Tired and Grateful

My days go like this:

Wake up feeling like something large has run over me, perhaps a rhinocerous

Read Scriptures, Write in Journal, get dressed and hug, diaper, clothe and perhaps bathe protesting, independent children who only want to run free and wild

Do school for an hour or so, in spite of tantrums over how much math and how much reading and whether lowercase letters are necessary

Send the kids outside and do laundry/tidy/give kids snack/kiss cuts/tell toddler not to whack his baby brother with sticks

Try to control the chaos of small children/go outside with the kids/sit exhaustedly in a chair in the shade and let the dog lick me

Make lunch & insist that bananas and carrots are important food

Put the babies down for nap/send the older kids outside with a reminder not to hit one another with sticks/dig up the yard with shovels/play with power tools

Write

Do YW calling

Market/submit

Try to fall asleep if possible for perhaps 15 minutes

As they come in the door, lecture adolescent daughters who forgot to brush hair/wear jeans without holes/wear shirts without stains/wear coats when it's snowing

Help school kids with homework/pick up or drop off from Piano lessons or soccer or playdates

Make dinner, which must be made so people can eat

Eat dinner, which must be eaten in spite of the fact that it's hard to like something I've actually made (why is that??)

Do chores/send kids to play practice/try not to snap or yell too much

Play games with the kids after chores/go to mutual

Collapse into bed and want to do nothing but lay there with Jeff and watch Poirot or Star Trek.


I feel like, lately, I've been losing my ground on sleep. We've had sick kids, I've had a stressful month. I'm struggling to be able to go to sleep, to be able to stay asleep, to be able to sleep in if I've not been able to go to sleep or stay asleep.

Honestly, I'm pretty exhausted.

Jeff and I are trying to move on to the next phase of getting the greenhouse ready. What's stalling us right now is we don't know how to do interiors... to put siding on interior windows/windowframes/beams/etc, how to make it look good. So we're waiting for a consult, right now. We could do the outside but we need to buy all the siding in one shot, so we get a good enough deal on it. We've set aside a bit of our tax return (usually all put toward paying off the house) for this purpose. But we have not had time, yet, since January, to actually have someone come in and look, or to decide on what kind of siding we want.

I guess I should feel grateful I'm dealing with these sorts of stresses, and not the sorts of stresses some mothers in rural Africa, for instance, are dealing with right now. I'm struggling because I don't have energy to make dinner... there are mothers out there who are struggling because they don't have food to make dinner. I'm stressed sending my kids off to play practice, there are mothers out there whose children are forcibly taken from them and made to go to war. I'm struggling to teach my adolescent daughters how to care for themselves physically and emotionally... there are mothers out there who are preparing their young thirteen year old daughters for marriage and the exhausting, heartbreaking life they've had to endure themselves. I'm struggling because i'm not getting enough sleep. There are mothers out there who are staying awake all night taking care of children dying of malaria, of aids, of starvation.

Sorry. I know that's a bit morbid. It's how I think though. I guess I'm just a bit morbid. I'm grateful that I have all my kids here, safe, and that I can keep them safe.

I'm tired and grateful.

California Adventures, day 1

So yesterday I left my home and half my family behind in Idaho, to travel to the mysterious and magical place of my childhood. I have my four youngest with me, while the four older stayed behind with Jeff. I'm here to watch my two little sisters while my parents journey to China for the last time to adopt a daughter. I'm also here to introduce my children to the fairtyales of my childhood:


the grocery store of yore, at the edge of the ponderosa groves

Where milk is twice as delicious, so it has to be twice as expensive.

The garden full of mystical asian pines and small, quiet pools where there are no goldfish because Herons feel right at home coming to steal them

And parks have three-story slides that adults are hesitant to utilize, even with the goading of their offspring

And creeks are populated with squirrels which are likely to be capable of speech

and there are gremlins

and giant things.

I'm also here to do some family history. My mother's the first convert, and so a lot of the history is oral, or in jumbled piles in boxes. I brought my scanner and my laptop. I'm transcribing and scanning.

I'm also planning on visiting a few places--a graveyard an hour away in Wheatland where my grandmother and grandfather are buried and one three hours away in Sonora, where some of my ancestors are buried.

My mother has never been there to see them. I don't even know if they're there for sure.


There are some family history mysteries to solve. I don't know the name of my great, great, great, great grandmother Silveira-Pereira. She and her husband perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Maine in 1839, a year where there were lots of terrible storms during the early winter months, and many ships wrecked and many people died. I am going to the county library in the place where the Silvers settled a hundred and fifty years ago. I've heard there's a lot of information there on the family. Nobody's gone there to investigate. That I know about, at least. It's possible that a name is written somewhere on a stray piece of paper, or on a record. That is my goal this trip--find the name of my four-greats grandmother. THey were the generation that immigrated from Portugal... the next step after finding her, would be to go over there, to the Azores Islands. A job for my brother, probably-- he served a Portuguese-speaking mission in Brazil.

While I was writing this, my four year old daughter went outside to play. For some unknown reason (mostly because she is my daughter) she decided to remove her shoes. She just stepped on a digger pine cone and cut her foot. Can I claim her as the ninth generation of californians, now that the red dirt of my childhood is literally in her veins?

On Problems

When I post from this blog on twitter, it always ends up on facebook with a giant picture of my face. Which I hate. I realized recently (when I posed a blog with pictures) that twitter just wants a picture from my post--any picture--and it will choose my face if I don't find something else to give it. So, from now on I'm including at least one picture in every post. One, possibly random, but still nice picture that twitter can decide to use instead of my face.

Random Birdwing Butterfly


Actually, that picture might get me in trouble because look, it has a logo. So it's not in the public domain. It was, however, one of a few I have saved on my laptop. The reason why I had this is I was talking with a good friend (whom I have talked about several times on this blog, who also happens to be my bishop) about random things and occasionally I will send him a picture of something we both like. We both like this butterfly because it has his favorite color in it and also my favorite color in it, and I love butterflies, and he has come to like butterflies because I love them. Anyway, I sent him this butterfly several days ago. So it's on my desktop. Random explanation for random picture.

And really what I'm doing now is stalling, because I don't want to write this post. But I kind of have to. It's one of those prompting things, and on facebook this meme came up--the Thomas S. Monson quote of "Never, ever ever postpone a prompting." Heavenly Father is telling me something this morning.

So, yeah. I'm about to get painfully vulnerable. Sorry, or you're welcome, or whatever it is I need to say to you about that.

This is a hard time of year for me. It's, as I've stated in previous years, the time that evokes my feelings in an anniversary reaction. People who've gone through trauma might know what I'm talking about--that around the same time of year, or on an anniversary, of something really difficult that has happened to you, you start feeling cruddy. Or sad. Or just, your feelings are really intense and they burden you and make it harder to cope.

I have been, this year, more unapologetic about it, and my needs during this time, which I think has allowed me to feel the full scope of emotions and deal with them, which is what needs to happen. I think anniversary reactions are there because it gives you a chance to sort through emotions--they're intense enough and are on the surface where other times they might be buried pretty deep. So I'm working on that right now.

I have spent a lot of time, this time, talking to my husband. And also talking to my bishop, he's found time each day to see me for around half an hour, and it has been very helpful. I just feel very, very grateful for such a good priesthood leader and friend. Have I said that before? Yes I have. But I need to say it again.

I have also spent a lot of time being emotional around my husband. Which is very difficult for me, but which I am grateful I'm actually capable of right now. Have I said what a miracle Jeffrey is in my life before? Yes I have, but it needs to be said over and over. He is the singular most miraculous thing that has ever happened or ever will happen to me.

Last night. It was actually a pretty terrible night--lots of feelings as I came away from the business of the day that keeps me occupied and paying less attention. Just really, really difficult feelings. And last night the smoke detector went off randomly and I woke up to some really difficult feelings, too--like an anxiety attack. I struggle with that. If I wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep quickly, the racing, distorted thoughts take over and not only do I not get the rest I need, my mind basically is hurting itself. It makes me wonder if somehow my mind addresses lots of issues and concerns and stuff while I am sleeping so that I don't have to deal with it when I'm awake. I don't know. It's possible.

Anyway, I woke up all the way and had to deal with that.

And then when I finally fell back asleep, I had a very strange dream. I dreamed that someone in my family--an in-law--was talking with me and as they talked, I realized they were really struggling. And as we continued the conversation, I realized that, in fact, they were really, really, really struggling emotionally. Terrible struggles. Finally this person kind of threw out her hands and said, "Sarah, I don't understand. With everything you went through, how come you don't have big, big problems?"

And I thought about it. It kind of hit hard. I realized that to her, I seem like I'm awesome or strong or really functional or something and that she was feeling sort of crushed by her own comparison, because it seemed I was not struggling as she was, and why was she struggling when she didn't have an event like mine (few people do, let's face it) to pin struggles on?

So I told her, in my dream.

I do. I really, really really struggle. Life is not easy. It feels crushing, sometimes. But I think two things are what has saved me, and saved the emotional well-being of my family as we struggle. I decided, a long time ago, that I will never, ever do two things. No matter how bad things get, I will never do two things. I will never

1) Leave my family.

That means I will never physically leave them, but it also means I will never do anything that is tantamount to leaving them. Like leaving the church, because that is leaving the covenant I made with them--that is leaving them in the eternity, in a way. It also means I will never commit sins that will keep me from being with them, or will break our family apart.

and I will never:

2) take my own life.

When I was young, my mother told me the story of her cousin. His dad (my great uncle) drank. He was not a good person to be around when he drank. My cousin felt like his life was pretty terrible and so at age twelve, he took his father's shotgun into the barn and shot himself.

I think that this, and also my grandmother's death at a young age, put the fear of God in my mother at the thought of this happening--to anyone she loved, to herself. She sees life as a precious and priceless gift, not one you should ever throw away. And as she reiterated to me and my siblings, like a mantra, growing up, "it always, always, always gets better. Always. Don't do something stupid because of a bad moment."

So even though I really do struggle, and I sometimes fall into a really deep pit of negative emotions--life is worthless, I am worthless, nobody loves me, this world would be better if I'm gone, etc; I know that ending it's not the answer. I know that what would happen in that case is, I would wake up on the other side and immediately think "what a stupid thing I did," and then I'd have to watch my family mourn and struggle and be betrayed and traumatized and then, eventually, move on.

Sorry. This is pretty gritty. I warned you, though.

So I want to tell the internets, and whomever I'm supposed to be writing to right now that, yes, I struggle. I struggle to the point, on occasion, where I can't get out of bed. I struggle to the point where I don't react well to my family--I have to isolate so I don't do damage because I know I'm not reacting correctly. I have to bite my lip or bite my tongue and not. say. a word. Because I know that the feelings I'm having and the words that would come out of my mouth would not be words I'd say if I were in my right mind.

I struggle with intense feelings of anxiety, paranoia, self-loathing. And there are some situations (like at church, unfortunately) when the negative emotions are just an assault at times--like being caught in a tornado, all I can do is let it pass and sort of wait. And hopefully not do any damage in the meantime by reacting inappropriately.

Yeah. I have big problems, guys. I really am pretty messed up. And I feel it, in full measure, at this time of the year when the leaves change and the air gets cold and instead of getting excited for school starting and apple cider and fall colors and Halloween and staying inside in the warm and looking out at the cold and all those wonderful things that used to fill my emotional experience during this time, I feel like the world is falling apart. And what I do to cope is, I hug my babies. I hug my kids. I hug my husband. I hug my bishop, I hug my young women, I hug my friends. I stay quiet except to those who I know I can talk to about it without destabilizing them (and hopefully nobody reading this blog falls into that category), who want me to talk about it because they love me and they just want me to talk to them about stuff I'm feeling.

OK. I'll leave this post on that note:

you need to know, person struggling. The people who love you, love you. Talk to them. They want you to--even if your mind is telling you they don't, that you shouldn't because you shouldn't burden people with the pain inside.... it is a lot more pain for them to know you're struggling, and to not have you trust and talk to them and let them help you feel better. OK? OK.

--and yes, I am fine. No need to send me texts or messages or anything else. LIke I said, I'm just writing this because I feel like I'm supposed to. Why am I fine? Read numbers 1 and 2 above.

Love you all.

Moving On to the Next Great Thing

I have been having babies for a while, let's face it. I had a brief respite between marriages--Loli was four when Jaws was born. Jeff and I filled in that gap pretty thoroughly by bringing home two girls meant to be in our family that were born in another country when I couldn't have them myself. Yeah, some would object to my describing it that way, but that's how I feel things happened. Bella and MayMay are most certainly my daughters. The first time I saw their picture, I knew they were my daughters, and the sisters of the girls I had given birth to biologically.

Heavenly Father has a way of blessing you doubly when things have to come about through a veil of pain. These two girls ended up in my family where they belong, but along the way they collected another family who loves them dearly, and a rich, unique culture, which flavors and spices and blesses our family as well.

Since Jaws, though, I really haven't had a break. I've had a child under age two for the last solid eight years. And I haven't started realizing until recently, exactly how difficult it is to have children so young. They take all your attention. All of it. When they're infants, it's because you are holding and feeding them constantly. When they're a little older it's because you are making sure they don't die by rolling off stuff or falling down stairs or choking on things or drowning or being taken by people or gashing themselves with knives (several of my toddlers have had a fascination with knives.)

I'm realizing all this because we're sort of coming to the end of our planned family, Jeff and I. We talked, at the beginning, of having six children together. We're there. Another baby would make six for us since we married in 2005. (Nine total, of course.) And right now, I'm getting to that point of thinking of starting that process again--another kid. Possibly the last kid. Pending prayer and answers to prayer, of course.

In my religion, we believe that there are spirits up in heaven waiting for bodies. That to raise children right, with values, and love and covenants and saving ordinances inherent in our gospel, is the most important job we do. So for me, and others with my theology, the decision to *stop* having children is a very serious one. Perhaps stressful. Some are comfortable stopping when they feel their family is complete--they just feel good about it and don't question that. For others, it's an agonizing decision. And some feel that "stopping" isn't an option... they need to allow as many children to come as Heavenly Father will bring them.

Thus, Mormons and large families. (btw. I'm being honest and vulnerable here... no judgy comments about birth control or population control, please. I will delete them all!)

For me, the decision to be done has a bit more of an edge and urgency. My mother and i share a genetic condition that renders pregnancy dangerous. Because I knew about it before I started having children, I have been able to take preventative action and not suffer from the sorts of things my mother did having her children. But it is still dangerous. And the danger kind of multiplies with age. My mother had her last biological child at age 35, and nearly didn't make it. Her stake president, who was also her obstetrician, told her she needed to think seriously about permanent preventative action, because she needed to be around to raise her family.

I am grateful for my stake president.

I have had a strong feeling, from the time I was thinking of such things, that I also need to be done at thirty five. I turn thirty four this year. Do the math--one more kid. It works out nicely with the feelings Jeff and I have had on the issue.

But it makes my heart break a little, too. I was the two-year-old who would nurse her dolls, who though often about having babies, about motherhood. I couldn't wait to be a mom. And I have enjoyed my babies so much. If anyone is going to suffer from residual baby-hunger, it's me. I tell myself it won't be so long and I'll have grandbabies to enjoy, but it's not quite the same. It's not that symbiotic relationship--just a small, helpless, trusting creature and me. A piece of my heart, smiling whenever I smile at them, whose favorite thing in the world is to be close, to lie for long hours on my chest. Little hands. Little feet.

It came across to me really strongly this last week. I have been feeling, for a while, that I needed to put DavyJones on formula. And he has taken to it well, and it has made important things possible--I have needed some time in the temple, for instance. I have needed to spend a bit longer at my calling than an exclusively-nursing baby would allow.

And I needed to go to girl's camp this year.

It was a good experience, but my milk is now dry. My baby boy is no longer nursing. It breaks. My. Heart.

What if, I think to myself, this is the last baby boy. What if I never nurse another baby boy for the rest of my life. What if this precious experience is now over. There is something about my baby boys--they have the most "mushy" part of my heart, as I was explaining it to Loli the other day. (She responded with, Mom, I'd much rather have the strong part of your heart.) (Anyway.)

What if this is done.

Well, it will be done, soon. I'm into my "lasts," last time trying for a baby. And it will turn into, last time experiencing morning sickness. Last time getting that middle-trimester burst of energy, last time with a growing stomach, last time with those crazy, overwrought emotions that make me cry during cheesy commercials but have actually been welcome because often, I struggle to feel my real feelings. Last time waiting for labor, for a baby to be born. Last time holding a soft, damp, newly-born person close to me, seeing them look up into my face for the first time.

I plan on savoring it--all these "lasts." It's the only way I'll be able to move on; if I savor every single moment.

But there are also other sorts of thoughts I've been having. Like... Gee. It will be nice to be able to work outside for an hour and mow the lawn. It will be nice to go out and pick up the trash that blows across from the high school. To plan a garden, work on it every day, weed it, pay attention to it and have a chance at real vegetables. To take a bike ride when I need one... and to be able to bring all the kids with me. To be able to go on hiking trips and camping trips and to be able to take my kids swimming (projecting a few years into the future here) without having to keep an anxious, uninterrupted watch over at least two of them.

To be able to take time to have talks with my teenagers.

To not be so exhausted in the morning I can't function..... or at least, to be exhausted for different reasons. Staying up to talk with teenagers who come home, rather than being constantly interrupted to nurse.

Instead of being confined to the house with a baby who isn't going to be happy outside for long,to be able to go out and find Jeff, and whatever project he's working on, and work alongside him. And to have our children join us.

I'm leaving behind something very special... but moving on to something else Great, and equally special. This, I think, is the time we figure out who we are as a family. Develop our traditions, our way of relating to each other, the activities we enjoy doing together, getting big projects done together, being silly together... this is really, in a way, where some other things I have always looked forward to, begin.

Loli came into the Young Women's program this year. And as it always is with our family, once started, things happen fast... Bella next year. MayMay the next. Two years later, Jaws. We're moving on.

And it will be great.

Greenhouse Update & You Aren't What People Say You Are (redux)

I put up a post yesterday that I soon afterward took down. It detailed some struggles I've been having lately. I took it down because I worried that, even with making things vague, it'd end up being spread around and someone would find out and be upset, or others would assume I wrote about them. But I do want to repost one thing from what I posted, and that is, you can only control what you give, not what people take. You can do your absolute best to convey love, kindness, sincerity and someone could still take offense, if they choose to.

I am a kind, generous, creative, fun, nice, intelligent, loyal and good person. Nothing that somebody does, or says about me, will change that. The end.

Ok. Anyway. The greenhouse stuff is starting up again. Now that the ground is thawed, we can work on mortaring our cinderblocks. Jeffrey borrowed a cement drill from a nice ward member and put in rebar, and we're stacking the cinderblocks and mortaring. We're hoping to have the whole south side done, and the east side dug up, by the time our friends Dave and Courtney get here on Fourth of July weekend, and then Dave and Jeff can have some fun guy time putting together the east wall, which is smaller and hopefully will go faster because Jeff will have a routine down.

After that, we'll be doing outside insulation and the plan right now is cement-board siding, though I need to look into that more... I'm not sure if i like it or not. Jeff's really great at building things well, functional. I'm the one who's a bit more picky about appearance. I don't want a utilitarian greenhouse, I want a *beautiful* greenhouse. Suggestions for siding are welcome. Our house is currently light grey and white.


After that, we'll be able to (yay :) :) ) start on the INSIDE. Setting up watering first, I think. Then the floor, which will be landscape fabric covered with flagstone& swept, pressed sand. We have a ton of white flagstones lying around; we're repurposing them for inside the greenhouse (and, eventually, a walkway around the greenhouse and a patio).

After the floor is in, we can get going on square foot beds. And a greens tower (lettuces, kale, spinach, collards and dandelions) (yes, dandelions) and an herb tower. And also starting to grow cool mosses and creeping thymes in between the flagstones.


So that's where we are right now. We generally have about four hours of time on Saturdays that we can use for projects. Lately it's been completely eaten up in getting our ginormous jungle mown. So Jeff may need to take a day off work to finish the greenhouse. We spent the last three Saturdays getting all of the acre we call yard so it's inches-long stubble instead of a frenzy of dandelions and bushy alfalfa, but you know, weeds grow. We'll have to start again next Saturday.

2000 word update

I am doing ok with my 2000 word goal, except for a couple things: when the kids are sick, it all goes out the window. Also, DavyJones is keeping me up at night and there have been a few mornings where I just couldn't manage it. And... Saturdays have fallen off the table. Now that it's summer. I forget how insanely busy Saturdays are during summer. Especially with the yard, and play practices, and other summer activities... and finishing the greenhouse. Which I will post about soon.

Still, right now I'm at 96,000 words with my LDS contemporary novel, and about 85,000 words of my fantasy. The LDS novel is almost finished. I can feel it winding to a close. The fantasy... maybe we're at the halfway point. I was right--it is an epic fantasy. Hooooow to get an agent to read it, when it's my first book? I guess I have to market to agents who deal in epic fantasy? Are there such things for people other than Robert Jordan?


Anyway. Thoughts. You could send some my direction, too... I'd welcome input.

Goals are sometimes very very hard

This blog has become a semi self-documentary on my recovery. I'm not sure why that is. I think I know why, actually. I used to put blogging and journaling aside in times of turmoil, because I have this strange relationship with the concept of honesty--I feel like if I'm writing only about the things in my life/events that are happy and funny and impersonal, I'm not being honest. ANd others who are struggling will come read about my life and feel miserable because they'll be like, why is HER life so perfect? I must be a crappy person to have to go through so much stuff.

I admit a small, immature part of me feels that way in the presence of people who seem to always be living happy little lives full of scrapbooky stuff.

In the past (before this last year or so) I would deal with that sort of dissonance (what do I blog about when I'm going through significant struggles) by leaving the blog alone and not writing at all. But that made me feel bad, too. I love writing on here. And I don't want there to be giant gaps on here in my childrens' development, in my life. So here we go, writing about everything. I guess.

I've gotten some judgy comments on a couple posts. I guess that happens when you open yourself up by writing about personal stuff. There's a facebook meme that goes: don't want to be judged? Then stop putting your personal crap all over facebook.

Well, I feel like putting my personal crap (enough to be real, but not so much that I feel like I'm sharing things that I can't come back from emotionally if people criticize) on the internet actually helps me, because I think of myself ten years ago, and how it would have helped that girl to be reading about someone's recovery. It makes me feel like there might be a purpose to all this.

So in my last couple of personal-crap posts, I talked about how I'm trying to open myself up and trust.

It's really hard. What I *want* to do right now (particularly walking into church meetings) is to sit by myself and glare at people. So instead of doing this

my heart seems sometimes to be pulling me in the direction of this.

some things have happened that really haven't helped. I won't talk about them here.

One thing I've realized lately is, I really, really do not trust easily. It is so hard. It's like weight lifting--I have to actively force myself not to assume things. My mind bends itself into a hundred twisty assumptions whenever something makes me insecure in an interaction with another person. My struggle is, I worry all the time that I'm offending others accidentally. I have to actively work to unbend those thoughts. Sometimes I need to do that without even asking questions or clarifying. A person I'm talking to lately said it like this: take everything at face value. Don't read anything into what people say or do. Yes, sometimes that will come back to bite you. But what sort of life is happier: a life where your'e always assuming you've hurt others all the time and being right a fraction of the time, or assuming you're at peace with everyone, that people are fine with you, and being wrong a fraction of the time?

It's a powerful concept.

One that is sometimes very difficult to apply in real life.

I feel like I'm a person who really has been mostly knotted up tight inside--so tight, I did not even know what I felt for a while. And now, I'm still unknotting. I probably do seem quite spiny to people at times right now. But I am doing my best, and so I need to forgive myself for that. You can only do so much at once.

We've had several weeks of sickness in our house. I love my children, and am grateful I get to be the one to help them. It is also exhausting. To me (I am coming to realize) the most exhausting thing in the world is to feel stuck and unable to do things. Like clean, or finish projects, or continue to plug away at projects. I got a total of 4,000 words in last week--I have to remind myself that I was taking care of a sick baby, so that is OK. My time was legitimately spent. It is OK that I spent hours on end looking into my baby's face and enjoying some down time. Maybe I *need* down time and that is why my family got sick. I don't know. Heavenly Father has a funny way of making important things happen.

Goals are great. We need to forgive ourselves when we can't do it all at once. We need to remember that a destination is important, but the road is where we spend most of our time. And that is OK. And we need to have peace in the journey.

I'm Not the Only Crazy One

People often ask me how I am a mother of eight children and also a writer.

Last weekend, I got to meet lots of writers. Lots of them women. I sat at a table with four people--the head editor at Covenant Communications, her husband, and two younger women who were (as yet unpublished, but clearly, talented and motivated) writers. I didn't know anybody in the room, at least, not personally (a few I have communicated with online) because I have never been to a writer conference. In my life.

This particular group, LDS Storymakers, is made up of those who write LDS fiction, but also those who are LDS who write general fiction. Brandon Sanderson was there.

I told these girls, who I had never met, that I'd never gone to a writer conference before because I keep having babies. And immediately they nodded, and one kind of rolled her eyes and said, "yeah, a lot of our sessions this conference were interrupted by crying babies." And the other said, "I mostly felt sorry for them, because they paid to go, and they're not getting anything out of it." And the first replied, "Yeah. Babies are more important. They should come first."

It was interesting... here I was, sitting at a table with them, holding my baby at this fancy dinner where I had won an award for my writing. And here they were saying things about how babies should come first and it made me think. Is my baby coming first?

Well, yeah. He was there with me. He was seeing everything I was seeing, enjoying everything I was enjoying (arguably even the food, since he gets that secondhand.) (Haha. Sorry if that grossed you out.)

Does being a writer mean I'm putting my children second?

Quite often, this is the sight I see while I am plugging away in the morning, trying to get 2000 words in.

Do you see the edge of my laptop, there?

My babies learn to nurse while I am also typing. My kids learn to wait about ten seconds after they ask a question for me to set the laptop aside (temporarily) and answer it. They learn to be quiet upstairs during a key two hours of the morning. They can be there, they just have to be quiet. Loud means go outside. Fresh air is good for kids.

I don't just type at the exclusion of my family. I will type, and answer a question, type and help with a math problem, type and take a break to change a baby's diaper. Type and take a moment to lean back, stretch, sigh and ask for a hug.

Then I finish, put the laptop away (unless I'm also writing a quick blog) (like right now) and focus on tasks like cleaning, cuddling with my toddlers, making meals. And driving people places.

At this particular conference, two mothers were honored. One came to the front leaning on a cane, hugely pregnant, clearly exhausted. She talked about how, after she signed a contract with Deseret Book for her second novel, her husband was immediately called as Bishop, and her kids were put in Year-Round school. She talked about how she struggled, and thought about the ramifications of breaking her contract. And how, in the end, she prayed, and asked for help. And Got it. Heavenly Father blessed her endeavor because it was worthy of blessing. Therefore, consecrated. Therefore, acceptable in His sight.

The other was Rachel Ann Nunes. You've heard of her, I'm sure. If you've read any LDS fiction at all you have. She has written dozens of books, and she stated, up at the pulpit, that many of them were written with a child on her lap. I am sure she's been criticized plenty of times in her life for putting her family "Second." In fact, she talked about it. I guess my question for those people (generally other women) who would criticize her would be, have you ever read a book by Julie Ann Nunes? Did you enjoy it? Did it contribute something to your life, or the life of your daughters?

One of the presenters talked about how many people (particularly mothers) might say, "I can do this later. I can do this when...." (the babies are older. The kids are in school. The kids are out of the house). But some just do it. And I think it is a personal choice... one that you pray about. I have often felt worried that I was sacrificing something I shouldn't be... that my books should be helping support our family, at least, if I am going to make this "sacrifice." I recieved some inspiration recently that has made me completely rethink that mindset... writing is a blessing. My writing blesses others, it blesses myself, and also blesses my family. My kids know who I am, and my daughters then form their own aspirations. They see me accomplishing goals and they know that they can do it, too.

And they are all writers. They see it as a normal part of life. My kids will sit down at a computer and spend hours typing stories. It amazes me to see, so directly, how my own example filters down into my kids.

I felt, watching these women speak, very proud to be able to count myself among those who have written novels with babies nursing and toddlers in their laps.

I am not the only crazy one. That picture above is my favorite sight in the world. Both of them.

2000-Word goal (and general writing) update

I thought I'd write another update on how things are going with the 2000 word goal. I will say this: I have missed a few days. When our friends the Lovelesses came to visit, I did not write. And a couple days when DavyJones kept me up nearly all night with his cluster feeding, I did not write the next day.

And yeah. There were a couple days where I was feeling pretty cruddy and to comfort myself I just cleaned and hugged my babies. I'd say I've not written... maybe seven days or so, out of the three months since I started this regime. I am pleased to say that, at this point, three months in (almost exactly, I started on the 26th of january) I am 58,000 words into my epic fantasy manuscript and about 70,000 words into my LDS Contemporary manuscript.

I didn't realize until just now how much more of the Contemporary LDS I have written. I think it's because the way my days are set up, I'm supposed to write the fantasy on Saturday, and (predictably) I have missed more Saturdays.

I feel like I'm almost at the "race to the finish" stage with the contemporary fiction. I think, about 2/3 through. The fantasy... I feel like I may be nearing the halfway mark.

So overall, I'm kind of on target, and i can only attribute that to the fact that I tend to go over with word count each day. How does it feel to be doing a NaNoWriMo equivalent each month?

Well, I'm doing it, and my kids aren't dead, and I'm not yet insane.

No, actually... it has been wonderful. It feels wonderful to be pushing myself like this. I get more done, and my story flows better because I am writing it in bigger (and I think, more natural) chunks. About half a chapter per writing session, I think. That works well for the way scenes tend to shift/things tend to go for me. And I have a sense of power... I can do this. It's not that hard. WHen I'm done writing two at once, guess what? I could write one novel in a matter of months. It makes me feel so much more secure as a writer... this is a habit I can develop and it can make it so that I could meet rigorous deadlines. It is developing me as a writer.

The big piece of news for the week, however, is that tomorrow I will be headed to the Whitney Gala. I have never attended a writing conference, and here I am going to this fancy dinner thing where they give out awards, and the reason why I am going is because my novel Mile 21 is one of the Whitney Finalists, in the General Fiction category. I'm really not expecting to win, but I am going to the dinner just in case I do, because it would be kind of rude not to be there if I won. It's sort of like when I won first place the countywide poetry contest when I was a senior in high school, and happened to ditch class the day my Creative Writing teacher announced the winners. (I was ditching so I could finish reading Heart of Darkness for my AP English class that day.) (Yeah, I know it's no excuse.)

Anyway. I'm pretty nervous to go. I haven't actually met most of these writer people I interact with so frequently online. And I am not used to eating with fancy forks, or wearing fancy dresses... and I'm not sure what to expect. I'm trying to think of it as a big adventure, and a getaway for me and Jeff, and I'm focusing my mind on the food, which should be delicious.

It will be great.

Oh, and one of my poems was on Psaltery and Lyre today, and another was on there last month. I need to write more poetry. I don't make enough time for it. It really does help me write with more grace and spareness, though... and I love it. It is the center of my heart.

I'm behind on reviews. I still need to read the rest of Braden Bell's most recent, Luminescence, and then write up my usual combination of review and rambling essay about it for A Motley Vision blog.

Also, I need to finish helping my critique group friend, George, trim down his fantasy manuscript.

Now I'm starting to feel guilty...

Anyway. Yeah. Writing. Good stuff.

I'm A Writer. (My rant about online vs "real world" communication)

Recently I have had a few different people sort of pick at me for how much communication I do online vs face to face. To which I have a few very practical responses:

1) I am at home all day long taking care of eight children and writing 2000 words per day. If you want to talk to me... you're going to have to text me or message me, and then when I have a moment, I'll message or text you back.

2) I am a huge introvert. I don't like people randomly coming over to my house, I don't enjoy the first stages of getting to know someone, and I do not enjoy large crowds. Talking face-to-face, just alone, is much easier to me than talking with others around. This doesn't often take place face-to-face, because when you're talking to someone, there tend to be others around. But if you're messaging or texting someone, you are messaging or texting just that person, almost all the time.

3) Related to the above, in the first stages of getting to know someone, I am extremely awkward. I don't relax until I know someone well enough to trust that they'll love me in spite of any awkward things i might say, accidental implications my words might have, and strange facial expressions I might make. (Full disclosure here--I make weird faces when I'm nervous and I'm talking to people I don't know.) But writing, I don't have to worry as much in those beginning stages, because I am not making faces, I'm just typing words. I can go back and read what I wrote to make sure it says what I mean it to say. And, I can go back and *review* what I wrote and realize it was OK instead of rehashing in my mind every piece of the conversation and thinking I made a bunch of stupid mistakes or offensive implications.

4) I struggle with auditory processing. I have to concentrate really hard in order to understand spoken conversation. I've never been diagnosed, but I have a sister who has been diagnosed with auditory processing disorder. I have to ask people to repeat things a lot. When I watch movies with a lot of dialog, I need subtitles to read or else I do not understand about half of what is being said. Because of how hard I have to concentrate to understand something someone is saying to me, it is extremely draining to have long conversations, particularly where I'm worrying a great deal that I'm not understanding someone, or they are not understanding me/are liable to take offense at something I say when I don't mean it that way. Jeff says I have "about a three minute buffer" and then he can tell I'm starting to tune out/freak out/not be able to follow as well. And for conversation in general, my buffer level to complete exhaustion might be 30 minutes.


... this all means that written communication is far easier for me than spoken communication.

That does not mean that I think face-to-face interactions aren't for me. I think they are important. I just know that they will be extremely difficult and stressful until I get to know someone well enough, and I know they know me well enough, that they'll be able to understand what i'm trying to say to them and not take offense/infer something from what I said that I don't mean. And until I can relax enough to not care if I have some strange facial tics when i'm nervous... the person loves me anyway.

(In case you're curious, my strange facial tics usually involve eye contact/lack thereof, up to and including rolling of the eyes at strange moments.)

My online relationships are important to me. Because they are also mostly real-life relationships. I talk to my family on facebook. My mom, my dad, sisters and brothers who are all spread out all over the U.S. I talk to my friends on facebook--people I grew up with, people I've met and known at various points in my life, people who were there with me during important moments. I also talk to my colleagues on facebook and through email--writing friends,people with my publisher, bloggers, book reviewers.

I also tend to take care of church responsibilities mainly through group messaging, because I've found it's a good way for several busy people to have a conversation on their own schedule. It has made it so I don't have to have weekly meetings. Also so I don't have to make a phone call, wait for no answer, leave a message, and then miss their phone call, listen to their message, etc. Overall, I bless Facebook Messaging and credit to it my current levels of sanity.

I have also been able to promulgate relationships through online interaction where promulgation face to face would have been awkward to the point of nonexistent. Our friends the Lovelesses are a prime example. Jeff knew Dave well in college. But for couples to hang out together, all the members of the coupleship need to be comfortable with each other. Because Dave, Courtney and I all blog, that relationship was much more easily established--initially between me and Dave, then Courtney as well. And it lead to us all hanging out together, after having talked about more vulnerable stuff in a situation where I (and I suspect the both of them) felt safer. I am positive that we would not have become so close if we hadn't had online interactions to smooth over that initial rough patch of getting to know someone.

My relationship with my father has improved as well.
My Dad and I struggle to talk face to face. Whenever I have tried to talk about something vulnerable with him, with words and actual presence together in one room, it has been very difficult. He can't handle it, I can't handle it. I come away feeling terrible. But we can write to each other and it has opened my world up. Recently, that has been the case with my mother, too. There are several very difficult topics i have tried to address with her over the years, only it never worked out--it always devolved into bad results... usually a big fight, to be honest. But in communications that are written and in real time, we have been able to say things and understand each other. And she recently said something to me that sort of changed a whole lot about how I feel about myself, for the better. It's something I think she has been trying to say to me for a long time, but I just never really understood it, because I couldn't ingest it until she found just the right words to type, that I could read.

Does that make me pathetic? And strange? And dysfuctional?

I hope not, because it is the way Heavenly Father made me.

Once I get to know someone well, and trust them, I would much rather see them face to face than write them. I would much rather be present with them than talking at them through a computer screen. But until then, I struggle. But social media, email, blogging--that has really helped me with the initial struggle.

The way I have described it to people who have been lately frustrated by this is "I'm a writer."

I mean that in a way different, I think, from how people would usually take it. I'm a writer because I can claim that title because I have had things published, yes. But really, the title there is "author." I am a published author.

By, "I'm a writer," I mean... I'm not a talker. I'm a writer.

But if I know you really well, and trust you, then I'm a talker. For me, I think the act of having a real-time, face-to-face conversation about something vulnerable, especially, is perhaps one of the most deeply intimate acts. It means I am putting everything on the line. Judge me, laugh at me, hate me... watch me become emotional, watch me fumble with my words,be offended or disenchanted when you hear me say something accidentally wrong or awkward... I'm giving you that opportunity to "know" me that way because I trust you. And I only trust you that way if I Love you.

The internet has opened a lot of doors for me. I have strengthened almost every important relationship through the means of online communication. I have made acquaintances friends and friends good friends. I have been able to be confident talking to people who are experts in the things I also love, which would not happen in real life. I have been able to discuss difficult and very potentially volatile issues with the people closest to me, instead of shutting down.

I see it as a blessing.

I've had two different people say things to me lately that have really stung. One person said, when I was talking about my friends on facebook, "you know they're really not you're friends, right?"

... yeah. My mom, my dad, my sister. My fifth grade teacher. My old babysitters. Members of choir, seminary, ski team. People who were there in the ward where everything went down with my first marriage. People in my current ward. People I've worked with. People I've cried with. They're not my friends, huh.

The other was "you write all these things, but you know you'd never say them in real life!"

Well, yes I would. If I loved you enough, and trusted you enough, I would.

I feel like the overall message is sometimes "the online you is fake. What you write isn't real. It's fake."

No. It's not. What I write is often much realer than what I say, because when I write, I say what I mean, and when I talk I can't figure out how to say what I mean.

And that is what I think about that.

Big Families: Teaching Teamwork But Keeping Things Fair

This is a big one.

I have thought a lot about this, in fact. I have wanted to have a very large family from the time I was very small. When I was about two or three, my mother caught me trying to nurse my baby dolls. As late as eighth grade, when they handed out "flour babies" as a school project, I was thrilled for the opportunity to pretend I had a newborn to carry around and nurture. I have wanted to be a mother for my entire life.

WHen my friends asked me when I was in high school, I used to say I wanted twelve children--enough to have two basketball teams or baseball teams that could play each other. I was not really joking. I have loved the idea of a large family. I loved visiting houses where large families lived. I wanted to have lots and lots of kids. I looked forward to developing traditions and a family culture and friendships and a support group that would just be tight and close and friends. I envied my friends who came from larger families than mine (and, OK. I came from a family of six. That's still pretty big.)

I wasn't aware, when I was young (or when I started having my family) that being in a large family might have its downsides. I was amazed to realize that some people who came from large families didn't like it--they felt exploited, or shortchanged, or something. And they then made the decision to have only a few or one or no children.

It has made me ponder a little bit. Is it exploitation, to have a family so large that you cannot get by without the kids pitching in? Older kids helping younger kids out, all kids over a certain age doing a share of the housework? And my poor oldest kids. They won't know the benefit of lots of different lessons because I can't afford them yet, with so many kids down the pipeline absorbing expenses. They spend some time babysitting instead of going on playdates with neighbors several times a week. I may only have a small amount of one-on-one time for each kid on busy days. I may have no time at all for some, if some are having meltdowns/have to go to the dr/need lots of help with a school project on a certain day.

I was feeling all guilty and worried until I had an opportunity to be around someone (an adult) who surprised me with their lack of willingness. I'm not sure of any other way to put it than that: lack-of-willingness. A lack of willingness to be inconvenienced, to do a job that is mundane or grinding, to pay attention to kids when they would rather be doing something else. This person was sort of a part of our family for a while and it surprised me to see up close what they struggled with; not just helping others, but being able to help themselves. I realized that this is not a trait to be desired at all. If you aren't used to being inconvenienced, to doing things you'd rather not be doing when there are more fun things to do, If you aren't used to stretching yourself to do a task you are not used to, you can end up in a world of hurt as an adult.

And that's when my thoughts about this whole big-family thing turned around. If you grow up without having to do things to create the comfort you're a part of, you just expect it to happen to you. Case in point: a boy whose mother does all their dishes, laundry, and cleans their room for them. They go off to college without knowing how to go about these things, and also unused to the tasks. They're going to be pretty messy roommates for a while, and it will be a real burden for them to suddenly assume it all at once, instead of learning, year by year, how to do it for themselves.

So a big family, done right, can teach some really great and important life skills. It can teach hard work. It can teach teamwork, because there's a very real need for it--my house would never, ever be acceptably clean if my kids did not help out. One person cannot keep up with nine peoples' messes. It can also teach compassion and nurturing. I cannot be holding the crying four year old WHILE I am nursing the needy newborn AND bouncing the irritable toddler on my knee--an older kid gets that opportunity, to help her sister feel better. To put herself in someone else's shoes. To get used to being needed, and be OK with being needed.

I think that's a problem in today's society. I think a lot of people shy away from obligations. They don't want to feel obligated or needed. I'm not saying this is the case with all people who come from smaller families--that's not it at all. And I'm not saying it's the case with all people who don't want kids, either; I have childless friends who, for instance, adopt needy rescue animals. That's not what I'm talking about here. You'll know what I'm talking about when you see it: people who are used to playing all the time, not working. People who are used to getting what they want, not waiting. People who get bored really, really fast because they are used to spending much of their time being entertained.

That may sound harsh. And I know a few people's feathers will be ruffled, reading this. Sorry about that.

I want my kids to learn something different. And my hope is that having a large family, if you do it right, can teach these skills without overwhelming the kids so much that they look back on their experience with pain and frustration. I've been thinking about ways to do this--strategies for balance. Here's what I have come up with so far.


WAYS TO NOT EXPLOIT KIDS WHILE HELPING THEM TO LEARN WILLINGNESS:


1) Make sure you praise them and say thank you. Even if it is something they know they have to do, people like to be thanked and appreciated for their hard work. Kids are people.

2) Rewards. As an example, Jeff and I go out on a date each week. If my kids complain I don't say "tough, it's part of being part of this family": instead, I remind them that mom and dad go on dates to keep this family healthy; that maintaining our relationship is something that benefits them as well. And I give treats: incentives for older kids to do a good job and for younger kids to be easy to babysit. I was the oldest in my family, usually the babysitter, and struggled with my siblings. They were not very motivated to be good and easy kids to babysit, and a lot of the fallback ended up on me. I really couldn't win. I had to stay home and watch the kids and I got chewed out and lectured afterward because the experience was always contentious and destructive. Kids went crazy and disobeyed rules (it seemed sometimes, on purpose to get me in trouble.) Ugh. Bad memories. I want babysitting in my home to be a time for the kids to bond and have fun away from parents... and to test the waters a bit. Be given a chance to obey rules on their own. The reward seems to help with this.

3) Related to the above: power struggles. I try hard to stay out of them. Not just between myself and my children, but between the kids, too. I do that by not allowing kids to "tell" on each other unless a) someone is being hurt or b) something is being destroyed. And I will only step in if it sounds like some real contention is stirring up. I think it's healthy for kids to learn conflict resolution. I think it's unhealthy, most of the time, for a parent to step in and start handing out punishments unless a rule is being broken (eg hurting or destroying). I will, however, process conflicts with my kids after they've been resolved, and try to help them figure out better ways to deal with conflict.

4) Burdens. I try very hard to be aware of the burdens each of my kids have. For instance, my sixth grader is currently managing the workload of 6 different teachers, she has play practice for a couple hours after school, and she has mutual activities to attend (which I want her to attend.) She often stays up until 10:30 at night doing homework. On occasion,I decide that she doesn't need to do the dishes, even when it's her night. Sometimes I need to do them for her, and that's OK if she understands I'm doing it *for* her, because I want to make sure she's healthy and able to balance her load of responsibilities.

5) Fairness. I know that's a word a lot of people put down nowadays, but I think it is very important to *try* to be fair. It won't always be fair, and kids need to know that. One child's needs sometimes outweighs another's, and sometimes one kid needs a different approach than another. Sometimes one kid gets a special treat because they had to have their tooth pulled even if, yes, it was their fault for not brushing their teeth. Sometimes the overburdened adolescent needs some time to herself with mom and no other kids just to talk. And of course, it's absolutely unfair that the tiny baby gets every waking minute of mom's undivided attention for months after he is born. That's life. But... a parent should try very hard to be as fair as he or she can be. We adults still like to be treated fairly. Give kids equal opportunities to be good and earn rewards. Don't blame one kid for things more than another. Some kids do test the waters and push boundaries more than others, but watch that. Make sure you don't scapegoat. And Don't favor one kid's brand of brilliance over another's. Loli is a briliant writer and singer, and my natural feeling is to be amazed and grateful for that. But MayMay is brilliant with people, and engaging, and a ray of sunshine and she is always thinking of others. That deserves just as much time and attention and recognition. Try to do things that will help your kids to not compare themselves to each other and compete for your affection.

6) Be always available. It's important. If you have eight kids you have approximately no free time. If stuff takes you away from them, it better be important stuff. (Stuff like a cultivated hobby or talent is important stuff--we need those sorts of things. Yes, I am talking about writing. But you maybe only have time for one. I cannot do writing AND sewing AND be a gourmet cook AND become a super couponer.) Stuff that takes you away needs to be important and there can't be that much of it; you have to choose between better and best. Because they all need some time with you. My mother had a saying: if your house is clean, that's nice. But as a mom, your most important job is to be a lap. If the dishes are dirty in the sink and the room is strewn with objects and the counters are sticky and the laundry in a giant messy pile all over your living room floor, your most important job is *still* to be a lap. And a good friend of mine added to this: as they get older, it changes from lap to ear. The most important job you have with older kids, is to be an ear. That means you need to be there and available to listen when they want to talk.

7) Don't exploit them. There is a point, I think, where help and family teamwork can become exploitation, and I think that line is crossed when parents forget to think of their children as humans with needs equal to theirs. For instance, don't make your older kids babysit everyday. Or every other day. Your kids want you around, and your teenage girls are not ready to take on the burden of full-time or even part-time parenthood. Be respectful of their wants, too, as they age. When they get old enough to start to go out and play with mixed groups or go on dates, plan a weekend *with* them. Don't just say "Bye, too bad, Friday night's ours." Maybe you can switch up date night so they can go out and have fun when fun stuff is going on. And don't make them watch kids when church or major school activities are going on, or burden their hours so much that they can't participate in something that will give them enrichment, such as music or sports.

So important.

I think that's all I have for now. If you guys have stuff to add, I'd love your advice. My brood of eight will thank you, too.

BRT (Bunch of Random Things)

This is just going to be a bunch-of-random-things post.


So this is day eight of my 2000 word experiment. So far, I have done just fine. My writing has ranged from 2000 to 2500 words daily and I'm still able to get other stuff done. Not much other stuff, because I'm pretty much stuck nursing this incredibly cute infant around the clock, and I can't get much done anyway.

Speaking of incredibly cute infant:

I think his blog name might have to be DavyJones.

Anyway, he loves the nursing. Loves it just about every half our. This baby came out clusterfeeding and hasn't stopped for one day. Except for one day when I think he was feeling sick, and I got very worried about him. But he's doing just fine and is happy, and his brothers and sisters love him a lot.

I have realized that writing, for me, is at this point a part-time job. I have enough stuff going on (drafting fiction, networking, poetry, marketing) that we're talking a few hours a day minimum. So I need to make myself a good plan, how to do this and still be an acceptable mother. I think it will be much easier when this baby is no longer quite so needy and can go a couple hours between feedings, but it is still important for me to figure out how to do the writing thing while also keeping house clean, kids schooled, laundry done, etc. I love my kids, but lately feel so much like i miss them. Because if I go where they are, they maul the baby. Like, hang all over him, lean on him, climb on top of him (in Chumba's case) so I have to go somewhere away from them to feed him... which he wants to do, as I said, all the time.

... our greenhouse is now completely enclosed. We still need to caulk up the little holes, and next spring, put the cement board and insulation on, and mortar the cinderblocks. BUt ideas are brewing, and I'm excited, and it is beautiful. Seriously. I love seeing the outside, and from the inside, it's such a restful place.

Well, that's all for now. Thanks for reading.

The Selfishness of Recovery

I worked for a while at a residential treatment facility that housed women with serious eating disorders. A lot of those experiences really impacted my life, and I find myself thinking about those women, the things I saw, the things I heard, often. I think one of the most ironic things about that (working there) was, I was watching (hundreds, by the end) of women go through recovery. And yet I hadn't even touched on my own. I was a good employee, and for some a great tech, but I didn't reach probably 70 percent of those women emotionally. And I know it's because I was struggling myself. I wasn't even to "stage one," (awareness) myself. I couldn't be vulnerable and be sensitive sometimes because some of what I saw & heard overloaded my emotions and threatened me to the point where I couldn't handle it. I sat behind the desk and volunteered to chart rather than go out and talk to the girls/women about what they might be struggling with. At the time I thought it was my introvert-nature & fear of rejection that held me back, but now I know it's not that. Honestly, I'm not sure if I really am an introvert by nature. I've just been unable to face my own feelings and feel good about them, and let others see them.

I remember one case in particular. This woman, newly married. She was really put-together. Like, General-Young-Women president-like. She was strong, intelligent, gracious, driven, mature. All the time. She reached out to others and was so great with the other patients, though she didn't talk much at all about her own struggles. I remember kind of looking at her and wondering what the heck she was doing on this inpatient unit.

And then I remember when she started to come apart. She turned into someone clingy, demanding, self-destructive, weak, childish. (See how judgmental I was, thinking these words.) Watching her I felt like, this isn't good. This is wrong. We've broken her. This treatment is bad--it's making her into something bad. It's undermining her testimony and strength. I wondered at the time if it was selfishness--her selfishness, breeded by a system that makes recovery into something self-obsessed and self-focused. I felt very, very conflicted feelings about the treatment program, watching her.

I remember feeling some outrage at how she was hurting her husband. He'd married this kind, strong, others-centered person and now she was cutting, and threatening suicide, and rejecting him, and just, petulant almost.

Now that I'm looking at things from the other side, though, I understand a lot that I didn't back then. She was already hurting inside. Why else would someone come to an inpatient facility and spend thousands of dollars to be locked up in a small set of rooms and eat cafeteria food? She had been hurting from the very beginning. That petulant, selfish, emotional, childish person--that was always inside her. She just hadn't ever allowed herself to take off the mask she wore. And it was killing her. It was distancing her from those who she should be able to trust. She was trapped--not feeling, except when she was feeling too much and harming herself in feeling.

This child inside her? That was her hurt self that needed healing. And you can't heal something you and others cannot see.

This last year has been a hard one for my spouse. I think often of this other patient and feel so bad for judging her. I also think often (in my petulant moments) of those things that have hurt me, and I feel angry that I even have this hurt being inside of me that needs healing.

This last year has been the most difficult of my marriage. For Jeff, it has been really worrying, and at times hearbreaking, I think. We still haven't had many conflicts, but he's seen me be completely dysfunctional, and unpredictable emotionally. He's had to pick up a lot of slack with the kids. He's had to put up with some reactions that are not his fault, where he suddenly turns into something in my head that he is not. I think that's the most painful for him.

And yet, Jeff has said that this last year has also been the most wonderful of our marriage. These last few months, especially, we have been far closer--kind of comfortable and gleeful and best-friend-y and just real, and appreciative of each other. I have felt so much more capable of being his best friend, as well as his wife, because I've been able to actually reach out. If you've got a mask on, people are at arm's length. You've got to peel that sucker off if you really want to be close to someone.

I think back on my very weakest moments of this last year with a lot of sadness. And yet, I wouldn't change it, because it has ended in much deeper, "real-er" happiness.

It's hard to think about it that way, because we've been taught in the gospel that faith can heal everything. Sometimes people draw from that the conclusion that it will be a painless, struggle-less, graceful healing. But the thing is, healing never is. Wounds are ugly. They aren't pretty to look at even when they're half-healed. They hurt.

The labor of healing from significant trauma is, I think, a lot like the labor of childbirth. You know it's God's will. He, in fact, rejoices in it. And you know it will end with something precious. But you also know you're going to do silly things. You're going to groan and complain and maybe get a little whiny. You might, in the moment, feel angry and blame people, simply because you're so overwhelmed with pain. If you can focus, you can relax to a certain degree and let it happen, but it will still be and feel messy, and ugly, and overwhelming and in moments you'll think, "how can this be from God?"

My husband gave me a blessing before delivery. He said it'd all be allright. Doesn't than mean I should be able to labor in a cross-legged position, hands outstretched, chanting in soothing tones and looking absolutely serene until it's time to lie down and bring forth a baby?

well, no, that's ludicrous. And yet we know, Labor is a godly thing.

The labor of recovery is also a godly thing. I need to continue to remind myself of this, and not feel guilty for having feelings, having needs, even for having people judge me, or having people I love get worn out at times.

One thing that has been indelibly apparent to me, driving me through this process--I am a better wife. I am a better mother. My husband and my kids are my first priority. Therefore, I *must* continue to recover. It doesn't matter what others think; if they judge me the way I judged that patient, if they feel that my difficulties are born of selfishness or immaturity or not communing with the Spirit. They don't know. They don't know how I've prayed, and the way I feel so very close to my heavenly father even in those moments when I've done things that have been petulant. I feel His love and comfort surround me even in those moments I've had that have been ugly to myself and those around me.

I think if I were truly being selfish, I would have allowed fear of judgment, or self-judgment, overwhelm my desire to heal, and just continued to go through motions--be a mess inside but mostly functional on the outside. I'd do the safe thing and just slap a lot of bandaids on those wounds. But I feel Heavenly Father bending my knees to recovery. I feel Him opening my lips to ask, to express, to allow people to see my weakness and reach out. And as this year has worn on, I have felt some truly happy, truly peaceful times. Perhaps the first in my life.

I find myself wanting to hug my kids, and my husband, all the time. Wanting to be around them. I find joy in being around people, in listening to them and even opening up to them. I think that joy has always been there, just buried under layers of fear and pain.

My heart has clicked into place over the last few months, especially. I'm feeling stuff. Oh, lots of stuff. Not all fun. But I'm also feeling the good stuff-- delight in my kids, happiness with friends, peace instead of fear of rejection when I find an opportunity to help someone else.

So I guess my conclusion is, recovery, while self-focused, is in no way selfish. Because it has made the people I love very most on this planet much, much happier to have a mom whose heart is fully turned on finally. It has made Jeffrey, who is the best friend anyone could have, really and truly my best friend. This last labor, he climbed into the hospital bed with me. He labored with me. That's what a best friend and a spouse does--labor with the other. I can finally allow Jeffrey into that place and it feels so incredibly wonderful.

When you've had bad stuff happen to you--stuff you didn't choose, or stuff you brought on yourself-- and you are trying to heal, it's good to keep in mind that there will be some pain an petulance to get through for a while, and people around you might be sad simply because they love you, and seeing you sad will make them sad. But remember--you're doing it for them. For yourself, so you can be there for them.

Birth is, in the end, a beautiful process in spite of any messes it causes, and in spite of how sore your husband's arms might be from counter-pressing your back and lifting you off the edge of the bed and hugging you tight when nothing else really helps, he wouldn't change anything-- you woudln't change anything. The end result is obviously worth every moment.

Sort of a part V-- Grateful Reflections in the aftermath of life explosions.

SO I've posted some difficult stuff lately. About struggles with my family, and ward, and bishops. Now that I've got all that out of the way, I want to fall back and enumerate some truly great things people have done for me and been for me. Nobody's perfect--like Oaks said, we're all imperfect appliances. But (as I've stated before) I have a truly great family, and my ward and also my bishop at the time of Paul, were/are also truly great people. I think they're due for some praise and gratefulness.

I'm going to number this just because it makes me think better sometimes to number things.

1) My Dad. Who I've talked about struggling with. Some wonderful things about him (other than what I've already said about him being brilliant, creative, funny, and someone who really loves me) is also an amazing piano player. One thing I always cherish with him is time when he plays the piano and I can sing. Want to know how I found my voice? (and it's a pretty belty voice... and has been since I was probably a 7-th grader). It's because I could sing freely while my Dad played because i know he loved me and our time together was special. While my dad's love language isn't the same as mine, he does do a lot of things to show people he loves them. He serves people, quietly, with no expectation of praise or returned favors. He also never, ever says things vindictively about others. He doesn't gossip. And if he has a problem with someone, he can still appreciate their good points.

2) My Mom. I've written poems about her. She is a person I'd love to be like. I like to call her a rennaisance woman. She can do anything creative. She throws herself into projects and is talented at just about everything she tries hard at. She is a woman (like I've said before) with a big heart and no chip on her shoulder--she'll come and clean poodle poo off your floor if you're wheelchair-bound and your six elderly poodles need cleaning up after. She is loyal. She is always on the lookout for the underdog, or for people who are lonely or are maybe in need of more help than others realize, and she does all she can to help. She helped nurse my great grandmother through the last stages of her life, even though it was not easy. She works really, really hard to make sure another of my grandmas, who is currently struggling a lot, is as happy as possible, and she takes the difficulties she faces silently, without returning hurt for hurt or feeling a need to defensively gossip. She is an inspiration to me that way. I wish I had her bravery to serve people without apology. She also is a master-organizer. She organized and put together and ran all the big events for my high school choir for years, and was willing to do even the hard jobs nobody else wanted to do, like chastise kids on Europe trips for buying stuff they shouldn't :) My mom is a rock star and she doesn't get a whole lot of recognition, except from those who love her and know her well enough to know who she is.

3) My sisters and brother. They are hilarious and brilliant and when I'm with them, I feel like I'm a member of some cool tribe. We have a sense of humor (my grandmother curtis's sense of humor) that is just its own flavor. Aaaand we do great things together. My siblings are very talented at a lot of things and they choose very interesting things to do in life and aren't afraid to dream big, or be themselves. Sometimes this has earned them some eyebrow raises or even disapproval--watching them do what they do and be what they are anyway, and still have very strong testimonies they wouldn't give up for any reason, or person, makes me feel grounded in my own love of the gospel of Christ.

4) Bishops and ward members. Specifically at the time I've been outlining lately--when all went down with Paul.
Despite my struggles with the bishop (which were because of all the circumstances already related... everything so messed up and stressful) I have a lot of admiration for this person. I know him still, and have gotten to know him better over the years. We have some association because of common interest groups, online and in other ways. He is a very good person. He's had trauma of his own. He is very loving and giving and really, a very sensitive person overall. Who was thrown into a very difficult situation. The last interaction I had with him, he actually came to my home (some ward members were over and we'd just cleaned it, ready to move me to my new apartment.) He handed me a book--the compilation from the Women's Conference that had just ended. And he said, 'I feel like I haven't been the best bishop to you.' and I could see how much he wished things had worked out better. I do, too. He is a good man. And I know we both learned a lot from our time together.

Ward members: People were so kind to me. One person brought me by some Christmas pretzel chocolates right when I needed reassurance. People still involved me in baby showers and such. My home teachers, one of the experiences with them that was quite hilarious was when a big media van pulled up in front of my house, and one couple distracted them while I sneaked out the back & headed over to the other couple's house. It was a bit double o seven ish. To be able to laugh at something so stressful was a relief. We even turned the TV on to see the news to see if they were still trying to film my house. People let me visit teach them. One relief society, the teacher dispensed with the lesson (right after story broke) and said she thought we should just sing hymns the whole time. I felt that was for me. The sister sitting next to me told me what a beautiful voice she thought I had. I needed to hear that. I will always be grateful for my relief society president who came over and mopped my floor, and then took walks with me, both of us hauling our baby strollers. I appreciate them and a couple who lived next to them, who invited me over occasionally to talk to me and laugh with me.

And on top of that, I now appreciate all the people who have written me to express how they wanted to help, even though they weren't sure how, but that they were thinking of me. I know that made a difference. Maybe one plus in having my story all over the place was I had a whole bunch of people praying for me.

One sunday, I was informed that the entire provo police department was fasting for me.

So.... I guess what I'm saying is, difficulty is difficulty. We go through crap. People aren't perfect. But they are still wonderful. Even people who make things hard are wonderful. I'm sure I've accidentally (or maybe on purpose, I don't know) made things hard for others. I hope they can forgive me, and I hope that whatever harm I've done, can be healed eventually. I'm grateful for healing. I'm grateful for people.

I'm grateful for my voice teacher, who became my friend and who gave me blessings. And who taught me to find my voice again, and who has continued to be a wonderful friend forever.

I'm grateful to the people who watched Loli with such love and care, and who weren't awkward about it at all, who I felt were my friends.

I'm grateful for psych professors who didn't condescend to me or mention anything, even though I'm sure they knew who I was and what I was going through.

I'm grateful to a guy I dated (between Paul and Jeff) who helped me realize I was a desirable person to date, and a fun person to be around, and who helped me gain the courage I needed to date my husband when that happened.

I'm grateful for random ward members (especially ones who cooked lots of Indian food and gifted me with a homemade-cool ball thingie) (and later moved here where I can be their friends now still) who took Loli when I needed to go to the temple or some other appointment.

I'm grateful to teachers and classmates who expressed concern.

I'm grateful to the people at my work, and my boss, who put up with me not always being the greatest employee, and who moved me (illegally, using work vans) into my new apartment, on work hours. Because they wanted to make sure I was OK. They made me feel very loved and supported.

I'm grateful to my (now cousin-in-law,) who convinced me it wasn't selfish or inappropriate of me to try attending the singles' ward, where I met my wonderful husband.

I'm grateful to lawyers and therapists who worked with me, I suspect, partly pro-bono.

I'm grateful to a bishop who advocated for me, even though I wasn't supposed to be attending the singles' ward, and whose grin kind of split his face open when he attended Jeff's and my post-sealing luncheon.

I'm grateful for whoever anonymously donated 1000 as a "scholarship" for me one semester, and enabled me, along with some help from my grandparents as well, to buy a vehicle to replace the one that had so many bad memories, and also not very good gas mileage, and was safer to drive.

I'm grateful to a former YW leader for her show of support and help.

I'm grateful for Elder Groberg too, who I am sure prayed for me. And who, I'm sure, wanted me to make the right choices.

I know I've missed lots and lots of you. Sorry about that. It's like numbering grains of sand. I know you're there. I'm grateful for the warmth and support I stood on, and continue to stand on.

I'm just grateful, is all, and Merry Christmas to everybody. Love you all.

Parts 1-5 of this post:

Part 1



Part 2


Part 3

Part 4

Part 5