Lost in Translation

From the outside I seem together and normal. I look like everything is great. I smile. I clean. I teach. I pull myself together. What you don't see is the constant battle in my head. The constant fight to feel better. The constant work it takes to put one foot in front of the other.

Don't get me wrong I have good days. More and more lately. It's getting better. The meds are helping. I am slowly getting better.
But some days
Some days I just want to quit. I really just want to give up. I want to step off this merry-go-round that we all call life.

 I hear myself crying out from inside my head but the words somehow change. In my head I hear " I give up", "I quit", and "not one more step". These voices cry out so loud it is almost deafening. Like standing in front of a freight train that is barrelling down the tracks towards me.
The voice stuck on repeat that reminds me I am failing, falling apart, and broken. Those voices tell me time and time again that I cannot and will not be OK. It tells me that this is my new normal and it will never get better.It is loud and clear.

But somewhere it get's lost in translation.
Those aren't the words I feel. Those aren't the words I say.

The quiet voice from my lips is simple

"Lord help me." "Mary pray for me" 

I turn to my Lord when I can't turn anywhere else.

You may be asking why I am writing this. There are a few reasons really.
#1. It's time we bring PPD and depression into the light. It doesn't make me weak. It doesn't make me selfish. I can't just "Get over it" I cannot just make it disappear. It's how I'm built. It's part of what makes me me in my own very unique experience. I have been dealing with depression off and on my entire life. The first time I remember feeling dark and hopeless I was young. Maybe 6 or 8 years old. 

It's an undercurrent in my life.

#2. My god is bigger than my storm. I take my meds. I take care of my family. I do the things that need to be done. My god is the only one that can heal those wounds of my heart and correct and quiet the voice that tells me I am worthless. My prayers are heard.I am loved. and I will be ok. He is my voice of truth when I cannot trust my own. He is my rock that in these times I cling to. He is everything I need. 

#3. To remind you that it's never hopeless. It's never hopeless. It's never hopeless.
I need to hear that sometimes as much as everyone else. I want you to know that if you feel as though you can't take another step or those voices are too loud to overcome or you just can't catch your breath, remember you aren't alone.
It's never hopeless. 

And most importantly,

#4

If you are reading this and you think 

Not. One. More. Breath.

Don't Give Up

Reach Out.

National Suicide Hotline

Every moment

make no mistakes

 I am not saying that  we should not or cannot complain when we are upset and stressed. I am not saying that we don't all have the right to cry, and be upset at some of the hands given.

But, every single moment in life has a purpose, a value.

With every pregnancy after loosing Emma I would panic from week 14 to week 15. Somewhere in that week is when my sweet girl passed. I would wake in cold sweats, my heart racing inside my chest so hard that I felt my ribs could break at any moment.

I lost my mind when I discovered that Evangeline's due date was a mere 10 days from Emma's. It was too close. I was convinced the pain would find me again. I was panicked and frightened.  I was also clinically depressed , one might think.

Evangeline's birth provided me with closure I hadn't expected , but because God is bigger than my fears, I was able to feel safety again.

Then the healing began. It took the tragic loss of someone else to bring me to a point where I was able to heal and not feel so broken inside my heart.
Seeing that moment in my mind's eye and knowing my sweet girl is safe and waiting healed the deepest places inside of me.

That doesn't mean that I don't miss her, or that I don't think of her all the time. What it means is that it is no longer a chain around my neck.

I cruised through week 14 this time. One dream of my sweet girl. Holding hands on the dock sitting quietly.
The healing continues for sure.

This time, it's different for me.I am grateful for every moment,kick, and heart beat this little baby growing in me has.

So much is the life around us. The person-hood of everyone around us. The unique and irreplaceable soul that God gave all of us.  The sick, the young, the old, the afflicted, the perfect... those dying with terminal illness. they all have a unique place in this world. Every moment of every life. Every single one. Even the ugly moments that hurt.

Sometimes Healing Comes in Strange Places

Loosing  a Child

That phrase upsets me. I didn't LOOSE her. I know exactly where she is. I know she is safe and loved and comforted. I know she is waiting and I will see her again someday. I know Mary is watching over her until I can wrap her in my arms.

I hate the phrase
LOOSING a baby.
as though it were a tissue. or a shoe. or a set of keys.

babies aren't lost
You do not misplace them or forget where you had them last.

They are babies.
And when they pass before we hold them, or while we hold them, or after we have held them they aren't LOST

they are found.
In the arms of Mary. Held and safe and loved.


Because my heart cannot bear to think of any baby being LOST.

My sweet girl is not lost. She is Held.
as am I.
as we all are.

A moment of healing came in the few weeks past that I had not expected. Healing through the pain of another mother with aching arms. It never seems fair.

Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me because after all this time I still grieve the space without her. I often think of how old she would be, what she would be like, and who she would become.
Some people just move on. right?
Sometimes I wonder why I cannot.or rather have not completely.

But these past few weeks have been different. I will miss her forever and will not be complete until I get to hold her in my arms.
I never did get to hold her in my arms.
I was so young. so alone. so confused. and so in denial.

For that Sweet Emma, I am forever sorry.

But I know she is held. I know she is loved. and I know she is waiting and it would seem after a brief moment the other day. that she has some friends as well.

peace comes in crazy places.

Triggers, Tears, and Blessings

There are those moments in your head when everything swims around like stirred soup. Like soup it settles after a time. I am up late at work and spending time reading other blogs. It's like playing leap frog, from one blog that links another blog, then another. Some are great and so well written and still others I skip over quickly. I ended up on blogs tonight of families that lost babies.

I know better than to read these things. I KNOW BETTER... but I read on anyway. Somewhere inside I hope that somehow I can desensitize myself enough so that if it happens I won't break.  I always end up in tears begging God to not take my babies.I know, that should it happen, there is nothing anyone can do to make it not hurt.  I know better than to think of these things , especially when I am pregnant.

But it places things into perspective for me. It reminds me of how lucky I am to hold and touch and kiss my challenges.
It puts into perspective how blessed I am to be breaking up fights between Sammy and Nate. That when Nate has woken me up from my nap 134,543,345,345 times, that I am lucky that he wants just one more kiss from mamma. It takes the frustration I feel over curfew arguments and dating rules and reminds me I am blessed. My kids may forget to do their laundry and have messy rooms... but they are here. So for today the dishes can stay in the dishwasher and the laundry can wrinkle alone in the dryer. I am going to hug my kids and love them today. I am going to count my blessings and carry my crosses, because heaven knows...

I am blessed

The question

     The last few days I have talked to dozens of people about Sam and Autism. It seems to come up and it seems as soon as they realize Sammy has autism they have questions. I don't mind questions. In fact I love them because if it open up communication between people we level the playing field. If everything is out in the open, parents will get the services they need and things will get better for everyone. Especially our kids!

     The question I get most often is "When did you know?" they rarely label it, they just leave it hanging there. The first time someone asked me I looked at them and asked "Know what?" In my naivety I had no idea what they were asking about.  It's a hard question to answer because it such a lengthy answer. The bottom line is I always knew, I just didn't KNOW.

    I always knew something was different about my boy. He stared at me intently from the day he was born. I remember sitting in my hospital room looking at him. I was unnerved that he looked like he both saw through me and into me all at the same time. It is the same look I get from him now whenever I get real meaningful eye contact. It's like he can read my heart like a book.  He never looked at me when he nursed though, it was always all business.
     I remember him at 9 months old. He didn't have an ounce of separation anxiety. I remember joking with my husband that it was like he didn't even know I was his mother. He would hit and laugh and if you corrected him nothing happened. He didn't cry at raised voices. He would wake us up at 10 months old with a video of veggie tales humming and rocking. We thought he was singing the theme song, yeah not so much.

     I remember him at 18 months retreating into his world, pulling away, and becoming angry. He would run from us everywhere we went. he wouldn't sit still at the table. He stopped talking, he stopped moving forward. The cars that he would once roll back and forth sat lined up along the floor. His blocks lined up by color as he stacked them over and over.
     I remember him at a family Christmas just after he turned 2. I remember how he darted around and frustrated everyone there. I remember that no one connected to him. He didn't even want to open gifts, we ended up outside in the cold spinning in circles.

     I remember him at 3 when his little brother was born and he would softly touch his head. I remember the fear as Sammy would flip out near the baby with his arms and legs flailing everywhere. I remember him squirting his uncle with a water gun and for the first time ever he cried at being yelled at.
     I remember sitting in the office being told that my son had autism. I remember thinking at first that the doctor had to be wrong. He was just young for his age and immature. He must just have ADD. Then I cried.

Somewhere inside though, there was relief because it had a name. This entity that was taking the joy of raising Sammy from us. I demonized it but I knew it was right. I knew all along, I just didn't want to see it.

I use to say that because of it I lost precious months and years of help he could have had, and while yes that is true. It's only half the story.

The other half of that is nothing would have changed who he is. My fluffy headed wonder child with the blueberry eyes and electric smile is still the same boy on the inside that he always was. Autism didn't change him, it was always there. Autism changed me. It's still changing me in ways I haven't put into words yet.

So when people ask I always say "I always knew he was special, I just didn't have a name for it" That, is the absolute truth.

Planning

{this is by far the hardest post I have ever written or published. I am debating if I even have enough strength to publish this one. If your reading this , I must have put it out there. Please, be kind}

this is not my own photo. 

Planning what you might ask? Planning time for a nervous breakdown silly!

Yes, just a few days ago I sat at my very own kitchen table trying to see if I could schedule in a convenient time for a nervous breakdown. I don't do messy and I sure as hell don't love unplanned ANYTHING. I figured if I could keep it together until this family I am working with is done I should be fine to take it.

How absolutely control freakish does that sound?I know some of you (family & friends) are reading this thinking I am bat shit nuts! Well, yeah, maybe a little. the bottom line is I feel like there isn't time to go off the deep end. I feel such a weight of responsibility every moment of every day that I literally couldn't even find time to fall apart. Falling apart would also mean having to get messy. So many of you have commented to me about my honesty here at YLMB and I thank you for that. This place here, this sacred piece of space, is mine to deal with my demons. I vent here a lot, but I feel like I owe it to a lot of you as well to let you see all sides of it.

Not a big secret either, that I am Catholic. I talk a lot about my faith and my Savior so what I say next shouldn't surprise anyone.
My dear friend gave me something to try to help me through this, to get the "flame thrower" over the "bic lighter" of God's grace. The issue is never God, the issue is our humanness and the innability to let God into the spaces we need him to be in. Being the controlled person I am I tend to give him very little wiggle room. I love him and I still push him away and fight against him. Totally not proud of those moments , but it is entirely what it is.
So... I worked on this visualization that my friend Michelle had told me about .
What I got was Jesus beside me at the table. I kept expecting him to speak to say SOMETHING!! He didn't he just sat there silently with this look on his face. I don't know how to describe the look I saw but his eyes made me still. My mind was so still for just a moment and I heard this song



and then poof it was gone. I  know this sounds crazy to those of you that don't get it. I know to those of you that don't believe in God this must seem like pure foolishness.Regardless, I had to share this because, well, that's what I do here. No filter,no expectations, no limits. If I change that ideal now, then the last few years haven't meant anything.