Tag: momblog

A lesson on Grief.

 

 

Grief is the strangest thing.
It comes and it goes with no rhyme or reason.

For those of you who don’t know, my precious grandmother passed away on July 30th. She was almost ninety-five years-old.
I knew it was coming…eventually.
I knew she hadn’t been feeling well.
But somehow, I was blindsided.

It’s so crazy how someone who is so vibrant and full of life can just be gone.
Ceases to exist.

I don’t even know how I’m doing.
I’m functioning normally.
I think I am happy.
Some days, I think I am totally rocking this.
Other days, the void feels less like a leap and more like a canyon.

I try to look at the situation from a cognitive approach.
She was ninety-five.
She lived a long time.
She was ready to go.
Every one dies.

Some days that works.
Other days, my soul is so unsettled.
I have dreamt of her every single night since she passed away.
My daughter, talks about her every day.
She surrounds me in my home.
Her china is in my cabinet.
Her vases are in my kitchen.
I am wrapped in her favorite blanket every night.

Most of the time her things bring me comfort.
Other times, they bring me pain.

That song, five more minutes.
It is a song always on my lips.
What I wouldn’t give for just five more minutes.

My grandma was  not an average grandma.
I didn’t just see her on holidays and special occasions.
She was my best friend.
When Trey and I were first married and moved to KC, grandma would come and stay for weekends or even weeks at a time.
We would stay up until 12 or 1 in the morning cuddled on the couch under a blanket watching movies.
When Rock Band was the cool game on the wii, she and I would play together.
Her singing and me playing the guitar.

I talked to her multiple times a week on the phone.
I looked forward to seeing her on weekends when we would go home.
I named my daughter after her.
She watched me every day when I was little.
My cousin and I have a lifetime of memories from spending our childhood at that red house on Z highway.

I just wish I had five minutes to tell her how much I miss her.
I would tell her how my heart aches to hear her laugh.
I would tell her that Chloe talks about her every. single. day.
I would tell her Chloe carries around jewels that she calls her Gramma, Jewell.
I would tell her how Chloe talks about grandma and Jesus.
I would tell her that no place here is safe.
…I see her at Nebraska Furniture Mart..we frequented it when she came to visit.
…I see her at our old apartment watching movies with us.
…I see her Chili’s eating ribs that she declared were the best ones she had ever had.
…I see her at Garmin visiting Trey.
…I see her at the hospital I delivered each baby.
…I see her in every red sparkly thing.
…I see her at UMKC, she was at both of my graduations. She was my biggest fan.
…I see her in our Church…the one she loved to visit.
…I see her in every flower.
…I see her on 151st Street at the exact stoplight I was stopped at when she said, “Courty, you are such a good little momma.”
…I see her when I watch Andy Griffith, or Mama’s Family, or Full- House, or her beloved Larry the Cable Guy.
…I hear her voice singing I’ll Fly Away, Amazing Grace, or Beulah Land.

I now cannot bear to listen to the last voice mail she left me because it encompasses me in a wave of grief.
I am dreading Thanksgiving.
I want to skip Christmas.
I can’t even bear to think about what her last Thanksgiving and Christmas were like. Those memories haunt me.
Why didn’t I cherish each last memory?
Why couldn’t I just “know” it was the last?

Why does this have to hurt so  bad?
Why has it ONLY been three months?
Why do I have to wait a lifetime to see her face again?
Why will I eventually be alive longer without her than I was with her?

Grief, I HATE you.

If you’re grieving, know there are others right there with you.
If you aren’t grieving, be there for someone who is.

Grief doesn’t have an expiration date.
It doesn’t go away.
I hear it lessens.  I hope I can attest to it one day.

Don’t say, “God really needed them in Heaven.”
“They are in a better place.”
“She wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
“Cheer up! It will be ok.”
“You’ll see her again one day.”

While I believe all of those things, they dismiss the pain I am in.
I know she is in a better place.
I know she has been rewarded for the work she put in here.
I know she is rejoicing.
I know she would’nt come back.

But, I WANT HER.
I MISS HER.
My heart ACHES.
My momma is sad.
My dad is sad.
My sisters are sad.
My kids are missing out.
My nephew will never know her.
It SUCKS. IT ISN’T FAIR. I DON’T WANT TO LIVE WITHOUT HER.

I’m happy for her.
But I am so sad for ME.

I know, God comforts the broken-hearted.
I feel His presence.
I have hope I will be reunited with her.
As a Christian, I know those things.
But I still live in this broken world.
My heart will continue to be broken regardless of how close I walk with the Lord.

Instead, say, “This sucks. I’m so sorry you are hurting.”
“Grief is awful.”
“What a profound loss you must be feeling.”
“I know your heart is aching. I know that feeling.”
“Tell me about them.”
“What is the funniest memory you have?”
“What is one memory you’ve had since they passed you wish they could
seen?”

News flash. Bringing them up will not remind the person they have died.
They know. They haven’t forgotten.
Talking about that person is the only way to keep them alive.
So talk about them.
Listen to the stories.
Be there to just sit in the ugly and the brokenness.
Everyone experiences grief.
Everyone.

Feel it.
Experience it.
Don’t push it away.
Don’t hurry it.
Honor it.
Understand that changing the subject, avoiding it, and pretending it didn’t happen only make the hurt worse.
Grief is there whether we acknowledge it or  not.
The only way to lessen the sting is to walk through it.

Be a friend to someone.
Especially in this season.
This is someone’s first Holiday Season without their precious loved one.
It also might be someone’s 45th Holiday Season without their precious loved one.
While it gets less intense, I guarantee the loved ones still ache for them.
Talk about them.
Let them know that their loved one had an impact on your life and that you also miss them.

Don’t dismiss someone’s loss with flippant “Christian phrases”.
Just because you are a Christian doesn’t mean that we are sheltered from the cruelty of this world.
We aren’t.
Treat someone the way you would want them to treat you if you were in the ocean that is grief.

Love one another.

 

 

 

Chasing Perfect.

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Perfectionism.

It’s a daily struggle.
I find myself in pure bliss when every single thing has been checked off my to-do list.
The house is clean.
Kids bathed.
Appointments scheduled.
Dog fed/bathed.
Laundry done & put away.
Workout done.
Prayer time done.
Homework done.

The problem is, I’m either too exhausted by the end of that list to enjoy it or, it rarely happens. Which totally leaves me in a dangerous place of hanging my happiness on whether or not my list is complete.

In my (therapizing) myself, (What the hubs says I do to him) I have figured out that the to -do list makes me feel safe and in control.

While on those “magical days” I feel perfectly content, on those other days when all of the things don’t get done, I feel out of control.

Satan begins restructure my self-esteem in a way that tells me I am only as good as the things I have completed or produced. While there are many many issues with perfectionism, I think the most dangerous part is that it gives Satan a little bit of room to wiggle our lives.

If he can’t control my behavior, my mind is the next best thing. It’s not likely that you’ll find me shoplifting or engaging in another unlawful act. But, on any given day, you may find my mind in places it shouldn’t be.

If I haven’t checked my list off, if I haven’t made it to the gym, if I ate something I shouldn’t have, if I slept in instead of reading my Bible, if I yelled at my kids, if I didn’t really listen when my husband told me about his day, if I wasn’t patient with my two-year old, then I am a failure.

I’m not as good as my neighbor across the street who spends her days playing with her kids instead of doing homework and cleaning.

I’m not as good as the single- mom who spends all of her free time volunteering at church.

I’m not as good as the other grad student who has practiced her skills three times each week.

Or, as good as the girl who got a 98% on her midterm instead of my measly 95%. It must mean I am not meant to be a counselor. Who would want to come to a counselor who got a 95% on their midterm? Certainly not me.  (Kidding. I am making a point about how DUMB my thoughts are).

…you do it too. You just may not be willing to admit it. But behind that screen, you’ve wondered why you’re not as…(whatever) as the person you’re looking at on social media.

If our self-image comes from a comparison with someone else or a comparison with the perfect version of ourselves we believe we should be, we will never ever be good enough. Hear that. We will never be good enough. The instrument we use to measure ourselves will always be changing.

If I want to lose weight…I do…but then I’m not thin enough.
If I want to make more money, I do, but then it’s not enough.
If I want to be a better parent, I am, but not as good as the mom across the street.

There’s always going to be someone who is smarter, prettier, thinner, more fit, funnier, wittier, richer, more acclaimed, more well-known, etc. It is a pointless race that keeps our mind on things that don’t matter.

Well, not that they don’t matter, but comparing ourselves to someone else is a futile endeavor. It gets us nowhere but frustrated.

Some weeks, I get up at 5am and read my Bible for an hour and pray for 30 minutes. Then, I go to the gym. Other weeks, I don’t make it out of bed at 5 and sometimes I don’t make it to the gym. I bet you can guess how my self-esteem is on the days I don’t do those things.

I wonder if you could guess where my relationship with God is on the days I haven’t gotten up early?

If you guess not close, you’re right.

I feel completely disconnected.
I used to think it was because I was not disciplined enough.
I used to think it was because God required me to give him that devotion every single day for an hour and a half. If I didn’t, it must mean I don’t love God as much as I claim to. The honest truth was that I pulled away from him because I felt that if I didn’t do those things, then I wasn’t worthy of his love.

I’m not worthy of his love.
But he didn’t pull away from me, I pulled away from him because I THOUGHT that he would only want me if I was coming to him every single day for exactly 90 minutes.

Then, one day, the Holy Sprit spoke to me and said, “You’re making our relationship a to-do list. It’s not about what you do or don’t do. It’s about me.”

See how Satan does that?
By setting this ridiculous standard for myself in all areas of my life, he managed to wiggle into my relationship with God. He shifted my eyes from Jesus and to myself.
It stopped being about who He Is and it became who I am.

I let Satan in.
I let him in my mind when I started comparing.

While those things didn’t immediately affect my relationship with God, slowly but surely my perfectionism ended exactly where I never intended.

The point of all of this? Be so very careful what you allow yourself to think. Your thoughts have SO much power. Control your thoughts. Don’t let them control you. While you may not have any control over what thought pops into your mind, you absolutely have the power to decide whether or not you are going to spend any time thinking about it.

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ.” – 2 Corinthians 10:5

Styling the Nest without Breaking the Bank.

I LOVE to decorate.

I’m completely obsessed with the typical #basicwhitegirl style which is, you guessed it, farmhouse.

The thing is, I don’t live in a farmhouse or even anywhere near a farm.

I live in the suburbs. But I am FROM a small town so I feel like that kind of qualifies me to decorate with a farmhouse style. HA!

If I had all the money in the world, I would spend it on home decor, kids clothes, and workout clothes.

Well, and eyelash extensions. But…that goes without saying.

The problem is, I don’t have ALL the money in the world. More than that, I just don’t love spending a lot of money.

It gives me anxiety and a moody hubs…

So I have had to make AmazonPrime my friend and also my father-in-law who works at auctions! Totally winning for me. He brings me all kinds of fun antique finds.

I have changed this wall below ten different ways from Sunday.

This is my most recent masterpiece. I am sure I will change it again because I get bored with things quickly.

I adore canvas prints.

I think it gives such a classy and bol feel.

Gallery Wall

I purchased ALL of those canvases from Walmart.

I am not a photographer, and because I cannot tell high quality canvas from cheap, I choose cheap.

I bought the “This is us” picture from Jane.

I chose the “This is us” picture because again…#basicwhitegirl.

This next wall is my FAVORITE WALL OF ALL TIME.

I showed my husband a picture of what I wanted and it took him about two days to complete.

I found the sign at Smallwood Home.

I adore ALL of their signs and want them all over my house. They recently came out with the cutest wall scrolls that I absolutely need.

We are about to finish our basement.

I have pinned so many basement pictures of basements done in all shiplap.

Have any of ya’ll done that?

Any tips or tricks would be so welcome! Post them in the comments, please!!

I really like black&white photos. I decided to make a gallery wall of my favorite family pictures in our dining room.

The picture frames are from Walmart and were around $5 a frame.

Unfortunately, since we have two kids five and under, our dining room went from a playroom, to a dining room, back to the play room.

This decor does not match the playroom in any way, shape, or form. But, when we finish the basement all the toys are going downstairs and this will become my dining room for FOREVER.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

You need to stop what you’re doing right now and go to Target.

Hearth & Hand Magnolia is on clearance!!!!! Below is what I snagged.

The two large houses above were $12. One of those candles is from Target and was $2.

The other one is from two of my most favorite girls ever.

They make the most amazing smelling candles and they come in the cutest mason jars. Check them out on Instagram @southernscentcandle. They are made from soy and essential oils. They smell heavenly, are long-lasting, have no harsh chemicals, and you can snag one for $12

The greenery was in a box for $5.The blue candle holder was $2. Actually, I don’t know what it is. I’m using it as a candle holder.

Thanks for stopping by! Happy cheap decorating!

… and I was not paid by any of these companies. Wish I was, though! HA!

#homedecor #southernscentcandle #farmhousestyle #momblogger #hearthandhand #target #shiplaplove #magnolia # mynameismama #thenest #basicwhitegirl #givemethesimplelife #mystyledhome

Don’t Cry, Mom.

 

Don’t. Cry. Mom.

Those words were uttered by my sleepy five year-old about an hour past his bedtime (we are late to everything, even to sleep.)

I jumped  fell into his bed after spending entirely too long trying to get my Chloe/Zoe to sleep (that’s a whole other post.)

…If you’re wondering, she wasn’t asleep. I gave up and yelled for her father to try again. Mostly because I had promised Landry I would put him to sleep and partly because I was exhausted with trying to get her to sleep.

My head hit this big brown bear laying in the middle of his bed. A familiar smell hit my nose and went straight to my heart.

This bear, it was my grandma’s. She kept it in her room (you know how old women do?) As suddenly as my heart recognized that smell, the tears began to fall.

Isn’t it funny how a smell can unravel us?

Isn’t grief weird? I wasn’t even thinking about her. It just hits you like a rogue wave. Moments after you were completely fine, you can be smack dab in the middle of complete heart ache.

When my sweet sweet boy noticed my tears he said, “Don’t cry, mom.”

Why do we say that? Why are we so uncomfortable with feelings we all have?

Sadness and grief are universal feelings. Every person on this earth will have experienced both feelings at least once before they die.

Yet, we dismiss them as quickly as they surface.

So, I asked him why he didn’t want me to cry. He said he “didn’t want me to be sad.” To which I replied, “But I am, Landry. And I’m going to be for a long time. I loved and knew my grandma for thirty years– my whole life.”

He said, “Wow, mom. That’s a long time.”

I said, “It is. And wouldn’t it be weird if I was only sad for a day? And I knew her my whole life? Does that sound right? Should I only miss her a day?”

He said, “Well no. You will miss her for a long time.”

I said, “Yeah, probably for the rest of my life. But you know what? That’s okay. She was so special to me. So sometimes I’m going to cry. When I do cry, I feel better. Do you feel better when you cry?”

He said, “Yeah, I do.”

I said, “Do you ever feel better when someone tells you not to be sad or not to cry?”

He said, “No.”

I said, “Or, do you feel better if someone says, oh wow. That makes me so sad too. I’m sorry you’re feeling so sad.”

He said, (rather enthusiastically) “Yeah, that!!”

I went on to explain that being sad is something that is normal. We need to let ourselves feel it when it comes up. Ultimately, that’s the only thing to help us to feel better.

I ended the conversation by explaining that it’s okay for boys to cry and it doesn’t mean he’s weak, it means he’s strong.

I truly believe that we do our sons, husbands, fathers, nephews, and friends a disservice when we enforce the false narrative that men shouldn’t cry. That men shouldn’t feel emotions.

Because, they DO have feelings.

They DO have emotions.

They should feel free to express those emotions without fear of being teased or called a “baby” or a “girl.”

Emotions are not “girl” things.

Emotions are “human” things.

In my house, I saw my dad cry.

I saw him do laundry, change diapers, clean the house, take care of my mom, buy tampons at the store, and anything and everything else because he was my mom’s partner and he was our other parent. He was/is strong because he was able to be both masculine and also emotionally available.

In this house, my children have seen my husband cry. They watch him do laundry, clean the house, take the trash out, take care of all of us, kiss boo boos, change diapers, take Chloe to gymnastics, and any other “girly” thing that needs to be done. My husband is strong because he is able to be both masculine and emotionally available.

We need to do better for our sons. We need them to understand that it’s healthy and normal for them to cry and to feel emotions. If we allowed for them to be who they are, we might just be so surprised at the society we could live in.

One day he will be able to say, “It’s okay to cry, mom. Just cry.”

 

 

DEPRESSION is an ugly word…

What do all of these pictures have in common?

•• D E P R E S S I O N ••

After my first pregnancy. I had depression.

During the end of my last pregnancy and after my last pregnancy, I had depression.

For those of you who don’t know, depression is NOT general sadness. It is not grief. It is not something you can change by the amount of faith you have or something you can “will” yourself out of by optimism.

If it was, I would be the poster child for that particular remedy.

Believe me, no one has more grit and determination than this girl.

It’s is different for everyone.
But for me, the first time, it was crying all of the time.

It was knowing that I should be so happy but all I could do was feel sad and then when I couldn’t feel that anymore, it was emptiness.

Then, during my last pregnancy, it was dark. It was being so overwhelmed at the thought of answering a phone call, getting out of bed, getting dressed, going to work, taking care of my child.

The thought of the next day was almost too much.

After Chloe was born, it was better but still so much emptiness.

It was dark.
It was lonely.
It was overwhelming.
It was guilt at the type of mom I wasn’t being to Landry.

Guilt over not being so happy when all I wanted was a baby.

Then guilt at not being so overjoyed at having the baby girl I always wanted.

It was guilt over not being the wife Trey deserved.

And I did feel happiness. I did feel joy, at times.
I was so thankful for my babies.
I never wanted to harm them or anyone else.
I just wanted to feel like myself again.

Luckily, after Landry, I knew depression.

I knew medication helped me tremendously the first time.

After Chloe, I accepted that this was something I had to fight.

I knew what to do.
I went back to my doctor and I got on medication.

Did I ever want to be on medication?
Nope.
Was it something I resisted and tried to explain away?
Yep.

Could I will myself out of it?
Nope.

Was my life good?
Yep.
Everything I ever dreamed?
Yep.

Did that change it?
Nope.

That last picture, the Golden Gate Bridge, 1600 people have jumped off that bridge to their death.

Because they wanted to escape the pain they felt day in and out.
An overwhelming and inescapable hole.

I was lucky.
I have an amazing support system.
I figured it out early on and know that it’s something I will likely always face.
I found something that works for me. Medication.

It’s an ugly word.
Well…for mental illness it is.
For cancer? Not so much.
Of course you would take medication for cancer, but if you take it for depression, you’re weak.

Nope. I’m strong.
I’m strong because I choose to look my illness head on and say, I see you and I’m fighting you.

I know everyone has their “theories” on antidepressants and therapy.

And guess what?
You’re wrong.
Until you’ve struggled with it, you don’t get a vote.

Anything other than your personal experience isn’t helpful to anyone that does have a mental illness.

It’s harmful.
It stigmatizes.
It makes getting help more difficult.
It makes you look ignorant.

It causes jumping off a bridge seem like an easier option than getting actual help.

When jumping off a bridge seems like a better option than seeking help, you could say that we as a society have failed.

Be kind to others.
Chances are, that person you’re talking to about mental health, may be someone diagnosed.
Or, they might know someone very close to them who is.

There are SO many people who struggle with a mental health illness.

Until we start talking about it and normalizing it, we will continue losing lives to it.

#depression #mentalhealth #stopthestigma