With motherhood comes the great gift of repeatedly seeking out my Savior. There is no other human relationship that I could ever care about deeply enough to cause me to continually walk knowingly into the refiner's fire again and again. Never have I failed so repeatedly at something in which I so desperately want to succeed.

Desperation is the only appropriate word for my longing feelings towards succeeding at motherhood. I do not take lightly the charge I have been given by God to nurture these sweet spirits that were sent to me. I see their infinite potential and intrinsic goodness and I know that nothing else I do in life will ever matter as much as helping them become the world shapers they are intended to be. A mother is not all I am; but for now, it is more deserving of my time, effort, and devotion than any other aspect of my journey in this life.

In any other situation, I would have given up by now. I'm generally fairly quick to concede defeat when things are overly challenging for me. Thankfully, in this thing, I have a broader perspective from my knowledge that these little souls truly belong to Him and not to me. I am doing God's work, and if I am to do it well then I must seek the wisdom and assistance of the Master. To repeatedly seek out the healing and transformative effects of my Savior's atonement is the only way that I can pick back up and begin anew after each time I stumble. As I find Him in prayer, I regain my footing to move forward in this journey. I succeed in motherhood only when I turn myself over to Christ and allow him to lead me in my efforts.

A Plea For Voices From The Darkness

There’s a dark place in motherhood that virtually no one is talking about. A place where hope disappears, sleep doesn’t come, praying feels useless and the only thing worse than the pain is the numbness.  Everyone who knows this place experiences it differently, and though it doesn’t affect every mother, it affects more we know. Too many women don’t know how to recognize the battle raging inside them for what it is, and so they suffer in silence, confusion, and fear. I’ve been to this place and back, though my climb back to solid ground isn’t over.

I’ve written on the topic of Postpartum Depression before HERE, but I’ve put off writing more on the subject for far too long. I’m in a different place now and the darkness doesn’t suffocate me as it once did, but I haven’t forgotten the all-consuming hold it had on me back then. I remember the feelings of “Why me?!” so distinctly. It’s impossible in that place to not question why God would allow such an impossible load to be placed on the shoulders of a young mother who wants nothing more than to simply feel the joy of those sweet children she's been entrusted with. To feel so broken, so worthless, and so entirely alone when other mothers around you seem to be overflowing with joy, energy, and purpose can completely rob a woman of the will to keep going. It’s so easy in that place of all-consuming darkness to believe that everyone you love would be better off without you present to weigh them down. It’s important to note that not every experience with Post-Partum Depression or Post-Partum Anxiety gets this severe or lasts long enough to feel this impossibly hard. But for some women, this is a daily reality.

For a very long time, I wondered why I personally had to face this trial. It felt cruel that after the painful challenges of infertility, I was again robbed of the joy of having a baby even with that baby in my arms. I have intently searched for meaning in this trial, because I feel that to suffer so deeply without purpose is a waste. I have strived to create purpose by allowing my PPD journey to be a driving factor in many of the changes I’ve made in recent months that have positively impacted my motherhood. Today, however, I find peace and gratitude in knowing that the purpose was greater.

For the first time in my life, as I knelt to pray last night, I found myself genuinely THANKING God for a lifetime of mental health struggles and most specifically for my own experience with the suffocating darkness of Post-Partum Depression. This came about because earlier in the day, I had found myself—not for the first time in my life—talking a dear friend through a moment of severe post-partum crisis. I won’t pretend that I knew all the right things to say, but at the very least I am so grateful that in those moments I was at least able to say, “I understand.” One such opportunity to offer even a sliver of hope, understanding and judgment-free listening to someone I love is more than enough purpose for the months of suffering I endured. I am so humbled that this sweet friend called me in her time of need.

I’m noticing more and more that each time I open my mouth to discuss my varied struggles with mental health and PPD specifically, I somehow give permission for others to do the same. Verbalizing my struggles doesn’t seem to get any easier with practice as the fear of judgment and misunderstanding remains constant. However, each time my openness encourages another person to share their story, I find more motivation to use my voice for this purpose. I can confidently state that there is healing in speaking out about mental illness. Acknowledging my struggles and giving them a name gives me back some of the control that has felt so absent in the dark times. There is catharsis in simply uttering the truth of these challenges aloud (or through writing).

Had I not been open about my struggles previously, I would have been robbed of so many opportunities to connect more deeply with friends and acquaintances that have since opened up to me. Perhaps my sweet friend would not have known that there was safety waiting on the other end of yesterday’s phone call. I hope and pray that as I continue to open up on this subject, others will find more safety and purpose in doing the same.

If you ever choose to share your story, I’d love to hear about it. Here’s to promoting understanding, and ending shame on the topic of post-partum mental illness!

Affirming Goodness

With 3 small kids under the age of 5, Anthony and I have a healthy awareness of how green we still are at this parenting gig. We are making things up as we go, trying to figure out what works, failing a lot, and apologizing to our kids plenty when we do it wrong. We know that we are still in the beginning; that we haven’t really “figured it out” yet. So, I wouldn’t say we have a lot of established family rules or anything, with one exception. That exception being that we do not call members of our family “bad.” It’s non-negotiable, and everyone is conscious of this expectation.

NO ONE in our family is “BAD.”

Ultimately, we just don’t believe that human beings can accurately be labeled as “bad” and it is important to us that our children understand this. Doing bad things does not inherently make a person bad. If we assume that people are nothing more than a summation of everything they do or have ever done, we lose sight of everything they still have the potential to do yet. Not to mention the incredible human tendency towards change and growth when given the opportunity… but I digress.

So one recent afternoon, I found myself sitting in our stairway face to face with a grimacing, fuming, 4 year old in his time-out seat. I was getting nowhere in my attempts to discuss with him the actions that landed him in said time-out. I could see the rest of our day spinning down a proverbial drain (neither he nor I tend to rebound well from these situations) and my own patience and emotions were reaching a dangerous limit. I took the opportunity to pause, breathe, and pray silently for direction. In an instant, I was reminded that Anthony had recently started a bedtime ritual of positive affirmations with Calvin. I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere without finding a way to soften him, so I looked Calvin in the eyes and said, “Repeat after me.” He glared back and our conversation progressed as follows:

“My mommy loves me.”
A glowering repetition from Calvin.
 “I love me.”
Again he reluctantly repeated, and I went on.
 “I am a good boy!”
And instead of a repetition, there came a heart-rending, “Really?!” followed by streaming tears as the wall between us collapsed.

It was immediately clear to me that my effort to instill within my children a confident knowledge of their goodness has been falling victim to my other actions. Because, no matter how often I tell them that “no one in our family is bad,” the ways that I reprimand or react towards them in difficult moments have a much deeper effect on their concepts of worth.

I struggle frequently with knowing how to balance love with discipline. Especially in the most heated moments, I am much quicker to redirect than I am to seek to understand. A punch is thrown, for example, and I jump immediately (and not always calmly) to the defense of the victim without having any context on the rest of their interaction leading up to that moment. Not that I would ever condone punching, but I am realizing that taking a moment to seek understanding before issuing punishment can lead to a much more desirable outcome. More often than not, a better understanding of what motivated my child’s actions is exactly what I need to be softened enough to redirect in love.

 If I want my children to know that they are filled with goodness, I need to acknowledge their goodness at every opportunity—especially when I am disciplining undesirable behavior. A disciplined child that still feels loved and is also confident in their inherent goodness is much more teachable.

Since that afternoon on the stairs, I have taken more frequent opportunity to pause, breathe, and pray in our hard moments. I have also taken more frequent opportunity to practice affirmations of goodness with Calvin and Daphne in the process of discipline. I won’t say I’m perfect at this, but I think I am improving and so is the overall feeling in our home. I can personally attest to the power of affirming goodness in our children. They need the reminder, and so do we.

By the way, YOU are a GOOD [mother, father, sibling, child, person]. You probably wouldn't be reading this if you weren't.

Place of Safety

I had a heavy but enlightening moment tonight as I sat at my daughter’s bedside drawing nondescript designs on her back with my fingers and singing softly to help her and big brother drift off to sleep. She has never been a very good sleeper and it has become more clear lately that she struggles quite a bit with various fears once the lights go out. Despite her obvious and nearly constant exhaustion, she simply does not ever want to go to sleep and bedtime is becoming more of a battle as time passes.

Tonight as I sat at the side of her bed, a thought came creeping into my quiet mind. It was simply this:

“The things she fears now may not be real to you, but they are to her. If you brush them off today, how will she ever feel safe coming to you with the overwhelming fears that life throws at her later?”

Cue grief and an overwhelming desire to recover so many lost opportunities for offering comfort and assurance.

It’s so easy at the end of the day to want to discredit their fears or needs as childish efforts to simply delay bedtime and stay up longer. I don’t know what her particular fears are—she hasn’t been able to express that entirely yet—but I have grown accustomed to her pleas for my reassuring presence at her bedside as she tells me, “Is so scary in my room, Mommy.”

The rational side of me wants to explain away her fears with logic and discredit them entirely. I have also been guilty of threatening the loss of privileges if anyone gets out of bed again... It can just be so frustrating when I know all too well how quickly my little ones can fall asleep if they will just still their busy bodies, be silent, and close their heavy eyes. On most occasions, however, they simply don't do just that.

In my longing for some alone time at the end of the day, the unfortunate truth is that I am quick to brush off the concerns of little minds too easily and too frequently. But I hope to be more in tune with my babies, even at the end of the longest and hardest of our days and continue to remember tonight's gentle nudging.

More often than not, the added time of sitting with them while they slip away to dreaming is such a small piece of my day to offer up in exchange for letting them know that I will always be that place of safety when they need me.