Jennifer Lambert

A Sacred Balance

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Unplugging

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Maybe not enough years ago…I realized I don’t have to participate.

How many decisions about life, job, health, or children are we making out of peer or family pressure? We can model the change we want for ourselves and for our children to see.

There is no village and I don’t want to be a part of the mom society I see online and in our community.

The only point to therapy other than trauma processing is to learn how to acclimate to our sick society. I tried several times and it was always disappointing. I shouldn’t have to be medicated to succeed. Perhaps our society’s values should change?

I don’t have to view advertisements and I sure don’t have to purchase items or services. We are a capitalist consumer society but I don’t have to consume. It’s not a competition.

I don’t have to read blogs or articles or news reports. It’s getting harder to discern what is even real anymore.

I don’t have to care about having an aesthetic or brands or labels.

I don’t care about what’s popular or trendy. I didn’t care when I was seventeen, but I was ostracized and alienated so I tried to periodically fit in and then wondered why I got so depressed. I feel more myself now that I’ve given up on keeping up.

I can remove all expectations that society places on me as a woman and wife and mother.

I lurk in online groups for mothers and military spouses and homeschoolers. It is depressing how many questions there are in these anonymous settings about how to keep up with this rat race society instead of slowing down and being original or fighting oppression. I’ve had posts deleted that don’t align with their worldview the admins claimed were “unkind.” I feel like an anthropologist. They just crave confirmation bias. Don’t we all? But no one is fighting against abuse and control. OMG so many of these moms seem like they hate their kids.

I have snoozed every single company or profile in my FB feed wanting to laminate my brows, extend my lashes, inject or fill my face, remove my blemishes, blonde my hair, clean my house, detail my car, vacuum my air ducts, steam my carpet, clear my yard, pressure wash my driveway, or offering cottage baked goods. It’s excessive how many side hustles there are and I wonder how many are even legit companies and I see a lot of scam complaints. It’s sad that people have to do this to try to survive financially.

I deleted my Twitter with the new TOS about AI with no options. I really don’t utilize social media the way many of my peers, family members, or acquaintances do. I don’t post many pictures of my family or selfies. I don’t like bragging or fishing for engagement. I seldom crowdsource because I don’t need that kind of affirmation. I am only on Facebook to keep up with my cousins. I have 41 “friends” who consist of relatives by blood and marriage, my daughter’s roommates, past students, and ten actual IRL friends. I follow a few pages of organizations I like. I’m considering deleting Instagram, because it’s worthless since it’s just reels and screenshots. It seems that many parents don’t see the irony of using their smartphones, tablets, social media while ridiculing their kids and teens for the exact same thing. Many youths really don’t use social media the same way adults do and that’s fine. Forbidding it or limiting it or using it as a punishment tool will backfire.

I can decorate my house however I want to with no guilt or pressure from an aesthetic look or sad beige club. I don’t want my house to look like a dentist office. I like retro decor for memories and antique well-made items instead of the “fast fashion decor garbage.” I saw someone say they didn’t want dirty old things in their house and I feel sad for her in her sterile house. Why are all these dinner reels just empty kitchens with two utensils and four neutral dog dishes to feed her little Stepford family?

I don’t have to have the newest or latest technology. I reluctantly have one television in our basement and all the stupid streaming services. We have a Wii and Switch. Everyone in my little family has an iPad and smartphone. We have computers. I don’t see the need to upgrade every year.

I don’t shop in stores or online for entertainment. I actually hate shopping. But I’ve also never used a meal or grocery delivery or Doordash or the like. I like thrifting and antique malls.

I don’t do brunch. I’m not a morning person and I have absolutely no desire to wake up and get dressed and go out in public and deal with people while uncaffeinated. I don’t even eat out, except very, very rarely, and only at like two or three places. I have a well-stocked pantry, freezer, and bar so I cook breakfast and dinner every single day and I make my own drinks. My kids have packed lunches during their classes at a local university. I don’t think I know anyone who actually cooks real food. They’re too busy or it’s not worth the effort or some such excuse.

I think people get offended when we aren’t ashamed of things that they were taught to be ashamed of and they resent us for not caring what everybody thinks.

I don’t have to be a puppet of capitalism or whatever society says I should be or do.

I feel at peace being unplugged.

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Toxic Positivity

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I’m tired of everyone needing good vibes only, all the time.

It’s irrational and unhealthy to think that everything has to be positive and up, high, cheerful.

We are a culture obsessed with happiness at all costs.

Toxic positivity is the belief that no matter how dire or difficult a situation is, people should maintain a positive mindset. Toxic positivity can be defined as the excessive and ineffective overgeneralization of a happy, optimistic state across all situations. The process of toxic positivity results in the denial, minimization, and invalidation of the authentic human emotional experience.

Common expressions of toxic positivity:

  1. Hiding/Masking your true feelings.
  2. Trying to “just get on with it” by stuffing or dismissing an emotion.
  3. Feeling guilty for feeling what you feel.
  4. Minimizing other people’s experiences with “feel good” quotes or statements.
  5. Trying to give someone perspective instead of validating their emotional experience (“It could be worse”).
  6. Shaming or chastising others for expressing frustration or anything other than positivity.
  7. Brushing off things that are bothering you with “It is what it is.”

My parents cannot handle any negativity.

My husband cannot handle any negativity.

I’ve been told multiple times that I am not to complain or blame for anything. So what they’re telling me is to suck it up, that they refuse to apologize, admit any wrongs, or make any amends or changes.

For my parents, this means that they found a therapist to confirm they were ideal parents, did no wrong, and that I am the problem, an ungrateful child. I was never abused. I am delusional. They’re so sorry they didn’t love me the way I wanted. They refuse to make amends. They have no relationship with my kids, their only grandchildren.

For my husband, he just sighs whenever I lodge any complaint whatsoever, whether it’s about a dirty counter or coffee cup left in the living room or something more important. He is in absolute denial that he was ever abused by anyone, ever, and maybe he did have an idyllic childhood, but he can’t express himself as an adult. He has severe alexithymia. He bottles up everything and cannot have a conversation about really anything. He has no friends and no interests. He would rather take prescription meds for depression and live in denial that he has ADHD or anxiety symptoms nor will he admit he needs to make any attempt to improvements in his relationships with me and the kids.

I am not a pessimistic person. I am a realist. I have spent years trying to heal and be emotionally healthy. Often, I feel like I am beating my head against a brick wall because my parents and husband just cruise along, oblivious to almost everything in the world, and certainly oblivious to relationship struggles.

I am utterly alone.

I am trying to raise four children with healthy emotions.

This means that we feel all the feels. Sometimes, that is triggering for adults who can’t relate to their own inner turmoil. We have to sit with our feelings and name them and understand them. We can’t just push them down or lash out at others.

I’m so tired of feeling angry or sad all the time because my needs aren’t met.

I’m exhausted from the toll my emotional labor takes when I have to remember all the things and I can never, ever drop one ball for even a moment.

Don’t wish me happiness
I don’t expect to be happy all the time…
It’s gotten beyond that somehow.
Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor.
I will need them all.

 Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

Too many of us have been taught that we can’t show any “negative” emotions. Our society loves positivity. There are books and blogs and shows about how to be happy. We are conditioned by school and church and work environments always to look on the bright side and paste on a smile, especially women.

What can we say instead of “negative” emotions?

We can use words like “painful, unpleasant, and difficult” to describe emotions that express frustration, anger, or sorrow.

Or we can use:

  • Uncomfortable emotions
  • Emotions we like to avoid
  • Less preferred emotions

Feelings are just…feelings. Emotions are generally neutral and we as a society define them to a spectrum of good or bad, positive or negative.

I understand that constant complaining is hard to be around. It sucks the energy out of you. That’s a whole other issue to work through, but being told to think more positively isn’t helpful.

I’m not saying we should give in to depression, but neither should we always look on the bright side of things to our detriment.

We need to talk more about our feelings. We need to teach our children what feelings are so they can name them, feel them, process them, and move on. We can’t continue to be scared of anger or sadness.

So many of us were abused as children and we just thought this was normal. And it was just so normalized that we didn’t know to question it. Everyone was humiliated at school and at home. Our peers modeled what they learned from the adults in our lives.

We have generations of people who grew up and weren’t allowed or taught to feel their emotions. Now, they’re adults with alexithymia or other inabilities to process their emotions and this affects all their relationships and creates issues at work and in their families and friendships.

You can’t appreciate the highs without the lows.

We need societal healing with all our feelings.

This article sure hit home: 10 Things You Won’t Remember Experiencing If You Had Toxic Parents

What is it to be hopeful and not optimistic? The American novelist Barbara Kingsolver explains it this way: “I have been thinking a lot lately about the difference between being optimistic and being hopeful. I would say that I’m a hopeful person, although not necessarily optimistic. Here’s how I would describe it. The pessimist would say, ‘It’s going to be a terrible winter; we’re all going to die.’ The optimist would say, ‘Oh, it’ll be all right; I don’t think it’ll be that bad. The hopeful person would say, ‘Maybe someone will still be alive in February, so I’m going to put some potatoes in the root cellar just in case.’ … Hope is ….a mode of resistance…. a gift I can try to cultivate.”

Joan Halifax

Resources:

from Seeds Planted in Concrete by Bianca Sparacino 

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Linking up: Eclectic Red Barn, Pam’s Party, Pinch of Joy, April Harris, Homestead, Create with Joy, Mostly Blogging, Jenerally Informed, LouLou Girls, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Silverado, Stone Cottage, OMHG, Fluster Buster, Soaring with Him, Joanne Viola, Jeanne Takenaka, Ridge Haven, Ducks in a Row, Penny’s Passion, Try it Like it, Artful Mom, Slices of Life, Imparting Grace, Answer is Choco, Monticello, Momfessionals, Lisa Notes, Being a Wordsmith, Pam’s Party, Pieced Pastimes, Random Musings,

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Exvangelical

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I didn’t grow up in church.

I do feel that my parents failed me in this way, not having a church community or knowledge of religion while living in the Bible belt.

I was taught to recite a simple children’s dinner blessing and bedtime prayer. I attended church with school acquaintances occasionally and my paternal grandma twice a year.

I remember being invited to and attending AWANA once for that “bring a friend night requirement to earn a jewel in the crown button.” It was a horrifying experience for me. I didn’t know any Bible verses. I didn’t know anything about church or religion. It was loud and I was anxious and I felt very out of place. I didn’t know the script or what was expected of me. I felt lost and alone.

I remember embarrassing myself and my Jehovah’s Witness friend and everyone else listening at our lunch table in 6th grade when I announced that God was dead and lived up in heaven.

I really didn’t know any better.

I remember in my Georgia public high school, being accosted in the hallway between classes by Christian classmates:

“Are you saved?” demanded a preppy white boy holding up a thick black KJV Bible, gesturing with it, like a weapon.

“From what?” I countered. I really wanted to know what he would say, but I was offended and offensive.

He stumbled and stuttered because he had no real answers for me beyond his script that he learned at his Baptist church and youth group rallies. He’d never been questioned or been taught critical thinking. All throughout high school, I could never get any real answers that satisfied me about church or God or Christians from anyone.

I remember attending a youth group meeting when I was sixteen because it was one way I could socialize that my strict parents approved of and didn’t ask questions. The youth pastor (24-year-old son of the head pastor) taught a lesson about doing everything for Christ. It was probably based on Colossians 3:17, but I didn’t know the Bible very well then. I had no reference point for this sermon. I do remember being very confused by his analogy that we should play football for Jesus. I wondered how Jesus could really care about football. We were told to keep Jesus in everything. The message was completely lost on me. And the line in the CCM song about a “big, big yard where we can play football” always makes me think of that night and I remember my confusion and I am still thinking that Pastor Beau failed to make his point.

I went to college and grad school. I taught English in both private Christian and secular public schools. I am smart and educated and was told I could do and be anything. But Southern society, my parents, family, friends, acquaintances, the media, and my schooling sent me so many mixed messages. The Christian-proscribed gender roles permeate every aspect of North American society.

As an adult, I look back on all the lost years when I desperately tried to fit into church culture, Christian culture. The things I didn’t understand then and was just encouraged to accept, never questioning, has me regret not listening to my gut feelings more.

The charm and flattery of abusive leaders makes it difficult to trust. The Christian celebrities don’t interest me as I read about their egregious fall from too much pride and power and money every day.

My first experience of regular church attendance was with my first husband’s family. It was the Pentecostal church – Church of God, complete with Prosperity Gospel. I was shut down when I tried to ask questions.

After two failed marriages amid so many visits to Christian therapists who told me such lovely things as being available – ready and willing – for sex anytime, being more submissive, more forgiving of his porn addiction, less angry, doing better with housekeeping and meal planning – even while working full-time, keeping the baby quiet, not discussing my income or job details so as not to make my non-college-educated or out-of-work husband feel inferior, to be more cheerful and not rock the boat or nag.

Unhealthy enmeshment makes wives feel like their husband’s porn use has something to do with them. It does not.

Kimberly Stover

I was desperate to do the right things. I thought I was the problem and if I could just find the right formula, all would be well. Then I would be happy.

I wanted to raise my children with more than I had, but I thought religion was what we were missing. Our society and the church teaches that there can be no morality or goodness without Christian teachings.

I was taught that everything I loved was sinful and wrong – books, movies, music, art.

What do unbelievers do for the glory of God? Nothing. Therefore, everything they do is sinful.

John Piper

I married a third time. We began homeschooling my eldest daughter and I was pregnant back to back with my middle two kids.

I researched and thought I was doing the right things, but I was very easily swayed into almost cult-like evangelical Christian homeschool circles. The Christian science curricula is dumbed down and we struggled with finding any good alternatives. Many Christians don’t learn or teach real science in all its nuances because they don’t encourage curiosity or questions and can’t handle subtleties. Also, I was constantly criticized for our literature material and the freedom I wanted my kids to have. I had to constantly monitor my language and vocabulary. Obviously, no cussing, but I had to censor words like luck and charm and learn to replaces those with Christianese words.

My kids remind me of this time of our lives when I became so strict and legalistic. We only listened to Christian hymns. I was in agony and so lost. I hated myself. They were scared of me.

I had no voices of reason and no religious background to realize the red flags waving in front of me for years. My husband didn’t realize how insidious these conservative homeschoolers are or how close we came to falling into their clutches. There was always a small part of me that rebelled.

We barely escaped the abuse of Christian fundamentalism and extremism. We certainly were scarred by many of their teachings that I allowed to infiltrate our worldview.

So many people completely miss the point of it all. I missed the point for many years and it has taken more years to heal myself and my kids.

I’ve spent several years reading books by Richard Rohr, Diana Butler Bass, Barbara Brown Taylor, Peter Enns, and others.

I read the works of many authors of other faiths. I read a lot about liberation theology. I educate myself. I have gone back around to being an intellectual, proud and not worried about being wrong or sinful. I can be happy and comforted that I won’t go to a hell I don’t believe in.

I now laugh at Pinterest recipes for “Christ-centered cupcakes.” What even is that? Christian contemporary music with lyrics about positivity and prosperity and Jesus being compared to a boyfriend is trying desperately to merge pop culture, pseudo-psychology, and religion.

I shared a joke on social media and hurt someone’s feelings. I then had to admit to myself and others that I am anti-church. I want and expect more from church than they’re willing to offer.

I am enraged that the church told me I had to purge all my books and DVDs that were “inappropriate.” We didn’t celebrate Halloween one year and I threw out all my vintage decorations and I just sick about that. I am saddened that my husband didn’t stop me or say anything at all about it. He didn’t realize the loss. He didn’t care. I gave up so many books – like my Anne Rice collection, with many signed copies, and I stopped reading her new works. I cherished those books and the memory of meeting her at the book signing and how she said she liked my ruffled jacket cuffs. I wish I had them back. I got rid of so many DVDs that had erotic content or sex scenes or vulgar language, but told a human story in all its realness and rawness. I was told that anything rated R was evil and if I couldn’t view something with my three-year-old child then I shouldn’t be watching it.

The church really does want its people infantilized, especially women. We are told that our entire purpose is to serve husband and children, no matter what else we do with our lives – careers, hobbies, interests. Those should take backstage or be obliterated completely. This is why reproductive rights are being fought about in our country. Men feel they can control women more effectively if women can’t choose when or if to be pregnant. Gender roles are strictly enforced within the church, sometimes by social conditioning, but we attended one church that actually had brochures with Bible verse citations, in the lobby, written by the pastor about how women and men should dress. I was admonished by many mentor ladies how to plan ahead in case I ever got sick, so as to never be unprepared and have to leave my husband or kids to fend for themselves.

This is brainwashing. I am embarrassed I let it go on as long as I did. I continue to unteach and reteach my kids about what’s ok and what should not have happened. I am slowly acquiring many of the books and movies and decorations I sold or threw away during our darkest times.

I experienced such cognitive dissonance trying to reconcile my intellectual curious mind with trying to learn church history and doctrine while homeschooling and teaching my children. I regret that I was horribly mean and abusive to my three young kids at the behest of the church, trying to control them and demand blind perfect obedience. Interestingly, most schools and American homes buy into this abusive obedience concept in spite of being secular. And we wonder why so many of us are mentally ill – depressed and anxious?

Church perpetuates abuse. It encourages parents to break the wills of children. It encourages women to stay unseen and unheard. It discourages questions because that is a threat to authority.

I realized recently how deeply ingrained the western church is with racism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and sexism. While so many churches say “all are welcome, ” and “come as you are,” very few are affirming or inclusive. These are just popular catch phrases to get people in the door. Enough stay and find their community, I guess.

Without these hateful ideologies, the church cannot maintain control it so desperately needs over a fearful people. The American Christian church just wants to control and it does so by preaching about Others, a duality, Us vs. Them. Whether or not a church agrees or aligns with all or some of Calvinism, those ideas are permeating churches.

White American evangelicalism teaches that western culture is what Jesus is all about. That is incorrect. We have seen so much imagery and realized so many conservatives are actually leading the country towards a theocracy. We have a big problem when churches have national flags and guns and pray for a political agenda instead of spiritual reconciliation.

I tried several denominations and churches and we moved around a lot – Georgia, Texas, Hawaii, Utah, Germany, and Ohio. We tried churches on military bases. We tried churches all over the cities near where we lived. It was exceedingly difficult to find community in a nonjudgmental and welcoming church. And it was hard feeling like we could fit in, knowing we would move in a few short years.

I’m tired of being blamed for being a bad and sinful parent because I don’t force my kids into a church that hates them and wants to change them “in the name of Jesus.” I can’t look the other way anymore as they preach about exclusivity, nationalism, white supremacy, prosperity, sexism, homophobia, transphobia – no matter how veiled and carefully so they seem to be loving and admonishing.

I want my kids to know that I extravagantly and unequivocally love them for who they are – gay, trans, pierced, tattooed, however. It hurts me to see them get side-eye at a church that is meant to love them in the name of Jesus. Jesus is love, right?

I don’t want my kids around elders, deacons, pastors who abuse their spouses and children – calling them names and belittling them, criticizing and encouraging hitting as discipline. I don’t want to be around that either and these people don’t want to hear my opinions about it. They didn’t want my opinions about anything.

I don’t want to feel exhausted anymore as churches demand more time, more money, more effort on my part and to help plan and implement events in which I have little to no interest – for evangelism and outreach and community building and fundraising. My husband completely bought into the serving mindset and I had to explain multiple times how we were taken advantage of with our desire to serve and our love languages of gift-giving and service. There were never any thanks, no appreciation. Just more, more, more. We could never do or give enough.

I understand that the church is and should be made up of broken people. The big difference I have discovered over the years and in many different cities is that while I strive to improve and learn and truly live a good spiritual life, too many are just going through the motions while being insulated in their hatred of others while having superiority complexes and being power-hungry and controlling. Too many professing Christians are complacent and lazy in their spiritual growth.

Yes, it is unfortunate that this has been my family’s experience in every church we have ever attended. I’m tired of apologizing to strangers who surely mean well that we do not and will not attend. Yes, I know there are affirming churches out there. I follow several pastors and teachers online. We visited a UCC right before COVID, but we didn’t have time to make any connections and now everything has changed and we have moved on and my family doesn’t care to try again.

Am I thrilled that your church is different? Absolutely! I read comments all the time on my blog posts and social media #notallchurches and how I should keep trying and that I am sinful for not gathering! Please stop. You’re not helping in any way. I just feel worse and more guilty. Do you not think I have tried and tried and tried again?

The pastor’s husband of the last church we attended got so offended when I shared an article about issues in the American church that he typed on my Facebook wall “Have a nice life.”

No one ever tried to keep us around when we left these churches. There were no check-ins. They don’t miss us.

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Linking up: Eclectic Red Barn, God’s Growing Garden, Pinch of Joy, House on Silverado, OMHG, Ridge Haven, Random Musings, Jenerally Informed, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Mostly Blogging, Create with Joy, LouLou Girls, Simply Coffee, Joanne Viola, Anchored Abode, Life Abundant, Homestead, Penny’s Passion, Try it Like it, Katherine’s Corner, Soaring with Him, Slices of Life, Being a Wordsmith, Lisa Notes, Pieced Pastimes, Monticello, Answer is Chocolate, Momfessionals, Pam’s Party, April Harris,

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I Tried Therapy

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Well, I tried therapy. Again.

I’ve come to the conclusion that therapy is just not for me.

I’ve tried so many different therapists and they were all worthless or harmful, never helpful.

I refuse to waste my time and money on a therapist when I have read and meditated and prayed and learned and changed and healed my own self over the years.

I know there are different kinds of psychotherapy, but either the therapists I’ve been exposed to weren’t very educated or experienced, or just chose to use certain aspects of talk therapy.

My first taste of therapy was when I was twenty years old.

I was locked in hospital for about a week and forced into group therapy after my suicide attempt. Then I was assigned to outpatient therapy – both group and individual for another week or more. It wasn’t helpful. I was scared and at the mercy of ignorant “professionals” who didn’t know me, didn’t know my history, didn’t know my parents. I was blamed for my own distress and for being an ungrateful only child to my parents. I was medicated against my will on Prozac, and that didn’t go well, serving to make me even more wary of meds to the point that I don’t want to try them anymore.

I tried Christian therapists during my first two marriages.

This is what the church, the elders, his parents and family and friends, the husbands themselves told me I must do. Secular therapy was a slippery slope and led to humanism and independence. It was all very harmful. I was told never to show anger so as to be a good, submissive wife. I was told to be available for sex at any time to ensure my husband wouldn’t stray. I was told to endure abuse and pray harder. I was supposed to echo requests to ensure communication was improved.

My first husband is a sex addict, porn addict, pedophile, abuser of his nieces and our daughter. He has abused his second wife too. His entire family protects him and they’re all in denial.

My second husband admitted he had been fired three weeks ago in the therapist’s office and I had to bite my tongue and cheeks so I wouldn’t physically attack him, I was so enraged at the deceit of still getting up and dressing and disappearing for so many hours each day – for three weeks – and his cowardice at having to tell me in front of her, in the safety of her office. He later accused me of contracting HIV and passing it onto him, though he was miraculously and instantly healed during a church service.

A thing I am thinking about today is how when abusers get therapy that isn’t specifically centered around the fact that they are abusive and need to change their behavior (which usually requires a therapist who specializes in this), it often just makes them more adept abusers. Therapy is generally focused on helping the patient achieve their own goals. If a therapist helps someone develop strategies for navigating interpersonal conflict but doesn’t clock that the nature of the conflict is their patient abusing people, they will become an abuse coach.

Annalee

Everybody talks about men and abusers needing therapy but few people acknowledge the frequent and real opportunities for abusers to weaponize therapy language and their therapist against you.

Jane Shui

My sins, faults, shortcomings were constantly addressed while men were upheld as incapable of doing any wrong and never being held responsible for their own actions or inactions.

I still fall into these mind traps since it was drilled into my head for so many years from so many sources.

The military medical community won’t even serve their own military members, much less spouses or dependents.

There is no continuity of care in the military. We are forced to move around so frequently and even though there is surely a database of our medical history, it is still hard to start over every few years.

When we were stationed in Hawaii, my eldest was “diagnosed” with ADHD at age eight or so, we were required as a family to attend therapy with an active duty military member. It was soon obvious that these doctors had an agenda. They put my daughters on meds that suppressed her appetite severely. They threatened us with abuse for homeschooling and coerced us to put her in the base DOD elementary school. My husband was worried his career would be at stake – and no matter if anyone says otherwise, it is absolutely a thing that spouses’ and dependents’ issues and behavior do reflect a military member’s career options. It was a miserable time, frightening and disheartening. After one month, I defied everyone and removed my child from the school and stopped the meds, and we returned to homeschooling and a healthier lifestyle. It took me years for us to heal from those few months of meds and indoctrination. I became further jaded about the medical and mental health community.

We were stationed in Germany for three years when we most desperately needed some assistance when our eldest child was a young teen and we couldn’t really get any help with medical or mental health issues.

We’ve tried to see several therapists now that we are back State-side, in Ohio.

I was encouraged to get a free app sponsored by the Air Force to help me learn to breathe and meditate. I was told to fill in a chart with a support plan when the entire issue was that I do not have any support. I have been offered numerous pills to alleviate stress, anxiety, depression. All bandaids that don’t even scratch the surface of military spouse mental health issues or my history of trauma, abuse, and mental distress.

I was required to meet with my PCM for referral to the behavioral specialist for three different appointments before then being referred to an in-network off-base mental health professional. The mental health professionals at the base hospitals and clinics are only available to military members, not spouses, and they only really discuss PTSD, not any issues with relationships or anything unrelated to the military job.

Getting referrals for mental health is so complicated and time consuming and there is no guarantee the therapist will be a good fit. There are six-month-plus waiting lists everywhere. It’s so much time, stress, money, and paperwork to shop around.

Two of my kids have experienced some trauma and need some mental health assistance. One therapist completely undermined my authority and suggested my child ask us to attend public school, then she would not follow up with me about my complaints, but just completely ended all communication. We were referred to an outpatient daily facility for a few weeks and the therapist, who seemed ok at first, shamed me into buying a guitar to help my child heal better – that has since gone untouched. Thankfully my two kids have found therapists we all trust and respect now, but it’s been such a hard road.

After being encouraged by my kids, I tried therapy – once again.

My kids have concerns that I need a therapist to continue working through some of my issues. They also were curious if I could get tested for autism.

We have contacted everyone in the Dayton-Cincinnati area and no one will perform autism testing on an adult or teen.

After many weeks of being on the waiting list, I was called to make an appointment.

I went with just a little bit of hope, but not too much. I typed out a timeline to save us time and help her remember who’s who in my life, so I didn’t have to constantly repeat myself and clarify.

First impressions matter. Her office looked like a social media prop or magazine spread – all pink and gold with plants by the window and a dozen or more of the “proper” social warrior bestselling books in tidy stacks on various surfaces. It was just so staged. The therapist earned a Psy.D., but she looked like a child. I had specifically requested someone older, not someone young enough that I could be her mother or teacher. Maybe she just looks young. She’s only worked in this field for about five years, so not a whole lot of experience and this is her second clinic, so I wonder why she left the first one. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but I wonder if she’s married or even has had a long-term adult relationship or has any children. How can she even understand my issues then?

She was quite abrupt at the first meeting, explaining the cancellation policy rather severely (I kinda get it: don’t be late or skip appointments, but wow). She seemed very aloof and cold and clinical. I tried so hard to keep an open mind. She liked my outline and it saved time at intake. She was impressed that I finished my master’s degree despite all my issues – ha! She asked me why am I even still with my husband as she shooed me out the door at the 45-minute mark. So I thought about how harsh that question is for two weeks. I almost didn’t go back.

I had told myself I will go to at least two appointments before I make up my mind.

I went to four appointments! I figured the first meeting was just intake and not a real example of what it would be like and I really, really wanted to give her a chance.

I spent almost the entire second appointment defending my reasons for staying in my third marriage. It’s obvious that she didn’t think before asking me why and she stumbled over apologizing and saying she didn’t mean it that way.

This man is not abusive. He’s neglectful. He’s often thoughtless. I feel I change and evolve and grow while he is stagnant. There are way worse sins than being boring. We have history. We have duty. We share eighteen years of highs, lows, depths, cross-country and overseas moves, deployments, births, deaths, sickness, pain, joy. How can anyone understand or judge?

At the end, she asked what I wanted to work on most at the second appointment, and after these last few months, it seems most relevant to get an objective view about my parents’ ongoing tantrums and abuse and their ignoring me when they imagine I have slighted them. I also mentioned some marital concerns. And of course, I have doubts that I am a good enough mother.

The only helpful comment is that I should let my eldest find her own way now that she’s almost 22 and on her own. I have mixed feelings about this because I cannot just watch her destroy her future.

She all but scoffed at my husband’s issues, because surely I can see he has PTSD and I should be more understanding. OK, wow.

She doesn’t offer much insight about my parents and their behavior. She suggests that a superficial relationship might be better than any relationship at all. Really?!

After sitting with those two statements echoing in my head for two weeks, I just canceled this week’s appointment. I am hurt and confused that these are the only takeaways I have from four appointments. I feel like I just rambled on and on about pretty much nothing and how could she even follow what I said when she didn’t take any notes? There was no plan, no suggested reading, no skills to practice. I don’t need to pay someone to listen to me drone on when they offer nothing. She is not personable and I don’t need someone who’s touchy-feely, and I don’t want hugs, but she is just wooden. She made it a point at the beginning of each meeting to find something about my appearance to compliment and it just felt so scripted. Maybe I’m expected to suck it up and push through for a few months, but I just don’t have the energy or heart space for that.

I should just take more neglect and abuse and this is the best I can ever hope for?

I really do not want to waste more time or money being told that I am the problem and no one else has any responsibility at all to have a healthy relationship.

It’s hard when everyone around me is in denial that there’s anything wrong and they only desire toxic positivity and refuse to work through anything or admit any past shadows.

Therapists are not immune to cultural conditioning, and when they buy into sexist bullshit—as most do, in a patriarchy—they can do untold harm. ~Zawn

What even is the point of therapy? Mostly, it is to help people fit well into society. I absolutely do not want to fit in when society is so ill – racism, sexism, capitalism, for-profit healthcare. Often, therapy is to heal from horrible trauma, but I have done a lot of that on my own and I don’t see anything a professional can do that I haven’t found for myself.

On the one hand, it’s largely a fill in for the alienation from healthy community inherent to capitalism, and many therapeutic approaches to mental health simply aim to return someone to a state of functioning within capitalism. But it’s also absolutely necessary for a lot of people and can be life-saving, since we currently live in capitalist cishetereopatriarchal settler colonial empire. ~The Resistance Garden

I’m also thankful that I have time and money to find therapists for my two children who need and want it and to have tried it for myself, even thought I don’t think it’s a good option for me. I worry so much about people who don’t have resources and access to mental health help. We are a sick society.

We hear constantly: “Go to therapy!” but therapy fails so many individuals and families. It’s not always the best answer or only way.

Books That Have Helped Me:

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The pillars of traditional healing were 1) connection to clan and the natural world; 2) regulating rhythm through dance, drumming, and song; 3) a set of beliefs, values, and stories that brought meaning to even senseless, random trauma; and 4) on occasion, natural hallucinogens or other plant-derived substances used to facilitate healing with the guidance of a healer or elder. It is not surprising that today’s best practices in trauma treatment are basically versions of these four things. Unfortunately, few modern approaches use all four of the options well. The medical model overfocuses on psychopharmacology (4) and cognitive behavioral approaches (3). It greatly undervalues the power of connectedness (1) and rhythm (2).

In Western psychiatry we like to separate them, but that misses the true essence of the problem. We are chasing symptoms, not healing people.

Dr. Bruce D. Perry in What Happened to You?: Conversations on Trauma, Resilience, and Healing
https://twitter.com/profsamperry

Something missing from “go to therapy” discourse is that most therapists are not very good?

Raquel Benedict

On privilege and therapy. People often ask me if I go to therapy, I don’t. Not because I don’t think therapy is helpful. I know it is. It just didn’t work for me. A THREAD:

Jo Leuhmann

Linking up: Eclectic Red Barn, Silverado, April Harris, Mostly Blogging, Create with Joy, Pinch of Joy, Random Musings, Ridge Haven, Shelbee on the Edge, Penny’s Passion, Katherine’s Corner, Try it Like it, Slices of Life, Homestead, God’s Growing Garden, Jenerally Informed, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, OMHG, Simply Coffee, Life Abundant, Fluster Buster, Being a Wordsmith, Answer is Chocolate, Momfessionals, Modern Monticello, Imparting Grace, Joanne Viola, Lisa Notes, Pam’s Party, Pieced Pastimes, Suburbia,

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Regret

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What is your greatest regret?

Does it keep you awake at night?

Do you regret that romantic encounter?

Do you regret something you said?

Do you have regrets for others? Secondhand embarrassment is real and I suffer.

We usually regret something left undone, rarer the accomplished tasks.

What derailed your dreams?

Where did your intention go?

Who failed you?

Do you fear?

Are you angry?

Do you hear?

Listen.

Your walls are ever before me.

Isaiah 49:16

Walls are a protective shield. They’re not necessarily good or bad. They’re neutral.

I have built up more walls than I care to think about.

I build them up. I tear them down. I build them back up.

God tears them down. People knock and try to peer inside.

I build a wall of fear.

I build a wall of distrust.

I build a wall of doubt.

I build a wall of low self-esteem.

I build a wall of anger.

I build a wall of grief.

I’m tired of walls.

When I began blogging back in about 2005, it was more a scrapbook our homeschooling.

We have evolved and come full circle and continue to grow in our family and homeschooling journey.

When I began homeschooling, I had no idea the heartache and challenges and soul-swelling that I would undergo as I learned to step back and watch my kids explore in spite of me and my trauma.

I live in that liminal space between hope and despair, clarity and confusion, resolve and surrender.

Amazingly, I am able to recognize and catch glimpses of harmony in the hell that is military life and the thanklessness of being a housewife and parenting teens.

The zen view is something you glimpse in passing and that comes as a surprise—to wake you to the moment and a flash of hidden truth.

Rivvy Neshama

The last few years could have broken me had I not stepped back to see a bigger picture. I had to learn not to take things personally. I have had to re-parent myself. I have had to give myself timeouts and rest and relearn and shut my mouth. I had to be alone in my grief and work it out inside myself.

After years of survival mode, I suddenly felt lost and alone and almost at rest, so there was too much time to think, feel, wonder, regret.

I had to set hard boundaries with my parents and they stopped communicating with me altogether.

My eldest child and therapist asked me why I stay with my husband. It surely seems like an easy question from young, single, independent women. I have never been that.

I feel that I failed my eldest child all her life, and recently she moved out and quit college. What could I have done better, more, different – to set her up for success? What will her future hold now? She’s had COVID twice. She has so many financial worries that I didn’t want her to experience.

I’m twice divorced from abusive men. I escaped. I don’t know if I would have had the strength merely to save myself. I rescued my daughter. There were situations no one can understand but me.

This man is not abusive. He’s neglectful. He’s often thoughtless. I feel I change and evolve and grow while he is stagnant. There are way worse sins than being boring.

We have history. We have duty.

We share eighteen years of highs, lows, depths, cross-country moves, deployments, births, deaths, sickness, pain, joy.

Our society encourages everything and everyone to be disposable.

I’ll stay and wait and see what’s next.

I don’t like the alternatives.

She had always thought that exquisitely happy time at the beginning of her relationship…was the ultimate, the feeling they’d always be trying to replicate, to get back, but now she realized that was wrong. That was like comparing sparkling mineral water to French champagne. Early love is exciting and exhilarating. It’s light and bubbly. Anyone can love like that. But love after [four] children, after a separation and a near-divorce, after you’ve hurt each other and forgiven each other, bored each other and surprised each other, after you’ve seen the worst and the best—well, that sort of a love is ineffable. It deserves its own word…It was so good to find that their relationship could keep on changing, finding new edges.

Liane Moriarty

I know under certain circumstances I had so few good choices and I chose what I felt was best at the time. I might even choose the same again if I could go back with what I know now. Who knows?

This is who I am and those choices molded me into this person. Do I really want to be someone else?

I can’t continue to twist and turn and lie awake at night in anxiety of what I should have done, should have said. It’s over and done and there’s no going back. We have to keep moving forward. We have to seek the blessings and stand firm on hallowed ground.

One should hallow all that one does in one’s natural life. One eats in holiness, tastes the taste of food in holiness, and the table becomes an altar. One works in holiness, and raises up the sparks which hide themselves in all tools. One walks in holiness across the fields, and the soft songs of all herbs, which they voice to God, enter into the song of our soul.

Martin Buber

I count the summers, months, days that I have with my three kids still living at home. It’s not enough! I want to go back and be kinder, nicer, more loving, patient. I want to hug them more. I don’t want to say, “just a minute.” I don’t want to be tired. I don’t want to be distracted. What was more important? Nothing! Why did I think that would have enough time? Did I make enough good memories to push out the bad? Did I make them feel special? I imagine them as toddlers – trusting, seeking, demanding. I’m alone in my regret, bombarded by toxic positivity.

Now, the tables are turned and they’re often too busy for me and my heart is breaking.

My middle two kids begin college later this month and I lie awake strangling on my own doubts and fears and lack of control. Why doesn’t my husband, their father, have any worries? He’s already asleep, in oblivion. I want to shake him awake at 2 AM and pour out all my fears and regrets, but he never knows what to do with me, so I keep it all inside. I can’t protect them from the world, from abusive men, from arrogant professors, from false friends, from themselves. I make up scenarios in my head to warn them about. I feel I am running out of time. I’m late; I’m late; I’m late! What else can I teach them, impart from my own experiences? What script can I help them memorize for an unknown circumstance? What situation can we anticipate together?

I feel prickly with fear of the future.

I don’t want them to live in fear but to walk in wisdom.

(I need to remember this and stop wallowing in guilt and shame.)

I tell my kids often:

Almost everything can be fixed. The consequences may be unpleasant and people may get upset, but almost every mistake can be remedied.

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Linking up: Random Musings, April Harris, Ridge Haven, Create with Joy, Pam’s Party, Pinch of Joy, Mostly Blogging, LouLou Girls, OMHG, Jenerally Informed, Pieced Pastimes, God’s Growing Garden, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Eclectic Red Barn, Simply Coffee, Ducks in a Row, Fluster Buster, Ridge Haven Homestead, Soaring with Him, Silverado, Anchored Abode, Joanne Viola, Shelbee on the Edge, Lisa Notes, Momfessionals,

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Deconstruction

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I spent 27 years maintaining a broken façade.

It’s taken me over 15 years to tear it all down.

I was a never good enough daughter. I was an average student. I was a terrible wife to an abusive husband. I can’t hold a successful job.

Then I was striving to be a good military wife.

I struggled to be a certain kind of homeschool mom.

Now I’m rebuilding.

I have an irresistible impulse to go home again in order to find myself.

But I don’t know where home is.

Deconstruction is a philosophical movement and theory of literary criticism that questions traditional assumptions about certainty, identity, and truth.

Jacques Derrida

Deconstructing into Wholeness

We’re all living in a time of deep social and spiritual upheaval. We’re off autopilot, all of us, reassessing everything.

Bob Holmes

Evaluation

When I didn’t know any better, it was hard.

I occasionally caught glimpses of a different perspective that I wanted but I didn’t understand it nor how I could achieve it.

I questioned everything. It was so important to me that I judged everything and wanted to know why instead of just blindly following.

I think we live in a very sick society and too few question how and why we are complacent.

But maybe every life looked wonderful if all you saw was the photo albums. People always obediently smiled and tilted their heads when a camera was put in front of them.

Liane Moriarty

When I had kids, I knew I wanted a good life for them, better than what I had. I knew I needed to completely reevaluate every single priority and choose wisely.

I tried so many different paths and it was terrible for my kids to have to walk with me while I discovered who I wanted to be.

What is truth? What do I want our truth to be?

Choices

Every single day, we experience choices.

Some choices don’t seem important or life-changing. There are articles, studies, books about making good choices and how even very simple decisions can impact our lives.

I didn’t have good choices. I didn’t have mentors or role models to help.

It’s taken me years to unravel and begin making better choices. My kids have good choices.

Making good morning choices is very important to ensure a good day.

I am not a morning person, but I try to get up at a reasonable hour.

I exercise three times a week before going downstairs to start my day. Sometimes, it’s just a few minutes but it makes a difference.

I make my bed every single day. It pleases me to see it neat and pretty.

I make a hot breakfast for my kids every weekday morning.

I wash a load of laundry every day and I put it away.

We read every day – aloud, together, separately. Reading is important.

We have a hot dinner together as a family every evening.

I take a walk outside every single day. Outside time is important.

I choose not to give into depression.

Reset

If I notice something off or someone seem excessively irritable, I look for a source for those symptoms.

I realize we have to reset.

We’ve maybe gotten too busy or rushed if someone is feeling stressed or anxious. We need to reevaluate our priorities and make some changes in our choices.

Nothing is certain. Everything is fluid and mutable.

Some weeks are just stressful and busy. I look to the light at the end of the appointments and meetings and sports practices for when I can rest a bit.

Self-Control

It’s super important for me to model self-control and help my kids learn to self-regulate.

We all experience big emotions sometimes and few of us has ever learned healthy ways to recognize or express those big feelings. It’s good to sit with feelings and learn to understand them.

I try to take time to talk through conflicts or issues rather than just reacting. Often a child experiences something and I feel triggered and have to take a break to experience that and realize I am not under attack.

We’ve come a long way and we are still learning.

Remodel

I still feel like I am searching for my identity.

Layers of irrelevant desires have peeled away during my 46 years. I am still seeking meaning and peace.

Just like I’m always updating my home and cleaning, adding, or removing, improving…I am doing the same things to my soul.

We’ve tried so many churches and spiritual paths over the years. I have gone full circle to the natural spirituality of my youth. We stopped going to church with all its racism and sexism and abuse a few years ago.

I remodel myself and remove all the false teachings I learned as a child from people who didn’t know any better or struggled with themselves. Many adults caused more harm than help and I am relearning healthier ways.

Introspection

I wasn’t always like this. I had to be reduced to ashes before realizing not everyone can withstand my darkness or sustain my light.

L.L. Musings

I’ve long known that I feel and seem different from most women. I never had close female friends. I didn’t fit in. I don’t have the same likes as many of the moms I’ve known over the years.

I don’t know what to do or what to say in many social situations.

There were too many shallow interactions. I don’t want to be in your wino book club, drunk Bunko, or shopping/lunch bunch. I don’t want to be in a Bible study where the ladies just sit around and brag how much better they are than others.

I prefer more to life than drinking and capitalism.

I don’t want shallow interactions or relationships. I would rather be alone.

Now, I just refuse to participate. I’m mostly fine being alone. It does seem odd to most people that I have absolutely zero friends, no support system, no one to put as an emergency contact.

Words like neurodivergence fly about and maybe I am… Maybe I’m on the spectrum. I know when and where and how I am comfortable.

I don’t want to compromise myself anymore.

I expect to continue to spend many more years learning and leaving behind the self I don’t want to be as I slowly become who I am.

Resources:

Linking up: Pinch of Joy, Grammy’s Grid, Silverado, Eclectic Red Barn, Anita Ojeda, Random Musings, Shelbee on Edge, Suburbia, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, Jenerally Informed, God’s Growing Garden, OMHG, Create with Joy, Mostly Blogging, Wee Abode, Soaring with Him, Anchored Abode, Fluster Buster, Ducks in a Row, Life as LEO Wife, Penny’s Passion, Artful Mom, Try it Like it, Good Random Fun, Imparting Grace, Ridge Haven Homestead, Slices of Life, Momfessionals, Simply Beautiful, Modern Monticello, Pam’s Party, Lauren Sparks, Being a Wordsmith, Answer is Chocolate, April Harris,

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Confidence

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Years ago, I was searching and wondering if I was on the right path.

My kids were very young. I felt worthless, exhausted, and mostly a failure in all aspects of my life.

I went to university to become an English teacher. I sailed through a master’s in education, then got a job teaching high school English. I was able to teach two semesters of college writing as an adjunct and it was a dream that shattered when we had to move out of state. I never returned for that coveted Ph.D.

I left the world of academia to be a stay at home mom, homeschooling my four kids. To many, I was considered a failure.

I grew up in a time that mere mothers were ridiculed (and I think they still are). The Supermom had to do it all – career, marriage, family, extensive social engagements, church, charity.

It’s too much.

It seemed like so many women had it all together, seemed at peace with their place in life, had a successful life doing whatever they were called to do.

I struggle. I feel like I am fighting something or someone all the time.

It took me many years to figure out my priorities as a parent and homeschool mom. I still have moments, days, weeks, seasons of doubt.

When we first began homeschooling, I made so many mistakes. I didn’t know really how to begin. I looked to other homeschool moms who had perhaps been homeschooled themselves or who had older kids and had been homeschooling them for years.

I questioned everything. I questioned my abilities as a mother and teacher. Even though I had gone to college for education and earned an M.Ed., I didn’t feel confident teaching my own kids for a very long time.

Some wives and mothers I knew who did not homeschool felt the need to speak up about how they thought it should be done. And many homeschool parents criticized me for not doing it their way.

I was criticized for answering the phone during the day or running errands with or without kids in tow. I was told to just get a nanny for the babies so I could be social. Or that I should do more for the kids and less for myself, that I was selfish to want any time or self care.

I’ve been criticized for attending church, not attending church, reading the wrong books or watching the wrong media.

Eyebrows raised over what I did and didn’t let my kids do.

So I’ve been told my entire life that I am just wrong. After so long of being told all these things, I started to believe it. And it wore me down and I got depressed and anxious. Then they want to throw pills at me and tell me it’s all my fault anyway, something wrong with my brain chemistry.

I worried about fitting in with the moms who seemed to have it all together. They look like magazine models and their kids seem perfect and their husbands and parents are proud and doting. Theses moms have lots of friends and social engagements, but somehow seem never rushed or stressed. How did they do it? Why did they do it? It was like Stepford and did I really want to be like that?

Would I ever get to that point of confidence?

After a women’s conference years ago, I met up with a group having breakfast at the airport before flights. I asked a very well-known Christian homeschool mom, author, and speaker if we ever get to that point of…

And she cut me off with an emphatic “NO!”

I was shook at her attitude, her rudeness, her anxiety. This lady is supposed to be a mentor to other wives and moms? Her curated perfection on social media, in her speaking engagements, and in her books seem all lies compared to her real self shown to us in that airport.

Almost ten years later, I want to understand where she was coming from, but I’m not even sure what she meant. That we are always a work in progress? But her delivery overshadowed any lesson she was trying to impart.

Some of the most self-conscious, cynical people I’ve met are self-professed Christians.

Forget about your life situation for a while and pay attention to your life. Your life situation exists in time—your life is now.

Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now

Confidence means many things to different people.

To me, confidence means becoming unashamedly more of myself.

I’ve been told that I appear confident. But they mean intimidating.

Why is it that confident women are considered brash, angry, hostile, arrogant, aggressive?

I am quiet. I am not shy. I am introverted. I do not have social anxiety. I think carefully before I speak. I observe.

I have felt a vast shift since I hit my 40s.

I am less concerned about what people think of me – my appearance, my parenting style, my kids’ dyed hair.

This summer, I bought new clothes that I never felt I could wear before: shorts, sleeveless tops. I am not ashamed of my thighs and arms. I spent most of my youth desperate for my body to change and when it never really did get curvy, I was so disappointed. I’ve never had a flat tummy or a big chest and that combo is unfortunate in our society and both women and men humiliated me for not looking like they thought I should. I’ve had so many ask if I’m pregnant because I’m thin all over but with this round soft tummy. I will never look like a magazine model and that’s ok.

I know that I am not stupid. I am not uneducated, but I still have so much to learn and I try to be humble and not insert myself where I am not wanted or needed. I trust my intuition more now. I made lots of mistakes with my kids and I am making amends now. I am ending generational trauma and healing my own self. I love seeing my kids become who they are meant to be – dyed hair, piercings, tattoos, unique clothing, whatever.

I wasn’t allowed to express myself and it’s good to see my kids live free.

I’m remembering who I am, who I was when I was a little girl, before I got stifled, and I feel more safety to express myself now.

I have long straight mousy blonde hair. I even have a few silver streaks. I’m tired of going to salons where they want to make me look like everyone else. I’d rather have dirty tomato-scented fingernails than have a manicure. I have stretch marks, forehead furrows, a vertical line between my brows, and an indention on the left corner of my mouth. I earned these marks. Why would I want to erase them with Botox?

My first three decades or so brought much anxiety with doubting myself and my circumstances with education debt, job security, marriage failures, pregnancy and motherhood.

I’m tired of the comparison trap. I don’t subscribe to shopping emails or newsletters. I loathe the social media ads. I don’t care about the blogger or influencer recommendations as much as I used to. I see the hot trends that everyone “has to have” and I just don’t really need any of it. I am more confident in myself and my style and personal needs. I actually really hate shopping.

When you do not know who you are, you push all enlightenment off into a possible future reward and punishment system, within which hardly anyone wins.

Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

I do long for more than this mediocre suburban life and maybe I will find it someday.

I do get depressed by events happening in the world and by mean people who only care about themselves.

I’ve streamlined and minimized our life. I am prioritizing rest.

We homeschool based on interests and annual rhythms. I refuse to rush or stress over things I can’t control.

I’m excited by what the next few decades may bring.

I don’t have all the answers and I usually don’t even know what the questions are.

And that’s ok.

As we move into the second half of life, however, we are very often at odds with our natural family and the “dominant consciousness” of our cultures.

Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

Resources:

What does confidence mean to you?

Linking up: Pinch of Joy, Eclectic Red Barn, House on Silverado, LouLou Girls, Keeping it Real, Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Mostly Blogging, Create with Joy, Pieced Pastimes, Stroll Through Life, OMHG, Jenerally Informed, Shelbee on Edge, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Soaring with Him, Ridge Haven, Ducks in a Row, Ginger Snap, Girlish Whims, Anchored Abode, Fluster Buster, Thistle Key Lane, Jeanne Takenaka, Try it Like it, Artful Mom, Debbie Kittmerman, Slices of Life, Imparting Grace, Penny’s Passion, Hubbard Home, Modern Monticello, Simply Beautiful, Being a Wordsmith, Simply Sweet Home, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Embracing Unexpected, CWJ, Fiesta Friday, Shabby Art, Cottage Market, Pam’s Party, Grammy’s Grid,

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Prioritizing Rest

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This last year or so has highlighted so much that is wrong about our individualist society. I grew up with the message that I should work more, harder…push…bigger, better, faster, more. Even to the point of collapse. Mental health be damned. Just push through physical exhaustion or illness. The prosperity gospel perpetuates this mindset – just fake it ’til you make it. It’s dangerous and wrong.

We have witnessed some privileged rich and famous people taking breaks and stepping away from the limelight to protect themselves and set boundaries. It’s a great thing to see them modeling health for the rest of us, but if we as a society cannot allow for rest, it just spotlights the problems even more. We pride ourselves on our self-reliance and grit to our detriment.

Naysayers (and even I at times) wonder at what point do we push on with courage in the face of fear and adversity or just quit? When do we know what to do? Most of us don’t have that luxury – paid time off, savings for vacations, help with responsibilities.

How many people feel trapped by their circumstances and cannot or refuse to rest or quit? We see so much depression, anxiety, disordered eating, and more. What will it take to wake up and make systemic changes?

We live in a rat race society. I refuse to succumb to the hustle.

We have had seasons of rushing and I didn’t like it. We tried to fit in and do all the things – signing our kids up for every activity, volunteering for everything at church, doing, going, hurrying. I didn’t feel safe or content and I think our health suffered with the added stress.

I had to learn how to say no. And NO. is a complete sentence. I had to learn how to discern what we should and could do with our time, protecting our rest, limiting ourselves to what felt safe and sure.

Thankfully, we are in a season we are able to get enough sleep and rest. I don’t have to stay busy all the time.

My youngest is eleven. I remember the days when he was a baby and toddler and seemed never to sleep. I don’t really miss those times. I love having big kids and teens.

How we rest

I wake up naturally most mornings. I don’t like alarms. I don’t like to be rushed. I don’t think success is waking up before dawn, unless that’s natural and normal for someone. I don’t function well in the early morning.

I don’t make appointments for mornings if I can help it.

During summer, my kids each choose a camp realizing they have to plan to go to bed and wake up earlier to get ready.

Every morning, I refill the bird feeders and I sit on my deck with my tea and our two cats, watching the birds and damselflies. I inspect my garden for new blooms and ripe tomatoes. I love birds and gardening.

I make a hot breakfast for my three kids who live at home every weekday morning. My husband has weekend duty.

Most months, the kids and I do read alouds after breakfast.

The kids usually watch Netflix with their lunch of leftovers or homemade ramen.

Afternoons are usually carefree and easy. The kids work on science, history writing, arts and crafts, hiking and exploring, bug watching, reading, baking. I read or clean or run errands. We sometimes go to the library or a park. I try to schedule appointments in the afternoons – dentist, orthodontist, therapy, doctor, vision. My kids are now old enough that they can stay home alone for a couple hours so I can go by myself to my own appointments or just take the one child to their appointment. I don’t like rushing, so I leave with plenty of time to arrive safely without feeling anxious.

The kids have classes a few evenings a week. One does aerial gymnastics twice a week. One has art classes and ice skating. One plays elite baseball.

We try to have dinner together every night. Occasionally, we eat while watching a TV show and Fridays are usually homemade pizza and movie nights. Some nights are difficult to plan, with art, gymnastics, if my son has a baseball game or practice. I don’t like rushed meals. I don’t like having two dinnertimes. We try to have an early dinner (preferable) or a later dinner to accommodate these evenings. Often, on nights we don’t have activities, we go for a walk after dinner or play cards or board games.

While the kids don’t have a specific bedtime, I encourage winding down and getting in bed by about ten at night. I know this is when our bodies are ready for sleep. I feel the natural melatonin kicking in and my body temp lowers and I get sleepy. I teach my kids to listen to their bodies. We try to limit devices and screens before bed, plugging them in outside bedrooms, and turn off the WIFI at bedtime. We prioritize sleep so our kids grow well and perform at their best.

We worked hard to get here, to this place of peace and rest.

9 Types of Rest

  1. time away
  2. permission to not be helpful
  3. something ‘“unproductive”
  4. connection to art and nature
  5. solitude to recharge
  6. a break from responsibility
  7. stillness to decompress
  8. safe space
  9. alone time at home

Resting is doing.

I am not about that capitalist grind. I don’t have a home business. I am not that boss mom or whatever. I realize how incredibly privileged I am to stay home as a mom and teacher. We have worked hard to get to this place.

I am introverted and highly sensitive. I don’t enjoy being busy. I don’t enjoy crowds or excessive noise.

I protect my kids’ time and childhood. We don’t overschedule. I want them to have lots of time to play instead of every moment of their day filled with programs.

I refuse to push my kids with their academics or make them hate their passions and hobbies by attempting entrepreneurship. They have freedom in our homeschool to explore and go at their own pace. They choose to take classes for art or sports or new activities with spaces and tools we don’t have in our home. We are in a place where my young teens can choose to do volunteer work for experience if they desire – since they legally cannot work yet. I don’t think that older teens or young adults should waste their time with unpaid work. Their time is valuable too and they should be paid for work.

My son chooses to do elite baseball and while I am so proud of him and his growth with the sport, I am not thrilled with missed or delayed meals or rushing to pack healthy portable snacks for games in the middle of breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I have stressed about games far from home and how my son will eat if there isn’t a grocery store nearby for me to acquire healthy choices. We observe with dismay the families who choose to eat greasy fast food during game breaks and then their boys play poorly and sluggishly. There are times when my husband has to take our son to practices or games and I have to take another of our children to a class or appointment. I can’t be everywhere at once.

My middle kids are in high school and I refuse to stress them out with tests, driving lessons, college prep, part time jobs, or volunteering. I offer them opportunities so they can make choices. I coach and guide and answer questions. I do so much research. I am constantly telling my kids to protect their time. I teach them to say no and manage their schedules wisely. There will be time enough for them to stress later. I don’t want to add any anxiety.

My eldest is on her own and I am sad for her hustle to survive and trying to be healthy and happy. Good paying jobs with a healthy work environment are scarce and having a certificate or college degree is no guarantee of insurance, competitive pay, or decent treatment.

I limit my interaction and time on social media. I encourage my kids to be careful online and protect their time. I am impressed that they can and do often walk away often to pursue other interests.

I love that my kids still like exploring and hiking in the woods, playing in the creek, biking, roller blading, skateboarding. They’re often the only kids I ever see outside. They ask to play cards or board games after dinner. They play Legos and Wii and Switch together if the weather is too much.

Fitness and exercise seems even to be stressful for many people. I refuse to overwork myself. I love programs that are short and intense and I do see results. Every evening after dinner, I walk about 45 minutes around this little pond park about a half mile from our house. It’s peaceful and I enjoy seeing the waterfowl, bunnies, sometimes deer or horned owls, even a coyote.

I take a bubble bath with Epsom salts every night before bed. I have chamomile tea and read or watch a show. This is my alone time and I protect it.

I still read a story to my son every night at bedtime. Then I usually read an eBook until I can’t see the words anymore and fall asleep. Screens before bed aren’t recommended. I turn off the blue light with settings and I haven’t noticed any problems.

How prioritizing rest helps:

  • Better digestion
  • Better nighttime sleep
  • General contentedness
  • Less stress
  • Time for exercise
  • Peace
  • Less forgetfulness
  • Less anxiety
  • Less clutter
  • Deeper relationships
  • Time for spontaneity
  • Creativity
  • Better immunity

It’s important we model rest for our children so they have better health. We don’t have to hustle like everyone else.

Resources:

How do you prioritize rest?

Linking up: Grammy’s Grid, Pinch of Joy, Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Mostly Blogging, Suburbia, House on Silverado, Stroll Thru Life, LouLou Girls, InstaEncouragements, Shelbee on the Edge, Jenerally Informed, OMHG, Blue Sky at Home, Anchored Abode, Life Abundant, Fluster Buster, Ginger Snap, Ridge Haven Homestead, Girlish Whims, Ducks in a Row, Penny’s Passion, Try it Like it, Artful Mom, Debbie Kitterman, Slices of Life, Embracing Unexpected, Modern Monticello, Fiesta Friday, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Hubbard Home, CWJ, Create with Joy, Being a Wordsmith, Pieced Pastimes, Pam’s Party, Simply Sweet Home

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Tired

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My daughters were 7, 2, and newborn.

We had just completed a transcontinental move from Texas to Hawaii.

I was recovering from a Caesarean section.

We had one car.

We moved into our house on base to find out lots of broken and stolen items from the Texas packers.

My husband began his new job.

I was homeschooling my eldest child.

I couldn’t find any friends with whom I felt actually comfortable.

I was so tired ALL.THE.TIME.

Then the pastor’s wife at our new church came to visit me at our home.

I was grateful that it was naptime for my younger girls and I had my eldest read and play quietly in her room.

I had set out fresh baked sugar cookies and lemonade. Because I was raised always to serve food to guests.

After the pastor’s wife shoved our friendly cat off the sofa, shamed me for my daughter not having made the cookies from scratch, she proceeded to tell me that I was doing everything in my life wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’m not sure what I expected her to do or say, but that wasn’t it.

I was so stressed. I was anxious. I was depressed. I was cooped up in a house with three young children all day every day, homeschooling, nursing, making food, doing laundry, cleaning, barely surviving. Still in recovery from major surgery of a C-section, never resting.

Why couldn’t I lost weight and look like I did before the pregnancies?

My house was spotless. Meals were on time. Chores were completed every day. Homeschool checklists were checked.

I ran a tight ship. I was very efficient.

The visit from the pastor’s wife was the equivalent of telling me just to “calm down and smile more.”

The pastor’s wife didn’t even quote any Bible verses at me.

Surely, I was the epitome of the Proverbs 31 woman?

The pastor’s wife’s visit only made me feel worse.

I felt like I was drowning.

I went to a medical doctor for a physical later that month.

He prescribed lots of mineral supplements, light exercise, and a Paleo diet – before that was even a thing.

Within a few weeks, I felt loads better physically.

But I was still exhausted mentally.

The mental load of a mother is tremendous.

Why is it so hard to make sure everyone in a family of six has good shoes that fit? Why must I remind everyone every day to brush their teeth? Why must I keep track of the family calendar? Why must I purchase all the presents for every single holiday? Why must I do all the research for every little thing?

Life was just hard with young children. I felt isolated with so many neighbors putting their kids in school so they could socialize with each other during the days. They made me feel outcast since I was homeschooling and keeping my kids close at home, with me. These moms made me question my values.

I reevaluated what I needed to do and wanted to do.

I had to focus and let some things slide.

Medication for anxiety and depression actually made me feel worse. I don’t allow myself to be a guinea pig and try lots of new meds or dosages. I just stopped the rx meds and managed my lifestyle and made lots of changes.

But even doing all the “right” things – exercise, getting fresh air and sunshine, eating well, meditating, reducing stress…the depression is still there. But if I don’t do those “right” things? The depression rears up like the monster it is.

Parenting with depression is really hard. There are some really bleak days.

But there are lovely days too.

We’ve moved so many times, starting over in new places, all hopeful – to have those hopes dashed for various reasons.

As my four kids are growing up and becoming more independent, many things become easier and other things become more difficult.

We’re now busy with sports and extracurriculars. I’m sad that most of these classes and practices are right in the middle of dinnertime.

I’m disappointed by so many people just assuming we are like average, mainstream white Americans.

We homeschool, but not like that. We don’t go to church, but we are spiritual. We don’t like guns. We are trying to be not consumerist. We are actively anti-racist. We seldom eat fast food – or out at all. I don’t work outside our home.

It’s really hard to fit in with families who all have known each other for generations.

I don’t have any family. And I’ve never had any friends.

While I happen to be alone, I constantly try to teach my kids how to have healthy relationships. I don’t want them to be friendless or awkward or anxious. I want them to recognize dysfunction and abuse. I want them to be open and friendly. I’m learning along with my kids how to have healthy emotions.

I feel dismissed when I meet new people. I say and do all the right things and I am begging to be liked but tryin not to fawn. I see in their eyes that I don’t have anything to offer them and they smile with only their lips and say, “Nice to meet you.” but turn away to talk to their friends.

It’s like high school all over again. They have no need to make room for me. They don’t make room for me.

I am more than a stereotype. And I’m sure many of these parents I see are too…but how would I know?

I’m still tired.

I’m still isolated.

I’m not unhealthy tired, physically.

My heart and soul are tired.

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Linking up: Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, Marilyn’s Treats, April Harris, Little Cottage, Create with Joy, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, Fluster Buster, Gingersnap, Girlish Whims, My Life Abundant, Ridge Haven, Soaring with Him, Suburbia, Anchored Abode, Slices of Life, Imparting Grace, Debbie Kitterman, Crystal Storms, Grammy’s Grid, Katherine’s Corner, Penny’s Passion, Lauren Sparks, OMHG, Grandma’s Ideas, Our Three Peas, Try it Like it, Simply Sweet Home, CWJ, Lyli Dunbar, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Being a Wordsmith, Mostly Blogging

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Parenting with Depression

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I’m really tired of all the blogs and articles telling mothers to just get help.

I think some people assume it’s easy to get help.

There are so many obstacles to getting help.

Sometimes, the help isn’t helpful.

Sometimes, therapy makes things worse.

I’m sorry that I do need more than Jesus. Many require therapy, meds, and many things more than Jesus. When Christians admonish those with mental illness or recovery from abuse or living with addiction that all we need is Jesus, it diminishes us still further, stigmatizes, silences. Why do we need more? Are we not good enough? Are we not Christian enough? Maybe these “Christians” aren’t really showing us Jesus. It’s just empty words like so much emptiness in my heart, mind, soul.

Depression isn’t always obvious.

I hide my inner self because no one really wants the running commentary about everything that is out of sync with our natures with this dying society.

I could fit in if I wanted to, if I tried harder. I could paste on a smile and giggle and be fake and nod along with other parents telling horrendous stories shaming their kids and making fun of their spouses.

My values aren’t their values. No one shares my values.

The trite checklists on how to help moms, depressed or not, is really out of touch with reality.

As a military wife and homeschool mom, I don’t have any help or family or friends or staff or child care. I don’t even have an emergency contact on forms!

Finding a therapist or psychologist is virtually impossible. I don’t have the luxury of shopping around and moving every few years makes for no continuity. Why should I even start to trust someone and open up to them if I have to move?

There is no extra money for hiring out home cleaning or yard maintenance.

Self care is way more than bubble baths. No one actually cares. And I struggle to care for myself.

I learned early in life not to have needs.

It was a cycle: Felt need, shame for need, inability to meet my own need, increased shame for need, paralyzing effects of shame blocking self care, increased need, more shame—on and on until I felt into my darkest, most fearful mental anguish.

Janyne A. McConnaughey, Ph.D.

Those depression and suicide risk assessments at the doctor’s office are bullshit. “Don’t hesitate to reach out.” Reach out to whom, exactly? Reach out for what? If I were honest with health care professionals or acquaintances or family members about my inner thoughts and feelings, I would be locked away against my will and my children might be removed from our home.

Every single appointment, the doctor offers me drugs for anxiety and depression. It’s so easy. I could just medicate myself into annihilation.

So I suffer in silence.

Our culture tends to think of depression in the person who finds work too stressful as a sign of weakness. Self-help articles imply that they just need more mental toughness and they could lean in and solve it. Even some therapists tell them that their depression is a distorted perception of circumstances that aren’t so bad.

Alison Escalante, M.D.

I had panic attacks the first couple years of marriage. We moved across the country, had two babies, and I quit teaching to begin homeschooling my eldest daughter. I just couldn’t cope with all the quick changes.

I struggled for years to do everything I thought I was supposed to do. I was constantly irritable. I just lived angry. I couldn’t delight in my kids and the cute things they said or did. Everything was a dreaded chore. I resented everyone.

I accomplish my duties every day.

Some days, it’s just “good enough.”

I never want to get out of bed. Usually my bladder says otherwise. I drag myself away from the oblivion of sleep to face the day.

I try to fill the kettle with water the night before so I just click the switch to boil the water for tea.

I give myself a pat on the back every day that I unload and load the dishwasher, wash, dry, and put away the laundry, prepare and clean up three meals for the kids. I read aloud for about an hour every morning.

It frustrates me all the mothers who are proud of their neurodivergence. I am not proud. I wish I were oblivious to all the horrors of this world. I wish I were a slaphappy InstaPinterest Stepford wife who doesn’t have a care in the world. I wish I could medicate it all away.

Ignorance really is bliss.

Sometimes the sheer weight of the world knocks me sideways and I inwardly rock with the collective pain. I’m dizzy with fear. I smile it away and pretend I’m fine.

I’m fine.

It’s like I have a constant dull headache.

I don’t want to frighten my family with my inner thoughts. I pretend they’re not there, the intrusive thoughts.

Every single day, multiple times a day, I tell my suicidal thoughts to shut the fuck up.

I am not dying today. I have things to do. Even though my life seems tedious and expendable, I am needed. Maybe I am not so easily replaceable.

I will not traumatize my kids with a dead mother. I will live to see them grow up.

I know all the “right” things to do and I try to do them, especially when I don’t feel like it.

I make my bed every morning – so I won’t climb back in it. I try to eat well. I limit myself to two cups of tea or coffee. I try to remember to brush my teeth. I limit visible clutter to help my inner anxiety. I exercise almost every day. I go for walks outdoors with my kids almost every afternoon. I get off social media when it seems too much. I surround myself with blues and greens. I take an Epsom salts bath every evening. I listen to music and read a lot.

I need to model good practices.

It’s devastating to me that my kids remind me to brush my teeth and take my vitamins. I know they’re just modeling back to me what I have taught them and they’re genuinely concerned, but I’m the mom, the adult, and the kids shouldn’t have to worry about me.

I don’t want to be a burden on my family. I’m sure parents with diabetes or some other physical medical diagnosis or chronic illness don’t feel the shame and guilt that parents with mental illness feel. We suffer in silence and put on a brave face in spite of everything.

I say “I’m sorry” all the time. I feel so ashamed when and if I forget something or get caught being careless.

I’m sorry the store was out of the good sausage and I had to buy this lesser one. I’m sorry I forgot the ice cream again. I’m sorry I am overwhelmed and have to interrupt your game to ask for your help. I’m sorry I got frustrated by the shoes left in my way. I’m sorry that I need your laundry basket back to fill it up with your clean laundry.

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

Imsorry

Lately, I’ve been so clumsy and disoriented that I’ve knocked glasses off the kitchen counter and slipped getting into the bathtub. The doctor said it’s probably anxiety since my physical health is fine. He offered me meds again. He offered me an appointment with the behavioral health specialist. The last time – four years ago – full of hope and younger then, I went to BHOP, she offered me a breathing app for a smartphone sponsored by the U.S. Air Force. She told me to fill out a graphic organizer detailing my support system. I don’t have a support system. She is no help. She doesn’t really care. I am just a number, a box to check. She even called the house to ask if I’m ok and I let the answering machine pick up multiple times before I picked up to say, that yes, I’m fine. I’m fine.

For the life of me, I can’t remember or find where I got this list, but I think it’s important to post it here as some common reasons for depression in moms.

  1. Standards of Perfection – Holding ourselves to impossible standards
  2. Lack of Adequate Coping Skills or Self Care – Setting boundaries, saying no to more, being confident with your choices – all self-care
  3. Unresolved Pain – Failure to address suffering of past trauma or abuse
  4. Attempting To Control The Future – An unhealthy concern of how today’s actions could result in a future negative outcome: ANXIETY
  5. Lack of Support – Knowing where to turn for help without feeling guilt 

wow, I have all of those!

Wine mom culture isn’t gonna fix it.

I think there are many causes of depression. Of course it’s a mix of environmental causes and brain chemistry.

I’ve had functional depression since about the age of twelve. I think growing into abstract thinking and the hormone surge of adolescence triggers a lot of mental illness. I struggled with cognitive dissonance with my parents’ abuse and societal issues with my introversion and high sensitive emotions. So, it’s a lovely melting pot of negativity and lack of connection and having no one to help me.

It’s been difficult to come to terms with who I really am – as an adult, a wife and mother. I spent my whole life stifling it and hiding as never enough.

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By Laura Grace Weldon
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