I am okay.

I am okay now.

It took me quite a while to get here, though.

If you aren’t my friend on Facebook, you might not know, but on March 31, I was sent home to isolate from the world.  I had ended up in the emergency room after helping my three littles with their distance learning, after the schools all shut down.  I thought there was a possibility I was going to have a heart attack. 

I had to test for Covid-19, which at the time, seemed crazy to me.  After the test, I was sent home to wait on the results.  They told me in approximately 3-5 days, I should know, and best case scenario was that I did not test positive and I could go back to “regular” life when that result came.

I had no idea how sick I was going to be.  I barely had a cough at that time, and my temperature was 100.1 and I had no idea.  I felt fine, nothing unusual from the colds I so often seem to get.

As the week went on, I slowly started feeling more yucky, and like I had bronchitis or something.  I was sure it was not coronavirus.  I hardly left the house and did as much as I thought I could to prevent possibly catching it.

I tested positive for Covid-19.  I received the phone call that Friday.

By then, I was surprised, but also not surprised.  By that point, I definitely didn’t feel well.

I spent the next EIGHT WEEKS battling Covid-19, and then pneumonia as a result of it.  I am still battling a cough, though every day it’s less and less frequent and forceful.  

Those eight weeks are both a blur but also burned into my soul.

I am not going to get into all of the physical symptoms I dealt with, although there were multiple days and nights I was unsure if I was going to be able to battle it at home.  

On June 1, the children and I were finally released from our isolation.  While this was an extremely joyous and welcome release, it turns out, it was also the trigger for emotional and mental turmoil I did not realize I was suffering from.  

It was this really weird feeling like the world had collectively been through this pandemic, all sorts of changes and restrictions, and world being turned upside down and closed off for weeks. I knew and understood it but did not relate. Similarly, I had been through the pandemic but personally through an intense period of illness, breathlessness, struggle internally and externally, feeling like a failure as a mom unable to care for my kids as I knew I should, trying to balance my fear of them getting sick if I was around them with the fear of their hearts being sick if I wasn't around them, being isolated with no one to call on physically for assistance in the home, solitude and feeling like my struggles were unrelatable. I was part of the world but displaced from it. Being released felt like being let loose into a place I no longer really fit into or understood.  It also timed perfectly that my "release" occured at the moment the country was quite literally on fire with civil unrest and I did not know how to process it. 

Finally, I was going to be able to go back to work, the job I’ve had for five years, a job I LOVE, with people I LOVE.  

But as soon as I saw my name on the work schedule, my heart started racing and I felt sick to my stomach.  I wanted to be there, so it did not make sense to me that I would be having this physical aversion.  The thoughts started swirling and tears started falling as I realized all the ways things have changed there- children in new rooms, different staff, new policies, art taken off the walls, and new paint.  They all sound so trivial.  I told myself it was just me overthinking things. 

I went to work on Monday.  As soon as we walked to the door, the kids pointed out a poster on the wall talking all about Covid-19 and instantly a wall went up around my soul.  I could hardly make eye contact with my dearest coworker, who I trust with everything.  She’s seen me through so many traumas and heartaches, trials, tribulations, breakthroughs, and joy in five years.  But I could hardly form words.  

I just kept telling myself I did NOT want to cry.  I am a crier, as much as I hate it, and I was doing everything, consciously and subconsciously, to avoid tears.   I went to the grocery store and was completely overwhelmed when I couldn’t find the apples from where I was standing and all of the weird dots and arrows on the floor did not make sense in my mind for any route I would have taken under normal circumstances.  By Tuesday night, I realized the self-sabotage of that wall, and fought off so many negative thoughts toward myself of stupidity and embarrassment.  

Throughout the week following being at work, I realized just how messy my spirit was feeling.  I spoke and wrote the words to more than one person that “my faith is okay, but my mind is a mess.”  I knew that God would see me through this next leg of the journey, but at any given moment, I just didn’t feel okay.

I tried to trivialize it within myself.  I told myself I didn’t have it THAT bad with Covid-19 and pneumonia.  I never did end up in the hospital on a ventilator.  I played down the severity and refused to use the word “trauma” to describe my situation.  I was just sick, and I had been sick before.

The more I thought about it, and the more my emotions kept creeping up (no matter how hard I tried to push them down), I was able to begin to put them to words.  A few close friends suggested possible things like PTSD related symptoms or moral trauma.  They were able to pinpoint emotions and things I had taken on before I even could.  They were able to point out so many ways my heart and spirit were injured or affected by the two long months.  They were spot on and I could not argue, just embrace the insight being given to me.

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

I am broken BUT I AM HEALED. I am hurting BUT I AM COMFORTED.

All at the same time.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how Jesus makes it possible to be both.   We are earth-side but we are eternal.  He understands and sees our pain but he counters it with his life.

Last night, I expressed to my friend that I was unsure I was brave enough to go to my actual, physical church building and experience the service live today.  She asked if it was fear.

I realized it was.

So I asked what God could give me to replace the fear I was trying so hard to give up to Him.

I heard the word “assurance.”  I did a quick google search for that word in the Bible and the verse that struck me was 2 Chronicles 20:17 “You won’t have to lift a hand in this battle; just stand firm, Judah and Jerusalem, and watch God’s saving work for you take shape. Don’t be afraid, don’t waver. March out boldly tomorrow- God is with you.”

This morning, I woke up, and immediately my heart was racing.  I was feeling anxious.  

I put on my best “brave” which felt so weak and uncertain, and drove to church. I sat in the parking lot, feeling overwhelmed.   

I remembered the verse and I went in.

I was embraced by a hug and instantly started crying.  I received another hug and was holding my composure fairly well, and went to sit down.  I felt like I was going to burst at the seams so I left and came back again.  Then I sat there, just trying to breathe through all of the anxiousness I was feeling. I didn’t want to cough, even though I know I’m not contagious anymore according to the Department of Health, but I did not want to scare anyone.  I did not know if I was sitting too close to people.  I knew if I started crying I would start coughing and did not want to make a scene or stress anyone out.

Well, as God would have it, I cried all the way through worship. 

Then the message was about overcoming- the first half was about the healing of one’s mind.

I realized that God had led me to where I needed to be.  No, He pushed me where I needed to be, into uncomfortable waters, so he could calm and restore.  

After the service, I let him pull me forward for personal prayer.  Step-by-step, my trusted friend led me through breaking off so many layers of chains that had wrapped around my spirit.   When I couldn’t think of words, she helped me.  I tore off guilt, shame, fear, anxiousness, unworthiness, loneliness, and so, so much more.  

I don’t remember each layer.

I remember there were many.  I remember I shook and I sobbed and I told her how I felt like I had been imprisoned in my home, and felt burdened like I was wrapped in chain mail.  And now that I was “free” I felt out of place where the freedom was being given back to me.  Where I first felt imprisioned and alone, I had begun to find my “comfort,” and the freedom overwhelmed every part of me. 

When the breaking off was done, the filling began, and I remembered who I really am. I could see her again.  I am okay.  The healing has begun.  I feel better.

She hugged me, and I was not afraid or nervous for the first time in two months.  I realized that even though I had been given hugs from my children, and then a few after being let out of my apartment, they were always tainted with the fear of harming others or making them sick.   They were tinged with the fear of  “death.”  

This hug was not like that.  This hug was filled with hope and life.

And I was able to walk out of that sanctuary without the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I had a real smile.  I was able to make eye contact with people who loved me.  I received more hugs.  I cried good, healing, releasing tears.

I did not get a chance to talk to everyone who prayed for me or loved me through these months, and I was feeling a little overwhelmed again, not negatively this time, but just in the way that I had been through a whirlwind and I was getting tired.  

I had to go back to the grocery store before coming home.  I walked in and I felt okay.  I did not cry.  

I came home and prayed again.  I turned church back on, and continue to listen to the message again as I write this story.  

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

But I kicked that wall down this morning and I now I feel it.

I know, realistically, there are still triggers out there I am going to face.  I know that there may be struggles.  I know that I am human and I may falter and stumble still.  I know that the enemy is going to continue his pursuit of me.

I’m thankful though, that today, I can see more clearly.  I am thankful that I am comfortable again with being honest and open about how I really am.  I am so thankful that God pushed me where I needed to be today, despite myself, so I could be embraced by His love, through His words to me, and through those He placed beside me who love me. 

I pray that as I continue to face these triggers or thoughts and memories that may come along, I’ll have the strength and openness to keep that wall broken down.

I am finally able to say that this experience was a trauma.  I say it without quotations marks to downplay it.  It was a trauma.

However, if there’s one thing that God has shown me, through worship, church, and others alongside my journey, is that I am an overcomer.  He and I will overcome this, too.

I'm Anchored.

For quite some time now, I have had it in my mind that I wanted a very specific, simple tattoo on my left wrist.

On my right wrist, I have a simple tattoo that reads "I love you" in my grandmother's handwriting.  In fact, multiple female family members have similar handwriting tattoos on their wrists or clavicles.  We all went together and had a tattoo party when they heard of my idea and fell in love with it themselves.

My left wrist, though, all I wanted was an anchor.

When I was younger, I would have never suspected I would adore the image of an anchor as I do now.  I thought of them simply in terms of sailing and pirates and such.

But then, my faith was tested.  I guess that's a silly statement, because throughout one's life, faith is continually tested.  I'm no different in that regard, and I have had many tests under my belt, each time, my faith in God remaining.  From time to time, I may have distanced myself, but He's always been there.

But recently, over the last few years, my faith has been tested in ways I never dreamed of.  From finding out my former husband was cheating on me with men and women alike, to threatened homelessness while I had no job and three children ages six months to four years old, to living in a homeless shelter and transitional housing, to being abandoned financially and emotionally, to filing for divorce... to self-sufficiency (for the most part, with occasional blessings from trusted family and friends) and single parenting in a God focused home, I've done nearly a complete 180 degree turn around in my life, and all the while, my God has remained, pulling me through, guiding me, walking beside me, carrying me, fighting for me, and calming me.

This anchor...

This anchor is my reminder.   It reminds me of my past and my victories.  It reminds me of God's sovereignty and steadfastness.    It reminds me of hope.  

You see, through everything in my life, my hope has remained.  I've never been hopeless.  I've never been completely alone, because I've known God to be with me always, even if I was refusing to acknowledge him.  Even in my deepest despair and my darkest times, my hardest routes and my scariest valleys, I've had hope in a better tomorrow, and I've had hope that God would pull me through, as He has.

One of my most well-loved bible verses is Hebrews 6:19.  It's beautiful in multiple translations.  "This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls.  It leads us through the curtain into God's inner sanctuary." NLT

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain." NIV

Hope is an anchor.  What a beautiful image.  In all that life throws at us, this hope keeps us steady.

What is this hope?

God is this hope.

"The Lord is all I have, and so in him I put my hope." Lamentations 3:24

"Sovereign Lord, I put my hope in you; I have trusted you since I was young." Psalm 71:5

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from Him." Psalm 62:5

"We put our hope int he Lord. He is our help and our shield. In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust His holy name. Let your unfailing love surround us, Lord, for our hope is in You alone." Psalm 33:20-22

"You will live secure and full of hope; God will protect you and give you rest." Job 11:18

This tattoo is also my reminder to seek God continually, through my life. It's permanency shall remind me to enter my secret place and to pray.  Sometimes I forget. Often, actually, I forget.

"Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times."  Romans 12:12

And, it reminds me that God has a plan for me, even if I feel things are out of control, totally random or uncertain, or make absolutely no sense.  Because God says so. 

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope."  Jeremiah 29:11

The bible talks a lot about hope.

But so does music.  Many know that God speaks to me often through music.  I will hear a song a hundred times, and on the 101st time, it speaks in a new way, or I hear a lyric I had never heard before.  Many songs that resonate with me deeply talk of God as an anchor for us, or his hope as an anchor for us, or him carrying us through storms.  

"Let the King of my heart be the wind inside my sails, the anchor in the waves, oh he is my song." -John Mark McMillan, King of my Heart.

"When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest on His unchanging grace.  In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil." Hillsong United, Cornerstone

"In the eye of the storm, You remain in control, and in the middle of the war, You guard my soul.  You alone are the anchor when my sails are torn.  Your love surrounds me in the eye of the storm." Ryan Stevenson, Eye of the Storm

These are just a few that came to me at the moment, but I know that there are more.

I don't always have my bible with me. I don't always have music with me. I don't always have my phone with me. But, I do always have my wrist with me.

And now, on that wrist, I'll always have my anchor with me, to show me, to remind me, to inspire me.  Maybe someday, someone I do not know will ask about my anchor.  Maybe they'll assume I'm a wannabe pirate. Maybe they'll think I was in the navy.  Maybe, just maybe, they'll ask.  And my God will fill me with bravery and grace, and I'll step out in faith, and I'll testify.  I'll tell them all about how I've been through quite a storm,and my God, my Hope, my Anchor held me steady through it all, and I am no worse for the wear as the sunshine came out.  I'm stronger.  I'm braver.  I'm calmer. I'm more rooted in my faith than ever before.

Because I'm anchored.

I think...

I think about that last day, a year go.  The sky was cloudy. The wind was blowing. You were in yellow.  The kids were anxiously excited. They hadn't seen you in many days. Their laughter rose over the rustling leaves as they squealed your name and ran to you, jumping into your arms.

You followed them around, playing occasionally on the park equipment.

 After 40 minutes or so, you asked briefly about your daughter's hospitalization the week before. After another twenty minutes, you declared you had stuff to do and had to leave. 

The laughter subsided and smiles faded. The kids all protested as we walked them to the van. You helped buckle them into their seat belts after giving them a hug. You told them you loved them, and you would see them soon. You promised to call your oldest son the next day, and planned to see them after the holiday weekend. 

I closed the van doors. They cried. They didn't want you to go. They missed you so deeply already. My heart ached for them as you drove away.

They never heard from you again.

I have been thinking about that day, the last times, frequently throughout this past week. I think of their joy and subsequent sadness. I think of your lies and broken promises. I wonder how much truth was in your salutations and hugs. 

I think about the days that followed. I think about how our son waited around for you to call. I think about how he asked me over and over to call you, and call you again, and you wouldn't answer. I think about the fury burning in my heart as you silenced the last calls and I told him daddy didn't want to talk today. I think about the next two days before you text me the last time. I think about how I asked you why you didn't call or answer and your response was an illegitimate non-answer, and when I pointed that out, you never corresponded with me again. 

I think about how I tried so very hard for the next few days, and weeks, and months to get answers. I tried to find meaning. I longed for even a stupid excuse. I tried to help your children find you and tried to foster a relationship between you and them.  

I think about all of the "I don't see daddy anywheres" I heard, or the "I miss my daddy" cries, or the "where'd daddy go" questions. I think about how I had to explain to our daughter who the man in the pictures was and how he had no idea what I was talking about, and decided to just call you Jake instead.

I think about all the cries at night. I think about all the prayers that we have said for you.  I think about the hours of therapy our sons have undergone trying to make sense of your absence.  I think about all the anger and sadness and frustration that they have and how they take it out on me, because I'm the constant in their lives, I'm their safe zone.

I think about how they used to say you were lost or missing, and how in the last week and a half, our oldest has realized that you're not just lost.  He has told me that his daddy ran away.  He knows it was a choice.

I think about how much I have struggled knowing you chose to leave.  I used to sit and doubt myself, my sanity, my mothering, my friendship, my love.  I used to think how much easier it would have been if your disappearance hadn't been a choice that you made, but just a circumstance of life or some other means, because a choice feels like abandonment, like being tossed into a dumpster, then crumpled and burned before buried in a landfill.  I think about how I am an adult and I can hardly wrap my mind or heart around it, and how our children are too young to comprehend as well as I do, knowing full well even I don't really comprehend.  It slays my heart to know they're going to question themselves and doubt and wonder why they weren't good enough for you to stay  or to even send a birthday card.  I pray that a miracle will prevent it, but mentally brace myself for what feels like the inevitable.

I think about how much I loved you, how I still house some love for you, and how badly I wish I could run you over with a piece of farm machinery, knowing full well that is completely an unGodly thought, and knowing it wouldn't really solve anything anyway.

I think about how I want to see your face.  I think about how I want to get answers.  I think about how your answers would probably be non-answers anyway, or lies that I would have to try to decode again, and how I know that maybe it's better that I can't ask you questions because the agony of trying to trust your answers would wring my heart dry.

I think about how I want to forgive you, and how often I feel like I have forgiven you, and other times I realize there's more I haven't dealt with that I need to deal with in order to forgive each piece.

I think about how people I know run into you, and tell me they run into you, and how you act like nothing is out of the ordinary and everything is normal.  I think about how not once in a year have we ran into you.   I think about how you were literally blocks away from our children last night and had absolutely no idea.  I think about what would have happened if you knew that or even cared about it enough to see them again.

I think about how much I wish you could see them now, but how much I do not want them to see you.

I think about all the lies you've spread about me. I think about your boyfriend and how he claims you tell him I'm a great woman, and our kids are amazing, and I think about how he was so excited to spend time with your children.  I think about people telling me you're both good guys, but how I know that can't be true if you can abandon and he can support it.  I think about the lies that have been told about me or are told about me, and the lies others believe about the situation.  I think about the webs you're still weaving and the messes you're still making.

I think about all the effort I spent trying to find you to divorce you, and all the effort I still have to spend in order to either find you again so that the state can force you to pay all the support you owe, or how I have to work my butt off to make ends meet all on my own indefinitely.

I think about all the ways, the words, the time you spent trying and often making me believe this all my fault, like I had this intense power I had no idea about while I felt crippled by weakness.

I think about how you walking away and shattering our lives and pulverizing my heart brought me closer to God, and how God brought such dear friends and supports into my life that I had never imagine I would find.  I think about all of these people who care so much for and love us all so much when for months I thought we must be completely unlovable.  I think about how your absense has given me freedom to gain mental clarity and personal strength and control.

I think about all that you've taken away, but I think about all that we have gained.

I think a lot.

I still think about you. 

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.

A toddler tornado.

It's tornado season. Full force. Has been for months, at our house anyway.

Today has been especially chaotic.

Collin woke at 7:15. I tried for a good hour to get him back to sleep. At about 8:20, he seemed out. I was a lucky lady and fell asleep also, until I woke at 9:02 to the sound of water....

Oh my word. I rushed into the bathroom and found that Spencer had awoke quietly, dumped a bunch of stuff in the tub (roll of toilet paper, a diaper, toys, socks, puzzle pieces) where there was a small bit of water as the alligator was in there growing (one of those toys that sits in water and gets bigger). He was then scooping up the tub water with a fireman helmet and dumping it in the toilet. Amazingly, the bathroom floor was dry.

Okay. So I pulled the plug out of the drain and kicked him out of the bathroom. While I was taking things out if the tub, he was in our room waking Collin, and stripping the blankets and pillows off the bed again. To jump on it, of course.

That made Collin laugh, as usual, and then he was playing peekaboo, laying face down on the bed. Of course, this entire time I was trying to persuade him to let me fix his shirt, which was half off, and change his diaper. I figure it's easier on all if I wait until he is willing.

As he played I took pictures and noticed he uploaded a random background image I had downloaded of the moon into Instagram and apparently tweeted a photo of our bedding on twitter.

Finally, got that taken care of and we came downstairs for breakfast. I gave him a bowl of Apple Jacks (dry) and asked him to sit in the chair nice and eat them because Collin was going to use the high chair for his. He sat there a few minutes nicely, so I escaped to the kitchen to make coffee.

By the time I had coffee made and dishes started, SJ had snuck upstairs. I assumed he had finished his cereal and brought the bowl with to play (he loves containers), so I figured that was fine.

I hear him up there talking super loud nonsense for quite a while. Then, he yelled "Alligator Cat!"

I knew then he had my phone. Oh gosh. Apparently, he called the Verizon operator/robot lady. Then, text Desi a bunch.

I went upstairs to get it and found he had been eating his cereal on our bed.

Oh, and I then discovered he had taken 43 self-portraits, also.

Came back down stairs and he and Collin were playing, so I went back to the kitchen and started to take off my nail polish and he came running through and scared me (apparently I must have had the coffee jitters) and I spilled nail polish remover all over the cupboard, myself, and into my coffee.

I accidentally yelled "Damnit!"

Then, of course, he started yelling it while jumping all over.

Finally, we are calm. We are all watching a "Praise Baby" video.

It could be quite a long day.

I sometimes look at my kids, both in diapers, then reflect on days like today and think "what the crap were we thinking?!"

Guess, deep down, a part of me loves (or tolerates) the chaos, because I wouldn't trade these boys for anything.

Here, enjoy proof of my tornado season. Haha.

(And as I started getting these photos uploaded a certain someone decided that he should play butt naked on he stairs.)

Nap time yet?