dear Willow

Dear Willow,

My heart aches when I say your name. I don't even know how to start, because just seeing it causes a pang of guilt and pain. You were not a plan, but you were a choice, and given that choice again, I would choose to keep you as safe as possible.

Your whole short life was not without great purpose, and God used you to bring me back to Himself when I had wandered very far away. I was in such a dark place, but losing you was almost like someone finally turned the light on.

Your father and I were very selfish, and I am so sorry, Willow. You were made in lust, not love; a selfish, impulsive moment led to you. But when I knew you were here, I loved you with my whole heart. And when he left me, I clung to the little life I had inside me, the hope I had to go on. But within a few days, you too were taken away from me- and I have never felt more hallow and empty than I did that week.

Losing you was like- being ripped open- but slowly. I could feel every fiber of my heart being pulled apart. I didn't want his child, but I wanted mine. And you were mine. And just as I came to terms with being pregnant, you were gone.

I wouldn't go back, but I wonder what would life be like had you not been taken so soon. I wonder what kind of mom I would be on my own, or if I would want him a part of any of it. I don't think so. I think I would have wanted a better daddy for you because your father was not a good man. I'm sorry Willow, that I made such selfish and horrible choices that caused all of this.

I chose your name on an impulse. I was driving, and sobbing, losing you, and alone. I could feel my soul growing older with every tear that fell, and the name Willow settled onto my heart.

It was then that your auntie Kate came in with conversation asking about you and how I was feeling- Kate's middle name is Ruth. And it seemed there was no more appropriate person to name you after than the only woman on earth who knew what was going on.

Willow Ruth.

Willow means graceful, and Ruth means faithful friend.

It was this event in my life that began a turning point for me. A turning back to God. And you, my beautiful Willow, are that Graceful event. How I wish things had all turned out differently and different choices had been made- but how thankful I am that I am home. I'm home in the arms of the same Christ who cradles you until I can. I am home. I am home, and it's because God chose to use you to do it.

I will always be a little sad when I think of you, but I will always be more thankful. You, my first child, will always hold a special place in my heart. I will think of you when the man I wish was your daddy and I get pregnant with our first baby. I will think of you when I feel them kick. When I deliver. When I hear them cry. I will wonder what your first word would have been, or how old your first step would be taken at. I will think of you when I read Goodnight Moon for the first time. I will think of you when I sing the I love you forever lullaby. I will look down at my next child and wonder what kind of big sister you would have been.

I will wonder forever, but I will always smile, because you have been used in the greatest measure of my life. I am going to commemorate you soon, my baby girl, with a tattoo on my upper left ribcage, close to my heart. I don't ever want to forget you and the beautiful life you had.

Mommy loves you Willow!

In sickness and in health

It's too soon for this post. It's not fair that we have to fight so hard, just to breathe. But here we are.

The first time I sat down to write this, I had just entered a very challenging time with my boyfriend. Together only 2 months at the time, he was dealing with a second bout of depression just since we'd been together. He assured my fragile heart it wasn't me, but that there just wasn't much I could do either. Facing that season- and watching someone I love struggle through such inexplicable darkness was a unique kind of isolating. I wanted to love the actual hell out of him- but anything I thought of was of no interest to him. Even sex which we happen to quite enjoy as a couple, he'd long since lost interest in. Communication of any sort was difficult at very best. I wanted to write and let others in similar situations know that they aren't alone, and that dating among demons is doable. And let them know that I suffered through with my man, and we made it, and they can too.

I thought I had so much inspiration to share with the world. So much strength to put on display.

"See, dating with depression is doable! You can still have love!"

However, before I could write out the pain I was feeling, the sun was once again shining for us, and the weight of the darkness we'd just fought off slipped so quickly into a distant memory. We free-fell once again into plans and dreams and bliss for our future. We talked travel and children and hope, love and passion grew, as if nothing had happened. He gives me butterflies all the time. He calls me "doll". He makes me feel like I am precious. And I felt so so so happy.

And then it happened.

My own demon showed up and sat beside me, just letting me know he was back. The medication I had been taking for a few months had kept him at bay- so at first, I denied he was really back. But over the next few weeks, he got closer and closer. And by Sunday afternoon a week ago, his beady, deathly eyes were staring into mine, draining the life from inside me. Before I could even get home- his hands gripped my throat and my heart began to pound- it felt like it was going to beat out of my chest and shatter on my steering wheel. My lungs began rapidly heaving with the hyperventilation that had quickly settled in. My gut erupted up through my mouth and ungodly, darkness-saturated screams filled my empty car. Tears gushed out of my eyes and streamed down my face. Every gasp for air was followed by another hallow, hopeless scream. Every time I tried to clamp my mouth shut and stop the horrible screaming, out another would come up anyways, from deep down inside where everything was all broken.

For the first time to my knowledge, I cried out "God, please just kill me now. Just let someone run into me and end it all. Just make it all end. Let me wake up in Endless Light."

I have never actually wanted to die. But I can assure you, last week I did.

Suicide has always seemed so selfish- and it is. But I get it. I get just wanting that horrible feeling to end. If anyone is in that much pain, isn't death going to seem like the only logical out? Why are we offering assisted suicide to end of life cancer patients and shaming those who's agony is less visible? I'm not saying I agree with suicide in any capacity, but I get it.

The darkness felt so wholly consuming that the only way to escape it was to be wrapped at last in Jesus's actual arms.

There are many capacities to the healing and restitution I have experienced since last week. Some medical, some spiritual, some emotional. But this post is primarily about dating through this.

And my man was there. Never shaming me. Being patient with me. Loving me in his own ways. Being present when I need him, reaching out in ways that meant a lot to me.

We've only been together since July- and already we have faced two bouts of depression, a hospital, and now a severe anxiety attack. And we have stood by each other, supported each other, loved each other, and been light to each other when our worlds felt otherwise consumed in darkness.

We made it. And although work has been insane for my amazing man this week, he has made sure I'm ok. He's been there for me. He has given me his love as best as he's been able.

We're stronger. As people, as a couple. Because we chose to fight through this together, and fight for the other.

It. Is. Not. Easy. Nothing about this is easy. Some days I wake up and realize none of it was happening- because this isn't the last time one or both of us will enter a season of darkness- but it's worth it. It's worht it because we have learned to fight for the soul in the other person and created ties between us that I would argue are uniquely stronger than those of a mentally healthy couple. We're stronger than this. And we're strong for each other.

We can do it. You can do it. Jesus hasn't left us to total darkness. Our people are worth our love. They deserve the light we can bring to their lives.

Fight for the light in your loved ones life. He/She is worth it, and the bond it creates is payment enough.

I'm not ok

i'm not ok

this isn't a happy post

but i'm afraid if i don't bleed here i might bleed somewhere else.

there's just nothing.

there's a total lack of feeling other than broken.

i spiraled

i fell.

i shattered.

i have chased every passion to fill the hole.

but it just keeps getting bigger, each distraction leaving behind more disappointment than the one before.

i'm not even asking to feel happy, just alive.

i'm trying to ground myself as i type- i'm having one of the worst panic/anxiety attacks i have ever experienced.

the yelling and the crying and the screaming and the heaving and the hyperventilating.

i want to scream screw you God because above all the pain i feel, the lack of Him is most pointed.

my heart is absolutely gutted right now...so where is he? isn't he supposed to be near the broken hearted?

when did his promises stop applying to me too?

when did he give up on me, and can i please have a do over?

everytime i think i've found something to help me survive, it gets ripped away.

for the first time in my life, i felt my heart change towards someone, and she died, and a part of me along with her.

so i crashed into anything that made me feel the same spark that she ignited in me.

but i found selfish lovers and heartbreak after heartbreak.

i left a job i left for a job with more money

i met a boy who took the most precious thing i had to offer. i gave it, but he had no seconds thoughts taking it.

he left me.

my grandfather died.

the man with disabilities i dated didn't even want me.

and finally i thought i'd found it: my person.

someone i could be happy with and build a life with.

i wake up every moring to a good morning text.

every picture i send is returned with a compliment

every trashy remark i get from other men is reported and contradicted with a reminder of my worth.

but then i snapped. the weight of the anxiety i had started taking meds for put the pressure on me.

the fingers flew the texts went out and the line remained quiet.

i have done what i have always feared: i have suffocated a person i love with the weight of love i want to give.

i got one text from him in the last 24 hours- just one.

"im here"

that's all he's said.

my heart is breaking thinking about facing the possible reality of being left again.

and then the attack hit.

so here i am wailing from the deepest part of my heart

typing to grasp reality

watching another precious thing slip through my hands.

and i'm drowning.

when does the drowning end?

when do i resurface and deeply take in the fresh air?

when does the pressure come off my chest, and the light fill my soul again?

when does the constant aching of my soul find satisfaction once again?

when does Jesus come back and take me in his arms, wiping my matted hair from my dirty face and kissing me tenderly on my brow?

when do i feel like a child wrapped in safety instead of a child left alone?

when does it end?

when is it over?

wake me up when september ends.

Me Too...Me still.

The liberation I personally experienced with the #MeToo movement is beyond comparison. I was able to share as much or as little as I felt comfortable with and still make it known, "Hey- I was abused." 

But I'm ready to talk now. I'm ready to open my bleeding heart and weep, with a naked soul in front of the world. 

I'm in counseling- because 16 years later, I still haven't processed so much of it. Did you know that your mind can essentially blot out memories? Whole years actually? It's a form of self-protection- but it's also kind of terrifying: instead of just blocking out the bad parts of childhood, I don't remember almost the first entire 9 years of my life. Some memories stand out, but most of those are recallable because of pictures that happened to catch those moments. 

Unfortunately, 9 was too old to be able to forget. And so many details of that wretched afternoon stand out, creep down my spine, grip my throat, and make my stomach lurch. The panic, the desperation, the hopelessness, the dirtiness, the shame...the secrecy. It comes back in a rush and all the sudden, I'm that lonely, broken little girl again, stripped of all that made me who I was. And I haven't been her since. I'm huddled in a dark corner, knees pulled to my chest, hallowly watching the walls of who I am, crumble. I can't stop them. I can't understand it. I can't change it. I feel betrayed. I feel empty. I feel alone. I feel dark. That moment comes back and taps me on the shoulder and I feel so vulnerable- like if someone stares too much, I'll shatter under the weight of it. 

I remember the day my mom looked at 10 year old me, and asked me, "where did my happy girl go?" And empty, confused, 10 year old me didn't have a clue what to say. Because at this point, that moment was locked up. And it wasn't until I was 14 years old, I experienced a trigger that was the key to unlocking that moment. So at 10, I was completely lost. I was drowning and I didn't even know what under. I just knew who I was had been ripped away, and I was suffocating. 

When I was 14, and that moment was opened up, the truth came gushing out like a waterfall, and the process began, but still hasn't ended. The correlation between how happy of a child I was, and how depressed I became wasn't made until adulthood when someone explained that the earth-shattering childhood I had, had created patterns of self-sabotaging behavior. And when I experienced grief after grief, I finally shattered again. The pieces of myself I had reconstructed, the person I thought I had built- she was so shallow, still so empty. She didn't know who she was either. I'm still that broken little girl. Nothing has changed, the hurt has just changed shape. 

I still don't know who I am. One day I woke up and looked around, and everything in my life felt like something I couldn't touch. People held no warmth. Moments joy didn't last. And Jesus felt so far away. Every day that passed by, He feels further and further away. Like He was the only happy childhood memory I had. Jesus, Sweet Jesus, my Saviour, my God...the only light in my childhood. The only light in my life now. 

I still believe at the very core of who I am that I cannot exist without Him, but I cannot find Him in myself. I search and I beg and I plead- but my life still feels like the same shallow hole that it has for so long. Is this just how it is? A passionless, dry, dull, empty life? Where is the fullness of joy? My heart aches for it.

I have chased the feeling of being alive. I have sought for the wind in my hair passion for life: I have tried the nights of endless lovemaking, the ecstasy of drunkenness, the laugh of a child, the high of a run, and delight of decadent chocolate....it doesn't matter. Nothing fills me. When I wake up, I'm still alone. I'm still broken. Around me still lay the fading pieces of a childhood I can't make sense of. I grasp for anything that promotes the promise of fulfillment or love. I have sought until the soles of my heart's feet are bleeding raw from the endless seeking and running and chasing. 

I wish I could leave this with "but here's how I have healed and how I'm doing better" but I can't. I can tell you this: I have a village of loving, amazing Jesus people who clear away the cobwebs of my passion-chasing mistakes and hug the broken little girl huddled in the corner. I have a man who reminds me of my self worth every time some pig downtown rolls his window down to yell obscenities. I have a community that spurs me on, that keeps me in church, that points me constantly to Christ- even when I can't see Him anywhere but in their faces. I have a beautiful family, that is so precious to me- all I want to do is protect them, and keep their hearts innocent to how dark my own has become. 

And I have only one last thing I can say: I still feel dark. I still feel shattered. Absolutely gutted and empty. But I am not alone. And I have one thing: I. have. hope.

One day, it all ends. One day the sun rises on that little girl- the bruises heal, the heart mends, the shattered pieces create something beautiful and touchale. One day she dances. One day her hair flows in the wind. One day her lover spins her around a field of flowers and one day the dark first 25 years become a chapter, instead of the whole story. 

Controversial Faith and my Taboo Life

My whole life, sex was something we didn't talk about. Not in a good way, not in a healthy way, but also not in a bad way. We didn't talk about sex, at all. I was told, probably in 8th grade: "babies are made when mommies and daddies love each other very much." And this was the extent of the conversation. Too bad for my poor parents, it came two years after a friend of mine divulged the details of her family life class to me. Their patronizing explanation left me with so many questions, and with the smidgen of information I had kept to myself for years, I did what most curious children did, and I tried to put the pieces together. 

Fast forward to 16 year old me, still trying to figure out the nuts and bolts of my own body, and I ask my best friend, "when they're trying to have a baby...does the guy have to pee inside of her?" Because   the very basic "how things function" was never told, never taught. It was taboo. I didn't understand how bodies functioned in the basic sense. I knew what my period was, and that when I got pregnant, I wouldn't have one for nine months. But that was it. 

And the thing about sex, is it's miraculous. It doesn't have to be this weird, uncomfortable conversation. Bodies do amazing things during sex- and they were designed to do that! How amazing?! And they were designed in such a way that sex is to be enjoyed by both people! And this was a conversation my parents and I never had. And now, its too late.

Because the other facet of the culture I grew up in was the idol of abstinence. There was no room for fault or failure and very little for curiostiy, and there was so much shame built into lessons on staying pure. It was well intended, and always done in love- but it was damaging. We still felt shame for simply having questions. 

So what did we do in adulthood? We said "f your way of life" and we found love in all the wrong places. We figured out how things work on our own, because we were sick of being ignorant. We didn't just want answers anymore- where they would have satisfied our juvenile hearts, we are now adults, and information is better experienced than explained. So we found ourselves in the beds of lovers with no commitment, and our hearts became cold and confused. 

We wanted to shatter the shame around it- and stop feeling guilty for feeling things. So instead, we threw ourselves deep into the life of having sex. Once it's open, it doesn't close. We are in the thick of sex, and love, and life. All the wrong ways, and I still don't feel shame. 

The thing I wish I'd known, is that having sex, doesn't make sex less confusing. It explains how it works, how it feels, how mindblowingly amazing it can be- but instead of confusion of how things worked, was the confusion of what love really is. 

Why is sex so built up? Stop making idols of not drinking, not having sex, and not cursing and just life your life like Jesus. He rough and tumbled with the worst of us, and He loved us anyways.

I'm not saying don't give a damn at all ever, but we have blown things so way far out of proportion. Why can't we have healthy conversations, in our families, our churches and our education systems about sex. Not in a way that glorifies it too soon, but in a way that doesn't build shame into it. 

I'm not sorry. As someone with an abusive past, I was terrified of what my first time would be like. Why on earth would I want that first experience to be on a Caribbean island far away from anything familiar? It wasn't. It was with someone who, though we didn't love each other, took his time with me, and made me feel safe. And if nothing else, I have him to thank for a good sexual experience. Because he taught me without the shame I grew up in. But what if it wasn't good, and I panicked. Would I really want that fear built into my marriage? I would argue no. 

What I want to understand now, is love and all it is intended to be. In each capacity, not just romantically or sexually. I don't regret it, I've learned from it. Should my story be different? Absoutly. The heroine isn't supposed to be so stupid. But it is what it is- we made our choices. Now we just learn from them and try to be better for them. 

I don't have the right answer, but the conversation has to change. We have to do better for our kids. No more shame. No more secrets. 

emotional booty call

my coworkers are loyal to a core and honest as heck. they are over this boy, this situation, and my constant heartbroken wining. my darling work twin told me i was just being his booty call, and when i confidently assured her we've never even kissed, she goes "fine, you're his emotional booty call." 

jerk. 

she's right though. if he seems evenly slightly ready to talk or hang, i will clear my whole day to devote to him. it's pathetic. when he's ready, i show the heck up. 

i'm working to just let him go, because he's clearly not interested or not interested enough in making a commitment at this time. i want to be ok with that, but i wholly feel like he's going to be the one that got away. and there's not a dang thing i can do about it. i've tried. i've tried to not let him get away, but i can't make him stay. its breaking my heart to let go of him, knowing i might not get him back, but i'm holding on to someone who isn't mine. 

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we reached a new point in our relationship this week: i required that he respect me. he's not mean to me, but he blame casts on me and doesn't respect my time, even on just a friendship level. it's the first time i have told him that i'm not being psycho to ask for the simple thing that i was. something's shifted, and i don't know that i like it. 

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i'm supposed to see him this weekend. and of course i want to, but i also want my heart to stop hurting. and maybe cutting him out of my life for a while is the best way to do that? 

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to be continued. 

the cocoon exists

the whole time unnamed "best friend" and I have been talking, I've sort of just talked about the whole ordeal in terms of butterflies because we never actually were in a relationship. I made the bold and somewhat heartbreaking claim that the butterflies died. But the truth is, I'm 100% not over this boy. Not even a little bit. Everyone in my life is telling me to just dump him, get on with my life, get over him and get over the situation. "Find someone else, move on." But I can't seem to just walk away. I don't want to. I know what he can be, why can't I wait until he decides to live his life to the fullest? I know what they're saying, and I understand, but I'm not ready just yet to give up on him. I want him to be the best version of himself. I want to push him to that, and be his top cheerleader when he does. I want to be able to say I was with him when he wasn't his greatest, and get to enjoy him when he is. I don't want to just walk away because he's not what he can be. I won't. I can't.

And then he does it; he shows up. He's there for me. He texts me, just to see how I'm doing. He takes an interest and invests in me. He always disappears again, but just when I'm ready to give up, he shows back up. And when he does its right when I need it, right when I think he doesn't care. And it's the sweetest, most pointed and caring he's been towards me.

It's been in these moments I have realized the butterflies may be dead, but I think there's a cocoon, tucked away in the corner, waiting for a bright, bold butterfly to burst forth. maybe it's his butterfly, maybe it isn't. but either way, the hope isn't gone. and I'd be lying if I didn't add, I especially hope this boy comes around. if he doesn't, that's ok, but my heart will have a lot of healing and moving on to do if its not him. cos for me, its him.