It's Friday and that means it's time for the linkup at the Five Minute Friday blog! Since the last time I linked up with the FMF community, Kate has moved things from her personal blog to a new space that is totally dedicated to FMF. Go check it out! This week's prompt word is....
Friends, it is June. More to the point, it's almost the middle of June. I have been so inundated with the stuff of life lately that I just haven't had the time or mental energy to write in this blog. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself do it. I guess I've gotten out of the habit (not that it was such a firm habit to begin with!). I start posts and then don't finish them. I just looked and I literally have over 100 posts that are drafts. They're just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with them. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like they're going to finish themselves or edit themselves. Some of them aren't actually too bad.
Several months back we actually had this prompt word and I had a pretty decent post going with it. I had actually finished it, but it was long and seemed really disjointed to me, so onto the scrap heap it went! Looking back over it, I can see now where it can be cut and not lose meaning or impact. That's what I feel like I'm always chasing. I write so many words and so often, I'm scared of cutting things. I'm scared of just writing without editing too. I don't know what I expect the reaction of others to be to my verbose ramblings. Maybe they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe they'll think I talk too much. Maybe they'll think that I need to just stop writing altogether because I really really suck at it. These are the voices in my head that keep me from writing a lot of the time.
Even when I do write something that feels like it's pretty good, I wind up getting scared to publish it. I've felt this way from the beginnings of this blog and I don't know how to conquer these feelings. I don't know how to change this. I think it's because I expect my writing, my blog, and all of it to be as good and polished and lovely to look at as my fellow bloggers. The thing is, I don't really like polished and pretty all the time because it's not who I am. But polished and pretty gets people to read and to comment.
Baring your soul, talking about uncomfortable things like mental illness, and trying to write in such a way that causes people to think seems to be met with silence and indifference. It makes me wonder who is reading and if they care. Then I wonder why I care so much about that. I try not to care, but here I am, caring again. Here I am second guessing myself. Here I am wondering if when you finish reading this, you will forget this as soon as your eyes hit the last word. Here I am wondering if what I have to say about anything is worth sharing with the world. These thoughts and wonderings and fears are what keep me from writing. I don't want to expect anything of this, but I am only human and we human beings are messy, complicated, and complex that way.
I don't even know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me or if I should expect it to make sense. I just know that I feel compelled to return to this space and write. I just don't know if I ought to expect anyone to read it.
Friday, June 9, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
FMF: Sing
I didn't think I had anything to say about this week's prompt word, but suddenly the first sentence came to me and then I found that I couldn't stop writing. I love my Five Minute Friday community, but on those weeks when the inspiration does actually come, five minutes just isn't enough to convey everything that is in my heart. So without further ado, this week's prompt word:
SING
What do you do when you can't sing?
What do you do when your heart can't hear the song anymore?
What do you do when the song that once called you now hurts you with its words?
What do you do when your voice leaves you and the notes are replaced with tears?
The good Christian and Catholic answer would be that you keep singing.
But it's not that easy. It's just not.
It's not that easy when every time your eyes take in the words on the music sheet or hymnal and you feel a knot in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat, a quivering tremble in your normally steady voice, or a white hot anger spreading through your chest. Honestly, sometimes when your the song becomes too painful to sing, what you do is stop singing.
I know. I know. That's not what you're supposed to do. But it happens.
Can I tell you something? Despite whatever message shame and guilt are telling you, sometimes it's 100% okay to stop singing. God understands. He understands the pain and suffering we are enduring and that sometimes forcing ourselves to sing just exacerbates that pain. He's felt the same pain you are feeling -- whatever that may be. He gets it in a way that no one else can or ever will. It's because not only did He feel that ache in your heart when He was put to death for the sins of mankind, but He feels it now. He is with you in your pain. More to the point, when we are suffering, we are closest to His Sacred Heart.
So what do you do when you can't offer a song of praise or worship or even thanksgiving to God? What on earth do you do?
You offer up your sorrows instead. Offer every tear, every heartache, every moment of screaming and shaking anger, and every little bit of you that hurts. Offer that up to Him. You may be asking the question, "well, how do I do that?" The easiest thing to do is to make a conscious decision that whenever you feel all the things that steal your voice, that you will say to Him, "Jesus, I offer these to You." It doesn't have to be any kind of flowery or fancy sounding prayer. Just a humble offering in the midst of pain. Yes, that sounds easy and yes, it's hard to do. It can be especially hard to do if you are angry with Him.
So if you're angry at Him, what then? If that is what you are feeling and you can't bring yourself to offer anything to Him, just offer Him the promise that you won't run away. You can rage. You can rail. You can scream. You can tell Him exactly how you feel and use all the swear words in your vocabulary. All of the above are acceptable because He can take it. Just offer Him the promise that no matter how angry you get, you will keep coming back to Him. That means that you'll continue to do at least the bare bones basics of faith so as not to let the relationship die. Things might be distant for a while and you might be tempted to turn away, but keep turning back to Him. Sing Him the song of your promise to be obedient and faithful even amidst your anger.
I know that if you are hurting -- no matter the reason -- that you may be screaming at your computer screen right now and telling me in no uncertain terms that I'm bonkers or that I don't get it. You may be crying as you read this because you think that there's no way that you'll ever sing again. You may be in such great pain that you are praying that He will mercifully take you from this life. You may have reached a point where you are no longer concerned with singing any song because you are thinking of ending your life yourself.
I know absolutely all of these pains. I know the anger, the rage, the heartbreak, the deep ache of wanting the pain to stop, the praying that God would take my life, the thoughts of suicide so dark that I couldn't see my way into the next hour, much less tomorrow. I know all of these things so well, my friend. I get it on a deep level.
Actually, I get it right now. I've had a week when the heavy dark cloud has been hanging over me and I just couldn't shake it. This evening, in fact, I felt so overwhelmed by it that I lost my ability to care that I was in the floor, shaking with sobs, and my eldest daughter was watching it all. It was horrible. It's still not so great. My classically trained soprano voice hasn't sung at all this week.
To be honest, I've not regularly sung His praises in the way that I normally love to do, for almost three years. So what have I done? I've continued in obedience and done the bare bones. I've gone to Mass each week and on holy days. I've prayed the blessing over meals. I've prayed bedtime prayers with my children and husband. I've wept so many tears that they would likely fill a rather large vat by this point and many of them as I've been on my knees before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. I've screamed at Him (yes, with profanities on occasion) and told Him how angry I am and that I felt abandoned by Him when I needed Him most. I have, in my own disjointed and imperfect way, tried to continue on in faith and obedience even when I didn't feel anything and even when I didn't want to anymore.
My efforts to that end haven't been fruitless, but I have needed an abundance of help from my spiritual director, Fr. B. and the graces of the sacraments of Reconciliation (confession), Anointing of the Sick, and the Eucharist. Those meetings with Fr. B and the graces I've received through frequent reception of the sacraments have been like a healing balm that works slowly, but steadily. I can't say that my song has returned in full, but I am finding moments when the words and music fill me up with more than pain. I still don't sing as much as I once did, but my voice is returning in fits and starts.
So if you can't sing and it hurts too much, know that you are not alone. He is with you even in your pain and anger and silence. May Christ who knows your pain and hears your silent anguished song abide with you until you can sing again.
*********
If you find yourself at that place where you are thinking of suicide, please reach out to someone. If you need it, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or if you'd rather text to someone, text the word HOME to 741741 and the Crisis Text line will text you back.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
FMF: Empty
It's been a while since I've written in this blog in part because we've had a lot going on within our family life of late. I really want to get back into the habit of writing on a regular basis, so with that in mind, here's my contribution to this week's linkup at the Five Minute Friday community. This week's word prompt is EMPTY. Given that we've just been through Holy Week, I've been thinking and meditating on Christ's last week on earth and more particularly, on His death and resurrection. This prompt definitely pointed toward all these meditations for me, so that was the inspiration for this. I hope you find something in it to edify and encourage you. Happy Easter!
EMPTY
I have heard quite a few people ask the question of Catholics, “why do you keep Jesus nailed to the cross?” It's a good question. Most non-Catholic Christian churches do not have a cross with Jesus nailed to it. Their crosses are empty. Having grown up Baptist, I was always told that the reason the cross was empty was because He had overcome death. So if the empty cross is a symbol for Jesus having overcome death, then why do Catholics display and wear a crucifix?
There are a number of reasons for this, but the biggest of these is that having Jesus on the cross in front of our eyes makes it so that every time we see it, we are reminded of His great love for us – that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. You see, it is death that we see when we look at a crucifix. It is an agonising, brutal, vicious, torturous death. It is also a beautiful death. That may sound strange, but think of it this way: not only did His death bring about redemption and the possibility of salvation for all of mankind, but He bore that death with the full knowledge that there would be those who would reject His love. When Catholics look at a crucifix, we are moved both by the agony of it and the beauty of it, because we see Him at His most loving.
One of the other things that a crucifix encourages us to do every time we look at it is to persevere as we carry our own crosses. It also encourages us that He is with us in that journey because He has been there and He knows the pain of carrying a cross. He knows it more perfectly and more fully than we will ever begin to fathom. So when we gaze upon the crucified form of Jesus on a cross, we can draw great strength from being reminded that He is with us, helping us to carry the crosses of life.
Finally, there is one Truth that we are reminded of every time we gaze upon a crucifix and that is this: there is no way to heaven but through the cross. To reach heaven, we must go through the cross. We can't go around it. We can't avoid it. We can't ignore it and pretend that it isn't there or that we don't need it. We need to embrace the crucified Christ because His love for us in that moment is what enables us to reach heaven.
Without the crucifixion, there can be no resurrection and the resurrection – the empty tomb, not the empty cross – is the ultimate symbol of victory over death. That empty tomb is a promise that one day our own tombs will be empty because we will be raised up, our bodies made perfect because of Christ's death and resurrection, and we will be with Him for eternity, enjoying the beatific vision of God the Father.
So we keep Jesus on the cross – not because we are consumed with His death – but rather because seeing Him there is an unavoidable and constant reminder of just how much we are worth to God. When the world tells you that you are worthless or you feel like God doesn't love you or doesn't care about you, I encourage you to go look at a crucifix and meditate on what you see before you.
That, my friends, is the message of the crucifix. The crucifix in all its brutality with Jesus hanging upon the cross is a message of great love and of great hope. We know when we see it that this isn't the end of the story and so the crucifix points us toward the empty tomb and the resurrection. It gives us hope that our own crosses are not the end of our stories. It gives us hope that with His help, we can persevere to the end, having run the race to its completion and having obtained the prize of eternal life.
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Five Minute Friday: Slow
Hey friends! It's been a while since I joined in with the folks at Five Minute Friday. If you're just joining me, know that this is a little longer than the average FMF post and that's because I don't set a timer. Yes, I know, I know. That's supposed to be the point, but I just can't do it that way. So I kinda do it my way. If you're a fast to moderately fast reader though, this should take you five minutes or so to read (so there's your five minutes). If you'd like to join up with this week's posts on the prompt word SLOW, then hop over to this week's prompt at Kate's blog and click on the linkup at the bottom of the page. Without further ado...
It's been almost two months since the last time I posted here and I wish I could say that it's because life has been moving really fast or that I've just been so busy that I didn't have time to write, but I can't say that. Life has been, as it happens, pretty slow. The very beginning of the year, from just after New Year's to about mid-March, tends to be a wonderfully slow time of year that follows on the heels of the whirlwind of activity that comprises daily life and the many family and faith celebrations from September to December.
And friends, let me tell you, I need slow.
I have always been a fan of this time of respite and slowed down activity, but this year, it took on a new meaning for me. I didn't really realise it until this past Thursday when I was sitting in Dr. D's office and we were wrapping up our session. It had been a pretty intense session of EMDR and talking and my emotions were pretty close to the surface. I don't recall the exact thread of conversation, but somewhere in the midst of our normal wrap up talk, he commented that he thought I was on the right track with what we were working on. I agreed with him and replied that although I knew it was, it was still hard. He said "Oh yes, I know it is. I think though, part of the reason it's hard is because it feels like your progress is coming so slowly right now, but once we get through processing a lot of these memories, you'll notice that your progress speeds up and goes much faster."
You see, through the past four years I've been wishing for fast. I've been craving for time and progress and everything to just speed up and get me through this pain I feel. It hurts a lot when you're going through severe suicidal depression and PTSD. You feel like it's a nightmare that will never end and because it's so painful and so exhausting, you yearn for the passage of time (and all the normal thing that come along with it, like therapy sessions and tears and the like) to speed up so you just don't have to feel it anymore. Slow is the last thing you want and yet, time moves along like a turtle in a swimming pool of molasses.
What struck me about what Dr. D said on Thursday is that I knew the moment he said it that it was true and that I had already experienced that. Back in November, we took a pretty significant break from doing EMDR (a traumatic memory processing technique) because of the fact that I had experienced a very intense trigger around that time that needed to be worked through. Trying to work through traumatic memories on top of dealing with intense triggers can be far too much all at once, so we stopped the EMDR and to focus on helping me cope with the intense trigger. What I noticed during this break of about 2 to 2.5 months was that my progress did, in fact, speed up. I had more energy, more ability to handle day to day stresses, lessened irritability, and my sleep wasn't nearly as fraught with nightmares as it had been.
At some point in January, once the holidays had passed and things were calmer, we started doing EMDR again. Some of the things I'd seen improve stayed, while others slowed, and still others came to a halt altogether. I found myself wishing that it would speed up again and stop with all the slow movement. I got very frustrated, but kept pressing on despite it. The more frustrated I got though, the slower it seemed to go because I was avoiding some of the things I needed to do for myself to keep moving forward. I wasn't really facing the demons of my traumas and looking them full in the face. I was only really doing the bare minimum because I wanted to get to the part where things speed up again.
When Dr. D mentioned the bit about "processing a lot of these memories" I realised that I not only had experienced this, but that the slowing down that was happening was a natural part of the process. I also realised that until the last couple of weeks, I hadn't been fully embracing that slowness or the process. I can't say what changed and made it so that I began to embrace it again, but in that moment last Thursday, I realised something very fundamental about my healing journey: I need slow.
I need these times of slowness and intense therapy where I look at these things under a microscope and plunge deep into these memories. I need these times when I am pushing forward through molasses and sobbing uncontrollably as I face the traumas of my past anew. I need the slowness of these times to allow me to really find and untangle the threads which are binding my mind in a feedback loop of reliving these memories because that is painstaking, complicated work that requires patience, determination, a great deal of help from others, and a very slow perseverance. I need the slowness of only being able to do the basics of self care and resting a lot so that I don't get overloaded. I need to feel the intensity of the emotions that surface so I can learn how to cope with them and better manage them. I need slow.
So things are slow right now. Things are really intense too. The stuff my brain has been dredging up the last couple of weeks has been so intense that I've felt weak physically and needed a boost of caffeine and food immediately afterward just to be able to drive safely. It's also needed a lot of unpacking after processing, so my sessions with Dr. D have run longer and I've been seeing Pendragon at least twice a week and almost immediately after I see Dr. D each week. You'd think that it would be therapy overload and sometimes it's pretty intense too, but it's keeping me on a more even keel than I think I would be if I didn't have that extra help. The great thing about having these two professionals helping me is that they both have different perspectives and help me find different threads of connection and understanding that I might not be able to find without them. Gray helps too. We often do a little debrief when I come home and very often, things come up that later get addressed with EMDR or in talking with Pendragon or Dr. D.
With all that intensity and slowness, I know I will be glad for a time when we break from things so that progress speeds and breathing is easier, but knowing that this slowness is part of the process and that it is moving me forward is helpful. As much as this slowness is hard, it is forcing me to look at these traumatic memories full on and really feel the impact of them in a way that allows me to understand them and move past them instead of repressing them or hiding from them.
It's very hard work and it's very painful and there are days, like yesterday, when the pain is so fierce that I want everything to end -- but I know that slow doesn't have to mean running away and death by suicide. I know that all this pain and agony as I face this stuff in the slow is shaping me into a better person who is stronger, braver, and better equipped to do the work that He has planned for me as a wife, mother, mental health/suicide prevention advocate, and child of God.
The mountain is steep and the climb arduous, breath-stealing, excruciatingly painful, and interminably slow, but I know the vista that awaits me at the top will be worth it all the more for the journey.
SLOW
It's been almost two months since the last time I posted here and I wish I could say that it's because life has been moving really fast or that I've just been so busy that I didn't have time to write, but I can't say that. Life has been, as it happens, pretty slow. The very beginning of the year, from just after New Year's to about mid-March, tends to be a wonderfully slow time of year that follows on the heels of the whirlwind of activity that comprises daily life and the many family and faith celebrations from September to December.
And friends, let me tell you, I need slow.
I have always been a fan of this time of respite and slowed down activity, but this year, it took on a new meaning for me. I didn't really realise it until this past Thursday when I was sitting in Dr. D's office and we were wrapping up our session. It had been a pretty intense session of EMDR and talking and my emotions were pretty close to the surface. I don't recall the exact thread of conversation, but somewhere in the midst of our normal wrap up talk, he commented that he thought I was on the right track with what we were working on. I agreed with him and replied that although I knew it was, it was still hard. He said "Oh yes, I know it is. I think though, part of the reason it's hard is because it feels like your progress is coming so slowly right now, but once we get through processing a lot of these memories, you'll notice that your progress speeds up and goes much faster."
You see, through the past four years I've been wishing for fast. I've been craving for time and progress and everything to just speed up and get me through this pain I feel. It hurts a lot when you're going through severe suicidal depression and PTSD. You feel like it's a nightmare that will never end and because it's so painful and so exhausting, you yearn for the passage of time (and all the normal thing that come along with it, like therapy sessions and tears and the like) to speed up so you just don't have to feel it anymore. Slow is the last thing you want and yet, time moves along like a turtle in a swimming pool of molasses.
What struck me about what Dr. D said on Thursday is that I knew the moment he said it that it was true and that I had already experienced that. Back in November, we took a pretty significant break from doing EMDR (a traumatic memory processing technique) because of the fact that I had experienced a very intense trigger around that time that needed to be worked through. Trying to work through traumatic memories on top of dealing with intense triggers can be far too much all at once, so we stopped the EMDR and to focus on helping me cope with the intense trigger. What I noticed during this break of about 2 to 2.5 months was that my progress did, in fact, speed up. I had more energy, more ability to handle day to day stresses, lessened irritability, and my sleep wasn't nearly as fraught with nightmares as it had been.
At some point in January, once the holidays had passed and things were calmer, we started doing EMDR again. Some of the things I'd seen improve stayed, while others slowed, and still others came to a halt altogether. I found myself wishing that it would speed up again and stop with all the slow movement. I got very frustrated, but kept pressing on despite it. The more frustrated I got though, the slower it seemed to go because I was avoiding some of the things I needed to do for myself to keep moving forward. I wasn't really facing the demons of my traumas and looking them full in the face. I was only really doing the bare minimum because I wanted to get to the part where things speed up again.
When Dr. D mentioned the bit about "processing a lot of these memories" I realised that I not only had experienced this, but that the slowing down that was happening was a natural part of the process. I also realised that until the last couple of weeks, I hadn't been fully embracing that slowness or the process. I can't say what changed and made it so that I began to embrace it again, but in that moment last Thursday, I realised something very fundamental about my healing journey: I need slow.
I need these times of slowness and intense therapy where I look at these things under a microscope and plunge deep into these memories. I need these times when I am pushing forward through molasses and sobbing uncontrollably as I face the traumas of my past anew. I need the slowness of these times to allow me to really find and untangle the threads which are binding my mind in a feedback loop of reliving these memories because that is painstaking, complicated work that requires patience, determination, a great deal of help from others, and a very slow perseverance. I need the slowness of only being able to do the basics of self care and resting a lot so that I don't get overloaded. I need to feel the intensity of the emotions that surface so I can learn how to cope with them and better manage them. I need slow.
So things are slow right now. Things are really intense too. The stuff my brain has been dredging up the last couple of weeks has been so intense that I've felt weak physically and needed a boost of caffeine and food immediately afterward just to be able to drive safely. It's also needed a lot of unpacking after processing, so my sessions with Dr. D have run longer and I've been seeing Pendragon at least twice a week and almost immediately after I see Dr. D each week. You'd think that it would be therapy overload and sometimes it's pretty intense too, but it's keeping me on a more even keel than I think I would be if I didn't have that extra help. The great thing about having these two professionals helping me is that they both have different perspectives and help me find different threads of connection and understanding that I might not be able to find without them. Gray helps too. We often do a little debrief when I come home and very often, things come up that later get addressed with EMDR or in talking with Pendragon or Dr. D.
With all that intensity and slowness, I know I will be glad for a time when we break from things so that progress speeds and breathing is easier, but knowing that this slowness is part of the process and that it is moving me forward is helpful. As much as this slowness is hard, it is forcing me to look at these traumatic memories full on and really feel the impact of them in a way that allows me to understand them and move past them instead of repressing them or hiding from them.
It's very hard work and it's very painful and there are days, like yesterday, when the pain is so fierce that I want everything to end -- but I know that slow doesn't have to mean running away and death by suicide. I know that all this pain and agony as I face this stuff in the slow is shaping me into a better person who is stronger, braver, and better equipped to do the work that He has planned for me as a wife, mother, mental health/suicide prevention advocate, and child of God.
The mountain is steep and the climb arduous, breath-stealing, excruciatingly painful, and interminably slow, but I know the vista that awaits me at the top will be worth it all the more for the journey.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
One Word 365 Recap and Thoughts on 2017 - part 2
(If you missed it, click here for part 1)
I didn't connect this struggle of faith with hopelessness until one very dark afternoon while waiting in the carpool line at my daughters' school. I had been struggling through several very days of dark moods when my friend Chez, who had been very concerned about me when I stopped talking to him, called me on the phone as I sat waiting for school to get out. He suggested to me that what I was feeling with regard to God sounded like hopelessness and I knew at once that he was right. I realised when he said it that I had cringed at the sound of the word and that I'd been actively avoiding using that word. I knew that the painful, gaping hole inside me was there because of a lack of hope. You would think that knowing this might help, but it only seemed to make it worse. I sank deeper into despair and grew more and more disconnected from my faith and, subsequently, from any desire to continue living.
To make a long story short, a flicker of light appeared in March of 2015. That's when I attended a Lenten ladies' devotion at our parish that was led by our family's beloved friend, Fr. B. After the devotion ended and everyone was chatting and nibbling on snacks, I went to say hello to Fr. B as it had been a good year or so since we'd seen each other. After our initial hellos, he asked how I was. I didn't want to burden him with my troubles, but something in the tone of his voice when he asked the question reminded me that he is more than just a priest, but a dear friend. That reminder of our treasured friendship undid my resolve and any attempt at trying to pretend I was "just fine" completely crumbled. In a choked up voice, I told him that things were hard and I'd had much better. He looked at me with such compassion that I felt myself start to cry a little bit. He handed me a napkin, gave me a hug, and said he'd be praying for me. That alone was a priceless gift, but then he told me to send him an email and we'd get together at his parish and pray about it. I did just that and a week or so later, we met together.
I'll admit that at that first meeting, I wasn't very keen on the idea of praying at all and told Father as much. He understood and before insisting that we pray anyway, he heard my confession and gave me the anointing of the sick. After those two sacraments, we began to pray -- or rather he prayed. I sat beside him and as the words of the prayers washed over me, the dam burst and I bawled like a baby. When Father finished praying, we talked briefly while I wiped my face and then we walked over to the main church and he gave me communion before leaving me there by myself to pray. As I knelt there in the church, a sense of calm stole over me that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I had promised Father that I would stay for at least 10 minutes, but somewhere in the midst of that silence, 10 minutes stretched into an hour without my even noticing it.
After that meeting, we began to meet regularly, about 1-2 times a month for spiritual direction and prayer and over time, that increased to weekly at times based on my need (and his schedule) along with keeping in close touch by email as well. What grew out of those spiritual direction meetings was a very slow and very tenuous renewed relationship with God. In the past year and a half, there have been moments when I have wondered if what I was feeling stir within me was a spark of hope, but every time I have felt this -- whatever this is -- it has gone as quickly as it came, snuffed out by fear, PTSD triggers, or the circumstances of life. I have longed for hope to return and it has remained elusive and also something that I simply cannot bring myself to believe that I will ever have again.
And yet.....here we are and it's time to choose another word for the year and I'm being nudged by the Holy Spirit to choose "hope" as my word for 2017. I felt this insistent nudge about a week or so ago and immediately refused to entertain the idea. I've continued to feel it since then and every time I have shut the idea down so fast that if it had a head, it would spin. Nope. Nope. Nope. BIG old NOPE. Think of Dana Carvey's impersonation of George H. W. Bush where he says, "Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent at this juncture." That's basically where I'm at right now.
The Holy Spirit even went so far as to nudge me to mention this idea to Pendragon during our last session and to Gray last night. Obviously, Pendragon didn't push me and neither did Gray, but I know that both of them would be encouraged if I did decide to take the plunge and make "hope" my word for this coming year. The thing is, I can't do it because of how I know it would make them feel. If I chose this for any reason other than a desire within myself, I think it would be a miserable failure.
And yet....and yet this nudge is persistent. Do you know how I know this nudge is from the Holy Spirit? It's because everything within me -- every instinct, every gut reaction, every fiber of my being -- is screaming at the top of its voice, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!" and as much as I want to ignore this nudge to do it, I simply can't. It's not that it's louder than my own voice, but that it's just as loud and inexhaustibly, relentlessly determined not to let me wiggle or headbutt my way out of this.
So here I am on the edge of 2016 becoming 2017, still resisting and still scared. I know I need to just bite the bullet, say "Okay" and make the commitment, but for whatever reason, I just can't. Then why write this long essay about words and this subject? Because I needed to write it and because I know that despite not beginning the new year with a new word, this isn't over yet. It's only just beginning.
In the meantime, pray for me. God knows that not only did I need to write this, but that I need to do it too and only He can help me find the courage to plumb the depths of this virtue and learn how to find it, embrace it, and allow it to grow in my heart once again.
I didn't connect this struggle of faith with hopelessness until one very dark afternoon while waiting in the carpool line at my daughters' school. I had been struggling through several very days of dark moods when my friend Chez, who had been very concerned about me when I stopped talking to him, called me on the phone as I sat waiting for school to get out. He suggested to me that what I was feeling with regard to God sounded like hopelessness and I knew at once that he was right. I realised when he said it that I had cringed at the sound of the word and that I'd been actively avoiding using that word. I knew that the painful, gaping hole inside me was there because of a lack of hope. You would think that knowing this might help, but it only seemed to make it worse. I sank deeper into despair and grew more and more disconnected from my faith and, subsequently, from any desire to continue living.
To make a long story short, a flicker of light appeared in March of 2015. That's when I attended a Lenten ladies' devotion at our parish that was led by our family's beloved friend, Fr. B. After the devotion ended and everyone was chatting and nibbling on snacks, I went to say hello to Fr. B as it had been a good year or so since we'd seen each other. After our initial hellos, he asked how I was. I didn't want to burden him with my troubles, but something in the tone of his voice when he asked the question reminded me that he is more than just a priest, but a dear friend. That reminder of our treasured friendship undid my resolve and any attempt at trying to pretend I was "just fine" completely crumbled. In a choked up voice, I told him that things were hard and I'd had much better. He looked at me with such compassion that I felt myself start to cry a little bit. He handed me a napkin, gave me a hug, and said he'd be praying for me. That alone was a priceless gift, but then he told me to send him an email and we'd get together at his parish and pray about it. I did just that and a week or so later, we met together.
I'll admit that at that first meeting, I wasn't very keen on the idea of praying at all and told Father as much. He understood and before insisting that we pray anyway, he heard my confession and gave me the anointing of the sick. After those two sacraments, we began to pray -- or rather he prayed. I sat beside him and as the words of the prayers washed over me, the dam burst and I bawled like a baby. When Father finished praying, we talked briefly while I wiped my face and then we walked over to the main church and he gave me communion before leaving me there by myself to pray. As I knelt there in the church, a sense of calm stole over me that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I had promised Father that I would stay for at least 10 minutes, but somewhere in the midst of that silence, 10 minutes stretched into an hour without my even noticing it.
After that meeting, we began to meet regularly, about 1-2 times a month for spiritual direction and prayer and over time, that increased to weekly at times based on my need (and his schedule) along with keeping in close touch by email as well. What grew out of those spiritual direction meetings was a very slow and very tenuous renewed relationship with God. In the past year and a half, there have been moments when I have wondered if what I was feeling stir within me was a spark of hope, but every time I have felt this -- whatever this is -- it has gone as quickly as it came, snuffed out by fear, PTSD triggers, or the circumstances of life. I have longed for hope to return and it has remained elusive and also something that I simply cannot bring myself to believe that I will ever have again.
And yet.....here we are and it's time to choose another word for the year and I'm being nudged by the Holy Spirit to choose "hope" as my word for 2017. I felt this insistent nudge about a week or so ago and immediately refused to entertain the idea. I've continued to feel it since then and every time I have shut the idea down so fast that if it had a head, it would spin. Nope. Nope. Nope. BIG old NOPE. Think of Dana Carvey's impersonation of George H. W. Bush where he says, "Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent at this juncture." That's basically where I'm at right now.
The Holy Spirit even went so far as to nudge me to mention this idea to Pendragon during our last session and to Gray last night. Obviously, Pendragon didn't push me and neither did Gray, but I know that both of them would be encouraged if I did decide to take the plunge and make "hope" my word for this coming year. The thing is, I can't do it because of how I know it would make them feel. If I chose this for any reason other than a desire within myself, I think it would be a miserable failure.
And yet....and yet this nudge is persistent. Do you know how I know this nudge is from the Holy Spirit? It's because everything within me -- every instinct, every gut reaction, every fiber of my being -- is screaming at the top of its voice, "Noooooooooooooo!!!!" and as much as I want to ignore this nudge to do it, I simply can't. It's not that it's louder than my own voice, but that it's just as loud and inexhaustibly, relentlessly determined not to let me wiggle or headbutt my way out of this.
So here I am on the edge of 2016 becoming 2017, still resisting and still scared. I know I need to just bite the bullet, say "Okay" and make the commitment, but for whatever reason, I just can't. Then why write this long essay about words and this subject? Because I needed to write it and because I know that despite not beginning the new year with a new word, this isn't over yet. It's only just beginning.
In the meantime, pray for me. God knows that not only did I need to write this, but that I need to do it too and only He can help me find the courage to plumb the depths of this virtue and learn how to find it, embrace it, and allow it to grow in my heart once again.
One Word 365 Recap and Thoughts on 2017
Eleventh Doctor: Vincent, can I help?
Vincent van Gogh: It is so clear you cannot help. And when you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
Eleventh Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.
I'm not gonna lie y'all. It was a rough year for me personally. It was also a year that turned my world upside down in a way that was really difficult (and still is to a great degree), but that will, I think, eventually wind up being positive. The jury is still out on that, but my therapist Pendragon said something at our most recent session on Thursday that he hasn't said in a long time. Actually, he used a word that he hasn't dared to use in a long time -- but more on that later.
A couple of years ago I discovered this thing called One Word 365. Basically, the idea is that you select a word for the year to be a kind of focus word, if you will, that you allow to influence and change you mentally/emotionally, physically, or spiritually. For 2015, I chose two words because as much as I tried, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed to embrace both of them -- write and follow. The first one was chosen because I had just come off the 2014 Write 31 Days challenge in October and I wanted to commit myself to writing in my blog more regularly and keeping up with it instead of just throwing it to the side. In the two years that have been since, I've had ups and downs, but I think I've managed to write at least one entry each month and some months, more than one. That may not seem like much, but it's a start. I chose "follow" as a word because I was struggling spiritually with wanting to follow after Christ. I've spent pretty much my entire life following Christ, but had gone through a trauma so severe that it had shaken my faith to the deepest levels. I wanted a reminder of what I had always done and that I knew deep down that I still wanted to do -- follow Him.
For 2016, I kept my 2015 words and added a third -- move. In 2015, I participated in my first ever Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and struggled physically much more than I wanted to do. After only completing about 1.5 miles of the total 18, I felt defeated and I knew that although I had emotionally been struggling, I wasn't in the physical shape I needed or wanted to be either. I also knew that I needed to lose weight and make some changes to better my health, so I decided that a good first step would be to start moving more. To that end, I joined a local gym so that I could start walking and lifting some weights and in April, I got a Fitbit tracker to help motivate me to take more steps each day. I can't say that I suddenly became a fitness fanatic, but I did get more steps in this year and as a result, I lost a little weight and got in a little better shape. This year I completed 7 miles of the 18 during the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk and that was with the addition of taking a nasty tumble and mildly injuring myself. So although it wasn't a hugely different year with regard to fitness, it was a better year than the one before it and it is the beginning of a journey that I'm going to continue this year.
Speaking of this year, I suppose it's time to tell you about what happened the other night in Pendragon's office. You see, out of deference to how much he knows I've struggled with it, there is a word that he has studiously avoided using for the most part over the last three and a half years. He knows how much this word has caused me anguish and buckets of tears. He knows how many hours I've spent in his office talking around this word, afraid to even breathe it aloud. Because of that, he hasn't pressed me on it, but during our conversation on Thursday, he went out on a limb and said that he felt like the things I've been learning with my psychologist Dr. D have been beneficial and that the fact that I've been able to use those skills is a good reason for hope.
Hope.
I have to be honest. Just typing that scares the heck out of me. I have been scared for almost four years to have hope. It is to the point that in the beginning, I couldn't make myself utter the word aloud, not even in its more common sense (like "I hope you have a great birthday."), much less talk about it in any depth or use the word in its theological sense. A lot of my reluctance to talk about it has come from the fact that part of the theological sense of it has to do with trusting God. For someone who has trusted God her whole life, that ought to be easy, but trauma has a funny way of changing the most fundamental things about a person in ways that he or she never thought possible.
You see, the trauma that I endured and the PTSD that came about as a result of it also created a deep pit of anger within me and a quite a lot of that anger was directed towards God. I felt deserted by Him in my greatest hour of need, despite having cried out to him amidst the ordeal I went through. It was as though He had vanished completely. The silence was deafening and the sense of His presence which had always been so real to me, was gone so completely it was as though I had never felt it at all. The combination of the trauma itself plus feeling so completely abandoned by God shook my faith so much that for a very long time, I wanted nothing to do with God or even anything associated with God in any way. It got so bad that I eventually began to doubt my faith and struggle with the temptation to turn away from God completely.
(Please click here for part 2.)
Vincent van Gogh: It is so clear you cannot help. And when you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
Eleventh Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.
*****************
A couple of years ago I discovered this thing called One Word 365. Basically, the idea is that you select a word for the year to be a kind of focus word, if you will, that you allow to influence and change you mentally/emotionally, physically, or spiritually. For 2015, I chose two words because as much as I tried, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed to embrace both of them -- write and follow. The first one was chosen because I had just come off the 2014 Write 31 Days challenge in October and I wanted to commit myself to writing in my blog more regularly and keeping up with it instead of just throwing it to the side. In the two years that have been since, I've had ups and downs, but I think I've managed to write at least one entry each month and some months, more than one. That may not seem like much, but it's a start. I chose "follow" as a word because I was struggling spiritually with wanting to follow after Christ. I've spent pretty much my entire life following Christ, but had gone through a trauma so severe that it had shaken my faith to the deepest levels. I wanted a reminder of what I had always done and that I knew deep down that I still wanted to do -- follow Him.
For 2016, I kept my 2015 words and added a third -- move. In 2015, I participated in my first ever Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and struggled physically much more than I wanted to do. After only completing about 1.5 miles of the total 18, I felt defeated and I knew that although I had emotionally been struggling, I wasn't in the physical shape I needed or wanted to be either. I also knew that I needed to lose weight and make some changes to better my health, so I decided that a good first step would be to start moving more. To that end, I joined a local gym so that I could start walking and lifting some weights and in April, I got a Fitbit tracker to help motivate me to take more steps each day. I can't say that I suddenly became a fitness fanatic, but I did get more steps in this year and as a result, I lost a little weight and got in a little better shape. This year I completed 7 miles of the 18 during the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk and that was with the addition of taking a nasty tumble and mildly injuring myself. So although it wasn't a hugely different year with regard to fitness, it was a better year than the one before it and it is the beginning of a journey that I'm going to continue this year.
Speaking of this year, I suppose it's time to tell you about what happened the other night in Pendragon's office. You see, out of deference to how much he knows I've struggled with it, there is a word that he has studiously avoided using for the most part over the last three and a half years. He knows how much this word has caused me anguish and buckets of tears. He knows how many hours I've spent in his office talking around this word, afraid to even breathe it aloud. Because of that, he hasn't pressed me on it, but during our conversation on Thursday, he went out on a limb and said that he felt like the things I've been learning with my psychologist Dr. D have been beneficial and that the fact that I've been able to use those skills is a good reason for hope.
Hope.
I have to be honest. Just typing that scares the heck out of me. I have been scared for almost four years to have hope. It is to the point that in the beginning, I couldn't make myself utter the word aloud, not even in its more common sense (like "I hope you have a great birthday."), much less talk about it in any depth or use the word in its theological sense. A lot of my reluctance to talk about it has come from the fact that part of the theological sense of it has to do with trusting God. For someone who has trusted God her whole life, that ought to be easy, but trauma has a funny way of changing the most fundamental things about a person in ways that he or she never thought possible.
You see, the trauma that I endured and the PTSD that came about as a result of it also created a deep pit of anger within me and a quite a lot of that anger was directed towards God. I felt deserted by Him in my greatest hour of need, despite having cried out to him amidst the ordeal I went through. It was as though He had vanished completely. The silence was deafening and the sense of His presence which had always been so real to me, was gone so completely it was as though I had never felt it at all. The combination of the trauma itself plus feeling so completely abandoned by God shook my faith so much that for a very long time, I wanted nothing to do with God or even anything associated with God in any way. It got so bad that I eventually began to doubt my faith and struggle with the temptation to turn away from God completely.
(Please click here for part 2.)
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Quick Update -- November
It's been well over a month since I've written. I'm still alive and kicking, although more than a little bit busy. This time of year is normally very busy for our family (LOTS of birthdays, feast days, holidays, parties, school performances, etc), but it has been made even busier by an increase in therapy for me. I'll just suffice it to say that I was dreading the general election on November 8th for various reasons and then the results hit me very, very hard. I am, quite honestly, still trying to recover from that. That may not make much sense to many of you, but it is where I'm at right now. Perhaps one day I'll write more about what happened that day and what I'm currently feeling, but now is not the time for it.
Speaking of writing, I don't know how much I'm going to be writing in the next month or so. I'm kind of re-evaluating what I want to write about in this blog and if I even want to continue this blog at all. I think it serves a purpose at times, but sometimes I'm not sure that it's what I want to keep doing. I have a lot of thoughts in my head and ideas for posts, but I'm struggling a lot to make any of it make sense or sound coherent. I'm also struggling to stay true to my goal of writing on a consistent basis. I'm not totally ready to give it up, but I'm trying to discern what the best path is for me. Right now, this blog is definitely on the back burner as my family and my spiritual and mental health are my top priority.
If you want to keep up with new posts, the best way to do that is to like my blog Facebook page (Tales From A Southern Catholic Momma). When I post something new here, I'll add a post there with a link. It seems the easiest way to handle things. For now, that's about all I've got.
Pax!
Speaking of writing, I don't know how much I'm going to be writing in the next month or so. I'm kind of re-evaluating what I want to write about in this blog and if I even want to continue this blog at all. I think it serves a purpose at times, but sometimes I'm not sure that it's what I want to keep doing. I have a lot of thoughts in my head and ideas for posts, but I'm struggling a lot to make any of it make sense or sound coherent. I'm also struggling to stay true to my goal of writing on a consistent basis. I'm not totally ready to give it up, but I'm trying to discern what the best path is for me. Right now, this blog is definitely on the back burner as my family and my spiritual and mental health are my top priority.
If you want to keep up with new posts, the best way to do that is to like my blog Facebook page (Tales From A Southern Catholic Momma). When I post something new here, I'll add a post there with a link. It seems the easiest way to handle things. For now, that's about all I've got.
Pax!
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