A Letter to the Woman Who Broke My Boyfriend's Heart

I don't know much about you. What I do know has been told in fragmented pieces, broken up because sometimes the past is painful for quite some time. What I know about you, I know from looking at the man I love: that at some point, you did great damage to someone who cared. I'm sure you have your side of the story, there are always two.

Here's what I'm not thankful for: I'm not thankful that you delivered him to me more broken than you found him. Hearts are fragile things. I wish you would have been more careful with his. I'm not thankful that sometimes, despite all the good in our relationship, the past still haunts us both. That is the reality of life. It is something we will work on together, every single day. I wish you wouldn't have made it such a struggle sometimes.

I got that out of the way because mostly, I'm writing this to tell you just the opposite. I wanted to tell you thank you. Thank you for shutting one door so he could walk through the door that would eventually bring him home. Thank you for loving him and caring for him to the best of your abilities before I was able. Thank you for anything and everything you taught him, about life and about himself, and any way that you made him grow. Thank you for preparing him for me.

Because from you, he learned what he wants and doesn't want in a partner. And I am so thankful he chose me. I will never stop being thankful. And in turn, he teaches me so much. He's taught me what love truly is. He taught me how to trust. Every day he teaches me I am lovable and worthwhile. I only hope I make him feel half what he inspires within me. So thank you. Thank you for proving that sometimes from the darkest of nights, come the brightest of days. Thank you for giving me the chance to prove to him that some people are worth trusting. Thank you for leading him home.

Mein Kampf

How odd, that the first title to come to mind for this post would be the same phrase the infamous Adolf Hitler used to title his manifesto. But mein kampf (that is, my struggle) is what weighs heavily on my heart today.

It's easy to talk about your struggles when you've overcome them. When you've fought your way to the top of that mountain, and you're looking down at how far you've come... That is when it is comfortable for you to talk about the valleys of your journey. But I think it's also important (and so much more honest) to talk about those lows while you are IN them. There are so many stigmas around mental health issues, and I believe a big part of that is due to the fact that no one prefers to talk about it, particularly while they are in it.

 So that is why I write today. To tell you I'm not okay. To tell you it is still a battle I fight every day. To tell you that lately, sometimes, I feel like it's a battle I'm losing. But I will never stop fighting. I know this changes the way some people see me. That's fine. Call me crazy, psycho, suicidal. You won't be the first and I doubt you'll be the last. I don't write this for you. I write this for myself and I mostly write it for those who are going through the same thing, who are all day every day at war with themselves and their own mind. 

Right now, my struggle is somewhat situational. But that doesn't make it any less scary or any less real. The fact of the matter is most people ("normal" people, if you will), can go through a break-up, or the loss of a friend, or a rejection, or a death of a family member or whatever and not feel the despair I sometimes feel. Part of my struggle is feeling everything so very deeply. Another is overthinking absolutely everything. Add on top of that my lifelong struggle with depression, and it quickly becomes a very scary place in my mind. 

I'm not just fighting for myself anymore though. I have a beautiful, perfect, absolutely amazing 4-year-old son who needs his mother. And that's what everyone always tells me. It is a good reminder but still... It doesn't fix the utter fear and hopelessness I feel at times. It makes me hold on tighter. It makes me fight harder. But it doesn't take away the feeling that I am hanging off the edge of a cliff, and minute by minute, day by day... My fingers are slipping. That is what depression is. Hanging over a void, most of the time fighting to hold on, but being afraid that someday, you'll slip. Someday, you might not have the energy to hold on anymore. At least that's what it is for me.

I know a lot of people won't understand it. I can't count the number of times people have told me to just get up. Get out of bed. Get dressed. Go be around people. Put a smile on your face. You'll feel better. What people fail to realize is just because you're smiling doesn't mean you aren't still falling apart inside. And just because you're surrounded by people doesn't mean you don't feel totally alone. But still I do it. And most the time, it's enough to fool everyone else and myself for a while. But today I'm trying something different.

I'm trying to be honest about just how not okay I am lately. And I want to do that because I want other people to know it's okay to be honest about your struggle. Too often we suffer alone when we don't have to. There are a few close to me who know the extent of my battle lately. They are the ones I lean on and go to when it gets so bad I have to have someone there. To the rest of you, this might come as a shock. Yes, your bartender who jokes around with you all day, your friend who gives you advice, your sister who tries to help you in any way she can... She is fighting a battle few know about.

Be kind to each other please. So many of us are fighting silent battles. I choose to not be silent about mine anymore. And with that acknowledgment comes power, I think. Because I no longer have to suffer in silence. You don't have to, either.

Strength and Love

Today on our walk, I realized something. I realized something about my son. Something that I never want to change: he is one of the most sensitive people I know. I delight in seeing his sensitivity, how much he cares, how deeply he loves. My heart fills to near bursting when I see how completely he feels.

He is pure emotion packed into a tiny body. Sometimes this emotion is self-serving (as is typical at that age). He cries when he doesn't get his way. He throws a fit when you can't understand what he's saying. But more often than not, his emotion is invoked by something else. This is a little boy who never really needs a physical reprimand, because a stern look or a terse word are enough to make him hang his head and cry. This is the little boy who cries during certain parts of his favorite movies at two years old, when the bad guy has the upper hand and the good guy is in trouble. This is the little boy who (as happened today) giggles with glee when a ladybug crawls on his tiny finger, and then breaks down when the ladybug flies away. This is the little boy who, a few minutes later, wiped his tear-stained cheeks, waved toward the sky and whispered, "Bye-bye, ladybug". 

In that moment, I realized something major that is amiss in our society. There is something wrong with a society who raises their young boys, sweet little boys like this, into men who can't talk about their emotions. Into men who are afraid to cry. Men who feel like being strong means appearing unfeeling, uncaring, unloving. There is something wrong with a society who puts more emphasis on being a strong man than being a loving man, a society that doesn't teach that the two go hand-in-hand. Sometimes even I find myself telling Daniel to be a "big boy" when he's crying, essentially telling him that big boys don't cry, that they don't show emotion. There is something deeply wrong with that. Big boys do cry. Men can cry. At least, they should be able to.

"Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love." 

 1 Corinthians 16:13-14

The Job of a Father

Today being Father’s Day, I have been reflecting on the roles of mothers and fathers. Each role is so unique to each gender. Both are so different, each bringing something to the table for a child that cannot be duplicated, something the other cannot provide.

As a mother, it is easy for me to see the role I play in my son’s life. Mothers are like a child’s food, his nourishment. At first, this is literal. For over two years, I was my son’s main source of nourishment. When we stopped breastfeeding, I had a very hard time adjusting. I remember crying to my mom that he didn’t need me anymore. In hindsight, and now that we have found a new “normal”, I see that he still needs me for nourishment, just now it takes on a more figurative sense. Mothers are their children’s source of comfort. When something goes wrong, they always know their mother’s arms are home. We continually nourish their minds and their souls. That is the job of a mother.

The job of a father is much different, but just as vital. You see, the father is like the child’s oxygen. A mother, like food, is continuously sought out. We actively consume food and seek nourishment, just as children actively reach for their mothers, from infancy clear into adulthood. But we breathe oxygen every second of every day without even thinking about it. That is the job of a father. Underrated, underappreciated, and so very, very crucial. A father shapes his children with every action, every word he ever utters. And children are starved for this, just as someone drowning hungers for oxygen.

So to all you amazing dads out there who have waited patiently for your turn to be the one your child wants to spend all their time with, who have worked, sacrificed, and provided for your family, who would literally die to protect them: Happy Father’s Day!

Visit from the VanNices!

The long awaited day finally arrived. Christina, Thomas, and Will were headed West to see us! We had been counting the days for months (okay, that's an exaggeration, Will was only a month old). Still, there is no better feeling than when my siblings are all together in one place. Sadly, Sam just started his new job and couldn't be there, but we still had a heck of a time, sans pranks and harassment courtesy of Samuel. If you can believe it! Of course, when they showed up, Grandma Dee (Gigi) was first in line to hold the little guy before he got passed around to everyone else.

After a bit, the excitement of Will's arrival wore off for Daniel and Owen. Leave it to Grammy to entertain them. Of course, it ain't fun if it doesn't cause a huge mess, so out came the spray bottle. The boys LOVED it!

The next day was Valentine's Day. This was the first Valentine's Day spent with the family, and it really made me reflect on the fact that it can be celebrated as a day for any kind of love, not just the romantic kind. My siblings and parents were the first to love me. My parents and big sisters loved me before they knew me. That is such an awesome thing to think about. Having kids really calls these types of things to your attention. So in honor of V-Day, the boys got all gussied up in their shirts made by none other than crafty Christina, and we headed first to the elementary school to show William off, then to the park to let Daniel and Owen run around (who am I kidding, it was just a good photo op!)

To Infinity and...Bed!

So this past week has been an emotional one for all of us (particularly me). We are attempting to wean, as well as letting Daniel self-soothe in hopes of getting him to sleep in his own crib, allowing us all to get a better night's rest. The first night was very difficult, but every night since has gotten easier and easier. Nap time has still been a challenge, but as I was unwrapping my new camera (it's like Christmas in our house!), I turned and saw that he had fallen asleep while watching Toy Story (snuggled up with Buzz and Woody, no less). So, of course, it was a perfect photo shoot opportunity.

Uncle Scott

I heard your song today,

She sings, "The pain is just too real".

Every word in this song,

Is exactly how I feel.

As the music washes over me,

Tears stream down my cheek.

Suddenly the grief hits,

And it's hard to even speak.

So filled with sorrow,

I can't take another breath.

I'm consumed by the pain,

Caused by your untimely death.

A strong hand grips my heart,

The pain's too much to bear.

I fall down to my knees,

And cry out in despair.

"Why'd you have to take him, God?!

We love and miss him so."

I hear Him whisper back to me,

"Daughter, I have brought him home."