February 20, 2012

Snip snip

I had an awful dream last night that didn't shake off until around three-thirty this afternoon. I know that, exactly, because we were in the car driving home and I looked at all the kids and it wasn't sitting on top of me anymore. I drove and stared as far off as I could in front of the road and thought of all the bad things that have happened to us that weren't dreams, that were actually real, and I imagined huge clouds forming into scissors, cutting their strings and then they floated far away so that they were no longer attached to me. Like they never really happened at all.

In a moment of weakness I told Noah we could get Blizzards later. I just wanted to get through the thrift store with all four kids and pay and he had found a Blizzard maker for $12.99. That is way too much for Goodwill, dude. So of course tonight when I collapsed onto my bed he was kind enough to remind me of my promise. I went, because if there's one thing I am consistent about it's keeping my kids' promises. And also they would never let me off the hook anyway.

I think for a long time I mistakenly thought my anxiety to be normal, you know, it's just part of the package as a mother of four kids. That constant sense of urgency. There is no rest, there is much to be done, there is exhaustion and no option to be weak about it. This is just how it goes, this is what I signed up for. That kind of thing.

I'm still playing catch up from the lice incident almost three months ago. I'm not certain I'll ever fully recover.

I dare say I'd like to buy one of those trendy party banners on etsy in white, hang them across my front porch, in surrender. A string of white flags flapping for everyone to see because I don't care if they know the truth and I need their mercy.


We drove by the house today and Barn Cat was sitting outside on the window ledge and he looked right at me.



JUST WRITE.

24 comments:

  1. Love this. I can't even think what to say but YES. I can see you getting braver somehow?

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  2. You inspire me. Ever since I stumbled upon your blog almost 2 years ago, you have inspired me. The fact that I found out you live in the same town....that was pretty awesome too. (PS: I totally love the house!)

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  3. A few months ago, I looked up and that feeling of constant urgency was gone. I hadn't even known how heavy it was until I was no longer carrying it. Waving the white flag felt oh-so-good. It still does. xoxo

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  4. Sometimes, I need those white flags too. I wish for you the peace that truth and mercy bring.

    PS. I HATE those dreams that sit with you all day. And am glad that yours left you. And you could even use it as a way to cut off those real clouds.

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  5. Cutting those strings, that's a perfect image.

    (As is Barn Cat in the window.)

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  6. I can relate to constant urgency...I am working on it. I have never fully recovered from our lice incident, the many puke nights, ants in the summer and way back when we had a mouse in the house...but I am working on it.

    I pray rest for both of us.

    p.s.-When I saw your post title "Snip Snip", I giggled out loud, thinking it was going to be a completely different post about your hubby.

    Jen

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  7. yes. somedays are just like that, friend. I feel you pulling through it, or maybe its just by giving beautiful words for it, you are helping me, and others through it too.

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  8. catching up... i've been silent for a while (but still reading!) sorry about that.

    the house looks lovely. i hope you are able to get it. we're in a six month battle of new home ownership of our own. short sales are a beast man. a beast.

    i get the anxiety. boy do i ever. glad you're feeling better. at least i think (hope) you are. i quit (most of) my etsy business for the same reason... you have to be able to enjoy it. not everything is about making money.

    glad to see you're able to make it to blissdom this year. i know you'll have a blast.

    xo

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  9. It felt like I was experiencing the day with you. I hate those dreams. They seem to feed off our anxieties. I think I'm anxious too, but I wonder if it's normal or going a step beyond. Sigh. I didn't know motherhood was this hard!

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  10. Ugh! I had one of those bad dreams last night and finally had to tell my husband because I thought if I said it out loud it would go away!!

    What if I said that reading here is a happy place to me where I feel understood and encouraged by the "real" that we all experience....

    Thanks for that :)

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  11. I'm not glad that you have anxiety. Not at all. But I'm really glad that we're learning about this together. I wish our "together" was right next door, too. I'd like to be next door to the barn cat house and you.

    I felt this post so deeply. I snip snip too and then I just hope hope hope that I let it all keep floating away.

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  12. I wish I could give you big hug ... but I guess a paragraph of heartfelt words will have to do ... A few nights ago, I was talking to my grandma about what she thought He was saying to me through a string of Bible verses that all had to do with fearing the Lord in the awe-stricken sort of way, and we fell face first down the rabbit hole conversation of anxiety because when we have that awesome fear wrapped in love of His power the anxiety has to quiet inside my mind. It stands no chance against His might and power ... and I said to her, you know, I think that I've been anxious for a lot longer than I ever thought; I think I've mistaken it for other things like responsiblity and such ... and she said something that really struck me -- when we grow so quickly in our faith sometimes we have these extra anxiety moments where it really comes into focus because we realize how not in control we actually are. And I don't know if this will mean anything at all to you or if it was just a huge moment for me, but I found peace there. And I knew suddenly what all those verses about fearing the Lord meant to my heart -- He was telling me He could be trusted to be in control. Oh, that my mind could hang onto that when the anxiety creeps in and threatens mutiny.

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  13. Oh friend, I need their mercy too. So much of it. xo

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  14. Oh my goodness. So beautiful Steph. Wow. I love your picture of the scissors. Sometimes I think I have storms following me, stalking any kind of sunshine that tries to peak through. You writing is that pair of scissors for me, letting go of any need to maintain or keep up or strive. The scissors let you fall down right where you are and breathe. By the way, we were in the Goodwill store yesterday too! The boys found an old Audubon bird book, an Archie comic and a Charlie Brown snowcone machine, that we found was too expensive too! That's too funny:)

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  15. "There is no rest, there is much to be done, there is exhaustion and no option to be weak about it."

    I buy that lie. I pick it up regularly, try it on, and it fits so well. Like old, comfy jammies. 'Til I realize it's full of holes and should've been thrown out long ago. Thing is, I mourn my false strength when it's gone, so it's very hard to discard. I do believe a white flag would help immensely.

    Beautifully written, Miss Steph. Thank you.

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  16. I think I have to echo Sarah Bessey's comment and say I think you're sounding braver. Which may sound ironic considering this post talks about surrender...but it feels to me like you're getting to a point where you can say with more conviction "This is Me" and "This is Not Me." And that is beautiful.

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  17. This is so chock-full of visuals. The white banner--especially--should be a movie scene. I just love how you can take such an overwhelming, words-will-never-be-enough sentiment and capture it in a picture.

    PS. Have fun at Blissdom. I'll miss not seeing you.

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  18. OK, so this is off-topic, but now I want a Blizzard. So yummy. So ice creamy.

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  19. Can you hang that white flag banner over here? I am with you, Steph, I really am.

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  20. I hate those dreams, too. Sometimes they are so bad that I call my best friends and ask them to pray for me because I don't believe I'm honoring my husband when I'm thinking about them. (Mine are usually about old crushes that I had In HIGH SCHOOL! Good grief! It's time to get over them) But I'm glad you were able to shake it.
    And good for you for keeping your promises. That's all that matters sometimes.

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  21. Love your raw authenticity. You're one of the best writers in the blogosphere - I'm sure of it.

    stephanie@metropolitanmama.net

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