I fell off of the blogging wagon, again...

I am here, once again, trying to revive my blog. I never know whether to try to start again or just start a completely new blog. I am trying to commit to writing some every day during the month of November. I love to write, but I tend to not prioritize things that I enjoy doing. I get busy with the kids and life in general and do not take time for me. I have felt like self-care is selfish for a long time. I think I have finally realized that if I do not put my oxygen mask on first and take care of me, that I cannot be the best version of me. Another goal I have for November is to work at being the best version of me. I plan on getting up early every morning and writing. I plan on going back to counting macros and exercising at least 4 days a week. I have been letting myself go and I need to take care of me and model what self-care is to my girls. I need to stop numbing my feelings with food and sit with the feelings and let myself feel them. I am planning on starting family fun Fridays and eat a meal at the table together and watch a movie. I am going to be more intentional about creating the canvas of my life, instead of looking off to the side distracted, while I am painting. I want our family to be one of present, active, intentional parents and not parents that are sitting on the sidelines, hurting and broken and using electronics or books to numb pain. I want all of us to be in the canvas, intentionally doing life together. I am starting today with being more self aware and stopping the mindless waste of time on things that do not matter in the big picture. I do not want to regret the missed years of my children's childhood. I have wasted enough time mindlessly. It is time to put me and my family first.

Trying to resurrect the blog and blog consistently...

This past year has been so full of growth, encouragement and inspiration.  I credit it all to an online facebook group I am a part of, called Dreamers and Builders.  Jon Acuff started the group and it has improved my life so much.  I have been a part of the group 2 years and thanks hugely to them, my life keeps getting better and better.  This group has been such a huge prayer support.  They sent me so many encouraging cards when I was battling breast cancer.  Surprise Starbucks giftcards, too.  I don't know about you, but Starbucks giftcards are one of my love languages.  The ladies of the group have been my cheerleaders.  Everyone in the group is uplifting and just wants to see you live the best life you possibly can.  They always have book recommendations, if you need a specific genre or subject to read.  They band together to support people in the group that are hurting.  It is just amazing.  They are what church is supposed to be, except it's an online group.  It really is amazing.  I have been blessed to meet one of the ladies in person and hope to meet more soon!

So much has happened since my last blog post...

20 months since I last updated?  Really?!  There are many reasons.  On February 28, 2014, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I look back now and think that surely that could not have been just a year and 10 months ago, but it was.  It was a long road and was very scary at times, but I am now on the other side.  I am so thankful to be done with treatment and surgeries.  Tomorrow, I will go back to the plastic surgeon for a check up.  It will be the first time I've seen him since he did my final reconstruction in March.  I can't believe it's been that long, but life has kept me busy since surgery.  There are things that I'm not extremely happy with since my reconstruction is complete, but I don't think he can fix them.  Since my right side(cancer side) was radiated, the skin is much tighter on that side, making that implant look smaller.  I look fine in clothes, though, so I don't think I'm worried enough to try to fix it.  Going through surgery for cosmetic reasons has never made much sense to me.  I have been through enough surgeries since being diagnosed with cancer to last me a lifetime.  I don't like being put to sleep and don't like taking time for recovering.  With 5 kids, I don't have much time to sit and rest and recovery takes a lot of sitting and resting!  Today, I feel so much better than I ever remember feeling.  It makes me wonder how long cancer had been lurking before it was found.  I had been so tired and run down for several years.  I thought it was just because I was a new mom, but maybe it was because I was sick.  Over the past year, I have gone through about 4 surgeries, 6 big chemo treatments, 17 herceptin treatments and 30 rounds of radiation.  Thankfully I'm past that and now only see my doctors for follow ups.  I get to see them every 3 months for 2 years, then it moves to every 6 months.  I have officially been considered NED(no evidence of disease) for 14 months now.  I can't believe it's been that long, but at the same time, it feels like it has been so much longer!  I am thankful for every single day I have with Ernie and the kids these days.  I have come to realize that every day, every hour, every minute is truly a gift from above.

Disappointment

Today's writing prompt from Jeff Goins is disappointment.  I think every single one of us has lived with disappointment over one thing or another.  It is inescapable in this world in which we reside.  

One of the earliest disappointments I remember was my Mom marrying my stepdad.  I thought he was mean and awful.  He would verbally abuse me and my Mom would tell me to ignore him.  I was disappointed that she would allow him to treat me that way.  

I was disappointed when my Mom was never there for my dance classes or dress rehearsals.  My stepdad was there in the lobby taking pictures, so he was in charge of getting me there and home most of the time.  I was disappointed that work always seemed more important than her children.  Especially when she sent me an email saying that she was sorry that I could not understand that she had to look out for herself and work all of the time.  I felt like a child again, unworthy of her time and love.  

When my Daddy died when I was 13, I was disappointed again.  I was disappointed in God, that He would take my Daddy, but leave my verbally abusive stepdad.  I couldn't understand why He would take a good person and leave a bad one.  A couple of years later, a teacher explained to me that when someone has completed the plan God had for them here on earth, He calls them home.  I am not sure if that was 100% theologically correct, but it sure made my hurting heart feel better.  

When my brother started drinking, got involved with drugs and started stealing from my mom & stepdad, I was disappointed.  When he was not willing to admit that he had a problem, the disappointment grew.  The drugs & alcohol turned into drinking cough syrup to get a high.  The stealing turned into stealing their identity.  When they pressed charges, I was disappointed in them.  That disappointment was definitely misplaced.  When he got out of jail the first time and we opened our house to him and he was abusive to my kids and I did not find out until years later, that was disappointment.  When I found out he had abused my kids and I missed the signs, I was extremely disappointed in myself and filled with shame and regret.  

After my brother repeated the same mistakes with stealing and drugs and returned to jail, I was disappointed again.  When he asked family to throw a party for him when he was released, I was disappointed again.  Yes, I was glad he was released, but a party after 3.5 years in jail?  I just could not grasp the idea.  

A few months after he was released from jail, he was telling us that he was extremely sick and he looked terribly sick.  He told us that he had developed epilepsy due to head trauma from falling in jail and he was having major pain and stomach issues.  He looked horribly ill.  He told us that his family doctor had ordered some scans and told him that he had a mass in his head.  Then weeks later he told us he went to an oncologist and was told that he needed to do a full body scan, because brain tumors usually don't originate there.  A few weeks later he told us that he had gotten the news that he had pancreatic cancer that had spread to his brain.  After not seeing him near as often as I should have when he was in prison, now I thought I was losing him.  More regret.  He told us that the doctors said he had 3-6 months to live and they couldn't do anything.  

We had moved to Texas from our home state of Louisiana where he was, so we went to visit just about once a month, because I did not want to regret not seeing him as much as I could during his dying days.  He would look terrible one visit and decent the next.  I think we all were living in a constant state of turmoil.  If my Mom called, I thought she was calling to tell me that he was dead.  

About 5 months into him saying that he had cancer, my Mom, uncles and aunt, started asking him for proof, because they felt like something wasn't right.  I was naive and so disappointed that they would treat him that way, because I believed him!  I would text him or talk to him e very day, checking up on him.  Some days he sounded fine.  Some days he would say he couldn't text because his phone was too blurry or he couldn't talk because of headaches or slurred speech.  I was disappointed on those days and wondered if he was getting worse.  

He finally agreed to let my Mom and uncle go with him to the doctor and ask any questions they wanted.  I was still disappointed that they were questioning him.  I was still babying my brother and believing him.  He disappeared the day before they were supposed to go with him to the doctor.  I was so disappointed in him that day.  I had had a dream several years earlier that his life was going to end in suicide.  He called me a day or two later and told me that he was fine and just needed some space to himself.  His speech was clearer than I had heard it since he'd been out of jail.  I almost felt like he was reading from a script.  There was no stuttering or slurring, like we had all been accustomed to.  He texted asking for my address.  I have it to him and begged him to not do anything stupid.  He was found two days later.  He had overdosed on insulin.  He left letters to my Mom, sister & uncle.  No note/letter for me.  He had asked a cousin for her address, too, but she never received anything.  I was so disappointed that I did not matter enough to him to get a note.  I was disappointed that nothing I said or did was enough to change his decision on ending his life.  I was disappointed that I had trusted him and believed him when none of it was true.  I believe he came out of jail, planning on putting his family through the most excruciating pain that he possibly could.  I am disappointed in myself for playing along with his scheme and not seeing through it and dragging my family back to Louisiana every single month.  I am disappointed that my family is ashamed and tries to keep it a secret.  

I am hoping to find a group that is hurting from verbal abuse &/or losing a loved one to suicide and be a light of hope to them in their darkness.  

A story of redemption

I found myself trying to mother my brother.  Even though I was only 2 years older, with our Mom working full time and unavailable emotionally after she got home, because she was exhausted, I tried to be there for my brother.  

Losing our Dad when I was 13 and he was 11 seemed to have a profound affect on both of us.  Neither of us were the same people.  When I was scared, I would run to him and sleep in his bed, even though he was younger.  I always felt like I would be rejected by my mother and told that I was being silly.  

When I was making wedding plans, I asked him and my half sister to be the ones to walk me down the aisle, because my Daddy was gone and I was definitely not going to ask my step dad because I could not stand him.  My brother walked me down the aisle and sang at my wedding.  

A couple of years later when I started having children, he was a great uncle and visited them quite often.  He would play with them and they looked forward to his visits.  The more I was around him, the more I noticed that he was struggling.  

He started drinking.  When drinking was not enough, he turned to pain pills.  He would go to the doctor and make up extravagant lies to get pain pills.  Eventually that would not work, so he started stealing them from his Mom & from me when I had them after having a baby.  

His drinking, taking drugs and stealing drugs, eventually turned into stealing money from friends and family to buy the drugs.  Then it turned into stealing our mom and stepdad's identity.  It was discovered when my Mom went to buy a vehicle.  In order to not have to pay the thousands of dollars back, they had to file a police report and press charges against him.  

He spent about one year in jail.  Mom was sending him money to buy snacks, paper, stamps, etc, but he did not think it was enough, so he asked our uncle to send him money.  Our uncle would only agree if he would read and write a book report on the book.  Then he would send him money.  Our uncle did not want him sitting in there and not using his mind.  

After a year, he was released from jail and rented a house with funds that had been placed into a trust fund from rental properties he had inherited.  He could not find a job, because of his record, so my uncle hired him to work at his store.  After a couple of years of working at our uncle's store and being around positive influences, he admitted that life was not turning out exactly as he had wished.  

After much reflection and encouragement from family, he decided to start going to Celebrate Recovery.  It helped, but not as much as he was hoping.  After some encouragement from friends in his small group, he decided to go into a full treatment Rehab facility.  He spent 6 months in rehab and did absolutely every thing asked of him.  As of today, he has been drug free and sober for 10 years.  I am so thankful that he admitted he needed help, instead of living in denial!  

Fear

Fear

Do you know what it feels like to fear something so much that you are physically ill?  Do you know what it feels like to be woken from a deep sleep at 4AM and stuck in the bathroom sick for an hour, for no logical reason?  I never knew the fear I know now, until I lost my Daddy.  

I completely changed that day.  Now I love every day in the fear that I am going to lose someone close to me.  If it takes Ernie 15 minutes longer than normal to get to work, I'm in a panic.  If he does not text me to let me know he made it to work, or if he texts, but forgets to hit send, I am a basket case.  I will be physically sick, thinking of every possible thing that could have gone wrong on his drive into work.  

If I don't hear from him occasionally during the day, fear creeps in again.  Our oldest child sent back to public school this year, after 5 years of homeschooling.  Most of the students have smartphones now and I know his is with him all of the time.  If I text and cannot get a reply fairly quickly, I will text over and over and panic that something may have happened at school.  Thankfully he has figured out that he can send me a message on fb to tell me when to pick him up or whatever and that helps ease my worry.  I have been known to check the school's website to see if he's eaten lunch so I know he was fine at least that long.  

Part of the reason I homeschool my kids is because of fear of something happening to them at school.  Whether it's a teacher that does something inconceivable or a child with a gun or any other kind of disaster.  I think allowing my son to go to high school this year has stretched me and really helped in my prayer life and trusting that God is going up protect him.  

Leading up to my husband's 35th birthday, I was having panic attacks.  My Dad died at 35 and I was paranoid that somehow the same thing was going to happen to him.  I knew that he would not die the same way, he does not have epilepsy, but I still worried.  As I got close to 35, the paranoia started again.  I was terrified that I was going to die.  It makes absolutely no sense, but I was still fearful.  

My extended family seem to all be worriers.  I don't know if we just pick it up without realizing it or if it's just something that some of us deal with day to day.  My babies have always co-slept.  Not only because I want them close, but because of my fear of SIDS.  

To combat these fears, that can sometimes be debilitating, I read the Bible, meditate on scripture, do a lot of praying, distract myself by being busy and when nothing seems to be working or it's extremely bad, I take Xanax.  I hate taking medication for it, but right now, that is where I am.  

Hate

I have been thinking about MLK today and his quote - “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.".  I don't know if you have grown up with hate, but I have.  I cannot remember if it started when I objected at my Mom's wedding to my stepdad at the courthouse.  Or if it was before she married my stepdad.  I don't know if it was because I did not like him or if it was because he did not like having another mouth to feed. 

I was raised in Louisiana where there is still a lot of racism.  There was way more than you could ever imagine in this day and time.  Or maybe it was just that way in my house and my best friend's house.  Maybe it was just their generation.  I doubt I will ever know the reason behind so much hatred.  

I was not allowed to watch The Cosby Show or Fresh Prince, simply because of their skin color.  My stepdad treated all black people as if they were thieves.  It was insane in my opinion.  I could not understand why people would judge and hate others simply because we are different.  

My Dad's side of the family was teaching me that we are all equal, God made each and every one of us and to treat others the way you would want to be treated.  My Mom's side of the family was teaching me completely differently, if actions are what we learn.  

I find it ironic that my stepdad would talk bad about people on welfare, but he would only work long enough at a paper mill shut down in order to get unemployment, then he would sit at home or enjoy his days on the golf course, while my Mom worked full time to carry insurance on us.  How are those two different?  I do not see much difference.  In fact, I think it's taking advantage of the government, the same way some people that are capable of working choose not to and get on welfare.  Is there a difference?  

I cannot count on one hand how many times he yelled at me or argued with me until I just gave up.  He had to have the last word about everything.  He was always right, no matter what the discussion.  

I was a reader growing up.  My books were my escape from reality.  I don't think I will forget him telling people that all I read about was who was kidding who.  I felt so humiliated.  

The first time he bullied my oldest daughter, I completely lost it.  He wanted her to try the peach tea he was drinking.  She politely said no thank you.  His reply was, why don't you ever do what I ask you to do?  There was name calling in there, too.  She was probably 10 years old.  I stood up to him for once and told him that he may have gotten away with bullying me, but he was but bullying my child.  We left his house with my grandmother crying and asking me to just let it go.  I had been told since they'd been together to "let it go", "ignore him", "let it go in one ear and out the other", "that's just the way he is, he doesn't know any better", "he's just not happy, so he tries to bring everyone else down" and my favorite "You just don't know how to take a joke".  I think my mouth dropped every time I heard "You just don't know how to take a joke".  That is what my grandmother said when her daughter, my aunt, said that one of my children would probably grow up to be a child molester.  "She was just joking!  It was just a joke!  You don't know how to take a joke!  You need to just let it go.".  Then my brother turned out to be a child molester, but that is a family secret.  There is shame there.  They don't want anyone to know.  Because that's unthinkable, but yet they could joke about it and tell me that I don't know how to take a joke.  

The day of my brother's funeral, or maybe a few days after, my mind is pretty muddled about that week, my stepdad tried to give me my engagement canvas that had been hanging in their old house for 15 years and told me that it was not going on his walls.  This house that my Mom bought and pays for and only has his name on the mortgage because she needed his income counted, my picture is not allowed on "his" walls.  My brother just died and what I was hearing was that a reminder of you, is not welcome in his and my mother's house.  Do you think she stood up to him?  No, because that could cause a conflict.  She had her mother, my grandmother, call and ask for the canvas back so my Mom could put it in her office.  

I don't think I had ever felt more hated.  By my stepdad and partly by my Mom, because I was not important enough to her to stand up to him and say that I am her daughter and my engagement canvas was going in her house.  

Hate makes me sick.  There is absolutely no place for it, ever.  We are commanded to love God and each other.  Hate is a waste of time and energy.  It separates us from God.  

What are your thoughts?  Have you dealt with hate in your life?  How have you reacted to it?  Or are you able to easily let it go?