I’m back!

I’m sorry that I haven’t written in ages. Here’s the truth: I don’t write when I’m sad or angry. Well, the last post I wrote was an exception to that rule, but in general…

I can’t even begin to explain how hard this part of my life has been (and still is) for me. I’ve been struggling with self-doubt, anxiety, depression, anger, and I’ve wanted so many times to turn my back on God. I’m not proud of that. I haven’t been the person I know I want to be. I’ve had a difficult time finding the joy in the journey.

Now… don’t get me wrong, I’m not miraculously cured. I’m not writing again because I’ve had some amazing experience that made me become the person I’ve always wanted to be. But, I have decided to keep hoping and to try harder to not overthink the sacrifices.

A few weeks back I went to a park with my kids. I was having one of those I-feel-trapped days. As I was sitting on a bench watching my children play I overheard a lady nearby talking with her friend. She had just sold her house and was buying a new one.

Apparently her house had sold more quickly than she had anticipated and she now needed to find temporary housing for a few weeks before the sale closed on the new place. Her friend turned to her and asked, “Could you live with your in-laws for a few weeks while you wait for the sale to close?” The lady replied, “Oh, no way. No amount of therapy would cure me from that.”

Now… this should be a lesson to me to not eavesdrop. Not that I could help it, I guess, since they were so close and their conversation was loud enough that it was impossible not to hear. But it got me thinking… will any amount of therapy fix me?

Am I broken? Is there any lower that I can stoop than living with my parents, with my four children and an actor hubby who is applying for hundreds of jobs a week and hearing back from a mere handful? Is there any lower we can be? Yes, there is.

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Now, growing up I didn’t read much. I had far better things to be doing. I wanted to live! I went to the beach and to dances. I was highly involved in theater productions, choir, and competitions. I did as little homework as I could get away with. Often that meant that I would skip reading and then guess on tests (or write summaries based on the class discussions so I could have more time to do all that other, more important stuff).

Ben was very much my opposite in childhood. One of the worst consequences his parents would punish him with was to take away his books; suddenly he’d be more willing to obey rules so he could earn them back.

Shortly after we were married he decided that I had missed out on something important in life, and he determined to turn me into an avid reader. He would find books that he thought I’d like and then he’d sit and read to me while I got ready for bed or made dinner.

At first I tried to get him to watch a movie with me instead, or go on a walk, or really to do anything else. But after a while, I found myself asking him to read to me some more. I’d get sucked into the books and then we’d be passing the book back and forth for hours, taking turns reading to each other.

Just after having our first child I saw the need to start reading the classic novels. I wanted my children to enjoy reading great books, but I wanted to have read them myself so I could recommend them. I also realized that so much of our society- our phrases, our movies, our entire culture- comes from these books that I had never read. Incredible stories like Dracula, Anne of Green Gables, Charlotte’s Web, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and Pride and Prejudice I only knew about through movies. So I made a massive list of classics, and began to read.

I found that the more I read from them, the more I talked about ideas, and the less I would think about criticizing and complaining. Soon after, I decided to join a book club. Yes, I joined for the social aspect- I made so many amazing friends there that I still love dearly-, but also for my budding love of reading.

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To quote JK Rowling (by way of Albus Dumbledore), “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic.” I’ve recently found strength in the words I’ve read in books. It’s like I have a shield of profound ideas ready to pull out in case of emergency.

I’ve been down and angry about life, when suddenly the thought of Corrie Ten Boom comes into my mind. I can’t possibly be in a worse place than she was when she gave thanks for the fleas in the concentration camp barracks. I think of Viktor Frankl’s study of human happiness when he said, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” I think of Charlotte, after spinning her last web and laying her egg sack. After saving Wilber from an early death, she died alone in the rafters of the barn- unnoticed, but truly a hero. I replay these scenes and lines in my head as I struggle through my daily trials.

I am not perfect. I have really difficult days. I have days where I feel like a failure at everything. Times when I feel that I can never be repaired. But it’s not true. No one can be so broken that God cannot fix them.

He didn’t send us here to fail. He didn’t send me more than I can handle. And he didn’t expect me to not struggle. He just expects me to allow Him to walk beside me through it all. And allow Him to carry me when I can no longer walk- when “no amount of therapy would cure me.”

God can make miracles happen. He can take an impossible situation and make it possible. He can show me the joy in this situation if I start looking for it.

For me, that means I’m starting to read more inspiring novels and I’m re-focusing my scripture study. I’m trying to look for the good. I mean, I have a family. I have healthy, beautiful, children. I have a kind and loyal husband. I have supportive parents that believe in us. When I stop for a moment and think about what I have… I am truly blessed.