Freak out, therapist style

So, my family and I had this really nice long weekend camping.

We got back to the house and Andy asked me, "So, are you glad to be back?".  My response was "Eh...".

It was nice to be home, but my eyes were immediately drawn to the mess.  My mind went to all the things to do to prepare for the first day of school the next day.  I tried to cheer myself up with the thought, "The kids will be in school and we'll catch up with things around the house."  

But then I thought, "Who am I kidding?  No we won't.  School will start and then we'll still have all the house work to do, plus homework calendars, spelling lists, reading logs, permission slips, newsletters. emails from teachers, pajama day, crazy hair day, wear-that-one-specific-school-shirt-that's-at-the-bottom-of-the-drawer-day..."   I was not feeling great.

My wonderful husband, Andy, went downstairs to fold laundry - horray!  (I love that he does this job because it's always been one of my least favorites.)  I worked on managing baths and cleaning the kitchen.  Midway through I had the panicked thought that I still had a tote of clothes in the laundry room that I had been planning to take to the second hand store to earn some extra money.  I called down to Andy to see if he still had it.  He said I could check, but it looked like he had put it all away with everything else.

I checked - no tote.  My first thought was of the wasted time.  Because my life is a combination of working full time and 5 kids, I don't have a lot of time for anything more than the essentials.  So, any "project" I have often takes several days to complete.  Having the kids try on clothes to see what fit, sorting through what got donated and what I could sell, washing the stuff to sell - may not seem like a big deal, but it took me almost a week to get it done.  All those moments wasted.

My second thought was, "Now all those clothes that are too small are back on the kids' shelves, which means they can pick them out to wear to school, which means I'll have to pay extra attention to what they're wearing to make sure they look decent when they go to school".

That's when the tears started and I thought, "I can't do this.  I just can't."

I went back upstairs and went to my tried and true "Well what can I do? Let's do that." mindset.  I had a picture frame with a hanging hook I'd gotten for a gift a while back and hadn't known what to do with.  I decided now that this would be the perfect thing to use for our dog's leash.  I could hang it right by the door, it'll look nice, and we'll always know where the leash is.  I went to my closet to get it.  No picture frame with the handy hook.  I wasn't sure if I'd moved it, or someone else - it didn't matter, I couldn't find it.  I sat on my bedroom floor and cried.  I cried for a good 20 minutes or more.  I kept thinking "It doesn't matter what I do - how hard I try to keep track of things, how much I try to keep things organized and clean - it all just falls apart anyway.  It doesn't matter what I do."

Okay - so I'm a therapist (I promise this is going somewhere).  One of the things I often talk about with my clients is that in life, there are only four choices to any problem. (Thank you, Marsha Linehan!)
1. Solve the problem
2. Change how you feel about the problem
3. Tolerate the problem effectively
4. Live in misery

So as I sat, living in misery, I realized that I've been trying choice number 1 over and over again for years.  And the thought occurred to me that maybe this problem could not be solved.  Maybe these are just the facts of my life at the moment.  My first instinct was to just give up.  "I'll do the basics - keep the kids clothed and fed, but no more than that."  I didn't feel great about this decision, but it was all I had the energy to think of at the time.

Since I had at least decided to continue to feed my children, and it was time to make dinner, I got up to start cooking.  Andy came into the kitchen and asked if I was okay.  I wanted to say I was fine, but really couldn't honestly say it.  I said no and started crying all over again.  As I sobbed into his shoulder I explained how I feel like I'm being buried in an avelanche and I'm digging as fast as I can, but I can dig out three feet of snow, but while I dug those three feet, five more feet of snow have fallen on top of me, so I'm still further behind than when I started.

He suggested that I take some time away for the evening, so I did get out of the house for a while to clear my head and hopefully relax.  As I drove, I realized that, while this was okay - it's choice number 3, tolerating the problem through healthy distraction - it's a temporary fix.  It would not last because it only distracted me, but when I got back home, everything would still be the same.  I realized that I needed to work on choice number 2 - change how I feel about the problem - because I couldn't solve it (the facts of my life at this moment mean this is how it's going to be), and I can't just run away from it because then I'd never be home (and I really do enjoy spending time with my family).

So, how to I change how I feel it?

Again - I put on my therapist hat and asked myself what I would tell a client to do.  Want to change how you feel?  Act opposite to how you feel and let your brain do the work of changing itself.  So, opposite action seems like a good place to start for me, too.  What's my opposite action?  Outing myself and the mess that surrounds me - because this is how I challenge the pride that would want me to keep this a secret and keep pretending like I can work full time, have 5 kids, help out at church, have a clean house, and keep my sanity all at the same time.

I can't.  I just can't.

My stomach hurts to think of exposing myself this way.  I think of people who might read this and I imagine their judgments and even their pity.  These are not things I enjoy.  But then, I also think of the work of Brene Brown and how I refer clients to her work on shame and vulnerability and I know that this exposure is exactly how I begin to feel differently about the things in my life that feel overwhelming.  There could be some people that have judgments or pity, but it's more likely that there will be people who just think "Yep - me too!".  So, I will act opposite to pretending like I can do it all and boldly say "No, I can't.  I just can't."

So, here I go - jumping in all the way. Pictures of my house - not company ready, not picture perfect, but lived in and real.

There!  I did it! (Well, not yet really, because I still haven't hit the "post" button yet.) But there it is. 

I also want to share this because I love the work of Kristen Neff.  Her ideas of self compassion ring so true for me and I often (almost daily) refer people to her work as well.  I am reminded of her principal that the one common experience of humanity is suffering.  I know that this is true - I may not be ancient and wise yet, but I've been around long enough and listened to enough people to know that this is true.  I know that, when we are suffering, we are the most connected with the rest of humanity.  To suffer is to be human.  So, I share this to be connected to all the other amazing humans out there who have their own daily struggles and sufferings and to know that none of us are alone.

The other belief that my opposite action forces me to face (and this is probably the biggest) is that my value and worth are based on what I do.  (This has to be like the 10,000th time I've had to be reminded of this in my life.)  I know that this is not true, but then I respond to my inability like it is true.  Somehow, my inability means that I am "less than".  It goes back to the pride that makes me want people to think that I can do it all.

I can't.  I just can't.

And that's okay.

Because my worth is not based on what I do, how clean my house is, or whether or not my kids have clothes that are now too small for them thrown in with all the clothes that actually fit.  These things are not what give me value.  My worth is based on the fact that I was fearfully and wonderfully made by a loving Creator who paid the ultimate price to do what I could not.  I am valuable because He made me and loves me. 

And that's not something I can undo with a messy house or a chaotic life.

I can't.  I just can't.

Until next time, my friends... live well

God's comfort in the unfairness of foster care

In my last post, I mentioned that the reason I hadn't been posting much lately was due to our family providing foster care for a baby girl starting in May.  She is still with us and has become like a member of the family.  We all just adore her so much.  She's one of those babies who people instantly fall in love with.  She has a huge smile that lights up her whole face, she LOVES to interact with people, and is as smart as a whip.

We've known since July that she would be leaving us "soon" to live with a relative who also has adopted some of her older siblings.  At that point, while we knew we would miss her dearly, we understood that this would be best for her.  However, she is now nine months old and we are the only family she knows.  The thought of her leaving and experiencing the trauma of being removed from the family she has bonded with is gut wrenching to say the least.

To think of "our" baby girl being taken across time zones to be with strangers makes my stomach hurt.  Knowing that she would know that everything has changed, but not being able to understand what or why, makes me overwhelmingly sad.  But, it also is also hard to think of her possibly not knowing her biological siblings as she grows up, or possibly resenting us when she's older that she isn't with "her own family", or that she would have issues growing up in a family that looks different from her on the outside.

The thing is, there is no good option for our baby girl.  Either she will be traumatized by having to leave the family she's bonded with, or she will have to deal with being with people who aren't biologically related to her, people who don't look like her. 

Right now, it appears that there really isn't much choice.  The plan is that she'll go with relatives.  We have just been waiting for the "paper work to get done."  Which, I can say as a foster/adoptive parent and as a former foster care case worker, is no small thing.

And the longer we wait, the more I find my self thinking how very, very much I DO NOT want to do this.  How there is no part of me at all that wants to go through seeing her leave, or that is ready to help my kids go through that kind of loss.  (There aren't words to convey how much the older kids love her.)  I just keep thinking " I REALLY don't want to do this!!!"

As I thought this and prayed the other night "God, isn't there any way that we don't have to do this?  Can't she just stay?  This is so unfair!", I was struck at how my prayer echoed Jesus' prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.   "Father let this cup pass from me."  He knew what was coming, and it was something so much more unfair that what our family is facing.  He knew that in a few short hours, the wrath of God for all of humanity would be poured out on Him - after he had come to earth and lived the perfect life that we couldn't live.  That is the absolute definition of unfairness.  And He didn't want to do it, either.  He was dreading it so much that he sweat drops of blood.

And yet, His next words are, "Not not my will, but Yours be done."  Oh, how those words make my stomach hurt!!  I find myself wanting to be able to also say those words, but having the internal battle of just wanting MY will to be done.

I don't find comfort in this moment with thoughts of "God knows best" and "His ways are higher than ours."  I believe these things - I know they are true.  But in these moments, those truths feel too abrasive and my human nature bristles at them and refuses to take comfort.

When I think of Jesus, alone in the garden, dreading what was coming - that is where I find my comfort.  In knowing that he understands fully and completely what it means to live in an  unfair world where unfair things happen.  He was in the thick of it and lived through the worst of it.  He knows how I feel, and He sent the Holy Spirit to be with me and comfort me.

I still don't want do go through this, and if there was a way not to - I would do it.  Taking comfort in the companionship of Christ does not mean that I'm okay with how things are going to happen - it just means that I  know I am not alone, that I am  understood.  I am glad for that.

This has been so painful to write about....  I've started and stopped several times over the course of several days.  I wondered if I should even post it.  But I know that no human experience is unique - that there are others who have also gone through these things, or who will go through them.  None of us are immune to the painful parts of life, and I want my experience and the comfort I find in my Savior to be an encouragement to others.

If you think of it, you can keep my family in your prayers as we don't know what the next weeks and months hold for us.

Until next time, my friends..... Live well.
Becky