Two years ago tonight- was the night everything changed. All week I worried about what tonight would bring, what emotions I’ve kept hidden deep in the corners of my heart. A few friends have stopped by or texted to check in, but it’s been a relatively normal day. I’ve tried to stay busy, we woke up early to get ready for 9 am church, kids were surprisingly well-behaved throughout sacrament meeting. Primary was once again a whirl-wind of an hour. We came home, I made lunch that the kids didn’t want to eat. Then I decided I’d make a nicer dinner. I invited Jake and Michelle to come eat with us.

The kids helped me make homemade pasta for spaghetti and french bread. Then we spent a few hours playing, had FHE and the kids fell asleep quickly.

At one point today, I found myself cuddling with both kids on the couch in the very spot I sat 2 years ago. For a brief minute I let myself go back to that night, and feel the whirlwind of emotions. I could picture every detail, and even remembered the small pile of clothes on the floor waiting to be folded. I remember the moment I realized everything would be different, my muscles began to tense and my head became dizzy. Just then Ollie brought me back to reality, asking for a drink of water he was “so thirsty”. I quickly obliged and brought it back to him. I looked at my kids cuddling together watching a silly kid show, and I realized I was happy. We had survived.

After the kids fell asleep, I walked through my quiet house. So much has changed in the last 2 years: new pictures adorn the walls and trivial decorations have been exchanged for ones that hold meaning. What strikes me the most is the feeling- its’ peaceful, its’ contentment and its’ a tinge of excitement. The first year was of pure survival, the second year of healing, and the third year is going to be of moving forward. I’m excited for that.

The first time I saw my daughter, I was 12 weeks pregnant and the doctor was pointing at some odd shape on the ultrasound screen. I had no idea what she was pointing at, then all of a sudden it jumped or it at least looked like it had jumped. At that moment this was all real. Fast forward 28 weeks…the nurse laid Heidi on my chest and she welcomed me into motherhood by pooping- ha ha.

As a young girl I LOVED to play house and dreamed of having babies…hundreds of babies…I remember saying I want lots of babies but no husband (boys still had cooties at that age). As I grew up I wanted a husband and at max 4 babies. While I was waiting to find “Mr. Right” I earned a bachelors, interned in DC, moved to Salt Lake, dated, and started a Masters Degree. It took me longer than I had wanted to find him, but when I did I felt he was worth the wait. 2 weeks before our 2nd wedding anniversary, Heidi was born to a terrified first time mother.

During the first year of Heidi’s life this quote frequently came to me, and I was determined not to fail. When she was 2 months old I returned to work part-time. Every morning I felt guilty and anxiety consumed me while I was away. She repaid my leaving her, by rolling over for her dad and her nanny before me. I only lasted 5 months at work and decided I needed to be home.

Two years later I had Ollie and between the two of them I stayed busy, anxious, and tired but very happy.

This was it, this was the perfect “Mormon” mom life.

In early 2017, “D” day struck, and on the way to my parents the thought “I’m done having kids” came to my mind. It broke me. We had planned on 4, and were getting ready to start trying for the third. Since then I have worked hard at telling myself about all the pros to being done; no more morning sickness, stretch marks, labor, attempting and failing at breast feeding, sleepless nights, 3 am feedings, diapers and the dreaded potty training. At times I could convince myself it was all ok, others it was harder. Today was one of those harder days.

The kids and I went to the zoo with some friends. I was exhausted before we even had shoes on, I called my friend and asked if she really wanted to go and she replied “yes”. I loaded the kids up, grabbed caffeine and headed to the zoo. We saw the new red pandas which was the only real reason I had agreed to come, kids had fun and it was beautiful day to get out.

The only problem was …all the pregnant women. I may be exaggerating but it really felt like 99% of the women at the zoo today were pregnant or had a baby strapped to them.

I know I’m so blessed having two kids and love them dearly, but today was a hard day to think I’m done with the endless hours of perusing baby name books, googling every pregnancy symptom to make sure it is normal, newborn smells, first smile, first giggle, first kiss and all the rest of the firsts.

The quote by David O. McKay has once again been very prevalent this last year. What once comforted me in my decision to stay home and be a mom, now made me feel like I had failed. The feeling of loss has been so daunting this last year. The loss of what I thought I had, what I wanted and my future plans- including 2 more children.

I’ve slowly been learning that letting go, faith and trust are interrelated. To have faith in god, I first must let go of my wants, my plans and even some of my desires, and trust god will provide for all my needs. Oh how that is hard and a battle I am fighting every second of everyday. All I can say is I am trying, and I’m sorry to any of the pregnant women at the zoo I may have given a dirty look.

I may or may not be done having kids, but I will treasure the ones I have. These children give me the motivation to get up every morning and try again. They make me smile and laugh even with a broken heart, and most of all they give me a greater understanding into how Heavenly Father feels about me. I love my children and my Heavenly Father loves his children. He is with me in my sad moments, just like I am for my children. He will hold me when I cry, listen when I yell, and guide me into the woman he knows I can be. He will never give up on me.

The last few weeks have been intense on all fronts. So many life-changing decisions are looming and I just cannot make any. My brain has officially shut down and can no longer keep thoughts, events and appointments straight. Do not even think about asking me what I did yesterday- if I don’t write it down and double check it there is about a 90% chance I will forget. On top of this I’ve been so angry (you can read more about that in my previous post).

Everyone tells me this is a normal part of the grieving process, but it has been so frustrating.

Throughout this trial the overall theme has been to “just wait”. Patience is definitely my weakness and time is more my enemy then my friend. In February I thought I had finally received my answer to move on and I jumped on it. My prayers changed from “what do I do” to “this is what I’m doing, stop me if it’s wrong”. From that point on frustration set in, jobs were lost, finances became heavy, and hope became a burden. My rebellious self pushed through every road block and insisted my decision was right and more importantly now is the time.

Two months later- little has changed and decisions are still pending. The last few weeks have been very humbling and I’ve been forced to look internally more than ever before. I don’t like what I see and realize I have much more work to do. Once again the prevailing theme has popped up repeatedly to “just wait”.

Almost a year ago, a dear friend of mine recommended a book to me “Codependent No More” by Melody Beattie.

I bought it and then neglected it for months. A week ago it randomly showed up on my nightstand and I had the overwhelming feeling I needed to read it now. It has been the most triggering book yet the most helpful. My therapist told me today that “sometimes the most triggering experiences bring the most healing”. As far as this book goes her statement rings true.

Have you ever had a reading experience, where a sentence or thought jumps off the page and smacks you in the face? I have quite often and it happened just this week when I came across the following statement:

My brain and heart went completely into rebellion mode and I came up with a bunch of excuses for why I DID need to make these decisions NOW and why I could NOT let go. God did not give up on me and threw several other “just wait” experiences my way. The most recent was the strongest and I could not longer deny the impression. It humbled me more than I have ever been humbled. As I said my bedtime prayer tonight, this thought entered my head:

“The next step is not yours to take”

In that moment I was not alone and he was telling me I need to wait not so I can learn patience but because he has the next move. My life is like a game of chess (which I’m horrible at) it’s hard, long and requires a great deal of skill and logic. I’ve been trying to move, yet I feel like someone or thing keeps moving me back to the same place. Growing frustrated I failed to ask “why”. The answer is it is not my turn.

I am slowly learning to put my trust in god, put him in the drivers seat and try my hardest to not be a backseat driver. My sense of urgency and desperation stems from myself and throughout this trial my God has been quietly saying “There is always enough time”.

I just dished myself up a big slice of humble pie for I know this might take awhile.

I’m so tired. Every muscle in my body aches. It may have something to do with the workouts I’ve been doing the last 2 nights (Core De Force), or it has something to do with the heaviness of this horrible trial I’ve been dealing with for the last year. Both reasons apply.

When I was little my mom said I was like a bull in a china shop; always moving and bouncing. My mom even nicknamed me “Bibbity Bobbity Boo”. Little did she know I had a secret fantasy of dragging my arm down a shelf full of glass ware, knocking them all down and watching them shatter on the floor.  To be quite honest I still often have this fantasy when walking down an aisle full of glass items. At some point I should bring this up to my therapist, I’m sure she would agree I have some suppressed anger (ha ha).

Anyways I do have a point to this story. Just over a year ago after a horrendous therapy appointment with my husband, I left in tears and completely beside myself. Once again I found myself at the verge of a breakdown and could not even comprehend what my feelings were. I was mad, I was sad, I was lonely, I was frustrated, I was hurt, and oh so many more emotions were pooling in my brain and heart.

Sobbing to the point of dry heaving, my sister in law and friend were trying to console me the best they could. My dear friend asked me what I needed to get my feelings out, what sounded good. I instantly thought of my fantasy of breaking things and said “I want to shatter dishes”.

We went to the dollar store and purchased a decent collection of dishes. I had no idea where to go, so we drove up the canyon and found a little turn off. I then proceeded to break, no to shatter every single dish we had. I screamed and cried with every throw. Watching the dishes shatter symbolized the shattered life I was in the midst of. I had no control over my life and watching how every throw was within my control and the dishes were powerless against the strength of my arm and the hardness of the rocks.

Did it fix anything? Not really. We picked up all the broken pieces and drove home, my life was still in shambles and my marriage was past the point of no return. However that moment was my first step toward acknowledging anger as a legitimate emotion.  We live in a society where anger has such a negative connotation. Especially as women, it is simply not ok to get upset or show anger. So often I have hid my true emotions, except happiness (even faking happiness at times). I’ve been so desperate to fit into that “low maintenance” mold I had decided was the ideal daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend and employee.

My therapist gave me this quote during one of my first sessions. I’ve said it to my children many times. The last few months I’ve been working really hard to help my daughter understand her emotions and teach her it is good to feel emotions, but we have to be careful in what we do with them. Ironically through all of this I’ve still been stuffing mine in a little box, and hiding them deep within my closet. I’ve only allowed myself to feel certain emotions, at certain times and only with certain people. Anger has been one of the main emotions I have hidden away.

I’ve given my husband every benefit of the doubt and all the time in the world to “fix” himself. In the meantime I’ve tried my best to maintain the house and teach our children. What has come of this? He still wants a divorce and still doesn’t want me. I ask myself why? and I’ve come up with a thousand reasons but recently the one that sticks is “because he’s an idiot”. I’ve become angry. For the first time in a year, I have let myself feel true anger and instead of locking it in a box. I’ve embraced it.

I did not deserve this and he is an idiot for giving up on his family. It is all on him. His problems are his problems. The more and more I think about this the more and more angry I get.  Why wouldn’t I be angry? The man who promised me eternity, gave up and walked out. I shared things with him that he willingly discarded as trash.

No I don’t think staying angry is healthy, but I do think allowing anger in and expressing it is the best if not the only way to get through it. Tonight I went to group therapy, where they reminded me pent up emotions come out in devastating ways. Such as cancer, heart disease, depression, and other mental and physical illnesses.

So tonight I am mad! Mad about where my life is, mad about being alone, mad about the possibility of losing my home and mad my children are not here with me.  The anger is here, but like the quote my therapist told me “It’s ok to be mad, but it’s not ok to be mean”. What I do with that anger makes the difference between it being healthy or harmful.

As much as I’d love to yell at my husband, key his car, or throw those dishes at him, I won’t. What good would it do anyway? Instead I went to group therapy and hit the walls with pool noodles, then I came home and did kickboxing. My anger has rescinded for the moment, and I feel more at peace. We’ll see what emotions tomorrow brings.

CHANGE: the act or instance of making or becoming different.

I can think of several instances in my life which have changed or altered my future forever. Some happy like getting married and having babies, and others like my current trial are devastating. Each one had a lesson and an opportunity for growth.  In the definition of change the part that strikes me is the word “instance”. Everything can change in but an instance.

Last May, the kids and I were driving home from a friends house in Heber. We were talking and singing, when all of a sudden I heard a pop and the car veered sharply to the right. Miraculously we didn’t hit another car, and as we hit the barrier all I could think was to keep my wheel straight and NOT to over-correct. Somehow I stayed calm and once I came to a stop I checked on my babies. Both were scared but completely unharmed. All I could think about was how in one moment everything could have been so different. A week later in almost the same spot, a man was killed due to an almost identical situation.

As we were waiting 20 minutes for a tow truck, the police and a ride home, I started to cry. The kids were mad, hot, and tired of sitting. I felt so helpless, and sunk into a ginormous pity party about how 2017 just wasn’t my year. Mid-tears a thought came to my head “I can make this right, not only right but better”- I wasn’t alone with my babies on the side of the road. I had guardian angels and my savior beside me.

The trauma of this incident was short-lived. We were finally picked up, insurance was easy to deal with, and within a week we received a decent sized check to use on another car. The thought I had came true, I ended up with a better, more reliable car (which I was in desperate need of). This may be a small example, but it gave me so much hope.

I will never forget the night in January when in an instant my whole world crashed around me. I lost my husband, marriage, security, self-esteem and hope for more children all in an instant. The future I once thought possible was gone. Nothing would ever be the same, and I’d have to give up so many dreams I had wanted for myself and my family.

“I can make this right, not only right but better”.  Even something as devastating as this- he can make better. It may not be as quick and I am still unsure how a life so broken can be truly healed. With God all things are possible.

A dear friend of mine has an inspiring blog As Dews From Heaven. Several weeks ago she wrote a post called You’re Human.  Go read it it’s fabulous. In the post she wrote about a unique Japanese art form called “kintsugi”. A friend of hers explains it as follows:

“This Japanese art form “kintsugi” repairs broken pottery by filling the cracks with precious metals to restore the damaged pieces to create something beautiful and whole. Compared to Western culture which values flawless perfection, this Japanese art form treasures broken pieces and scars from the past experiences that can be fixed, finished, and completed to become more than the original.” -Emily Allen White

How beautiful and inspiring is that? I may be broken, but I’m still beautiful. In an instant my whole life changed, but he can fix that. My Savior can and will fill all my broken pieces with something much better than gold- with love!

The first month after “D Day”, the kids and I spent at my parents. The majority of the month was spent in shock and disbelief. Lots and lots of tears, lots and lots of anger and lots and lots of loneliness were present. My heart felt empty and my body cold.

The night my husband disclosed his secret to me, one of my initial thoughts was how could I keep this hidden. How horrible is that? Something that was hidden for so long until the secret became so large it blew up into devastating results-I too wanted to keep it hidden. He immediately told me to call my parents, and I did. The children and I left. My journey through grief and finding me began on that long snowy drive away from the home and life I held so dear.

A few months ago I wrote to a group of friends asking how to not get emotional at church, to which one of them replied “Why? Why can’t you cry? Why can’t you show how you’re truly feeling?” I came up with all sorts of reasons such as “it’s embarrassing”, “church is not the place” and “because I try so hard to be strong”. She had a rebuttal to everyone and it was simply “why”. I’ve thought a lot about this the last few months, and I cannot truly come up with a legit reason as to why. It’s been a constant battle to let my emotions have room and to truly take the space I need.

Grief is hard and being vulnerable in grief is even harder.

My mom gave me a book to read called “Tear Soup”.

Tear Soup: A Recipe for Healing After Loss

The story is about an old women who is grieving, it follows her through her journey as she makes tear soup.

Into this pot of soup she throws memories and lots of tears. It takes months and even years for her soup to develop and it is often bitter to the taste. I love how it talks about how her husband’s process of making tear soup differs significantly. It also makes it quite clear that she must make it herself.  uses an analogy of making tear soup to show how this old woman grieves. It shows her pathway of navigating sadness and how she allows herself to experience grief.

It’s a beautiful book and I highly recommend it to anyone who is grieving. As I’ve read and reread this book I can see exactly where I am on my own journey of making tear soup.

Another book I was given early on is called “Captivating”. The book is written for women and discusses the value and importance of women, and God’s desire to love and be loved by each one of us.

Captivating Revised and Updated: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul

I’ll be honest I struggled through some of this book, not because I didn’t like it but because it hurt. I was still trying to hide my emotions and my pain. When I came to the following quote, everything changed

“Grief is a form of validation; it says the wound mattered. It mattered. You mattered.” Captivating, pg. 103

I mattered, my pain mattered, my heartache mattered, my tears mattered. It was the first time I let myself be vulnerable to me. I had pushed down my emotions that even I didn’t know how to feel them. I cried not for the loss of the life I had loved, but for the loss of me. The loss of letting me feel what I felt, changed the course of my journey.

My journey of making tear soup and the full mourning process is far from over. I am finally to the point where I can let myself feel. This last week has been hard. I have been triggered right and left and old memories have flooded my mind. Many good and some bad. The good memories are the hardest. I can’t figure how we got from the good moments to now. How my husband could surprise me during my pregnancy with the best tasting mac and cheese sandwich, or how we held hands eating pizza under the night sky. When these memories came back to me I accepted them, I let them stay, I mourned them and then I let them go. I have a long way to go, but I’d say this is progress..

I’ve often heard the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result. If true, every mother fits the bill. For example, my little guy is obsessed with trains, and when I say obsessed I mean he eats with trains, sleeps with trains, only watches movies about trains, his favorite outing is to the train shop, and for his upcoming birthday all he wants is trains! At least he is easy to please, and potty training last weekend was much easier than expected due to the fact he was rewarded with trains! Ha ha! Anyways I digress… We have a large tote of wood tracks and trains which he plays with for hours. Just today he built an elaborate (for an almost 3 year old) track, then went downstairs to play with his sister. I was cleaning up the house and started putting the tracks away- just as I put the last item in the tote I hear him scream NO! He comes running upstairs in tears saying “no no no mommy, don’t put my trains away”! Two seconds later he had dumped the entire box back all over the floor.

I shook my head, wonder why I even try, then go to another room and start straightening it up. Sounds like insanity to me.

This whole single mommy thing is hard. For 5 years I’ve had the privilege of being a stay at home mom. To quote Charles Dickens it was “the best of times and the worst of times”. Giving that up for 3 days a week as well as the nights and weekends they are with their dad has been hard. I hate it, yet it is nice to have some alone time. To take a long bubble bath without toys (or a fully dressed toddler) being thrown in, or sleep all night.

Through this ordeal so many people have reached out to my children and me, I am constantly amazed how someone knows to leave dinner on my doorstep just when I need it most or send a text of love at the precise moment I’m sobbing uncontrollably on the bathroom floor. It has made me think a lot about true connection and how we obtain it. Brene Brown said:

“true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance”

The last year my emotions have been raw and close to the surface. Even though I try to hide behind a mask of strength and confidence, frequently that scared, betrayed, and heartbroken little girl breaks through with only the simple question “How are you?” Ashamed I stuff it back in and reply “Good” and quickly walk away. Even the other day I was talking to my dear friend about how I was desperately praying not to cry during mediation. To which she answered “Why? Why is crying so bad?” Somehow I have always equated crying to weakness, instead of what it truly is a physical reflection of my emotions. As I’ve been holding on to that paper thin mask, I have pushed away so many chances of connection.

Giving birth to a child is an automatic initiation into an elite club called mother-hood. It can connect you to millions of women who will see your toddler screaming on the floor of a grocery store and instead of a judgemental look they smile and say “You are doing a great job”, or today as I left my 2 children screaming at daycare so I could make it on time to an appointment, I walked by another mom bringing her annoyingly happy child in. She simply smiled a knowing smile and said “Just breath”. I walked to my car feeling a sense of camaraderie and connection to this stranger, instead of defeat and mommy guilt.

As moms, women or just human beings we need connection. Standing together is much easier than standing alone. I’m reminded of a silly object lesson I had in seminary years ago. Where the teacher gave a single pencil to a student and asked him to break it. He easily could, then the teacher handed him a bunch of pencils and asked him to break them. He of course couldn’t. Heavenly Father put us in families, and communities because he knew this. He knew each one of us was going to struggle and did not want us to be alone. No matter the trial or tribulation, Heavenly Father and Jesus are there and often it is in a connection with a living person. I’m learning to open up and be vulnerable; to let my imperfections show and to seek true connections. Let’s just all be real : there is already enough fake in the world.

“If I have to go through this trial, then it will make me a better person”. Early on I remember telling my family and friends this exact statement. I wanted to fight- fight for myself, fight for my children, and most of all fight for my husband. I even had the thought once that this trial may just be the thing to strengthen our marriage and help us last into the eternities.

While I was doing all sorts of research on how to rebuild trust and heal from betrayal. I came across a talk given by Elder Larry W. Gibbons called “A Time for Faith, Not Fear” (Ensign, July 2013). So often talks speak of future blessings if one can but endure, others speak of the strength you’ll receive, but this one talks about acceptance. My personality is one to fix or plan my way out of trials. I have confidence in my abilities; however, this particular trial was not one I could fix or create a checklist to overcome.

In his talk Elder Gibbon’s quotes President Boyd K. Packer: “Faith, to be faith, must center around something that is not known. Faith, to be faith, must go beyond that for which there is confirming evidence. Faith, to be faith, must go into the unknown. Faith, to be faith, must walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness.”

“Faith, to be faith, must walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness”. This quote hit hard. Here I was peering into thick, black darkness and craving the light behind me. The cold blackness enveloped every part of me and encompassed my very soul. How on earth was I supposed to take a step?

During the month the kids and I were staying with my parents, I met with my parents bishop. My own bishop and stake president kept in touch as well, but it was this man who saw some of my darkest hours and thoughts those first few weeks. He had lost a child several years before, and I could tell he held no judgements only empathy for me. He counciled me to get back to the temple as soon as possible. He knew it was going to be a hard step, and similar to taking off a band-aid it had to happen quickly and oh so painfully.

On the evening we had scheduled to go, my heart was heavy. I texted my husband to please figure out what he wanted, so I could have some sort of hope. To which he did not respond. My mom and I drove to the temple on a cold, snowy February night. The fog was thick and I prayed for peace and comfort. Even when the light of the temple shone through the fog I still felt alone.

I quietly got dressed and met my mom. My whole being felt empty and heavy.  The session started and parts of it brought me to tears, and parts left me feeling empty. I felt proud of myself for mostly keeping it together, and my goal was just to survive. As I was preparing to enter the celestial room, I broke down. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t think and the poor sister helping me had no idea what to do.

I remember very little of what happened next, somehow I ended up in the Celestial room with my mom and I just cried. How did I end up here? How could this happen to me? Me! who was baptized at 8, graduated seminary, married in the temple, and always tried to follow the commandments. I had given up my career to stay home and raise my children like I thought I was supposed to do and here I was sitting in the temple knowing my marriage of 6.5 years was a lie.

My mom whispered- to look up. Ha- that was the last thing I wanted to do. I really just wanted to dig a hole and never come out. However I’ve never forgotten her saying that, even today during hard times her voice comes to me urging me to look up.

Elder Gibbon’s compared trials to a white water rafting trip “As we traveled down the river through the canyon, we would sometimes hear the roar of the rapids around the next bend. It was frankly a bit frightening. We were tempted to pull over and park the boat. But shooting the rapids, though a bit scary, turned out to be the best part of the trip.” Oh how I loved this! For I too have been on many rafting trips and felt the same thing.

As scary as it may seem faith truly is taking that first step into the darkness. I have taken many and so often felt I was walking alone. I have shouted, screamed, cried, begged and pleaded to someone I could not feel there.

I am yet again at the edge of new kind of darkness, the fog is thick and I’m about to take the next step of faith. My husband and I are starting divorce mediation this week, tomorrow actually. I am heartbroken and have prayed over and over to wake up from this horrible nightmare. I’ve waited a year for him to figure out what he wanted and despite all my best efforts this is still what he wants. For me, I just want to move on. I was hoping that could be with him, but for now it’ll be alone. I do not know what waits for me in the darkness ahead, but I believe President Thomas S. Monson when he said:

“There will be nothing in this world that can defeat us. My beloved brothers and sisters, FEAR NOT. Be of good cheer. The future is as bright as your faith.”

 

For the last year I’ve been on a roller-coaster, one I don’t remember buying a ticket or even waiting in line for. While happily on the Merry-Go-Round, I was suddenly ripped from my beautiful horse and dropped right on top of the longest, steepest and scariest roller-coaster far beyond anything I could have imagined. Recently I was discussing this exact thing with a dear friend, who as a side note I never would have met had it not been for this particular roller-coaster.

She said “I’m sure it is a roller-coaster. But like a roller-coaster it’s probably not safe to get off until it comes to a complete stop. Keep riding that roller coaster and know you are in others thoughts and prayers”.

Tonight as I sit on my couch contemplating the looming hill ahead of me, I am terrified. I wish more than anything to get off. At the same time there is a sense of excitement as to what is coming.