Garden Variety Neurosis

Jaden has needed a toy box for awhile, but they are expensive. So, the next best thing is to use what I already have and make do with it. Along those lines, I went to my sister's house today and retrieved a plastic tote I had left there, which happened to be full of my old journals. After Jaden went to bed, I got to work emptying the box for Jaden to use.

As I emptied the box,I read bits of my old journals. The earliest journal I have dates back to 1997. The most recent in that particular box was from early 2008. Of course, I did not have the time or the desire to read every page of every journal, but what I did read was very telling.

Much of the content of my journals has to do with love. Dreaming of it, falling into it, embracing it, losing it, regretting it. Pages upon pages of the stuff. As I read these pages, remembering vividly the exhileration and the heartache I experienced in each snippet I read, I realized something: I have been dating the same man for over a decade.

His name changes from time to time. Sometimes he is Kevin. Rich. Harold. Nate. Brian. Sometimes he has a better job, nicer clothes, and a more attractive haircut than he's had at other times. He can be very sweet, or very mean. He is often funny, though his humor has been understated from time to time. He is generally very intelligent. Without fail, he is always kind to me, with the equally predictable bitter aftertaste. He is often needy. He is rarely pleased with me by the time things are over, though he was very pleased with me in the beginning. Inevitably, without exception, he despises me just as much as he once liked me.

Perhaps the most graphic example of that happened with my ex-husband, who went from adoring me to telling me, in no uncertain terms, about the many, many things about me that he hated. "There are a lot of things about you that piss me off, and I want to change them."

Of course, that is not the first time something of that sort has happened. A guy I dated in 2007 claimed to love me enough that he wanted to marry me. Bought me a ring and everything. I was thrilled! Until I found out that his coworkers had a favorite pastime, which was to tell him all the things they perceived as being wrong with me (though they had never met me), all the reasons he should run away from me, and all the times he should have defended me...but didn't. The clincher came when he told me that he liked many things about me, but had a big problem with the fact that I struggled financially. He told me that he was attracted to women who were financially stable and able to meet all their financial obligations. The real kick in the teeth came when he told me that if things didn't work out between us, his world wouldn't fall apart.

I didn't want his world to fall apart. I just wanted him to care a little bit, considering the ring and all.

Then came the guy I was with when I was diagnosed with cancer. As I contemplated what was happening to my life, watching it fall apart piece by piece, his only concern was what would happen with "us", as I seemed preoccupied.

I could go on and on, but I haven't the energy. Looking through the journals was emotionally exhausting. Writing about it in yet another journal afterward was further draining. Now, I am at a point where the only thing I am certain of is that I am certain I have nothing left to give to another relationship. Not now, maybe not ever. I am by no means willing to take another chance like that.

I don't think everyone is meant to know that abiding, lifelong love that we all dream of finding someday. I think I am one of those people who has always longed for that kind of love, thought I'd found it, and been burned by disappointment far too many times. I can't do it again.

For Jaden's sake, I wish this were not so. I wish my heart could be open to at least the possibility of meeting someone and, perhaps, finally finding that love I've longed for all these years. I wish I could be open to that, as it would be lovely if he could have someone in his life to be his dad. I can't do it, though. Not for the foreseeable future. I think I've endured enough pain to last a couple of lifetimes, and I won't be anyone's fool again.

When I was in my early twenties, after enduring those very difficult teen years, I wore a hard shell around my heart. Very few people were allowed in, and I had no interest whatsoever in dating. At this point in my life, I believe that is a good option for me. Perhaps not the most healthy, but it seems the safest.

I don't want to fill anymore journals with tales of heartache.

I have so much to be thankful for this year, I am not sure I can really put it into words. I have been blessed beyond measure, in ways I never could have foreseen a year or two ago. My life took a completely different direction than I anticipated, and while it may have seemed devastating at first, it has become a life that I would not trade for any of the dreams I used to have for myself.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I am most thankful for the gift of my son, Jaden. Before Jaden was born, I thought I knew what love was. I had loved before, and I thought I had loved deeply. When I had Jaden, though, I realized that I had never really known love until he came into my life. From the moment I saw him on the ultrasound, I was captivated. Then, when I gave birth and our eyes finally met for the first time, I loved him completely. I love him so much, I feel like my heart could burst. If it's possible, I love him a little more every day.

I am thankful that Jaden feels safe and secure in his home, and that his sense of security shows in the way he gets a little more independent with each passing day. He is nearly a year old, and while I find myself wishing he could stay a baby just a little bit longer, I realize that his increasing independence means that I am doing things right and my son is becoming a confident little boy.

I am thankful that we are safe. A year ago at this time, I was terrified of what may come. I was very pregnant, anticipating giving birth in exactly one month from today. I had no idea what may come after that, given the situation with my son's father. I was so afraid of what my sweet baby may be subjected to, and I prayed, meditated, planned, and prepared to do whatever I needed to do to keep my baby safe.

A year later, I still see the fruit of those spiritual, legal, and physical investments. We are safe. My son is enjoying a peaceful and happy life, surrounded by people who love him. He is a gift, and everyone in his life sees him as that. My prayer is that he will always know this kind of love, and that those who may harm him would be kept at a distance.

I am thankful for the things I have learned about God's grace and provision, which I have experienced through the grace and provision of other people in my life. While Jaden and I live a very simple life, we lack for nothing. Jaden has been given things and opportunities that I could never afford to give him on my own, yet the generosity of others allows for it. I don't know what we would do if it weren't for the love and support of our friends and spiritual family.

I am thankful for the opportunities we have to help others out. We happily do what we are able to do, and I am thankful that Jaden will grow up with a sense of empathy for others. I am thankful that he will have the understanding that we are all connected, we are all in this together, and when one of us hurts, all of us hurt in some way. I am thankful that he will understand that one of the greatest things we can do is be of service to others in whatever capacity we are able.

I am thankful for the life that I have. It is not the life I dreamed of or hoped for, but it infinitely better than any of those things. I am so very grateful for the things that have happened in my life in the last few years that have derailed everything that I thought I knew, challenging me to rethink and rebuild my life from the very foundation. My days are filled with the laughter of a beautiful baby, the joy of motherhood, the challenge of making a better life for us through educating myself with an eye toward the future, and the grace to embrace it all and whisper the simple prayer, "Thank You."

I have much to be thankful for. Perhaps the greatest things I have to be thankful for are the dreams that didn't come true, the relationships that didn't work out, the paths I had to abandon as life flooded in.

I never imagined myself in this place. I had never dared to dream so big.

As I write this, it is hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea that my baby boy is going to be a year old next month. It seems like I gave birth him to just yesterday! I can still very easily recall the discomforts of pregnancy, the eagerness and anxiety as his due date approached, the exhileration of realizing that I was in labor and I would meet my son very soon, and the pure joy of holding him or the first time. I can easily conjure the feeling of walking around on feet that were severely swollen, post-partum, and the feeling of coming home with my sweet babe and literally asking the air, "What do I do with him now?"

I still remember the hours of prayer and meditation that went into preparing myself for motherhood. There were so many uncertainties during my pregnancy, regarding what would happen with my ex once my son was born. Would he try to take him from me? Would my son be subjected to the same abuse his half-siblings were? Though my ex and I had not seen each other in several months, would he suddenly resurface once I gave birth to the miracle I had safely carried in my womb?

There were so many questions, so many fears for the safety of my son, the only things I could do were read God's word, meditate on its truth, and pray--with firm belief in the affirmative answer--that God would continue to keep my son and me safe after my son was born.

We have been kept very safe and well taken care of, and it has been a pure delight to watch my son grow from a tiny, helpless babe, into a strong, healthy, inquisitive child who wants to taste, touch, feel, and explore everything around him. He has a sweet disposition that is easily recognized by friends and strangers alike, and there is hardly a day that goes by when someone we don't even know comments to me about how cute he is, and how sweet he is. Needless to say, I am proud.

We've come a long way from those fear-laden first days, and we now understand each other pretty well. While he cannot communicate to me with words yet, I read his cues and usually know exactly what he needs or wants. We are working on sign language so we will be able to communicate even better,until he is able to speak words.

This brilliant child makes me laugh with his developing sense of humor, and I am already astounded by his comedic timing. He knows when I am playing around with him just by the way I am looking at him, and he knows how to play little jokes on me, too. I'll never forget his first "joke". It was during dinner, and as I fed him he made himself sit up very tall in his high chair, legs straightened and his bottom off of the seat, and then took a bite of food. After his bite, he sat back down and giggled. So clever!

I watch videos I took of him laying in his crib, watching his mobile, captivated by its motion. He was beginning to discover the world around him, but still confined by a body that was not yet strong enough to move its weight around. Now, he crawls like a champ, he is working on freestanding, he is able to manipulate his environment so his things are where he wants them, and he is capable of exploring his world. When I think of all that has transpired in just the last 10 1/2 months, it is astounding.

He has given me the greatest joy I have ever known. As a single mother, things are difficult at times. Financially, things are very tight, though we get by. There are times when I wish I had someone here to give me a break once in awhile, especially if I'm not feeling particularly well. There are times when I just need a little quiet, and there is no one to play with Jaden so I can go into my bedroom and have that quiet.

Still, there is no way I would trade it for anything. I love my sunny, funny, sweet little man, and it's both astounding and heartbreaking that our first year together is quickly drawing to a close. It's gone by so fast!

I read a very interesting article in Psychology Today, entitled, "What is Normal?" The premise of the article is that psychiatric diagnoses have become so prevelant, it is as though nearly everyone has a disorder of one kind or another. Whenever someone is having a difficult time, happy and acting a little eccentric, wanting some "alone" time, and so on, it seems that the professionals are quick to put a label on them and medicate them.

As I read the article, I thought about all the labels I've worn over the years. It started in high school, where I was given the labels of "withdrawn" and "depressed". Perhaps it was not that I was withdrawn, but that I just didn't know where I fit in and I was intimidated by the task of finding out. I was also painfully shy back then, which was interpreted by the professonals as being withdrawn and depressed. Perhaps I wasn't depressed, so much as I just needed a mentor of some kind to help me navigate the experience of adolesence and all the mixed up emotions thereof. In any case, I was given labels.

As an adult, I was given more labels. I was diagnosed with a few different disorders, not the least of which being bipolar disorder. In my mid-twenties, I was told that my long list of diagnoses were probably enough for me to get disability, and I should try. I chose not to, but that did not erase the labels.

As life went on after being labeled, I began to live my life according to those labels, subconsciously telling myself to live within the confines of the labels. I felt incapable of doing much of anything, so I rarely tried. According to my diagnoses, I was severely depressed and withdrawn most of the time, had trouble understanding relationships, and had difficulty focusing on the tasks at hand.

Perhaps there is some truth in all of those things, but I didn't adopt just "some" of the truth. I bought the whole thing, and lived my life accordingly. I took few risks, accomplished very little, had only a few friends, and lived very safely, lest my many disorders should overtake me.

In the article, the author suggests that there is a new trend occuring in which people who have "disorders" are not living as though there is something wrong with them. Rather, they are living as though their "disorders" are not disorders at all, but are simply a characteristic of who they are. In adopting such an attitude, they have freed themselves from the constraints of their diagnosis. It seems that, more and more, this is becoming a widely accepted way of embracing the imperfections of being human.

We are so quick to label, perhaps forgetting that putting a label on someone automatically puts shackles on their soul, whether we intend to or not. To this day, I feel those constraints. To this day, I feel like the freak show, and it impacts much of what I do. I didn't give much thought to it until I read this article, but I see it now. I still live with minimal risks, and I still keep my distance from people because I want to feel safe, because I still don't know where I fit in. I struggle with depression, and I often wonder if those struggles would be as difficult if I had not been given permission...via my diagnosis...to constantly struggle with depression.

What labels do you wear? How have those labels impacted your life?

One of the women featured in the article says, "I think people confuse normal with average. Who wants to be average?" She is a very successful business woman and author, despite the labels of "dyslexic" and "retarded" being put on her when she was very young. She says she refuses to operate from a platform of inadequacy.

We can embrace the label and all that comes with it, or accept that some of us aren't "average", but that does not mean there is something wrong with us. We are imperfect and do not fit into the place society may have carved out for us, but we do fit into the bigger picure, somewhere. What is normal, anyway? Who fits into the mold of "normal"? Nobody that I know, I'm sure. So, where does that leave us?

Why do we need to label, diagnose, and treat people? Why do the ups and downs that are simply part of life have to become something that needs therapy and medication? Surely, there are conditions that need treatment, but the normal sad and happy and everything in between does not merit the labels that are so freely given out.

I'm not normal. Then again, neither are so many others. I wonder how many others struggle because they were labeled. I also wonder if I will ever live down those labels, or if they are going to follow me for the rest of my life. Living in a small town where everyone knows...and remembers...your entire history, it is difficult to believe that they day will come when these labels will no longer haunt me.

What say you?

One of the most surprising things about motherhood, as it turns out, is the loneliness. Like most first-time moms, my pregnancy was filled with many hours of dreaming of what life would be like after giving birth to the precious child God had given to me. I imagined days spent in carefree play, snuggling, feeding, (diaper changing), and living in the best Gerber commercial I had ever seen.

For the most part, I was right. I have to say, life with my baby has been better than I ever could have imagined it being, insofar as our relationship goes. I love my son, he loves me, and we have a great life together.

The one thing I did not anticipate, though, was how lonely motherhood would be, particularly since I am a single mom. Having a baby can be a very isolating event. Friendships change. Some friendships disappear altogether. I experienced both of those events, and neither was easy. Many of my days are spent wishing I had someone to talk to other than my beautiful baby, realizing that the days of carefree socializing are over.

There are times when I feel a lot of sadness over the relationships that have been lost or been changed over the last couple of years, particularly since the birth of my son. I feel so desperately lonely at times, and end up doing ridiculous things like checking Twitter or Facebook endlessly (when I have time to do so), hoping that someone will at least leave a comment for me, helping me feel more connected to the world outside of my apartment.

When I think of where my life is right now, and how I ended up here, it's easy for me to think of my life as an unfortunate derailment of what might have been, if only I had never fallen ill a couple of years ago, then struggled with addiction, then met and married my son's father, and so forth. It is easy for me to look at all of that, then look at where I am now, and think to myself that the current state of my life is just...sad.

It only occurred to me just tonight that perhaps this isn't a sad place to be at all. All of our lives have purpose when we choose for them to have purpose. A person who has been given every advantage in life could still be living a life that is utterly devoid of meaning. Then again, someone who has been kicked around a lot by life, yet still hangs on despite the loneliness and loss, could be living a life of purpose that is far beyond what they can see. We're all left with choices to be made about how we will handle whatever comes to us.

I am not a big believer in the idea that God is in His heaven, connecting all the dots in our lives in order to bring about a predestined outcome. I believe that life happens, and in God's grace, He enables us to infuse those happenings with meaning and purpose. I believe we are faced with the choice of how we will handle what happens to us, what we will do with what we have left after the painful losses we will surely face.

As I think about this, I think about the friendships I have lost over the last couple of years, and realized that many of my friendships were friendships of convenience--both mine and theirs. Those friendships began to change when I became ill and could not go to as many functions as I was once able to, and I saw the impact of those changes after my son was born. Of the friends that remained, a few of them gradually dropped off until only a couple of my friends from my pre-baby days remained.

It's painful, and there are times when I find myself wishing that life had not become so complicated and I could have my social life back. I miss hangin' out with friends, going to movies with them, just sitting around talking about this and that. These days, the only time I get to sit around and talk with an adult is when I'm in the hospital for surgery (which I was a couple of weeks ago), or when Jaden's WIC nurse comes for a home visit. Other than that, adult conversation is sorely lacking in my day to day existence.

I have finally accepted that I will need to develop new relationships that are appropriate for this season of my life. It is going to mean venturing out more, getting to know new people, going in to new places, none of which I am comfortable with. The options, though, are to keep living a lonely life, to have Jaden living a lonely life, since he won't be able to make any friends because we don't "belong" anywhere, and to remain dependent on Facebook and Twitter for social interaction.

Motherhood is lonely, but I'm ready to break out of the lonely. Still liking being a mother, though.

By this time Friday night/Saturday morning, I will be able to care for my son completely on my own again, and we can settle back into life as we knew it before my surgery. I mean, the good parts of life as we knew it. The parts about chronic pain from the tennis ball in my gut are parts I am glad we no longer have to deal with.

The good stuff, though...I am really looking forward to getting back to that. I have missed our quiet time together, our night time routines, our snuggle time when he wakes up in the middle of the night and needs a bottle. I've even missed being able to do the more mundane things myself. Bathing him, dressing him, changing his diapers...I am eager to get back to doing all of those "mommy" things that I haven't been able to do for over a week.

I know Jaden misses it, too. I think he's been doing very well in letting other people take care of him, but as I get better and I am able to hold him more, play with him more, and so forth, he clearly prefers that I be the one to give him the care that he needs. I can't deny, it feels good to be both needed and wanted. I am sure that he will miss the people who have been coming into our home for the last week, as he enjoys making new friends. However, I think he will also be glad to have his mom back to full-time mommy duties.

I have learned a few things in this week of humble need. I have learned a lot about the amazing kindness of strangers, particularly when that kindness is going to impact the life of a mother and her child. I have learned that some of the assumptions I made about people based on their particular set of beliefs, the church they attend, or their political affiliations. I have experienced kindness from the most unexpected of places, and I have experienced a chilling silence where I thought I may find more warmth and friendship.

I continue to learn, much as I did when the birth of my son was not met with the loving congratulations from many I once considered friends, that people are fickle. For many, it truly is, "out of sight, out of mind". Regardless of what a person's reasons may be for being "out of sight" (mine, for example, was that I found out I had cancer, needed treatments, treatment made me sick and homebound, etc...), my experience has been that if I am not constantly reminding people of my existence, I am forgotten.

It hurt me deeply when my son was born, and many of the people I still counted among my friends at the time did not visit us in the hospital, call to congratulate me, or even acknowledge that my sweet baby had been born. It was humiliating because, thinking these friends of mine would be excited about the birth of my babe, I had one friend do the calling to make the announcement. I am not sure what kind of a response he received, but I quickly learned that I was delusional about the relationships I had, and whatever friendships may have been there at one time, were now gone. This was my first experience with "out of sight, out of mind", and it was brutal.

So, when I learned I would need surgery, and that recovering from surgery would mean that I could not care for my son without help, I did not anticipate that I would receive a lot of help from my home church. My health had, once again, taken a downward turn after the birth of my son, and my church attendance had been scarce. As the date for my surgery approached, I would occasionally see someone from church at the bank, the grocery store, etc...and I would be asked how much help I needed after surgery. Initially, according to my surgeon, I would need help for six weeks. I was very candid in sharing that I did not have nearly enough help lined up to cover the full six weeks. I was assured repeatedly that people would be calling me to schedule time to help out.

I was skeptical. Maybe it showed. I did not receive any phone calls from those who said they would call. Rather, I received several from people I had never met, who attended churches and/or Bible study groups I had never been to, who were not only willing but happy to help my son and me. One of the primary sources of support came from a group of women at a church I visited once in the summer of 2008, and did not go back to because I was offended by the rough tone of the pastor.

Since that visit, I have become better friends with the woman who first invited me to the church. She and I will never see eye to eye on many things, but one fundamental thing we soundly agree on is the need to show kindness and compassion to people, putting Jesus' love in action. Through her efforts, several other women from her church also came in to help us out, and did so without asking anything of us.

Of particular delight was the woman we had with us today. I was not sure what to expect when my friend told me that this woman wanted to come spend the day with us. I did not give it a lot of thought, but when it did cross my mind, I honestly wondered what sort of conversation may take place throughout the day.

You see, this woman not only attended my friends' church. She was the pastor's wife. In the time since I had visited the church, I was able to see her and her husband at various events throughout the community, and come to realize that they were very loving people. Her husband did have a rough way about him, and my friend often shares with me that his rough way of delivering his message did have a way of giving people the wrong idea about the gentle nature of his heart. Over time, I was able to see that I indeed had the wrong idea about this man and his church.

I had planned on perhaps visiting again, someday. After my son was born and my friend was one of the people who really took the time to visit us and get to know him, I thought I may visit her church again one of these days, and give her pastor another chance. He seemed like a good man, a loving man, despite his rough way of speaking, and I thought I had perhaps judged too harshly. However, life got busy, I got lazy, and "one of these days", never came.

Tragically, the man I had so sorely misjudged was killed in a motorcycle accident this past spring. I would never get the chance to give him another chance.

So, when my friend told me that his wife wanted to spend the day with us, I wasn't entirely comfortable with it. Surely, she did not know my guilty secret. Still, it seemed as though something was coming full circle, and I wasn't sure what to expect.

She was to arrive around noon. About mid-morning, I left my baby in the hands of one of our very capable helpers, and lay down for a nap. I felt sure I would be awake in plenty of time to say goodbye to my morning helper, and greet the afternoon helper that I'd been feeling so anxious about. I fell asleep quickly and easily, and slept until nearly 1 o'clock. My plans to make a good first impression were thwarted.

I opened my bedroom door quietly, expecting to hear my son chattering away. Instead, I heard a lot of quiet. I rounded the corner and saw my sweet baby playing on the floor with his new friend, and she was clearly enjoying their time together. When my son noticed me, he smiled and squealed just a bit, then went back to playing with his friend. She quietly introduced herself, and I could immediately see a gentleness in her that was completely disarming.

The rest of our afternoon was spent playing with my son, and talking quietly about everything from Michelle Duggar's...20th?...pregnancy (how does her body handle it??), to our new friend's understanding of how overwhelming it must be for me as a single mom to get myself and my baby up, fed, and ready for church in time to make it every Sunday. No guilt. No shame. Only compassionate understanding.

It was a very pleasant afternoon, and all of my fears were for naught. I did not share with her what my reasons were for not returning to her church after my initial visit, but I did share with her that my son and I would like to visit after I start feeling stronger. The outpouring of love and compassion we have experienced, from a church I had all but completely written off about a year and a half ago, has been without equal.

Love comes from unexpected places. Healing comes gradually, rarely in one fell swoop. In order to experience these miracles to their fullest, a certain level of humility may be required. Humility, and, perhaps, a surgery that leaves you unable to even care for your own offspring without the generous help of loving strangers.

I still have a few days of recovery ahead of me before I can dismiss my nearly 24/7 help, and have my house back. I miss the quiet time that Jaden and I have not been able to have for nearly a week, and I am eager to have our life back. Call me boring, but I like the predictable, business as usual, same-old-same-old kinda life. Jaden and I have our routine, and I like it. I miss it. I want it back.

My mom has been here with us nearly 'round the clock since I got home last Friday evening. It's only been since last Friday, yet it seems so much longer...She and I definitely have different ways of doing things, and there are things that she does that absolutely get under my skin and it is all I can do keep a civil tongue in my head. I am finding that even the small things are getting to me, and Friday (when I will finally be able to pick up my son again) cannot get here soon enough.

For example, as my mom started getting things together for dinner, she says to me, "I'm just gonna throw these out. They're all gunky."

I turned to her just in time to watch her throw away some cubed sweet potatoes I had picked up from the grocery store a couple of days before going into the hospital. On my second day in the hospital, I had called my mother and asked her to eat them or serve them to Jaden, so they didn't go to waste. I didn't think I was making a difficult request, since the potatoes were already cubed and ready to serve, only needing to be heated.

Considering the simplicity of the request, perhaps you can imagine how frustrated I felt as I realized my simple request had been ignored, and the food had spoiled. It's not as though I have a huge grocery budget, either, which made it that much more bothersome.

Then, I recalled that throwing away food...especially fruits and vegetables, which often spoil before being eaten...is a common practice at my parents' house, and I had perhaps asked too much. It served to put a very fine point on the differences between the way she does things, and the way I do things.

Even writing about it now, I'm frustrated.

I also realized tonight that my chair is broken. I can still use the chair to rock Jaden to sleep, but somehow, the footrest on the chair is now broken, so it is pretty useless for reclining and relaxing in. More frustration.

And this is the part where I start getting frustrated about the "big picture" things, like why I had to have all these health issues to begin with, because it if weren't for these things, my life would be dramatically different and perhaps I would not be so dependent on my mother, with my sanity teetering precariously on the edge. I look at my life, and realize that, apart from any major happenings, Jaden and I will always struggle.

And the pisser is that, whatever we do have, my mom will let spoil and then throw it into the garbage as I watch, and when she's finished with that, she'll break my chair.

Pissy night. Pissy mood.