Doubting Dawn - Finding Jesus: Faith, Fact, and Forgery on CNN

The lot is drawn.

These words are spoken by Peter to Thomas in the apocryphal Acts of Thomas which chronicles the travels of the apostle Thomas from Galilee to India to spread the story of and teachings of Jesus Christ. Or at least that's what we learn in season two of "Finding Jesus: Faith, Fact, and Forgery," which premieres on CNN this Sunday, March 5, 2017. Poor Thomas. He's already struggling to understand, to believe, to make sense of the death and resurrection of his friend and teacher...and now he has the bad luck to draw the straw that will send him to what was then seen as the end of the Earth, more or less.

And he does not want to.

At least according to the re-enactment in the episode of Finding Jesus I had the opportunity to screen, he at first refuses, leading Peter to say the words above: "The lot is drawn." Dumb luck or destiny, Thomas is stuck. He and his fellow apostles have been commissioned by Christ to "make believers of all nations."  In his case, to do so means leaving family, friends, the only home he has ever known to travel to a foreign land with no idea how he will be welcomed. He has already seen his friend slaughtered for teaching an alternative to the prevailing belief of their land. We know that Thomas is a man of reason who has been challenged by Jesus to act out of blind faith rather than relying on reason and evidence. How hard it must be to walk blindly into the unknown for him! Yet, as our documentary points out the Acts of Thomas suggests that, with the help of a little con game by Jesus and a night of prayer, Thomas faithfully accepts his lot and brings Christianity to India.

Like Thomas, I have found myself in a crisis of faith. I still don't know if it was just the dumb luck of my husband finding the right job in Chattanooga or if it's destiny that brought us here. Either way, I have not wanted to be here. Well, maybe at first. I did sort of blindly assume it would all be okay. But that wasn't due to my faith in God. It was more about my belief that I could make it all be okay. Unfortunately, it hasn't all been okay. The fresh start I was hoping to have in certain parts of life has been harder to achieve. My kids were deeply saddened by leaving their friends and the familiar comforts of the only home they've ever lived in. I threw myself into trying to help them adjust. I worked with them to focus on the things they liked about their new school, our new home, their new friends. I worried. I prayed for them to adjust. And they did.

It never occurred to me to pray for myself. Or focus on my spiritual needs. I just kept feeling a sense of emptiness, loneliness, and loss and listening to the voice that told me it was all my fault. I gave up my job, my friends, a church I loved, a deeply gratifying role as PTA President. And despite having all of my physical and material needs met...I felt so empty and hopeless, sinking deeper into a growing depression that had been intensifying over the last few months. I kept thinking that I needed to make myself find a job and get up and out so I could meet people. The fact that I couldn't make myself find a job or make new friends was another failure and a reminder of my worthlessness. Like Thomas, I was driven by reason, believing I could think my way through my blocks. It took hitting rock bottom two weeks ago to realize that I needed to be doing more than trying to think my way through. I needed to unify all aspects of my being – mind, body, and spirit.

So, in addition to reading, listening to podcasts, and trying to think my way into action, I've gone back to having a daily practice that is good for all parts of myself. I've renewed my commitment to a healthy diet. I'm exercising. I'm trying to let myself feel all my emotions instead of denying the anger and sadness I felt guilty for feeling. And perhaps most importantly, I'm trying to slow down and find time to quiet my mind through meditation and prayer. And in that prayer, I'm acknowledging that I am not alone as I thought. I still have to take action but I can ask God to help direct my action and to help carry the weight of my loneliness and brokenness.

Clearly, like Thomas's, mine is a reasoned faith. I had to figure out what wasn't working and why, then take the necessary actions to start trying to create the life I am meant for instead of the one I dumb-lucked into. The story of Thomas reminds me of the hymn that goes "Here I am Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if you lead me." As I mentioned in my previous post, I've changed tacks, headed in a different direction than I intended.  I certainly feel that I am being nudged in the direction of doing work that is in service to others somehow. So, like Thomas, I'm stepping out in faith, couched in the reasoned knowledge that this feels so much better than the alternative of carrying my burdens alone, and trusting that I'm on a path that will bring me greater joy, a sustainable income, and allow me to help others live better, happier lives.

I'm so glad I watched this screener of Finding Jesus. I can't wait to watch every episode starting this Sunday! It was just the right way to start my Lenten practice and gave me the perfect reminder to stay the course like Thomas – not a skeptic, but someone who fought his doubt for his belief. Also, I learned a lot! This isn't just a docudrama with lots of cute British actors. They have actual renowned historians, religious experts and theologians from Oxford, Columbia, Duke, Harvard, and Notre Dame including my favorite Catholic priest, Fr. James Martin, SJ. Check out this trailer to see if you're interested:



Also, I invite you to share the challenges you are facing in the comments below. Or, if you have a story of overcoming doubts and challenges in your life, I would LOVE for you to share that as well. Your story could be the one someone else needs to hear right now! And I have a little incentive for anyone willing to share their story.

Everyone who comments below, likes my Facebook page, shares the Facebook link for this post, and follows me on Instagram will be entered into a drawing for a $25 Lifeway gift certificate. I will do the drawing on Monday, March 6 and notify the winner that day. 

When Moving Brings the Blues

I know.

It's a cliché that moving is one of the most stressful things you endure in life. Technically, according to the Holmes and Rahe Test Scale, moving ranks way down at number 32 on the list of stressful life events. To be fair, another research study in the UK found moving homes to be as stress-inducing as the death of a spouse. I'm not arguing. But for me – and I think for many of us – the true stress isn't in the act or process of packing up one home, selling it (although that had it's tense moments like when our home inspection revealed a leak we hadn't known about), finding the perfect new home, and settling in. The real stress is in the actual living and making a life in your new home, your new community. I went in as excited and enthusiastic as I could possibly have been. This was my chance to create a new life.

Six months later and I can barely get out of bed. Depression wraps her cold bony hands around me and pulls me down, deep down. Every day, a battle.

The packing, spending three months on an extended road trip with my boys and our dog, making arrangements for places to stay, finding a friend to foster our cat until we got settled...that was a breeze. I loved it because I was busy, busy, busy. I was also still seeing friends as we traveled around and back and forth to Atlanta. Even once we got to Chattanooga, I was busy and my mind occupied with helping the kids adjust, unpacking, decorating. It was exciting and fun.

But pretty soon, the kids had friends. My husband had already been here for six months and had a rich and active social life that I was not a part of and still am not part of because his friends are single, or childless, or somehow I just don't fit. Suddenly, I'm just alone. As alone as I've ever been.

The election happened, too. Holmes and Rahe rank election years as being quite stressful and I honestly think that did not help me.

I've tried some things and met people I genuinely care about...smart, wonderful women that I hope to know better. But I haven't found my tribe yet. And trying to actually find them is kind of scary. I feel like a kid on the first day of high school looking at the various tables of cliques in the high school cafeteria and not knowing where I fit in.

My old tribe was pretty awesome. They were a group of women from my neighborhood and kids' school or from playgroups when the kids were younger. Still there when the oldest is 14 and the youngest 10. Smart, funny, compassionate, passionate...always there for each other. And I've managed to keep in touch thanks to Facebook and the modern marvel of texting. I've been home once and my best friend from the tribe has been to visit me up here. And I mostly don't feel forgotten.

Still, though...and this is one of the darker aspects of social media I feel stupid for falling victim to...the part where we allow it to shade our thoughts with what we imagine to be the case, or by our own negative self-talk.... Still, though, it hurts when I see pictures of all my friends at a party that I probably would have been at if I still lived there. Or posts that include a reference to a joke I don't get because I wasn't there. I shouldn't be hurt. No one is actually doing anything to hurt me. And of course I neither want nor expect anyone else's life to pause because I'm not there. That's not it at all.

The IT here is the profound loneliness I feel, day in and day out. Even when I'm laughing with the very kind and welcoming basketball moms I hung out with during basketball season or my terrific neighbor or having lunch with a new friend, I don't feel that warm, comfortable yet inexplicable sensation of belonging that you feel with a tribe member. It's a sense of knowing that this person is yours and you are hers and you've totally got each others' backs. That's the thing that's missing. Sometimes you meet someone and you know instantly you'll be friends forever. It's the platonic version of love at first sight. I may have met "the one," actually. But my inner voice tells me not to be presumptuous. (What if she's just being nice, right?) We've tried making a couple of coffee dates, but sick kids prevented our meeting. I'll have to wait until we meet again in person to validate that there's real and shared friendship chemistry underlying our shared love of music and pop culture.

Compounding the loneliness is my deep need for a sense of meaning and purpose. With nothing to occupy my mind, I have a lot of time to ponder why I'm alone. That's why I'm blogging now. To paraphrase Buddy the Elf, "Writing is my favorite!"

I came to the conclusion that I have to write and create my own meaningful work after spending a Friday night crying myself to sleep after driving my child to Atlanta to spend the weekend with a friend. I knew I'd come home to hang out with my teenager for a few hours then spend the rest of the evening alone while my husband was out with his friends. Sometime in the night, I awoke and while reading Twitter, I saw a link to this post by James Altucher. It was just the thing I needed to read to pull myself out of the spiral. And it was the inspiration I needed to resume writing. (I still haven't formally done everything on the list, but it got me started. Maybe you'll see a few of the lists turn up as blog posts!)

The job market is tight here. And I don't believe I'm going to find my purpose in a traditional job anyway. So, I've decided to focus on freelance writing again, and to work on this blog. When I think of what my real purpose is, I always come back to the idea that I want to help other women who might be going through the same or similar things that I am or have gone through. As hard as this experience of adjusting to a new city, making new friends, and building a new life is I believe it can serve a greater purpose. As I reinvent myself and create a new life here in Chattanooga, I want to highlight the things that work for me and share them with others. I'll still be writing about the rest of my crazy, beautiful life – I still love life despite feeling like I hit rock bottom and wallowed in my hopelessness several days out of the last two weeks.

I hope you'll come along with me on this journey. I want you to share your experiences, your trials. We'll take it day by day. Let's figure this thing out together...decide what to be and go be it.

Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. Love y'all!

Shine: Doing What Makes You Sparkle

I am so ready to sparkle, y'all!

And by that I don't mean I'm ready to put on my shiniest party dress and dance all night, although that might help me accomplish my true aim.

No, what I mean when I say that is that I'm ready to really and truly be me and do the things I love and to do even the things I don't love in such a way that I can feel good about the effort I made. I want to live in such a way that other people feel better when they're around me. I want to be enthusiastic and joyful. I want to sparkle. One of the greatest compliments I ever received was from a man at my high school reunion. He said that he had "always admired my zest for life." That's what I want people to see: an enthusiastic embrace and gratefulness for all that life gives me and a constant desire for more. More. Of. All. Of. It.

I have felt as if I were in limbo for the last month and a half. Hell. Let's be honest. I've felt like I was in limbo since January when my husband high-tailed it for Chattanooga and his new job and got started living what is supposed to be our new life. Meanwhile, I was back in Atlanta elbow-deep in the drudgery of packing, purging, and selling our home while keeping the kids and the dog and the cat alive, getting the young humans through the school year, then figuring out what the hell we were going to do for the two months between closings. And did I mention the emotions? Oh – not mine – but my 13-year old's. Sweet Mother of Mercy! This child has been beside himself. For the first month, all I heard was a litany of how much he hates Chattanooga, how his new school is the WORST(!), his life is ruined, and IT'S ALL MOM'S FAULT!!!

After a month of travels that have included the beach, Atlanta, Houston, New Orleans,  back to Atlanta (hometown with our homies), and now, Birmingham, Alabama, I think he's too tired to fight. Or I'd like to think that. The Angry Teenager does rear his head every now and then, but mostly he's back to being my sweet kid who, like me and his younger brother, just wants to be home. You know, home? That place where the heart is and all that jazz. That place you get to stay in for more than a week at a time? We're almost there. This is the home stretch. One week and two days until we close and can move in.

So, naturally, after keeping it together all summer during what I thought would be the hard part, it's time for me to lose my ish. I've been obsessively reading Marie Kondo's book, Spark Joy: An Illustrated Master Class on the Art of Organizing and Tidying Up. I've been obsessively comparing prices and styles of area rugs and sofas. Reading Consumer Reports articles about washers and dryers and vacuum cleaners and floor sweepers. Scouring Bed, Bath, and Beyond and HomeGoods for the perfect bedding for my bed, our guest room, and the kids' rooms. New mattresses for two beds. A new bed for one kid. All of it has consumed every free moment for the last two weeks, I think. And to what end?

I mean, part of it is legitimate. I purged a lot. Hence my son needing a new bed and a new mattress. I took Kondo's advice about getting rid of the things that don't bring you joy and I'm willing to replace the items that need replacing with things that make my heart sing. And I am truly committed to running a cleaner, calmer, more organized household in our new home.

But some of this obsessively comparing products or styles or colors until I am locked in some sort of analysis paralysis is just me being mental and avoiding the things I'm really worried about. I feel like there is little of importance that is truly within my control right now. I am consumed by "what ifs." What if after living apart for seven months, my husband realizes he hates me? What if he hates our new house? What if my kids aren't accepted in their new school? What if I don't find a writing job?What if no one likes me and I can't make new friends? What if none of this works out? What if...

Somehow, my lizard brain seems to believe that if I can just find the perfect rug, perfect sofa, perfect EVERYTHING that screams "She's made it!" or maybe it's more like, "Wow! Check out this super-together, creative chick," I will win the hearts and minds of Chattanoogans at large and God-so-help-me, I'll never be lonely again – or some other Scarlett O'Hara bullshit.

So, yeah...That. I'm browsing design sites and analyzing every review of every product I'm considering as if my life depended on it so I can more or less hide from my real fears – loneliness and rejection. Don't judge.

Now that I've recognized what's going on, I'm trying to focus on solving the real problems. I've been running and am trying to commit to a regular schedule. Yesterday I made a list of ways I can meet people in Chattanooga and by posting that on Instagram, I actually did connect with someone there. Baby steps. But moving, ever forward with my eye on all the shiny things that will help me sparkle.

Like a Rolling Stone: Untethered and Embracing It (or Trying to)

It has been nearly two full weeks since we closed on the sale of our home in Atlanta.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Since that day, my boys, dog Josie, and I have been untethered and blowing in the wind. My friends and husband joke that we are homeless. Technically, that may be true. But I can't say it because it scares me. The new home to which we are moving in Chattanooga won't be finished until July. So, for a few weeks we are drifters. Hubs is busy working at his (not-so new anymore) job in an awesome company he seems to love and making connections in our new city. We haven't lived under the same roof for six months. I'm happy for him but so totally jealous at the same time.

I feel stuck in limbo and let's be honest: parenting solo, especially a newly minted teenager, is tough and tiring. As is packing and doing all the stuff involved with moving. Not that being the primary earner isn't tough and mentally exhausting. It's just another side of the coin. And frankly, I could use a little time alone.

I feel like, in addition to the job I was getting paid to do up until I quit a week before the moving truck arrived, I was full-time parenting alone; packing, cleaning, and dealing with all the emotions associated with leaving the home where we built our family; and the end of the school year. Let's just say I may have lost my cool a few times.

Now, between homes, the kids and (the dog) and I are trying to enjoy this freedom by traveling. As I type, I am sitting on a porch swing in a pretty little spot called Magnolia Springs, Alabama which is near Gulf Shores, a beach town. It's exciting and fun but also kind of scary and exhausting.

At least to me it's scary, and I'm sure it is to our kids on some level. They need structure and stability and how can you have that when you don't even have the same four walls around you at any time? There's no guide book for living out of your car for six to eight weeks. And while I could have found temporary housing for that period, it was expensive and this seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime chance to have an adventure.

I forgot that adventure is not my middle name.

So, two weeks in and I'm feeling a little uncertain. Calling on my angels for protection and guidance and looking forward to getting settled. We'll be back in Atlanta next week to attend VBS at our church and I'm hoping that calms me so I can calm them. For now, I just want to focus on having some fun and helping my boys to do the same. Yesterday we hit the beach, got rained on while we played in the waves which was a unique experience, ate seafood (or I did - they stuck to cheeseburgers), played minigolf, and ate bad ice cream.

We're about to head back to the beach and see what other fun our day holds. I am hoping for some laughter, beautiful new memories, and the lesson that whatever life throws at you can be taken in stride and with a smile on your face.

Here's to getting out of that comfort zone and growing.

What tips do you have for facing new challenges or for traveling with teens and tweens? Would love to hear your thoughts on all this! Please leave a comment.

A Step You Can't Take Back

Last Wednesday, my kids, husband, and I said goodbye to the home we lived in for nearly 16 years. It was not easy.

Aside from the grueling physical and material aspects of moving – countless trips up and down stairs and ladders to the attic and basement, lifting boxes, making endless lists and calling dozens of businesses related to the move, and, of course the costs – the emotional side weighed heavy on my heart. So much happened in this house.... Two sons were born and grew into sweetly funny and loving young boys, one nearly a man at thirteen. A baby girl was lost before the idea of her could fully bloom. New friends came into our lives, some staying for the long haul, and others moving on before I was ready for them to go. I treasure those who stayed and still feel grateful for having known those who outgrew me (or was it the other way around?).

We loved and lost pets and brought new ones into the family because there is just so much love to share. Romance peaked and waned and peaked again as long loves do, but always, always, always, there was a lasting love and a story to be written together.

I have focused much on the joys experienced in our Georgia home. Because that's what we do...right?

But I once called our home cursed and brought out the Holy Water and sage to try and cast out the sorrow I felt hanging about us during an especially challenging time. It wasn't the only time I felt that way living in that house.

Still, we look at the totality of our experiences and if nothing else, my faith and ability to love (deeply and unconditionally) grew by leaps and bounds in this home. It is where I learned what it really means to be a wife and where I became a mother. I evolved from timid and insecure to confident and experienced. I encountered the teachings of Abraham-Hicks which reinforced my Catholic beliefs about God's love for us and I learned that we choose joy and that doing so isn't always easy, but it's definitely worth the effort. I also learned how to take care of my physical and mental health with diet, exercise, and supplements. And I learned to choose me.

Now as I stand at the edge of my future, I realize that I'm really not leaving anything behind. Just a building, where a new family will grow and live their lives. I take the rest with me, but really only the good. Because ultimately, the negative experiences I had led me to the changes I needed to make to become the woman, the wife, the friend, the mother, that I want to be, that I am, that I am still becoming.  And in leading me to where I needed to be the chaff was transformed into gold.

I know our life in Chattanooga will be amazing because I believe in amazing. In the meantime, my kids and I will be spending the next six or seven weeks as vagabonds until our new home is complete. I hope to share some of our experiences. You can watch as I totally step out of my security-craving comfort zone and grow.

Feel free to follow me on Twitter, or here. And, in the meantime, I'd love to hear your stories about getting out of your comfort zone, or what happened when you took a step you couldn't take back. Please share your story in the comments. Namaste.

Write Like No One is Watching

I have debated deleting and killing this blog so many times it's not funny. But I could never quite let go. I loved writing it and there is rarely a day that goes by when I don't think "I really should start writing my blog again." Of course, those thoughts come with a dose of self-conscious discomfort, fear and questions about why I'm doing it.

Am I trying to capture life in words to hold onto it? Simply processing my emotions? Trying to use my words about my experience to help someone else going through the same thing? Dreaming of the influence and fortune of superbloggers like Glennon Doyle? Sure. All of that.

It all comes with my constant nagging fear of being mocked and judged, a holdover from childhood that no amount of positive feedback has eroded. Still, I can't ignore the drumbeat pestering in my heart urging me to write again. This morning, I reached out to fellow blogger and author Sarah Fader from OldSchool/NewSchoolMom for some advice on how to get going again. Sarah's advice? "Write like no one is watching."

Wow. I know...simple, been said before...But seriously, this was exactly what I needed to hear right now.... Now, as I stand on the precipice again, frightened and excited by what comes next, both in life and on this blog, I know it is definitely time to start writing again.

Welcome back, me.

Joy to the World: Winning the Fight Against PMDD

I've never held back on my blog from talking about my struggles with depression. Recently I learned that what I've had the last few or maybe several years since having my second child isn't exactly clinical depression, but rather its hormonally-induced cousin, PMDD. 

Over the course of the last year, since I changed my diet, really committed to physical fitness, and started enhancing my health by using Young Living Essential Oils, I've come close to conquering this beast. Sometimes she rears her ugly head and I have to regroup and think about which aspect of my holistic treatment is lacking, but I've mostly managed to keep this PMDD in check. Now that I've put this protocol into practice for over a year, I feel confident in sharing it with any other women fighting this battle.

I really want you to learn about the particular "protocol" I'm using now because it has really changed my life and continues to help me every day. Plus, I'm treating myself without the worries of the dangerous side-effects associated with antidepressants! 

It's actually pretty simple. The first thing I did was change my diet. Last January, I began a low-carb, high-fat, moderate-protein diet, also known as a ketogenic diet. This concept runs contrary to popular medical wisdom which advocates a diet high in "complex" carbohydrates, with very low fat and moderate protein levels. A diet that fails most people miserably, leaving them hungry and grouchy. There is a lot of new research that shows there is no link between saturated fat and heart-disease.  Don't forget that the brain requires fat and cholesterol to function properly. If you're already cloudy from the effects of PMDD on the brain, you need to be eating a diet that provides the nutrition you need to function properly. The benefits of giving up sugar have surpassed what I hoped for and I was surprised by how quickly the cravings for it passed. I can't say I never look at a milkshake and think, "Gee that looks delicious!". It's just that I'm able to resist it now, even in all my PMS/PMDD glory. Cutting out sugar really was the first step in eliminating the need to "comfort eat" my way through one week out of every month.

Now, hand-in-hand with diet goes exercise. I have become a big advocate of strength training for women. First and foremost, it provides a terrific outlet for stress release. Take your anxiety and irrational anger and all your frustrations, leave them on the gym floor in a pool of sweat, and don't look back. I can wake up thinking I can't work out because I feel so miserable and sad and tired and life sucks, but every single time I make myself go to the gym and do a workout, I walk out feeling like I have slain a dragon. You don't have to start lifting heavy weights. Shoot, you don't have to lift weights. Go for a walk. Go for a run. Just get moving in some way that burns up the stress and anger you're feeling. I know you feel overwhelmed and don't think you have time, but you have two choices. I know from PMDD. I know you can't concentrate on your to-do list anyway. So you might as well take 30 minutes or an hour and throw down a little yoga or lift a few weights or walk the dog while you're outside soaking up the sunshine. Physical activity helps reduce tension and stress and can dissipate Cortisol levels which affect the body's ability to regulate the balance of Progesterone and Estrogen. 

In addition to using exercise to help battle stress and tension, both in general and related to PMDD, I have also begun taking a Young Living Supplement called Women's Cortistop which is formulated to help reduce Cortisol levels.

It really is hard to pinpoint what the most important aspect of my PMDD Protocol has been because every aspect has had a distinct and important impact on my health and well-being. However, I think the use of two specific Young Living Essential Oils has made a dramatic difference for me...the kind of difference I can feel if I stop using either oil for more than a day or two.

The first of these oils, Progessence Plus, has the most direct relationship to female hormone production and health. It is a natural bioidentical progesterone oil that helps restore a woman's natural hormonal balance without many of the dangerous side effects of synthetic hormonal treatments. It is vital, however, that you only use a pure therapeutic grade oil when using a progesterone, or any other type of aromatherapy or essential oil. The difference in my premenstrual emotional state before and after starting on Progessence Plus is, for lack of a less clichéd descriptor, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Before I began using Progessence Plus, I experienced horrible mood swings, intense anger, uncontrollable crying jags, exhaustion, and deep anxiety that left me unable to think or concentrate on anything important. These intense mood swings showed up exactly one week before my period and would vanish as quickly the day Aunt Flo came to town. Then I'd enjoy a week with some physical discomfort as I tried to pick up the pieces scattered during the emotional thunderstorms that blew through the previous week, followed by two weeks of feeling awesome! 

The second oil really has been almost as much of a life changer as Progessence Plus. It is actually a blend of several oils called Joy. The name says it all. I wear Joy daily. It has replaced my perfume, which I loved, but which was made with synthetic fragrance and other harsh chemicals. No wonder so many people get headaches from perfumes! Joy has such a delightful, uplifting aroma. I wear it daily over my heart and sometimes on my wrists or neck. Any that is left on my hands after I apply gets brushed through my hair. Each time I smell it, I get a little rush of happiness. And I've noticed that it seems to make those around me who smell it happy, too. Plus, I get a ton of compliments whenever I wear it. If I have a day when I notice I'm starting to feel a little down, I just pull out the Joy and take a whiff or apply a drop over my heart. It really is joy in a bottle and my secret weapon against depression.

If you're fighting the good fight against PMDD or even just PMS and want more information about any of the Young Living products or have questions about my diet and exercise routines, please feel free to e-mail me or leave a comment. I would love to chat with you and introduce you to healthy, all natural alternatives to prescripton and over-the-counter drugs that can help you win this war.

In health and prosperity!

(Wo)Man in the Mirror: On Self-Esteem and Positive Change

One of the hardest things to do when you grow up hating your body is to learn to look at it without cringing, crying, thinking horrible things about yourself, or just turning away in shame.

Today, for the first time in my life of 45 years, I let myself take a long – and for once – loving look at myself in the mirror during a yoga class. I almost couldn't help it, ending up on the front row in a classroom with a mirrored wall.

When we began the class, doing pranayama, or yogic breathing exercises, I caught a few glimpses of myself and my first thought was "Oh my goodness! Am I really that big? Are my shoulders that broad? My boobs that large? My thighs that thick? Really? I want to die."

But then, I told myself that a yoga class was the worst place to indulge in such negative thinking. If you can't let go of stinkin' thinkin' in a yoga class, where can you free yourself from such useless ideas?

So, as we began moving through our flow I started using the mirror to correct my alignment and form and I realized that maybe I was wrong. I mean, yes, I am bigger than the ideal I hold in my head. But suddenly, I realized the girl, the woman, I was looking at wasn't fat. She wasn't grotesque or someone I needed to shield my eyes from. She was actually kind of beautiful, kind of strong looking. As I moved into cobra, I noticed the strong and defined muscles in her shoulders and the smooth tanned skin.

Moving into pigeon pose, I was aware of how seamlessly I transitioned from downward dog with an extended leg right into pigeon, my favorite pose. I love the way it stretches and opens my hips. Then, the teacher said we could do pigeon with arms extended overhead if we felt strong enough. Asking if I'm strong enough to do something is a challenge I can never resist. I don't know why, but when I hear that phrase I am compelled to try. I often fail, but so what? So, sitting in pigeon I straightened my spine and slowly and carefully raised both arms over my head and balanced myself. I looked straight in the mirror and smiled. I was doing it! And it was easy! Well, sort of. It wasn't easy, but it felt amazing. And I looked strong as fuck doing it and I was also the first one in class to try it! Yay me! And yay for the other women who tried it when we switched to the other leg.

In another pose, balanced on one knee and one hand with the opposite leg and arm extended, I did catch sight of my abdomen curving underneath me and for a split second my heart sank and I felt myself falling into the rabbit hole of despair and self-hatred. Suddenly, though, there was another voice calling to me to pull me up and out of that hole. She said, look how strong you are, look at that balance! And look, when you contract your muscles like you're supposed to that belly vanishes. And it's way smaller than it was a few weeks ago.

This inner dialogue continued off and on throughout the class. While I know the goal with yoga is to push the thoughts away completely, I simply tried to replace bad thoughts with good ones, a feat for me. At one point, toward the end of our vinyasa flow, standing in mountain pose with arms reaching up toward Heaven – embracing the Universe as our teacher called it – I looked at that woman in the mirror and in that moment I felt strong and beautiful and confident, perfectly imperfect with strong legs to carry me, a heart strong enough to keep on loving, a mind capable of change, and arms ready to take in and love all the world including myself.

It's a journey. I didn't get here overnight or without working to become the woman I want to be. I work out 3-5 times a week, eat healthy, and try to surround myself with positive influences. More importantly on this journey to self-esteem, I stopped comparing myself to others and I've stopped listening when others want to compare me or put me down.

And you should to... Are you trying to learn to love yourself? Then remember this: tune out the negative voices, whether they're your own, your partner's, your mean sister, your mom or your dad, or the queen bee who thinks her shit smells like rose petals. Every time one of those negative voices tries to get inside your head, just take your thoughts somewhere else. Find one positive thought or idea to hold onto. Look in the mirror and find one thing you love about yourself. Your friendly smile. Your gorgeous grey eyes (or brown or blue, you get the idea). Your shiny hair. Your strong arms. Your fast legs. And every day, look yourself in the eye and remind yourself that you are awesome and lovely and perfect in all your imperfections right now. If you want to change, that's great and I will cheer you on and support you in your efforts. Just be sure you're doing it for you and not those ugly voices.

Now...go love yourself. Do great things for yourself and others. Be mighty. Be you!

A Closer Walk with Thee: Yoga, Essential Oils, and Lenten Meditation

Thankfully, we don't arrive here on this big, beautiful amazing Earth, fully formed, and knowing it all. And, yes, I'm surprised as anyone that I would be thankful for that. I am often the one frustrated by the journey, with its stops and starts, its glorious imperfection. I want to reach the finish line and win. I want to be done – with it all – basking in full-bellied contentment, like a blissed-out dog lounging in the sun.

Lately, I've been learning to enjoy the process and appreciate its value. And as I become more accepting of myself, my beliefs, and become more comfortable in my own skin, that need to "get it done," i.e. achieve some sort of perfection, seems less important. As I've applied those same principles to others, acceptance of all that is expands even more.

Like with anything worthwhile, though, I know even learning to enjoy the process is a process. For me, it's a process that begins with faith and practice. As a Catholic, and a converted one to boot, my faith entails a bit more than merely showing up to church on Sunday mornings. I am called to action that serves others, called to prayer and study and ritual that draw me closer to Christ. As a convert who came into the church feeling like those around me had a lifetime's advantage of observing and practicing their faith, there were times when I felt like at outsider (a theme in my life) and would never get it, would never feel as close to Christ as those around me because somehow they had secret insider information you only get by being born in the Church.

What I've learned some 13 years into the process is that there is no secret and everyone's path winds in a slightly different direction. For me, it has meant integrating my faith into other things I love. Making sure my family says grace at dinner. Remembering to enjoy and express my gratitude for beauty in nature. Remembering to be present and enjoy ordinary moments with those I love. Using my yoga practice as a means of self-sacrifice and a reminder of all that Jesus endured for me.

I don't always remember to do these things...when I am scattered and consumed by this worry or that fear my faith and focus are fragile. However, when I am mindful and present, my faith grows hearty and heavy with blooming promise. This is how it has felt lately when I let my feet sink into the mat, planted, rooted, grounded in the Earth and part of all that is, was, or will ever be. As I feel my muscles resist the stretch, I silently invite the Holy Spirit in with my breath, and as I feel the burning sensation in my hamstrings, my arms, my rib cage, and I imagine, by contrast, the pain Jesus endured on the cross, my mantra becomes "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner."

Of course, because I'm human and one who battles Adult ADD, staying present even at my most mindful challenges me. So, since I've been learning more about essential oils I've started to incorporate them into my yoga ritual and practice to offset the distractions. I'm using Young Living's Joy and Valor oils right now because a) I love the scent and b) the energies they manipulate are the very ones I need to address right now to help increase my faith and to help me overcome any tendency toward anger or bitterness.

As I bend, twist, and then hold a pose on the mat, mantra battling for space against the encroaching worries in my head, I breathe in deeply, inhaling the aroma of the oils and with each breath I am recommitted to the moment. And as I pray, I do feel joy. I do feel stronger, both physically and in my resolve to finish the workout, to deepen my faith, to be a better human being, to love myself and others as God intended, but most of all, to truly accept that all of this is a process. And in that moment, brought present by sensation, I feel, in the words of St. Patrick, "Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit, Christ when I stand," and for that moment, all is right with the world.

What rituals and practices help make you more mindful? I'd love for you to share them with me in the comments.

The Fabulous Life - An Unsolicited Review of FabKids

When my boys were infants, they were always dressed in style. From the elegant, handcrafted outfits my mother-in-law created with love and talent for them, to the adorably smocked john-johns and bubble suits bought at specialty boutiques or consignment sales or handed down from friends and relatives, my boys exuded Southern charm and taste.

As they entered pre-school and elementary school, style gave way to practical concerns such as how fast my boys were growing and how messy they could be, given the fact they were boys. Dirty, messy, active boys guaranteed to spill, smudge, tear or otherwise ruin any outfit in 30 minutes or less, especially if it was special.

So, I bid adieu to the fancy boutiques and even department stores like Macy's or Kohl's and resigned myself to Target, which, for the money, can't be beat in terms of both style and affordability, especially when one of your boys constantly wears a hole in the knee of every pair of jeans he puts on - and it's always the left knee. 

I just couldn't justify the cost of shopping anywhere else, especially since the age gap between my kids and their totally disparate builds and personal styles mean that hand-me-downs aren't really happening for us. Yet, that said, I was beginning to grow tired of the Cherokee, Levi's, Champion, and Shaun White offerings and wished I could find an affordable alternative that would give my kids well-made, affordable kiddie style.

Enter FabKids. 

One day a week or so ago an ad popped up on Facebook offering a free outfit valued at $29.95 for signing up  for a membership with this kids' clothing site. After browsing the selections, I fell in love with a crazy outfit that was right up Beckett's alley! 

This kid has a style that is all his own. He loves to pair a purple shirt with red pants and a top hat. He's a fan of sweater vests, tie-dye, brightly colored pants, and crazy t-shirts. His style is what I call "crazy artiste" because he is definitely that. Since he was 4 he has declared that he will be an artist when he grows up and so far he's on the path.

So the outfit I loved can best be described as "Banana Pants with Andy Warhol tee." 

Adorable! Right? Don't get me wrong. I detest those preppy pants with whales and anchors and preppy shit emblazoned on them. But bananas? That's, well...Bananas! Who wouldn't love that? 

So, I signed up for the membership, which essentially means that I filled out a questionnaire about what my kid's style is or what style I was looking for, his age, his sizes, etc. Then, I was presented with several outfits - all priced at $29.95 for the two pieces (shirt and pants). The introductory offer let me choose one outfit for free and only pay shipping and handling, so I got the above outfit for just $4.95!

Each month I'll be sent a link to a selection of that month's outfits based on Beckett's style profile to choose from. I can choose as many as I want and they will each be priced at $29.95 for 2 pieces. I will have until the 10th of the month to either choose my outfits or skip the month. If I skip, I won't be charged at all. If I buy, obviously I will be charged for what I do purchase. However, if I forget to skip, I'll be charged 29.95 anyway with nothing to show for it. 

Now, I do have a girlfriend who told me she hated FabKids. She felt like it was a bait and switch. The first month or two she loved the outfits and their quality, but felt that they declined in both style and quality over time. With her warning in mind, I was eager to receive my first order so I could compare notes.

It arrived yesterday and I am really impressed! Both I and my son loved the outfit. Older brother was totally jealous I didn't order the pants for him, which was a complete shock because he hates flashy (as he puts it) clothes! 

I was impressed with both how quickly the order came and their packaging. Both items were neatly folded with tissue inside separate inner plastic bags that came inside this cute package: 

That sounds like a lot of packaging, but I was pleased to note that all the plastic wrap was recyclable and the package included a reminder imprinted upon it to do so. 

As the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words and I think these pictures sum up nicely how we feel about our first experience with FabKids:

My little monkey in his banana pants and Andy Warhol tee. 

Monkey boy in motion - doing a happy dance over his new outfit. 

So, if you're looking for options for kids clothes and you like the convenience of online ordering, check FabKids out and let me know what you think!

Oh yeah...The disclaimer! This post was not solicited, sponsored, paid for, or otherwise endorsed by FabKids, their agent, or anyone at all associated with the company. 

Build Me Up, Buttercup

I was a little surprised by how much the essay by New York Times writer Pamela Druckerman resonated with my friends. Not that what she says isn't essentially true, but rather because it seemed to really strike them as revelatory, where as to me it was covering old ground. That said, while I've known these things, I've only recently reached the point where I was ready to start living some of these truths, including being ready to accept that some people just will not like me and that's okay.

I've worried before that if I admitted to certain likes or dislikes or pursued specific interests there would be some who would mock me or think less of me. But guess what, I've learned...if they're willing to judge me and would mock me for my beliefs, I probably don't agree with their values and shouldn't be friends with them anyway.

So, all of that is to say, some of you may read the rest of this post and think, "God, that woman is a total flake!" Some of you may read it and think I'm overly judgmental or clueless or that I "just don't get it." And that's okay. You can disagree with me. Just respect my right to believe what I believe and I'll do the same for you.

Alright... So with that out of the way, I really wanted to share some information that I feel is making me and my family happier and healthier.

Recently, I was introduced to Young Living Essential Oils by my cousin, Heather. Technically, she's my husband's cousin, but to me she's family and I love her as if she were my own blood. Heather has been using essential oils to help treat her children's asthma for a while and after seeing the success she had, I was intrigued.

Our family experienced some health issues as the result of side effects from a medicine one of us was treated with...side effects never mentioned by the doctor or the pharmacist or listed on any materials associated with the drug. It was very scary and added to my growing distrust in modern medicine. Between doctors getting paid by pharmaceutical companies to prescribe their drugs, the spread of antibiotic-resistant bacteria like MRSA, and the fact that medical mistakes are the third leading cause of death in America (behind #1 heart-disease and #2 cancer), I prefer to have options.

I'm never going to be someone who stops seeing the doctor or doesn't vaccinate her kids. That's just not who I am. I do however believe that there are old home remedies and natural remedies that are just as powerful and far safer than prescription drugs and modern interventions. I've often wished I had my grandmother's recipe for a headache tonic. I remember her using it on me when I began having migraines as a kid and now when I get a migraine, I crave the cool, soothing cloth and smell of camphor that always eased me into a pain-free sleep.

So, for me, essential oils make sense. I was willing to give it a shot and I must say, I'm quite glad I have. I have discovered that I can knock out a sinus infection in under 24 hours without the use of antibiotics and all their nasty side effects. I've also found something I can use to alleviate some of the anxiety and stress my son feels without having to resort to using dangerous drugs with God-only-knows what kinds of long-term effects.

It may or may not be for you, but if you're curious and would like to learn more, I'm happy to share what I've learned or direct you to folks who know even more than me.

Move On

"Such a waste to look behind you.... Should be lookin' straight ahead..."

And so, that's what I'm doing. I'm looking ahead after a year and a half that has had ups and downs, blessings and busts. My family has had health crises, job changes, added a new puppy (now dog) to the mix, and I've often bitten off more than I can chew. Yet, here I am, still...moving on...and as always, hoping praying
for the best outcome for my family.

One of the biggest revelations for me over the last several months was just how bitter and angry I had become. There were many reasons. Some of them, I've even talked about on this blog. I've carried a lot of pain, a lot of anger, and a lot of hate around in my heart for some time. I've been thinking a lot about how I need to let it all go, but sometimes, we've held on to things so tightly – not because they benefit us or keep us afloat. No, rather like a person who is drowning and flailing hopelessly in the water, we latch on frantically to whatever or whoever comes near us, even if they can't pull us ashore and we cling desperately until we are both pulled under.

I've done that with my hurt feelings about never quite fitting in to my neighborhood, about the queen bee whom I blame for taking up so much space and ruling the social scene with such an iron thumb that I never got my footing or found my place even after living here 10+ years. I've done it with my anger at God for my son's dyspraxia. I've done it with disappointments in my marriage and home life. I've done it with my anger toward my mother (dead now 13 years) for never telling me who my father is.

I've clung to my anger because I had no idea what it meant to let it go. The idea of letting my anger go made me feel like a victim all over again...a helpless child wanting to be understood and loved. Letting go of my anger meant taking down the one thing I had to protect myself with. It meant that the "bad guys" won. And until now that mattered.

Lately, I've felt a slight shift in my heart. I've realized that my anger isn't hurting the people I want to hurt. It's just hurting me. And my kids. And my husband. It keeps me insulated and isolated and ever more fearful and incapable of living peacefully and joyfully as I was intended.

So, yeah...I'm moving on as the song goes. Moving on with the grace and support of God and some dear friends who love me and accept me where I am. Moving on with excitement about the new health and fitness challenges I've accepted for myself (who knew running could be fun?!). And moving on with a plan to once again engage in the things I love, to separate the signal from the noise, and engage with the people and things that make my heart sing as all the rest – including all that hate and anger that was weighing me down – slowly recedes behind me.

The Heart of the Matter

I don't love clichés, but they really can get right to the heart of the matter sometimes. Sometimes there simply aren't words – the right words, enough words – to give comfort or to explain a situation. And in those situations, sometimes clichés, the tired but comfortably worn words and phrases we've known all our lives, are all that we have left.

Today, I've been extremely frustrated and upset over what I perceive as a situation at my son's school. It's ridiculous, really, that I should feel this so deeply. That I should find myself furious over it. I mean, punch-the-wall-angry. And not merely angry over the situation, which I will explain in a moment, but angry because I feel so lonely and isolated and like very few other parents feel what I'm feeling. And there's nothing worse than feeling alone.

Oh! But how is all that related to clichés, you ask? Well, remember the one that says "To become a mother is to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body?" And that is precisely how I've felt all day. I mean, it's not that I don't usually feel it, but today I felt it acutely because I feel like my son and other kids at his school are being treated unfairly. Just writing that, I can feel the anger boiling up inside me.

Every semester his school has an Honors Day ceremony at which children are awarded certificates for academic achievement, any special awards from activities like spelling bees or events like the stock market competitions, and citizenship awards.

At the ceremony, certain children are chosen to lead the Pledge of Allegiance, welcome the parents, and give what is referred to as an "inspiration." Almost to a one, the only students selected to do this are from our school's magnet class. The magnet class is chosen by lottery but they are the favored students in our school, getting French 4 times per week, mostly white kids from two-parent homes, with a high level of support from the parents. In the four years I've been attending these events, I can think of only a handful of non-magnet kids or boys from any class who have had the honor of speaking role. Worse yet, one little girl has spoken at every single Honors Day since first grade. I hate her. (Okay. Not really. But she is super annoying and when the vice principal called her out today after she spoke by saying "Isn't she precious, everyone? I just looooove her!", I wanted to hurl.

So, I should just say "life's not fair" and move on. Except I can't because it affects that part of me walking around outside my body...that quickly growing son whom I love beyond measure.

I want my son to know how to stand up in a room full of people and speak with confidence. Unfortunately, with such limited opportunities and the few that do exist being given to the same kids over and over again, he may never get the chance while he's young enough to enjoy it without being overly insecure and analytical about his performance.

The thing is, every child deserves a chance. Not just mine. I remember being a goody-goody, straight A student who was also very shy. But I always knew the right answer and would always raise my hand in class. Being smart was the only thing I was good at as a child and I wanted that recognition of being called upon and getting the right answer. However, all of my teachers made a point of calling on the kids who rarely raised their hands or even choosing one who hadn't raised a hand to keep things equitable and to get everyone involved.

It was suggested to me by another parent when I pointed out this inequity that I'm nuts. Another parent suggested that perhaps the kids who get chosen volunteer.  And while I may be nuts, I know unfairness when I see it. And this ain't fair folks, even if the kids do volunteer.

I would say that it's incumbent upon the teachers to keep track of who did it last time (this could be a list on the chalkboard) and pick names out of a hat so that everyone has a fair shot at getting to do it. It's not that hard to be equitable. And to ensure that students from classes other than the magnet class get a chance, one child from each classroom should be chosen. Again, not that hard...four slots to fill, four classes. Go figure.

Of course, I thought writing about it would make me feel better and so far it hasn't. I feel slightly less angry. I also sent a polite note to my son's teacher asking her to explain the selection process. Again, while it was taking action, I'm not sure it will make a difference.

In the meantime, I'd love to hear your thoughts. How are things like this handled at your kids' schools? What was it like when you were a kid? Should I let this go or speak up?

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

When I took a look at Facebook today, I was overwhelmed with the number of posts asking what I was going to do with "this once in a lifetime day, 12/12/12". So much pressure.

 So, while I'd love to say I had something really amazing planned, you know, like base jumping or getting married (to my husband again), or having a baby (like my husband's beautiful cousin is doing today!). I'm not. Today is just another day with laundry that awaits folding, a body longing to be stretched and moved through yoga, a husband recovering from surgery, Christmas gifts left to buy, kids who need help with their homework, and dinner waiting to be cooked. But, just like "any other day," the Belle of the Blog, even though she's been silent for many a month, ("Has it been that long?" you say. Indeed, it has, I tell you!) still has an opinion and a few ideas about where you should be buying any Christmas, Kwanza, Hannukah, or Festivus gifts left on your list. So, that end, I've created a list and while I'm not profiting in any way (other than through karmic good) by sharing this with you, I'm hoping some of my many creative, talented, entrepreneurial friends and contacts will. I hope you'll check out some of these gift ideas. If you're so inclined, please share a link to this post on your blog or Facebook page and consider it your good deed on this "once in a lifetime" day. 

Alrighty...Well, where to begin?

Let's start with books....

Books

My fellow Agnes Scott College alumna and English major, Jennifer Garlen, has three great books available right now.

Classic movie novices looking to expand their forays into such deep terrain, will welcome never having to waste two hours on a terrible movie again once you give them Beyond Casablanca: 100 Movies Worth Watching. 

If you have Muppet fans on the list, they might enjoy one of the two following books.

First, Kermit Culture, through a series of academic essays, explores both the cultural influences on Jim Henson that affected his work and the impact those beloved fuzzy creatures had on popular culture. 

Those who want to look at Henson's impact through some of his other works beyond The Muppets will enjoy The Wider Worlds of Jim Henson: Essays on His Work and Legacy Beyond The Muppets and Sesame Street, which looks at his other projects including Fraggle Rock, The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, The Jim Henson Hour, Farscape, and many more of his works. 

If you have a short story reader or Southern literature fan to shop for, check out "The Ballad of Shirley T and Other Short Stories" by my fellow ASC alumna Perrin Conrad. Like any great Southern writer, Perrin has a flair for creating uniquely captivating characters. 



Now, on to our next category...

Personalized Gifts

If you're looking for something truly unique, customized especially for your dear loved one, check out my friend Monica's Etsy story, Monogram Perfect. Monica actually had a brick and mortar store for years at the Opry Mills Mall in Nashville, Tennessee until it was destroyed in Nashville's 100-Year Flood a few years back. Now, she creates her lovely one-of-a-kind treasures from her home and sells them via Etsy or another web site. Personally, I love this cute grandparents' plaque that you can have tailored with your parents' g-name. One order of MeMe and Lolli for delivery, please...  Seriously, though, do check out her store. She has some precious items for the babies, kids, ladies, and monogram lovers in your life. 


Girly Gifts

If you're looking for a sophisticated, sexy, and tasteful fragrance gift for yourself or someone special, check out Poisoned Apple Potions. This clever store sells hand-blended body scrubs, lotions, butters, and perfumed oils. The brain child of another Agnes Scott graduate, Poisoned Apple Potions will appeal to more sophisticated tastes. The store even features a special Agnes Scott themed line whose sale benefits the College's annual fund. 

Alright, well, that's a start my dears! I'll have a few more ideas in the days to come, but I hope these ideas help at least someone out of a gift-giving predicament today.

Be sweet, y'all! And remember to share a link with a friend. 

Back in the Saddle, Again: The Belle is Back

Holy cow, y'all! It has been a while. Well, welcome back.

I've been focused on my freelance business. It has been a busy year. And exciting! As I was taking on several new freelance clients, taking care of my boys, starting a great yoga regimen, and just livin' life, my mister started traveling for work. It has made for a very busy year. So busy, that it has been almost a full year since I've blogged, I think.

I've missed it. And you!

Now that fall, um, the BEST SEASON OF THE YEAR, has arrived, my creative juices are flowing again. I have a fair amount going on, but I want to re-commit (again!) to blogging my wee little heart out.

I have a couple of new recipe posts to add in the next day or two. Plus some other stuff I'm working on or have on my mind. So, look for my posts.

And have a beautiful day!

(You Took My) Joy (I Want It Back)

I wish I could go to Slidell and look for my joy. West Memphis, even.

If only it were that easy. My joy ain't in Slidell. And sure as Hell ain't in West Memphis.

I don't know where that shit is. But I think, after weeks of feeling miserable and acting like a bitch on wheels, I know when it started seeping out of my life. Joy, that is.

September 10, 2001. Ten years ago today.

That was the day the tiny cracks started to form in the foundation of my dream life. The day when I realized that I was neither charmed nor lucky or that if I ever had been my luck, very suddenly, had run out.

Oh, it's not that I had such a blessed an easy life up until that point. I was raised by a single mother at a time when that little feat earned you the moniker of Bastard in a shitty little house in what my husband has referred to as a slum. I was mocked for being poor. My mother worked two jobs and I never saw her and nothing I ever did was ever good enough. Oh yes...And she thought I was fat.

Somehow, though, things worked out for the best most of the time. Mostly because I was smart and worked hard. I got through school, got a scholarship, and got the Hell out of Dodge.

Anyway, things worked out okay. Not exactly the life I'd envisioned, but I ended up with a career I loved, married to a pretty cool guy, I converted to Catholicism, we bought our first house, and we were starting what I imagined would be a pretty cool life filled with friends, a family of our making, faith, and more good things than I had ever imagined. I was happy. All the time. Joyful. Optimistic. Loved. Loving.

Right after we moved into our house, I learned that I was pregnant with our first child. We had been married for a year and though it was a bit sooner than we planned, I was excited. And scared. But mostly just excited and trusting that it must be God's will.

Fast forward several weeks and there I was spending a weekend spotting and knowing that I was losing my baby – listening to a doctor tell me over the phone "If you're having a miscarriage – and you probably are – there is nothing we can do about it anyway. You just have to let nature take its course. You're not that far along. It happens."

It happens. Oh. Yes. Death. It happens. All the fucking time.

So, I spent Monday, September 10, 2001 at the hospital having another much more compassionate doctor confirm that I had lost the baby, having over 20 vials of blood drawn, making the logistical arrangements for a D & C scheduled for the next morning, and feeling so hollow from the experience that I simply didn't actually feel anything.

And then, the next day, I started feeling again. Pain. Heartache. A gut-wrenching sorrow that has never gone away. I only bury it until some other horrible thing splits my heart in two again and it all comes spilling out.

Best friends moving far away. Death. War. The death of a friend's child. Worrying constantly about a child and feeling helpless. PPD. Losing new friends and not knowing why. Feeling like I've wasted my life, somehow missed a calling but not having a clue what it was. Always wanting something that seems just out of reach but not knowing what it is. Constantly wishing I could turn back the hands of time and do things differently. Feeling like a failure...as a wife, as a mother, as anything that matters.

It seems that ever since September 10, 2001, there have been innumerable little setbacks, disappointments that by themselves would not matter. Yet, stacked one upon the other they have mounted into a stack of trouble I can no longer carry.

I know that hidden in there are beautiful gems of joy. My beautiful husband. My two perfect little boys. Friends. Music. Books and stories. Nature. My faith in God.

But for some reason, right now I'm realizing that the pain weighs more than the joy. And I'm so tired. I want to put it down. I want to start off again. Fresh and rested and light.

I just don't know how. And I find myself so angry all the time. Angry at all the people who have never had to see or feel or carry the pain in this world. The ones who have it easy. Of course, I know that's not helping my case, but, as my sons would say, stamping their feet, "It's not fair!"

Why does God burden some of us more than others? And what do I do with desire to smack the smug smiles off the faces of those who do have it so easy? I don't want to feel this way. It's not who I am. It's not who I used to be.

I want my Joy back.

I pray that tomorrow comes with the blessings I need to right my ship and find my way, quickly, back to my joy. Father, open my heart and mind to your gifts and protect me from the sorrow and grief, the anger and fear that threaten to consume me. Thank you for the time I sent with my boys tonight, for the beautiful full moon, and the gift of words. And wherever she is, bless my baby girl. Amen.

With a Little Help from My Friends: Music (& Money) Monday

Today, I'm combining a couple of things. Music – my first true love – and friendship.

My friend Daryl whom I've known since we were 12 has been battling non-Hodgkins Lymphoma for a couple of  years. In May, he had a bone marrow transplant. Because he works for a non-profit, Daryl is uninsured. Also, because having a bone marrow transplant essentially takes out your whole immune system for a while, Daryl cannot go back to work. He and his partner, Danny, are doing their best to survive financially and emotionally during this trying time. To help pay Daryl's medical bills and make ends meet, they are raising money through an organization called ChipIn that allows individuals and groups to easily raise money online. If you can help, please click the link below to make a donation.



And, in the meantime, enjoy one of my favorite songs about the power of friendship.