Mom

A relationship between a mother and a daughter can be a very complicated thing. I don’t feel that I really appreciated my mom until after I left home. We didn’t have any majorly bad things between us but there were definitely times of strain and stress in our relationship. We weren’t always close but there never was a time where we were estranged. Overall, I would call my mom my friend.

Looking back on my childhood my mom was always there. She was home every time I got off the school bus. She made dinner every single night. She attended every one of my basketball games. She encouraged me to be my best and to seek for adventures in life. She enjoyed reading my stories and poems and always encouraged me to write more. She said she loved to hear me teach, whether at church or a class I did through work. She always told me she loved me and gave me lots of hugs.

After moving to Indiana I only saw her a couple times a year. She would come out in the summer or if there was a special event. She often stayed with me for several weeks at a time. We teased her many times about moving out here but she always said that she would never move here.

Last year we were talking on the phone when she said, “When we move out to Indiana,” and then kept going on with her sentence. I said, “Whoa! Wait! Back up! What did you just say??!” She laughed and then told me that she felt really strongly that they needed to move to Indiana. They were looking at houses and talking about it every day. I was shocked! Dad had said in the past that he couldn’t live here because of the humidity or leaving my brother’s family and Mom said she couldn’t stand the heat, the bugs, or being away from the family out there. Before I knew it, Mom was packing up the house, Dad closed down his business, and they were getting ready to come out here.

Things didn’t go quite as planned. Their house didn’t sell right away and even though she got rid of a lot of stuff, they still had too much stuff to bring over. Mom felt this urgency she couldn’t explain and finally insisted that they needed to just get out here. So they did. In the beginning of September Mom flew out then Dad packed up a moving van and, with the help of a couple of brothers, he drove out with all their stuff.

They settled in with one of my sisters but it was a little too far away so in the beginning of October they ended up in my house. I moved into the living room and they moved into my bedroom. I needed help with my children and house so it was a good exchange. We all got along really well and enjoyed being together.

As the holidays came near, they found a house in town. Their house in Washington sold and the house here closed in early December. They decided to continue to stay with me, because I really needed their help, and have my sister move into their home for awhile. A lot of family came for the holidays so they all stayed up at their house. We had a great Christmas with lots of great memories. My brother and his family came out and didn’t want to go home so kept staying just one more day, then one more day. That went on until New Years when they finally decided that they would leave the next day, January 2^nd.

We had a fun New Year’s Day, eating lots of food and playing games. I took my kids home and put them to bed then a short while later my parents came home. Mom was so excited because she was reading a book about front porches that my sister had given her for Christmas. She was dreaming about her perfect front porch and went to her room smiling and happy. I was pretty tired so I ended up going to bed fully clothed, not having the energy to change into pajamas.

The next morning, I was woken up by my dad calling my name a few minutes before 5:00. He said he needed help, Mom was not responsive. I grabbed my phone, jumped out of bed and ran to their bed. She wasn’t breathing and had no pulse. I called 911. Dad and I moved her to the floor and I started CPR. It took maybe ten minutes or so for the paramedics to come. They took her to the hospital and Dad and I followed. After an hour of waiting, the doctor finally came to talk to us. She was gone. The doctor said she was most likely gone before we even woke up.

So many feelings overwhelmed my soul that morning. Grief, pain, guilt. I fought so many thoughts that I should have been able to save her, that I had failed my dad and siblings. So much sadness, shock, and disbelief. How could this happen? They only just moved here. She felt fine when she went to bed. But now she was gone.

An autopsy later revealed a rupture in her ventricle wall. Her death had been instantaneous. There 

was nothing any of us could have done.

The next week seemed like a blur, moving so fast, and yet seemed like an eternity. All of my siblings, their spouses, and thirty-three out of the thirty-four grandchildren came out for the funeral (one was serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints). Everyone except my family and Dad stayed at the other house. We cried, laughed, told stories, played games, looked at pictures, sang, and ate a lot of food. It was so wonderful to all be together, even if it was for such a sad occasion.

When we were growing up, most of my siblings can remember Mom making a train cake at some point for each of us. A few days before her funeral I found a cake pan to make a 3D train engine. I decided that to honor Mom I would make a train and have all of the family decorate a little cake to be a train car. So the night before the funeral, all of the family, kids and grown-ups alike, spent time together decorating a little cake. Everyone was laughing and talking together, creating some great memories. After the funeral there was a luncheon. We put all of our cakes on display until the end then whoever wanted to eat their cake could. It was a fun way to honor Nana.

After the funeral everyone slowly left and we had to try to go back to living life, going to work and doing the normal everyday things.

What a rollercoaster the last two and a half months have been! The grief hits in waves, often while I am driving past the cemetery or when listening to specific songs. And now today is her birthday. Mom would have been seventy-two today.

Mom loved flowers, stars, trains, boats, flowers, birds, bees, flowers, anything small, flowers, antiques, classic cars, baby animals, did I mention flowers?? She loved to take pictures of flowers. There are thousands of pictures on her computer and external hard drives of flowers. Going for a walk with her meant making lots and lots of stops to look at every little thing and taking pictures of all the flowers. It was like walking with a little kid who was discovering everything for the first time. :)

In honor of her birthday I made Mom a flower cake. She loved purple flowers, especially johnny jump ups. I don’t think I can ever see a pansy or johnny jump up without thinking of her. She taught me to love flowers and beautiful things in nature. She taught me to love my children even when I am struggling with them. She taught me a love of reading, especially Louis L’Amour. I miss my mom terribly, yet at the same time am just so grateful for all the time we were able to spend together. I am grateful for her love and for all of the hugs she freely gave. I love my mom so much! I am so grateful for the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ and the hope of the resurrection. I know that her spirit continues on. She is not gone, she has just moved on. And one day I know that I will see her again. Until that day, I’ll treasure every flower, stop and gaze at the stars at night, and share her love with my children and all of her other grandchildren. She will not be forgotten.

Silent but Not Silenced

It’s interesting how people react when you tell them you have left a marriage. They usually stare at you in disbelief, judgement almost always crosses their face, occasionally people feel sorry for you, and even rarer do people listen and give support. Even the people who witnessed bloody lips and bruises on the children can turn their backs on you, judging you because you left. Some of those people pull you aside into an empty room and tell you that what you are doing is wrong, you are making a mountain out of a molehill. The very people who looked on in disgust at the few things they witnessed in your marriage whisper behind your back that you should never break your marriage vows. 

Funny, how people are. They can sit in their position and tell you what you should or shouldn’t do based on the 5% of your life they can see. 

It hurts when people you have known and developed what you thought was a close relationship suddenly turn away when they see you in the grocery store. Or the ones you confided in telling you to keep silent, don’t tell anyone what is going on because it can cause a division among friends. Or the comments about how if it had really been that bad then why did you stay so long? Like you just woke up one day and decided that making up stories of a hellish marriage would be fun and would give you an excuse to be single. Because being a single mom, raising four challenging kids, working to support them, and taking care of a house alone is such a desirable alternative to marriage. 

I was told to not make a scene, don’t defend yourself because that causes contention, be quiet. So I slipped away, changed my name so there wouldn’t be an association with the ex, made sure to never say anything disparaging to the children about their dad, and tried to move on. Rumors were started immediately, judgements were harshly passed, “friends” turned their backs, and no one asked if what they were hearing was true, they just believed. I thought that surely five years of friendship and observing my personality would cause people to think twice about the rumors that showed a person very different than the one they had come to know but human nature is a finicky thing. 

Divorce shows you who your true friends are. 

Now, eight years later, I look back and see from a different perspective. In the marriage I became weaker, more beaten down as the years went on. In the eight years since I left I have become stronger, more full of life. The trials of marriage nearly snuffed out my life. The trials of the last eight years have given me purpose, given me understanding, given me faith and courage. In the marriage my head hung lower each day where now, most days, my head is high. I am overcoming the pain of the past and becoming a better person. 

For awhile I wrote frequently in my blog, then because of some issues I went silent. But silence doesn’t always equate to being silenced. Being silent can give a person time to reflect, gather strength, and refuel. Being silent does not always mean being speechless.

There are so many voices and opinions in the world. I’m coming to realize that the only opinion I need to worry about is God’s. The only approval I need is God’s. The silence is coming to an end. 

It is okay to talk not only about healing but also about what caused the pain in the first place. We don’t have to hide the parts of ourselves that aren’t perfect. It’s time to be true to the path that God has called me on. It’s time to open my mouth and speak. We all experience pain and suffering but society has told us to pretend like everything is okay. Everything is not okay. We should not dwell on the negative but we also shouldn’t pretend it doesn’t exist. I have no desire to dig up issues from the past or make other people suffer. I only want to stop allowing other people’s fears to keep me from living. I want to stop allowing other people’s judgments from ruling my decisions. 

For me, stagnation means death. If I am the same today as I was yesterday then I am doing something wrong. It is time to live life differently. It is time to speak. 

This link is to a song from the live action movie of Aladdin. This song really touched me when I first heard it. It is called Speechless. 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YBwAvLuXQEg

Single

Today I was asked if I did anything special for Valentine’s Day. I replied, “No, I’m single.” That simple comment took me by surprise. For the last five years I have never once referred to myself as “single.” I have always called myself “divorced.” I felt like I was being deceptive if I said I was single so avoided that term. I didn’t want anyone to assume that because I was single that I didn’t have any children or I hadn’t been through a marriage.

Because of my situation, I have carried all of my court documents around with me for the last five years, just in case they were needed. It gave me a feeling of safety, a form of protection for me and my children. Last week I removed them from my bag and put them someplace easy to get to if I ever needed them. It has been such a relief to not carry that burden around with me anymore.

It is so easy to begin to define our life by big things we experience whether it is a divorce, a health challenge, a wayward child, or any number of other things that happen. In using experiences to define our identity it can be easy to lose our true identity.

So, what defines who we are? Every thing we experience and none of what we experience all at the same time. I am divorced, but that is not all of my identity. I am a mother, but that is not all of my identity. I am a massage therapist, but that is not all of my identity. The things I do are only a part of who I am.

When I really sit with myself and look beyond what I do to see who I am I see a woman who struggles with self-worth and purpose. I see someone who continually strives for growth, wanting to become better today than I was yesterday. I see weaknesses, loneliness, pain, struggle. I see strengths, desire for connection, healing, faith. All of it is who I am.

I am also single. And that is okay.

I used to think that it was a bad thing to be single but there are many things in life that are worse than being single.

As I approach the seven year mark of leaving the abusive marriage, I realize that that experience does not have to define me. Yes, I had that experience, but it is not who I am. It is just a part of what makes up my story. We all have a story. Even though there are parts we might not enjoy as much as other parts, all of it is important in who we are.

I am grateful for all that I have learned about myself in the last seven years. I am grateful for all that I learned as a result of my marriage. I am grateful that God knows me so well that He has given me everything that I have needed in order to heal and live again. I’m still not perfect at accepting all that He is providing for me, but I get better at it all the time.

What is the trick to finding out and connecting to our true identity? It will be different for each person. If we sit in God’s love and let that energy fill our soul, we can find our true self. We just need to "be." Stop "doing" and "be."

Finding Hope in the Mudstash

Growing up in a family with four brothers and two sisters and being the second to the last child, I spent a good deal of time observing my siblings. Being the last to marry and start a family, I also observed my siblings’ relationships and struggles. We are now spread out across the county and don’t see each other very often. But when we do come together, it is as if no time has passed and we are able to fully enjoy each other’s company and begin right where we left off. I love that about our family.

My older sister, J, lives near me and we work together. My younger sister, K, currently lives about eight hours away. Before her family moved out here we lived on opposite sides of the country so years could go by without seeing each other. Us three girls have lived very different lives, have had a tremendous amount of struggles, and are all in different phases and situations in life.

Just over a week ago, K drove the eight hours to my house and all three of us girls participated in the Mudstash together. The Mudstash is a four mile obstacle course set on a ski slope in Southeast Indiana. It is very challenging but not as competitive as other mud obstacle courses out there. This was my sixth time completing the Mudstash and J and K’s second time.

All of us have been struggling with various health and life issues and weren’t sure how we would do on this journey, but we all felt it important to our growth. We all felt a need to do this course together as sisters and friends. Because of our weakened state, we all agreed that we would walk and not worry about how long it took us, which took a lot of pressure off of us.

My first Mudstash was completed shortly after the one year anniversary of me leaving my abusive marriage. It was a symbol of me taking back my power and my life. Every year I have participated in the Mudstash to remind myself of what I have been through and how far I have come. I look forward to it all year long and hope to continue the tradition for many years to come.

Last year I did the Mudstash all by myself. I had someone waiting for me at the end but did the whole course alone. That was a very interesting and positive experience. This year, though, meant so much more to me as my sisters and I worked together to make it to the end.

There were a few obstacles that were so challenging that we literally had to push and pull each other over mud hills because there was no way to do it alone. Once we were over, we even reached back to help those behind us. We took no thought about the time, only about finishing. As we got more than halfway done, J asked several times, “Why is this fun?” It was so hard at times, and yet it was fun and we wanted to be doing it.

There were over fifty obstacles ranging from mud pits, to logs in the path, to mud hills, to rocky streams, and many other things. What was interesting was when we realized that the hardest part wasn’t the obstacles, but the stretches of walking in between. When we came up to an obstacle, all of our energy would be focused on how we would accomplish the challenge before us. We would get a rush of adrenaline and no longer worried about how far it was to the end, just how we were going to get through this new challenge. During the stretches of the journey where there were no obstacles, we would get tired, feel our aches and pains, and wonder how much farther it was to the finish line. When we finally crossed the finish line, we were covered in mud, sore and bruised, but so high on the accomplishment of completing the course.

As we walked, we discussed how much this experience of the Mudstash was like life. When challenges come into life there is something to focus on and worry about. When there are no big challenges, life can get monotonous and it can get difficult to stay focused and strong in our faith.

I am reminded of the scripture in Romans chapter 5. Paul says, starting in verse 3:

3 And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope:

5 And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given to us.

I can’t say that I have gotten to the point of glorying in tribulation, but I can say that I see this progression that Paul described. Tribulation has the potential to bring patience, which creates experience, which leads to hope. And that hope comes because of the love of God that we experience in our hearts because of the Holy Ghost. This year doing the Mudstash, I felt that process manifesting. Through the four mile muddy journey, I was able to find a feeling of hope. Hope that, though the path is difficult, painful, and dirty, there is an end, there are loved ones waiting with open arms to receive us. And through it all, a loving Father in Heaven is watching us stumble along, sending others/angels to push and pull us through the difficult challenges and supporting us all the way through.

I imagine that when we finish this life it will in some ways be like crossing the finish line of the Mudstash; we will be battered, bruised, and covered in the muck of life, but we will be so thrilled to have made it to the end that it will all feel worth it and we may even ask, “Is that all I had to do?”

I am so happy to have shared this experience with my sisters. I love them as well as all of my family. My daughter made us tshirts to wear during the Mudstash. On them she wrote: “Side by side or miles apart, sisters will always be connected by the heart.” This is so true and I am so grateful for my family and the chance we have to make this journey of life together.

Facing Forty

This week I turned forty… Age has never bothered me before. I have always looked forward to growing older and moving through life’s experiences. I have always wanted to look back on my life and see all the trials that are over and done with. I have always celebrated and been excited about birthdays. But this year has been different. About a month ago I suddenly realized that I was completely dissatisfied with my life. For a few weeks I could even say that I hated my life. The stress was overwhelming me. I felt I was drowning in just the normal everyday things. I realized that I no longer felt any happiness in the things that use to bring me happiness. I was depressed…

Throughout my life I have suffered at times from situational depression but this was different. This was all consuming and it wasn’t going away.  I had to force myself to get out of bed, to fix meals for my kids, to go to work. I could barely do the required things. What little housework I had been doing stopped. The heaviness was consuming me. The one thing in my life that always gave me purpose, my work, even became difficult for me. I began to question whether I even wanted to continue being a massage therapist. I felt that I was such a mess, what right did I have trying to help other people?

One morning, when I was on the brink of closing my practice, my sister and I were working together on a client. I was doing a technique I had learned through my Craniosacral training called Somato-emotional Release. I was feeling so inadequate to provide this woman with what she needed in order to get through her struggles. I knew that I couldn’t facilitate her healing without God’s help so I was praying, and praying, and praying that somehow my training would pull through for this woman and God would step in and complete the healing.

When we completed the session, the woman suddenly asked if she could pray for us. We told her of course. She held our hands and began pouring out her soul to God, thanking him for bringing my sister and I into her life. Then this woman, who had no knowledge of our personal lives, began to plead with God to help us in our personal lives that we would have what we needed and we would feel God’s love for us. All of us were crying and the Holy Spirit was so strong it was palpable. When this sweet woman left the office, I looked at my sister and said, “I guess I can’t quit doing this work.”

Now I knew that I couldn’t quit my work but I still felt depressed and didn’t know how to keep going. I prayed and asked God to help me but wasn’t quite sure that I believed He would. I kept going through the motions but still couldn’t find my smile. That’s when I went to an event sponsored by Deseret Book called, Time Out For Women. At Time Out, there are speakers and musicians who publish through Deseret Book who present a program filled with inspirational talks and music. This year there was a musician that I had not heard before named Calee Reed. She sang a song that changed my life. It is entitled, Cleanse You. You can listen to it on youtube at this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZFpoijqBGY

When Calee Reed was performing this song I couldn’t stop crying. It spoke to my soul and brought me comfort. The words that struck me the most were these:

Why did you lead me here to this uncharted sea

Did you bring me here just to drown me

What if I didn’t bring you here to drown you but to cleanse you

He whispers

I bought her cd and played this song over and over again every day. I looked back over this depressed time of my life and realized that many times I had accused God of trying to drown me. I would ask, “Why won’t you deliver me? Why are you making me go through this?” When I am not consumed in my self pity these questions are never asked. I don’t really believe that God “makes us” have bad experiences. I believe that He allows life to happen, allows our own free will and other people’s free will to create our lives. I also believe that He ALWAYS provides a way to heal and provides a way to escape. That healing and escape can come in any number of ways. For me it came in the form of a song.

God wasn’t trying to drown me! He was trying to cleanse me! He didn’t make the storm but He could use the storm to heal me, cleanse me, and make me a better person, if I would allow it. For some reason, this song caused the heaviness to lift. I guess it helped me change my perspective. I am still going through the same struggles today that I have been for a long time, but today I am not weighed down like I was. I still haven’t found all the answers to my problems, but today I feel God’s love and support. When I was focused on the storm I couldn't see or feel God. But when I looked up, I realized He had been there the whole time, waiting with outstretched arms to help me.

A few weeks ago I felt that life had robbed me of joy and I had nothing to live for. Today I take back my power that I threw away to circumstances and choose to live. Turning forty doesn’t have to represent a life of unfulfilled dreams and being a victim. Turning forty means that I have fought a good fight and now I can really live! This year I choose adventure, personal growth, and smiles. This is a new day, and a new year of my life. Today I live!

You can't tell from the picture, but it was raining. It rained all day on my birthday. So I went outside and threw my arms up to the sky and let the rain fall on me. I don't need to hide from the rain, I can let it cleanse me!

I thought I was weak

I thought I was weak…

All those years of holding back

Praying for it to end

Not knowing what I could do

Wishing there was some way to stop it

I thought I was weak…

Watching the children suffer

Feeling helpless to change anything

Becoming so tired

Not wanting to fight back

I thought I was weak…

Giving in to the pressure

Becoming what I hated

Returning what was dished out

Loathing what I had become

I thought I was weak…

Crawling away from the situation

Hiding in a shelter

Keeping distance between us

Asking others for help

Now I look back and see

It took strength to endure the abuse

It took strength to be there for the children

It took strength to stand up and fight

It took strength to walk away

All of those years…

I thought I was weak…

Turns out I was wrong

Rain

To the drought victim, rain is the saving grace. To the recently flooded, rain is the bitter enemy. Having just witnessed major flooding along the Ohio River in Southeast Indiana last week, I have been thinking a lot about rain. After a couple of days break from the rain the raging river started to return to a more normal level and the fields began to drain. But as the rain began again yesterday, the already saturated ground immediately flooded. There was just nowhere for the water to go.

Words are a lot like rain. When used wisely they are like the nourishing, normal rains that give life to the earth and grow our food. When used harshly, they can cause a drought in a relationship or cause a flood that rages and creates a need to escape.

The question is often asked “Why does a person in a domestic violence situation stay if things are ‘really that bad.’” Those on the outside may have a hard time believing the reports of abuse. They can’t comprehend that what goes on behind closed doors is different than what goes on in public.

A relationship with domestic violence is very much like the weather. It is unpredictable, often takes you by surprise, and has a great deal to do with your daily mood. It can be like travelling through a dry desert, seeking for refreshment and finding nothing but harsh, hot words that drain your strength. Or it can be like a constant barrage of wind and rain from a hurricane, breaking down your spirit and leaving you barely alive from the exposure to the elements.

The inconsistency is what makes it so difficult to navigate. The sweet words of the nourishing rain come between the hurricane and the drought, making you believe, at least for a short time, that things are different and are getting better. But then the next storm hits and you really can’t figure out what triggered this one.

There comes a point where the rain becomes so harsh and constant that there is no place left for the water to go and the flooding begins. When the flooding happens, the choices are to stay and drown, or try to get away.

When the abused person gets away, the flood waters recede and things begin to look normal again. That’s one of the reasons so many people return to an abusive relationship. At first, both parties want to clean up the mess from the flooding and make things right. But it doesn’t take long before another storm hits and the cycle starts all over again. Each time the cycle repeats, it speeds up and soon the abuser doesn’t want to help with the cleanup anymore, they just want the other person to learn to live in the flood.

Sometimes when you are in the abuse, you wish that it was as obvious as a natural disaster. It is so confusing and painful to live a life where things are different in public than they are in private. How can the storm be real when the door is closed and yet there is nothing but healthy rain in public? And when you tell the abuser about your experience in the storm, they scoff at you, throw a tornado at you, twisting all your words until you finally admit that you must be mentally ill. Then they walk away satisfied and smug as you are left with the wreckage of your soul having been torn apart.

I wish that all of the rain could be healthy, nourishing rain that comes in amounts that the land could use. I wish that all relationships could be healthy, nourishing relationships where both partners felt lifted up, respected, and loved unconditionally. There will always be storms in life, but how amazing would it be if those storms were out in the world instead of in the home? What an incredible experience it would be to have a partner who could stand beside you and take on whatever weather comes your way together.

I have been working this week on making my words more like the nourishing rain. It is hard to break the bad habits of speaking storms but I have noticed a difference in myself as well as in my children. I left the hurricane six years ago but recreated it on a smaller scale with my children. All of us were used to the hurricane and didn’t know how to live without it. None of us were happy about it, but none of us knew how to do things different. So that is what I am working on now. I am learning to stop speaking storms and instead, speak life. It is a journey that will take time, but it is a journey worth taking.

What kind of rain do you speak?