On: Sheloves withdrawal & choosing not to jump ship

For the past year I have had the honour of writing for Shelovesmagazine. Although I wrote a wednesday wellness piece, I found that writing was a way for me to stay focused on personal health. No matter what was going on during my week, my learning was always honed in (usually very late on Tuesday nights) and I was reminded to consider the priorities of my moment.

Well, it has been less than two weeks since taking a step back from Sheloves and I am noticing a need to sit with my computer and debrief recent experiences. 23 days since I moved to a new town, started a new job and entered graduate school. Also 23 days since my social life was overtaken by paper writing and Disney princesses.

Currently living in a house with 10 teenaged, professional-division ballerinas, I have been dubbed Mama Bear and am the go-to woman for most of their Calgary motherly needs. Yes, my e-mail and phone number have been given to their teachers, doctors and extra-curricular planners. Yes, I have so far experienced a 911 call, trip to Children’s Hospital, enough flu symptoms to last a life time, and the joys of reminding myself to be patient in regards to their less than professional dish-washing skills. But the key to this experience is that I am reminded of my commitment to “house mother” them to the best of my abilities…. even on the days where all of my abilities seem to have vanished.

Have you ever felt complete peace stepping into a situation and owned it, but then compared it to other opportunities and wished you could trade it in ASAP? This past week has been that exact situation where, I thought I was completely content with my job, but then began comparing it to other opportunities and yearned for a chance to switch things up. To get even more real: I became overwhelmed with the amount of time being a mother takes and researched other job postings online. What did I find? Postings for jobs that require I work half the time, yet pay more than my full-time parenting position. And I got frustrated. Heck, I even had a couple of my friends convinced that my applying for a different job was “part of the plan”.

And then I got convicted.

Remember that awesome parable about workers in a vineyard being frustrated with receiving the same pay as others who had worked less time? Yeah, that one in Matthew 20: 1-16. Well, last night an internal whisper pointed out that I am being one of those whiny workers. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I accepted this position; I knew that the pay is less and the responsibility more. However, I also knew the job was mine from the moment I glanced at the posting. Not in a cocky way, but in a way where I saw a light shining down this path and felt a nudge to walk within it. Unfortunately, this past week I disregarded the perfection and highlighted the flaws. Worst. Choice. Ever.

So what happened that caused me to freak out? A combination of: (trust me, I have noticed the pattern of these repeat offenders when it has come to triggers) lack of sleep, lack of exercise, lack of homework, lack of fellowship with people over the age of 15, too much negative self-talk, and a multitude of new experiences that need to be debriefed with my Creator.

What am I going to do about this minor shake? Go back to my 3 P’s and focus on #2: PLANNING. Like the corny old saying says: He who fails to plan, plans to fail. I am aware of the cause for my distress and recognize it would be beneficial to: sleep more, exercise more, do my homework sooner, invest in relationships with people my age (who live closer than a skype date away), speak a little nicer to myself, and share my experience with the Lord before I crash.

It’s ironic that one of my biggest triggers is the hardest issue to change: spend more time in relationships with people my age who live closer than a skype date away. Sigh. Snowball into: admit that I am not super woman and need tangible relationships; ask my boss about my promised weekend off; put down roots in Calgary and develop new relationships despite my fear of needing to say good-bye too soon; remind myself that gaining a new friend does not mean less space for old ones.

If this were a therapy session, around now would be the time where I asked the client how they hoped to take a step towards developing some tangible friendships (assuming this was their priority goal). My response: I will pick one acquaintance to reach out to this week and maybe ask if they are interested in going for lunch or coffee. I will also choose not to feel defeated if they are busy or not interested and, if needed, I will ask someone else.

I felt the need to post this beautiful portrait that one of my girls created on our Chores board. Notice any resemblance between me and the “Mom”??

Removing the blindfold

As many of you know, I have re-located my life 15 hours north of comfortable. This move was technically for work, but I am quickly learning that my new “dream job” was bate to remove me from my over-functioning environment. When packing I was aware of the weight requirements put on luggage, and in the hopes of fitting in one more pair of jeans (which I later learned was pointless as jeans aren’t part of the dress code at work), I removed my journal and planted it on the shelf at my parents house. I have been regretting that decision ever since and have yet to find an appropriate replacement while my journal takes its own little sabbatical.

So, for the time being, this shall be my canvas. The place where I plop the colours of experience and blend the shades until they produce a masterpiece. My prayer is that I don’t waste a minute. I have recently learned how easy it is to fill the “gaps” of life with aimless fluff, producing nothing more than regrets and the learned acceptance of impartiality. I am writing this week’s Sheloves column on “gaps” and I look forward to hearing your thoughts in response.

But back to now. This very moment. Sitting cross-legged on my under-stuffed dorm room computer chair, trying to ignore my stomach’s anger from filling it with chocolate and coffee due to an aimless moment during an earlier “gap”. This week was supposed to be the time when I hit the ground running, embracing the goals set with the counsellor I hired as an aspect of “self-care”. Unfortunately, the counsellor was fired before being fully hired and I neglected to find a moment to pray or journal about tomorrow. Tomorrow has come and gone about seven times and I find myself lost, blindfolded, and stumbling through unknown foliage, grasping at the branches in the hopes that one will talk.

The great news is that I just took the blindfold off. I think sometimes we stumble around, forgetting about our two hands that are capable of untying the light shielding material. I have found myself in a pause/breath/moment where all is still and the decisions I make bare heavily on tomorrow. I feel like it will take more than one decision to embrace this season, but I will start with one because that will surely lead to the next.

Today’s decision involves this blog and my priorities. I have decided to give myself permission to be real. I’m in a weird place where the life I used to dream of has been handed to me, but I am not the person I had imagined in this life. Sure, my hair and style have changed to that of a “professional counsellor” (whatever that means), but everything else still needs to grow up. Once again, I am faced with the reminder that I will never officially arrive. I will be growing and running and learning until I take my last breath. I am ok with that. I love learning and growing, but I am currently lacking discipline and know my “learning, growing, running” season will bare more fruit when the track comes back into focus.

So here I am, pausing before turning the lens back into focus. I will rest in this pause a little longer, slightly afraid of what reality will tell.

A Line of Crisis

Pain. I hear it in your voice as you try to explain the situation through sobs. You can’t go on. Life is overwhelming. You feel alone.

“I understand,” I think to myself wishing I could explain just how closely your situation matches my past.

Your voice raises in exasperation as you recount the thoughts that pop into your mind. You think that there must be a demon in your brain because you have never had such intense, racing ploys.

The ambulance dispatch explains why she wants to send the police, “to ensure you are safe,” she coes. I can hear the fear in your voice as you start telling me that your mom can’t find out. She is in the other room, but mustn’t know that you are struggling.

“What would the worst case scenario be if she did find out?” I ask, trying to help you see the reality of her love.

You don’t care about how much she wants you to get help; you only worry about her stress levels. Her arthritis dictates much of her life and you can’t bear adding to the strain.

I want to tell you that it will be ok, but I really don’t know. You are craving to jump off a bridge and I am grabbing for the right words while dispatch listens as I try to assess your risk. You called 911 because you were alone, afraid of the invalidation that threatens to intoxicate your soul. You have tried to change and have read all of the literature. You are an intelligent girl filled with potential.

If you only knew. There is freedom. There is a Quiet that can silence the demon within. He is here right now as we speak. He is calling your name – the name that He chose for you before the foundation of the world.

What if you never find out?

The police show up at your door and the ambulance dispatch confirms that you are safe. What is safety? The police will do another risk assessment then either leave you alone, or take you to the hospital. Your mom found out and you are blaming yourself for causing her more strife while she is blaming herself for not noticing your grief.

If you only knew how loved you are. But you may never know. What if no one tells you? What if the demon within is so loud that you can’t hear the Whisper?

You hang up the phone and dispatch makes a comment, “Good job. I don’t know if it’s your training or if you just have a knack for this kind of thing, but I have screened a lot of these calls and you were by far the best.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

We hang up our lines and I lean back in my chair. I laugh harder than I have laughed in my life. Tears roll down my cheeks and I allow my emotions to come out through giggles. It’s not funny. It’s devastating. What if no one ever tells you about your destiny?

Seven hours later I am sitting in bed. All other calls so easily forgotten, but not yours. It was different from the moment dispatch connected our lines. You are 24 – the same age as me. You said the anti-depressants were making you crazy, but you don’t know what was different about today. The thoughts in your head reeling like a cracked record. We will forever be strangers yet I was the facilitator of your rawest moment.

What if no one ever tells you there is freedom? I can remember nights like yours. Before an overdose. After an overdose. While driving over a bridge. I know what it’s like to fear for your life because of internal forces. You were right, there is a demon placing thoughts in your head. I wish I had told you there is a way to make it stop.

I will never communicate with you again. Did you go to the hospital? Did you refuse help and walk to the bridge? What if no one ever tells you how precious you are? There is urgency. You need to know. I’m sorry I stuck to protocol. I’m sorry I followed my training and asked all of the questions. The questions were good. The assessment was quality, but I left out the important stuff.

You are loved. You are chosen. You are precious. You were created to live an abundant life. I’m so sorry I never told you.