Falling Apart

If you've followed my blog for long, you know that after Keira was born, I fairly quickly accepted the idea of her diagnosis and, as a result, our new life. However, for a long time, I lived on edge, believing, anticipating, that "one of these days," the truth of it all would really hit me and I would fall apart.

I've "fallen apart" a few times in my life. By that I mean the emotional, physical, spiritual, and practical result of feeling utterly devastated, disappointed, and/or depressed. Falling apart is feeling so disrupted, so distraught, that it's difficult to carry on with life as you had before.

Eventually, with a lot of assurance from you, friends and family, I came to believe that perhaps I would not decompensate after all. Perhaps I was doing alright. Perhaps falling apart wasn't inevitable.

I wanted to confess that it happened. In the past month or so, I did fall apart. The funny thing is, it had nothing to do with Keira. Without sharing details, I will tell you that a hurtful memory from my past made itself relevant again through a well-meaning friend. And BAM! Some hurt that had lain dormant for many years hit me like a ton of bricks.

I cried. I sobbed. A lot.  I couldn't eat. I had bad dreams. I went to work and couldn't work. I couldn't concentrate. I felt utterly miserable. What happened is that these memories came up and awakened feelings in me that I hate. I felt ineffective, out of control, humiliated, and needy. Once I got over the embarrassment of being so consumed by these feelings after so many years, I began to see the picture more clearly.

Years ago, I had neatly swept these ugly feelings under the rug, associating them not with being human and being part of myself, but filing them away under that time of my life. Encountering memories from this time of my life not only pulled back the rug, it shook all of its filthy dirt out all over my living room.

I'm able to see now that my falling apart has little to do with the circumstance of my past, but rather the confrontation with parts of myself that I abhor. My true work in the past few weeks has been to begin addressing these feelings, recognizing them to be utterly human and acceptable, and incorporating them in to my life as opposed to sweeping them back under the rug.

Why do I mention this on Keira's blog? Because I believe it's vital to my understanding of who I am, which, in turn, will affect my outlook as a parent. Becoming a more whole person doesn't always happen in the ways we expect. We all have big blind spots. And they effect everything. If I'm able to accept that I'm needy, dependent, and imperfect, it changes things. It changes the way I love my husband, the way I parent my kids, and the way I advise others. And I want you to know, it's HARD! I very clearly had the option of sweeping everything under the rug, or pulling it out and looking at it. And, let me tell you, looking at everything in broad daylight can be gut wrenching and humiliating. But it can also be empowering, particularly if you feel supported by the people who really matter to you in your life.

When I was at my worst in the past few weeks, a couple of things really spoke to me. First, in the Living Christmas Tree program this year, Mary had a touching monologue.

...Why would you choose someone like me to carry the Savior of the world? I have no power or authority; why didn't you choose someone people would trust and believe in? Did you have to make it so hard on yourself? 

Why did you come as a sweet, helpless, naked baby? If you had come to earth as you deserved everyone would have known your power and strength. If you had come to us like that we would have had no choice but to bow before you and honor you and praise you- just as the shepherds and wisemen did.  

But you didn't want to demand our reverence or compel our worship, instead you wanted us to come to you on our own. You knew you had to meet us right where we were...where we are, didn't you? 

You came for each and every person you created and you knew each of us by name, even before the beginning of time. You have walked along side us every step of every day. Wealth and stature mean nothing to you - you love the poor and powerless just as much as the powerful and strong. You love us all...there is no place so far that your mercy can't stretch, no pit so deep your grace can't reach, nothing can separate us from your love, there is nothing we can do to earn your love.

No one has run too far, sunk too low, or cursed you too many times to call on you. All we have to do is call your name and declare that you are our Lord and Savior. I was nothing, I had nothing to give that couldn't get from someone else; my willingness is all you asked for.

Secondly, as part of advent, our pastor has reminded us about the stump of Jesse. Think about how, in order to keep a rose bush, or our apricot tree, healthy, we prune those suckers back to mere stumps. Just a few bare, ugly branches. But they get pared down like that, back to the very base of the plant, to encourage it to grow all the more. Pastor affirmed me, too, by reminding us that, most of the time, God isn't interested in delivering us out of the pit. Rather, he wants to shape and build our character through the circumstances we are in. I'm holding on tight.

I am independent AND needy. I am generous AND selfish. I am joyful AND miserable. I am effective AND useless. I am worthy AND unworthy.

I cannot keep my mouth shut. I ache to be known by those around me. In telling my story, I find tremendous support and added confidence. And I hope to be an encouragement to you, too.

Merry Christmas.