What You See

I bought a house a couple months ago. My mom cosigned on it, but I am planning on paying for it myself through renters and such. It feels somewhat strange to buy such a large house at 28 years old. My neighbors are all much older than me and my sister (who lives with me). Plus, they are all married, and most have children.

The thing is though, we all only see what is on the surface. I look at my neighbors and see people who are at a totally different point in their lives than I am. They probably look at me and think the same thing. Some people may even be jealous of me. People tell me that they weren’t even considering buying a house at my age. Others look at my house and tell me how lucky I am to have this place. I do feel very fortunate to have this house and for the lot I have been given in life, but there are definitely things I long for in my life.

It is easy to look at my life on Facebook and think that I have things pretty good. I have a house that is now fully furnished. I have a decent job that pays my bills. I have a college degree and am well on my way towards a second degree. I am doing well physically and mentally and even emotionally most of the time. But, you don’t see all the other things that have happened in the midst of all this. You don’t see that shortly after I bought the house, I had to fix the heater, then my car, and then the garage door, and I will eventually have to replace a damaged sprinkler pipe. You also may not know that I used money from a car accident settlement to make the down payment, and you don’t see that I have been searching for a new job because I haven’t been given enough hours at work to pay my bills now. But the biggest thing that no one ever sees is the longing in my heart for something more.

I know that I am incredibly lucky and blessed to have my family and friends and my new house, but… I really want someone to share it with. I have my sister here, which definitely helps, but I would love to have a husband and children. I wouldn’t mind living in a rundown trailer if it meant having a family of my own.

We all have something we long for. Some people long for stability while others long for adventure. Some long for riches while others would give away their riches for true love. No life is perfect, no matter how much it may seem to be so on social media. We all long for something. Just remember that what you see is just the surface of someone’s life, and you can miss the beauty of your life by constantly comparing to the surface of someone else’s.

Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop

Welcome to Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from special needs bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Mommy Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about having a special needs kiddo — from Sensory Processing Disorder to ADHD, from Autism to Dyslexia! Want to join in on next month’s Voices of Special Needs Hop? Click here!

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Friendship is Complicated

Friendship is complicated. There is so much more to relationships than what is on the surface. I have never had a close, lasting relationship with zero conflict. I think that surviving conflict is what builds relationships, but I do love the ease of my friendships that do not have conflict. They are simple, easy to understand, and take little work on my part, but these relationships are mostly superficial. You can spend time with a friend and have fun, but it is staying after the fun is over, when you are not feeling well or are going through difficulties, that friendship really starts to mean more.

I did not have many friends growing up. My first friendships as a young child did not survive their first conflict. I look back now and think of how I could have handled the situation better, how I could have salvaged my friendships, but at the time I had no real experience in handling conflict. I did not know how to talk through feelings and emotions. So, at age 8, I decided to try to make my first friends on my own. I knew every trouble maker and loner at the school. These were my friends because they seemed to have just as many troubles as I did. When we weren’t sitting on the benches, we were the outcasts that no one else would talk to. Looking back now, I wonder if I failed to do my homework on purpose because it was too hard to brave the large playground full of children on my own. Making friends is easier now than it was then, but it can be easy to feel like a little girl again on a playground that is far too large for me.

The other thing that can be difficult is learning to manage conflict with the friends I do have. Indecisiveness makes me anxious, which can be a problem when my best friends do not like to make decisions. They tend to be people pleasers that want to make sure everyone is comfortable with whatever is decided. I would rather go along with a less favorable choice than spend half an hour trying to decide on something that everyone agrees on. Sometimes my anxiety gets the better of me, and I become frustrated and push people away. This causes a whole new level of conflict because my friends don’t understand why I am responding in this way.

Friendship is complicated, and we don’t always know what to do to solve conflicts. As I grow to trust others more, I have learned to simply ask about things I do not understand. I have learned to ask for reassurance when I do not know how a recent conflict has affected a relationship. I have learned to ask what I can do better and how I can make things right with someone. They say it takes courage to apologize to someone, but not apologizing is so much harder for me. I need to know my status with someone, even if it is negative, I just need to know what to expect from them. I think that it must get tiring for my friends to constantly deal with my questions and insecurities, but I am so grateful that they are patient with my shortcomings because friendship really is complicated for me.

Grief is Love

Sometimes you have to tell a story to get it out of you. I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately. It seems like everything hits me harder now that he’s gone. I see these movies and just think of everything that has happened in the last few months.

I remember waking up that morning like any other morning. I had slept in a bit, which was not unusual for me at that time. I went downstairs and my little niece looked at me and said, “Mommy is sad. The baby won’t wake up.” I went to my brother’s room and my sister-in-law went past me, crying, “he won’t wake up… I don’t know what to do.” My brother was in the room trying to do CPR on his little body. I asked what they had tried to do, gave some suggestions, nothing of substance. I don’t think it was really real for me at that point.

The police arrived a few minutes later. I went to keep the children away from the situation while the parents talked to the police and paramedics and firemen and anyone else who came. After a while, I took the children into their room and asked them to pray for their brother. My brother and sister-in-law went to the hospital. He wasn’t responsive at that point, but he wasn’t gone yet. We still had a glimmer of hope that he would survive, that he would come back, that he would be okay.

I remember the call… “He’s gone…” My little nephew was in the middle of a bite of pizza when I explained that his baby brother would not be coming back and that we had to go to the hospital to see him one last time. This amazing little 5 year old just started crying and didn’t want to finish his food, but we did. We finished our little lunch and headed to the hospital to say our goodbyes. I tried to get everything ready. I threw a bunch of candy and snacks in my bag to help console the children while we waited to see the lifeless body of my less than 2 month old nephew.

When we arrived at the hospital, we waited outside with the children’s other aunt, and my aunt also came after a few minutes. As we sat and ate candy while waiting for everything to be ready for the children to come in, I knew the younger two might never understand. This didn’t seem to mean much to them, other than that the adults and their older brother were sad. They were still fighting over toys and wanting their treats. Even after we went in, my three year old niece was playing with the doctor’s face as he explained what would happen next. It was somewhat frustrating, but also comforting, to know that she wasn’t experiencing the grief the rest of us felt.

When it was my turn to hold my sweet nephew for the last time, the reality struck me that he was really gone. I had known he wasn’t going to come back or get better, but feeling his cold skin made my heart stop for a second. I would never hold him again in this life. I would never stroke his head as he slept in my lap or hold him as he looked with wide eyes around the room. This was goodbye.

The strange thing about faith is that it never really leaves, but sometimes you are not exactly sure what it means. Would I get to see him again? Would everything be okay? What would this mean for my family? I felt broken, but my faith told me that this was not the end. I believe that he is in heaven. I believe I will see him again. I believe that everything will be okay. I just do not know when that will happen. I do not know when I will be okay again.

Everything moved on. I still had classes that week. I still went to work. I still turned in homework assignments and helped around the house and did what was required, but something was missing. I lost a part of me that day that I do not think I will ever get back in this life. I broke that Friday. He passed away on Sunday and by Friday, I had tried so hard to be strong that I knew I needed help. I texted a few people I thought might be free, but by the time they responded, I was sliding quickly into severe depression. When none of them were available, I gave up and went to my room to cry. I have never cried so hard in my life. One person, who I hardly knew, insisted on coming over and sat in my room with me until I finished crying. That was the most desperate I have ever felt, and nothing has ever made me feel so hollow as crying for the loss of that little boy.

Since then, things have been hard. Most days are normal and everything goes on like before this happened, but other days, I feel the loss like it was just this morning. You can’t run from pain. You can’t escape death. No matter how far away you go or what you do, there are some things that just won’t leave your head. That’s what this has been. It’s a never ending stream of grief that is always there, though I notice it less sometimes than others.

But… there is also great hope. In the midst of the despair, there is faith and hope and love- pure, undaunted love that will not go away. I keep seeing this quote, “Grief is just love with no place to go.” That is what grief feels like to me. The love that was there for little Gabriel cannot go into him so it goes everywhere else instead. It goes into me and comes out in tears and hugs and long, drawn out conversations. The love fills the room where I sit down to write a letter or tell someone my thoughts. It spills out in lessons I teach in church where a few dozen women gather to talk about faith in God. And it is still there when I’m running transactions at the bank where I work or going grocery shopping or eating in a restaurant. Grief feels like love constantly spilling out of you in endless streams of emotion that make everything beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

Love.

I thought I understood what that meant over the last few years. When I gained a best friend, when I forgave someone who abused me as a child, when my heart felt healed, when I felt joy after helping someone, I thought I understood love. All these things over the past few years have been love, but losing someone has given love a whole new meaning. Love is everywhere, in everything, in everyone, and when you lose someone, that love either leaves you or becomes you.  You either push the love outside of you or you let it flow into you. For me, love is like the emotion that won’t let go. It is ever present. It is me, and I am love, because losing someone took everything away and gave it all back wrapped in beautiful, tear-jerking, never-ending love.

It Would Be Easy to Disappear

I moved to a new state about a month ago. It was a decision that was both sudden and a long time coming. I love the atmosphere here. It is a rural town with everything I need within a 5 minute drive from my place, but I can also drive for hours and see nothing but livestock and country. I live with one of my best friends and just a couple of minutes away from my other best friend, which is great, but it makes it tempting to disappear.

I dislike trying to make new friends. I have never been very good at it. People do not usually like me right away. I am intimidating. Even my best friends found me intimidating when they first met me. I do not tend to make good first impressions. And living with one of my friends makes it easy to not feel like I need others. Emotionally, I am an extrovert. I need people like I need to breathe. But I struggle when I have negative experiences with people.

Tonight was hard. I tried to go to an activity for my church group, but I could not find them at the park area where we were supposed to meet. I haven’t been there long enough to recognize faces in crowds, and there were a lot of other groups there tonight. I want to give up. I have friends. I live with a friend. Do I need to try to make more friends? Do I need to try to socialize here? Or can I just disappear? It would be easy to disappear.

Grief

I never understood grief. I had never lost anyone close to me suddenly or unexpectedly. My great-grandparents have all passed on, but their deaths were not a surprise and I was not emotionally close to any of them. When my nephew passed away, I suddenly understood loss. For years I struggled to understand why one of my best friends was so emotional about certain things. I could not sympathize when she struggled with a coming date that commemorated a birthday or reminded her of the day a loved one died or so many other dates that seemed to mean something to her. I simply had no experience with grief and while I tried to be supportive, I admitted to her that it was not something with which I could sympathize.

I understand grief now- not in an all-encompassing depth of knowledge, as I only have a glimpse of the journey that I now travel, but I now understand that grief is real. I have nights of not being okay. I have days where everything seems to remind me of that terrible tragedy. I know what it is like to ache for a part of you that will never return. I try not to sink too deeply into my grief. I know that I must cling to happiness because depression constantly reaches for me, simply waiting for me to slip back into its grasp. I must not succumb to the grief because it will swallow me whole if I choose not to fight. However, I do need to greet the grief. I need to welcome it and entertain it for a while because it is now a part of me that needs to be addressed. There is a balance to grieving and a balance to living. I must do both. I will do both as I traverse these new emotions that I never thought would be a part of me.

Starting Over

I’m moving to a new place. I don’t know where or when, but I know that I am leaving this house very soon. I’ve been here for a little over four years, and I have loved it. I have loved living with my brother and being there for the birth of all my nieces and nephews. I have loved being a second mom to them and sharing my life with them. But when my little nephew died, I lost a part of me. And it became hard to be home. It hurt to be such a big part of this family.

Since that time, I have been thinking about moving. I have been considering getting my own apartment or moving into an apartment with other people. So when one of my friends had apartment problems, the thought came to me that I should find a place to live with them. I fought the thought at first because I enjoy living with my family and living with this particular friend could be overwhelming because we are very close and that could make it hard to get alone time. But it just seems like the right time and right thing to do.

I feel a deep desire to start over. I tend to become someone that people can count on wherever I go. My friends, my family, my work, and my church group, all know that I will be there when they need me. They trust in that consistency because that is what I have always and will always do. But sometimes when life gets complicated, I feel the need to pull away and go somewhere where people do not expect so much of me. I will always be who I am, but sometimes it is nice for people to not know who that is yet. And I think that my biggest struggle is finding someone I can count on.

I have been here for over four years, and in that time I have made many friends that have come and gone. I have developed relationships that dwindled when someone moved away or became married. And over and over, I am reminded that I am not the kind of person that people try to spend time with. I am the person people go to with problems. I am the person people go to when they need something. I am not the person people go to to have fun. So there seems little reason to not start over by moving away to a place where no one knows me. I have the hardest time making friends, but at this point it seems to not matter much because the friends I have made here are either gone or distant for the most part.

So I am starting over. I am moving and starting over. And hopefully this all works out for the best.

Finding Light in the Dark- The Purpose of Depression

I started this post a couple months ago, but didn’t have time to finish it. I attended a devotional meeting today though that brought this back to my mind. Life is hardly ever exactly what we wanted or expected. Things change. Life happens and we find ourselves a million miles away from where we thought we wanted to be. The question is if we will make where we are, into the place where we want to be. When things do not work out and we find ourselves at a different point of life than we wanted, can we still see hope? When nothing is going right and your world seems to have crumbled around you, can you still find ways to be happy?

I first started this post the morning after a hard night. I had fallen into a state of depression. I wanted a way out of everything. I couldn’t concentrate on reasons for my existence. I just felt pain and hurt and loss. And I didn’t see a reason for me to feel that way. Things were going well for me so it was confusing as to why I would feel so hopeless when there was so much to hope for around me. The thing is though, people seem to perpetuate the myth that you need a reason to be depressed. In all reality, this is not true. I never need a reason to get depressed. Sometimes it happens on a beautiful day when the sun is shining, and I’ve just spent time with friends, and my room is clean, and my homework is done, and I’ve eaten well throughout the day. Everything can be perfect, but depression grips like a corset pulled so tight you cannot breathe.

That night was one of those times. There was no real reason for me to feel depressed, and yet my mind cascaded into feelings of being incomplete, feeling detached and withdrawn from the world, wondering what my purpose was for being alive. It didn’t make sense to feel that way when life was going so well for me. And being a logical person, I needed to find a reason for what I was going through. So, I looked up, “What is the purpose of depression?”

I didn’t find all the answers I wanted, but I did find one that felt true to me. Depression is an adaptation to help us contemplate life. It produces different thought patterns that force us to deal with things we might otherwise avoid. And it makes us find a reason for why things are the way they are. Today, another reason rang true with me. Depression has been my refining fire. Every good quality that I have has been influenced by my depression.

I remember vividly the worst period of depression I ever endured. It lasted approximately 9 months. During that time, I felt like I was being stripped of everything. My joy, my hope, my mind, my heart, my family and friends, everything was taken away from me. Although none of these things were really gone, depression made them unreachable. I could not think. I could not smile. I could not stand some of the time. The darkness around me was so thick that I felt it would extinguish everything I had left in me. But in that dark, desperate place, I found the one thing depression could not take from me. When everything else was gone and it was just me and the darkness, I found that I was not left completely desolate. I still had faith. Even if I could not hope in that moment or smile or even get up, I clung to faith. Faith was the last of my light, the one thing the darkness could not put out. And with that faith, I found hope, and with that hope, I found a way to endure.

It was promising to find out that at the core of my soul was faith, but at the time, it didn’t mean much more than just a way to get through my circumstances. In the last few months though, that knowledge has carried me through some difficult times. My sister (who is like my rock) decided to move to another state, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, and my baby nephew died, all within about 2 months. I was devastated, heartbroken, and scared, but it was not the worse thing I had ever been through. And in that sense, depression was a beautiful blessing to me because I knew that no matter how bad things got, I still had that faith at the end of the day. I could keep going because at one point, I couldn’t keep going. At one point, I had lost everything in the most real sense because when you lose yourself to depression, you become lost to everything and everything becomes lost to you. So this time, I could stand with my family and have hope.

Depression is the hardest thing I have ever been through. I still have depression and can go through long periods of feeling depressed, but I see the light in my depression. I can see the purpose of my depression. I can see the blessings it has been in my life. Is my purpose for depression the same as yours? Probably not. But, I know that you can also find purpose in your depression or in your trials. You can find light in the darkest of places. I know because I have been there, and in the greatest darkness, I found the strongest light.