A Letter to New Dads, From a Mom Who's Husband Left Her in the Thick of It

Hey New Dad!  Congratulations!  I see you and your beaming smile, surveying your new family with all the pride of a loving husband and proud father.  Life is so fresh, and exciting and new, and so are you, really.  So is your wife.  See, today your baby was born.  Which means a father was born (you), and a mother was born (your wife).  Big stuff.  Exciting and beautiful and exhilarating stuff.

Heavy stuff.

Can I talk to you frankly for a minute, New Dad?  There are some things people don't really like to talk about when you're getting ready to have a new baby.  People think it may scare you, or take away from your excitement and joy.  But I'd bet most of those people haven't been left while their babies were still babies because their husbands couldn't deal with the changes that a new baby brings.  I'm sure you are nothing like the kind of man that would consider cheating on his wife while their baby was not yet six months old.  And I'm sure you're not the kind of man that would leave your wife when your baby was not yet nine months old and file for divorce out of nowhere.

But my husband wasn't that man either.  We were both unprepared for what parenthood would do to our marriage, but I'd say that perhaps my ex was very unprepared.  So please, indulge me for a few minutes while I tell you a little bit about what a new baby brings.

I'm sure you're totally excited right now, New Dad, and happy to sacrifice your time, your personal space, your sleep, and the un-divided attention of your wife as you both figure out this whole parenthood thing.  I'd like to encourage you.  I'd like to help you be aware.  To keep your eyes open as the newness and the euphoria begins to wane.

Everyone talks about making sure their husband comes first no matter what once they have kids.  Yes.  Totally.  Your marriage is so so so important, New Dad.  Here's the thing, though.  It's going to be very very difficult for your wife, who probably totally agrees with the sentiment that you should come first in theory, to actually put anyone before your baby for a few years.  You see, the minute your baby was born, your wife's brain chemistry changed dramatically.  She is now hard-wired to respond to everything that your helpless little human does.  She's designed that way.  She'll get up to nurse your baby every two hours no matter how completely exhausted she is because she's feeling the biological imperative to care for your child.  She'll get up and walk away from you mid-sentance to get the baby out of his or her crib the minute it starts crying because she will have a physical reaction to the sound of her baby.  This is stuff you just can't really understand until you've experienced it.  Because it's so powerful.  It's so consuming.  Your wife will probably forget to eat half of the time because her need to take care of your baby is so strong.

She's not trying to neglect you.  She's not trying to neglect herself.  She's doing what she was designed and biologically programmed to do.  The thing is, our society has changed pretty dramatically in the last century.  A hundred years or so ago your wife would probably have had the daily help of her mom, her grandma, her sisters, some other female in her family.  She wouldn't have been expected to do everything on her own within weeks of giving birth.  She wouldn't have been cooking every meal, driving people around, cleaning the house, and getting up all night long without help.  But today, she is.  Your wife is trying to navigate a hostile cultural environment with very little help.  She will feel like she has to do it all, but she can't.  And she shouldn't.

You may have a hard time with all of this, New Dad.  You may start to miss the one on one time and attention that you used to get daily from your wife.  You may begin to resent the amount of love she shows your child while simultaneously repelling your physical advances at the end of the day.  You may even find yourself questioning if she still loves you because she's just not doing the things she used to do, or noticing the things about you she used to notice.

I'm begging you, New Dad, give your wife so much grace right now.  Every single aspect of her life has completely and utterly changed, and it is overwhelming.  She has no bodily autonomy.  No time for a relaxing shower.  No sleep.  If she seems distant or uninterested, offer to hang out with the baby so she can take a three hour nap.  Or a three hour shower.  Something that will help her feel like a human being again.  Put her first, like she's putting your child first.  Like she's probably put you first many times.  A New Mom needs her husband to be a lot more than she's ever needed before.  More of a support.  More of a helper around the house.  More of a quiet sounding board and listener on those rough and confusing days.  She needs strength and stability and undying empathy.

And can we talk about postpartum depression, New Dad?  Because it's a real monster.  And your wife probably won't recognize what it is for a long time.  Most doctors don't really screen for it.  Most New Moms don't really recognize it because it can manifest itself in lots of ways that may not remotely seem like "traditional depression." but will still knock her off her feet and flat on her face.

Post partum depression affects a lot of New Moms.  A lot.  Probably way more than we realize because so many go undiagnosed.  The really crappy and hard part about postpartum depression is that it can feel shameful (even though it's not!) because here is New Mom with her New Baby, and everyone is telling her that this should be the best and most beautiful time of her life, and when she doesn't feel that… well, she's probably going to think to that something must be wrong with her.  Her personality may change.  The hormonal garbage going on inside of your wife is nuts.  It's like a hydrogen bomb of hormones blasting everything in it's path and leaving destruction in it's wake.

Your wife may not seem interested in you.  Or life.  Or anything.  She may cry all of the time.  She may get angry about pretty much everything and nothing.  She may deal with crippling anxiety.  She may seem like she's a completely different person.  Every case is different.  Sometimes it's a bunch of crappy things all at once.  New Mom is probably going to complain to you.  She's probably going to talk to you about feeling overwhelmed.  Maybe unhappy.  Maybe super stressed.

Please don't tell New Mom things that are designed to hurt.  Phrases like "this is what you wanted.  If you can't handle it, maybe we shouldn't have more kids." are not helpful.  I repeat.  They are NOT helpful.  Please don't shame New Mom for struggling.  If she needs help, offer to make an appointment for her and go with her.  Take her to lunch before hand and tell her how you are there for her and always will be.  Tell her what a fantastic mom she is.  She probably doesn't feel like it, but she needs to hear it.  Over and over and over.  Please don't tell New Mom struggling with postpartum depression that she "Needs to see a counselor!!!" or that she "Needs Meds!!!!" New Mom needs kindness and gentleness and understanding and love.  Not shame.  Not guilt trips.  Not anger from New Dad because she is struggling and he doesn't know what to do or how to fix it.  Or worse, anger because she's just not living up to his expectations.

Please, New Dad, please remember that you and your wife are in such a difficult time.  No sleep, tons of new responsibility, maybe not enough support… it's trying for everyone.  Maybe you feel unhappy.  Maybe you wish your life could go back to what it was.  Maybe you are starting to think that none of this was what you signed up for.

But you did.  Maybe no one warned you that it was going to be this hard.  Maybe they did, and you didn't believe them.  Either way, New Dad, your family depends on you now.  Your wife depends on you now, more than she ever has before.  Even if she doesn't say it.  Even if she seems like she couldn't care less about spending time with you through that fog of postpartum depression and sleep deprivation.  Your family needs you, New Dad.

If you feel tempted to walk away, please go see a counselor.  Right away.  Please don't entertain selfish thoughts, New Dad.  The days are going to feel so long right now, but this really is a short time in your family's life.  And remember, your wife is a New Mom.  She's learning and changing and figuring things out along the way just like you.  Neither of you will be perfect.  That's ok.  As long as you fight for love, even when it's hard.  As long as you act out of compassion.  As long as you realize that someday soon New Mom will be able to put you first again.  But for now, maybe it's her turn to be put first.  And just maybe, New Dad, by putting her first you will find new depth that you didn't know you had.  New strength and integrity and love that you didn't realize you possessed.

I'm writing this to you, New Dad, as a New Mom who's husband didn't really do these things.  As a mom who now does all of the sleepless nights alone.  As a mom who just really desperately needed to be loved through all of the newness and hardships and postpartum garbage.  As a mom who wasn't.

New Mom may not tell you every day that she appreciates all that you do for her and your new baby.  Not today, anyway.  But one day your baby is going to have slept through the night for a week straight and your wife will finally feel rested enough to form a coherent statement of thankfulness.  Because she sees what you do for her and your little family.  Even if she is too deep in the throws of exhaustion and depression to put it into words.

This will be a really fantastically beautiful time, New Dad.  And it will also be really fantastically hard. But keep going.  The love New Mom will show you when she feels like a human being again will have been worth it.  It would have been for my ex.   But no one was there to tell him in the very beginning that this is what it would be like.  So I'll tell you.

Congratulations, New Dad.  You're going to be stretched in ways you never dreamed.  And if you can persevere and push through all of the crap, you're going to be such an amazing Dad and Husband.  A New Dad was born today.  And a with him, the possibility of a New Man as well.

Don't waste this opportunity.  It's worth it all.

Sincerely,

A New Mom Who's Husband Left in the Thick of It

The Breaker of Bridges

I feel like I'm struggling to find my voice lately.  My heart screams contradictory accusations constantly, and it's overwhelming.  But tonight I feel like I owe some brutal honesty to my husband. Honesty about my heart and my failings and my struggles.

I can be really selfish.  Like most people I imagine myself to be benevolent, supportive, encouraging, loving, etc etc.  I feel that those were the things I have always tried to be.  Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail miserably.  Often I fail miserably.  Eventually my gaze turns from being all of those great things for someone else to my own needs.  The things I believe I "deserve" and am "owed."  I am a largely confident and independent person, so I can go a decent amount of time in "selfless mode" and be ok.  For the most part I am able to meet my own needs, and I try to rely on Jesus to meet them.  But everyone has a breaking point.  Maybe the fault is my own.  Maybe I'm never really vulnerable enough from the get-go so it's easy to forget that I can be... maybe my difficulty lies in expressing my needs or the things I long for.  At least while they are manageable and before they lead to situations where I am bombarding my loved ones with very strongly spoken needs when I can no longer sustain myself without help, without tenderness from another, without someone taking care of me.  Bottled up, pent up, messed up feelings bubble over seemingly out of nowhere.  I'm sure it's overwhelming.

I've come to realize that my self sufficiency isn't all it's cracked up to be.  It's really just crappy pride. It's ok to need someone else and let them know they are needed.  It's not weakness.  But I still struggle with that.  It feels like weakness.

I hate being weak.

The problem is, and here's where it gets really muddy and confusing.  Trust me, I don't even understand myself.  I'm not just saying that...

I long for someone to invite me to be weak.

Confused yet?  Yep.  I imagine that my poor husband was too.

Let me try to break this down.  It's not going to make much sense.  Sorry.

I want to be able to be weak.

But I don't want to say it out loud to anyone.  It feels pathetic and shameful and for whatever reason, my damn pride wouldn't just let me say "I struggle with letting someone else be the strong one.  I feel like it always has to be me.  People tell me I'm "strong" often enough that it feels as if to be anything otherwise would somehow be wrong.  But it's so lonely and tiring to be "strong" all of the time.  All I've ever really wanted was for someone to look me in the eyes and tell me that I could rest with them.  That I could lay some of my burdens down and that they would gladly take them up when they started to feel too heavy.  That they wanted to be strong for me so that I didn't have to be.  Not all of the time.  That I could never be everything to everyone, and that's ok.  That I shouldn't feel that I have to be."

So when he couldn't read my mind, and my damn pride wouldn't let those words flow out of me, and I just got so tired, I retreated into myself.

I wish I hadn't done it.  It was lonely, and it made him feel lonely.  I see it now.  I just couldn't see it then.  Pride has a way of obscuring the truth.  Of making our sins and our brokenness and our weaknesses feel like something we have to hold onto for dear life.

The devil has really perfected that tactic.  Why didn't I see it?  (Now there I go again- that's my pride talking.  I didn't see it because in order to grow and to change and to mature you have to go through the fire.  I wasn't born all knowing?  Nope.  No, self, you were not.  Now stop it.)

I could go on and on and on about all of the ways I hate my pride.  The ways I hate pride in general. You could read for hours and I'm sure I would barely begin to scratch the surface of how awful and isolating and shattering pride is.

Let's look at it this way; if love is a bridge between two people, pride is the wind and the rain and the perpetual heavy-traffic and erosion.  At first it doesn't do structural damage to the bridge.  Maybe it's some cosmetic scratches and dings and dents, but you look at the bridge's supports and you know you're doing ok.  Maybe you patch the pot holes that start to pop up, maybe you just live with them as a consequence of time, a natural occurrence.  It is a bridge, after all.  It's going to get some wear and tear. Eventually you stop calling the engineers to inspect your bridge.  You're confident that this bridge was built to last.  This bridge can hold any weight.  Then one day it can't.  A giant semi barrels over this bridge that has been cracked and weather-beaten and fallen into disrepair, and the middle drops out.  The bridge has split into two, and there are only a few possible outcomes.

1. Both parties lay down their pride and don't engage in the futility of laying blame and rebuild that bridge because it's important.  It does important work.  It's harder to rebuild it than it would have been to do some simple repairs throughout the years, but it can be rebuilt.  And it can be built even stronger than it was before.

2.  One party blames the other for the destruction of the bridge.  They level at the other all of the evidence that they can find about how the offending party should have seen the damage that was being done to the bridge, but didn't.  Or they didn't care enough to fix it.  The party being blamed knows they played a part in the destruction of the bridge, but their pride rises up out of feelings of hurt and fear and confusion and no progress is made.  Impasse.  Again, this doesn't have to mean the total destruction of the bridge, simply that the work becomes two-fold.  The bridge must be repaired, but first so must the parties ability to work together for a positive outcome.

3.  Both parties shore up their pride and scream across the ever-growing divide at the other.  No one takes responsibility.  No one picks up the bricks and the stones in order to repair the bridge.  Instead they hurl them at one another until the expanse between them is so wide that it feels impossible that there was ever a bridge there to begin with.

I'm sure you see that there could be plenty of variations, but in the end it all boils down to pride. Freaking, selfish, pointless, death-blow-delivering pride.

Guys, it really doesn't matter who he is in these scenarios.  I can't control his behavior, and as much as I sometimes think I want to, I don't.  I want to be loved freely.  Forgiven freely.  Reached out to freely.  So all I can do is take responsibility for who I am in these scenarios.  And that has proven to be an incredibly difficult and painful task.  One which I have failed at pretty miserably.

I've attempted some rebuilding.  I really have.  It's what I want.  It's what my heart desires completely.  However, if I'm being honest with myself and all of you, I've done a whole lot of screaming and hurling and closing up.  Trying to overcome intense grief and fear and pain to be the person that quietly begins the process of rebuilding regardless of the actions of the other bested me.  I wish it hadn't, but it did.

So here I am, sitting alone at my desk, thinking about how things could have gone differently if I'd just let go of my pride and decided that doing what had to be done to save my marriage was worth more than my ego.  It's a crappy place to be.  And if you learn anything from me, learn this-

It isn't worth it.  Pride isn't worth it.  It never is, no matter how loudly it screams at you from the dark places of your heart.  Squash it.  Pray for the death of it.  Tell the devil where he can shove his contemptible sin.  Because love is worth everything.  I'm telling you this as someone mourning, deeply, the love she has lost.  Love is worth everything.  Be better than me.  Be more humble and gracious than me.  Maybe it won't solve your problems.  Maybe your bridge won't be repaired either. But at least you won't have to struggle with the regret that comes along with the destruction pride brings.

At least your heart won't harden and require reviving.

Of all the things I regret, of all the things I blame for the destruction of the one thing I held more dear than anything else, no matter how imperfectly, I regret letting pride get the better of me.  It has been a costly lesson.  The price is higher than I ever wanted to pay, and the regrets that will linger because of that will be pretty hard to get over.

Choose love, guys.  More than I did.  Choose humility and empathy and grace.  More than I did.  If all my messy brokenness helps one person find the strength to let Jesus flow through them in weakness and meekness and humility, then at least something good has come out of this.

Choose love.

A Love Note to the Broken Hearted

This is a love note for the broken hearted.  The ones betrayed and abandoned, broken and misused. This is a sonnet for the lonely and exhausted, the ones with swollen red eyes and empty hearts.

You're not invisible.

He sees you.  He knows.

You're not crazy.

He is not fooled by the confidently spoken lies of another, or the manipulative games.

You're not alone.

He is with you, and He is enough.  He's so much more than enough.  Everything good comes from Him.  Everything.  And He will never, ever, ever, ever, ever leave you or forsake you.

Your tears are not shed in secret.

He weeps with you.  He mourns with you.  He suffers with you.  He also whispers hope and life and comfort to your heart.  Not one tear falls from your eyes that He does not see.  Not one.

Your grief is not too much for Him.

He is no stranger to grief.  He was despised and rejected.  He was mocked and crucified.  He bore the sins and shame of those who hated Him while He himself was blameless.  Your grief will not break Him.  His arms are strong.  He will carry you and never tire.

You will not be broken by this.

He is for you.  His left hand is upholding you.  He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.  He will be what you need.  And then some.

Press into the one who is worthy of all love and adoration.  He has you.  He really does.  No matter how bleak and terrible and heart-shattering things seem right now, He will not let the waters overtake you.  He loves you.  So much.  So much more than any mortal man ever could or will.  He has good things for you.  He is a God that loves to fashion beautiful things out of the wreckage of sin and evil. He is masterful at this kind of creation.

And He loves you.  Unceasingly.

Work Together for Good

I've been thinking a lot lately about Romans 8:27-28.

"Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God.

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose."

When I used to read those verses it meant that God was going to make sure that everything would work out well in my life, that, at the end of the day, everything would turn out ok.  Perhaps it was that mindset that kept me in denial about the reality of my situation for months.

Everything is going to work out.  It will be ok.  God will bring good from this.

When I would read this verse before, I was leaving out one key truth- people are sinful.  Because people are inherently sinful and filled with evil, even things that are God-ordained and meant to be inherently good can be, and all too often are, corrupted.  A father leaves his family, a child is killed by a drunk driver, a spouse commits adultery, and on and on and on...  In reading this verse I was too often tempted to view God as one who would just sweep up the mess, make sure that we didn't get too out of line, and shout loudly in the face of his rebellious and wayward children.  Surely God will work all things for good by imposing His divine will, right?

If the last few months have taught me anything, it's that God won't impose anything on us.  He won't impose His humility on me when I am lashing out in anger and pain.  He won't impose His purity on my words that are hurtful and crass.  He won't impose forgiveness upon someone steeped in bitterness and resentment.  He won't impose repentance on the unrepentant.

Sometimes the fact that He won't impose what is right on us really ticks me off.  I mean, I'm suffering!  Come on, Daddy, help me!  Clean up this mess that is my life, because I can't figure out how to!  And seriously, that person that has wronged me- make them sorry.  Make them repentant, Lord.  Make them see the sinful and evil nature of their ways.  Easy fix it, Daddy.  I want an easy fix.

Here's the thing.  God isn't promising that things will work out the way we want them to in Romans 8, simply that He will work all of it for good.  Now, it's become painfully clear that my idea of good is often in conflict with my Heavenly Father's idea of good.

Me- fix my marriage, God!  Bring my family back together.  Bring healing and reconciliation.  Help us love better.

God- I can't make either of you do anything, and I won't.  Your hearts can't go through real change or growth or redemption if I sweep all of this under the rug.  Lean on me.  That way, even if all of this falls apart at your feet, you will know that you are secure on the one thing that cannot be shaken- ME.  I know you want love, sweet daughter, I know you want someone to see your heart for all that it is- the good, the bad, and the ugly- and still choose you.  To still love you.  To still tell you you are worthy and beautiful. So open your eyes, my child, because I AM all of those things.  I chose you while you hated me.  I loved you while you spat on me.  I saw you then and I see you now, and you are beautiful and worth all of the pain and the sacrifice and the laying down of my Son's life.  You are worth while and loved so intensely.  Look to me.  Look to me.  I will be the good.  I will be the love.  I will be the strong arms that hold you and let you fall apart.  Look to me.  I've got you and I am never ever ever going to leave you.

Me- Ok, God, that is all well and good, and I want you to be all of those things.  So can you fix my marriage now?  Can you just help me to be whatever it is that he needs me to be so he will love me? Can you just make him see sense and tell him that what he is doing is wrong?

God- I know you're hurting, Copper.  I know you are grieving.  But you have a lot that you need to let me work on in you.  You have to stop worrying about all of the things that I need to do in him.  His time will come.  Maybe not as soon as you like- maybe too late for things to be made whole- but that's not something that you can control, so just let me take it.  Maybe your life won't look the way you dreamt it would.  Maybe you will have to know the sting of loss.  But here's the thing- that's not the end of your story.  I won't let that be the end-all.  I'm going to do works in you that are going to be so good.  And you can't see all that I can.  Your life still holds so much beauty and possibility. Just trust me.  Lean into me.  I AM the good.  I AM enough.  

So maybe my life is going to play out a little differently than I'd hoped.  Ok, maybe a lot differently. Maybe not.  That's the thing- I don't know.  But I do know that God will work it all for good.  Even if it's not necessarily my good.  Maybe my pain will bring help and hope and healing to someone down the road.  Maybe God will use all of this to shape me and mold me and give me the voice He wants me to have.  To speak life to someone that feels like they are dying.  I don't know.  I do know that He's got this.  And that I'm weak, so I am going to have to remind myself over and over and over that He has it all under control.  He's got this.  He's got me.  He is good.

Enough

A prayer for the broken hearted, the weary, the grieving, and the scared.

In the midst of darkness, Lord you are always the light.  You always break in.  You illuminate the truth, cause the devil to flee, and bring hope.  Help us to look to you.  Help us to see even the tiniest pin-prick of your light in every situation.  You are sovereign.  You are truth.

In times of great sorrow, you weep with us, Lord.  You carry our burdens.  You feel them as though they are your own.  Because we are your own.  You weep with those who weep.  You mourn with those who mourn.  You ache with those who ache.  We are never alone in the enormity of it all.  You are with us.  Help us feel your closeness.  Help our hearts to stay soft and open.  Help us lean into you in our distress, for you alone are true comfort.

In times of trials you stand beside us, Lord.  You lead us, and your right hand upholds us.  When we lose our temper, scream words of hate in our anger, or stew in unforgiveness, you gently bring correction.  You whisper your words of truth, of humility, and bring our heart back into agreement with yours.  When injustices are committed against us, you are our defender, our voice, our justification.  Help us grow in meekness and humility.  Help us understand that in our silence we give you space to be loud.

When evil is done to us, you are never idle, Lord.  You always create something good out of the ashes.  You redeem the wrongs and bring beauty and life.  It may not look the way we want it to, it may take more time than we'd like, it may not feel like good in the moment, but you are faithful.  You are the creator of beauty, the author of life.  You will work all things for good for those who love you because your word is true.  You never lie.  And you have promised good for those who love you.  Not easiness.  Not prosperity.  Not riches or wealth.  But good.  Help us see and desire your good.

When everything feels like it is crashing down at our feet, help us rejoice, because we have the only treasure that matters.  We have you, and you are all we need.  You are our portion.  You are our reward.  Help us to praise you as our idols crumble and we are able to see, once again, that our hopes and our dreams and our lives are so much better when you are what we treasure.  Loosen our grasp on the things of this world that are keeping us from you, knowing that if you will be glorified through it, you can place the things we were gripping so tightly back into our hands.

Lord, no matter what happens, let us be able to say in all truth that it is well with our souls.  As long as you are with us, it is well.

Remake us into your image more and more.  Let love and compassion, long-suffering and grace, forgiveness and mercy flow out of these places of desperation and pain.  Replace all that is broken and dead within our hearts with more of you.

Be near to all who are bowed low.  Be our hope.  Be our strength.  Be our light.  Be our love.  Be our song.  Because you are enough.

You are enough.

Of death, trust, and fear

I've been home with my parents visiting for about a week now, with one more week to go.  I simply couldn't face the idea of Christmas spent with my husband, who no longer wants to be my husband, pretending that everything is ok so my kids could have a good day.  Maybe it was selfish to take them away for two weeks over Christmas and New Years.  Maybe it wasn't.  Either way, it has meant that I'm not dealing with the death of my marriage alone.  And for that, I am grateful.

I wish I could express how stormy my heart is right now.  I'm riding this crazy ocean of peaks and valleys, and the waves of grief are tossing me around pretty intensely.  In one moment I feel like my heart will never recover, in the next I feel like of course God hates divorce, but perhaps He will use this to bring someone stable and Godly into our lives way down the road.  In one moment I feel completely hopeless and fearful, in the next I remember all of the little ways God has shown His care and provision along the way.  I feel intense anger for the instability my kids will now have to face, and intense gratitude for their uncle, godfather, grandpa, and friends who will be there to pick up the slack and show them what a Godly man looks like and how how a husband and a father should be expected to be.  It's a giant mess, basically.  My heart.  Full of contradictory and ridiculous thoughts and feelings.

One thing I know for sure is that I'm in the overwhelming process of mourning.

I'm mourning the loss of a husband that I have loved for eight years.  I'm mourning the loss of the instinctive trust I put in people because of my husband's infidelity.  I'm mourning the loss of a stable family for my kids, and the knowledge that both parents will be there when they go to sleep and when they wake every day.  I'm mourning the loss of the man I used to know, who has been replaced by a complete stranger who is bitter and hateful and cruel.  I'm mourning the girl I used to be, full of life and spirit and confidence.  I'm mourning for my husband's heart, because I'm watching it turn to stone and ice right in front of me.  I'm mourning the loss of a lot of things.

It feels overwhelming and scary.

It appears that the Lord is going to use this situation to ask me to learn how to do something that I've never done particularly well: trust that even though nothing is stable, and I have no idea what the future holds, that He will take care of me.  I hate not knowing what is going to happen.  I hate surprises.  I hate mystery.  I want to know what lies ahead of me both literally and figuratively.

That's a luxury I no longer have.

You have no idea the level of anxiety that produces in me.

I believe that this isn't what God wants.  I believe that He means it when He says that no man should separate what He has joined together.  I believe that He mourns with me, that He would have restoration and healing where the devil would kill and destroy.  I believe that this is not His will, but that He will absolutely bring me through it and bring good out of it.  This is a situation brought on by sin and unforgiveness, selfishness, and lies.  None of those things come from the Lord, so I can't blame Him for this mess.  I blame myself.  I blame my husband.  I blame the devil.  But I don't blame God.  He has made sure I've seen His hand and His mercies along the way.  I believe He is reminding me that even if I can't see where this road will take me, that He does, and He is already preparing the way.  That my kids and I will be ok.  Better than ok.  Maybe not now, but some day down the road.

I never thought that my life would hold this.  I never thought my husband was capable of any of this. It breaks my heart to watch the man that I love give up everything that made him good and amazing and kind.  It breaks my heart that my actions had any part in helping him along this crappy dark road. But I can't take responsibility for anyone's heart but my own.  I can't do anything for his but pray. Pray and tell myself that this isn't a nightmare, it's reality, and I can't ignore that it's not going to work out the way I hoped it would.

I'm struggling to trust the Lord.  I'm struggling to believe with my heart what I know with my mind. God isn't like my husband.  He is never fickle.  He is never cruel.  He will never leave me or forsake me, no matter how screwed up or depressed or broken I am.  He will never withhold forgiveness or the chance for redemption.  He is not going to leave me hanging with just the bare minimum amount of effort or provision that He has legally required Himself to provide.

He is abundant and great.  Loving and kind.  Merciful and just.  He has hope and a future for me no matter how bleak it looks in the moment.  My Daddy will work even this for good, because He loves me, and I love Him.  I just keep praying that He will help my unbelief.  Take away my ever-growing trust issues and help grow my heart in trust and the knowledge that He is bigger than all of this garbage.

I have a lot of fear.  I'm scared of what this will do to my kids.  I'm worried that their lives will be unstable and scary, that they will feel responsible no matter how many times I tell them otherwise.  I fear the probable poverty that they and I will now live in, and the struggles that will bring to them.  I am incredibly scared of dying alone.  That no one will ever find me worth loving the way I have always hoped to be loved.  I worry that my daughter will never fully trust her future husband to stand by her no matter how hard life is because her father didn't stand by her mom when things went from better to worse.  I worry that my son will not feel the weight of his responsibility and the weight and holiness of his marriage vows and quit when it feels like there's just not enough in it for him anymore.  I worry and worry and worry.  Worst case scenarios play like a silent film in my head almost constantly.

I don't yet know how to surrender all of those fears to the Lord.  I don't know how to loosen the death-grip I hold them with.  I don't know how to get over any of this.  Or even how to start.

I suppose I now have plenty of opportunities to learn, and for the Lord to show me how to trust Him and how to give it all to Him.  I just need to remind myself that I'd do anything, and I will do anything to make sure that my children's lives are beautiful no matter what happens.  And I don't possess even a fraction of the love of my Heavenly Father.  So how much more will He do anything for me and my kids?  I wish that there were no ashes for Him to create beauty from, but I know that He will.  I'm choosing to believe that He will.

Lord, help my unbelief.

Walls

Ever since I was a little girl, I had a rebellious response to hurt inflicted by those I love.  Whether the hurt was intentional or not, if I felt it deeply, if it felt like an attack on my inherent worth as a person, I put up a wall fortified by rebellion.

Let me explain what I mean by that.  When I was a child (I can't have been older than jr high age), my mom took me clothes shopping.  We were having a good time, trying on clothes in the Kohl's dressing room when she made a small, offhand remark that I'm sure she immediately forgot.

"You'd look so cute if you lost five pounds!'

My poor mom.  Mom, if you're reading this, don't worry- I'm not holding any of this against you, it's just my earliest memory of putting up rebellion-based walls.

Anyway.  It was one short sentence, but it echoed throughout my heart like roaring thunder.  I heard "You're not cute now.  If you want anyone to love you, you need to lose weight.  You're not good enough the way you are."  And in my heart, I made a vow.  It shouldn't matter if I lost five pounds.  It shouldn't matter if I gained 50.  If someone couldn't love me for who I am rather than how much I weigh or what I look like, they simply weren't worth my time, energy, or consideration.  And that vow set me down a path of doing exactly the opposite of what my mom suggested.  My weight is still, and probably always will be, a huge struggle for me because I spent so much of my young adult life rebelling against the sentiment that my value was measured by my weight or beauty.  I gained weight and gained weight and gained weight but I didn't care.  If the right guy couldn't love me despite that, he wasn't the right guy.

A wall fortified by rebellion.

I'm thirty one now, and I still do this.  It's an incredibly unhealthy defense mechanism, but incredibly hard to break.  It's playing out similarly, yet differently now.

I love my husband.  Despite everything.  I want to fight for our marriage.  I want to do everything I can to make things better.  But the fear... the fear is crazy.  It says "What if he only decides to stay and fight for you because you were being a 'good little girl,' and the second you lose it, he will leave again?"  It says, "He should love you and be committed to you no matter what!  Screw him if he's not! How dare he expect you to be perfect when he has done so much damage!"  The fear shakes my heart and  yells that vulnerability is foolish.  That he has no right to be angry because of my anger.  And so, when I'm longing to be vulnerable in a tough moment, there's this battle going on inside of my heart. The old voices scream "If he can't love you when you're weak and depressed and exhausted... if he can't love you when you are struggling and need love and support, then he isn't worth it.  Push him away.  Make him show you his true colors.  If he doesn't want to fight for you even when you are being a straight up crazy person, he's not worth your heart!"

So I put up walls.  Fortified by rebellion.

And then... when my husband doesn't scale those walls, I'm left wondering if they had the desired outcome.  Did they actually protect me?  Or have I hurt myself further?  Not my husband, but me. Have I hurt myself?

Here's the thing I'm coming to realize.  My walls don't keep the pain out.  They don't create a barrier that pain and hurt and disappointment simply bounce off.  They keep it locked up with me.  My walls give that pain no where to go.  No where but deeper into my heart.

It's not been an easy lesson to learn.  In fact, I'd say I've just barely begun to chip away at some pretty big, bad habits.  All too often I respond to pain or fear with harsh words that are meant to push the man that I love away.  Because I'm scared that if I try to draw him in and he rejects me, that I may not make it out whole.  I'm scared to be real, and let my brokenness be seen, because I feel like it's part of the reason that we're in this mess in the first place.  That my struggles and brokenness and depression were just too much to handle.  A perfectly played assault by the devil, really.  Get the girl who doesn't like to be weak to show her weakness, and then use that weakness to create cracks in her marriage due to various circumstances, and then deal the death-blow.  Get her husband to reject her because of her weaknesses.  Because of her brokenness.  Because she simply couldn't be strong anymore.

Please understand- I'm far, far, far from perfect.  I've inflicted as much pain as I've sustained.  I totally know this.  The difficult part of humanity is that we are only able to see our side of the story well.  We can try to put ourselves in someone else's shoes and feel their pain, and understand why they acted the way they did, but it never sticks quite like our own pain.  So hear me when I say that in my brokenness I was not a very good wife for the last part of our marriage.  I was barely there.  An anxiety-filled, exhausted, strangely rage-y person who should have taken herself to the doctor to talk about postpartum anxiety and depression way before I finally did.  A story about the wounds I've inflicted I will save for another day or this post will never end.

What I'm getting at here is that I know my worth.  With my head.  But when those I love make me question it, it hurts.  A lot.  And I don't respond well.  Instead of bringing that stuff to the Lord and asking Him to take it, I build up huge walls.  But they have never actually protected me.  They've never made me strong.  In fact, they've weakened me because I'm so busy trying to keep those voices out, trying to shout over the din that "I AM worth it!  No matter what you say!" that I have completely missed the still, small voice of the one that truly matters.  I've been so angry and so adamant and so rebellious, that my heart is never still enough to hear the way He sees me.  It's never quiet enough to hear Him tell me of my worth.  And maybe that's the worst part of all.

How many times have I simply shushed the Lord when He wanted to tell me that I was beautiful, or kind, or precious?  How many times have I stopped up my ears while He was whispering that sometimes strength is letting yourself be vulnerable even if it may hurt.  How many times have I missed Him telling me that I am a daughter of the Most High King, and I am loved by the One who is not just good enough, but the best because I was too busy building up those walls?

Regret is a pretty debilitating force.  And I have quite a lot to regret.  All of those walls, all of the rebellious tantrums, and all of the times where I simply chose not to turn to the only source of truth, acceptance, love, and the only being in existence who truly, truly sees me and knows my worth.   The thing is, I think I've chosen destructive coping mechanisms long enough.  I'm not going to add regret to the list.  At least I'm fighting not to.  Just like I'm going to have to start tearing down the walls I've built, and fight against my urge to continue to build them in this situation.  Which is going to be a huge struggle, and it has been.

I am trying to remind myself that when the people I love most in the world hurt me, it is probably because they have been hurt too.  And I can add to both of our hurts, or I can ask the Lord to help me choose love and mercy and grace.

I want to choose the latter.  I'm going to fail more times than I would like, but I really want to choose love.  Not rebellion.  Why would I want to rebel against a Daddy who has provided me with every good thing, and who loves me beyond what any mortal man is capable of?

Life is messy.  And painful.  And grief isn't rational.  But God is bigger than all of that, and He's certainly not left me.  I know that none of this is what He wants.  That He grieves with me.  And that's why I can say that I'll be ok, even if I don't build any walls and am still rejected.  Eventually I will be ok.  Because He loves me.  He loves me, and my worth is in Him.

My worth is in Christ.