It's Not You, It's Me

I find myself feeling like I'm not really good at friendships.  Feeling a bit lonely.  But at the same time, not motivating myself enough to step out and connect.  

I know like everything in life, things come and go like seasons.  Some people are in your life for a season.  And the next, they're not.  I'm trying to be okay with that.  

Perhaps it's because I'm an introvert and exhausted after taking care of Z all day.  Wanting to connect with another being is not energizing to me.  I'm tired.  I don't like small talk.  A person will reach out here or there, but I'm tired.  

Perhaps it's because I withdraw during my pregnancies.  For some reason, I tend to pull away from everyone during these nine months.  Maybe it's a defense mechanism that allows me to protect myself from letting others down if I lose another child.  Maybe it's because I'm in survival mode the entire time.  I'm just trying to survive my fears of another loss.  

Perhaps it's because I am at a different stage of life and am on a baby's schedule.  I'm one of the later ones of my friends that have a baby (with another on the way).  I am currently on his naptime schedule.  I plan my days around what he can handle.  And some days it's easiest to just stay home and not venture out.  I've never been a good hostess, so having people over sounds like so much work. 

Perhaps it's because I'm still grieving J, and people don't understand. Maybe they think I should be over it by now.  Maybe I feel judged.

Perhaps it's me.

Perhaps it's not just me. 

Perhaps other mom's feel the same way.  

The good. The bad. The tired.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of health issues.

I'm tired of family drama.

I'm tired of being tired. 

I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough based off people judging my decisions. 

I'm tired of just feeling like I'm surviving.

I'm tired of a crying baby when he should be sleeping. 

I'm just plain tired:
mind
body and 
soul.

...I know having an almost 10 month old and being 8 weeks pregnant doesn't help...

Ultimately, I know my own soul health can really play a huge role in how I'm feeling.  To be completely honest, my soul's not doing so well.  There's still a barrier between God and me.  It's not a 6 foot cinder-block wall that has been present in the past, but even a 2 foot picket fence can still be a barrier.  

When I boil my relationship with God down, it is clear that is the issue is that I don't trust Him.  Don't get me wrong, I believe in Him as my Savior, but I'm still wagging my finger at time as to say "don't let me down, again" when I pray.  I know that He didn't actually "let me down," but it's hard to get past that feeling deep within my gut.  

I have a lot of head-knowledge about the truths of who God is, but my gut isn't aligning with the truths that I know.  Because of this, I've created this barrier that allows me to be in control.  Because I trust myself.  

It's exhausting.

I want to be free.  Freedom is a big word I discuss in counseling.  I long for freedom.  I want the weight off my shoulders.  I want rest.  Even as I type this out the verses Matthew 11:28-30 come to mind: 

28 "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Again, I KNOW it (head-knowledge), and I want it, but I get stuck along the way.  There's a deep valley of pain and lack of trust that I've built from my grief.

I truly long for that rest.  I know He is there just patiently waiting for me to take His yoke.  I know I'm tired.  I know His yoke is easy.  

I know how I want the outcome, but I'm just having a hard time getting out of my own way.  And it's tiring. 

I survived.

Yesterday 12:52pm: 
Zac throws up on our bed.

Now, he had been fussing a bit beforehand, so I thought he might have just worked himself up and made himself sick.  

By 2:30pm:
Zac throws up a total of 7 times.  

The stomach bug had officially hit Zac.

One of the times Zac got threw up, it ended up all over me.  My shirt, bra, pants and underwear were saturated.  I had just gotten initiated into motherhood.

It was so sad and heartbreaking seeing him so scared each time he got sick.  After talking to to the nurse, we ended up taking him in to make sure he wasn't more sick than he appeared.  By the evening, he was able to keep a few ounces of Pedialite and formula down.  He also got some good sleep last night...even though momma didn't. 
He is 100% better today.

It's no secret that I'm a germaphobe.  And I deep down I really think I have Emetophobia (the fear of throwing up).  I can literally count the times I have thrown up in my life on one hand. While working at the elementary school, if a kid was throwing up, I was the one rushing out of the room.  I couldn't handle it.  

I used to judge the parents who would come in to the office to pick of their sick child and hug and kiss them when they'd come out of the nurse's office.  But now I get it.  I hugged, held and kissed Zac all afternoon long.  Trying to comfort him while he was so pale and lethargic in my arms.  I knew he was sick, and I knew that there was a big chance I could get sick from loving on him, but I didn't care.  I wanted to take care of my precious, sick boy. The love I have for him outweighed any fear of getting sick that came to mind.  I didn't care.  

In addition to overcoming my own fear of germs, I feel like we conquered another fear.  Before yesterday, I had never had a child get sick that didn't die as a result.  Between Jonathan and the miscarriage, sickness equaled death.  This is a huge underlying reason behind my fear of germs. I have a fear of Zac getting sick and dying.  I have dreaded the day that he got sick for the first time because of what the outcome could be.  Even on the way to the doctors yesterday, I was crying because I was so fearful that he so sick he would need to get admitted to the hospital.  

A marble moment was when we saw a neighbor at the doctor's office with his own sick child.  We were unable to get in to see our own doctor, but the neighbor was glad we were able to see their doctor that afternoon.  Just having that encouragement of a new doctor put this momma a little at ease.  It was definitely a marble moment that God was in control. 

I'm so thankful that Zac is fine today and that yesterday wasn't worse. I feel like I can conquer the world because I survived the past 24 hours. It is more than just Zac being sick for the first time.  I feel like I tackled a huge fear in my life and won.  I'm not saying that I'm not a germphobe anymore, but I feel like I took a huge step in winning that battle yesterday.  

I survived.  

one step forward, 20 steps back

I am find myself in the thick of it with grief still which irritates me because I feel like I should have made more progress than I have. Granted, I know that April 1st is coming up which surfaces more layers of grief.  

I still find myself feeling left behind regarding kids and my family.  Yes, I have Zac, but now my friends are having their 2nd or 3rd child...and yes, Zac is my second child, but it doesn't appear like that to the outside world.  I still feel need to catch up.  Granted, getting pregnant right away won't solve anything, but it's still a feeling that I am constantly fighting. I'm finding it hard to be content with where I am. Perhaps it's because I feel like my family is incomplete with Jonathan missing.  That hole that he left will always make me feel like something is missing from our family. 

I feel like I am failing at friendships.  Literally.  I feel like I am the suckiest friend in the whole world.  I would like to make a mass apology to those who have texted/messaged me, and I haven't responded.  It has nothing to do with you.  It has everything to do with me. I want to be a better friend.  I want to connect with you.  But it's me.  Not only am I trying to figure out married life with being a new mom, but my emotional bucket is empty usually the month of March... Okay, that's a lie. I feel empty often.  This is where I get irritated with myself for not being better.  I know that you care and love me.  I know that you aren't judging me (even though I fill that part in for you and feel like a complete failure).  Again, I know that you care about me. I'm sorry I don't actually let you show it.  As I previously said, I think I should be feeling better by now, or at least know how to deal with my grief.  But I still have those really tough days.  And my safe place is my home...with Charles and Zac.  I'm still trying to figure out who I am.  I'm not the person or friend that I once was.  For that, I'm sorry.  But please continue to be patient with me as I am still navigating through this grief.  I don't know how long it will take, but please be patient.  

I'm still really struggling with germs and my fears.  Yesterday, I had Chusan lunch with Charles at Chick-fil-a, and I almost had a complete panic attack while there.  Zac was in his stroller, pulled up to our booth.  We were sitting in a booth next to where the order line would be if it was long.  Once we got our food, 50 kids came in from a field trip.  They were right next to us, bumping into Zac's stroller.  They were really well behaved, but one would cough and another one would sneeze... and I was about to die.  Poor Charles kept trying to start a conversation to take my mind off of it, but I couldn't concentrate.  We inhaled our food and left.  I cried the whole way back to the office to drop Charles off.  It's moments like this where I feel so crazy.  I feel like I haven't made the progress that I thought I have.  My fears are such a struggle for me.  I am so afraid of losing Zac.  I'm so afraid that God will take him away from me.  As you can see, I'm still working on the whole "trusting Jesus" thing... 

I made a twisted realization the other day.  I'm trying so hard to lose my baby weight from Zac's pregnancy.  I still have 24lbs to go to get to my pre-Zac weight.  My ultimate goal is to lose an additional 20lbs after that.  If I do that, I'll be at my pre-Jonathan weight. That number is 151.  I just want to be back at 151 so badly.  The other day I realized that deep down that number stands for more than just being a size 8 again.  In my mind, I think that if I get back to 151, I'll be happier.  I'll be my old self again.  I won't feel this pain that I feel on a daily basis.  My eyes finally see what that number represents.  But it isn't my baby weight that brings me this pain.  I need to accept that I won't ever be that person that I was before December 9, 2013. That's a hard truth.  I know that I have some really positive things going on in my life, but there is a part of me that just want to be happy again.  But 151 won't be the happiness I'm searching for.  
When I say these things out loud, that's when I really feel that I haven't made as much progress as I thought I have.  Deep down I know that I have made progress, and I know I need to be gracious to myself.  I guess I just continue to realize that I'm still trying to navigate this journey and continue to accept my new normal.  Grief is such a messy thing.  I know I've come far, but there are those days when I feel like I haven't moved an inch.  I know that God's Grace is new every morning.  And for that I am thankful.  But there are still days were the pain seems to overpower the grace.  Thankfully tomorrow has a new morning. 

scars and germs

I had a great counseling appointment yesterday.  As I was summarizing how I have been the past couple weeks, my counselor acknowledged how good I looked....meaning I looked brighter, happier, lighter.  

I agreed that I felt better all around...minus the baby weight I still need to lose.  

Previously we had discussed how my wound with Jonathan had put me me in ICU for the past three years.  In the room with me was only Charles.  My family and friends weren't even allowed in the hospital.  And Jesus was only allowed just outside my room, on the other side of the closed curtain.  

While being in ICU, I have had to keep myself safe, secure, healthy and protected....allowing only Charles in.  He was the only one who understood.  He was the only one I could trust.  He was the only one I have felt safe with.  

Because of this, I have kept visitors at bay.  I've kept friends at bay.  I've kept relationships at bay.  

My deep, painful wound needed to heal.  

I feel like these past three months with Zachary has brought much healing.  

As I wrote last time, I've been on repeat for the past three years on a track, repeating pregnancy and loss over and over again. But now with Zac, I've broken away and am creating a new path on a new road.  I'm not on repeat anymore.  I'm actually healing.  

And healing doesn't look like replacing.  And healing doesn't mean that I'm healed. But I am slowly seeing a scar form over the gaping wound that once was.  

Now that I am not in the ICU anymore, I find myself having the strength to reconnect with friends and family around me.  

Along with the healing, I'm still working on fear of Zac dying.  I'm still afraid of him getting sick and dying.  I know in my head that germs are good for him and his immune system, but deep in my gut, I ache to protect him, in fear that he will be taken from me.  

I am working on carving out new ruts with my fear of germs.  For the past three years I've clung to control and fear and carved deep grooves of germophobia.  The ruts from the past three years are deep.  And it's mentally exhausting to cut out new ruts that allow me freedom from my fear of germs, but I'm slowly trying.  It will take time to carve new ones to replace the current ones.

The love that I have Zac is so much, it's unexplainable.  I love him so much that he is my motivation to work on my fears because I do not want to pass them on to him.  I don't want him to grow up in my fearful world.  For him, I would do anything.  And right now, breaking my OCD with germs and fear is what I'm working on.  It might be two steps forward and one step back, but it is still progress.  This process needs to be filled with Grace for myself, but I know I can eventually get there.

My fear of germs really comes down to me not trusting Jesus. I've felt that Jesus really let me down with Jonathan's death.  That's why even Jesus wasn't allowed inside the ICU room.  He had to stay outside.  For the past three years I've kept Jesus at arms length because I didn't trust Him...that I don't trust Him.  

My counselor gave me an exercise to do for the past few months.  I have a mason jar in our living room, and every time I feel  or see Jesus move in some way - big or small - I put a marble in the jar.  Being a visual learner, I have something that physically reminds me of God's Goodness.  His Faithfulness.  

With each marble, my trust in Him is growing.  

Even though I haven't conquered my fear of germs and control.  I'm working on it day by day, hour by hour.  

He is Faithful and full of Grace.  And my mason jar is almost full.