The silence was broken.

There was silence.

Seventeen-ish months of silence.  That day in July began it all, and a day in December ended it.

Seventeen months of absence.  Seventeen months of wondering. Seventeen months of trying to believe on my part.

Seventeen months where my oldest son believed, prayed, and hoped, even when I felt like giving up, and even had given up from time to time.

Before that day in December, when the silence was broken, I had begun to wonder if my children would see their dad again in this lifetime. My mind would wander and I would contemplate what I would do if I had heard through the grapevine that their dad had died.  Would I take them to his funeral? Would it be worth it? How would I help my daughter learn about her dad? What would I tell them about him later in life?

Yes, that's where I was at.

And every night, my six year-old would pray that God would protect his dad and help him to make good choices. He would hopefully ask that someday, they would see their dad again.

Honestly, I've been nervous to let this secret out of the bag, because I'm sure it could be a controversial topic, but I feel like it's time to swallow my nerves and just be honest.  I know God is telling me it shouldn't matter what others think, but my human nature gets me sometimes.

I've been keeping the secret for a couple reasons.  The first being that I wanted my children to have the privacy, and our family to have the freedom to see what unfolded without feeling the pressure of society or social media.  I didn't want or need the countless differing opinions on the matter, and needed to just pray it out, seek God's guidance, and go with what I believed he was leading me to do.

I was also a little scared. I didn't want to admit that I was being cautiously brave and believing life over death in this situation, and then have it all fall apart in a couple of weeks.

If people had come to me questioning how things were going, or flat out asked about the situation as it had been, I was honest, and I told them this secret, asking them to keep it to themselves.  I thank those of you who have upheld that promise and allowed my children the privacy and time to walk through these last few months.

And for others, I'm sorry if I have offended you by not telling you about this development.  But, I hope you can try to understand and respect my decision.

As I was saying, in December he broke the silence.  I had given up on trying to get ahold of him, and had tried to put on a positive face for my children when they continued to pray for a reunion and God to help their dad make better choices.  I had been through Cleansing Stream, and despite what I believed I could do, and what popular culture would tell me to do, I forgave the unforgivable.

It was perfect timing, in some ways, when he waited until December to break the silence.

I prayed long and hard afterward (I blogged about it weeks ago, without much detail), and believed that, although many would call me crazy, or stupid, or tell me he shouldn't be allowed to, that it was okay for him to see his children again.

I don't have to explain why I chose this, but I'm sure many will wonder.  Why on earth, after all that had happened, after all those months, did I let him see the kids?  I talked with him in depth for quite some time, met up with him without the kids, talked some more, and made my decision.

Because he is their dad.

People would say he has no right to see them after all that happened.  Legally, that's true. The children are 100% mine legally.

But he is their dad.

In my heart, I knew I couldn't look my children in the eye someday, after he had been gone so long, and admit to them that, had I chosen to not let them be reunited, I would have been the thing to keep them apart even longer.  I didn't need the blame for that.

It had already been so long. My daughter didn't really know him.  She would look at photos of him and not call him daddy, and the boys would get irritated.  She didn't remember him, really. But the boys, they still had that longing desire to have him in their lives.

And here he was.

Perfect? No.  Did it make everything that had happened okay?  Certainly not.  Did it erase the pain?  No.

Did it give the potential for greater healing?

Definitely.

After consulting with a few professionals on the matter, and praying of course, I knew that the only way to allow healing and restoration, was to give their dad a chance to try.  Yes, he could have been lying and just trying to fill a temporary void over the holidays.  But, I couldn't know that.  Just like I couldn't know if it was for real, and God was really leading him back to his kids unless I gave him the chance to be with the kids.  I couldn't give this a chance for success without giving it the chance to fail, but I couldn't live with myself knowing that there would be no chance at all.

I had to really, truly give it to God.

And I did.

It's still fresh and new.  There are still details we work out as we go along.  I am in control of the situation, the visits, everything.  It is all under my stipulations and schedule.  There are many details that I will not go into, but, after three months, I truly believe I've made the right choice, as vulnerable as it made me feel, as terrified as I was for my children.

I believe, as does my son, that God was answering months worth of prayers.

We are still praying for their dad as we maneuver this new road in our path.

It can and likely will get messy and confusing, and there will be countless questions from the children as time goes on. But, I have to believe that God will guide us through them as they come along.

Because, as our story has shown in so many ways, God has been here alongside us this entire time.  He's taken our pain and brought joy.  He's taken the mess and brought so much beauty.  He's taken the brokenness and restored our hearts.

He is so good.

And, I have to believe that He will continue to be good and perfect, no matter how these chapters pan out.

Because He's unchanging. He's sovereign. He's perfect.  He will never leave us, even if everything fell apart again.

I am sure there are many reading this who vehemently disagree with my choice. I've encountered that already.  I pray that there are those out there who understand, and that regardless of how you personally feel about it, you can trust that I am doing what I truly believe is best for my children.  I've always had their best interests in my mind, from the moment the world started crumbling.  They're my treasure, and I would do everything I could to protect them from pain, but I can't sacrifice their chance for healing and joy with their dad.

There may be heated and controversial opinions.  I know.  There are countless people out there who care so deeply for me and my children, and who are so angry over the pain we've been through.  I get it. I was there too.  We are so blessed that we are cared so deeply for that people have such strong emotional responses across the spectrum.  Regardless, I pray that anyone who hears my children speak about seeing their dad will be respectful of their excitement in the story, non-judgmental in their presence, ad just give them your love and support.

Thank you to everyone who has been there for us through any and all of the legs of this journey.  Thank you for the prayers you've prayed, the tears you've wiped away, the hugs you've given, the words of encouragement, consolation, humor, compassion, and everything else you've given us.

(There are MANY posts leading up to this one. If you're new to my blog, feel free to search through by topic, or start scrolling backward to 2014.)

Cautious Bravery

When I decided to blog after church today, I heard the enemy telling me "People are going to just think you're crazy, hearing voices, and psychotic. You didn't 'hear' God or 'feel' Him. It's all in your imagination."

Screw you, Satan.

---

Recently, there's been a change brewing in the life of me and my children.  Something unexpected happened, and as a result, I had to make some decisions I wasn't mentally prepared to make.

I prayed about it for days.  I took a break from social media and filled the time I would have spent catching up with friends online praying and seeking wisdom as to how to proceed.  I sought advice from trusted companions, and found confusion in doing so, with divided opinions and advice coming from multiple avenues, so I kept on praying about that as well.

After about a week, I had what I decided was the next step, and proceeded with cautious bravery.

Cautious bravery.

I'm not sure that's a thing.  If you google "cautious bravery," you find a few different takes on it.  On one hand, people seem to think you can't be both cautious and brave or courageous, and then on the other, it only makes sense to do so.

For example:

That said, this new juncture and all of the possibilities of what could happen based on whichever decision I made was nerve-wracking, slightly terrifying, anxiety inducing, but also hopeful-exhilarating.

As I mentioned, I took my options, prayed about them, tried to imagine probable outcomes, and went with what I thought God was calling me to do.

I was afraid of being wrong, afraid of interpreting what I thought God was telling me wrong, and afraid that even if I was doing what was right, it could all go wrong anyway.  But, I owned the decision, and I stepped forward on faith.

I decided, in doing so, that if I was going to just assume it would all go awry, I was speaking words of death over the decision, and also placing my faith, trust, and hope in humanity instead of God's divine sovereignty.  I decided to anchor myself on hope and God's ultimate goodness, and I committed myself to continued prayer, because I know that human emotion can be wishy-washy sometimes, and I knew myself well enough to be able to foresee that I wouldn't always be completely hopeful, and the old patterns of condemning thoughts and negative assumptions would slither into my mindset occasionally.

I told myself that even though the decisions I make affect more than just myself, and that all people are infallible, God can use everything and anything that would come from it for His ultimate good.  I know that while it is best and important that others in my life have God in their lives, all I needed to rely on was Him, and who I am in Him.  I know who I am in Christ, and I believe I have a good idea who my children are in Christ, and that was enough to solidify my choice in proceeding.

Now, I acted on my decision, and so far, good things have come from it.  I give each day to God, and when I start to fear and worry, if I turn to my closest confidants first instead of God, they remind me to give it to God.

Today, in church, I had a big God moment.  During the beginning of worship, which is generally the part I connect with most emotionally, I was singing along, but struggling to be emotionally invested in it.  I kept having random thoughts filtering through and I realized partway through the second song, if I recall correctly, that I just couldn't "see" or "feel" who it was I was singing to.  Usually, this is not an issue for me, but today, I just felt disconnected.  Realizing that, I decided it was probably an attack from the enemy, and with the knowledge I've gained through the past couple months, I decided to use Jesus as my ammunition and attack back.  I had a moment of bravery, in that I would normally be apprehensive that others would hear me or notice, and I spoke aloud, "The enemy MUST go NOW in the name of Jesus Christ.  You have no business here."

It sounds silly, I know, and I've felt that it was silly on the multiple occasions that I have needed to conduct warfare in such a way.

I continued on, praying audibly, "I feel like I can't see you Jesus, and I don't know why.  I know You're always there."

I stopped singing almost instantly, and tears started falling.

"You can't see me, because I'm hugging you."

That's what I heard him say.

And it made so much sense.  I was suddenly flooded with the image and feeling of a warm embrace, my head buried in His shoulder, as I heard him tell me that he was proud of me, that He has made me strong, brave, courageous, and that it is okay to be cautious.  He knows that I worry sometimes and I fear other times, and He understands how sometimes I find it difficult to come to Him first, but He forgives me, accepts me, doesn't condemn me, and appreciates my honest attempts to keep Him first. I am okay, I am perfect.  He told me that what decision I made recently didn't matter as much as the fact that I sought His counsel and waited earnestly before acting, choosing what I believed He was telling me to do over what the world told me to do.  He reaffirmed that no matter what, because my hope is anchored in Him, it's going to be okay.  He reminded me that He has been there through every peak and valley so far, and that He has ultimately won it all for us anyway.  He reminded this little quiet warrior girl that she is filled with His peace and grace, and that good things will come from the trust I've placed in Him.

While I don't know what will come from my decisions and what is in store for us, I trust that it will all work out for God's good.

Sometimes, it's scary to not know His plan.  Sometimes, I fear I don't know if I'm listening or hearing or interpreting correctly.

Sometimes, I just have to latch onto the cautious bravery he's formed within me.

Not oddly at all, the next song in worship was about sitting with Jesus, being with Him, hearing His heartbeat, and so forth.  The pastor spoke how the Holy Spirit was heavy within the place.  He spoke of God's gifts being imparted right then and there, and the sermon was about healing.

It made sense.

I've found freedom, healing, and seen myself through God's eyes this year.  It's amazing what will happen when you give it to God.

Sometimes I cry.

If you know me well, you know that I am not a stranger to tears. I used to try to fight them off every time I felt them welling up. As I have grown, oddly enough in my mind, my resolve has been less and they fall more easily.

There's something to be said about crying. Well, there's many things to be said, actually.

For starters, it can be quite therapeutic. It helps release all bottled up tension, sometimes to the point of such exhaustion you just pass out for hours.

It can lead to headaches. I've had one too many crying hangovers, as I call them.

It is both beautiful... and ugly. The brutal emotions being let go and your heart being so open is beautiful. The faces, the boogers, the swollen eye lids and nose... not so much.

Sometimes it's a few silent tears. Sometimes it's a heaving, boisterous sob.

Sometimes it is purely of joy. Sometimes it is of heart shattering sorrow. Sometimes the tears are from overwhelming exhaustion and crying is the only thing you have left.

Crying alone can be just what you need. Silence and privacy to be at your best, weakest point with nothing but your pillow and Jesus to listen...

But crying with someone can be even more powerful.

I understand why children want to be held when they cry. It's comforting. It's the physical reminder that there's someone right there who cares enough to drop all else in the moment and just be with you in your bare emotional state. There's security in someone's arms.

To be honest, I look back, and I cried a lot in my last years of marriage. I cried about my marriage and the many things going on within and outside of it that I felt needed attention but were deemed unimportant. I cried about crying about my marriage. I cried about not having someone to hold me while I cried because he hated that I cried. 

I still often miss having someone around to hold me while I cry. Just like a child, the comfort and security of having someone there is invaluable.

I know God collects your tears, feels your burdens, records your heartaches... But sometimes it doesn't feel like enough.

I know that's not how you're supposed to feel when it comes to God. I know it. I'm growing, and I try to let it be enough most of the time, visualizing myself curled up on Jesus lap leaving tear stains on his chest.

What I also know is that God provides for me, not every time I cry, but sometimes, especially when it seems I need it most. He knows how I feel about the tangible arms of someone who cares while my tears get the best of me and I feel like I may crumble. He has shown me this by providing a trusted friend or family member who, without reserve, will hold me tightly while I cry.

Sometimes, that's all I need to get through that overwhelming moment. I cannot adequately express the gratitude I feel in those embraces, both for the person with me, and for God providing them at the perfect time. 

God is great like that.

Thank you to those who have ever held me while I cried.

Great Blessings

 I'm sure each of you has heard countless analogies and metaphors about friendships and what a true friend is.  True friends are like diamonds, true friends are like stars, true friends are like mornings, true friends are like angels, true friends are like a high school algebra word problem on the homework you almost forgot to do last night before bed...  So forth and so on.  Yes?  I know that I have.   

There are so many inspirational quotes that tell you how to be a good friend or what a good friend looks like.  If you're looking for some sort of wall art or a nice little closing to a greeting card to let someone know you care, you don't have to look much further than an internet search and you have thousands of sayings to choose from, from Oscar Wilde to Winnie-the-Pooh.

What makes a good friend, I suppose, is in some ways, subjective.  You may think a good friend is one who will give you the answers to your psychology homework, or maybe you think a good friend is one who will help you change a tire when you have a flat.  Perhaps your best friend lets you borrow her dresses or your books.  Whatever you think makes a good friend, I would hope that you have someone in your life who fits that bill.

I have been richly blessed with friendships in my life.  I say that not to brag, but as a reflection after a wonderful, laid back day with my college roommate, one of my best friends in the world, after a year or so of not being in the same room together.  She is one of my "lifelong" friends.  I met her 14 years ago, nearly, and despite the fact that we can go a year without seeing each other or weeks without texting, when it comes down to it, I know she's there and she has been and will be through thick and thin.

But, I am so enormously spoiled that I know it doesn't stop there.  I have a friend from my childhood that I moved next door to in 1991, and she is still one of my dearest friends.  I have friends that I met as an adult that are equally important and wonderful to me.  Some I see nearly weekly, others less frequently, but their love for me and my family is immeasurable, and I am reminded of it often.  I have met friends through my job of 18 months that are some of my closest friends in this life.  I have friends that I only know through the internet and have for over a decade that I consider my some of my very best as well.

And I have blood family that are some of my best friends.

Growing up, I know a best friend could change day to day, depending on whether you like the same boy band, book, color, food... you name it.  Friendships seemed easier to come by and somewhat more trivial as a child.  You broke up and made up more times than you can count, I'm sure.

As an adult, it seems much more difficult to find true, dear friends that you trust with your deepest secrets and your most broken bits of heart.  

Somehow, though, I have this amazing group of best friends.  I can't choose just one best friend like I could as a little girl. I have a handful.  God has blessed me so richly.  He's given me women all over the country who I could reach out to in an instant and they're there for me, emotionally, physically, spiritually, and so much more.  It's an invaluable blessing, when I so often find myself feeling overwhelmed and lonely, living this life of a single parent with such young children.  It's something truly special to have a select group of friends who can read through the lines of a text message and know when you're not really doing as okay as you claim, or that can almost read your heart as soon as you enter a room, even if there's a smile on your face.

I have known this for quite some time, but it seems that as I grow older and as I have gone through so much in the past few years, losing the one who meant the most to me, I see these friendships more clearly and with so much more value and gratitude.  These people chose to stand beside me and stay with me even when the one who promised to stay forever walked right out. They have seen me at my best and my worst and they love me through it all.

I've been told many times that God knows what he is doing.  It's true.  Even when it's hard to trust him, especially knowing that, although he has reasons for what He is doing, you don't always get to know on this side of life.

I'm so thankful to my very best friends for all they bring into my life.  But I am thankful also for each one of my friends, not only the best ones, because the prayers and love that I've been showered with, from friends near and far, old and new, have helped shape me into the woman I am today.

I pray that my own children are equally blessed in their lives, and that each of you are as well.

Burnt

Motherhood is exhausting. Being a single parent (with no involvement from the other party) multiplies the exhaustion exponentially.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm at the end of my rope, flirting with burnout.

It usually has nothing or very little to do with the three kids five and under I spend nearly all of my "free" time away from work with, except for the all-nighters my youngest has me pulling some nights and the decent sleep shortage she induces almost every night. Other than that, when I really look at it, there doesn't seem to be any differences between weeks I feel refreshed and ready to tackle parenting as opposed to the weeks I want to wave my white flag, hide under my blankets, and let the cat take the lead.

But sometimes, it's just extra taxing.

I toy with the thought "I could just give up."

It crosses my mind, but I never say it aloud.

I don't even know how I would give up. Even when I feel like the worst mom ever because I've had 6 cups of coffee and can't keep my eyes open, or every one of my nerves is fried to a crisp, or the sound of another request or inquiry makes me want to put on noise-cancelling headphones... I still don't know how I would give up when the thought of giving up crosses my mind.

I suppose that's a good thing.

What I will tell you is every so often, I reach my limit, or I get close to the edge of it, anyway, and silence and sleep sound so enticing I contemplate the "what if" situation where I wonder what it would be like had I not put my foot down, or didn't care about their father's poor choices and questionable, unstable parenting. I wonder what it would be like to have had a more "typical" or even amicable split where there was shared custody and I had a weekend to myself every so often to just sleep or do something for me.

But, that's not the case. 

Time to come out of my bedroom where I'm not really putting away the laundry so I can change another diaper.

Real Life?

Years ago, back in high school, I had a phase where I loved reading mystery books, psychological thrillers, and books that really made you think and question what was going on. I read many, many books, and would get caught up in the stories and how fantastical they were, thankful that no matter how engrossed I became in the story, they were just fiction.

It's a completely different feeling when you're living out one of those stories. 

My love story started out like a proper romantic novel might. The dashing, tall, dark, and handsome man caught my eye with a gleaming smile, and we were swept up in love. Over the course of a few years we went from best friends to soul mates to married.

We fought long and hard to have our first child. We lost our second before we knew whether the baby was a boy or a girl. We bounced back, and welcomed a second son into the world.  We were content. We were at peace. We were thriving.

So I thought...

Together, we fought to provide a loving home for our two sons.  My husband worked hard, long hours, so that I could stay home with our boys.  He told me repeatedly he thought it was best, financially, and for the children.  So, we made due with less than many people, renting a cute old home, not having a ton of time together, but striving to make sure our children were raised by loving parents, and a mother who had all the time in the world for them.

I had no idea there was a secret life being lived outside this scenario.  I had no idea that dark things were happened outside our home in the name of our family, until months later.  I chose to believe my husband when these things came to light, and believe that inherently he was a great person trying to do what was right, believing he loved his family deeply and would do anything for them.  I believed he was a good person who had fallen into some mistakes and bad decisions.  I chose to work through these things with him, stand beside him, fight for our marriage, fight for our family, and believe that good would prevail.

I became pregnant with our daughter in the midst of great tribulation.  It was a complete and utter shock for many, many reasons, a large one being that I was told it was highly unlikely I would ever become pregnant without medical assistance.  My husband was paying for some of his poor decisions when I found out I was pregnant, and I was devastated.  I knew the timing was horrible, and I was not sure I could handle having another baby around while dealing with everything else my marriage was throwing at me.  I cried day in and day out, even though the few people I trusted to tell all told me that "everything happens for a reason" and "it's God's plan, not ours," and other such phrases.

Knowing things were in a bind financially, I had applied for jobs, and had just accepted a position the day prior to finding out our third little miracle was on the way.  I worked long hours most days of the week while allowing my sister to spend those hours with my children, raising them as she knew I would love them to be raised.

When I found out our third baby was a girl, he wasn't with.  I went to tell him in person, and the light in his eyes and the smile on his face was genuine, thrilled, and joy-filled.  He was finally getting that daughter he had hoped for, that I was sure would never happen, believing with my whole being we would have four sons someday.

I was exhausted.  I was strained.  I was working, raising children, pregnant, worried, fighting for our marriage to prevail.  But I had faith and hope and everything inside of me believed things could and would be okay in the end.

By the time our daughter arrived, things seemed to finally be getting back to where they were when our lives were good again.  I was finally thrilled at the prospect of a daughter being placed in my arms.

She arrived, and was beautiful.  We were smitten with her, as were her brothers.  Our family felt so whole and complete.  He told me many times it didn't make sense for me to go back to work with the late night hours and expense of daycare, so I should stay home and he would provide again.  He had gotten a raise and a promotion, and so it worked out okay.  Things were good and back to normal.  It was like a dream.

Only the dream wasn't what I thought it was.

Months passed by, and at the end of the summer, out of seemingly nowhere, as I had, over the course of the previous months, confronted my husband as to his distance, wanting to work on things that seemed strained again, and straight out demanded to know if he wanted out of our marriage and he swore up and down, inside and out that he wanted nothing more than his family and his wife, he told me he wanted a break.  I was shaken.  He told me he was not going to come live at home until we went to counseling together.  I was truly relieved at the idea of counseling because I had suggested it many times and he often told me we didn't need it.  So, we made an appointment and went.  I thought we were going to continue going. He paid for the session an arranged others.  Then he decided he didn't like the counselor and we weren't going anymore.

A few nights later, creepy, scary things were happening at our house when he wasn't home.  In the dark of the night, our garage was broken into, our freezer tipped over, someone running through the yard.  Someone broke our window with a rock.  Someone turned on our outside hose and ran it through our back door into our kitchen, opening the front door as they walked through while I did laundry below.  I called the cops multiple times in a week, and they gave me a few ideas of who, what, or why it could be happening.  Uncertain and terrified, at the urging and help of a few close friends, I took my three children and left town without a word.  Someone egged my van randomly while I was gone.  When he found out we weren't home anymore because he offered someone to stay at our house a night and I had to tell him I wasn't there, things stopped happening.  It was strange, but I refused to jump to any conclusions, and to this day, I have no real answers.

While away, I found many phone calls in his call logs to a random woman all hours of every day.  He swore it was for work. I didn't believe him, but there was nothing I thought I could do to prove otherwise.

He came and brought us back home after about a week.  He didn't stay at the house although I begged him to sleep in the basement because I was terrified for our safety.  It seemed so strange to me that he wouldn't and as always, he used work as an excuse.

It was weeks later that he refused to pay rent, saying he couldn't afford it (although I found out a bit later that he could, he was making much more than I ever knew about and I had no idea where any of it had gone), and his children and I were evicted in short notice.  A friend rescued us and we stayed with her a few months, while I found a job at a daycare that the children were able to attend. Then the children and I went to the homeless shelter a while before finding ourselves in a transitional housing apartment.

Despite the very strict rules, we stayed multiple months before I was able to find an apartment for us.

During this time, he had our family vehicle, and I had to trust him to come and get the children and I for work each day, and then to return us home.  There were many times I hadn't heard from him until minutes before he was supposed to be there, and there were many times he failed to show on time at all, leaving me in a panic and having to find other rides to work. He didn't seem to find urgency in high temperatures and illnesses with the kids and it would take all sorts of begging to get him to allow me to take them to the doctor or have him take them to the doctor.  He was always busy. Eventually, the children and I were blessed with a van so that I could be self sufficient.  He visited a bit, acted like he cared and wanted to be with us, but he was still a bit distant.  The children were seeing him daily, which was a nice change, but he wasn't really there half the time he was there.

It took many months before he let me know where he was staying. He would tell me with a friend or other such things, but never specific.  Eventually, he was renting a room in someone else's apartment and the kids and I were able to visit.

He came to me a bit over a year ago to confess and ask forgiveness for the many, many things he had been doing over the course of the year beforehand.  I forgave him.  He asked to reconcile.  I agreed to try under strict guidelines.  I was extremely leery and cautious, but allowed myself to believe in miracles and to have hope that our family would be together again and our marriage could be restored.

We spent a few days together after that, Easter was one, and our daughter's first birthday party and the evening of her first birthday.  He seemed to be trying.  He seemed to really want his family.

Then, the wind was knocked out of me and the world around me seemed to fall apart when the day after her birthday, I received a random message from a guy I had never heard of, asking how to reach him.  I told him he didn't have his phone at the time, and I asked who he was.

"He told me he told you.  We've been dating over a month now."

I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to pass out from trembling and dizziness.  There was a photo of the two of them together in a bar.  They were hugging.  My husband had a secret boyfriend, while he was trying to get the family back together.  He had never once said anything about this friend, even in his confessions he only spoke of women.

I confronted him when I was able.  He said it was a goofy drunk picture.  I could honestly understand that because he's always been one to give hugs, and I knew he was battling a drinking problem.  I chose to give him the temporary benefit of the doubt while he was going to prove it was a lie and this guy was out to destroy our family.  He swore he wouldn't talk to him or anything of the nature.

Except he did.  And he wasn't very secretive, and I found out.  He still denied their relationship was romantic and they were just friends. I knew better. I confronted him so many times and it was always the same, but I knew better.

He saw the children a few times over the next few weeks. I even allowed them, for the sake of my own sanity because I was exhausted, to have them overnight without me.  I found out he was sneaking this guy friend around them, and the children around that friend's family.  I confronted him and was given many stories, lies, and discrepancies.

I told him that he wasn't going to have the children alone until I met this guy. I told him we were over and his relationship with the other man didn't really matter, but since he couldn't be trusted to be honest and I didn't know this guy or anything about him other than they went to bars together and I was being lied to, he couldn't have the children alone.

And then he disappeared.  Completely disappeared from our lives. It's been almost a year.

In the following months, I found so many more secrets that he hadn't confessed to.  More lies, cheating, and so forth.

He made it nearly impossible to find him.  He worked under the table so he couldn't be tracked for child support.  Anyone that I new he had contact with prior or during refused to help me or would lie to my face about him.  I was hitting wall after wall.  But I was persistent.  In December, he was finally found and served with divorce papers.  It devastated me to have to file for divorce myself.  I was the one, all along, fighting for our marriage, never wanting to be out.  I wanted to fight.  He clearly didn't want to be married to me, but he wouldn't divorce me. I had to.  It was a hard pill to swallow.  Come February, everything was finalized, and I felt some relief.

I thought the crazy plot twists were over, but every once in a while, something new and obscure still pops up and I live through the emotional storms all over again.  Thankfully, through it all, I've had some consistent support systems, and I've had God.  I have places to lean when I feel like my legs are going to fall out from under me all over again.

I've never felt the world crumble as many times in my life as I have in the last two and a half years.  It's been exhausting.

As I sit here this morning, writing, because writing is my therapy, I scrolled through photos to find one to add to the post.  I watched my crazy, psychological thriller of a story unfold before my eyes, although you cannot see that in any of the photos.  The photos so clearly depict the deep, dark story that I had kept hidden for so long to keep my pride in tact and my life guarded never really existed.  There's mostly smiles and hugs, baby chaos and other such things.  You don't get to see the terror, the exhaustion, the tears, and the agony that existed simultaneously.

The past years have been the most exhausting of my life.  It's been years since I've had consistent, quality sleep or relaxing days.  And for the most part, I'm okay with that, because I've fought to keep myself surrounded with happy thriving children and a job that I love.

I find often that I'm unsure who I can really trust, still.  I know that God has me, and I can lean on him, and I know there are some people walking beside me on this earth that I can truly trust.  But I find many times that some I start to trust I find I cannot.  It cracks the heart a little each time, but such is life.

I find myself putting down my guard to new friends more often now.  I spent the last year or so feeling like I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't be loved by people.  I felt like if the one person who spent over ten years telling me I was the best friend in the world, the most loyal person they knew, the most compassionate, tender hearted, loving, hilarious, all around wonderful person could up and walk away from me without a word in any form, despite the promise to be friends no matter what happened... well, than anyone can or probably would leave me too.  I mean he knew me best, inside and out, and he couldn't stay, so no one else would want to.  He promised to and no one else ever made that promise in front of family and friends and to God.  Surely, I'm not worthy of love from anyone.  God is the only one who could love me, because he loves everyone.  No one else really could, and I expect them to disappear too.  I battle this still, knowing it's a lie, but often feeling it's the truth.

 I'm so thankful for the support I have that prays over and for me and reminds me to turn to God when I feel he's too far away.

I question my mothering often.  I put such pressure on myself to be a good mom, because I'm the only parent they have.  If they don't know I love and care about them, then they are completely devoid of good parents.  I know that I'm not a terrible mom, but this is another attack I deal with, especially over the course of the last three weeks where I've been so sick and in so much pain that I can hardly function by the end of the day.

That enemy, he's a sneaky, vile one.  He definitely knows where and when to attack and he latches on deeply, my friends.

I spent many months feeling like I must be crazy.  I was sure I must be mentally ill to have missed the first instances of my former husband's betrayal, let alone his cheating, wanting to take a break, alcoholism, and whatever else that has gone on that I either haven't spoken of or do not know about.  I must be crazy to believe he loved us and wanted us.  I must be completely insane and making all of this up, because it cannot be real life.  It's just a messed up movie, right?

Unfortunately, it's not.  It is real life.  It's a day by day challenge.  Sometimes it's a breath by breath marathon.  I'm living those novels I read, and it is not nearly as entertaining as reading them.

Yesterday was rough on multiple levels, and I poured my heart out to a friend. She prayed for me. Immediately after, the lyrics "Jesus is my strength, my shield, and He will never fail me." Came through the radio I hadn't realized was on. They've been my mantra since.

Fortunately, I know God has a great ending in store for my children and I. So, I'll make it through each plot twist and wait for boring and commonplace things to happen instead.

The Struggle

I apologize in advance that this post is not written in my typical fashion.

The past couple of weeks have been quite exhausting in my world.  Two weeks ago, my dad had a stroke.  I packed up the kids and drove to Minnesota to be with him in the hospital, freaking out internally the entire drive, so they wouldn't see my fears surface.  

My dad is recovering in a nursing home currently, with medications and therapy to help improve his life and hopefully get him back to where he was while attempting to disintegrate the potential time bomb in his carotid artery.  

I came home for Palm Sunday, so the children and I could be at church (and feed the cat), and I wept repeatedly in church, both out of gratitude for God allowing my dad to live through the stroke and to have a second chance.  I wept out of fear of losing him despite it all.  And I wept out of loneliness.  I realized in church that God is with me always, and I have friends and family to support me.  But, I also was presented, again, with the reality that the person who chose me, that I chose to spend my life with, well... he is still completely missing.  The one who promised to be my pillar of strength when I would someday lose my parents is nowhere to be found, and in his place, I have to place my trust in Him who I cannot see, cannot audibly hear, cannot feel him hold me.

As you know, I believe in God, devotedly.  I am striving to raise my children to feel the same.

But sometimes, it's still very difficult.

Fast forward two days, and I sat at work coughing and coughing and gagging and coughing.  I had been fighting off a cold for about three weeks as it was, and didn't think too much of it, other than it a continued nuisance.  But as Tuesday became Wednesday, and the cough got worse, and one of my ribs (which had admittedly been giving me issues for a few weeks after a coughing spell at the beginning of March) felt like it was piercing my side.  It made it hard to breathe, which made me cough more, which made my lungs hurt.  It was a mess.  Come Thursday night, I was actually a bit scared about it, but still trying to push through it, because I was sure it was just a cold and I was being ridiculous.  Then, my friend told me, "It shouldn't hurt to breathe," and I decided to bite the bullet and head to the doctor (uninsured, which is another story).

I saw a CPN who listened to me, felt my rib cage and could tell it was swollen and tender, took my temp and oxygen, and diagnosed me with bronchitis and a bruised/fractured rib, or possibly just swollen cartilage from forceful coughing.  She prescribed two medications and listed a bunch of others that I was supposed to buy and take.

I tried to tough it out and go to work the next morning, but it wasn't getting any better, and I just couldn't do it.

I haven't been back since.

Over the course of the weekend, I was blessed with the opportunity to sleep while my children were loved on by other people.  I missed Easter church, which would have felt incredibly devastating had I not been feeling so wretched physically.  Easter is my favorite holiday.  The kids and I watched it online, which was nice enough, and then they went to our "adopted" family's house for Easter while I stayed home and slept.

I cried quite a bit before I finally fell asleep.  Easter was the last holiday that the children and I had with their father before everything truly fell publicly apart.  And here I was, alone, sick, almost unable to function, and while my children were at the same place we last celebrated Easter.  This year they had no dad with them, and their mom couldn't be there either.  

That moment began the struggle I've been fighting most of the week when I'm awake.

Monday led into Tuesday, and by Tuesday night, I had made my rib worse and my coughing was not better, likely worse, and I was completely freaked out.  A friend met me and waited with my children while I had x-rays done proving that I had pneumonia and a fractured rib.  I was given more prescriptions and advice and sent back home.  It's insane how much a fractured rib hurts. It hurts to walk, to sit, to lay down, to cough, breathe, cry, lift, push or pull with that arm, drive... pretty much everything.  And then the pneumonia, where it hurts to breathe, to cough, and I cough every time I walk too far, or there's a slight breeze, and I get dizzy and lightheaded. It's a stupid combination.

It's been very rough being home this week.  My children are very energetic, and I have zero energy.  It hurts to breathe, even though my cough has finally began to become less frequent and forceful.  I still sound raspy and wheezy, but it's become productive, so I feel like there's at least some light at the end of this tunnel.

But the struggle to be mom while being sick has been intense.  The children have been pushing all the buttons and pressing boundaries, testing and trying, making mess after mess, fighting and needing and jumping on me and being mad that I'm no fun.  It hasn't been that way 100% of the time, but it feels overwhelming when it is.

I have found myself crying in front of them, because I feel like this week, I'm failing them.  They've eaten cereal for almost every meal.  They've been left to their own devices in the living room while I lie down in my bed from time to time, fending for themselves when they're able.   I know that's okay and kids need to be self-sufficient, but I still feel horrible.

I've had to ask them multiple times not to jump on me or hit me because of my rib, and it makes me so sad, because my middle child loves to climb and jump and I feel like he thinks I am personally rejecting him, even though I know that's not the case, and I would just love for him to sit calmly beside me or on my lap and snuggle.  But he's rowdy and he doesn't seem to have time for that.

I feel like I'm boring and no fun.  In fact, both of the boys have told me more than once they don't want to be here with me.  I don't blame them, because I'm so exhausted that I, as much as I hate to say this, wish they could be somewhere else so I could just sleep.  I don't let them know that of course and attempt to engage with them as much as I can, even if it means Netflix watching on my bed, reading books together on the couch, rocking Norah's babies, or watching videos of them on my phone.  It seems like every part of my body hurts and aches and is exhausted, so I don't blame them at all for thinking I'm such a bore.  I totally am.

But I'm trying. I keep telling myself that.  I hope that they know.  Because right now, I'm struggling feeling adequate and not a failure.  I'm struggling feeling like they think I don't care and don't love them as much as I should.  I struggle to feign the energy and excitement they need when they ask me to put up the basketball hoop yet again.  I struggle with the creativity to find things to engage them day after day in this apartment, because even being on the deck has made me cough so hard that I nearly throw up.

Then, I've been struggling with frustration and anger at their dad.  I have to tell myself that while I think "he SHOULD BE HERE" to help me in times like this, it's not the case.  But it feels horrible to know that he's chosen to not be here and care even a little bit and help me out during a week or two when I could have used his help so desperately.  I don't like feeling this way, especially when it seemed like a couple of weeks ago, I was at peace with this whole marital saga and how it ended.

I'm going to be better, and soon. I tell myself that.  I've been praying fervently.  And I will be returning to work next week.  It's going to get back to normal.  It just seems like it's been forever.  

Sorry for all of the whining and the incessant rambling  I am not looking for pity, I just needed to get it all out.  I know I've been incredibly whiny and negative lately, as much as I've been praying against it.  I've not had contact with many people for that reason, because I believe I am likely irritating in this state, and I feel bad for subjecting people to that.  I haven't been this sick before, ever, as far as I know, and I think I handled all three of my children's births better than I have been this pneumonia and broken rib combination.  It's quite a paradox though, not wanting to bother people and missing adult interaction so deeply.  I've been more lonely than I care to admit.

  I haven't blogged in quite some time, I know, but I haven't felt up to it with everything going on. 

Not Who They Say

For many months now, stories have filtered to me through various sources, regarding my own personal character.  These stories, I know are not true, and I usually shrug them off and move on with my day.

Now that things are finalized between my children's father and myself, though, I feel like I have more liberty to be frank about such things, and for those of you out there who are hearing things, or have brought things to my attention, or perhaps may run into the sources of such information, I would like to give you the truth.

I am not who they say I am.  No, the many mistruths that my former husband and his boyfriend are spewing about me.. they're just that- untrue.

A few of the main stories are as follows:

I cheated on him.

This is outlandish.  He is the only man I ever so much as passionately kissed, let alone other things.  I am 32 years old, and I have been with him alone since 2002, after meeting him in 2001.  The unfaithfulness was on his side.

He sees the kids all the time.

He may be seen with his friends' children, possibly, but for anyone to state he is with his kids at all, actually, is a lie.  He hasn't been in their presence since last July.  He willingly chooses to avoid contact with his own children...

I will not let him see his children.

This one really gets me, because I have put forth so much effort trying to locate him.  I tried every avenue, plead and means of communication to get him to call, write, email, or text them, let alone see them.  I've wanted nothing more since they were born for him to spend as much time with them as he possibly could.  So, when you hear that, I assure you, it is not true in the slightest.  Even now, I have tried to contact him to let him know that I still would like for him to be in their lives and have some sort of visitation worked out so that they would know and not forget him.

I am going to keep my kids from their extended family.

While I would have the perfect excuse to pull my children away from their family on their father's side, seeing as how cleanly he severed himself from our lives, I have never thought to do that.  That is cruel, not only to my children, but to their extended family, whom I have had in my lives for 15 years now as well.  While I may not have been making it a huge priority to travel and visit family, because most live hours away and I am the only parent providing for the children.  I haven't had the opportunity to visit my own family much in the last two years either without their assistance.  That said, if his family wishes to see the children, they know that they can visit, and I have never been a jerk about it.  The more regularly they see and interact with my kids, the better, I think.

I am crazy and/or making this all up.

I am sane. I am rational. I've been as calm as a person can be through all of the muck I have been drug through. I have proof of everything that I claimed in the divorce papers or that I have made known to anyone I have talked to personally, or written online.  I may love to write, but my life story, although it sounds a bit like a psychological thriller at times, is accurately represented.



I am sure there are more, but those are the main ones or the ones that I have been confronted with  most often.


I know, this blog post is not something I typically write.  But, now it's out there, so hopefully if and when anyone hears anything, they can just point the source to this post, and the truth is there.  Perhaps, someday, the lies about me circulating will stop.


Now, a cute photo, taken almost a year ago.  I can hardly believe how much they've grown since this last happy holiday they had with their dad.

For Him

This weekend at church, I accepted prayer... Lots of prayer. Prayer for healing my shattered heart among other things.

Following, I have had such a sense of relief in my burdens. I have felt peace like I haven't in quite some time, and my focus has gone less from my pain and struggles and more toward other things. 

Luke 6:27-28

Tonight, as I prayed, which is something I am trying to improve upon, I broke down weeping. I wept not because of my future ex-husband, but FOR him.

For him... Because I realized, again, that I still love him. No, not romantic love, but the difficult love that God calls us to have for those the world justifies that we should hate.

I wept for him because, despite all the reasons I could be justified to hate him and wish damnation upon him, my heart cares about his soul and his salvation.

Because even though he's shattered my heart, I still have that glimmer of hope that he will someday draw near to God. Maybe he won't restore his relationship with his children in this lifetime, but I am working hard to raise children of God that will spend an eternity in heaven, and I cannot help but hope that their dad can make it to heaven, too. 

...Because it's the right thing to hope for, I think. I can't imagine not hoping for a miracle. I cannot help but hope he will find God, cast away the dark and wrong paths he has chosen, and follow God down the right road. I cannot help but pray he will be saved.

I know that is likely going to be seen as wildly unpopular, but truthfully, it doesn't bother me. The world can think I am crazy, but God has sustained that glimmer of hope, that shred of faith, and tonight, it just tore my heart right up.

A pretty good friend

Back in September 2014, my husband and I sat in our van, discussing this crossroads we were at, where he wanted a break from his family and wasn't sure if he wanted to stay married. He told me reason after reason he didn't want to stay, didn't know if he wanted to work on his issues to try to better himself and didn't know if he wanted to try to work on our marriage.

He knew I wanted to and would fight til the death, and I would give him the time he needed. 

While we talked, tears down both of our faces, holding hands even, I voiced my concerns about the future if we divorced. What happens if he finds another wife, where would he live, would we still share family, would I have to say goodbye to his family that became mine for over a decade, would he still care about me at all or would he hate my guts?  There were so many unknowns.

He answered most of them with how he believed it would go. He said he didn't think he would remarry because he had so many issues, I wouldn't have to lose his family, he never wanted to live far away because he wanted the kids and I in his daily life. Because he still loved me and always would, because before anything, we were friends. And he swore we would always be friends.

Then he disappeared for over seven months. He was served divorce papers and didn't even respond or fight. He didn't fight for his kids. He didn't fight for a friendship.

He just didn't do anything.

Tonight, I miss him, not as a husband, but as the friend I had almost 15 years ago, where we stayed up late on the phone or emailing, visiting, chatting, road tripping to see each other. There were so many hours of talking, laughing, dreaming, playing games and guitar, reading and writing, taking photographs, walking and exploring...

And now there's nothing.

He was undeniably one of the greatest friends I had for a hue portion of my life.

Until he wasn't anymore.

I didn't know it until too late.

And I believed him a year and a half ago when he said he would never want to lose me as a friend.

All things considered, even going through all this mess, I think I am a decent friend. I know I possess a few qualities that many would deem good for friendship anyway.

And he just walked away. Completely walked away. He lied to my face and took my best friend away.

It makes me angry. I start to stir up the pot of self-doubt. I battle it down telling myself that God loves me. I seek out friends I know will speak truth over me so the lies in my heart won't scream.

But regardless of that all... It hurts. I thought I was a pretty good friend, and even through a divorce, I could have been a pretty good friend to him. I wanted to be a good friend to him through all of this. I wanted to. 

Until now. Just minutes ago, actually. Realizing he didn't even fight for a friendship... 

Now... I have no words.

The spiral downward

Do you ever have one seemingly insignificant thought at the beginning of the day that builds, morphs, festers, and explodes, leaving you on a downward spiral of self-doubt and blame?

I'm assuming I'm not the only one...

But today, that happened to me.

It started with an innocent text conversation between my sister-in-law and I regarding my oldest son's trip to the dentist with her this morning, and how he sometimes gets anxious in medical settings and doesn't like strangers in his personal space.

At the end of evening, I was questioning whether or not in this entire saga of their father's abandonment I was the major reason my kids have "issues."  You know, stranger anxiety for one, a lack of stranger anxiety for another, so forth and so on.

Yeah. 

This was my exact panic text to three of my dear "reality check" type friends.

"What if I screwed up and harmed my kids more than Jake ever did?

All day it's all I could think about.

I want to say it's that I'm tying to do right now.

But I think about how long I stayed with him treating me like garbage and how long I stayed with him and didn't stand up for my kids, and even when I tried to stand up it didn't make a difference and I stayed anyway because I loved him and thought it could change and work out and then it all went down as it did anyway and how much of all of the kids issues was just due to me being naive and believing in him and staying and being afraid of what would happen if he wasn't happy with us or okay or got his way and he would leave... And he did anyway.

The truth is I'm trying to make it right and raise them in God's love now.

But the truth may also be I'm the worst part of their past.

Of course had I not stayed at least until July 2013 I wouldn't have Norah..."

(PS: included in this rambling is some realizations I had today that I didn't even realize I had until now.)

As you can see, darkness baited, I bit, it latched on, and tore deep. My first friend stated, the devil had a foothold. I'm the best mama for the kids.

Yikes. He gets me sometimes when I least expect it, and damnit anyway, he's a sneaky serpent.

I tried to believe her and prayed, but the possible lie still felt like truth.

My second friend replied with this poetic check.

"Nicole Marie. You need to stop. Right there.

You have been the best mother your children could ever hope to have.

You stuck by their father, no matter how many times he failed you, until you were certain that he couldn't change. You taught them how to love someone unconditionally, and yet, how to let that person go when they cannot love you the way that you deserve.

And then, you taught them how to be strong and independent and pick up the pieces in one of the most difficult seasons life has ever handed you.

You have shown your children some of the most valuable lessons life has to offer before they were even school age! Imagine what wise things you'll be teaching them in the years to come!

They are going to be remarkable people, and that is solely due to YOU. Sure, other people are helping you mold them. But those people are in their lives because they love YOU. Because they love your strength and grit and love for life."

It effectively had me in tears. I prayed in thankfulness for her words and asked God if they were true. I thought I felt relief.

Until I was about ready for bed, thinking about the day tomorrow and the inevitable blizzard-induced play therapy appointment cancellation tomorrow, and you know... all those reasons my boys see a therapist.

So I confided in my third friend.

And my third, well, she blended the two others.

"Oh Nik.  I hate that you felt this way and I hope that it's a passing feeling because here is the truth.  We have all "screwed up" our kids.  We are all broken fallen people making mistakes constantly and it always affects our kids.  I feel the same way about my kids.  I see some of the issues they have and I know I caused that.   No one is perfect and we all leave impressions on our children but you have to remember that they aren't all negative impressions.  The love and the compassion and the genuine sweetness that make up your kids is also from you.   Their joy filled laughter and their love for others and their childlike faith is also from you.   

As parents we have to choose what we focus on and just always strive to do better and God willing, we will all come through this life. 

But parents we all mold our children - for better or worse and trust me, your children have so much good from you."

I don't usually share people's private messages to me with the world, but for the purpose of this spiral, I have chosen to.

I prayed a bunch, and I'm hoping I hear the still, small voice myself, but maybe, just maybe, as happens often, that voice is coming from others because I am still working to shut off the static to hear the still.

I am a but detached from the intense emotional pull I felt earlier. I'm praying for the truth, His truth. 

I am so thankful that I have a few people ( not only these three, but tonight I was called to them, and I can see why now) that I can turn to help combat these untruths from the enemy. 

I do wish I would see clearly before the spiral behind, though.

One day, one battle at a time. Tonight, the spiral was actually pretty quick.

Harnessed in

It would be amazing if I could just jump right off this emotional rollercoaster I seemed strapped into.

I am terrified of rollercoasters. I've never ridden one, not in a carnival ride sense anyway.

There's something that makes me want to curl into a ball on the ground seeing images of people hanging upside down hundreds of feet in the air... And enjoying it, nonetheless. I feel like I would be latched onto the person next to me with a Hercules grip as soon as the ride started.  Yes, indeed, I am that sort of ninny.

That said... I seem to be firmly seated on a never ending emotional rollercoaster. I try to believe it will end, the motor will stop at some point or some gears will fail... though ideally I would like it to end peacefully on even ground where I am not at the pinnacle of its height or at the edge of a drop off.

I do not remember buying a ticket. I don't remember any sign qualifying my seat by reaching a certain height requirement. I certainly don't remember willingly taking a front row seat and waving at my family and friends as I said "oh yeah, I got this!"

And somehow... In a dazed stupor or love-blinded moment of ecstasy, here I am.

This rollercoaster accelerates at top speeds, and then suddenly slows like a bogged down crawl through molasses. It's exhausting. 

I haven't figured out the control panel yet. I am not sure who is steering it. It seems like it must be me, because I feel like if I was letting God be the conductor, it would look more like a railroad track through southwestern Minnesota than a rickety, loopy amusement park ride.  

I sit here, going from a moment of joy to a moment of sadness, and I find myself in a struggle to regain control of the ride. Then, I realize the power struggle, and I call out to God to take over. Sometimes, I cry harder, other times, I relax in my seat finally. And then it's a nice, steady chug forward.

You know, until the music changes and a lullaby plays "God bless mommy and matchbox cars. God bless dad and thanks for the stars." and it reminds me that my children's dad chose to disappear completely, and I'm alone, and the whir starts and the wind howls through my hair as the tears start streaming again.

Then, I think about the joy in my boys' laughter as I tell them tomorrow, someone is going to take the two of them somewhere super special and exciting just because he loves them so very much, and how overwhelmed with gratitude and love I am knowing that there's someone out there who desires to do these things just because he wants to. Of course, because this track is as such, it leads to realizing how infuriating and depressing it is that their own father can't be bothered to have contact with them, let alone do something special with them.  I pray to God to ease that heartache for all of us, again, and I find the beauty in the extended family He has provided.

So, I go back to my new, self-proclaimed current athem, and it sings, 

Among other lyrics, and I realize I've been trying to masque my presence on this rollercoaster for the past few days, mainly because I didn't want to burden anyone by asking for company, and because this nagging liar in the background keeps telling me I am a ridiculous, crazy burden that people are tired of accompanying anyway.   But, my athem told me I should show what I am made of, and right now, I am harnessed in and distressed.  

But, I am hopeful. And I haven't given up. I guess I will ride it out.

Did I mention my distaste for rollercoaster yet?

The other night, I finally felt like I understood this:

The love, the all encompassing, intense, unconditional love that I had for my future ex-husband was real, even if the person I thought he was turned out to be unrealistic. 

On my end, it was real, and that's why it still hurts, and why instead of beating myself up over the lasting heartache, I should accept that the heartache is true and deep and correlates to the love I had for him for 14 years. That's almost half my lifetime.

I think that's possibly the moment I wandered onto this ride. I allowed myself to embrace both the love and the loss, fresh, unrestrained, for what it is. 

I hope this ride is done soon.

So Far

A year ago, I left work, and moved into the (then brand new) homeless shelter in town, followed by moving to another homeless shelter where I rented one of their transitional housing apartments.

It was petrifying.

A year ago, I was still hiding my marriage crumbling, my husband's abandonment and other things from the world.

It was exhausting.

A year ago, I was still weighing my decisions on how they would affect my husband and his feelings about the kids and I, and I was still soliciting his opinion even though he rarely was helpful.

It was frustrating.

A year ago, I was still being manipulated, controlled, lied to, and emotionally abused.

It was brain washing me.

A year ago, I was the only one of us fighting for our marriage and our family. 

It was overwhelming.

A year ago, I was still covering up for him, cleaning up his messes, and enabling his poor choices for fear that he would dessert us and in hope that he would finally change.

It was embarassing.

Now, I sit on the couch and I look how far I've come. The children and I have had our own home for over 5 months. I no longer rely on his unreliable assistance for paying rent or bills (or anything at the moment, but that's another story). We have our own address and can have visitors whenever we want (so please come visit). My marriage is publicly on the road to and end, and I no longer feel alone. The weight has been lightened after letting people in. I no longer wait around for input from someone who does not have his children's best interest in mind. I make the decisions, with the help of God or a few trusted friends.

I have asked God to break the chain from the abandonment, lies, control, and abuse. I am free. I can see clearly.

And now, I am fighting for my children and I. I have put us first. I have put my babies first. I still wish I could have had a restored marriage, but I cling to God and his plan for me through this. I pray for my (future) former husband in that he is personally restored. 

And now, I have let down the wall, and let the world see what really happened, for hope that he would be accountable, fearing that it would haunt me publicly, however, or that he would make me out to be crazy. Instead, I see his real character shine through, and I know I am not to blame or to be embarrassed. It is him, not me.

Look how far I've come. 

Thank you, Jesus.