To me, at the end of thirty-three...

Dear Me,

Here I am, the last day of the last year of my life, once again.  Tomorrow, a new day of a new year begins.

I usually write these letters to my children, hoping someday they'll come across them and read them, and see how much I loved them, my thoughts and feelings about each passing year of their lives, and see the growth and change we've all went through.

This year, instead of avoiding and trying to awkwardly accept birthday greetings, I'm embracing, without sadness or reserve.  Or, at least I'm going to try.  It's decided.

The past couple of days, especially, have been... odd.  I cannot think of a better way to describe them, but I spent many moments wondering if my birthday really had any meaning for myself, whether or not I should tell my children about it, how awkward it is to tell my children about it, whether or not it would be a big deal to them, whether or not they would be upset if my birthday passed and they didn't know about it, whether they'd be upset if they heard others wish me a happy birthday and feel like I was keeping it from them.  I spent time irritated with their father for bailing on us multiple times, and angry with him for leaving me to make all the special occasions special, birthdays meaningful, and so forth.  I was annoyed that he isn't around to tell them about my birthday himself, and help them make cards or gifts or whatever goofy little things their hearts desired, and not wanting to have to do it myself, because it's just so weird.

So I resigned to talking about my birthday with my Bean, and letting them overhear, and her telling them about it and getting them excited, so I wouldn't have to on my own.

So odd. So awkward.

And now, here we are.  The night before the "big day."  The day that I entered this world... 34 years ago.

I've had my share of fun birthdays.  I've definitely had a lot of memorable ones.  But it seems like the past three years were a struggle.

In 2014, after all, my world came crashing down.  It crashed on my birthday.  The man who promised me would come back and fight for his family and work on his marriage after taking "a break," had gotten his unemployed (at his support and urging) wife and his three small children evicted from their home, and refused to really help them find a new one (or even help out with packing or childcare while his wife tried to find a place to live).  It lead to a short stay with a friend (to whom I will forever be grateful), a stay at the homeless shelter, and months in transitional housing, while tracking him down for a divorce after he completely abandoned and disappeared.

I don't sit and dwell on it often, and I certainly try not to let it bog me down.  Today, though, I sat in a dark, silent room, thinking about my upcoming anniversary of birth, and I realized that it's been three years since that birthday that started the real crash and spiral.

As I thought about it, though, I began to feel uplifted.

To quote myself earlier, "Three years ago tomorrow, my world came crashing down, and it felt like my hopes and dreams for my life were all dying. It was the most devastating and overwhelming birthday.

But now, three years later, I look back and see that in that figurative death, it was a day of rebirth. A day to celebrate my birth into this world, but also the day where a new life was birthed for me. This year, I celebrate both of my birth-days, and reflect on how far I've come and the new life I've been living. It's bittersweet, yet incredible. It's amazing to see how God truly turned sorrow into joy."

As I sat thinking about that more and more throughout the day, I decided that maybe this year, being it's my third new birthday, it might be time to write myself a letter.

You see, I have come a long way.  Now, I won't lie and say it's been easy, or that any given day is easy and completely void of any drama, stress, frustration, or tears.  Most days are.  I mean, I do have three children who are still fairly young.

But, I'm no longer traumatized.  Yes, much of the year 2014 traumatized me, and while I would rarely admit until now, today, I see that, and I will state it.  I was traumatized.

Was.  Now, I'm not.  Now, I can sit and reflect with a clearer mind, more stable emotions, and see that not only was I not broken and my life wasn't over, but I was simply crushed and given a new chance.  It wasn't a chance I wanted and still sometimes wish was not my reality.  But, it lead me to such beauty and empowerment.  I've found strength. I've found peace. I've found joy. I've found determination. I've found patience. I've found love. I've found faith.

I've found many victories.

I've seen my children flourish. I've seen them survive trauma, more than once, and seen them grow into loving individuals with bright smiles, joy-filled laughter, and endless hugs.

I have been basically the sole provider for my family of four. I've had some help I will admit.  But, for the most part, I've done it.  And we've lived in the same home for over two years now, which is the longest any of my children ever had a home.

We've had heat.  We've had electricity.  We've had our own address and walls.  We have a church family.  We have a work family.  We have a friend family.  And we still have our blood family beside us.

I've been able to get past triggers, such as my birthday coming up, that would take my breath away and send my mind in a nosedive for darkness.

I'm not perfect.  I'm not even close.  But I'm better than I was before.  I am able to see my flaws and my weaknesses more easily, and embrace them and attempt to change them.  I'm always a work in progress.

I have learned new skills and developed my talents.  I've loved deeply, and lost greatly in the last three years.

I'm a better woman because of it all.

And I've a better life than I had before, even though it's changed drastically, left me longing from time to time for what I once had, and left me in tears of anguish and frustration some days still.  I refuse to lie to myself and say that these days are done. I'm human and I have weaknesses, and I know that I will face days in the future I miss having my husband by my side, and living the life I thought we lived, happily ever after.  But, I also know now, ending 33, that my life is beautiful, and I am beautiful.

So, while tomorrow, I turn 34, my new life turns 4.  It's nice to see my birthday with a renewed sense this year.  Tomorrow will be my first one where I will not allow the past to bring me down.  I'm claiming it.

I thought about sharing a picture that I took of myself to commemorate this evening.  You know, one that looks good because I know my angles or whatever.  Something I found to be "pretty" and wonderful.

Instead, I'm going to show myself a photo or two that are taken by my oldest son, who is almost seven.  Because, instead of seeing who I want to be or what I love about myself, I want to remember what he sees, what he loves, and what he is proud of and wants to share.  Because really, that's the woman I have most genuinely become, I think.

So, Me,

You're weary, you're exhausted, but you're strong and determined.  You're smart, not crazy.  You're a good mom, not a failure.  You're a good employee.  You're a good friend.  You're a good child of God.  You've done amazing things for yourself and your children.  

You've got this. 

Happy Birth and Re-Birth Day Tomorrow.

Love, Me

A place of my own

I have my very own bedroom.

I haven't had my very own bedroom since the spring of 2006.

It happened last Sunday, after a month or so of meditation.

Prior to this, I had been sharing the larger of our two bedrooms with my nearly 2.5 year-old daughter.

I actually began sharing a room with her in January of 2015, when we moved into transitional housing straight out of the homeless shelter.

Prior to that, I spent two months sharing a bedroom with my two sons while we roomed with a friend at her apartment.

Before that, I spent 9 years or so sharing a room, and a bed, with my former husband.

My daughter doesn't sleep very well. She never has slept more than a few hours at a time for me, and I have been so perpetually exhausted for years now that sometimes I think I'm crazy.  She sleeps okay for other people. It's been a combination, I assume, of recurrent ear infections, tonsils, adenoids, teething (she's still missing two of her two-year molars), and knowing I'm near. I'm a cruddy sleeper, quiet noises wake me, so listening to her cry at night is overwhelming. I have not been one to pick her up and coddle her when she cries at night, but I think part of it is that she would cry and I would even just voice from my bed "it's okay, babe, go back to sleep." Who knows.

Regardless of why, I thought it might be worth a shot to combine her room with her brothers room, and pray for the best.

It's been going well. She still wakes up sometimes, but not every 40 minutes to two hours. The boys stay in their beds quietly because she's in there, so the middle child hasn't been wandering out eight times before he falls asleep. I'm praying these things continue or improve. 

It's nice to be able to go to bed and turn on the light whatever time I want to, or turn it on first thing in the morning and not worry about waking anyone. It's nice to have my own closet and not have to share space. It's nice to not have toys to step on, or other people throwing clothes on my floor. I can decorate for just me. I could read in bed if I wanted, or not wake anyone if I cough.

I have still been sleeping like crud. I think it's partially because it's a new room, new light, new noise, new temperature, and because my body is so used to waking up multiple times a night. It will take some adjustment. I'm holding onto faith soon we will all be sleeping well, though.

Last night, I had a few nightmares. It's not really a big deal, but irritating. However, I was going to make my bed a bit ago and I remembered them.  Then, I remembered the 9 or so years where I had a roommate to share them with.

Suddenly, I realized, sitting on my bed, that my new room, while exciting and deserved, feels a bit lonely and sad at the same time.

It seems silly. But, I realized that in 2005, I was engaged and planning my forever, which included a roommate for life.

And now, the bed and the room contain just one person. Just me.

It's empowering on some levels, to know I stood up for myself and worked so hard to be in this room, alone. But it is also currently weighted reminder that my life dreams and plans were shattered and remade.

It will take some getting used to.

And my bed is still not made.

am then, was now

I feel this surge inside of me tonight. I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep for whatever reason, and out of thin air, I am compelled to write poetry. 

It takes me back to my little haven at home back in junior high and high school, when I would reach to my dresser in the dark, feeling for my notebook and my pen. And there, in the absence of light, I would write out my words. Poetry would flow from my fingertips until my mind was calm and my body was finally exhausted enough to sleep. 

In the morning, I would read my words. Surprisingly, more often than not they were legible and I would then venture downstairs to type them out and put them on my "secret" poetry website only a few knew about.

It was common. It was familiar. It was me.

And then, as tides change, so did my life. I went to college, made new friends, fell in love, and molded slowly into a young woman who resembled the former in many ways. But through the years, as is often the case with age, the resemblances faded.  Not necessarily the physical ones, though some, but the characteristics that make up the personality.

As I find to be the case in many areas lately, I didn't see it then.

I see it now.

Now, as I lay in bed, over a decade later, in my dark room. No longer a pen beside me, as I have now given life to three beautiful, albeit mischievous babies who like to write on things that aren't paper, but I find my phone.

I open my notepad.

And like an old familiar tune, my fingers fly and the poetry trickles forward.

This time, I see it form as I go, the screen illuminating my words as they never used to. And I create what I believe to be the second poem I have crafted in at least 8 years.

Immediately, because if the technology in front of me, I read it over. I critique it in my mind as "not great," but decide to throw caution to the wind and publish it anyway.

I turn off the screen.  

My mind still circles as a carrousel.

And here I am again- fingers flying.

In those few minutes between poetry and prose, my mind wanders through the years. I see myself now, a single mother of three, playing over conversations I've had with a few friends recently. They've told me the visions they have for my future. I recall a book I was loaned talking about hearing God's calling on our lives and accepting the call, knowing that after trials and tribulations we are purified in character so we can best be used by Him. For a few moments, I dare to imagine the visions they had as reality. I become anxious.

Then, I wonder... What are my visions for myself now?

I used to have visions for my future. My past lead into the future, which is now my present, and the present is nothing like I had envisioned.

I wonder, have I lost myself somewhere? Have I lost the ability to have a life goal? A long term plan?

Then, I realize all the things I used to do. I wrote poetry, I was a photographer, I did graphic design for fun, I hand-bound books and journals, I wrote stories, I cooked, I baked, I sang, I played guitar and clarinet, I sewed, I painted, I drew, I played games, I traveled, I went and had fun visits with friends.

There was a period where I nearly lost all of these things. My camera was gone, my guitar, my words, my supplies. I had lost so much and in losing so much, lost much of my release and my vision.

But, in the dark, I see now so clearly many of them are sneaking back into my life.

Do I still love them? Many I do.

Do I desire them? Many I do.

Not all. Many. 

I can see myself then, and I see myself now. I compare and contrast and I wonder who I am now. I know I am not just a mom, though many days it feels that way. I like to believe I am still a great friend. I still have my sense of humor and creativity. But I don't have my direction yet, and that produces a slight sense of confusion, apprehension, and makes it hard to find ambition.

I, frankly, do not quite know who I am now, what I am about now, and what I should plan for now.

I've been holding onto what I had envisioned for so long. I had been holding onto hope for what didn't happen for so long. I have been in mere survival mode for too long.

 I have found myself at this intersection, unsure of where to proceed. Perhaps, I should breathe, pray, and wait. I should see what unfolds instead of hastily jumping forward.

Breathe. Overcome.

Overcome, overcame, overcomer... this is a trio of words that two friends consistently call me, or refer to as my words.  I hear them say this, I feel where they're coming from, but I don't always see it or feel it as truth.  

Here's a little story of the last 18 hours or so, and how I went from feeling defeated and overwhelmed to realizing that I really am an overcomer.  I apologize in advance if at the end it really was hard to follow or see the point.  But, I just need to type.

I never really chose these words as "mine" but they keep coming back again and again.  Now, yes, I have a relationship with God, but as many, I often have times hearing what he's trying to say to me.

I wrote recently about doorways, and how I'm closing one door from the manipulative marriage I was in, and moving forward to whatever is beyond the next door.   I have been through fires and trials, and somehow, I'm still able, most days, to laugh, smile, and relish in the many joys that God bestows upon me.  

Some days, though, I still falter.  I grapple with negative thoughts, fears, and worries.

This past week was a week filled with the grappling.  I've stayed up late mulling over the what-ifs and fearing what may or may not come in the future.  It's been EXHAUSTING.  I had a beautiful reprieve yesterday when I was able to spend a few hours with some long-time friends, allowing my children to play with theirs, and to voice some of these issues and talk through them without children in ear shot.

But for some reason, when I left their house last night and my children fell asleep in the van, they came flooding back, more intense than before.  Fears like... "if I were to die on a weekend, how long would it be before someone was wondering where I was, and how long would my children remain scared, hungry, tired, and alone."   

Now, this fear has plagued me since I first had a baby, and my husband worked overnights.  It would fall into the background from time to time, but it's always been there.  

When I finally returned home, the children were all still asleep, and I had a text from one of my friends who speaks "overcome" to me.  She was asking how I was, and my fingers flew across the keypad on my phone as I emptied my heart to her again.

I had been only half-clinging to God throughout the week, and more clinging to myself, my mind, my strength, my fears.  I knew it even if I couldn't say it.  But, then God reached out and grabbed me, and brought me back to Him.

She called, I didn't answer the first time, but she called again, and I laid down my pride and I answered.  She talked with me, let me cry, and prayed with me.  When she was done, a song I cling to that comes to me often at the perfect time, started on the van radio.  It was the first song I think I heard the entire drive home.  

"Lord, I need you.  Every hour I need you.  My one defense- my righteousness..."  It hit me, as it always does, like he was calling out to me to call out to Him.

She suggested I listen to one specific song when I got home.  I never got to it, unfortunately, because the three children all woke up very upset, and I went through and extensive bedtime routine before getting them to sleep.  At that point, I opened my Bible, which I have admittedly neglected this week, and began reading where I left off.

I laughed to myself as I realized God was showing me what just happened in the van, (as it has many times before) and how it's been His plan for me all along to have that sort of thing happen when I need it most.  As my friend says frequently, I'm not meant to go at it alone, after all.  It happens when I start feeling like I'm crumbling, I find a friend or two that build me up.   I sat there, amazed, though I shouldn't have been, I'm sure, by the verse.  I prayed then that I could be that person for someone else who may need it.  I still pray that.  I've always prayed that, actually.

I digress.  I then began apologizing to God for not trusting Him through the week and worrying so much about things I can't control, that He has under control, and things I can't begin to work on yet while I'm still before the next door in my journey.  I felt a sense of relief, and started sobbing. 

God often speaks to me through music, and right before my friend text me to check on me, I started humming a melody.  It took me only a few moments before I realized what song I was singing.  It's an old favorite called "Breathe on Me" by Jennifer Knapp.

The key lyrics that came to my mind were:

No temptation seize a man that he can't overcome.

Who am I to be fallen?

Crack your back on a slab of wood

come freedom, nail it down, I come crawling

I come crawling.

Come trickle down and save the world

two hands that I can't see

come breathe, come breathe, come breathe on me.

Split rib water, blood and bone,

come now, come Calvary.

Come breathe, come breathe on me.

Testimony come now quickly, whisper in my ear

Celebration

Peace at last not far away, 

empty sheet, a borrowed grave

Salvation

Come freedom come.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the couch.

This morning, when I woke up to Norah in my bed, stealing my covers, I realized she had slept better last night, than she had in weeks.  She only woke up once (yes, she still sleeps like a newborn).   I went to church, excited as I am every Sunday for that last 8 or so months.

Two songs brought me to tears.  The first was the song that my friend suggested I listen to last night but never did, "Great Are you Lord," by All Sons and Daughters.

She even quoted it to me last night, "It's Your breath in my lungs."  Another breath related word.  Breathe is another message I find myself getting often because I really forget to breathe in the right air sometimes.  

The second song, talked was "No Longer Slaves" by Bethel Music.

You unravel me with a melody,

you surround me with a song

of deliverance from my enemies

til all my fears are gone.

I'm no longer a slave to fear,

I am a child of God.

As I mentioned, I have been dwelling on fears.  Last night, when we prayed, we prayed that be broken.  And here it was, again.  That, and the first line... that's totally me.  I already mentioned that also, God speaks to me through song quite often.  I find he speaks to me through song, through a few close friends especially, and through the Bible readings when I get over myself and my need to do other things with my time and sit down and read it.  I'm working on it.

Today, the message was about overcoming offenses.  I immediately flashed back to a book, "The Bait of Satan" that I had borrowed from my friend and read a few months ago. When I read that book, I felt such a release.  I forgave and moved on from offenses I had been holding onto at the time.  It was such a blessing.

I had said to my friend last night that I wasn't sure what else was burdening me, and we prayed I would see it so I could release it.

Well, there it was.  As soon as I saw the title of the sermon I knew.  I had latched on to new offenses since then, and I needed to overcome them.  A fresh freedom is what I needed.

So, I listened, reflected on the book and the message.  And when the pastor prayed, I released again.  I still need to work, I will admit, because some offenses run deeply. But, I truthfully don't want to hold onto them.  So, I'm working and praying on it in the days ahead.

He mentioned this verse:

This verse, for a few months, has been the screen lock on my phone.  "I have overcome the world."  I see it daily.  Today, I realized I have been seeing it, but I haven't been really reading it.

After church, my other friend said to me again, something along the lines of "how'd you like that?  It was your word again."

It was. 

I sit here, this afternoon, my children with their aunt and uncle a few hours so I can clear some of the clutter from our apartment, and I feel much lighter, not totally.  I still need to figure out what else is burdening my heart and work through it.  But, I'm sitting here with clearer mind, again, seeing my words.

Overcome.  Breathe.

I can do both.  I have done both.  God's done the overcoming for me and He's the air I breathe. 

And my weary heart is going to be okay.

Snips and snails and sugar and spice...

This morning, I recieved a notice on my phone saying "Congrats! You are now 21 weeks pregnant!"

It stated some other stuff but I didn't read it before I cleared it away. I sat on my bed a few minutes in disbelief. How on earth can I be 21 weeks pregnant already? It can't be true.

Well, yup, it is. I know for a fact it is, because a little over a week ago, I had an ultrasound that confirmed it.

AND, Baby Boo was cooperative and shared the big secret- It's a girl!

I was in disbelief about that, too, I've always wanted a daughter, but my heart and mind had me feeling I was a boys' mommy and I would have three or four boys eventually. I LOVE being mommy to my sons and it just seemed to make sense that Baby Boo was a boy. We even had the name finalized.

So, when the first (of three) technicians and nurse said "it's a girl!" I think I probably gave her a strange "are you kidding me?" look. Not at ALL what I imagined that mystical moment to play out as. I saw myself giggling and maybe crying and squeaky. Instead, I was questioning her sanity and probably a bit smug. Eh, it is what it is. 

I sat there musing how my husband would think I was kidding, and my sister too, when I told them the news. So I had them re-glance, and the tech and nurse both said there were no boy parts. Okay then...

Toward the end, another tech came in and finished the ultrasound and she checked too. Independently, she also decided Boo is a little lady and printed an ultrasound to "prove it." 

By this point I was becoming a little giddy, but still totally shocked. I couldn't wait to tell Jake (who couldn't get off work to come with me), but wanted to do it in person, so I text asking if I could stop by work to talk to him- that it needed to be in person.

Fast forward: an hour (I had my midwife appointment) later, I was pulling into his work, with the ultrasound laying beside me. I could tell he was freaked out and worried I had bad news, but I simply handed him the print-outs. He looked at the first few before finding the one that read "it's a girl!" (I have this all on video because I'm sneaky like that, but I don't have permission to share it, sorry). His face turned into a smirk and he asked me (as I knew he would), if it was true, if they were sure, how they knew, and a few other things. He concluded telling me he doesn't know if he trusts ultrasounds, which lead me to start second (ah.. quadruple) guessing the results, but I said they were as sure as they can be and three different professionals all say girl.

As the day went on, he got more excited.

I wanted to tell my family in person because we were seeing them on Sunday, and nearly all of them were hoping for a girl. So, I avoided telling them and text a few close friends, about half of whom were shocked and the other half off-the-wall-I-told-you-so-excited.

Came home and put a pink border on Boo's quilt before I went to work (and told a handful of little girls who had been guessing the gender and were anxiously awaiting my news).

On Saturday, we did a quick gender announcement photo session with Something Clicked Photography for our public online announcement that would come after telling my family.  My sister and I joked with my husband about naming the baby Precious Beulah. He is NOT a fan.

On Sunday, we told my mom by way of showing her the adorable blanket we made, saying "look what we made for the baby!"  I gotta say, my family seemed pretty excited. That night, I shared these photos:

Spencer and Collin... honestly don't care. Haha. Not that I find that surprising in any way. Spencer gets excited to say "baby sister!" as well as the name we are basically certain we will give her (nope, not telling yet). It's ADORABLE. But beyond that, they're just happy for balloons in the house again, and a new fuzzy blanket to cuddle with. Yup, we are all enjoying her blanket, because 19 or so weeks is a long time to store it away. 

I'll be honest, I still catch myself thinking of Boo as "it" instead of "she" and I think it's because the concept of calling my children a feminine pronoun is just bizarre still. I know eventually it will come naturally.  But sometimes I still nearly call Boo the name she would have been if she were a he. 

I'm nervous about raising a daughter, too. Various things concern me: I'm not super "girly" and the idea of tons of baby-pink/pastel pink is a bit unnerving, we have to buy all new clothes, and will have to have girl toys! What? Jake and I both watch the boys play and say to each other "what is she going to play with? I hope she likes cars..." But more than anything, quite frankly, at this point in time, is my plaguing worry that she too will suffer from PCOS and all of the insecurities, ugly symptoms, and heartbreak struggling to have a family will affect her in the future as it has me. I've already cried over the possibility.

Only time will tell.

For now, I'm still wrapping my mind around this fittingly surprising (as everything about this pregnancy has been) discovery and realizing that another one of my lifelong dreams is (assuming that ultrasound was right!) going to come true.

Thanks to everyone who has congratulated us!