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He Hears Me When I Don’t Speak

Have you ever been driving and thinking?  Thinking about everything, waiting for that perfect song to come on the radio.  The song that will perfectly describe life.  For weeks now, I’ve been waiting for that song.  I turn on the radio every day hoping for the song to come on, not knowing what it is but knowing I’ll know when it comes on.  Today, after a very busy and exhausting weekend, that song came on the radio. 

Let’s back-track several weeks.  These weeks (maybe a couple months even) have brought many unknowns.  You see, unknowns and I aren’t friends.  Once upon a time, I was okay with unknowns; we were fair acquaintances, and I could adjust.  Now, they are too much for my anxiety, which I hate to admit.  I had some health stuff going on.  I was nervous about my job (self-created worry, of course).  I miss friends I don’t see as often. An aunt that passed two years ago – I miss her dearly and in the oddest of times.  I worry about my grandparents.  I question my God-appointed professions of being the wife I should be, the mom my kids need, and the district-appointed profession of being the teacher my students need.  Add to that the end-of-the-school-year madness and I’m just…done.  The biggest one if you will, is I feel like my relationship with God isn’t where it should be right now, which is likely the reason for all the other stressors.

Again, the end of yet another long weekend.  Church carnival, soccer games, softball tournaments, my husband and I divided as we play taxi for everyone.  A huge win in all of this is that before the chaos started today, we got to go to church as a family of six.  It may not seem like a big win, but it was.  And the first thing I did when I got there, was kneel and thank God that was allowed to happen.   But I also asked for commitment.  Not from Him, but me.  I know my lack of time with Jesus has everything to do with me.  He’s waiting for me patiently, while I just stand there and watch.  I see Him, daily, but I don’t move.  How awful.  It brings a sadness to me and yet, still I watch.

But as I was driving home today from all the stuff, the song came on the radio.  The song I’ve been silently praying to hear.  Why?  Because it seems that every time I try to reconnect with Him, I don’t even know what to start to say. The song that could help me talk to God without knowing what to say finally spoke to me.  Hold On To Me by Lauren Daigle came on the radio and I melted.  That’s what I needed.  That’s the message; that’s the request.   

Sometimes I don’t know what I need.  Sometimes I have no idea how to be a good wife, a good mom, a good teacher, a good employee, a good friend to those I miss (and hopefully miss me back).  And all too often, and most importantly, how to be a good disciple.  I believe His message came to me in that song.  She sang:

Hold on to me when it’s too dark to see You

When I am sure I have reached the end

Hold on to me when I forget I need You

When I let go, hold me again

I don’t know what to say most of the time and I certainly don’t know what to do.  I do know that if I keep looking in His direction, He will see me.  He hears me when I’m not even sure what to say.  And when I feel signs from Him or hear those songs come on the radio, I know they were played at the perfect time.  It is always His very perfect time.

Hooray For Small Victories

I am a teacher. A middle school special education teacher to be exact. I was a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) for twelve years. I dabbled in many things during that time – direct sales, working at a gym whose director allowed me to bring my kids to work with me, and church youth director. All of those jobs were very part-time so the SAHM title is most fitting for that stretch. But now, I wear the badge of teacher once again. The decision to return to the classroom did not come easily, however I was ready to be back.

This is my second year back in education; my first was as an aid, and now lead-teacher. The title of this read is the motto I have at the front of my classroom for all to see. I put it there so that my students, who often feel less-than, understand that success comes in baby steps and not by giant leaps. Little did I know I would benefit from it, too.

As a teacher (especially now), it is very easy to get discouraged. The workload, the expectations upon teachers, the things our children are exposed to daily, the world as a whole…each of these things makes it more and more difficult by the day. Feeling like a failure is not an uncommon belief in this profession. Teachers aren’t looked at in the same light they once were. When I interviewed for my first job way-back-when, the first question I was asked was “why do you want this job?”. My answer: because I want to change the world. Yep, I said it. And I felt it. Deeply. Looking back, it’s evident in that simple statement how naïve I was then.

Whether good or bad, I feel things to the extreme. So when I said I wanted to change the world, I meant it. Only I was hoping it would happen in one large, amazing lesson. Again…naive. It wasn’t until I started celebrating the little things that I recognized “changing the world” is in the eye of the beholder and in the world of education, definitely means something different. There are days, more often than not, I feel like I’m not doing my very best by my students. Then there are days when the tiniest ray of light shines through. I watch a student who struggles almost constantly, do a math problem on their own. Or another student has a test score go up, even if by only one point. I say “only” with a grain of salt because for that child, many don’t see the struggle, frustration, and the days of sadness for feeling stupid and inadequate in which that child went through to gain one point. Or another child who I know has a great dislike for authority, offers a smile when I attempt the cheesiest of jokes.

These things may not seem like big things to many people. But for me, those things are the big things. They have to be! I hope that one day, my students think back on the sign in front of my classroom and realize that maybe Mrs. Edwards wasn’t a loser (ha!); maybe she was onto something. And when someone walks by my classroom and sees my para and I making fools of ourselves (maybe dancing, screaming, hugging our kiddos) because one of our students did a math problem on their own, you’ll know why. #HOORAYforsmallvictories

Motherhood: Where Do I Fit?

It’s two weeks before my youngest starts Kindergarten.  My oldest is going into seventh grade, with two in between.  There have been days in the last twelve years that have gone by so slllooowwww.  And now, I wonder the cliché: where has time gone? When did they all get so big? Why did it all go so fast?  During these thoughts, a new one popped in my head…Why didn’t anyone tell me that motherhood seems to be a collection of seasons where we are constantly figuring out who the hell we really are?

Ten years ago, I left teaching – partially by choice, partially by circumstance.  I had just become comfortable with who I was as a teacher and the role I played in my students’ lives to then be thrust into the world of being a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM).  This was no easy adjustment.  It was three years into my journey as a SAHM when I actually felt somewhat comfortable in that role.  During this period, I went through postpartum depression and coping with life at home with small children was proven even more difficult.  Nonetheless, with practice (and a little therapy), I was comfortable that I was doing okay – maybe I wouldn’t totally screw my kids up after all.  I was trying to make myself a priority so that I could be a better mom and wife.  I was making new friends – something that I missed for a long time.  Then baby number four came along, yet another adjustment.  I worked as a mom, worked part-time in direct sales, started writing again, and made sure to exercise and take care of me. Dates with my husband were a priority and so were good times with friends.  I felt like I had rediscovered myself.  For the first time in a long time, I felt confident. 

Then a new chapter began.  A year ago, I went back to work.  Though only part-time, I was back to working outside of the home again – responsible for answering to other people, serving people outside of my home at work while still serving the people inside my home.  I’ve never had more respect for full-time working moms in my life!  Finding balance while serving other people and keeping everyone inside my house fed (mentally, physically and spiritually), busy, rested, responsible, healthy, and feeling loved in addition to the other million motherly things we do (including being interrupted while writing this article eighteen times to this point in my third paragraph – oh wait, now nineteen!).  Time with my husband outside of this house seems to have been put on the backburner again because we are constantly running our children in eight different directions.  And time with friends?  I’m afraid I don’t even know where I fall in that picture. 

And now, for the umpteenth time in ten years, I face a new season.  A season where all my children are in school full-time for the first time in the history of this mom’s motherhood. So, I return to two questions I asked myself just a few short years ago – who am I and where do I fit?  To this point, I’ve been called by God to be many things – a wife, a mother to four beautiful and strong-willed humans, a teacher, a youth director at our church (the list goes on).  None of these are easy, which makes the above two questions difficult to ask more times than not (let’s be honest, this won’t be the last time I am forced to ask such questions).  But this morning when I was at Monday mass, I heard exactly what I needed to hear.  God is not the Candyman; he doesn’t hand over everything we want.  Even when he calls us to do something specific, it will unlikely be completed with ease.   Things will be difficult.  But hearing this allows me to move forward with the understanding that there is a plan, that He will guide me, and to remember one of my favorite quotes by Mother Teresa: “…it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”  

Faith Friends

Growing up, it’s safe to say I was kind of a loaner.  I had a couple “besties” when I was younger but I never had a large group of friends, a clique if you will.  This isn’t something I realized until I was older and in college when I did have a large group I called good friends.  They were my people – the people I laughed with, talked with, drank with, studied with, cried with, lived with.  They knew me better than most.  I did life with these people. 

Fast forward and I was suddenly married with children.  I grew up in a faith-based household but it wasn’t something I made a priority when I was young.  I went to church and religious education classes because I was told I needed to do so.  When I started having children, my faith became important to me.  Though it was important to me, I felt as if I was starting over.  I spent time trying to find a church we enjoyed, which was a task every time we moved (my husband is military so for a while, this happened often).  I tried to read the Bible and educate myself, spend more time in prayer and feel a deeper connection to God.  All of these exercises were a part of the process, but I soon realized that who I surrounded myself with was also a piece to the puzzle I had not yet considered. 

We eventually found a church we not only felt comfortable in, but looked forward to attending whenever we could (in addition to Sunday mornings).  We also found a faith-based school we loved and our children started attending.  We found our community.  We found a new group of people we could do life with.  As a military family, we were moving often and being forced to find new friends more often than many civilian families.  Finding friends that you not only feel comfortable with but that also share your faith in God can be difficult. 

I have many friends, with many different beliefs.  I genuinely love them each individually for a variety of reasons.  But when you find ‘faith friends’, the friends that share the same beliefs about God, well that’s a game changer – for me it is anyway.  A faith friend is a different kind of friend.  Faith friends are those friends that you know are praying for you and your family just because.  They are the friends that will reach out asking for prayers and know that without a single doubt, that you too, will drop everything at that moment to pray for them.  They will buy you a calendar with a verse from scripture on the cover simply because it reminds them of you.  They will ask you to join them at a retreat because they know you desperately need it – a little extra peace, a little extra love, a lot of grace and Jesus.  They will send you a text saying “I prayed for you today” out of the blue and to that I think, “how did they know I needed this?”  Faith friends know.  We laugh, we cry, we drink, we count on one another, we raise our kids together, and we love God together.  They are a valuable part of my life and it is something I will continue to thank God for daily!

Managing Your Mental Health: You Do You!

Because this is my first writing piece, I should probably give you some background on me before I go off on somewhat of a tangent.  I’ve been married for fifteen years and have four children.  All four of my pregnancies resulted in four healthy children.  Only one pregnancy resulted in a long enough bout of postpartum depression (PD).  After child number three was born and after what was a somewhat normal pregnancy, I went through postpartum depression for approximately two years.   I say ‘somewhat’ normal pregnancy, because looking back I can see things that could have been early signs of the depression to come.

The people around me knew very early on that I was struggling with postpartum depression.  I, however, was very reluctant to see any healthcare professional or get any help.  So instead, I fought with my husband for months (in addition to many other loved ones), yelled at my kids all too often, cried numerous times per day and in general, was just a very miserable human being to be around.  I hated myself for the person I was becoming.  Eventually, about a year into my bout with PD, I finally sought help.  I couldn’t live like that anymore.  I knew I needed to be a better wife, mom, daughter, sister and friend.  I was failing at all of these daily.  With the help of my priest, I found a wonderful therapist and with the help of my loving doctor, I went on medication (which I initially hated the idea of and took many months to decide).

The idea of medication scared me.  I wanted to return to my normal self on my own.  I believed healthy eating, exercise, and personal time would get the job done.  It didn’t.  I was on depression medication for a very short period of time and it really worked.  So, I went off of the medication.

As my PD began to fade, I noticed months later that I was still dealing with anxiety.  I would have panic attacks that would appear from nowhere.  If you’ve ever had a legitimate panic attack, you understand when I say it is absolutely terrifying!  Again, knowing that medication may be necessary, I fought it.  I didn’t want to believe things were that bad once again.  I know what it is like to live life happily and not in constant fear that I will have a panic attack for an unknown reason.  I decided to go back on my anxiety medication and only take it when I feel it necessary.  In the last several years, I’ve become very aware of my body and what is happening.  It helps greatly in managing my anxiety and knowing what my body needs to function.

I decided to write this because I was listening to someone tell their story a few days ago about a diagnosis she was awaiting.  When sharing her story, she was sharing her new struggle with anxiety and said, “I was prescribed anxiety medication but am so proud to say…I never did take it.” And she was in tears, yet so proud she didn’t take the medication.

This is where I became upset.  Several years have gone by since my bout with PD, and yet I still struggle with anxiety.  On and off, but it is something I know I will have to deal with the rest of my life.  I understand the difficult decision of taking medication.  I understand wanting to manage things in our own way, naturally.  I really do.  It was a difficult decision I made to start taking medication.  But I know this now, too…there is NO SHAME in making the decision to take that medication!  For some of us, it is necessary.  Necessary to live normally and not feel like you’re crumbling.  Because if you’ve ever had a panic attack, that’s exactly what it feels like – like with world is crumbling around you.  The rational side of the brain tells us there’s nothing to be afraid of while the irrational side is telling us we need to fear everything – like the deadline at work or the conversation you had with a friend five years ago where you may have said something stupid!  And we’re aware that our thoughts are irrational, while there is no way to convince ourselves otherwise at that moment.  So it becomes necessary for some of us to function – to work, to parent, to engage with our family and friends.  Therefore, while I understand the fear of using medication, I’m also a strong advocate for it.  And hope people realize that there in NO SHAME in making that decision for proper self-care to manage a mental illness like anxiety.

I hate that there is still such a horrible stigma regarding mental health.  Too many people suffer due to such stigmas.  Mental health is just as important as physical health.  Though medication isn’t required for some, medication is absolutely necessary for many people.  It is most definitely about self-care and self-love and it is okay.