I had to laugh to myself while getting off the elevator today after work (yes, that's how tired I was after this week from hell--I rode the elevator ;)) when a sweet co-worker said to me "You have the perfect life, I always tell my husband that--the perfect life, Angie, the perfect kids, the perfect everything" and I had to get off as quick as I could so she couldn't see me burst into tears. Would try to make it to the car and save that for the ride home. It had been a week. It has been for months is seems.
It was a rather loaded, though well intentioned and meant as something so kind, statement for a less than perfect week of no sleep (as in almost zero), not feeling well, 'things' at work, and dealing with some heavy issues that are always issues that no one ever sees -- behind our doors, behind these walls, these prayers, this sanctuary that is our home, behind this "job" called parenthood and this relationship called "marriage".
I've never been super confident in anything I've ever done but school. Damn good at school. Books and studying--those things made sense, and I loved them and excelled at them. Even philosophy, psychology, sociology, the ambiguity of all of the humanities made sense. Okay, so statistics for psych (who can memorize all those formulas?!?), MEQ, chemistry and calculus I was not so stellar at, but I graduated with honors and rocked it out magna cum laude in the top ten percent of my class at Simpson (last thing I was ever really good at, so I will brag ;)). I was good at getting an education.
For a summer I got to work at Westminster Houses I and II right here in Des Moines--amidst a bit of suburbia--homes for the mentally ill--you wouldn't necessarily know it passing by. Young adults with varying degrees of mental illness ranging from OCD, anxiety, to full blown schizophrenia--putting my behavioral and abnormal psychology education from textbook into real life (throwing in some child psych as well). I will never forget that summer. And I strongly encourage anyone who poo poo's early intervention in children to go and visit for a few hours--or even a couple of minutes. A lot of these young adults could have been spared a life of institution. I firmly believe that.
As the new girl, pulling a night shift and then day shift wasn't uncommon--nor was getting thrown into situations without much training. Will never forget those kids or adults. Todd, the young man who saw squirrels running up and down his bedroom walls all hours of the day and night, Robby who thought he was a pro football player for the Jets in rehab at the home for an injury (lots of football tossed around in the 'backyard' with Rob), Susan who was just really, really mean and I never really knew why she was there, Steve the guy who was always washing his hands and mumbling to himself about how we were all trying to poison him, Craig who was always trying to sneak out for cigs and coffee at a gas station not too far away and was bipolar but more sullen than manic, and a host of other 'misfits' that just couldn't fit into society on daily basis--or didn't have family who really wanted to deal with them.
And this all became "normal", to some degree, but then jarring acts of violence would scare me enough to realize that this was not something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I felt like I was talking to ghosts--apparitions of people that were once but were no longer and it made me so damn depressed. I wanted to help them before they got this way--before they were helpless and caged--before I had to lock myself in a kitchen because the squirrels told him he should kill me... Yes, that was one crazy summer.
But, I think any of us who have been through crazy, want to help or have some empathy for crazy. And those of us that have been through trauma and have our own scars and issues often times want to help others that have them too--to be that support that says, hey, I know, I've been there too, it's going to be okay, you can do it. And more than anything, we want our kids to have it all. All the love, the security, the joy, the stability and blessing in the world. We never want them to feel the way we did--ever...
So, what if they do? What if they struggle with some of the same issues that we do? What if they struggle with more? Without the trauma, without the pain, what if they struggle? I can't speak too much to this because my child's privacy is important to me and I don't need my husband being bombarded by his family, but I do think it is okay to speak about our struggles--it is okay--life is not perfect and it never will be. And we should never assume that any one person's is. I also find it interesting that the people who know you the least often have the most advice...
I started out this "mom" gig without too much worry--oldest of five--had kind of done most of it. Had two colicky boys that screamed for not months, but their first YEAR of life--wasn't banking on that, were sick all the time, and had asthma and allergies. But the really hard parts didn't happen till much later on...
Being a mom is by far the hardest, yet most rewarding, thing I have ever done--and maybe someday I can speak candidly. Some days are beyond awesome, and some days I want to run away and just wish we could all just be "normal" -- but then I re-realize :) that God makes us all the way we are for a reason and that often the biggest hearts are the most vulnerable. I love my two boys with all my heart--they are my heart--and I will continue to do everything I can to be the best mommy I can be for them--despite what anyone else thinks or how anyone else interprets or understands that. And I will admit that at this point, I may not realize what that "best" is, but I will continue to pray and to search until I find it. And yes, I am exhausted and frustrated and confused and would not mind a quick fix after years of all of this, but I know that through it all, God makes us stronger, better, more faithful people IF we look to him, concede to our weakness and find strength in his grace. Only IF. Because I fail miserably on my own. Flat on my face fail...
So, be kind, for everyone is fighting their own battles :).
I want to say a special thank you to my friends who listen through all of my "I am fine's" and know when I am not, who genuinely care, who ASK, who listen... who really, really listen and do not judge, I love you all to pieces, for loving all of my broken pieces, and yet making me feel perfectly whole. Jesus made you my sisters, and I know I could not walk this path without your hands reaching out to me and for me -- and heck, grabbing me (stubborn as I am) when I fall -- you know how much I hate to and will NOT ask for help. Friendship is rare. You are my diamonds. I love you.
Aiming for sleep. Putting it all in his hands. Always in his hands. His capable, loving, hands. He knows, he has a plan, and he is ever faithful. Even when my child is scared. Even when I am scared for him. I need not be...
Fear not... and although it may not all magically go away, I can continue to hold, to pray, to comfort, (and sleep someday will come) and KNOW that although I may not be the best at this mommy thing, I'm not the worst, not with Jesus in my heart, and God at the helm--I've got a pretty good crew with me. So, I may not feel like I'm acing this, I'm keeping afloat, and today, that's good enough...
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