A Tentative Love Note to Colorado

Well Colorado, you may not be Home to me yet, but I'll say this for you - you are beautiful and your  glorious, get-outdoors, summer days are doing a decent job of wooing me.

For instance, last weekend when our little family took a day trip (just forty-five minutes away) to Manitou Park Lake and we got to enjoy the wonderful summer weather and watch our Littles explore the great outdoors to their heart's content - that was pretty great.

Digging in the dirt, hiking through the woods, throwing pine cones, climbing rocks - these are the things my little boys filled their day with. And I loved watching them get dirty and exhausted as they discovered the great big creation around them. It made my mama's heart so happy.

And the two Memorial Day BBQs we attended. They were outside (a novel experience for this Phoenix girl who associated Memorial Day BBQs with heat and sweat and hiding indoors). We ate great food and caught up with our only in-town family. We laughed and chatted with new people and starting to build those rickety bridges to new friendships. And we had a great time. 

This past weekend with you, Colorado, was refreshing and lovely. Thanks for that.

On Being The New Girl

It's awkward to wiggle your way into new friendships. When moving to a new city, you meet mostly people who already have their own circle of friends, their established trust, their shared memories, and their inside jokes. It is intimating to try and meld into that. It's not that people are unkind or unfriendly, they are simply creatures of habit and it is easy to move through life's routine without noticing the new girl.

I was guilty of a similar attitude back home in Arizona. I never joined a "mom's group" when I had the twins and I was even hesitant to started attending the Bible study group at our previous church. Why? Mainly because I was fulfilled, occupied, and content with the friendships I already had. I didn't see the point in exerting time and energy making new friends. I'm happy with the ones I got, thanks.

So with that memory in mind, I realize that I have to be the one to make the effort to form new friendships here. It is unlikely that someone is going to just up and invite the new girl out for a good heart-to-heart over a steaming cup o' joe. More likely than not, I will have to be the one to initiate the playdates, the dinners, and the coffee talks. The age-old advice of, "You've got to be a friend to make friends" really is true. Socially awkward at times - but true.

Even so, it is easy - even as "the new girl" - to get caught up in my own routine without making the effort to meet new people. Another week, another month, flies by as I'm caught up in my daily tasks and habits until I realize - wow, it's been a whoooole lot of days since I've talked face-to-face with someone other than my husband and children.

Now let me interject here that my husband has been an amazing encouragement to me during this move - allowing me to share my heart (and often my tears) and creating opportunities for us to get out a do fun things together as a family. I am incredibly grateful for this. But as much as I love my husband and enjoy spending time with him, he can not completely fill my need for friendship - especially not in the area of female relationships (for obvious reasons). And while highly entertaining at times, my children aren't real great conversationalists at the moment. (Though their unsolicited hugs do my heart a great deal of good.)

Yet even after five months in a new city and a great deal of loneliness, I still sometimes have the mindset of, "I don't need new friends - I'm happy with the ones I've got, thanks." Which is a problem because those dear friends of mine live 800 miles away. And while we stay in contact regularly (thank you, technolgy), we can't really live our lives together any more. We can't watch our kids play together while we swap mommy war-stories. We can't meet up for coffee or have a much-needed girls night out.  We can't laugh ourselves to tears while playing Pictionary after a couple of home-made margaritas. We can't offer a hug when life is painful and words just aren't enough.

With memories such as these, it is hard to make the mental shift that I need to build new friendships here in Colorado. The fact that doing this is awkward and takes a lot of effort on my part isn't a great motivator, but I shouldn't allow it to be a deterrent either.

I have to remind myself that the girlfriends that I miss so much were once complete strangers to me. I once had to wiggle my way into their circle, into their routine. I was once "the new girl" to them. It took time to form the deep relationships that we have shared for so many years now.

Humans were designed to need each other, and there are some needs that can't be filled from 800 miles away. Despite how wonderful my girlfriends back home are, the need to build relationships here is a great one. And while there are still many lonely days, ever so slowly, I'm starting to see the buds of friendship grow in the handful of acquaintances that I've made here. While I long for the closeness I shared with my friends back home, I have to trust that similar depth will form with the relationships I'm building here. Until then, it will just be one introduction, one "hi, how are you?", one slightly awkward invitation to dinner at a time. Then one day, I'll look at those friends and marvel at the fact that we were once complete strangers.

Dishonest Motherhood

I almost wrote a really nasty post the other day. About my children. And I was actually planning on publishing it. On Mother's Day.

Yeah. Suffice to say, I was having a rough time with the whole motherhood thing.

It was one of those days when the only languages my 18-month-old twins seemed to know was Fusseese and Whinelish. The strain of being home with them all-day-every-day was about to result in a Jen-shaped hole straight through the front door. And I seriously considered the possibility that there might be some kind of conspiracy in place that was designed to trick women into reproducing. Because, I reasoned, surely if I have been made aware of how hard motherhood was going to be, I would have gotten myself sterilized years ago.

And while The Crazy inside me eventually cleared a bit (after a three-hour nap and a glorious hike through the woods), I still think part of my theory is true. The part about not knowing how hard being a mom was actually going to be because no one really told me.

There are days when I feel completely alone in my struggle with being a mom. Why is that? Is something broken in my mom heart? Do I not love my kids as much as other moms? I wonder sometimes when I read sugary-sweet descriptions of motherhood in books and blog posts. When moms recount for me the swell of unconditional love they felt the moment their child was placed in their arms and I just can't relate.

In all honestly, it took me a number of months to experience feelings of love towards my twins after they were born. It was just so incredibly hard to be a mom and no one had even mentioned to me that I might not feel the warm fuzzies and indescribable joy often associated with becoming a mother. What I did feel was indescribable exhaustion and inadequacy, and frankly I was shocked and frightened by the lack of affection I felt for my babies. I'd never had someone tell me that in those early months, those feelings were okay and - for some women - even normal.

I don't hate my kids - truly. I love their smiles and laughter, their emerging personalities and sense of humor. I love seeing the sparkle in their eyes when they understand something for the first time. I enjoy playing with them and helping them discover knew things. But most of the time, I can't relate to the poetic sentimentality that many moms use to describe motherhood. And when I really think about it (calmly, minus The Crazy), I don't think I'm broken or alone. I just think we moms don't share our struggles with the kind of transparency that communicates the deep doubts and difficulties of being a mom. We hear about the squooshy, mushy love (which is important to share certainly - I'm not saying we should constantly complain about our kids - there is a whole lot to love about them!). We'll share a crazy, funny story about the things our kids do or say, or that time they threw up all over the car on the way to a new friend's house. But rarely do we talk with each other about the really hard stuff.

Hard stuff like the loneliness of being home alone with children all day, or the guilt of not being able to be at home with them. The frustration over discipline, the feeling of wanting to run away, the strain of daily putting yourself aside for the benefit of someone else. And the doubts and pressures that come with the responsibility of raising a little human. Whether it's because of pride, lack of vulnerability, fear of judgment, or what-have-you, we don't talk much about the hard stuff and we end up feeling alone. And there is very little that is as debilitating as feeling alone. We suffer as a result and our children do too. All because we can't (or won't) share with honesty the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly of being a mom.

I'm not asking that women bemoan their role as mothers - it is a privilege and a gift to invest in and mold these little people that God has placed into our care. I'm simply asking that we be a little more honest with each other and ourselves about the struggle. Not with complaining or bitterness, but in a way that results in us encouraging one another. Letting other women know that, yeah motherhood is incredibly difficult at times, but you are not alone in those feeling. Let's not allow pride or fear of judgement keep us from being honest with each other. Let's allow transparency in so that loneliness and guilt fade, and (hopefully) joy and encouragement can start to take their place. This will make us better moms, not pretending we have it all together while we waste away inside. Motherhood is a great gift, but it can quickly become a burden if we feel we are alone in the struggle.

Because sometimes motherhood feels like this:

And other times if feels more like this:

A tunnel with a light at the end

I felt compelled to give a little update after my previous, rather dreary post. But I think I should back up a little first.

When I was fifteen, I had my first bout of depression, brought on by a relatively small loss that I didn't know how to process. The experience sent me into a spiral of depression that would rear its ugly head off and on all the way through college. While this depression was partial hereditary, it was made worse by unresolved emotional losses, stress, and a refusal to seek help because I was too afraid of the stigma of going to counseling or getting on medication. Sadly, it was the Christians in my life that I most feared judgement from. This was mainly due to the fact that when my depression first started, I was told by a well-meaning, but misinformed, friend that if I just "had a little more faith", I would "snap out of it."

So my perception was that if my Christian circle knew about my depression, and the resulting doubts about God, they would think me faithless, crazy, or both. So I avoided getting help until I was so deep into my depression, and so miserable, that I didn't care anymore what others thought of me. I only knew that I wouldn't be able to keep my suicidal thoughts from turning into action unless I got help.

So the summer of my senior year of college, I met with a wonderful Christian counselor and she was able to help me learn how to manage my depression, work through my doubts about God, and process the severe grief I was experiencing at the time (in the course of a few months, three of my loved ones had died - my two grandpas and a dear family friend). I learned some of the things that triggered my depression and how to guard against them. I got on medication for a while in order to get the chemicals in my brain under control enough to process my struggle more clearly. And I learned that counseling is a helpful, healing, and heathy tool for dealing with the emotional trauma that is sometimes part of life. 

So why do I bring all this up? Because another thing I learned is that there is light at the end of the tunnel. No matter how bleak and hopeless and painful things seem, there is hope. Getting there takes work and the process itself can be really painful, but there is hope. Which is how I feel about this move. It hurts now, but I know it won't hurt this bad forever. The thing is though, I haven't been sure how to get through the tunnel to the light at the end of it.

When you're dealing with something like loss and depression, it's not just a matter of giving it time, or about finding something positive to focus on. It's not even just about trusting God. I believe my faith has played a huge part in helping me manage my struggle with depression and I believe it will help me through this most recent loss, but I've also learned that having a healthy understanding of how my mind and heart are designed is incredibly important to healing completely. 

Which is why I contacted my counselor, Bobbie, after writing my last post. She directed me to a book called The Grief Recovery Handbook. It has been very helpful as I learn more about how our minds and hearts process loss, how our culture is full of misinformation about handling grief, and how I can work through loss in an intentional, healthy way. It has been really, really good for me and I would recommend it to anyone dealing with a loss - whether a "big" one like death or divorce, or other types of loss like the end of a relationship or friendship, moving, a career change, broken trust, or anything else that is causing you to experience the pain of loss.

For me, loss is a big trigger to my depression and I'm fighting it by working through my grief in a healthy way. I have no wish to travel down that dismal road again.  And I always want to be honest about my struggle because I don't want anyone to avoid getting help because they fear the stigma, or feel alone, as I did. Counseling is a blessing, not a reason for judgement. While the circumstances surrounding depression and grief are different for each person, no one is alone in their struggle. Pain is a part of life, but if we're afraid to process that pain in a healthy way, it will taint the joy that is also a part of life.

"There is a time for every event under heaven... A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance." - Ecclesiastes 3

There is a time for grieving. Which is good, because it sometimes takes a while to work through it. But on the other side of it, there is a time to dance. Maybe I won't be pulling out my dancing shoes every day, and maybe the tears will come more often than I'd like, but there is hope at the end of this tunnel. For me, and for anyone reading this who can relate. 

The Good and The Grief

A friend recently commented that she hadn't heard much from me lately. And she's right. With the exception of a few photos posted on facebook, I have been pretty quiet since the move. My facebook page, my blog, and even my own private journal lays quiet and empty. Because the truth is, I don't know how to process this move and I don't know what to say. 

I can't pretend I'm thrilled to be here, but there are things about being in Colorado that I have enjoyed. While there have been challenges to navigate around, I have enjoyed temporarily sharing a home with my brother-and-sister-in-law and their two awesome boys (my three-year-old nephew is a hoot and keeps us laughing every day with the crazy things that come out of his mouth). It's been good for Devin and I to have to lean on each other and figure out this new life as a team. We've gone on some fun outings as a family of four and I can't deny that Colorado Springs is a gorgeous place to live in and explore. 

At the same time though, I am incredibly homesick. But I'm trying not to think about it too much because I can't function under the onslaught of tears that missing home brings. I've got laundry to do and food to cook and babies to look after and a husband to love and a new life to figure out. Not being able to see or breath because I'm crying so hard isn't conducive to making life here work. 

I know I have to eventually sift through these emotions. I'm in a process of grief and I need to mourn. I know this. The grief is just really thick and has a lot of layers and it's hard to allow it in. Because I'm not just mourning the life I left behind, but also the life that I thought I would have. Experiences and memories that I planned on sharing with my Arizona family and friends as I raised my own little family close by. Those dreamed about expectations are gone. Or have, in the very best light, changed drastically. I suppose it's not healthy to dwell on the "what would have beens", but it seems almost impossible not to do so. So I just don't think about it because it hurts too much. 

I'm in a state of numbness right now- not fully happy, not fully sad, just moving through life day-by-day. Not a healthy place to be forever, but where I am at the moment. It's a survival mechanism I suppose, to hold me together until we can get into a place of our own that just might start feeling like home. Until I can unpack the last box and find a new routine and build a social life again. Until I have the strength to unlock the swell of emotions surrounding this move. Until then, I've got to just hold it together for one more day, and one more day after that... and find little moments of joy here and there to help fortify my hurting heart.

* * * 

So as to not end this post on a complete downer, I wanted to share some photos of a recent hike we took as a family that I really enjoyed. No doubt it is beautiful here in Colorado and a great city for outdoor, endorphin-producing activities. There are far, far worse places to have to move to. 

When Making New Friends Stinks

Imagine if you will, arriving at the home of a new acquaintance, whom you have never met face-to-face before, but to whom you were introduced through a friend-of-a-friend by way of an online blog comment. You've emailed each other and talked briefly on the phone, but this is your first time seeing each other.

Imagine driving to this new friend's house and, after cautiously navigating your way through the new city to which you have just moved, getting lost in her neighborhood. You've flipped so many u-turns and pulled into so many different driveways in search of the correct house, that your motion-sickness prone fifteen-month-old begins to throw up in the back seat. You pull over and rush to the other side of the car just in time to catch three handfuls (and I do mean full) of projectile mac-and-cheese-with-tuna vomit. Said child has however, already covered himself in mounds of the stuff, so you remove him from the carseat and stand him on the snow covered side road, strip him of his foul clothing, wipe down the carseat as best you can with baby wipes, and fasten him back into the smelly seat.

Oh, and while you're imagining this ridiculous scenario, add to it that the friend you are meeting up with has a broken cell phone that can receive text messages, but doesn't have the ability to accept calls. Texting back-and-forth at stop signs trying to tell her where you are and trying to understand her texted directions is proving to be a colossal failure, so your friend steps out onto her patio were she gets one bar of service and attempts through the crackle of her phone to direct your way.

Finally, you arrive, flustered and smelling of vomit. Your new friend meets you out front and without hesitation, you nearly toss your clean child (for you have twins) into her arms and carefully remove the other child, puke-covered, half-naked, from the car. Your first words of introduction are not, "It's so lovely to meet you," but rather a desperate, "Can I use your washing machine?" And this, this, is the first impression that will be forever seared into the mind of your new friend.

But, after she helps you clean up your child, she offers you coffee and chocolate and good conversation and all is right in the world again. You may be remembered evermore as the "smelly mom-of-twins", but you hope that it will be with a touch of fondness.

And if you are me, then these imaginings are actually the stuff of reality. And my new friend Erin, bless her heart, was as sweet as can be (having five boys of her own, including a set of twins, she was empathetic to my plight). And so completes my day of two big firsts: navigating (semi-successfully) my way alone through my new city, and making my first new friend in Colorado Springs. Here's to less vomit in my future introductions. I'm not sure everyone I meet here will be as understanding as Erin.   

Discombobulated

Well, we made it to Colorado Springs on Monday. I've been in a discombobulated haze ever since arriving. Processing that we are actually here for the long haul hasn't even begun to sink in yet. Mainly because the basement apartment we are renting didn't end up getting finished in time so we are in this weird limbo of not being able to settle in or unpack, and sleeping wherever we can all find space in my brother-and-sister-in-law's house while all our stuff sits piled to the ceiling in their entry way. Bless her heart, my sis-in-law has been great about all this. I would be losing my mind if I were in her shoes. Maybe she has lost her mind and that is why she is staying relatively calm. 

Being that I didn't pack for, "sooo... the basement isn't finished yet", we've been living out of a weekend bag for over a week now while the rest of our worldly belongings precariously teeter in the entry way. Trying to unearth anything is a bit treacherous unless it's needed badly enough to risk being crushed by boxes to retrieve. Thus, repeatedly wearing "cleanish" outfits from the weekend bag is our new way of life. It's been cause for some interesting creativity. Also, my standard of acceptable attire and cleanliness has been temporality lowered. Fortunately, my underwear drawer was accessible, so that's good news.

Someday we'll all laugh about the chaos that moving into my brother-and-sister-in-law's house has caused, but today is not quite that day. 

Beyond the madhouse of daily rearranging everyone, the Leaning Tower of Death-by-Stuff, and the normal strain of moving to another state (magnified by about ten), we've had a lot of fun with my brother-in-law and family. All the cousins (my two boys and my two nephews) are getting along great, and my sister-in-law, Shannon, and I have enjoyed keeping each other company during the long days of stay-at-home-momdom. Once the stress of finishing the basement (the carpet is being laid as I type this) is behind us, I think we'll have a really good time with this whole "communal living" experiment.  Until then, we're all learning some good lessons on flexibility and patience.