I don't know how to receive the love that my husband has to offer. This is something that is breaking my heart and I feel is ever so slowly choking our relationship. I feel trapped by his consistent acceptance of me. Does this all seem backwards? That's what I keep thinking. I have a wonderful, healthy marriage and yet somehow I feel "too loved". What?!
I have expressed how I feel that I have lost myself. In this feeling of being lost, my husband still comes home to find me beautiful, captivating and the love of his life. This makes me feel terrible. I do not feel worthy of this love. Especially when inside I feel like a horrible, boring, wretched woman. I have done nothing to deserve this kind of love. I have no way to repay him. Or even to make it seem worthwhile for him to invest all this time and effort into taking care of me and being my "knight in shining armor".
We had a discussion tonight. It came up that I felt like he was a knight and I was a prostitute. Him white and shining; me dirty and stuck in the mud. Through our discussion the question arose of how I have accepted Christ's love for me being an unworthy, sinful human. My answer brought me to tears. Christ knows me, inside and out. He knows I will mess up. But He knows my heart. He knows that even when I am a mess, I am trying. And He can see that I love Him, even when I don't know how to show it or I am not following His ways as much as I wish. He knows me. Besides that, it took me my whole life to accept His gift, to learn how to forgive myself. I had to be hit with harsh realities. It was only when I read that when we accept God's perfect forgiveness but fail to forgive ourselves that we are putting ourselves about God that I realized I didn't want to put myself as better than God. Above God. I didn't want to squander the gift He had given me. So I began to forgive, and let go of all those things that held me back from my relationship with Christ. It took me 2 years to grasp that concept from the day I read it until the day I was able to forgive myself and let go of all my pain. My husband asked if I could use some of those same principles when it came to how he loved me. I don't know how. Then there's the part that took me 25 years to get where I am today. God doesn't operate on a time scale. In 25 years, if that's how long it takes for me to accept my husband's love, will there even be any part of me left of the woman he loves?
To make matters worse, I have pet peeves, annoyances, and then genuine "problems" with my husband. Whenever we talk about these I ask him if he has any so called problems with me. If he does, he doesn't say so. He says no. It makes me feel like he thinks I am perfect. Which makes me feel horrible for ever thinking I'd like him to change a few things. Thus, we are stuck in a vicious cycle. Somehow, no matter how many times I get annoyed with him, his feelings aren't the ones hurt at the end of the night. Just me, because I feel so terrible to be accepted so unconditionally. To be looked at as though I have no dirt, no blemish, no scars.
Just as I look at my stretch marked, loose skinned, misshapen belly button, scared stomach and only see the damage of what used to be something beautiful, my husband sees his wife, who is still beautiful. I don't know how he does it. I don't know how he can still see something beautiful under all the scars. They aren't even faded yet. They are big and purple. Even old scars I thought that had faded now show up darker than before due to being stretched so thin.
I thought I had healed before I got married. I tried so hard. I worked everyday with my Maker, self assessing, healing, hoping, praying, opening up wounds to finally let out the infection within. And now, somehow, all those places I thought were healed, have begun to stretch thin and glow purple again.
If I can't find a way to see beauty when I look in the mirror, to see someone worth loving, to find the me I was proud to be, I will be the only one to blame for ruining the best thing that has ever happened to me.
I pour out my heart, because it is healing for me, and I share it with the world because God has given me the gift of being open with my life as a testimony for others. To help others. So friends, while it may be tempting to give me advice, to judge, or to try to convince me I am worthy, I just need prayer. Please pray. My husband deserves his wife. Please pray I find her soon.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
A Place to Call My Own
This week I have been searching my soul hoping to restore the parts of me I miss the most. I have been struggling immensely with feelings of guilt. Guilt for not being the wife and the mother and I want to be or had hoped I "magically" would be. Guilt for wanting them to just go away for a minute so I can be by myself, alone with my own thoughts and feelings. Just alone for long enough to figure out what is making me so frustrated. And then it hit me...I am so frustrated because I don't get any time to myself. I haven't had any time to feed my soul or nurture my innermost being. I've read the Bible late at night when the circles around my eyes have almost reached black and my head is so swarmy I can't even comprehend a single thing I am reading. I have prayed. Desperate prayers mostly. In the middle of the night. Prayers that go something like: "Lord, please let him not be waking up. Lord, please let him stay asleep. Lord, please give me patience; I am SO tired. Lord, please help me fight the urge to push my snooring, mouth wide opened, soundly sleeping husband off the bed. Lord, please, please help me."
Mostly due to the moving, and all the changes, and the weird schedules, and then also to my lack of security in the beginning months with anyone having my son but me, I have worn myself thin. I could give you all the reasons I am worn so thin, and a good sob story, but that isn't the point. I don't need to convince anybody that I need the time or of all the reasons why it's been so hard to take it. Everybody has a list like that. I am no different. My reasons are no better in the long run. I am going to wear myself right out. So I am in search of a space to call my own. And a time slot. Just to be by myself. Alone with my thoughts, listening to my music, reading my Bible, talking to my God. Alone. Because at this rate my poor husband doesn't even feel wanted in his own home. Without intending to, I have been in such need of some space that it is seeping from every pore. If I don't figure this out soon, I am going to kill a perfectly wonderful marriage.
We had a good talk yesterday as I told him of this need. This is a deep rooted need, going back as far as I can remember. When I was 10 we lived in a 2 bedroom trailer with 7 people. I had my own room. Not because I had asked for it, but because my mother knew it was what I would need. I remember being hesitant to accept it because it didn't seem fair. Still doesn't. Everybody understood though. I just needed a place to be alone in order to be ok. I have been the one sleeping on the couch, or sharing a room, but I always found a place to call my own. A closet, a niche above the pantry, the rooftop of a camper.
When Josh and I got married, he went to work and I made the entire house my space. I had plenty of time to be alone. Since this became routine, I forgot it was a need. Then, Kaiden was born, and shortly after Josh lost his job, and we moved. Now his primary job is being on call at night and the other hours are spattered here and there during the day and Kaiden is testing the limits of nap time (currently about 30 minutes is all we get in unless I am holding him).
I am proud to be a wife and a mother, but before I was either, I was proud to be Rachel, a beloved child of God. If I don't take some time away I may lose her. And she's the only reason I ever make a very good wife or mother anyway. This week my goal is to find time and space. I am not sure yet whether I will make a space in my home, or outside, or in another house here on sight. The harder part I feel will be the time. Please pray for me friends, as I squash the guilt that has kept me thus far from taking the time. I thought I cast out the demon of guilt from my life long ago. Apparently, somewhere, I have allowed him to reenter. Oh that once we were pulled out of a pit, it wasn't so easy to fall into another, shaped oddly enough just like the first. Please pray that I am able to get enough time away with my Lord and Savior that He is able to make all things right again.
Mostly due to the moving, and all the changes, and the weird schedules, and then also to my lack of security in the beginning months with anyone having my son but me, I have worn myself thin. I could give you all the reasons I am worn so thin, and a good sob story, but that isn't the point. I don't need to convince anybody that I need the time or of all the reasons why it's been so hard to take it. Everybody has a list like that. I am no different. My reasons are no better in the long run. I am going to wear myself right out. So I am in search of a space to call my own. And a time slot. Just to be by myself. Alone with my thoughts, listening to my music, reading my Bible, talking to my God. Alone. Because at this rate my poor husband doesn't even feel wanted in his own home. Without intending to, I have been in such need of some space that it is seeping from every pore. If I don't figure this out soon, I am going to kill a perfectly wonderful marriage.
We had a good talk yesterday as I told him of this need. This is a deep rooted need, going back as far as I can remember. When I was 10 we lived in a 2 bedroom trailer with 7 people. I had my own room. Not because I had asked for it, but because my mother knew it was what I would need. I remember being hesitant to accept it because it didn't seem fair. Still doesn't. Everybody understood though. I just needed a place to be alone in order to be ok. I have been the one sleeping on the couch, or sharing a room, but I always found a place to call my own. A closet, a niche above the pantry, the rooftop of a camper.
When Josh and I got married, he went to work and I made the entire house my space. I had plenty of time to be alone. Since this became routine, I forgot it was a need. Then, Kaiden was born, and shortly after Josh lost his job, and we moved. Now his primary job is being on call at night and the other hours are spattered here and there during the day and Kaiden is testing the limits of nap time (currently about 30 minutes is all we get in unless I am holding him).
I am proud to be a wife and a mother, but before I was either, I was proud to be Rachel, a beloved child of God. If I don't take some time away I may lose her. And she's the only reason I ever make a very good wife or mother anyway. This week my goal is to find time and space. I am not sure yet whether I will make a space in my home, or outside, or in another house here on sight. The harder part I feel will be the time. Please pray for me friends, as I squash the guilt that has kept me thus far from taking the time. I thought I cast out the demon of guilt from my life long ago. Apparently, somewhere, I have allowed him to reenter. Oh that once we were pulled out of a pit, it wasn't so easy to fall into another, shaped oddly enough just like the first. Please pray that I am able to get enough time away with my Lord and Savior that He is able to make all things right again.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Peaches and Dreams
Over the 4th of July week my mother's best friend, my other one mommy, Laura, came to visit. I always look forward to seeing her; I love the woman dearly. However, despite the excitement, the week leading up to her arrival I was, well, a word that we don't say in our house. I was annoyed by every little thing, including my two favorite people on the planet: my husband andI my son. Feeling frustrated at my 3 month old brought a whole set of accompanying feelings along with it. I felt like a terrible mom, guilty for not wanting to hold my son or be around him 24/7. I felt GUILTY for needing a BREAK. I tried to pray, but even that frustrated me. I just couldn't seem to find that peace I was so desperately in need of.
When my sisters and I were little, my mother and Laura used to have what they call "Peaches and Dreams". We were NOT ALLOWED at these special gatherings. Often times they happened in one of their living rooms and my sisters and I would play in our room, wondering (and often sneaking out to try to get catch a glimpse of) what they were doing out there with the lights all off and candles lit all over the entire living room. However, despite our attempts to peak, we never really understood what it was all about. The mystery kept us each intrigued until our 18th year, when we each got our very own Peaches experience. I remember them telling me what Peaches was the night I was initiated in. But it wasn't until I became a Mommy that I really got it.
Peaches was started out of desperation. Desperation to just have a minute away. To remember your dreams. To be with another woman, your best friend, and remember what it was to thrive. To be much more than what the daily grind will often wear you down to. I may only be 3 months in, but now I know the desperation they felt.
We read a passage from Anne Leamont (spelling) about motherhood. People are all too quick to tell you how tired you will be, how hard parenting is. But nobody tells you about the guilt that comes along with the feelings of wishing just for a moment you had some peace. These are feelings that come no matter how badly you want to be a mommy, no matter how much you have dreamed of this very moment. I have wanted to be a mommy every since I can remember. I took care of my sisters. I baby sat. I LOVE children and we want to have a slew of them. But that does not make me the exception. It does not exempt me from that moment at 3 a.m., after you have spent all day moving (again), and you are staying in a place that is not your home, and your crap is everywhere, and you've been up since 6 unloading the Uhaul, and your body is still not quite the same after giving birth, and all you can think about it crawling into bed to go to sleep, but then your little one wakes up and you put him to bed 3 or 4 times and yet he is still waking up every 5 minutes and crying and finally you hit that moment of desperation when you sob like a baby and pray for your baby to please just go to sleep. I am sure there will be moments like that all throughout my son's growing up. And that's ok. Because I love him, and my God is bigger than those moments and He is with me always.
BUT...I still am going to need a break sometimes. AND...I have to take the time to thrive and remember what it is like to DREAM.
During this last Peaches, we each came up with a list of things we used to do before we became mothers. I went a little further and wrote out some of the things I used to do before I became a wife as well. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Other than a few random blogs, I have not written since Josh and I got engaged. Somehow in all the excitement, and newness, and moving, and pregnancy, and all the life changes that have happened, I lost a part of myself. A HUGE part of myself. I lost my coping mechanism. From there, it has spiraled. I have lost quite a bit more than the part of me who writes. I stopped dreaming. I stopped dancing. I stopped feeling good about myself.
I miss writing, and doing intense devotionals. I miss writing poems about my Maker. I miss being PASSIONATE. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss listening to music that soothed my soul and made me dance. I miss ME.
Which makes me wonder if my husband misses ME too. The woman he fell in love with has gone into hiding. And I've got to get her back. For my sake, for my husbands sake, and for my little boys sake. SO...now that I have been hit with a ton of bricks, I am not going to sit around waiting for another set to smack me in the face. I gotta get moving, healing, thriving. And so, I think I have found what I am going to write about for the foreseeable future. I can't make a promise to write every week or every day, but I invite you to come along with me on this journey, as I figure out how to balance being a passionate follower of Christ, a woman, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a friend. First things first, as my mother would say: "It's Java Jesus time". (Decaf for me, you know, because of the whole breastfeeding thing, and the fact that it is 10:30 at night). See you soon.
When my sisters and I were little, my mother and Laura used to have what they call "Peaches and Dreams". We were NOT ALLOWED at these special gatherings. Often times they happened in one of their living rooms and my sisters and I would play in our room, wondering (and often sneaking out to try to get catch a glimpse of) what they were doing out there with the lights all off and candles lit all over the entire living room. However, despite our attempts to peak, we never really understood what it was all about. The mystery kept us each intrigued until our 18th year, when we each got our very own Peaches experience. I remember them telling me what Peaches was the night I was initiated in. But it wasn't until I became a Mommy that I really got it.
Peaches was started out of desperation. Desperation to just have a minute away. To remember your dreams. To be with another woman, your best friend, and remember what it was to thrive. To be much more than what the daily grind will often wear you down to. I may only be 3 months in, but now I know the desperation they felt.
We read a passage from Anne Leamont (spelling) about motherhood. People are all too quick to tell you how tired you will be, how hard parenting is. But nobody tells you about the guilt that comes along with the feelings of wishing just for a moment you had some peace. These are feelings that come no matter how badly you want to be a mommy, no matter how much you have dreamed of this very moment. I have wanted to be a mommy every since I can remember. I took care of my sisters. I baby sat. I LOVE children and we want to have a slew of them. But that does not make me the exception. It does not exempt me from that moment at 3 a.m., after you have spent all day moving (again), and you are staying in a place that is not your home, and your crap is everywhere, and you've been up since 6 unloading the Uhaul, and your body is still not quite the same after giving birth, and all you can think about it crawling into bed to go to sleep, but then your little one wakes up and you put him to bed 3 or 4 times and yet he is still waking up every 5 minutes and crying and finally you hit that moment of desperation when you sob like a baby and pray for your baby to please just go to sleep. I am sure there will be moments like that all throughout my son's growing up. And that's ok. Because I love him, and my God is bigger than those moments and He is with me always.
BUT...I still am going to need a break sometimes. AND...I have to take the time to thrive and remember what it is like to DREAM.
During this last Peaches, we each came up with a list of things we used to do before we became mothers. I went a little further and wrote out some of the things I used to do before I became a wife as well. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Other than a few random blogs, I have not written since Josh and I got engaged. Somehow in all the excitement, and newness, and moving, and pregnancy, and all the life changes that have happened, I lost a part of myself. A HUGE part of myself. I lost my coping mechanism. From there, it has spiraled. I have lost quite a bit more than the part of me who writes. I stopped dreaming. I stopped dancing. I stopped feeling good about myself.
I miss writing, and doing intense devotionals. I miss writing poems about my Maker. I miss being PASSIONATE. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss listening to music that soothed my soul and made me dance. I miss ME.
Which makes me wonder if my husband misses ME too. The woman he fell in love with has gone into hiding. And I've got to get her back. For my sake, for my husbands sake, and for my little boys sake. SO...now that I have been hit with a ton of bricks, I am not going to sit around waiting for another set to smack me in the face. I gotta get moving, healing, thriving. And so, I think I have found what I am going to write about for the foreseeable future. I can't make a promise to write every week or every day, but I invite you to come along with me on this journey, as I figure out how to balance being a passionate follower of Christ, a woman, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a friend. First things first, as my mother would say: "It's Java Jesus time". (Decaf for me, you know, because of the whole breastfeeding thing, and the fact that it is 10:30 at night). See you soon.
Monday, January 2, 2012
In Sickness and In Health
Our first year of wedding bliss has been...well just that: Blissful. God has strengthened our relationship and shown us His love over and over this year. We have been incredibly blessed in our marriage. Josh and I have asked each other a few times since we got married if this first year has been as hard as people kept warning us it would be. Quite honestly, it really hasn't. I think that most of that is attributed to the fact that Josh and I were such good friends for 4 years before we got married. There was not a lot of the "getting to know" each other phase, and we also didn't have any of those glass shattering moments when a couple realizes "That person was putting their best foot forward while we were dating and I got dooped into believing they were something much different that what they are". We had a pretty accurate account going into marriage of who the other person really was.
We have had a few "YOU LIKE WHAT?!" moments, like when I found out that Joshua likes Classical music which works out really nicely now that my initial "he can do no wrong" cloud has vanished and I have once again become aware of the fact that he makes noise like every other living creature when he eats. We will be investing in some classical or peaceful instrumental music to play while we eat dinner together now that we are having a little boy and will be eating at the dinner table instead of watching Friends during dinner. (This was the solution we had come up with so I didn't cry every time we sat down to dinner listening to the sound of his saliva swishing around in his mouth. P.S. My husband is not a rude chewer, nor is he an obnoxious one. Just the longer I live with him, the more attuned to all of him I become and that includes the noises he makes while eating.
We have also had a few moments where we have realized that a hobby or a habit, was really an obsession. Like Josh's love for sports, and Star Wars. I still cannot believe how much of a nerd I married, and how well he hid it for so long.
Josh has had a few moments as well, like the discovery that somehow I can still have a full head of hair even though it keeps falling out and is all over the floor, and clogs the drains, and gets woven into his clothes in the laundry. Through his kindness of putting away our laundry he has learned that there are shirts that get hung up, shirts that go with pajamas/lounge clothes that get folded, tank tops that get put into a drawer, tanks that are for sleeping in, dresses get hung up, skirts get rolled up, shorts get folded, jeans get hung up...and so on. Learning to live with someone of the opposite sex is quite different and has been very interesting at times. However, nothing has surprised me more than the discovery I came crashing into last week. Sick boys act a lot different that sick girls.
Now, I would like to think that under different circumstances this would not have been quite as hard of a discovery to live with. When Josh and I took our vows we promised to love each other in sickness and in health. Josh has had a few days where he didn't feel good and I took care of him and loved on him and it was no big deal. But this last week it was a huge deal when Josh got the flu. It was the worst timing ever. Here it is the week between Christmas and New Years, which was already stressful with holiday traveling and chaos, but we were also smack dab in the middle of moving out of our apartment, and I am 7 months pregnant. It's hard enough to be patient and kind when I am hungry or tired these days, let alone exhausted, stressed out, trying to pack, working extra hours to make up for the time I missed last week because I was sick, getting over being sick myself, sleeping on a futon mattress on the floor and having to crawl out of bed to pee 3 times every night while I am as big as a balloon. I had the hardest time packing because there were cabinets I couldn't reach, boxes I couldn't lift and all the bending over and squatting and kneeling to pack was very hard after working all day. Poor Josh couldn't even move out of bed because he was so sick. On top of it all I was extremely worried about my husband who spiked a 103 temperature and was in the bathroom every hour. It did not make for a very stable pregnant woman.
I fought with myself every day because I wanted so badly to stay at home and be by his side to make sure he was not dying and yet I didn't want to come home because I was afraid I would get sick again and that the baby would be in danger if I spiked a fever that high, and I also didn't want to take out any of my emotions out on my husband. It wasn't his fault he was sick, but I struggled so hard to be patient and kind to him during that week. The last 2 days of it were the worst. Josh got really dehydrated to the point his hands were tingling and he was becoming disoriented. We went to Urgent Care and the doctor told Josh that if he could not get some fluids down that we would end up in the E.R. This was a double whammy because Josh's insurance wouldn't kick in until January 1st. (Of course). It was now my job to get him to drink as much water as I could. It was the most awful 24 hours. I jumped between praying that God would heal him and that everything would be ok, to praying that God would give me patience and strength so that I didn't kill him. I could not get him to drink. He was so tired, and felt so sick that he just kept saying "I'm trying", and all I really wanted to say was, "Quit trying and just do it already. You are going to end up in the E.R. DRINK YOUR WATER!!!!"
Alas, he was able to get some fluids down, I did not yell at him and we did not have to go to the E.R. He is doing much better now and I am very, very glad to have my husband back.
We have had a few "YOU LIKE WHAT?!" moments, like when I found out that Joshua likes Classical music which works out really nicely now that my initial "he can do no wrong" cloud has vanished and I have once again become aware of the fact that he makes noise like every other living creature when he eats. We will be investing in some classical or peaceful instrumental music to play while we eat dinner together now that we are having a little boy and will be eating at the dinner table instead of watching Friends during dinner. (This was the solution we had come up with so I didn't cry every time we sat down to dinner listening to the sound of his saliva swishing around in his mouth. P.S. My husband is not a rude chewer, nor is he an obnoxious one. Just the longer I live with him, the more attuned to all of him I become and that includes the noises he makes while eating.
We have also had a few moments where we have realized that a hobby or a habit, was really an obsession. Like Josh's love for sports, and Star Wars. I still cannot believe how much of a nerd I married, and how well he hid it for so long.
Josh has had a few moments as well, like the discovery that somehow I can still have a full head of hair even though it keeps falling out and is all over the floor, and clogs the drains, and gets woven into his clothes in the laundry. Through his kindness of putting away our laundry he has learned that there are shirts that get hung up, shirts that go with pajamas/lounge clothes that get folded, tank tops that get put into a drawer, tanks that are for sleeping in, dresses get hung up, skirts get rolled up, shorts get folded, jeans get hung up...and so on. Learning to live with someone of the opposite sex is quite different and has been very interesting at times. However, nothing has surprised me more than the discovery I came crashing into last week. Sick boys act a lot different that sick girls.
Now, I would like to think that under different circumstances this would not have been quite as hard of a discovery to live with. When Josh and I took our vows we promised to love each other in sickness and in health. Josh has had a few days where he didn't feel good and I took care of him and loved on him and it was no big deal. But this last week it was a huge deal when Josh got the flu. It was the worst timing ever. Here it is the week between Christmas and New Years, which was already stressful with holiday traveling and chaos, but we were also smack dab in the middle of moving out of our apartment, and I am 7 months pregnant. It's hard enough to be patient and kind when I am hungry or tired these days, let alone exhausted, stressed out, trying to pack, working extra hours to make up for the time I missed last week because I was sick, getting over being sick myself, sleeping on a futon mattress on the floor and having to crawl out of bed to pee 3 times every night while I am as big as a balloon. I had the hardest time packing because there were cabinets I couldn't reach, boxes I couldn't lift and all the bending over and squatting and kneeling to pack was very hard after working all day. Poor Josh couldn't even move out of bed because he was so sick. On top of it all I was extremely worried about my husband who spiked a 103 temperature and was in the bathroom every hour. It did not make for a very stable pregnant woman.
I fought with myself every day because I wanted so badly to stay at home and be by his side to make sure he was not dying and yet I didn't want to come home because I was afraid I would get sick again and that the baby would be in danger if I spiked a fever that high, and I also didn't want to take out any of my emotions out on my husband. It wasn't his fault he was sick, but I struggled so hard to be patient and kind to him during that week. The last 2 days of it were the worst. Josh got really dehydrated to the point his hands were tingling and he was becoming disoriented. We went to Urgent Care and the doctor told Josh that if he could not get some fluids down that we would end up in the E.R. This was a double whammy because Josh's insurance wouldn't kick in until January 1st. (Of course). It was now my job to get him to drink as much water as I could. It was the most awful 24 hours. I jumped between praying that God would heal him and that everything would be ok, to praying that God would give me patience and strength so that I didn't kill him. I could not get him to drink. He was so tired, and felt so sick that he just kept saying "I'm trying", and all I really wanted to say was, "Quit trying and just do it already. You are going to end up in the E.R. DRINK YOUR WATER!!!!"
Alas, he was able to get some fluids down, I did not yell at him and we did not have to go to the E.R. He is doing much better now and I am very, very glad to have my husband back.
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