Warning: Heavy thoughts ahead.

I have intentionally neglected my blog for the last year. I won’t apologize for staying away. Like I said, it was intentional. You see, the idea of silencing any negative thoughts runs deep. We’ve all heard the phrase, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Am I right?! I am not sure if that is exactly how the phrase goes, or even where I heard it, but nonetheless, it is ingrained into my psyche.

It is tragic. A large part of the healing process is validation. Often, validation happens through verbalization. If you are anything like me, now and again, you don’t realize the extent of your feelings until they are out there for the world to hear. My feelings are buried underneath other feelings. Those feelings are sequestered behind rules and regulations of social etiquette. Frequently, my feelings are not realized until I begin delving through the layers. Unfortunately, we are a society that has forgotten how to grieve, and therefore, it is intensely uncomfortable to be around others who do. The particularly tragic part is that, like any wound, those buried will continue to fester. You have to get the infection out in order for true healing to begin. Emotions are that way. If we confiscate our emotions or bury them away, there’s a good chance that the healing process will never arise. This prolongs the healing process.

You see, everyone goes through varying stages of grief. Kubler-Ross has the “DABDA” theory that we all experience grief in 5 stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. I think there’s something to this. The tricky part is that the timing, the order, and the intensity of these stages are as unique as the people who experience them. There can be no expectations when dealing with someone’s grief. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Sometimes we are told otherwise, but it simply is not true. I have learned an enormous amount about grief recently.

In the past 6 years my family has experienced a great amount of loss. Between Aric and I, we have lost 19 family members or friends. We have experienced the financial hardship with job losses and medical bills. We have walked through both medical and developmental hurdles with our oldest son. In 2012, we nearly lost our son, Gavin, to a magnet. Each loss took its toll. Each loss has compounded on the previous loss, and led me to feel sad, overwhelmed, irritable, guilt-ridden, etc… It’s a miracle that I haven’t had a mental breakdown. Regrettably, I have had an emotional shut down instead. I am a mother of two small children. I can’t shut out the world in order to detox all of my emotions. Instead, I bury them. When the cracks start showing, I turn the safety valve long enough to let off some pressure and then start stuffing again. It is a dark place to be. As you can probably imagine, this has caused friction in my relationships as well. In the maze of survival, I got trapped in a routine of making sure everyone else was ok. Meanwhile, my wellbeing and joy deteriorated by the day. I stopped doing things that brought me pleasure. What I am realizing now is by keeping everyone else and everything afloat, I was drowning in bitterness and resentment. I began to resent my husband and children for all that they were stripping from me. I was taking no pleasure in being a wife or mother.

The ironic thing about being a “doer” is that when you find yourself in a heap, you begin to sort. So sort I did. Trivial things began to find their way into the discard pile. I started asking for help. I began to take more time for myself. Slowly, and I mean painfully slow, I am weaving my way through the web of emotions. I am rebuilding relationships. I am rekindling the fires that burned away. I am just now starting to rebuild myself. I know it will be a long journey. In the process of all this, I couldn’t find the words to express my feelings. I am not sure that I have, even now. Nevertheless, that is why I neglected my blog. Several times, I started to write a script, but everything I had to say was not quite right. Today, I am writing from my heart. While I have found new liberty in emoting, I am also reminded that my thoughts and words are important. In the midst of my grief, I had someone tell me that my grief was out of proportion with my loss. It was very hurtful. It spurred anger. I wanted to lash out. Actually, I wanted to give them directions to the highest cliff and permission to jump. I also realized that I couldn’t let negativity control me anymore. Negativity often carpools with cynicism and judgment. I knew that I needed to take a different path. So I went silent. I decided to use the power in my unspoken words as motivation to be a better me. One step at a time, that’s the path I am on.

Pardon me while I ramble

What kind of society have we become when only the sensational gets our attention? We have created a carnivorous culture speckled in extremes. We watch the news and most of the stories do not faze us. Death is not tragic until it involves some measure of violence. Victories don’t count unless you’ve singlehandedly upended the forerunner. Love stories don’t matter unless you’ve overcome some extraordinary odds to be together. Testimonies are no longer relevant until you see something physically impossible become possible. So, what happened to slow and steady wins the race? We’ve all heard the stories of the person who was miraculously healed from cancer, to the astonishment of their doctor. We’ve heard the story of the person who struggled with physical pain and was miraculously healed. We’ve heard the one about the person in the throes of addiction whom God set free. Praise God! These are truly things to rejoice over. I believe that wholeheartedly. I also believe that we sometimes miss the mark. Sometimes, God’s miracles are astonishing. Sometimes God works in small, and yet, equally phenomenal ways. What about someone who suffers with depression, but dragged themselves to church. What about the person who hurts all over, but still manages to stand in reverence? I will never forget watching a World War II vet in a wheel chair use every ounce of strength they could muster to stand at a parade as the American Flag passed. Patriotism was something they wholeheartedly believed in. It was a moment that changed me forever. What ever happened to rejoicing over someone’s faithfulness? Timothy praised God throughout his illnesses. Job praised God in the depths of despair. Peter suffered bodily ailment. Habakkuk was faithful through her barrenness. What about us? My grandmother was a woman with a soft spoken faith. She went to church every Sunday. She sat in the same spot, in the same pew, for 50 years. She was one of the most forgiving, gentle mannered women I have ever had the pleasure to know. That is not to say she didn’t speak her mind when necessary. Nevertheless, I knew two things to be true about this woman, she loved God and she loved others, just as Jesus commanded. She is someone who should be celebrated. She had a testimony that remains as ripples on a pond. I feel her influence every day of my life. Don’t get me wrong, she did some pretty unbelievable things. She was one of the first women in the coast guard in WWII. She was the first woman mail carrier in Albany, OR. She raised 4 children under four on almost nothing. She did it all with a grace that I couldn’t muster on my best day. I wish I would have celebrated it more while she was with us. If nothing else, I have learned that we should rejoice in the small victories and give praise to God for all things good. “My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.” Psalm 119:50. We are commanded to give praise, to revere Christ as Lord and to always be ready to share the reason for our hope (1 Peter 3:15-17). My new mission is to do just that.