The Pain of Healing | Why Our Stories Matter

From infancy, we're conditioned to protect ourselves from the things that cause us pain.

Even my 3 year old understands well enough why he has to stay away from the oven when it's on, though he has yet to experience that kind of burn.

We build walls around our hearts to shelter ourselves on the inside from the things that we're afraid might hurt us (or from the things that hurt too much) and, sometimes, those things are the people we're closest to.

Deep down, I believe it's in our human nature to want - to need - to connect.

I believe our own individual experiences and perspectives matter, and that our sufferings can make a difference.

When we open our hearts and share our stories (even the painful, not-so-pretty ones without happily-ever-afters), our hurt empowers.

Helps.

Heals.

Our stories can point others to God.

Physically, when our hearts are broken, we allow others to open us up so we can be mended, then put back together, again.

Why, then, when it comes to the emotional, mental, and spiritual nature of our insides, do we resist opening our sensitive hearts so we can allow ourselves to be mended, and put back together again?

Is it fear of being made too vulnerable?

Judgment?

Being misunderstood?

Fear of seeing ourselves for who and what we really are on the inside?

Why do we attack others when they are brave enough to open themselves up?

Simply ignoring - or denying, altogether - the cuts of our past, both the self-inflicted and the damage caused by others, is like trying to hide a gaping wound beneath a patchwork quilt of band-aids.  We are still hurt, still bleeding underneath it all, and sooner or later, infection will poison us from the inside out if we don't reach out and ask for help.

Instead, we need to acknowledge who we are and where we've been - the imperfection, the ugliness of it all - come face to face with our pain, forgive, and let it all go.

I believe that's how we truly begin to heal, move forward with our lives, and grow.

Here's what I hope for When Home is Not a Place: 

Kindness.

Compassion.

Courage.

Encouragement.

Community.

Truth.

No pretending.

No hiding.

No walking on egg shells.

I want this to be a place where it's okay to hurt, and to talk openly about it.

I believe, no matter who we are or where we find ourselves in life, we are not alone.

Our stories matter.

When Home is Not a Place is where I come to tell mine.  Share yours.

Survive The Season

Hanging on the wall above my computer - among the jumble of inspirational quotes, photographs of my husband and our babies, and images that make up the hopes and dreams of my vision board - is a picture of a woman I cut out of a magazine.

There's a baby at her breast.  She's smiling and well put together.  Not a single hair is out of place, there are no dark circles under her eyes, and I can't find a trace of milk or spit-up anywhere on her pretty blouse.

Beneath her, I pasted these words: SURVIVE THE SEASON.

Even though I know this woman from my magazine - the poster child for motherhood -  isn't real life, she's there to remind me to laugh at myself, and remember the intensity of this season is just that: a season.

Our sweet little Logan has been with us for nearly six months, now.

The weeks since he was born have been a blur of baby smells, smiles and tears, soft skin, diaper changes, snuggles, the push and pull of nursing, and very little sleep.

To be completely honest, I'm still exhausted from it all.  Pooped, really.

Bringing life into this world (not just creating it, but learning how to nurture it) is unraveling.

Now that my firstborn is nearly three, walking, talking, sleeping through the night, feeding and dressing himself, and going to the bathroom all on his own, I have a teeny tiny (and, I stress teeny tiny) bit of perspective on the earliest months and years.

This - the restless nights, the sometimes seemingly endless days, the constant giving of myself that comes along with caring for brand new life - is not going to last forever.

I know, a little too soon, maybe, the winds will begin to shift to let us know change is on it's way, and, then,  suddenly, we'll wake up one day to find ourselves in a new season - a warmer one, maybe, with a little bit of green (the fruits of our labor) in the trees.

 New storms will come, of course (they always do), but I've seen God do some amazing things with rain.

I believe that's how He makes everything grow.

On the harder days (like today), when I find myself feeling like I am a seed lying dormant in the dirt, just waiting for the right time to burst open, I try to remember - although it's often easier said than done - to have patience with myself and my children, and trust that something wonderful and progressive is happening to each one of us deep underground where we can't see.

There will be springs and summers of outward growth, sunshine, and rest, but I believe the trying seasons in between are good and nourishing in their own way, too.

They cultivate us from the inside out.

If you're weathering a trying kind of season, right now - whether you're weary from raising little (or bigger) ones, worried about money, hanging on through a deployment or hectic family schedule, struggling to make difficult life choices, pushing through long days at work, dealing with sickness of the body or mind, or trying to fit the pieces of a broken heart or relationship back together - I'm thinking of you.

Hang in there.

Have faith.

Spring is on its way.

What kind of a season are you in, right now?  

Why I Blog

I'm pretty sure you're going to think I'm nuts when I tell you this.

But.

I actually like doing the dishes.

No, really. I do.

If one can really say they have a favorite chore, it's mine.

And, I don't just rinse them off before loading them into the dishwasher, either.  I prefer to wash them all by hand.

Crazy?  I know.

It's the process that I enjoy the most, I think.

Turning on the radio.

Filling up a sink with hot water and soap (and, maybe a glass with wine after the boys are in bed) - like a bubble bath.

Piling in the dirty dishes to let them soak for a little while, and then rinsing them clean.

One by one.

Although I can't tell you why, somehow, it's all very relaxing to me.

It calms my nerves.

Just like writing.

What the suds do for the dishes is what writing does for my insides.

It loosens all of the clingy, sometimes-burned bits and leftover grit - the mess of thoughts and emotions -  so I can scrub it all away, and rinse it down the drain.

Afterwards, what's left is something to be happy about.

A shiny, de-cluttered kitchen counter top, and clean dishes on the shelves to start over with.

A heart and mind refreshed, and a blank page filled with words that are no longer left to race around my head at night when I'm trying to fall asleep.

That's why I write.

It's as simple as that.

It's about me choosing to acknowledge who I really am and have been on the inside (even all of the messy, not-so-pretty parts of me) so I can grow.

It helps me focus, make sense of things, forgive myself, if need be, and let it all go.

Why I blog is also simple, but something completely different, altogether.

The season I'm weathering, right now, makes it a little difficult for me to get out of the house very often, as I am doing my best to love on and raise up two young boys while sharing one vehicle with a hard-working husband whose job takes him away on a regular basis.   

It's a chosen season, one of intentional sacrifice and commitment, so, I'm not complaining, but, chosen or not, my days can be long and isolating, and it's nice to be able to be reminded that I'm not alone.

Blogging isn't just an outlet, it's a community.

Choosing to hit publish, and open my (sometimes too-sensitive) heart to you, even though it scares me, is my way of reaching out to connect with, relate to, learn from, and (hopefully) return the favor to everyone I come in contact along the way.

Do you blog?  If so, leave a comment with a link so I can stop by to say hello!

Also, what is your purpose for blogging or doing your thing - whatever it is?  What is your why?