am thankful for our church and the people in it.  I am sorry that sometimes I pull away.  I am thankful for childhood friends and college buddies who checked in and celebrated our moments, and understood when I struggled to find my joy.  I realize I have one mission... to love and to share the good news... we all have so much we've been given.  And by the way, he is a wonderful and beautiful baby who would love to meet his tribe :)

So thank you from the bottom of my heart for making this journey of being a mother of two so rewarding.  I am so glad you've been there for the ride...

Set Straight... Again..

It's amusing to me how many times I have to learn the same lesson over and over again.  One would think that when it comes to your health, you would be able to make changes for a long haul because you are educated, you know the right thing, and you don't want to feel bad.  But yet again, I had to press a reset button after a steady decline and crash.  Maybe the name of my blog should be "Hopelessly in Love with Crap" or "Confessions of a Carb Addict" because last week I had to repeat my glucose test, tested for positive for anemia, and have some low levels in my blood this pregnancy due to none other than: poor diet choices.

A lot of women go a little off the deep end during pregnancy, but I tend to revert back to my 3 year old cravings.  Mac N  Cheese, PBJ and pizza seem to be my staples with a side of sandwiches, creamy soups, and nothing that really involves fruits or vegetables.   I crave sugar, sugar, and a little more sugar.  Cookies, brownies, cake, cows milk, chips, sandwiches, candy even which as a non-pregnant person I rarely eat.  This pregnancy though, I have been so nauseated that I sort of made major excuses for falling off the wagon because I only gained 10 pounds in 30 weeks.  Most of that weight is recent gain because I finally do not need anti-nausea medication anymore (PRAISE THE LORD)!  That's a huge hooray however what happened in the first and second trimester this time was embarrassing, I regressed, and now I am paying for it.

Last fall, I was told I have a second reproductive condition called PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) and despite what the name says, it actually has a lot to do with insulin levels.  My doctor is somewhat of an expect on the topic and throughout his 30 page Power Point notes, I realized, "holy hot dogs, this disease has everything to do with why I crave sugar".  In less than 45 minutes, the man soothed my guilt but made me very aware of the power of wacky hormones.  The hormones of a woman with PCOS are off.  Some women are severely overweight, have facial hair, talk in deeper voices, don't have regular periods, etc.  Other women are super thin but have some of the other traits.  But the big issue it creates is that it a. creates lots of cysts on the ovaries that mess up ovulation and b. jacks up your endocrine system so your body doesn't produce the right amount of insulin to process sugars.  Most women with PCOS could eventually end up with Type 2 Diabetes if they don't control what they eat.  Sad news for a short girl who loves her pasta.  His prescription for the disease is to eat a Paleo diet and take an insulin resistance blocker every day for the rest of my life aka a death sentence.

So one would think once I have had the last two years that I have had that I would be scared straight into a Paleo lifestyle right?   I mean I could end up having to stick myself daily because of my own eating habits, that would be stupid and ignorant of me.  When I think about a doubled chance of having Type 2 diabetes I shutter.  But hormones are a powerful thing, and after several months of feeling like I could toss my cookies every day, I went out a bought LOTS of cookies (and other processed crap) to celebrate the end of my misery.  However, that just made a bad situation way worse.

This baby is on track but in my body, he looks like I am growing an NFL linebacker because I am short and so the only place to go is OUT OUT OUT.  And because I had been rather healthy and aware the six months before I got pregnant, my blood panels before pregnancy were 100% perfect.  I got a gold star of health in August from my PCP and blood work.  I had been working out 5-6 days a week, eating clean and following the 21 Day Fix.  I had lost a decent amount of weight and was trying to get my body to respond with a regular cycle and increased energy/decreased anxiety.  And all of that was working pretty well even without the insulin resistance blocker.  So I am a little concerned how quickly I fell back into the haze of drunken shame when I was called two weeks ago and told I was anemic, my hemoglobin levels were low and I failed my glucose intolerance test.  I know what happened... I stopped eating veggies and lean meat, I stopped working out, and I started becoming a carb munching, soda drinking, sloth who slept most of the afternoon away and blamed it all on being preggo.

But it's interesting because as a therapist, I know it wasn't JUST because I like to eat.  I realize we had several major stressors that I was muddling through.  Holistically, in every aspect of life right now, things have been a little, eh, out of whack.  Made huge changes at work, feeling the financial pinch of two kids, house needed work, sister battling cancer and me not knowing how to help, family issues, friends hurting and needing support, moving offices and planning a move, 4 weeks of bronchitis, and a partridge in a pear tree.  So I know why I found my old friend, Mother Bread, I was anxious, hurting, angry, and tired and she soothed me...

So getting those results I looked around and realized, yeah, I am tired and have headaches.  My body hurts and I have NO ENERGY at all.  I don't want to work, my anxiety is high and my zest for life is down to a puddle.  I have fallen off the wagon, more like fallen off a cliff after falling off the wagon and now my body seeks vengeance.  Baby boy still looks great but if I don't stop indulging, I am only hurting myself.  So back on the clean eating diet I went.  Back to taking vitamins, and monitoring my sleep cycle I went.  Back to walking and wearing my fitbit I went.  Cutting out sugar, cleaning out the pantry.  Here we go AGAIN....

I can't believe how easy it is to make your body well, you just STOP EATING CRAP and get moving again.  In 5 days, I felt completely different. My energy level peaked and I have only needed a nap 1 time in over a week.  It's worth it.  It's worth not feeling run down all the time.  And it's worth not being diabetic.  But again, I am at a place of shame because for me, this isn't just gaining a few pounds from bad food choices, this is hurting my body.  I can't say enough about the 21 Day Fix plan.  I hope that after little man arrives I get back to their system of eating clean, working out for 30 minutes, and being nutritionally mindful.  I am refilling my piggy bank with good foods, but man, did I almost go bankrupt.  And I just wanted to write because I know so many of you have fertility issues and heartache and it's so easy to go drink wine and depend solely on medical intervention, but sometimes it's about doing the right thing for your body even when it doesn't seem to taste as good.  It is so worth it...

My PA emailed me directly with the results of my glucose test.  After only 36 hours of cutting out sugar, she emailed me and said, "Kerrie, you passed with flying colors"!!!  I was well within the normal glucose range this time.   I lost 3 pounds (which wasn't desired) but it was mostly bloated water weight.  And honestly, I feel so much better.  I still get stressed, tired, and my hips are starting to pull apart but I am not longer solely surviving this pregnancy.  I know it's not as easy or as fun as eating carbs all the time, but even just sugar free and low carb is making all the difference.  Hang in there mommas....

Holding My Breath for a Rainbow...

They say that a baby after a miscarriage(s) is called a Rainbow Baby.  Something about the hope after the storm, or the treasure after a space of emptiness.  And the idea of a rainbow makes people happy because it is such a unique surprise to see one much of the time.  But I've yet to receive that peace that's supposed to arrive with a rainbow baby.  This fourth pregnancy is something much different than my first.  While I am starting to show there really is a baby in there and people are starting to notice the change outside of me, I've yet to feel the change within me move yet.  At 17 weeks  pregnant, you're supposed to be in the clear and feel the sense of joy and excitement as you're almost halfway done.  But for me the sensation of holding my breath in awe has not ended.  I catch myself truly wondering if there really is anything in there, truly disconnected from the five ultrasounds we've had where a baby with now arms and legs is waving at me.  Disconnected, holding my breath that the storm is truly over for us.

I think about how I think about this baby, much different than with K, and those in between because I know that sometimes the rainbow doesn't come after the storm, sometimes in life, it just keeps raining.  Sometimes it pours and no one has answers, just apologies.  And while there is so much joy in my heart for the hope that is to come, my ability to trust that this time we are going to make it wavers hour to hour or day to day.

The joy of social media is becoming more aware of people stories and losses.  30 years ago we never talked about infant loss, more so gossiped for those who lost a child.  Today, I probably read 1-2 stories a week of women's courageous journeys through miscarriage, stillborn, and early infant loss.  I imagine whether you lose a child a 6 weeks or 6 years, you start to hold your breath more.  Start to truly wonder about the safety in many decisions.  I had to express that while we are holding so much joy and hope in our hands, we also hold with it the frailty of this situation.  Life is fragile, miraculous and a gift, every moment.

I hope we get to the day where I am handed this new little bundle in a fuzzy hospital blanket, and I can let go and breathe again.  I try to let it go, try to let God hold it, but I know so often that his will and mine are fighting for different things.  While I long for comfort and peace, He often learns towards teaching me things about myself and life and Him that I never knew or experienced.  And each time, I see why He
did, but that doesn't make my trust grow in the short term.  Because the reality is no matter how much of God's will I see in every loss, it still hurts.  We were never made not to hurt, not to cry, not to experience loss.  In fact I believe just the opposite, that all of our trials are here to build us into someone deeper and more complex than who we were before.

So here we are, the farthest we have been able to come in three years to growing our family, and I'm holding my breath, disconnected, in awe, in waiting, yet again for the sun to rise...  For that momentary peace that it's ok, for now.  A client asked me yesterday if she could learn to still her anxiety in her mind and I remember saying, "this is our temporary home, it's not where we belong, only when we are truly home are we ever able to let go of all of those thoughts".  We smiled.  She said, "man I long for that".  "yeah me too, lady, me too".

For those of you holding your breath for whatever season of waiting you are in... waiting for that job, the guy to ask for your hand, that offer on a house, that treatment for cancer to work, that hope that your lost son or daughter would call on the phone to say hello, at least know you're not alone.  We all have seasons of holding our breath, but we are not doing it alone.  That's probably the most hopeful part of the story, that I do believe, even death is used for His greater purpose.  We all play a part, some of us just carry more, some of us just learn to hold our breaths longer and deeper.  Typically, those are the people that other's look to in their own moments of loss and waiting.

So here's to another week of holding our breaths.  Dive deeper into life and deeper into trusting it will be how its supposed to...

Our Christmas Miracle....

        I have been thinking about this post for weeks, since I sat in awe on my bed one nap time in October, and Dr J's nurse listened to me ball, for once, tears of joy.  Unexpected, unplanned, miraculous joy.  See just one and a half weeks before that phone call, I was given additional information and a diagnosis explaining that I had Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome in addition to Endometriosis.  I was given what I called in my previous blog "hope" that our dream to grow our family wasn't for a loss.  I was told to expect something in 10 weeks or so and maybe a few months after, but what God had in store for this family was far greater than even the doctor gave us.  We got a miracle, a tiny miracle that we did not even know was forming before we even went to see the doctor.

      For the last 10 weeks, I have held on to a little secret that we are expecting a baby in June.  And if that wasn't sweet enough, that baby was conceived without any medical intervention, and by the grace of God, I have been able to carry that baby for almost 14 weeks.  Four ultrasounds and a few blood tests later, I was cleared right before Christmas to return to my regular OB/GYN with no explanation other than just big smiles from my doctor.  It could have been because I had stripped my diet of sugar and a lot processed foods July - October doing the 21 Day Fix.  It could have been the early medications he had me taking.  It could have just been a lucky egg, a lucky cycle, a lucky season, but it's really happening, our miracle baby.

    I've never really lived a life where each day feels like a blessing.  Each morning that I wake up, and I am still pregnant is a blessing.  No matter how sick I am or tired, I feel like God's hand is with us, even if we get this baby for one more day or a life time.

     It's totally understandable that people who haven't lost a child would say, "but you already have one child, aren't you still just happy you were able to have one?"  But I think the reality is that people forget is how much love, dreams, and hope goes into a pregnancy before a child is ever born.  Each time we have tried to get pregnant, each month and an expectant period of hope.  Each day not knowing is a period of expectancy.  Each day carrying a child is a blessing.  Each week as I read the milestones this little one is experiencing, I praise the Lord.  "Thank you for creating our babies spine, let it be strong and without issue, allow this Folic Acid to help the baby's brain grow and for neurons to form".  And I come to realize what a miracle each human life is and how God must have so much joy in creating each one of us.  For today, I am again thankful to be with this child, for today, we have hope for it's little life with us.

    This Christmas was the first year in my life that I had nothing on my Christmas list that I really cared about.  I wanted to keep this baby alive, and I wanted to be safe.  I wanted family to experience joy with us and celebrate our own Christmas miracle.  As I read all those article about PCOS and endometriosis and how all those follicles on my ovaries were "bum eggs" that would probably never evolve into a baby, I began praying that God would heal my body enough to create a miracle, and one night with tears in my eyes, I said, "and if I get pregnant, I will give you all of the glory God because I know you are able to do all things".  Little did I know, in those moments, He was already doing that.  Somehow despite the 28 other follicles on my ovaries the day of my first ultrasound, one egg was good enough to make a baby.   We were a week past ovulation with one possible date of conception, and no explanation other than "one of those miracles that walked in the door".  

    For 10 weeks, I have sat awestruck week by week as we go for ultrasounds and see a waving hand or a moving body.  And I can't express the joy that I experience for those few short minutes knowing the heart beat is healthy and strong and our baby is safe.  I can't express the joy I feel when KK lays her head on my belly and kisses the new baby.  Because we are given each day in this life as a gift, even the really yucky and painful ones, every breath is a gift, every heart beat.  Every moment with this little one who we have only seen on a screen and felt in our hearts is our own Christmas miracle.  

      Back in October when I was still not sure if this pregnancy would last, I went on a women's retreat, and struggled in big ways about God really being good, loving me, and hearing the desires of my heart.  I felt like I was on the road to another disappointment as I had carried babies longer than I was at that time.  I had just numb moments with God where I showed up and told Him I was scared and uncertain of His will.  Just because I want to grow my family, doesn't mean that is God's plan.  I know many other families led to adoption or who have lost many more than me.  I sat in those days watching others heartfelt in their praises and cries to the Lord, and there I was nauseous, angry, lonely, and so very anxious that every day or hour was doom's day.  That we would lose the baby and in a blink all that hope that had built would disappear as it had so many times before.  And one day amidst my individual time, I was reading the given bible verses and I read:

    And I read those words, over and over.  Forget my fear?  Forget those losses?  Forget the pain?   Trust what God is doing in this season despite so many trails of tears and uncomforting news....  So I just sat with it.  For days.  And something new continued to form.  Something that I had prayed for that couldn't have come any other way through this broken body except through Him...  And then I realized that I don't care how many moments or days God gives me this little one, He is doing something in me through this.   I am being made new, too.  Forget all of that anxiety and self propelled actions.  Forget trying to do it all and be it all to make it work.  God's doing something in ways that my will has no effect on it.  So I have just been still, been in awe, and for the last few weeks just praised every day that we carry our miracle. I hope it's a story of renewal and faith but no one is guaranteed that.  We just get this moment, we get today and this season of a miracle and we are so very thankful.  

So for today and the last 14 weeks, we joyfully are expecting a baby to arrive in the end of June.  And we are so thankful that God is doing things in us and through us.  I hope to get to celebrate these days of hopeful waiting and graceful expectancy.  

Isaiah 43:

1-4 -     

The Message (MSG)

When You’re Between a Rock and a Hard Place

But now, God’s Message,

    the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,

    the One who got you started, Israel:

“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.

    I’ve called your name. You’re mine.

When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.

    When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.

When you’re between a rock and a hard place,

    it won’t be a dead end—

Because I am God, your personal God,

    The Holy of Israel, your Savior.

I paid a huge price for you:

    all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!

That’s how much you mean to me!

    That’s how much I love you!

Photos by Joyful Exposures, LLC.