Defeat Fear. Do Good.

Oh hey, remember that one time, like, YESTERDAY when I was talking about celebrating other people who are awesome? Oh, yeah... well... today I reminded myself how much I suck at that.

My husband took the boys to the gym.
I bought a doughnut and a coffee. (Shh. Shhh. Say no words about how I should have been running.)

So I'm here in my happy place with coffee and chocolate-covered fried bread (sorry Paleo)... just secretly wishing that public places weren't so public cause I get distracted by all the humans... when I run into someone we'll just call Mrs.A-Mazing.

She is a writer, a gifted communicator, a superstar mom; has about eleventy-hundred masters degrees in stuff like "soul healing"; and she's one of those powerhouse Christians that kind of makes you wonder, "Are you for real right now? If I get to know you better, will you start telling dirty jokes?" Not to mention she's a stunning red-head with an au naturale glam that makes you totally want to call up Vogue fashion editors and have her dance in a field of flowers while we bask in her light... and then drown her in a pond. Uhhmean..... jussayin. (Insert shifty eyes.)

She told me she was going to read my blog... so this is all really very awkward.

So I've basically just collided with someone who is lightyears better at doing life than I am. She represents my deepest fears: That my life will pass and amount to nothing. That I will leave no good work behind. That I will touch no lives. Leave no legacy. Die homeless and alone. You know. The usual.

Because of that one meeting, all the words I had planned to write today were choked out by insecurities and replaced with corrosive questions. "Are you good enough? Is your story worth telling? Do you matter enough to be heard? Why you? Why your voice? You should quit before you embarrass yourself. You have no qualifications. You are ridiculous with a capital HUSH!"

All day these feelings swamped me. I have 18 notebook pages full of things I wrote and scratched out thinking it wasn't good enough.

Finally, right before getting the kids to bed the entire day's worth of inner monologue began to congeal into something meaningful. I realized that while I had been fighting my own demons, I was really demonstrating to myself how to exercise resilience. I was showing myself a routine/practice for silencing the voices of doubt, getting my head in the game, and getting the show back on the road.

"What defeats fear?" I asked myself.

Work. 
When you feel paralyzed, get in the trenches. Work your groove thing. Remind yourself why this is your jam. Don't let your dream die while you think about the reasons you suck. Show your dream who is boss. Don't know what to do? Generate some random crap. Just do some work. It doesn't have to be great... but it might be good.

Honesty.
Name it. Call that sneaky accuser out in the open. Say the feelings: She intimidates me. I wasn't ready to be examined by a pro. She's probably judging me, and she has every right to. When you pin words to the shadows, you shine a light on the truth. Somehow it doesn't look that scary anymore. You may even recognize an opportunity. Everyone needs a good critique when they're growing, after all!

Be Nice.
We get nasty with ourselves, ladies and gents. We say things to our poor hardworking selves that we wouldn't dare say to our worst enemy. So, people, there will be no, "I'm stupid to think I can _____." I'll hear no more of your, "I'm a failure." And don't even think about bringing your, "I should give up" into this house. Be nice. You're the only you you've got.

Be Mean. (This is terrible advice, don't listen to me... or do, but don't say I told you so)
It's a harsh world out there. Sometimes we stand on the shoulders of giants... and sometimes we just have to step on their toes in our imagination. So give yourself permission to make a little fun of that super intimidating person in your head. Just a teensy weensy bit. (Don't go off and do it out loud! There's a line, people.) In your head it won't hurt. When you realize that your idol is human, has flaws, doesn't sneeze diamond boogers... you'll smile. You'll feel your hope rising. A joyful heart is good medicine. Then get back to work.

"How good and pleasant it is when brothers and sisters dwell together in unity." Psalms 133:1
The longer we practice our craft, the more people we will meet along the way doing the same thing. It is important to practice Fear Resilience so that we can celebrate the blessing of sharing the journey together, supporting each other, growing not shriveling. Not lonely is good. But it will only be good if we let it.

Another Udder Butter

I visited a sheep farm. (Because apparently we have to gaze into the eyes of our next meal and say goodbye before… well… you know.) There was a baby who only 10 days old. He and his mommy were in a nice sized stall in the barn. It was probably 10 feet square. But GOD help that Mrs.Sheep if she tried to walk to the other side of the stall for some peace and quiet. Her lil baby would have a fit, run after her, and immediately want to nurse. I mean, if she even looked sideways at the idea of moving around the pen, that baby was wailing.

Let me tell you what. That is my life.

(Image Credit... Ain't nobody got time to be taking pictures when your babies are trying to feed 40 sheep hay!!)

When the lamb started mewling and fussing and butting her in the udders like that poor mama didn't even have feelings (sniff... sniff... I'm over-identifying here) she would look at me with these bugged out sheep eyes and—I’m not lying—she would sigh like, “Girl, you better think long and hard before you get knocked up.”

Oh girl yes. No one can ever be prepared for this nonsense.

It made me feel better. 

It makes me feel good to know that the insanity of my life with my own baby is very natural. I’m not a poor mother who has failed to instill independence in her offspring. My life is not out of control. Nature just makes crazy babies that don’t permit you to walk across the room alone. And you can just forget about peeing in peace. You can try to fight it, but you will loose. Babies always win. Because they’re fighting for their lives. You’re fighting for your sanity; they are fighting to survive. Every time you walk across the room, they’re pretty sure you’re leaving forever and they are going to die. It’s kind of a big deal. 

So... bring on the udder butting! I can handle it.

And can I just say, if you would like to be happy for, like, ever... just search "sheep" on Pinterest. Then let the sparkling fingers of "aawwwww" tickle your heart.

If You Try to Find a Dentist...

I’ve noticed that my life usually reads like an adult version of the children’s book “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.”

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is a sample:

"If you try to make an appointment for your husband to get his teeth cleaned, you’ll have to go online to find out who is in network and accepts your insurance…

And when you sit down at the computer, no matter how fast you type, your child will poop and forget to wipe…Then he’ll sit down in the hallway and skootch poo across the floor… and then walk in it… and then grab his dirty foot like, “What is this mysterious substance?”

You’ll see it all happening in slow motion and be all slo-mo, “Noooooooo!”

And when you try to lift him--straight armed out from your body, like a 50lb kettle bell--all the while screeching, “Don’t touch me. Don’t rub your face. Don’t kick anything!” he’ll ask “Why?” and do exactly the opposite of what you just said… And then you’ll need a shower too.

But the baby will be crying because he smeared black beans in his eyes… and hair… and inside his clothes and diaper and… ok, it’s everywhere. 

So you'll hose down Poop Boy and toss in Black Bean Boy and wash yourself in the sink… But then you’ll need to get towels for everybody because they don’t like to be cold.

And while you’re getting towels everyone will slip and fall in the tub and wail and fight about who gets to pull up the drain stopper… So you’ll remove the baby and diaper him and use the wet towel as a mop to wipe up poop in the hall (because who has time to get out the mop?)… 

And while you’re moping up poop, your toddler will steal your phone and hide under the bed and take pictures of his genitals, and you’ll have to check every social media outlet to make sure he didn’t make himself into a tiny exhibitionist… Ok, sorry son, a more than average sized exhibitionist.

But no matter how fast you’re looking, it won’t be fast enough, and the baby will manage to get stuck head first in the lego bucket, and the toddler will throw a lacrosse ball across the living room at your computer, your only nice possession, and you’ll die a little bit inside and say, “Now the ball is mine!” 

And everyone will be crying… And you’ll desperately check the clock and realized there are still 20 minutes before nap time, but you'll decide we should all go to bed early. So you'll put the baby in clean dry clothes while he screams furiously at you for ruining his life.

While you're doing that, the toddler will empty the entire contents of your purse and wallet across the kitchen and unspool a whole container of Scotch tape. Just for funsies. And to prove how fast he is at everything.

And you'll say, "Ok. I'm done." You'll dress him and tell him it's bed time but he'll want to sing a song and then he'll want six trucks and you'll need to find them all. 

When the kids are finally in bed, you’ll need to wash all the clothes and towels and clean the entire poop-splattered bathroom.

Then you'll try again to find a dentist for your husband.
But you'll get distracted and write this little ditty because your life is either hilarious or depressing, depending on how you look at it.

But by the time you finish, somebody is bound to have woken up… 

True life. Hand to heaven.

The Bends

The only thing harder than raising small children, is keeping the marriage that made said small children on the rails. (Can I get a witness?!) To borrow an oft’ used phrase from our dearly beloved Jen Hatmaker: Bless!

When I woke up this morning, my tall hunky husband didn’t hug and kiss me. He didn’t say good morning. I didn’t put down his Sudoku. The first words out of his mouth to me were, “I think your sore throat is probably a combination of a cold we picked up from church nursery and mouth ulcers.” 

As you can tell, we’re really keeping that spark of romance burning bright. *Facepalm*

This dear man I married can be a puzzle. Sometimes he is so emotive and gushy and lovey that I’m like, “Ew. Get a room.” Other times (like the past month) he is so deeply up inside his own head that I feel like I’m living with a stranger. 

In our relationship, many of the traditional male/female roles can be reversed. I’m intense, he’s mild; I’m a dreamer, he’s a task man; I’m a fighter, he’s a healer. So when things are trending weird between us, I tend to put on my Handy Wifey Belt and try to fix it. Fix ALL the things!

Are you sad? Are you mad? Are you tired? Are you unfulfilled in your job? Do you love the kids? Do you love me? Do you want to have sex? Why don’t you want to have sex? You’re a man… aren’t you supposed to always want to have sex? Did something happen at work? Do you need to go to the gym? What am I doing wrong? Can I cook you something? Is the house too messy? Did I mess up? Did I do too much? Did I not do enough?

When I don’t feel loved (because Mr. Man is in a Man Funk—let’s call a spade a spade), I feel insecure. When I feel insecure, I go into an “Oh $h*t” bubble where my tension and fear drive my actions and emotions. Shocker: that doesn’t help the situation. 

Today, I went into Misses Fix-It Mode. It just happened to be the day that Dear Husband was going into Lumber Jack Mode to take down the tree in our backyard. So he’s totally zoned in on tree murder, and I’m all, “But the feeeeeeelings!!!” To my credit, I didn’t complain. I buttoned my lips, took on child duties, and kept grumbles on the inside. 

The day goes on. The tree comes down branch by branch. Husband decides to skip the trip to the library that he promised our oldest son. I fill in as Library Chaperone… and that’s where the real trouble starts.

It ends up being one of those humiliating experiences where half the moms are glaring at you because you aren’t disciplining fiercely enough and the other half are glaring at you because you’re being too tough and he’s just a baby… because… parenting theories. And the child in question is throwing his shoes into the light fixtures, running around screeching like Braveheart, beating the table with puzzles, and peeing on the floor. *second facepalm* 

My anxiety meter was ticking up bit by bit. We made a run for the car. Crying fits and a zillion “Why’s” on the drive home put me over the edge.

We screech into the drive way. All three of us in tears. I launch myself into the mosquito laden air and shout up at my husband (who is brandishing a chainsaw on an extra tall ladder), “You are DONE with the tree, Honey!”

Things kind of devolved from there. I ended up running away to eat CFA ice cream alone in my car, because my feelings are delicious when they’re angry. 

Then we finally sat down and had a big talk.

I feel like I’m in a pressure cooker with these kids.
Me too.

I feel like my dreams for myself are crushed by real life.

Me too. 

I feel like there are so many needs pressing down on me.

Me too.

I feel like we’re far, far apart.

Me too.

Marriage is hard. When we’re both maxed out, it’s even harder to support each over on this race. When both people are exhausted, strained, needy, hungry, and loosing hope it’s almost impossible to listen, care, support, try, open yourself, extend compassion, speak with kindness, hear the other person’s need.

For the introverts, it’s easier to bottle it up and just go through the motions from the safety of your inward place. 

For the extroverts, it’s easier to lash out and thrash loudly and demand love to pull some kind of reaction out of your introverted partner.

And the introverts go more inward. 

And the extroverts push more outward. 

And round and round we go. 

It’s harder to bend toward each other.

Can you guess which one I am? I’d rather be fighting than not communicating at all. At least we’re connecting!! Even if it is through tears and accusations!! Bless.

Today we bent toward each other. 

That’s all. It’s no grand conclusion. It’s no “And then, dun dun daaa, they lived happily ever after with this handy tip for perfect marriage under their belts.”

We just bent toward each other. 

I pressed him and refused to let him hide in his inwardness, but I did it with gentleness in my speech and compassion in my eyes. He opened up and admitted that he was tired and feels like Less than he wants to be. We acknowledged each other’s struggle. We acknowledged that this wouldn’t be the last time we would get into this fight. We looked for practical ways to support each other, even from our places of mutual brokenness. 

Sometimes all you can do is bend. 

Super Stars & Unconditional Love

You know what I honestly hate? (It's about to get real real up in here... jussayin.)
Cool girls doing cool things. And smiling. Smiling all the time. And wearing cute shirts and accessories that say, "I don't have babies at home that rip off my earlobes and break my necklaces and puke on my shirts."

I hate women with four and five kids who have self-made jobs and take beautiful DSLR pictures of their lives and post them on expensively designed blogs and have highlights and talk about Jesus like he just tickles them pink.

Don't even get me started about really successful people. When I see awesome people doing awesome stuff, I say to my friends "Oh my gosh, she is just amazing. I love her!" and what I'm saying inside is, "I don't get it. What makes her so special? What magic sauce situation does she have, because I feel like I could do that... but I can't. I'm not a cool girl."

My insecurities bind me up so that I can't truly celebrate other's strengths without my feelings being first squeezed through a fine mesh of envy.

I've been fighting the, "I'm not a cool girl" battle my entire life. Spoiler alert: I'm ridiculously bookish and nerdy under a very thin veneer of extroverted people-person-ism. I literally cannot remember a time when I wasn't feeling like I was in second place. And hating it. I mean, some people are really happy with silver. Silver medal! Second best! Woo hoo! Number two in the whole situation! Yes! But not me. No sir. For me second best has felt like a plague. (This is not a bumble brag. Believe me. I'm about to explain how much I hate always going for the gold.)

I hear what you're saying. Perfection is a poison. Comparison is the thief of joy. You can't love others until you learn to love yourself. Yeah. I'm on Pinterest too. But when I see that person who has just knocked it out of the park by simply being themselves, I'm riddled with jealousy.
When I see that person who just shines so bright, storm clouds collect over my head and rain follows me around in my own personal storm of Humph, Why me. Like Eeyore.
When I see a person that makes their work look effortless and their story look meaningful, I just think, "Well I hate you."

No actually I love them. You probably guess that right? I want to be exactly like them. I just don't want them to be like them right in front of me... because it makes me feel about thiiiiiis big. Teensy weeny. Teensy weeny Eeyore. In my teensy weeny rain cloud.

You know why I hate amazing people deep down? Because they make me feel less amazing.
In the past, I've let this envy propel me forward. I've pushed and leaned in and scrapped to keep up.

Worst Ickiest Thing Ever: I used to coat all of that jealousy and selfish ambition in Jesus Clothes.

"Oh Jesus, you gave me this ambition! You gave me an eagerness for work, high standards and a desires to succeed. So I'll do it all and when I'm successful, I'll give you all the glory."

And he said, "No girl. No."

What? No, really, what? Jesus. Come on. Don't you want my awesome?

You know what Jesus did with my awesome? He dashed it.

I love the word "dashed". It's used to describe collision. Waves are dashed against the shore. It also refers to running as hard as you can. Dashing headlong! Jesus took my running, crashing, dashing will and let me dash myself right into a wall. A wall called Unconditional Love.

You know what's weird about unconditional love... you don't know you have it until you are genuinely pathetic. Until you run out of everything awesome... and you're still loved.

Jesus took everything amazing about me away. He let depression and anxiety reduce me to a woman who was terrified to leave the house, who could barely drag herself out of bed. There, in that place, I couldn't even think about resenting successful people. I wasn't even in their league. And then He whispered this word: I love you so much.

Right there. At my worst.

And here's the real kicker... until I could look myself in the mirror in that place and say, "I love you just the way you are," I never really knew myself.

I had to lose my mind to find my soul.

I had to lose everything I thought I was to find my story and my voice.

Grace is amazing. It sets the captive free.

I'm still struggling to uninhibitedly celebrate people who are rocking it out at life, but I'm WAY better at it than I was. We are supposed to love others as much as ourselves... but it starts with learning to love ourselves as He first Loved Us.

Just Another Magic Monday

Last night I fell asleep with visions dancing in my head of efficient kitchen tidying follow by my confident (if jiggly) self bouncing (ok wobbling) into the gym for a little Monday booty kickin'.

After battling insomnia for THREE HOURS (rackarackafracka*$3@6%!!) and the forth time getting out of bed to help the baby navigate his man cold... I knew... Monday was going to be Braptional instead. That's Bra Optional, to the un-inducted.

So here I am in a T-Shirt that fit me 3 lifetimes ago and a maxi skirt I bought at the end of my last pregnancy because it was the only thing that fit (and that I'm still wearing for the same reason). My almost-3-Teen year old is tossing soggy cereal cubes to his brother under the table. They both have man colds. They keep wiping their snotty noses on the aforementioned maxi, even though I put a box of tissues right in the middle of the table.

Here's the real miracle: I'm loving it.

I woke up, realized my plans were hilarious and gave myself grace to be exhausted and hook up my caffeine IV indefinitely. And I found joy. Grace is amazing. It transforms a disaster into a beautiful blessing.

Now my son is demanding I draw choo choos. Because I have a pen in my hand. So, naturally...

Braptional Out! xoxo

Fear and Friends

I used to have no self-doubt. If it occurred to me, I was sure I could do it. And I did.

I was a highly successful person... but disliked by a lot of people.

Now I'm riddled with self-doubt. I feel stymied by my circumstances. Fear has genuinely crippled me. I'm less successful. And more people like me.

That's a weird dichotomy.

The end.