I was never me

Why is it that women are often so encouraged to give up every piece of themselves for their families or their loved ones, and put being themselves on hold until everyone else is done and taken care of? Why are we the ones expected to raise our children, keep our homes in order, and keep telling our dreams, "Not today, dear ones. Check with me tomorrow."?

There is honor in laying down your life for someone else.
No greater honor, in fact.

But where is the honor if you're not living the life you are laying down?
Where is the sacrifice if you don't even realize what it is you're giving up?

I just finished watching 'Wild'. It was beautiful and it made my heart pound and soar in so many magnificent and uncomfortable ways. I understood Cheryl, identified with her in so many ways. I understand the desire to push grief away, to numb it up so high that you can't feel anything anymore, let alone the pain that's cutting your soul open. But at the end of it all, there comes a point where you realize the only way to stay you, or even find out who you are, is to simply walk straight through it. Straight to the heart of it all, the corners of your mind that you'd rather never see or visit or even acknowledge.

Because how can you know who you are if you don't even know what's hiding inside of you?
I've been in a season of walking through grief, and it lasted for a long time. Years, even. The most secure things in the world were ripped open and shaken up, and I had to decide who I was and where I stood, even when I had no ground left.
Lately, I've been in a season of rebuilding and implementing the things I've discovered. I'm trying my very best to hold onto the things I learned in the fire, and to carry them with me into this new season. But I still think there's more to go. There are things left unseen inside of me, and I think I know this. There are places that I just don't want to go, because they're too dark and too hard and I am so afraid of what is lurking behind those corners.

Who am I, really, in the shadows?
What if I would choose to make the same mistakes?
What if I would choose to change them all?

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the luck of the draw (or reader)

Today it occurred to me that every single person out there who writes books and blog posts that command audiences of thousands are still just one single person.

Just one. One person, with their singular thoughts and viewpoints on things, but for whatever reason, the world has risen up to take notice and now listens to what they have to say and values their opinion in some form or another.

How does this process even happen? How do you hit that lucky post or book or paragraph that defines you and draws a crowd, making everyone rise and say, "This person has something valuable to say and we should definitely listen."

Oh fate. What a fickle beast of burden you are.

Today, as I was lying on my bed after trying to get the toddler down for a nap for the third time, I had a moment of overwhelming despair (as is rather common for the stay-at-home mother on a Thursday afternoon). 'What am I doing with my life? No one sees this. No one knows that I'm even here, fighting these little, seemingly insignificant battles that all add up to one very significant life. Is this really all I was made for?'

Don't get me wrong. I know what I do is important. I know some consider it to be the most important job in the world, molding young lives. I know that I am the only mother my children will ever have, that I am the perfect mother for those kids, that what I am doing is worthwhile and worthy.

But sometimes, those creeping moments catch you unguarded, flat on your back with sweatpants on, dirty hair, and a feverish preschooler on the couch, and you are simply stripped bare to your core--"Who am I? Whose life am I living?" We all like to think that we're the special ones, the ones worth listening to, the ones ready to command the world to sit up and notice us--Hear what we have to say, oh Earth! Listen to our lofty and glorious opinions!

Tragically, most of us don't actually get a say, and the world really doesn't care what we think. And sometimes that's depressing and full of despair, but other times it's full of relief. A sigh of freedom, at the end of the night when the kids are in bed and the dishes are done and it's all you had to do. Netflix is waiting, there's a wine glass in hand, and its not up to you to save the world or change anyone's opinion on anything, other than how great 'Gilmore Girls' is. So sometimes this life is enough. Sometimes this body is beautiful, with it's soft edges and it's scars and strong arms from carrying children and creaky knees from a life of ice skating and bending and climbing and running and living. Sometimes this mind is wise, full of knowledge from mistakes made and lessons learned and facts gained from reading, reading, reading. Sometimes this heart is just tender enough, in the face of a sick son, and an accomplished daughter, and a hard-working husband, and a God who is merciful. Sometimes this soul is full up of the things God has done, the promises He has kept and the gestures He has made in this very ordinary, very important, very average life.

Sometimes the words are enough, if I'd just sit down and let them out once in awhile.

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cliff jumping

How do you write about something when you're not sure just how much you ought to say?

In the past, I have often erred on the side of sharing too much.
In recent months, and kind of years, I have tended to close up and shut down until the situation has been over, or nearly over, and I felt like I could write about it without offending someone or disclosing too many details.

The problems come in when I realize that I need an outlet to spit words into, to see them on a screen, and process through them, often with the help and advice from others. How can I process something that's not there, that can't be there, because to put it up there would be to risk hurting someone else involved in the situation?

The eternal dilemma of this internet age.

How about I go with this:
My little family has just taken a giant leap off of a figurative cliff and we are now free-falling and waiting to see what kind of parachutes God holds out.
We are scared (obviously, since we are falling), but we are also excited about the possibilities that arise from not having any definite plans, or even ideas of definite plans. We are absolutely and completely traveling the way the Lord directs and this is both terrifying and liberating. I'm not sure that we have ever taken a jump like this without even one small safety net in place, which is probably why we are feeling the height of all our emotions so strongly.

For all who have been praying for us: an eternal and everlasting thank you. Your sweet friendship and words of encouragement have gotten us through the day-by-day and we are so glad to have you to rely on.
Please keep praying. God hears, and it is comforting to know that we are not the only ones pleading for our welfare right now.

For others worried, we are not in any physical danger or anything. (Well, at least not yet. Two car accidents in three weeks worked to change that, but hallelujah for seat belts and sturdy car seats).

And above all, there is this:

Jesus is God, and He owns us.

That's all there is, and all there needs to be.

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back.

Had you come up to me five years ago and asked me whether or not I thought I would be living in Utah anytime in the future, I probably would have laughed at you in that way I do and then said, "No. Not even."

God is funny like that sometimes.

I was driving to work today, and it was such a simple thing, seeing all of the "North to Salt Lake" freeway signs, but it was such a bizarre moment of realization when reality just slaps you in the face. I wake up to the mountains that I've missed for years every morning.
I drive the roads that got me through tears of triumph and tears of despair.
I see people who's faces have been missing from my vision for years.
I live in the place that was home for so long.

I just can't decide if it is home.

I think it's the closest thing to home that I've found so far. I'm just not sure that it's home all the way.
Then again, this is the woman with a divided heart speaking now--it seems that everywhere I've lived, I've left pieces of my heart and gathered up new facets of what "home" actually means.

For the moment, I'm more peaceful than I've ever been. I have yet to feel the restlessness that used to haunt me wherever we were, and I'm grateful for that.
But there have been snippets of moments where I catch myself remembering where I've been, and dreaming about where we'll go--the countries we'll see and the people we'll meet and the food we'll eat and I know, deep down: there is no such place as home.

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a long time coming.

A month is a long time to be gone. I know.

The homemade mayo incident wreaked havoc with my keyboard, and then I moved to another country, bought a car and got a job.

Jameson's got more teeth than I can even count now, and they all seem to be coming it at night, which means less sleeping and more crying.

But we're good. We're doing okay.

I'm currently working at a law office as a receptionist. The people are great, the hours work well for mine and Hubs work schedules and I am happy to feel like I've got things to do. Oh, and I'm getting paid for it, so that's nice. Hubs is a waiter at a restaurant, and he's so handsomely charming that I know his tips are going to be crazy.

We bought an old Honda that only has 160k miles on it, and I'm starting to get used to her. There's always that thing with old cars--you have to get to know them before you feel like they're yours.

I've seen more sun in four weeks than I did in two years and it's amazing how happy that makes me. Even though it's snowed the last three days, I don't even care as long as the sky goes  back to being blue and the sun comes out for at least a little while.

Jameson loves "puuuppy" and "meow", and he especially enjoys chasing them around the house. They love him too, but they're a little less free with their affections. His Aunties are his favorite, and Grandpa has a special place in his heart. He loves Grandma too, but he knows that when she's around it means that Momma's gone to work, so he doesn't like to be happy with her as  much.

Life is simple, but it's good. It's good to work, and be with family, and have a small routine.
We are blessed, and this reminds us to be happy. Which we are.

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days 20 & 21 [round two]

Day 20
Meal 1: 2 sausages, 2 eggs, coffee w/creamer

Snack: Banana

Meal 2: 1 1/2 pork chops, 1 sweet potato

Snack: Orange

Meal 3: 2 sausages, 2 eggs

Snack: Apple

I did a really bad job at eating vegetables today, but it was a Sunday and the snow fell thick and heavy and all I wanted to do was stay warm and snuggly in my apartment with my guys and not think about things too much, so that is what I did. I also ate that apple at like 10:30 p.m. because I was FaceTiming with my bff, and just decided to eat it. I ended up staying up til 1 a.m., so my body had time to use that sucker up before I went to sleep.

Every day is practice at me stepping back from controlling everything and just being who I am. Snacks and all.

Day 21
Meal 1: 1 1/2 sausages, 2 eggs, coffee w/creamer

Meal 2: Garbage stir-fry w/1 egg, 1/2 avocado, handful olives, 1 sweet potato

Snack: Banana

Meal 3: Bowl of chocolate chili w/handful spinach, 1 sweet potato

There is a decent amount of snow today and I am kicking myself for not making sure that Jameson had some form of snow boot or something, because now we're trapped inside and this spells bad news for my absolutely physically active 18-month-old toddler. Seriously, if he doesn't get out, he doesn't sleep which means that I don't sleep and this means that my anxiety ratchets up a few notches.
Dang snow. Dang country that doesn't know how to deal with snow.

Dinner was amazeballs. I am not even joking. I halved the recipe this time, but next time around I might just double it so that I can freeze the leftovers because it is that good. I threw a giant handful of spinach in the bottom of my bowl to make sure I got some veggies in there as well and it was so tasty. Seriously. Chocolate in my chili, I will eat you any day. 

I'm eating two sweet potatoes today because I can, and because the groceries came and the sweet potatoes that I ordered ended up being little mini sweet potatoes, so I'm justifying it. Plus my vegetable consumption has been way too low the last few days, so I'm trying to remedy that.

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day 14 [round two]

Day 14
Meal 1: 2 sausages, 2 eggs, 2 pieces of bacon, coffee w/creamer (brought to me in bed my the amazing Hubs. My first breakfast in peace in weeks!)

Meal 2: 2 bowls zucchini soup, 1 sweet potato

Snack: 1 apple

Meal 3: Roasted chicken, carrots

Snack: Apple w/almond butter

Not a bad day today.
Took Jameson out in the rain because we think we've figured out that he needs to run around outside for awhile in order to sleep at night. And when the choice is between wandering in the rain for a few hours, or sitting awake at 2 in the morning praying for sleep, we chose rain.

Hubs has been a little crazy about the packing lately, but I know the stress is starting to wear on him, so I spent a good portion of the night sorting through boxes and taking pictures down. The walls are now empty, the bookshelf is littered with a few knick-knacky remains and I've gone down sentimental memory lane reading through all the cards and letters from nearly six years ago, when Hubs and I first met.

Ah, love.

Also, in case you're on the edge of your seats wondering, I'm officially a Who-vian. (My awesome-ness and enviability just went through the roof, I know). I finished the first season, cried at the end of it and fist-pumped whilst sitting by myself in the living room. Amazing.

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so I'm talking about food. again.

Oh, wait, it's 11:24 am and I'm drinking the Diet Coke I swore I'd never drink again?
Yes. How the mighty have fallen.
(Also, I just figured out how to take pictures of myself straight from Blogger.
Expect more self-portraits stat.)

Peeps.

Riding your own bike is hard.

Even with staring at those pictures that I put up a few weeks ago, I seem to have fallen headfirst into a pile of sugary Christmas goodies, and even though I am totally owning the choice I made to eat half of the monkey bread pan ALL BY MYSELF, I am so ready to clean up my diet again.

When I read this post by Holly Would If She Could, I was like, "Yes, that is exactly how I feel." I had already been planning on doing a January Whole30, but it was really nice to read that I was not the only person that had gone a little bit bananas over the holidays.

I bought 'Well Fed' and have been scouring through it for recipes. I printed out a calendar for January and am currently planning out meals, and am getting ready to start some bone broth in my crock pot. We're hitting up the Farmer's Market tomorrow and Sunday is going to be about purging our cupboards.

Even though I'm kind of dreading the first week of it, I'm not scared that I won't finish it anymore, because I've already done it. Not to mention that I KNOW it's worth it now, because of the awesome results I had last time. Seriously, I'm looking at it now and am like, "I cannot believe how terrible I feel, and I cannot believe that this is how I used to feel ALL THE TIME. This is NOT NORMAL!"

In order to help myself through the first week of sugar-withdrawals and cries for cookies, here is a list of how crap-tastic I feel, so that I can remember how this will ALL GO AWAY by Jan. 31st:

Fatty-fat-fat: I am bloated to the max. And those skinny jeans that I bought and that were getting too big are now starting to feel a little too tight for my liking. And the jiggle...well, the jiggle is picking back up and I'm none too happy about it.

Soooo tired: I'm staying up later and later, and waking up in the middle of the night again, and I am STILL tired when I crawl out of bed in the morning. This is not cool. I used to feel awake right when I woke up and at 3 p.m. I was still going strong. I need that even energy back, especially because it feels like Jameson is siphoning it out from me and I can't handle running around after him when all I want to do is lay on the couch and eat. Boo.

Sugar-dragons: Mentally, I'm getting to that state again where I start to obsess over whether or not I should eat something, and then I eat it and feel guilty and sad and mad, and this is not a healthy relationship with food at all. I am tired of staring at donuts and mentally wrestling with myself, then talking myself into it and then being mad and wanting to just throw it all up. I want to get to a point where I enjoy food and I like eating it, but it doesn't control me. Where I know that it's there to nourish my body and make me healthier, but I don't sit around thinking about the chocolate in the cupboard for three hours and whether or not "just a small piece" is okay to eat.

Inner-workings: Let's just say that...things aren't being digested like they should and my insides aren't really being as efficient as possible. I'll spare you the details, but basically I miss having my guts do what they're supposed to.

Illness: Okay, so I got sick like three weeks ago, and then it sort of went away, and then it came back almost two weeks ago with a vengeance and after a round of antibiotics, I'm still sick. Now, I don't necessarily think that eating dirty made me sick, but I think that it's prolonged it since my body can't focus solely on fighting the illness when it's also attacking my stomach lining and intestines and trying to weed out all the grains I've been eating. Basically, I want to hear out of my right ear again and stop coughing up my lungs.

So that's it.
I kind of can't wait for January 1st, even though I am kind of dreading the detox phase.
It's time to get thing back together over here, and I'm looking forward to being a healthier person again. Plus, I'm adding in a regular strength training routine and I'm excited to see how that influences my physical results (muscles, anyone?)

Let me know if you're on-board with this and we can keep a log together...I post a lot on the Whole30 forums, but am thinking about keeping track of it on here this time around. Just so you all can witness how whiny I get when my chocolate is taken away. Ha.

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dreams.

Watch out for giant spiders that crawl on you in the middle of the night.

 It's Sunday morning, and ever since I've had a child that wakes up earlier than I would like, I've begun to experience what life can be like on a Sunday morning before "get ready for church" madness starts.
There is time to sit and drink coffee and wander through Facebook, and think about things I don't normally have time to think about.

Like all of the dreams I once had, and the way reality has played out so different (but also aligned right up) than I thought it would.

I wanted to be a missionary in Africa for a good chunk of my life.
I'd go to missions conferences at church and soak up everything the visiting speakers had to say, and I could see myself there, living in a cave and telling people about Jesus. I wanted to live the rough missionary life--the one with no electricity, no modern amenities, no distractions from the reason I was there.
When I went to Panama and stayed in a hut in the middle of the jungle, and slept on a slatted wood floor, being woken up by monkeys and goats running underneath our house on stilts, I knew that I was in a place I could stay forever. I could see my life stretching out in front of me, and I was thrilled. The world wasn't big enough for me, and I wanted to go everywhere and live with everyone and love them.
So I went to Moody as an International Ministries major, telling myself that I wouldn't let anything distract me from my goal of going out and living in discomfort so that others could hear the gospel.

These babies were so sweet.

Obviously, things changed a bit. *wink*

I got married, and had a baby, and although I did move to a foreign country, it is a thoroughly Western foreign country and I'm not exactly living in a cave like I had planned.
In fact, I'm living on the knife edge between "desperation" and "enough", so much so that often my thoughts are consumed with figuring out ways to get just a little more, so that I can be just a little more comfortable.
I am distracted by things and this is the opposite of everything I ever wanted.

I definitely got bit about 2.5 seconds after this photo was taken.

I am an all-or-nothing kind of person.

In order to shape my character, I have to make the change all at once and cut the offending issue out completely. 

No "adjustment period", no "gradual change" because I'll just slip right back into that habit.

I wanted to be a missionary in a third-world country because I knew that if I didn't have the option of having something, I wouldn't want it as much, and I wouldn't be distracted from my whole purpose of being there in the first place. 

No nail salons around? Guess I don't really want a manicure that badly after all.

No electrical outlets? I don't need to blow-dry my hair.

No clothing stores? I don't need clothes that make me look skinny/fashionable/etc.

I shared the hut with this lovely and his parents.

I think a lot of this is coming up since we're getting ready to move back to America, the land of even more excess, and I am worried about who I am going to become. 

I know who I want to be, and I know who I am, and I don't necessarily know how to make the two match up.

Maybe it's copping out, to just ask for all of the temptations to be taken away, and maybe I'd still struggle with jealousy and covetousness just as much, but...but. I'll never know.

And I think I've got the word "failure" rolling around in my head for so many reasons.

Our society always raises up those people who didn't let anything (or anyone) distract them from their purpose in life, and I always wanted that for myself. To be so focused on what I was supposed to do that I didn't let anything get in the way.

So now that I'm here, worrying about cars and houses and furniture and Christmas presents, I just can't help but shake my head in disgust at how very far away I am from where I thought I'd be.

Not only that, but I'm leaving this "foreign" country where I thought we'd be living forever after only two years, and that kind of feels like a failure as well. 

And I know that it's not. I know that we're not crawling back to America with our tails between our legs, but that we're making the decision to move where we feel like we ought to be, but...but. The perfectionist in me is still crying out, "Can't you see anything through? Why do you give up in the middle of everything?"

And sometimes I just don't know how to keep her quiet.

It was so hard to get these two to sit still for the camera.

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wake-up call.

My lovely, wonderful, adorable, sunshine-of-my-life son decided to wake up sometime in the 3 o'clock hour and harass me until I got out of bed with him at 5:15 this morning.

Awesome.

So I am tired and kind of cranky, but trying to convince myself that my coconut milk creamer isn't spoiled, and it just looks like that in my coffee cup because it wants to be different this morning. Right? Right.

I've been quiet on here for awhile. I'm not sure when I'll pick it back up regularly. We've got a lot going on, and choosing to sit and write a blog post is usually way down on my list of priorities. Maybe after we move, I can pick it back up.

Because, oh yeah, I've got a few announcements:

We are moving back to America!

This move has been in the works for awhile, but we only felt like we could announce it recently, since it looks like Hubs green card process is going to wrap itself up smoothly. 

Our plane tickets are bought and our final interview at the embassy is in a little less than a month.

I am slightly terrified that everything will go wrong and I will forget all the paperwork or something disastrous will happen, but barring all of that, I think Hubs should be approved fairly easily and then we've got a green light to get life started in the Land of the Free. 

*laughing*

We eat like cavemen now!

This is probably not as cool of an "announcement", but I've had a few people that have been interested in all of this whole30 business that I've been talking about for the past few weeks, so I figured I might as well mention it. 

Hubs is on Day 25 of his whole30, and I am on Day 19. So far it's going really well, and we are starting to reap the benefits that are talked about in the book. I'm not sure how much weight I've lost, but I know that I'm at least a few inches slimmer (I had to tighten my belt by an extra hole, and my jeans are loooose) and I'm finally getting rid of that small spare tire that Jameson left me with after he was born. My digestive issues have stopped since Day 1, and I am excited to get to the reintroduction part and figure out exactly which foods were causing me problems. I know gluten was one of the major culprits, but I'll be interested to see if I'm sensitive to all the grains as well.

Anyway, if you've got any questions, feel free to ask.

Depending on how confident I can get, I might post before an after pictures, if you guys promise not to laugh and love me no matter what. Might. As in maybe.

Aaaaand. That's it so far. I am pumped for Christmas this year. I've got 25 Days of Christmas planned out to do with Jameson, and I cannot wait for December 1, so that we can get started. We'll be in England for the holiday season this year, since we will be moving back to the States shortly afterwards, so I am trying to combat my homesickness with an extra dose of holiday cheer. 

Thanksgiving is going to be low-key since I'll be working (I guess that's another "announcement"--I got a part-time holiday job at LUSH and am really loving it. I'm hoping to transfer to a store in America when we move home, because now that these amazing products are in my life, I don't know how I'm going to a)live without them, or b)pay full-price!)

p.s. To those 50 people that still read this blog, thanks for sticking around. I do feel bad about the lack of posts lately, but for the sake of my anxiety and my family, I am taking a step back until I feel slightly more in-control of my life. I appreciate the patience/encouragement/general awesomeness of you all.

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two weeks and two years.

Oct. 31, 2010

So...it's been a few weeks since I've opened up this page and put words on it for you to read.
I don't know what that means.
As always, I am torn about how much time to dedicate to this, how much headspace I want to give up, and whether or not this is something I should commit myself to doing regularly.
There are lots of threads that are attached to this knot, so it's not as easy to untangle as you might think.
I'll get there one day.

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It's been two years since I looked out the window of an airplane flying across the Atlantic, and saw England waiting for me from the sky. 

Two years since Jameson was a baby bean in my belly, and I packed up all my stuff and my husband and filled that one-way ticket to the UK.

Two years since I cried myself to sleep that night because "what have we done?" and "I want to go home, but I don't know where it is."

Two long, quick, excruciating, overjoyed years.

The hardest years of my life, without a doubt.

The years that have brought the biggest blessing of my life.

I feel like I should have something more profound to say.

I remember back in those first few months, thinking, "I will not make it here for two years. I don't think I can survive."

I remember looking at the expiry date on my visa and thinking that date would never come.

But, as ever and as always, here we are. 

Two years later.

With bumps and bruises and struggles and wins.

I'm stronger and different, and it's a strange feeling to live in suspension for two years, but it's coming to a close soon.

And I wonder what little thing it is that I'm going to miss the most.

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distraction.

It's that time of year again, where the sun disappears and the sky is a resolute void of color, and I can usually be found hunched on the couch with a cup of tea in my hand, begging the Lord to give me a slice of sunshine just for a moment.

It is the time of fog that billows in to all of the nooks and crevices of my brain and burrows itself in, making it hard to think or accomplish anything, since I can't seem to keep myself focused long enough to actually follow through. Where I find myself fighting to just get-out-of-the-house and just-cook-dinner and just-go-for-a-run and just-stay-sane.

It is the time of distractions in the form of anything and everything:
--too many tv shows
--too many blogs
--too many chores
--too many moments

And sometimes the problem is that I know I need to sacrifice the little distractions in order to achieve the greater wellness, but it's hard.
(Which is so ridiculous, but it's true.)

I know that keeping up with fifty blogs about how to be a mom and keep your house clean and write well and look good and eat healthily is not actually beneficial, but in reality makes me neurotic.
But I do it anyway, because I don't want to be "left out" and maybe if I can just get my life together, I too, can look like those people and their nice lives.

I know that picking out every single lump and roll and line on my body does not motivate me to work harder and stop eating junk. But what it does do, is make me want to crawl back under the covers with the entire pan of brownies and just give up, because why even try anyway?

I know that comparing and wishing and desiring and hoping are not, actually, going to get me that perfect house/car/wardrobe/life. I know that "looking at everyone's highlight reel" is not reality and comparing it to my "behind the scenes" is a surefire way to make myself miserable, but I still find myself wanting that new purse that she got, or going on a tropical vacation like they did, or buying a new house like his.

And clearly the answer to all of these problems is to simply STOP with the frenzied pace and the million influences all plugged into my life.
But the sad part is that it's hard, because in a sick and slightly twisted way, I like these influences.
I like the few moments of dreaming of myself wearing all of the clothes on my Pinterest board, or imagining what I'll look like after working out five times a week and eating Paleo (never mind where my child will be during these four-hour workouts each day). It's like a rush of adrenaline and endorphins shot straight into the aching, empty part of my brain that can't see the sky outside my window but can see it on the screens all around me.

And I just want to be free.

Love.
Joy.
Peace.
Patience.
Kindness.
Goodness.
Faithfulness.
Gentleness.
Self-control.

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a lovely love story (continued).

After the fateful meeting at Joe's, I'd see Daveo around occasionally. He'd always mention something about how we should hang out, which everyone said to be nice but no one ever really meant. Honestly though, he said it so many times that I started to think Wow, this guy really actually does want to hang out. That's kind of weird. Why?

I'm clearly the easiest person in the world to romance. Not.

Our next real conversation happened at dinner one night, while I was getting ready to head to my night class.
I was sitting in the dining room with a friend, when he came over and joined us. He and the girl I was eating with were already friends (Of course, I thought with an inner eye-roll) so they were busy chatting while I was finished up my food and dreading the idea of spending four hours in a classroom for the rest of the evening.

Abruptly he looked at me and said, "You should come up and see me tonight on your break."
I paused and looked at him, then said, "Okay. I guess."
He continued on, "I'll give you my free shift drink. I get one per shift and I usually give it to a friend, but I'll save it for you tonight if you come up and see me."
Being the poor, tired college student that I was, I knew there was no way I could pass up a free coffee, so I told him that I would see him later that night while my friend and I quickly gathered up our stuff and hurried off to our class.

Apparently I needed the caffeine more than I knew, because I forgot all about Daveo and his free coffee and inadvertently stood him up. Oops.

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The next day at lunch, he had this stern look on his face while walking over to my table and I was slightly amused when he opened his mouth and started scolding me for not coming to see him on my break. "I saved my free drink for you!" he said. "I had people coming in and asking me for it and I said, 'No, I can't, Cami's coming up and I told her she could have it' and then you didn't come!"
I laughed and told him that I was sorry, and that he should have just given it to someone else.

"Yeah, but I said I'd give it to you, that's the whole point!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Are you working tonight? I'll come up then, okay?"

So, at 7 pm, I promptly packed up my laptop and books and headed up to Joe's to claim my free drink from this strange AsianBrit that was oddly offended when I didn't show the night before. He was much nicer when I tried to make conversation this time and somehow he ended up speaking to my sister on the phone when she called me and I said something like, 'Listen to my new British friend speak!'

Somehow I ended up staying for his whole two-hour shift, at which point he started to get nervous and mumbled something like, "So...do you want to hang out...or something?"

(He told me later that he felt like he "owed me", since I'd been standing up there with him for two hours. Good to know that it wasn't because I was so charming and he just couldn't get enough of me.)

We ended up walking to a nearby Dunkin' Donuts, where he bought a bagel and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I thought he was pretty forward, but at the same time it was kind of nice to talk to someone who just said what they thought and not what you wanted to hear. After that we walked back to campus and exchanged pleasantries about how 'we should do this again or something'.

According to Facebook, we officially became friends on January 27, 2007 at 8:36 am.

It didn't stay that way for long. *wink*

"Live it, love it, hang out with Daveo."

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the background [pt. 4]

Find part 1 here.

_______________________

A few days after contemplating whether or not I should drive my car into the side of the freeway, I made an appointment with the counselor at my community college. I was scared out of my mind, but I walked into that office, shaking and queasy and determined to get help. The appointment began with me in tears, and the counselor looking at me with pity--it was pretty apparent why I was there. As she began to go through my chart, she stopped and looked at me. "Well, it looks like we've got a problem. You're only seventeen?"

I nodded, and my heart promptly fell into my stomach.

"I'm sorry hon, but I can't treat you without your parents consent because you're still a minor."

I couldn't believe it. I'd finally, finally tried to reach out and get help, but help was telling me that I wasn't eligible. I wanted to give up, crawl into a hole, and never come out.

"I know you're scared, and I'm so sorry that I can't treat you. But I want you to go home and talk to your parents about this. I want you to ask them to take you to a doctor and get you help because I know that's what you need. I'm going to call you later today and make sure you've done this. Alright?"

I sighed out a shaky "okay", and rolled off the table. 

When I got home that morning, my heart was still in my stomach, rolling around and making me feel sick. I walked through the front door and saw my mom sitting on the couch and I knew that this conversation had to happen now or nothing was ever going to change.

"So, I went to the clinic at school today..." 

And we were off.

~*~

The next ten months are a blur of so many emotions that they're hard to sort through. 

--That dangerous boy that I was so fascinated by turned on me--abuse in the form of words and text messages came spilling through my phone and it got so bad that I had to change my number and time when I left the house so I could avoid him. 

--I went to the doctor and was tentatively diagnosed with clinical depression. I was offered anti-depressants but turned them down because I thought that if I could just get out of the state, I'd be okay. (Besides, I still thought that "being depressed" was something that you should just be able to make go away, if you tried hard enough.)

--I applied to Moody Bible Institute, begging them to consider me for the fall semester even though I'd missed the application deadline by a week. The answer came back--waitlisted for the spring semester.

--I enrolled in the community college for another semester, trying to take classes that would transfer to Moody (hoping I would be accepted) and working as many hours as I could.

It was basically me trying to keep my head above water for as long as I could.

I often tell people that it felt like being chained to a treadmill and forced to run as fast as you can--a pace you know that you can't keep up for long, but if you stop running things will only get worse--so you keep running even though you're more exhausted than you've ever been.

And then.

That golden day.

I ran out to the mailbox and ripped open the envelope on the side of the street.

"Dear Camille, we are pleased to let you know that you have been accepted to Moody Bible Institute for the Spring semester..."

This was it. 

I was getting out, and it was going to make me better.

~*~

The train to Chicago pulled in to Union Station on a cold night at the beginning of January. We took a taxi to our hotel room and skyscrapers and lights flew around me in a blur outside of the window and I breathed in freedom.

Classes started and I made friends around every corner. I was adjusting well to living in a dorm, I was getting out of my shell and talking to nearly everyone I saw. I got brave and began to explore this big city with it's magical charm and secret places to call my own.

This much happiness was foreign to me--or it had been for nearly five years. 

There were no dark shadows here, no monsters tearing apart my brain, no desperate desire to escape.

Because I had arrived.

At least for a little while.

I met the man I would end up marrying three weeks after I got to Chicago.

He noticed my big teeth and loud laugh, and our love story began.

Spring break came and found us on different sides of the country talking about marriage.

Summer vacation came and I found myself standing in front of the Eiffel Tower with a diamond ring on my left hand, a rose in my right, and the love of my life in front of me.

We were the couple on everyone's lips during the first few weeks of the new semester, and I finally had it all.

Except that my brain was starting to fall apart again.

I was crying over things that didn't matter.

I was taking five-hour "naps" and just getting through the day felt like swimming in a sea of peanut butter--thick and impossible.

My fiance and I were constantly at odds--I needed this, and he needed that, and neither of us were sure that getting married was the right thing anymore.

And then one day, one of the friends I had made found me crying on the sidewalk in between classes and promptly walked me over to the counselors office and stood there until an office door opened, and I was put on a couch with a box of tissues in my hand and I began to spill out all the words that I just couldn't say to anyone else. 

I honestly don't remember much about that first session except that I walked out of there with a prescription for some anti-depressants and an appointment with a counselor in the next few days. I saw the on-campus doctor, who explained what the pills would do and said that he fully supported the decision to begin taking them. He also warned that they wouldn't cure everything, and that I needed to make sure that I was going to my counseling sessions regularly. If I really wanted to see improvement, we had to attack this from both angles. 

So that's what I did.

~*~

I wish I could say that everything was magically cured and I was fixed and all better. 

But, as with everything, nothing is that simple.

Counseling was hard. It was good, because it gave me a place to spill all of the emotions that built up during the week, but it hurt to dig up the issues and work through them. I had to explore places and people that I would have much rather shut off, and  I left the counselor's office every Friday tired and irritable.

The pills helped to balance everything out, but they came with side effects. Headaches, dizziness, lightning bolts in my brain if I forgot a pill. And then there was the stigma of "being on anti-depressants". It doesn't matter that general usage is on the rise--there are still whispers when people find out, pitiful and judgmental looks that are given, questions that may seem innocent but that cut like knives.

My fiance and I worked hard on our relationship, and our wedding day came and it was everything I wanted. Our first year of marriage was hard, but we made it and we came out stronger on the other side. Eventually we decided that we wanted to have a baby, and I knew that I didn't want to be on my medication while we were trying. I know that many people have been successful with pregnancy and anti-depressants, but I felt like I had an adequate handle on my depression--I had been taught different tools in counseling to recognize when another episode was looming and knew how to ask for help. Weaning off of the medication was torture, but eventually I made it and we got pregnant with our son almost exactly two years ago. 

All throughout my pregnancy I knew that I was at risk for post-partum depression, so I watched myself and I asked my husband to watch as well, to make sure that I wasn't blind-sided by this monster if and when it decided to rear its ugly head again.

Then Jameson was born, and everything felt perfect and terrifying.

I had anxiety walking out my front door and I cried a lot. But I loved my baby, and I had no trouble bonding with him or feeling like his mother, so I chalked a lot up to our living/financial/everything else situation. 

And now it's been a year, and the background has turned into the present, and I still think that p.p.d. might be roaming around inside my head. Sadly, I never went to the doctor for it, because I didn't want to be "back there" again. I don't want to be on medication again, and I don't want to rip my guts apart in a counselors office once a week. Maybe that's pride, and maybe I'll change my mind in the future, but that's where I'm at right now and I'm doing okay.

~*~

Of course, there is more.

But there is always more and so this is enough for today.

I'll do one more installment, because there is one more thing that I want to address.

I'll also answer any questions you may have, so please leave them in a comment or email them if you're not so comfortable with others reading.

As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for your incredible words of encouragement and your high estimation of my bravery. You make all of this worth it.

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sloooow down.

Friday's post got a lot of responses from people, and I am kind of surprised, but also blessed.

It also made me realize that eventually I should probably tell my story a little bit more, so people don't think I'm just a raving lunatic that puts everything out there for the internet to judge.

Hopefully I can get to that later this week, as long as Jameson is feeling better. I'm coming into this week majorly behind, since he came down with a throat infection on Saturday morning, and has been pretty sad ever since.

Thankfully, he's on antibiotics now (which I am not the biggest fan of, but in this case, they are like manna from heaven) and seems to be perking up a little. So, hopefully I can catch up on life sometime soon.

As always, here are pictures to compensate. :)

swimming for England.

such a boy.

he tries to eat the water that splashes him.

"cake, mom. cake."

"really? you're going to take a picture now, dad?"

"enough. I have business to attend to."

the ogre walk of champions.

------------------------------

Hubs has said that he wants will allow himself to be featured on this little piece of the internet, so if you've got questions/ideas for him, leave them in the comments and I'll see to it that he gets them. 

Pretty soon we'll have our very first guest post. 

Dang. I'm really on the up-and-up, aren't I?

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mondays.

"Oh hey mom. Get it together."

"I've got a bad case of the Mondays."

That phrase sounds so oldy-person to me, but I'm feeling it today.

I think it's because this weekend was so full, and I'm feeling so weighted down with all of the things that I've got to finish this week--preferably sooner rather than later.

And being a mom is such a weird job, because your work is never done--I mean, how do you look at a day and say, "Yes, I successfully taught/disciplined/directed/respected/loved my child enough today. The quota was met, the job was well done."
You can't really, because there's never too much of any of that stuff.
Which is kind of hard for me, because I like gold stars, and checklists, and crossing things off.

I think that sometimes I just need to cut myself some slack, and get off my high-horse of importance.
--the world doesn't revolve around me, so it's not going to fall apart if I fall behind a little.
Which is nice, but also kind of a shot to your ego, if you think about it too much.

Anyway.
I'm tired. Hubs is tired.
There's a bottle of wine chilling in my fridge and fancy cheese that Hubs surprised me with yesterday, and brain candy waiting on the DVR.

I think it's time to call it a night.

--linking up with  The Naptime Review

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if you really knew me...

One of the first times I made him laugh.

You'd know that  I could eat an entire box of strawberries in one sitting. And probably go back for more.


You would also know that I care about people, sometimes a little too much. It's a blessing and a curse.


You'd know that I'd rather be truthful about where I'm at and have you think less of me, than put on a song-and-dance to impress you. And I hope you would know that all I want is for the world to be a little more real.


You would know that I think motherhood is the best, hardest, most wonderful, and most difficult thing I've ever done. And that I am faking my way through it 99% of the time.

You would know that I have a serious passion for young marriages and helping them succeed...I would love to start a ministry for young married couples one day. There is so much confusion and passion and emotion in the early stages, and I wish I'd had somewhere to go to ask for help (and to be reassured that everything we were dealing with was, in fact, normal).

You would know that often I feel stuck somewhere in between a little girl and an old woman--and that it's been this way for a long time.

You would know that I need sunshine to survive like I need air to breathe. But you would also know just how much stronger I've become by moving to a place that doesn't have any.

You would know that I love candles that smell delicious, and if my house doesn't smell good, I automatically equate it with being dirty.

You would also know that I am so organized on the inside, but sometimes I just don't have enough time or energy to translate that into my house--and it drives me absolutely bananas.

You would know that "depression" is still a sneaky resident in my brain, but I win the battle against him on most days. Most days.

You would know that in and underneath and through it all, I just want to be a woman after God's own heart. Someone He is proud of. Someone that you'll look at and know that she is in love with her Lord. And you'd also know that I feel like I fail at that most of the time.

--linking up with The Wiegand's

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Dear Jameson [first birthday edition]

June 30, 2011.

July 1, 2012.

Dear Jameson,
I'm nearly two weeks late with this. Per usual. See there's this thing about your mother--she tries really, really hard to be organized and she absolutely HATES being late, but she usually is anyway. Deadlines are just not kind to her. But back to you...

I cannot believe an entire year has gone by since I spent that night in the hospital, squeezing your dad's hand and yelling through my contractions, just trying to concentrate on the fact that you were finally going to be in my arms in a few short hours. I remember the moment after I gave birth to you, seeing you lying there on the hospital bed and thinking, "That's him. That's my baby." You were so beautiful, and so foreign--I couldn't wait to get to know you and find out everything about you.

Oh, my son. You have turned my world absolutely upside down in the best way possible.

There are so many things I am afraid of forgetting about this first year, even though I know that there is no way for me to hold on to all of the little details. But there are a few things that I hope I remember...

--I hope I remember just how happy you are. You enjoy life so much, and it is so evident to everyone that watches you. You wake up in the morning with a big grin on your face that gets even bigger when you look over to find your dad and I just lying there, watching you. When you get excited, it radiates throughout your whole entire body--literally to the tips of your toes (which you point and stand on, while you clap and scream). If I could capture just a fraction of your joy, I would be one of the happiest people I know.

--I hope I remember how independent and adventurous you are (and I hope you stay that way forever). Some would call it "strong-willed", others would call it rebellion, but I know that you are simply determined to do things your own way and I am okay with that. You are soaking up the world around you, and I can just see you learning and figuring out new things and it makes me so proud of you. You love new experiences and new people, and I am just in awe of how smart you are already.

--I hope I remember that I did the best I could with what I had. Sometimes I am harder on myself than I should be, but then I have to sit back and remember that I love you with everything in me (and even more, I think) and that is what matters. I hope you know how much I love you, and even though I know you won't understand it until you hold a child of your own in your arms, maybe you'll be able to tell through my broken words and actions.

There are a million other things I could write about, like the way you dance when you hear latin music, or the way you giggle at your Papa every morning, and the way you press your whole body in to mine--like you just want us to be one person again for awhile.

Jameson, you are my sunshine. I know I can be impatient with you, and I am sorry for the times I've failed you already--even Mommas are broken, imperfect people. You are the bright part of all of my dark days, and you keep me going even when I don't think I can anymore. You are growing up right before my very eyes and I am the most blessed woman in the world to be your mother.

I love you, bubba. Happy birthday.
Mom.

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the beginning. again.

I downloaded a new app on my phone, called miCoach.
Couple that with myfitnesspal, and this girl's getting back into her fitness groove.

I decided to just start back at the beginning, instead of trying to pick it all back up in the middle, like from before I got pregnant.
Slow and steady wins the race, and loses those 15 pounds that are hanging out around my waist.

I still hate counting calories, and I still feel like a heifer when I run, but it's a start.
I'll get to where I want to go eventually, because I've done it before.
I've got a few dates in my head to motivate me to keep working out and watching what I put in my mouth. Plus, working out is my alone time now and Lord knows I can never have enough of that.

So for today, I am proud of myself.

And that, my friends, is good enough.

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is that all?

The green-eyed monster is creeping up again, with it's whispers of failure and imperfection and look-at-what-they-have.

Sometimes I just get so sick of fighting it that I decide to lay down and let it run me over.
Other times I decide to fight back and turn myself into the object that my green-eyes have found.

Neither option gets me where I want to be.

And then my only option is to run.
Run, run, run, right back to the Lord and pray hard that He can take away the longings and fill the fulfillings.

"It's not about happiness," I keep chanting to myself.
Except sometimes it is.
Sometimes it's all I want, and sometimes it's the only thing I can't have.

"Wait for the Lord;

Be strong and take heart, 

and wait for the Lord."

{Psalm 27:14}

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