Ashamed

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June 10, 2019 By Jennifer Lambert 15 Comments

We aren’t born ashamed.

We have to learn how to be ashamed.

And then we shame others so we don’t feel alone.

Our culture thrives on shame.

Parents are told to shame their children into behaving. Teachers shame students in class to conform. Peers shame each other and it’s considered normal, but it’s really bullying. And when they grow up, these adults bully and shame others to keep control.

We feel guilty when we do something wrong.

We feel ashamed when we believe that we are bad.

I don’t dance.

I used to dance.

I first took lessons when I was in first grade.

I loved ballet and tap. I loved the pink and black practice suits and the recital costumes. I loved the music and the counting and the French words and the practicing and the barre with the stretches. I could point my toes in a perfect arch and suck in the dimples on my buttocks to please my teacher.

I love watching musicals and ballets – live and on TV…the pretty costumes and twirling and how easy it looks.

My parents couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for dance lessons after a year. I was heartbroken. I begged every year to be re-enrolled, but they didn’t take me seriously or couldn’t afford it until I was 12. The studio really didn’t have beginner courses for anyone as old as I was, so I was placed in a class for adults who just wanted the exercise. It was embarrassing. I was good and I was placed in the recital with other dancers my age. I could’ve possibly moved on to pointe the next year or so, but I was too ashamed to continue when I was awkward, lanky, developing. I hadn’t danced for so long and I felt so behind my peers.

I quit dancing and I still regret it.

That feeling of shame rears its hot face even now that I’m older. My husband loves to dance and he used to teach lessons. I don’t even want to dance with him in the privacy of my living room. Ballroom dance and contemporary dance are very different from ballet, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I love to watch him dance with the kids and teach them the classic moves.

Shame isn’t an easy thing to ignore or overcome.

Shame permeates our society.

I’ve been bullied and shamed in parenting circles, at work, in church…it’s like an epidemic or an addiction. People think shame is normal.

We are taught with shame at home, in schools, and in churches.

Shame at Home

Almost all the parenting books, blogs, experts teach shame.

We’re supposed to punish, cajole, bribe, humiliate, ridicule, coerce, abuse our kids into “proper” behavior.

I feel this idea of being shamed into obedience is even worse in Christian circles. There is this idea of a sin/shame cycle that must be beaten (literally or verbally) out of children.

At home, I was hit, belittled, told I was stupid and worthless. My parents thought negative conditioning would create in me a desire to improve. But, actually, it creates dissonance and a feeling of helplessness. Eventually, I began to believe I was stupid and worthless.

My interests weren’t important. I was ridiculed for loving art, music, literature – mere hobbies that wouldn’t offer a well-paying career.

I stopped trying in school about 11th grade. I almost failed algebra II and chemistry. I skipped classes. I didn’t see any point to any of it.

Shame in School

Schools rely on a shame model to produce compliant students.

I lived most of my school days in fear.

Fear of punishment, fear of humiliation, fear of being called on, fear of hearing my name, fear of stepping out of line.

My first grade teacher put a BIG RED X beside my name because I knew how to write it in cursive and we weren’t supposed to know that yet and she didn’t want me to show off.

But the BIG RED X seemed to symbolize a negation of my whole identity.

Teachers often seem to single out students who are different, bullying them just like kids. I’ve witnessed minority kids ridiculed. I’ve witnessed girls shamed. Schools are racist and sexist.

I saw these things as a student and teacher.

Of course, there’s the whole body shaming of girls.

I changed in a bathroom stall for PE in middle school and high school. I was skinny, but never had the desirable flat or toned abs. Someone once told me that my tummy wouldn’t be so noticeable if I had boobs. That didn’t help.

I also didn’t want to be singled out for having the highest grade in science when I was in 9th grade. I quietly asked the teacher to stop praising me in front of the class since I was getting teased by classmates. I was dumbing myself down to be popular. I didn’t do well in science after that year, perhaps on purpose or more likely, subconsciously.

Girls are silenced and shamed by boys, teachers, administrators, parents…and other girls.

Shame in Church

The Christian church relies on shaming to keep members submissive.

Children are taught the sin model from parents, leaders, teachers, pastors.

There’s nowhere positive to go from there. What’s the point if you’re destined for a life of sin and eternal damnation? Different denominations teach different methods of salvation: say a little prayer, confess, flagellation, communion, accountability partners, fasting. Some preach that certain people are predestined, so it doesn’t matter what you do anyway.

It’s all outward appearance and makes us feel more ashamed for our failures, real or imagined.

At a Lent planning meeting at the church we used to attend, a deacon crossed my name off the children’s learning time and said she didn’t need me to do that. She acted like she was doing me a favor, releasing me from duty, but I know she just likes control and doing it all.

I felt like I was back in first grade, even if she didn’t use a red pen.

I’ve never gone back to a planning meeting nor am I really involved at all at church anymore.

We stopped going to church.

And they are both of them naked, the man and woman, and they are not ashamed of themselves. Genesis 2:25
Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves. Genesis 3:7
Why did Adam and Eve become aware of their nakedness only after they sinned?
Chabad

Shame online

I’m glad we didn’t have social media until I was an adult. I don’t think I could’ve handled the cyber bullying and humiliation I see every day online.

We monitor the apps our daughters use closely. I really limit my social media time because it depresses me.

I’m glad we homeschool, so I don’t think we experience it as much, but my eldest was bullied a few years ago within our homeschool community and online and it was ugly.

Some people are just always itching for a fight and I don’t want to engage.

People hide behind their avatars, screens, keyboards…anonymous. It’s easier for them to spew their hatred at people who don’t share their views.

We like to be noticed, named, not forgotten or dismissed.

I try to be very careful how I speak to my children and spouse. Of course, I fail miserably very often, but I try to make amends.

I don’t want to humiliate, shame, or ridicule anyone. I know too well how that feels. Words can hurt.

Linking up: Let it Shine, Pinventures, Mrs. AOK, Mostly Blogging, Create with Joy, Anita Ojeda, Mary Geisen, Abounding Grace, April Harris, LouLou Girls, Home Stories, MaryAndering Creatively, Anchored Abode, InstaEncouragements, Purposeful Faith, Our Three Peas, The Mrs. Tee, Gingersnap Crafts, Jessi’s Design, Creative K Kids, Over the Moon, TFT, My Life Abundant, Sarah Frazer, Apron Strings, Oh My Heartsie Girl, Rachel Lee, Worth Beyond Rubies, Try It Like It, Soaring with Him, Quiet Homemaker, Life with Lorelai, Chic on a Shoestring, Anna Nuttall, Anna Nuttall, Simply Sweet Home, Della Devoted, Momfessionals, Fireman’s Wife, CWJ, Debbie Kitterman, Crystal Waddell, Susan Mead, Counting My Blessings, Being a Wordsmith, Welcome Heart,

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Stepping Stones

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June 3, 2019 By Jennifer Lambert Leave a Comment

I don’t sugarcoat or make small talk.

I’m a straight shooter and people apparently find that intimidating.

I know who I am and what I want.

So…I struggle making friends.

I don’t have any.

Perhaps this is a season that will pass.

Maybe I’m just always on a stepping stone to somewhere else.

I’m always on the lookout for like-minded weirdos, but there always seems to be some hindrance to that.

We move around a lot.

Sometimes the hindrance is me.

I know I have issues.

But sometimes?

The hindrance is sometimes totally on someone else.

It’s important to be able to discern it.

Once you reach age 40, maybe you should have more of your shit together. You’ve had plenty of time and resources for self-loathing, therapy, grief, addiction recovery, getting to know yourself, parenting (even if you have to re-parent yourself), whatever you’ve dealt with. I’m really sorry about all of it, but I dealt with a lot of it too.

I understand your façade of a perfectionistic, yourwayorthehighway cold-hearted bitch hides your falling apart life, but I will not get into it with you over which hymn we should sing on Palm Sunday. It’s just not worth the argument. I will still smile and shake your hand during greeting time at church. And I like your boots.

I can overlook a lot, so much. I can smile and be friendly. But if you have severe unresolved personal issues? Then I don’t want to friend you on Facebook and have you stalk me online. I don’t want to have coffee or a meal with you. I don’t want to sit through a planning meeting with you. I don’t want to share responsibility on some committee with you. I don’t want my kids in a situation where you’re an authority figure over them.

These are things I realize:

A lot of people are lonely.

We live in a society where we’re all connected online, but we don’t know the name of our neighbors on our street. Coworkers are just acquaintances. The people we see in church each week are just a handshake.

We’re isolated by busyness. We make sure we don’t have time to slow down enough to think about our pain.

We don’t have role models who show us how to be friends. Our parents all worked full time and were busy too. Many of us are from broken homes. We were latchkey kids.

We were taught to fear and never trust others.

We think stress, anxiety, depression are normal.

We try to hide our loneliness with stuff. We constantly try to fill that hole with food, drugs, alcohol, shoes, scrapbooking, diets, throwing our kids into a gazillion after-school activities…

Friendliness is misconstrued as manipulation. We overthink it. Why are they smiling? Is something in my teeth? What do they want?

There’s a lot of unnecessary judgment.

Some judgment is healthy.

We need to judge the right moment to cross a busy street. We need to judge whether it’s cardi temperature or if we need a heavier jacket.

We need to discern right from wrong in many gray areas.

Judging others because of their clothing choices or their car or their Christmas decorations can hinder friendship. It’s silly.

Except the 25-foot Rudolph in the front yard across the street. That’s scary.

We’re all trying so hard to impress others with the wrong things for the wrong reasons that we miss out on so much.

It’s harder to understand tone and meaning online. Everything typed comes across as harsher, more sarcastic, cold.

Putting LOL or JK or an emoji after a mean comment doesn’t make it better.

And we’re all so good not recognizing our own sins or hangups.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. Matthew 7:1-5

What about toxicity?

We are called to judge immoral behavior within the church.

Let that sink in a moment.

We are not called to judge outsiders or unbelievers.

For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside. 1 Corinthians 5:12-13

If you have a problem with someone, discuss it in love and in private.

Three strikes, you’re out.

Don’t make room for toxicity in your life. I don’t have room or time for it.

“If your brother sins against you, go and rebuke him in private. If he listens to you, you have won your brother. But if he won’t listen, take one or two more with you, so that by the testimony of two or three witnesses every fact may be established. If he pays no attention to them, tell the church. But if he doesn’t pay attention even to the church, let him be like an unbeliever and a tax collector to you. Matthew 18:15-17

It’s hard to balance on that fence of healthy and unhealthy judgment.

Sometimes, we’re awkward.

I’m usually very awkward, especially around new people.

I kinda embrace my awkwardness now. My foot and mouth are intimately acquainted no matter how hard I try to be tactful. I’m just not graceful.

Lots of people have anxiety or awkwardness.

I try to discern whether someone is being really rude or if they’re just awkward. I really hate that whole “trying to have a conversation with someone and they’re constantly looking over your shoulder for someone else better.” That’s just rude.

Greeting time at church is a nightmare for me as an introvert. I avoid a lot of events with crowds or stick to being a wallflower.

I think it’s also true that we worry so much about what others think and they’re worrying so much about what others think that we’re not thinking about each other at all.

We all experience seasons.

Sometimes we’re more social or need to be alone or life circumstances bring us together or pull us apart.

People going through similar circumstances like to do that together.

I wouldn’t really know.

I never succeeded with pregnancy groups, MOPS, mom meetups, military wives clubs, or weight loss meetings.

I’m a leader.

I’m a teacher.

I have taught classes on single motherhood, finances, parenting, natural living, Sunday school.

I’m not a joiner.

I’m not a good student.

I don’t like meetings, lectures, or effing parties where I’m expected to buy jewelry, leggings, kitchen tools, or essential oils.

It’s always been hard for me to fit in.

I guess we don’t fit a stereotype. We have 4 kids. We’re a military family. We homeschool.

I cringe a lot when all people want to talk about are crappy TV shows or teen novels. And I don’t do small talk.

We’ve all experienced suffering.

This can be an alienating situation or it can bring us together.

Maybe it’s a terminal illness.

Injury.

Surgery.

Chronic illness.

Disability.

Maybe the stress of having a special needs child.

Broken relationships.

Toxicity.

Infidelity.

Divorce.

Abuse. Assault. PTSD.

Addiction.

Abortion.

Suicide.

Mental illness.

Sexuality.

The list goes on and on.

And you know? What I’ve suffered is no worse to me than what you’ve suffered is to you.

It’s not a contest as to who has suffered more or worse.

We’re all in this together.

The church is a house for the broken. It is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.

People of faith are nurses, doctors, counselors…and patients – wherever they go. With arms wide open.

It takes a lot of effort to be a real friend.

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Hope in the Dark

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November 14, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert 17 Comments

Are you in the middle of a dark November crisis?

The dreaded holidays

approach.

The winter gatherings creep toward loneliness, greed, accusation…and we tend to feel unable, inferior, invisible.

For so many, the holidays remind of bad memories, unmet expectations, disappointments.

With the early nights and dreary days come the work parties, family dinners, church potlucks, and all those social obligations.

I’ve never been successful to paste on a smile and fake it.

I’d like to hibernate until March.

My heart feel heavy within me. I am weighed down with the loss of loved ones, the loss of opportunities, the shifting of hopes and dreams.

As many people eagerly await the birth Jesus, it’s hard for me to lift up my heart.

As many plan to celebrate and sing with joy, I often find the days gray and my tongue unable to rejoice.

God knows the emptiness I sometimes feel. God knows the feelings of abandonment, anger, loneliness, and depression I feel. God knows me from the depths of my heart, and God sits with me as I learn to be whole.

I can be assured of God’s love and compassion. He can handle my darkest fears. I can rail at him and ask, “Why?!” I don’t have to hide my tears or sad face from him.

We don’t have to continue any traditions that leave us broke or in debt, stressed out, overwhelmed, tired.

A simple holiday can be a better holiday.

There really are no obligations. You can say no. You don’t have to explain or justify.

I don’t attend many holiday events. I don’t really like parties. My husband is organizing a greening of our church potluck/Friendsgiving for Advent. I’m planning a longest night service.

We stopped sending cards. They seem impersonal and wasteful in this age of social media.

We have always lived too far away to visit my parents or his sisters.

We stopped gift-giving with adults and extended family. We barely have a relationship beyond our immediate family and the gifts were not heartfelt, but just duty.

We minimize decorating.

We streamline celebration meals with our little family. Pinterest perfection is not the goal. We cook and eat what we like!

We limit presents to our kids and prefer experiences over stuff.

Then there’s sometimes still disappointment. The dreary days trudge on towards spring and warmth that seems so far away.

There is hope in the dark.

Reach out to others.

You may be someone’s lifeline during these dark days of winter.

Light a candle.

I will light candles this Christmas;
Candles of joy despite all sadness,
Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,
Candles of courage for fears ever present,

Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
Candles of love to inspire all my living,
Candles that will burn all the year long.

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,

The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.

~Howard Thurman

Next time you pass the peace in your church, try passing the hope instead:

“We wouldn’t be the same without you. Hope be with you.”
And the response: “And also with you.”

Let hope burn bright.

Christmas is for the abused & oppressed. Christmas was an act of resistance against all that is evil.

“Truly He taught us to love one another

His law is love and His gospel is peace

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother

And in His name all oppression shall cease.”

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What Depression Feels Like

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October 27, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert 52 Comments

So many don’t know.

The deep darkness has never touched them.

They’ve never sunk so low

That they can’t even imagine ever getting up again.

How does depression feel?

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think maybe

Maybe I should just die.

Maybe my children would be better off with a different mother.

Maybe my husband would be better with a happier wife.

Maybe my parents would realize how bad it really was.

Their therapist didn’t know the truth and I’m not only to blame.

Less than.

Never enough.

A hollow pit in the depths of my stomach.

Prickly moist heat that makes my palms itch.

Heaving from the farthest reaches of my insides.

Poor little rich white girl.

I hate this life.

No, it doesn’t make any sense

But

The pain is suffocating.

I’m drowning from too much.

Too little.

Hyperventilating.

Asphyxiation must be the scariest way to go.

I learned long ago to paste on a smile. Smear on some lipstick.

Don’t want to look too pale, sickly, pasty, unhappy, bland.

Don’t call attention.

Don’t tell the secrets.

Be invisible.

But speak up.

Well, which is it?

I’m so confused.

I don’t know who I am. Who should I be?

It doesn’t even matter.

Nothing matters.

On the good days

the sun shines and the bad thoughts almost disappear

I’m so productive! I can take on the world and save everyone, including myself. I’m proud of myself. I’m doing all the right things, saying all the right words in the right tone, feeling all the right feels and not reacting, but being proactive. I plan for tomorrow, next week, next month, years from now. I can see it.

I laugh and bake and play and sing and dance

My heart swells with pride and remember how blessed I am

I can smile and it actually reaches my eyes

and the darkness seems rather far away for a few moments

but I can always see the wicked grin of the shadow monster in my peripheral vision

There but not there

Waiting and reminding

that the darker days are coming.

On the bad days

I struggle to get out of bed.

Every little task is a mountainous obstacle.

I don’t want to bathe or get dressed or eat or go anywhere.

No one can see me.

I avoid mirrors.

I loathe myself.

I am numb.

I know way deep down that I have to go through the motions of all the things I have to do to keep our lives running.

But I can’t really see the point.

“It’s just a headache.”

“I don’t feel so well today.”

“I think I might be coming down with something.”

I don’t deserve

to ever spend a penny on myself

or food

or soap

or water

or clothes

the smiles of my children

the hug from my husband

the grace of God

this life.

I don’t know how to ask for help.

No one knows.

Folding up inside is better, safer, easier.

I used to wish I had a real disease that others could see and believe.

If I were actually sick, then they would be sympathetic.

Then they would know it’s not my fault.

Sometimes we put up walls, not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to knock them down.

Depression isn’t something that I can “just snap out of” or, my God, I would do that!

I can’t just be happy. I can’t just smile more. I can’t just pray it away.

Comparing myself to others who “have it worse” is not helpful.

I’m tired of people who confuse “being depressed” for a season and living with depression. It doesn’t just go away.

I’ve learned to cope without medication.

I’ve been to plenty of therapists.

Depression is a real illness. We don’t blame people with cancer or diabetes or MS or thyroid deficiencies.

When you ask, “What do you have to be sad about?” It just adds to my guilt. It doesn’t make sense to me why I feel like this. It just is. I live with it. You can’t understand. I can’t explain it to you well enough for you to empathize.

Why do we blame people with mental illnesses?

And depression has BFFs – anxiety, anger, physical ailments, PTSD, aches and pains, attention problems, insomnia, eating disorders, self harm, and more. Doctors love to bandaid these symptoms instead of seeking to learn the cause.

When you can’t control your own mind and thoughts, you feel the need to control something. And that need for some semblance of control most often exhibits in an eating disorder, addiction, cutting, or something harmful.

Get help here.

Find more help here.

See more about mental health.

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My Favorite Life Changing Books

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October 25, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert Leave a Comment

Some books just resonate, you know?

I vividly remember their words and turns of phrase. They teach something. They call to action.

They made me make some changes in my life. They helped me make a big decision. They changed my perspective.

These are my favorite life-changing books:

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Combining magic, mysticism, wisdom and wonder into an inspiring tale of self-discovery, The Alchemist has become a modern classic, selling millions of copies around the world and transforming the lives of countless readers across generations.

Paulo Coelho’s masterpiece tells the mystical story of Santiago, an Andalusian shepherd boy who yearns to travel in search of a worldly treasure. His quest will lead him to riches far different—and far more satisfying—than he ever imagined. Santiago’s journey teaches us about the essential wisdom of listening to our hearts, of recognizing opportunity and learning to read the omens strewn along life’s path, and, most importantly, to follow our dreams.

Why I love it:

It’s a great, uplifting story and I love the parable style. It’s such a familiar story and speaks to our hearts about how we’re all connected. I wish I’d gotten this as a graduation gift, but I only just recently discovered it. I laughed. I cried. I want all my kids to read it!

Ishmael by Daniel Quinn

TEACHER SEEKS PUPIL.
Must have an earnest desire to save the world. Apply in person.

It was just a three-line ad in the personals section, but it launched the adventure of a lifetime.

So begins an utterly unique and captivating novel. In Ishmael, which received the Turner Tomorrow Fellowship for the best work of fiction offering positive solutions to global problems, Daniel Quinn parses humanity’s origins and its relationship with nature, in search of an answer to this challenging question: How can we save the world from ourselves?

Why I love it:

It’s so unexpected. It made me think about what an impact I have, we all have – on each other, the earth, animals, society. It makes me question everything I’ve ever been taught.

Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver’s fifth novel is a hymn to wildness that celebrates the prodigal spirit of human nature, and of nature itself. It weaves together three stories of human love within a larger tapestry of lives amid the mountains and farms of southern Appalachia. Over the course of one humid summer, this novel’s intriguing protagonists face disparate predicaments but find connections to one another and to the flora and fauna with which they necessarily share a place.

Why I love it:

I read this when I was a single mother. I was longing for meaningful connection. This book offered me hope that very different people can work together and find a place in each other’s hearts. I also love nature stories.

Surfacing by Margaret Atwood

Part detective novel, part psychological thriller, Surfacing is the story of a talented woman artist who goes in search of her missing father on a remote island in northern Quebec. Setting out with her lover and another young couple, she soon finds herself captivated by the isolated setting, where a marriage begins to fall apart, violence and death lurk just beneath the surface, and sex becomes a catalyst for conflict and dangerous choices. Surfacing is a work permeated with an aura of suspense, complex with layered meanings, and written in brilliant, diamond-sharp prose. Here is a rich mine of ideas from an extraordinary writer about contemporary life and nature, families and marriage, and about women fragmented…and becoming whole.

Why I love it:

I read this book after some very difficult life circumstances.

Sometimes, I desire to be wild and free, lost in the woods, foraging and alone, cut off from the world. It helps me find myself again.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Guy Montag is a fireman. In his world, where television rules and literature is on the brink of extinction, firemen start fires rather than put them out. His job is to destroy the most illegal of commodities, the printed book, along with the houses in which they are hidden.

Montag never questions the destruction and ruin his actions produce, returning each day to his bland life and wife, Mildred, who spends all day with her television “family.” But then he meets an eccentric young neighbor, Clarisse, who introduces him to a past where people didn’t live in fear and to a present where one sees the world through the ideas in books instead of the mindless chatter of television.

When Mildred attempts suicide and Clarisse suddenly disappears, Montag begins to question everything he has ever known. He starts hiding books in his home, and when his pilfering is discovered, the fireman has to run for his life.

Why I love it:

I read it in 10th grade. I taught it to my students for several years. I read it with my daughter. It’s an amazingly hopeful book in the face of a tragic society.

Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life by Richard Rohr

In Falling Upward, Fr. Richard Rohr seeks to help readers understand the tasks of the two halves of life and to show them that those who have fallen, failed, or “gone down” are the only ones who understand “up.” Most of us tend to think of the second half of life as largely about getting old, dealing with health issues, and letting go of life, but the whole thesis of this book is exactly the opposite. What looks like falling down can largely be experienced as “falling upward.” In fact, it is not a loss but somehow actually a gain, as we have all seen with elders who have come to their fullness.

This important book explores the counterintuitive message that we grow spiritually much more by doing wrong than by doing right–a fresh way of thinking about spirituality that grows throughout life.

Why I love it:

It put together a puzzle for me about why I struggled so much until recently. It explains why so many others seem displaced and I don’t fit in.

These books have always resonated with me and I can read them again and again.

You might also like my Women’s Literature Study.

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I’m Angry

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October 23, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert Leave a Comment

My husband asked me why I seem so angry lately.

I almost have to laugh.

Lately?

I think I’ve been angry for about twenty years.

Why am I angry?

I feel like I am always fighting an uphill battle. It’s exhausting.

There’s always a running commentary in my head. It’s almost always negative.

I’m angry at myself.

I am my own worst critic.

I don’t need anyone to tell me when I’ve messed up.

I get furious with myself when I forget something, break something, mess up in any way.

I remember every little mistake I’ve ever made. It keeps me up at night.

“Why did I say that?”

“What could I have done differently?”

Every stupid choice I made as a youth.

Every harsh word to my children.

Every time I act like I’m too busy for them.

My poor parenting practices in the beginning…Did I ruin my two oldest in their formative years? Why didn’t I know better earlier?

Why can’t I lose ten pounds?

Why didn’t I ever learn to play an instrument?

Why didn’t I finish grad school and get that Ph.D?

I disappoint myself.

I’m angry at society.

Why are there so many poisonous chemicals and additives in our food?

Why are there so many victimless crimes that I have heart palpitations when I see a police car?

Why do we pay so many taxes for services we don’t need, want, or ever use?

Why is there still childism, sexism, racism in our modern world?

Why do we still not believe women who have been harassed or assaulted? We learn it’s easier to remain silent, stifle the feelings of unfairness and injustice. Just move on.

Why do we have a narcissistic playboy running our country?

Why does it feel like 1968 and all our progress is being reversed?

I’m angry at my parents.

I was pretty much left to my own devices. By most standards, I had a great childhood. But when I became an adult (a long arduous process), I realized how broken it really was.

Their love was and is conditional.

They disowned me when I was 20. They sent me a copy of their will, all torn in pieces. They paid postage to mail me that.

They found a therapist to tell them how terrible I am.

Everything they offer comes with strings attached. They dangle expensive gifts like carrots before mules, then snatch them away and blame my poor behavior. I’m 41, not 4.

They send broken handmedowns and we get criticized if we don’t offer profuse gratitude at their thoughtfulness.

My dad hand wrote me a hate letter and mailed it to tell me what an awful mother I am because I won’t spank my children.

I realize they exhibit are narcissistic and borderline tendencies and they are codependent. Gaslighting is common.

But that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier.

They wonder why the extent of our conversations are about the weather and backyard birds.

They weren’t there for me when I needed them most. They guided me in wrong decisions. They didn’t understand my suicide attempt. They don’t mourn my child.

Their priorities aren’t my priorities.

It’s amazing that they can still crush my spirit.

I diligently work at not reacting to triggers.

I’m angry at God.

I have so many questions. Dogma and doctrine and theological scholars don’t always answer satisfactorily.

Church has failed me more times than not.

It’s mostly pageantry, sitting in chairs and singing and shaking hands with strangers, then having a cookie and filing out the door to a mediocre life.

Christians love to discount anger. “Just pray more! Just be happy!” they say. Because surely, it’s just impossible to be a good Christian and experience any negativity.

I learned self-reliance.

So I keep my thoughts to myself.

Aaron’s parents died suddenly within our first year of marriage.

We have no support system.

We never had any mentors.

We have no friends.

I’m jealous.

Our kids don’t know their cousins. They don’t understand family holidays. They’ve never gone to family reunions. They don’t have so many memories.

Sometimes, I’m so angry, but there isn’t even a definable target.

Moving every few years takes a lot out of us – physically, emotionally, psychologically. So much planning and so many unknowns.

The neverending chores. Towels wadded up on the floor. That forgotten bowl all crusty with melted dried cheese on the far counter. Cat puke on the carpet.

The unheeded advice and bailing my kids out of another scrape to coach them better next time.

That lost thing that becomes an emergency: my husband’s wallet, iPhone, keys…a daughter’s shoe, FitBit, earring, book..the teen just lost her check card after one week. When the van ate my military ID as I was going through the gate.

Sure, there are hormones and headaches every month. The weather affects my sinuses.

Moms aren’t allowed to have bad days.

I perceive my husband as emotionless. Nothing ever seems to bother him. He just plugs along. I have enough anger for all of us.

No one ever seems outraged by the news, world events, community issues, injustice.

No one wants to have meaningful conversation or take action for positive change. So many desensitized and apathetic.

Bloggers make themselves feel better by buying and peddling sustainable clothing from charities to combat oppression in third world countries. Social media and the internet are all a comparison trap.

Who do I fight?

My generation is known for its feelings of futility and apathy. We grew up with receiving trophies and stickers for everything, having earned nothing, being handed the world on a silver platter without having to world for anything. Inflated grades, so much self-esteem. Worthless college degrees and too few jobs. Our expectations don’t meet the reality.

Then the internet and social media come into the picture. Heaven help us.

I’m fighting for a better world for my children.

My anger gives me the momentum to continually evaluate and improve.

I’m angry that even when I speak up, I remain unheard.

Anger is often a mask.

It’s inappropriate to show negative emotions in our society. We’re supposed to answer, “Fine!” when someone asks how we are.

Fear, frustration, powerlessness, pain…often exhibit as anger.

Depression and anxiety. More anger.

I wasn’t allowed to express emotions or be my true self as a child and youth. I was told I was worthless and that the things I liked were stupid.

It’s taken me so many years to rediscover that I love art, music, bugs, animals, hiking, and more.

I’m repairing 5-year-old me, going back to before school destroyed her. Rebuilding who I was meant to be.

It’s ok to be angry. It’s ok to have negative emotions.

It’s not ok to allow anger to become overwhelming or all-enveloping.

I know when I need to deal with my anger. It’s time for me to be alone and work it out so I don’t lash out.

I go for a walk. I take a bath. I journal. I cook something. I do chores. I pray. I exercise.

It’s important to use anger as a catalyst for personal growth rather than letting it fester.

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How Journaling Helps Me

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October 11, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert 18 Comments

I’m not into planners with all the stickers and the colored pens and the frills and stuff. It just seems like a big waste of my time.

But I frequently do informal journaling. I don’t feel the pressure to draw in a smashbook or place any stickers in a planner. Having something fancy is just overwhelming.

Journaling is a great way to be cognitive of little successes.

I’m always writing.

I keep a food and exercise journal on my smartphone.

I make notes for future blog posts in several places.

But this past year, and especially this past winter, I’ve gotten lazy and sedentary.

Some days, I look back and it feels like I did virtually nothing.

I recently began journaling my days to realize how much I do accomplish.

I don’t write down every little bitty thing, but I sketch out my day so I can look back and see what I did, because some days, it feels like I just watched Netflix all day.

I have just plain little spiral notebooks for my daily journal.

I read and write a lot.

And sometimes, it feels like I spend most of my time in the kitchen – prepping, cooking, and cleaning.

I was sick for a week, so I didn’t actually do so much. I needed to really rest and recharge. There wasn’t much to write about.

Then, I got back into gear.

Most of these aren’t great accomplishments by most standards, but they help me to feel better about how I spend my days.

I try to be peaceful and use my time wisely.

I don’t like to be busy or rushing. I like to move in easy rhythms with the seasons and holidays.

I love the daily examen from St. Ignatius:

1. Become aware of God’s presence.
2. Review the day with gratitude.
3. Pay attention to your emotions.
4. Choose one feature of the day and focus prayer around it.
5. Look toward tomorrow.

Download an Examen prayer card here.

I have some simple daily goals:

I want to read, exercise, complete lessons and read alouds and Bible study with my kids.

I also have a prayer journal.

I write scripture every day with monthly themed plans from Sweet Blessings.

I write prayers and praises – with dates so I can go back and look at it.

I write my exercises and travel experiences.

I recently got a recipe journal to track our favorite meals since I always tweak the recipes and forget.

Journaling is a great way to relax and keep track of events, milestones, thoughts, dreams…

Make a list of things you do every day.
Make a list of things that make you happy.
Compare the lists.
Adjust accordingly.

How journaling helps me:

Stress relief – it helps me to stay peaceful.
Personal growth – it helps me to learn about myself.
Helps clarify my thoughts and emotions – it helps me to work out issues with my past and present.
Problem solving – it helps me to be metacognitive.
Purge emotions – I can write about troublesome issues privately.

A Baker’s Dozen Reasons to Journal:

Exercise log
Foods you’ve eaten, especially to rule out allergies or sensitivities, or to save favorite recipes
Quotes you love
Travel
Art
Nature
Poetry
Books you’ve read or want to read
Movies you’ve watched or want to watch
Memories
Wines or beers you’ve loved
Daybook or daily log
Prayer and/or Scripture

Do you journal? How does it help you?

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My Top 40

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March 16, 2017 By Jennifer Lambert 14 Comments

I turned 42 on Sunday.

Sometimes, it hits me and I’m shocked because I don’t feel 42. I’m not sure what 42 is supposed to feel like.

I often still feel the same way I felt at 15 and 21 and 29 and 32. I have the same dreams and fears.

We live in such a casual time that it doesn’t matter what I wear, how I style my hair, or which fork I use.

During my mom’s generation, women over a certain age didn’t wear the color pink or their hair long. That was for younger women.

Sometimes, when I go out with my teen daughter, people mistake us for sisters and that’s delightful.

Other times, I feel very old and persnickety. My knees crackle when I stand up. My back hurts when I stand for a long time.

I’m past the desire to get tattoos or piercings. I’d rather spend my money on other things – experiences.

Sometimes, I feel panicky that I haven’t accomplished anything important. My time is too short and I have to hurry and do something, anything, quickly, write write write, create create create.

Then, I feel overwhelmed and it’s been all done before. I have nothing to offer. Do I?

I usually lie in bed at night and listen to the night sounds and make myself ill about what I should have done or could do better.

Then I think about all the things I have done and I’m able to breathe a little easier for another night.

I’m accepting that I’m an INTJ and a 1/5 combo on Enneagram. This is who I am and I constantly improve and grow.

I had some amazing experiences that shaped me into who I am today. When I look back on what means the most to me, my priorities are clear.

My top 40:

I flew alone to Washington, D.C., when I was 9, to visit my grandma. It was a fun week.
My parents took me to Puerto Rico when I was 14. It was a business trip for my dad. I missed a week of school, excused for “educational purposes.”
My intro to art class in 10th grade. The teacher was quite a bitch, but I still remember the projects and techniques I learned. It ruined me but I’m rediscovering it.
Entering college early. Dual enrollment was a new concept and my high school wasn’t too keen, so I just bypassed them. I got a double scholarship.
“Wasting time” on college classes in Spanish, French, and German. The lessons I learned serve me well now in Europe and teaching my kids foreign languages!
My college classes on art history and music theory still affect me today. Those professors were passionate and delightful.
Overcoming depression. It’s a daily battle.
Getting my Master’s in education. It was a joke of a program, but I jumped through those hoops and have the paper to prove it.
Teaching in public school. I learned so much about kids, parents, learning, government school systems, bureaucracy, and more. I’ve taught at many levels, mostly middle school and high school, including ESL and gifted. I worked in elementary after school programs. I was also a substitute teacher in many different kinds of classrooms.
The birth of my first daughter.
Teaching college writing. Almost my dream job.
Getting married. (The first two don’t count…) Surviving PCSes and a deployment. Deployment #2 coming up.
Moving to Texas. This was a quite a catalyst for change. I couldn’t find work. We began homeschooling. It was the first time I ever lived away from my parents and home state. My husband’s parents both passed away. My husband changed job fields in order to remain in the Air Force. I birthed two babies. It was a stressful two years.
Homeschooling. It’s been an amazing adventure!
Starting a blog. It sure has evolved since 2005!
The birth of my second daughter.
The birth of my third daughter. A C-section is not a failure. I’m still telling myself this. Medical bullying and trauma is a thing though.
Living in Hawaii for 3 years.
My husband adopting my first daughter.
Changing our lifestyle to be healthier and more natural.
The birth of my son. VBAC, for the win!
Stopped attending a legalistic fundamentalist church. Wish we’d left sooner!
Introducing my husband and kids to camping.
Family road trip to Yellowstone National Park.
Living in Germany for 3 years. Being able to explore Europe!
Traveling to Paris. Twice.
Traveling to Prague.
Traveling to Netherlands.
Traveling to Greece.
Traveling to London. Twice.
Traveling to Porto.
Traveling to Rome.
Traveling to Ireland.
Traveling to Normandy, France.
Traveling to Florence.
Traveling to Venice.
Deciding to practice respectful parenting.
Becoming credit card debt-free. We’re almost there!
Doing Bible study at home instead of attending church.
I have found my voice. I am still angry. I am not afraid.

I can do so much more now that I’m 42 than when I was in my 20’s.

I am more confident. I have more life experience. I am more discerning. I have my priorities straight.

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Great Books for Writers

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February 4, 2015 By Jennifer Lambert 12 Comments

Many of my friends are writers and bloggers.

My kids are growing into young writers.

It’s sometimes helpful to read from successful writers – a pep talk, how they became successful, or just their fun biography.

Sometimes we suffer from writer’s block and need inspiration to keep going.

I love this Writer’s Prayer:

Oh Lord, let me not be one of those who writes too much;
who spreads himself too thinly with his words,
diluting all the things he has to say,
like butter spread too thinly over toast,
or watered milk in some worn-out hotel;
but let me write the things I have to say,
and then be silent, ’til I need to speak.
Oh Lord, let me not be one of those who writes too little;
a decade-man between each tale, or more,
where every word accrues significance
and dread replaces joy upon the page.
Perfectionists like chasing the horizon;
You kept perfection, gave the rest to us,
so let me earn the wisdom to move on.
But over and above those two mad spectres of parsimony and profligacy,
Lord, let me be brave, and let me, while I craft my tales, be wise:
let me say true things in a voice that is true,
and, with the truth in mind, let me write lies.
~Neil Gaiman (listen to him read it here)

Here is my TOP 10 LIST of favorite books for writers:

1. On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft by Stephen King

I love the humor and real life stories. It’s always fun to know the beginnings of a famour writer and how he came to success.

2. Jeff Goins Books

Great inspirational calls to action. These books make you want to be a better person and not just a better writer.

3. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott

Raw, intelligent, realistic writing advice mingled with poignant stories of her life.

4. The Elements of Style, Annotated and Updated for Present-Day Use by William Strunk, Jr.

Every writer needs to know this stuff. Period.

5. Conversations with a Writing Coach by Susan May Warren

Easy to follow advice with an actionable plan to write a novel.

6. Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art by Madeleine L’Engle

Great thoughts on being a Christian artist.

7. Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg

Great exercises on writing and how to live life to the fullest, based on her writing courses.

8. On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing by William Zinsser

How to write nonfiction well.

9. Zen in the Art of Writing: Essays on Creativity by Ray Bradbury

10. The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles by Steven Pressfield (all his books are great!)

Succeed despite all the Resistance.

11. Writing to Change the World: An Inspiring Guide for Transforming the World with Words by Mary Pipher

Words are the most powerful tools at our disposal. With them, writers have saved lives and taken them, brought justice and confounded it, started wars and ended them. Writers can change the way we think and transform our definitions of right and wrong.

Writing to Change the World is a beautiful paean to the transformative power of words. Encapsulating Mary Pipher’s years as a writer and therapist, it features rousing commentary, personal anecdotes, memorable quotations, and stories of writers who have helped reshape society. It is a book that will shake up readers’ beliefs, expand their minds, and possibly even inspire them to make their own mark on the world.

12. The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

Julia Cameron takes readers on an amazing twelve-week journey to discover the inextricable link between their spiritual and creative selves. This groundbreaking program includes:

– Introductions to two of Cameron’s most vital tools for creative recovery–The Morning Pages and The Artist Date
– Hundreds of highly effective exercises and activities
– Guidance on starting a “Creative Cluster” of fellow artists who will support you in your creative endeavors

Check out some great resources for writing: Follow Jennifer Lambert’s board Writing on Pinterest.

Do you have any favorite books about writing?

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Abortion

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January 19, 2014 By Jennifer Lambert 5 Comments

Apparently, there is a day called Sanctity of Life Sunday. I don’t know if I ever knew there was such a thing.

I have acquaintances who frequently post rather graphic images, videos, and quotes on social media about pro-life and anti-abortion and special needs kids (who all deserve life, despite doctors recommend terminating pregnancies if tests reveal any disorder).

I’m sure they mean well as their results show, with lots of comments and likes showing agreement.

I have friends who wear pro-life T-shirts and probably feel like they’re changing lives with the messages written across their hearts.

And maybe they are.

At women’s conferences, pro-life orgs proudly set up tables amidst the charities, Etsy shop vomit, and various vendor alley.

And what they do is well and good, I’m sure.

But aren’t they preaching to the choir?

Their profiles proudly state the number of children they’ve birthed. Some list the number of miscarriages as a “babe in heaven.”

Why don’t we talk about that?

If the embryo never breathed air, is it a child?

Does a heartbeat equal a viable person?

If a child is never named, is it a person?

If a baby is stillborn and isn’t baptized, what then?

I smile when they spout self-righteousness, but the smile doesn’t reach my eyes.

Because they don’t know.

They don’t realize how they’re turning that knife and carving out pieces of my soul with every word.

I’ve read various heart-wrenching stories of teen girls being coerced into an abortion by their families, their church, their culture.

I could’ve been that girl too.

But I was twenty-two. And I was married.

Too old to use the excuse of “she didn’t know any better.”

Right?

This is proof that you never know what someone is going through or has been through.

Don’t judge until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes.

So many excuses could’ve been laid out there.

The devil loves excuses.

I read all these fabulous adoption stories and something wrenches inside me. My baby could’ve lived and had a loving home. Maybe I could redeem the whole ordeal by adopting a baby. I’m horrified by women experiencing infertility and I long to comfort them somehow, some way, but who am I?

But that’s not the answer.

There was no real coercion. I was simply dead inside and followed to my doom. Sure, there were oodles of options. I even filled out a form for whatever state aid was available to me. I had planned to have that baby for a minute. No insurance. No job. Separated from my husband. No hope. Lost.

I turned to my parents – who should have protected me, who are supposed to know what’s best.

When I blindly trusted and obeyed, I could have rebelled and run away, far away, even if it had been to have my child in secret squalor, in love.

My parents led us like lambs to slaughter.

But it was ultimately my choice.

My decision.

The hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make.

But my life would be vastly different if the decision had been different.

I wouldn’t be married to my husband now.

I wouldn’t have four brilliant kids now.

So, for the good and juicy? Because that’s why you’re here.

I can’t bear to relive the details, much less type them out here.

It sure wasn’t glamorous.

I still remember the smell of the clinic.

I expected to see picketers outside like I’d seen on the news.

The nurse showed me an ultrasound of the seven-week old embryo and made sure I realized there was a heartbeat on that monitor. It was the law.

I saw.

I turned away from the flickering image, sick in body and soul.

And then I did the unthinkable.

I was quietly put to sleep while they sucked that precious little life out of me.

That heartbeat stopped.

Recovery felt like a dream, a void, a time lapse. Had I just been to the dentist or something? I was rushed out as soon as I was awake and able to walk.

My body recovered easily and quickly.

I pushed the experience away, to the depths of my being, to not be remembered.

The shame. The blame. The soul-sickness.

Only mine.

It was never spoken aloud. When I tried to express something, once, I was hushed with a harsh word and a harsher expression. So, I clammed up and moved on.

It’s never been expressed.

I thought my mother would understand my loss, my pain, my hopelessness.

Perhaps it was hers too, but she didn’t know how to cope or comfort.

So, silence.

I realize now that I’ve never even really grieved. It is a nameless, sexless child in my future memory. A nonbeing.

People seldom ask questions. I occasionally fill out forms where I have to write in how many pregnancies – how many to term and how many not, and I pause in pain over those form questions.

I don’t feel forgiven because I can’t ever forgive myself.

Society and the church and the government has taught me to hate myself for my decision.

I am still amazed that God has blessed me with four perfect children.

I expected punishment. Do I deserve those perfect children? I live in constant fear in the back of my mind that they will be taken away, like I’m living in some dream of what could be, should be, an alternate reality – and because I didn’t appreciate nor protect that one innocent life, I will eventually awake and realize my punishment of childlessness.

This is my self-inflicted tragedy and I don’t expect anyone to understand it. Sure, you can quote Bible verses and suggest recovery groups or studies to “set me free,” but I don’t agree with those.

There’s a gaping hole that nothing can fill and I live with ambiguity.

It’s not my proudest moment, but it’s my history. It happened. This event propelled me to the life I live today.

People can scream on both sides of the political issue and that’s fine.

I hope and pray that those who feel so self-righteous about a woman’s body, her uterus, her choices, her future…I hope you never have to face that decision.

I hope it’s not you, your daughter, mother, niece, aunt, granddaughter, friend.

I hope you have it easy.

But no one gets to make that decision for us.

Because it’s so easy to spout self-righteousness and think it’s us vs. them, others who have these decisions to face. It’s about so much more – controlling women, brown bodies, socio-economics.

There is no black and white. No absolute right or wrong. It’s not all only pro-choice or pro-life.

Don’t just say that abstinence is best. Don’t condemn healthy and complete sex education. Don’t tell me there is adoption and foster care.

Don’t tell me that you’re pro-life if you don’t care about inmates on death row, immigrants seeking asylum, children who are living in poverty and hunger, uninsured people who need medical care and medications, police brutality towards minorities.

Don’t tell me what’s best for me.

I want the church to stay out of my uterus.

I want the government to stay out of my uterus.

I want lawmakers to stay out of my uterus.

I fear for my daughters. I fear for women. I fear for those who have a uterus. Don’t get raped. Don’t get abused or assaulted.

Protect yourself.

The government will not help you.

They just want to control you.

Only the embryo is important? Not the woman? Why doesn’t her decision, healthy, future have any weight?

Why doesn’t she matter?

Why are we punished for having a uterus?

I’ve spent twenty years thinking I’m a bad person because society and the church and Christians and the government told me I am a bad person.

I don’t have to apologize to myself every day.

You don’t have to apologize to anyone for your decisions about your body.

Make amends to yourself now. We do this every day for lesser things.

April 10.

When azaleas bloom and the world awakes to a new beginning.

One life went to sleep.

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