Discretion

Discretion: the quality of behaving or speaking in such a way as to avoid causing offense or revealing private information.

Integrity: the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness.

I really appreciate being able to stay caught up on the news, current events and emergencies through  social media pages and postings.  I believe that news providers are providing a very valuable service to our community; however I am concerned about giving reader's the ability to comment on such stories.

The primary objective in releasing news onto social media is usually to target an audience that has a higher online presence than perhaps say those who would pick up a newspaper. 

When you pick up a newspaper or magazine, you read an article and if it impacts you, perhaps you clip it and send it to a friend or co-worker. There isn’t the ability to share your comments publically or provide judgments to those involved. The only ways that really allows for a response would be a letter to the editor, or sharing the article directly.

Through the development of social media and the “liking,” “sharing,” and comment ability, there has been a shift in the presenting of news. Now, when a story is released, each reader has the ability to provide their input, comments, judgments, assumptions and criticism for all to see. The problem with this is includes but is not limited to the following things:

•  Very rarely is a commenter directly involved
• Often details are not fully disclosed and the existence of social media sharing alters that, sometimes inadvertently (such as releasing names of victims or people involved)
• Privacy for family members, friends or others impacted is limited by lack of discretion by commenters
• Commenters are free to share their judgments, call names, and walk the line of slandering those involved
• The reputations of those involved (primarily in tragic stories such as child abuse, rape or other criminal acts) are often destroyed before legal action is taken and innocence or guilt is determined.

Is there an easy solution to this problem? I believe there is. While they can’t control what an individual chooses to “share” and provide comments on for their personal page, they are able to disable comments when they share stories that could contain delicate information.  

Disabling comments would allow for the news story to be shared but would limit the reader to strictly reading.  Any insights they then felt the need to share would occur on their private page rather than on the news provider's page.  It eliminates the question of the integrity of the news provider this way. News providers are removing the forum for discussion that more times than not becomes a lynching session.

I do not feel that disabling comments violates freedom of speech, nor would it negatively impact the story shared. I do believe that it would restore the integrity to the story, those involved, and the author by allowing what is shared to simply be enough. I strongly urge news providers to consider the idea of disabling comments for stories of a more delicate nature in the future. Perhaps a base line could be established to determine what stories fall under that umbrella to remove the ability for readers to question their decision. 

If disabling comments is not an option, are there ways to edit, pay closer attention to and monitor conversations occurring. A news platform is not the place to air someone's dirty laundry for all to see and open things up for stone throwing.  I do think that upholding integrity in the news reported includes providing an umbrella of protection, however small it may be, to those written about and this would help provide that. 

Mom

Moms come in all shapes, sizes, ages and backgrounds. Some moms have birthed us and some come to us through other relationships. A mom can be a grandmother, an aunt, a friend, a parent's girlfriend, or just someone that has chosen to invest in your life and the shaping and molding of who you are.

According to Urban Dictionary, the top definition for “mom” is:

“The woman who loves you unconditionally from birth, the one who puts her kids before herself and the one who you can always count on above everyone else. Just telling her your problems makes you feel better because moms always know how to make it all go away. Even if you fight, you know that she's just looking out for your best interests.”

So what do you do when you're mom... but you're not “mom?” When you haven't birthed the children, but you love them as your own. Turning my “momness” off is just not something that I can do whether I birthed the children or not.

This week, two of my children were involved in an incident and sustained significant injury.

Now, I'm sure most of you are saying to yourself “she only has two children.” I don't... I have 5. Two that I birthed, and three that have stolen my heart just as their dad has. And so yes, I consider them mine (with no disrespect at all to their mothers in any way), even though I'm not “mom” to them. I feed them, stay home when they're sick, plan special things for their birthdays, braid their hair, buy their toiletries and tampons, buy their groceries, take them to the doctor, clean up their vomit, and all of the other things associated with “mom” when they're in my home.

I cannot explain to you accurately the horror and panic I felt when I got the call about Nicholas and Emma on Thursday. As I ran out of the house without shoes or regular clothing all I could think about was getting to them as fast as possible, not even knowing at that point the extent of their injuries.

Running to them and not being sure how to hold them both in my arms at the same time while being able to assure them that they were safe. Driving them to the hospital as fast as I could without getting pulled over while trying to put my arms between the back and front seat to make sure I could comfort them both. Checking them into the hospital and then going between both rooms so that neither of them were alone any longer than they needed to be until Grandparents arrived to help.

I never really understood “loving them as my own” being an option, but it wasn't until this occurred that I really realized how much they have taken up residence in my heart. There is no going back for me. I may not be their “mom,” I may not ever be even close, but they are “my children.”

I've had a couple of different moms in my life. Women who provided things in different seasons that have helped shape and mold me into the woman I am today. And while I've had the benefit of having my biological mother as my “mom.” I am most grateful for what those other women brought to the table along with what my mom taught me.

To me... my definition of being a mom...

… providing unconditional love, putting their needs above my own, and trying my damndest to be one they can always count on....

Take a moment this Mother's Day to love on the moms in your life. Mom can be much more than the woman who birthed you. Moms can come in all shapes and sizes. 

They've helped make you.... you... by being them....

And they... are moms.  

Food

In society today there are many categories that fall under the “addiction” subtitle. Sobriety is defined as “not affected by alcohol” but that definition has been adapted to include a variety of substances which one might abstain from.

Often, the lifestyle of an addict is stereo-typed to include legal troubles, relational issues and to infer that the only acceptable way to pursue sobriety is through the 12 Step Program... Don't get me wrong... the 12 Step Program is great... I am in NO way suggesting that it hasn't been highly effective for millions of people.

Unfortunately, what has become the cultural norm of addiction, or, the addict stereo type, does not include those of us who live daily with probably one of the most common addictions and deathly cycle there is... food.

For me, food has been my constant. It has always been there for me. I know what to expect, I know how it will make me feel, and I know how and where to get it. It's not an illegal substance, it doesn't actually hurt people or lead directly to death through impairment. It is necessary to survive. It makes me feel better.

Those are the lies I've told myself all of my life. My dependence on food rather than another addictive substance has been easily justified through societal allowances and my own deception.

The reality... it's killing me. It is damaging my relationships and while it hasn't caused me any legal troubles, it has impacted and hinders my daily functioning beyond what is acceptable. It has impacted my children and the decisions they make while at the same time causing them to buy into the mind set that “it's safe.”

In attempting to restart my life over the last month or two, it became very clear to me that my dependence on food had reached a place that required adjustment... right now! I could no longer live in the denial that “I was doing ok” or “I'm just big-boned.” That I was the smart and witty one and so no one really cared if I was chunky. That my intellect and ability to fix things was outweighing the need to be healthy; that even if I could give really good advice, I was still modeling an unhealthy pattern that people could actually pick up on.

I quietly watched as two people whom I admire greatly in many areas, and who have been very dear friends of mine, sought to become healthy and change their lives... and they aren't really overweight like I am... They just decided to be better for themselves and their children. I didn't say anything to them, and I doubt they have any idea how much they impacted my desire to seek change. Not just to lose weight, but to be healthy, and in the end... to be there for my children as the best mom I can be. Thank you so much for inspiring me.

And thus begins my journey of change. I'm not going to lie... it has SUCKED! I have cried through work outs, sobbed in the shower, had every muscle in my body ache and to be even more honest... it's not getting better... yet... But, I am better. I'm happier, I have more energy, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel ok about being me. I haven't been successful every day, but I have been honest about it. I have sought accountability and they have cheered me on through small successes and what seemed like huge mountains.

Now, of course I'm only 3 weeks in. But I am more determined than ever that this is my time. That I can make this change and overcome these obstacles coming out on the other end thinner and healthier, but more than that... proud of who I am. Not just mentally, but physically. To be the best I can be for you, my children, and most importantly, for me.

I'd love to have you join me on my journey. Either out loud, or quietly. Perhaps you want to start a journey of your own. Maybe your area of struggle is not the same as mine. That's ok... I have learned that the more honest I am, and the more I can be open about it, the easier it is. I don't even hesitate now to text a girlfriend and let them know that I'm struggling. Or that I feel like I'm STARVING.

Three is not a crowd in this case. Hop on board, change your life for you, with me. To be the best you can be, not only for the people you love, but more importantly for you.

Trauma

Some content may be inappropriate for young readers.

I love karaoke. When I was younger and had my eyes set on being the first woman president, my first presidential act was going to be to declare “National Karaoke Day.”  (Turns out there is now a National Karaoke Week… my heart soars)

I had just turned 21 and had been frequenting a local bar whose name has changed since then several times, for karaoke as many nights a week as I could.  I was never a big drinker, had lots of “karaoke friends” and even the bar staff watched out for me. I was the little sister so to speak of that crazy group and I loved it!

The first time he came into the bar I was helping out behind the bar. He came in with a regular and was sweet, funny and a steady flow of conversation provided an evening of entertainment and intrigue. By the end of the evening he had convinced me to give him my number along with a promise to “meet again soon.” I was flattered by the attention and in the few days to follow, the flattering texts and just thinking about you moments continued to fill my head with excitement as we made plans to meet again at karaoke the following week.

I rang in the new year with some dear friends… my first indicator that something might be off was the over 45 phone calls and text messages that I missed during a 5 hour  celebration with my friends.  I chalked it up to a little over exuberance and continued on toward the karaoke date with a bit of hesitation but not enough to keep me from going.

During the two days prior to our next meeting time, he continued to call and text incessantly… I began to feel wary, something just did not seem right. But our mutual friend convinced me that I was overreacting, that he was really a great guy.

The night finally arrived; I wore my favorite shirt and my new pink pants that I had gotten for my birthday. They were velour and the most comfortable pants I had ever owned. Did my hair, put on make up, and to karaoke I went. I ordered a beer and jumped into my normal karaoke routine waiting for him to arrive.  When he did arrive, much later than planned, he had a friend with him and had some story about his friend’s car not working and did I mind us all hanging out together.  While it seemed odd, I shrugged it off, said sure, and went up to sing the song I had selected especially for when he got there (it showed off my ability the best and he had said it was his favorite). He sang once that evening, a song he dedicated to me and my heart swooned… not because he that good but more because of the sweetness of the idea.

The evening continued on and they kept talking about a friend who has having a get together at his home and did I want to check it out. I said I would think about it but I wanted to stay a little longer. He offered to get me a beer, (my second for the evening) and I agreed. I sang once more and started to feel a little funny. Overwhelmed by the noise and lights and like I couldn’t breathe right.  It was then that they suggested leaving and I agreed quickly.  As we were leaving, my dear friend behind the bar questioned me as to my condition saying that something seemed wrong and was I sure that I was ok.  I readily assured him that I was ok, just felt a little off and I was going to leave with them and they had promised to take me home.

The rest of the evening is somewhat a blur… I remember bits and pieces.  I remember driving to a house and there being 4-5 other people there.  I remember him instantly being very physically attentive, calling me “his girl” and making sure I was never out of his sight.  I remember my head pounding and my going through the medicine cabinet desperate for some sort of Tylenol to ease the pain. I remember telling him directly “I am not going to have sex with you I don’t even know you” and him laughing and telling me not to worry.

In the morning I could not find my keys, or my pants and I wasn’t sure where I was.  My keys were across the room underneath my neatly folded pants along with my cell phone which had been turned off. Feeling panicked as to where I was or how I got there I quickly dressed and left noting that everyone else was sleeping.  Still feeling very off I went home desperate for more sleep. I had to work that night and so I got up, dragged myself to the shower feeling very sore and more “hung over” than I should have been after 2 beers.

While I was in the shower, I began to have flashbacks of the evening before. I remembered him pushing me up against the wall all the time telling me how beautiful I was and that I would be his Portuguese princess.  I remember trying to squirm away but him holding his hand around my neck just tight enough to keep me there.  I remember trying to pacify him by saying “let’s just go to sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.” I remember putting my keys and my phone next to me on the couch and having my pants ON! I remember him trying to come on to me and my pushing him away saying “I said no, leave me alone.” I remember waking up and he was on top of me, my pants were on the ground, one arm was holding my neck and shoulders down while the other hand was doing things inside me. I remember crying. I remember him starting to pull his pants off and my flailing trying to get away. I remember him speaking to me in a low quiet tone telling me “it’s ok, it’s all going to be alright, I won’t hurt you if you stay still.” The feeling of his arm tightening around my neck; praying in my head “get me out of here please.” Then mustering everything I possibly had, using my entire body weight and pushing him off me yelling “I said no.” Then everything going black.

It took me 24 hours to decide to go to the police, I didn’t know what to do, I was ashamed, scared, and because my memory was somewhat spotty I had no idea if anyone would even believe me.  The creepy police officer that took me to the hospital who was saying “call me if you need anything” while trying to slide his hand onto my leg. The nurse that was cold and hard, questioning me as to why it took me so long to come in. Clearly not understanding how scared and confused I was.

The months to follow carried with them significant heart ache, trauma and pain.  I was plagued with nightmares each time revealing a detail that I had remembered from the event.  My friends were angry, some at him, some at me (one friend told me I ruined their wedding, they were getting married a couple of days after everything happened and I was catering for them… which for the record I still did), and I was so ashamed that I told the most vanilla version of the story that I could just so that it would be over, so that I didn’t have to talk about it anymore.  The re-traumatization of needing to tell the story over and over had paralyzed me. I walked around in a fog.

I spent years that way. To this day I refuse to wear or be near anything velour. I’ve never sung that song again or been able to listen to the song he sang without wanting to vomit. I’ve avoided that house and anything near it.  Around this time every year I’m plagued with nightmares, irritability, the desire to hide in a hole and not come out.  It feels like everyone that looks at me can see my pain, the dirtiness, the scars that I carry.  As if I’m carrying my insides on my outside.

It’s always been easier to not talk about it.  Even though I have found a lot of healing from the event in my brain, my subconscious, my insides are still wounded.  The biological response, although I’ve fought desperately against it, still manages to rear its ugly head and remind me as if saying… “hey you… I see you… everyone sees you… you’re disgusting, you let that happen to you, you probably deserved it.” And the kicker… I never remember that it’s happening until I look at the calendar after wondering why I haven’t slept, or woken up soaked in sweat, or felt like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder and feeling like I might jump out of my skin. That I would just like to go hide in a hole until it’s over.

If you carry pain like mine, or experiences like mine and can’t understand why you just “can’t seem to move on from them.” Know that you aren’t alone. 

It wasn’t your fault. 

Everyone can’t see your scars, and they aren’t ugly. They are beautiful. They mean that you survived, that you have gone on to live the best that you can, they show pain transformed into beauty. And if you can’t seem to see that part yet, keep trying. It will come.  

Does it ever fully go away? I don’t think so. I’m not sure that it is supposed to.  But I do know that in sharing who I am, how I feel and what I see, it gives someone else who is hiding like me the freedom to know… they are not alone.

You are not alone. We are together. There is room in my hole. You are welcome here.

Shame

Ashamed- Embarrassed or guilty because of one's actions, characteristics or associations.

Shame – make someone feel ashamed.

Selfish – lacking consideration for others, concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

I have spent most of my life feeling ashamed because of the shame I feel towards those that are selfish. As someone who has found most of my self-worth through seeking to make others happy, I have discovered that I am incredibly resentful of those whose focus is inward. But... I'm 32 and I'm just now realizing this...

I struggle to fathom how people spend their days thinking and acting solely on what they want and have no regard for other people or often times can't see beyond the end of their own nose to notice that someone might need a kind word, some encouragement, or even a hug (although I am not a hugger, so please don't start hugging me)...

While I do feel that there are those who are exceptionally self-focused.... what I have begun to realize is that I have become more comfortable condemning those who take more care of themselves than others rather than accepting that what I need and want is not only ok... it's necessary to my survival.

I recently started doing some work transcribing psychological evaluations and one of the tests performed measures how well one cares for themselves, while another measures what one expects from relationships. The most common result is that the individual does not focus enough on themselves and does not expect relationships to be reciprocal instead often expecting little to nothing from other people.

It saddens me to realize that for the most part, I stopped expecting relationships to be reciprocal many years ago. I allowed myself to believe very quickly that the only value I had in most relationships was what I could give or do for that person and it was safer to just expect nothing in return. I have had very few relationships where I haven't operated under this mentality.

Now, in my own defense. That isn't necessarily ALL my fault. I have had many experiences that contributed to molding that world view, where either my expressed needs were shamed or ignored.... to the extent of being told that my self-centered response was causing detriment to that person to great extent.... which of course for my people-pleasing brain was devastating.

As I have done more introspective work during my accident recovery, one of the things I have identified is this pattern of feeling incredibly angry, hurt, frustrated (you pick a word it probably fits) toward others because that resentment can no longer remain stuffed in my brain. Inevitably, the anger seeps out in the form of shame... which then makes me feel ashamed... all because... the reality.

I suck at being selfish.... I envy those who are selfish. Not selfish to the point of damaging others... but people who can take care of their own needs above the needs of others and feel not only ok about it... but entitled to it. This has resulted in overextending myself (yes I know, many of you are nodding), digging myself into financial holes over and over, along with a general dissatisfaction when it comes to relationships because I feel as though no one sees me. I feel invisible. I feel like the little girl, standing in the corner of the tall grass on the edge of a field yelling “HELLO!!!! I'm over here”

So. I'm turning to a new chapter. I hope... one where I fight for me... for what I need. For people to see me for who I really am. To see my heart for loving others but also my need to be loved in return... and to be seen. To start saying no, even when the pain is excruciating because I know that there is a part of me that still feels like I won't be important if I say no. That finds value in being needed. But is no longer willing to be angry and resentful to survive the mental gymnastics of people-pleasing for self-worth.

I am worth more than that. And if you are at all like me... so are you.

Won't you join me in this new adventure. Of taking better care of me... so that of course in the end... I can take better care of you. 

And just maybe.... you can take better care of me.

Reminiscence

Do you ever have that connection with someone.... ya know... the moment you meet them you feel that deep, soul connection that really usually you only see in movies.

That's how I felt about Erik... not in a romantic way... more like the older brother I never had but always imagined.

The summer before my senior year changed my life. It changed my direction. It changed everything.

First there was Matt.... Matt was the older brother of my friend Annie who at the time was one of my dearest friends; well and really he was my friend too. The Slater kids were friends from church/youth group and I fell right in the middle of their age line-up. All the girls at one point or another had a crush on Matt... he had that dreamy blond hair, blue-eyed artistic look but with abs hat we all swooned for.

Matt passed away unexpectedly at a summer party the end of June. I can still remember getting the call to come to the hospital in the middle of the night after having left the bonfire we were all at because I had a headache. I can remember Mrs. Slater sobbing. I can remember not knowing what to do or what to say. I remember his funeral. I remember the room being so full that people were standing in rows in the back. I remember singing.... I remember not being able to cry during the funeral because I felt like someone had to hold it together, everyone was a mess. We all cried a lot in the weeks to follow. The tragic loss of Matt was something no one was prepared for, nor did we know how to handle.

Then I met Erik. Erik was a heroin addict that was newly sober and looking to make a serious direction change in his life. The details on how he was introduced to our family are a little fuzzy, I just remember his smile. We instantly hit it off. He filled a part of my heart that was still aching from the loss of Matt. He became part of the family.

Erik was an amazing cook! I can remember the first time I cooked when he came for dinner... I was SO nervous. He was so kind... even though I'm sure it wasn't that wonderful. We played Euchre.... I won and never stopped rubbing it in. He just had this way of instantly making me feel warm and comfortable. I remember his hugs. He was so tall! His arms would just wrap around me. They were the best hugs!

We used to talk about the different things we wanted to do in life. Where we wanted to go. I was entering my senior year in high school and he would tell me that I could do anything I wanted... he was sure of it.

Then the phone call came. It was October late at night. Erik was in the hospital in ICU. Originally we were told he had over-dosed. Turns out that he had gone back out and when he used, it caused an aneurysm in his brain to explode which mimicked the signs of an over-dose. I don't remember very much about the details of the next day. I remember sitting in the hospital. I remember people coming and going... everyone was crying. I remember not knowing what to do. I felt completely lost.

I remember when they decided that they were going to take him off life support I was screaming inside. The gut wrenching, heart stabbing, doubling-over feeling. I remember standing in the room. The beeping of the monitor...Everyone was saying goodbye. I couldn't say goodbye. I told him, “I'll always beat you in Euchre. You were better than any older brother I could have ever had. You can't go.” And then... the beeping stopped...his heart stopped beating...

...I didn't feel anymore.

I couldn't handle the pain, I didn't understand the pain. Why did it hurt so much.

I dropped classes, I struggled to find pleasure in anything. I felt as if part of me was missing. I had nightmares... there I was... standing there... and there he was... the beeping... and then it would stop. I would wake up feeling as though I was screaming only to find I was just dreaming. I went from having a clear plan to no plan at all. To desperately seeking something that would free me from the intense agony I was feeling.

There are a lot of people who have been important to me.

A lot of people who impacted my life in one way or another.

But there have been no more like Erik. I loved Erik as if he were my family.

The trauma of losing both Matt and Erik within months of each other caused a chasm in my heart. A dark pain that for years I tried to numb with just about anything I could. I never really found anything that took the pain away... it just became a dull ache. It still hurts. But now... I let it hurt.

People always say when someone dies, “oh they're in a better place now” or “they don't feel anymore pain.” That never takes the pain away. It doesn't help or ease the intensity.

And ya know... it's ok... It's ok that it hurts, and it's ok that I feel it. I feel no shame in missing someone who had such a profound impact on my life in such a short time.

This time of year is always difficult for me. I remember Matt. Try to imagine what he might have done with his love for art. Who he would have married and what his children might be like.

I remember Erik. My heart aches for him. To know what he would have become. To show him who I've become. And even though I believe that he is in heaven, and I know he would be proud: still I miss him.

I remember.

And it hurts.

But I'm ok.

Bewail

Bewail: express great regret, disappointment, or bitterness over (something).

Mourn: feel regret or sadness about (the loss or disappearance of something).

For as long I can remember, one of the things I have cherished most, been most proud of, and relied on beyond almost all else… was my mind… my brain. I’ve always been quick to catch on, sharp, quick to come up with a response, and worked hard to further my intelligence whenever possible. 

You know the old saying, “an elephant never forgets?” well… Charissa never forgets.  I never needed to carry a calendar, put things in my phone, or write myself notes… My mind was a steel trap.

During my childhood, I was often rewarded for being intelligent.  In fact, in an attempt to help me raise funds for mission trips, I used to be rewarded monetarily for each A on my final two report cards.  $20 an A seemed like a fortune at that time so I worked even harder to make sure those last two marking periods were always my best.

I’ve written before about how important words are to me, about growing up in a family that highly valued extensive vocabulary.  Well the same went for intelligence.  Both my parents and my brother are far above “smart” and we have always taken pride in our intelligence.

I also have always been quite abstract when it comes to my process, thinking, and daily

living.  What does that mean exactly? It means this… while many people need someone to give them step by step directions, some of us prefer either no directions or only an initial concept… or even at times to be the ones that come up with the concept and pass it on to others.  OF course there is always an in between… but I very much fall in the concept creating category.  I have always been able to juggle many balls at one time without risk of dropping them. Again, something I’ve always taken pride in.

Why am I telling you all this?

I need to tell you about the different me.  The new me that I am not yet willing to accept as the permanent me.  The me that is struggling with something that I can’t control. (oh yea, along with all of those really great things came the “control freak” part of me also… wait… I still have that.. I digress)

As you know, I’m recovering (a year out almost) from a car accident that completely flipped my world upside down.  And if you’re anything L ike me, the thought, “Gosh shouldn’t she be better already” is going through your head; trust me, I echo your sentiment.  Unfortunately, there is very much about me that is different now. The best way for me to do it is to write two different letters and let you decide which category you fall into.

To those who knew me before,

I wish that you could see inside my head.  That you could feel how I feel so that I wouldn’t have to put words to it. Putting words to it makes it feel so much more… real… rather than just a figment of my imagination that will eventually fade away. Most of the time I feel crazy. It’s painful. I am painfully aware every day of my difference. I don’t get jokes anymore, (they often go right over my head). It takes me longer to process anything that’s said to me, so I am unable to make quick decisions or have those quick witty comebacks you’ve grown to love from me.  I don’t remember ANYTHING. I write everything down, and even then, I often need to be reminded. So if you’ve told me something important and I don’t remember, it’s not because I’m careless with your information from you or your heart, I honestly probably don’t remember.  I also am unable to follow conversations as quickly, which means that the glazed over dazed and confused look you often find on my face now is real. I have no clue what you just said to me.

However, probably the biggest change: I have trouble being grounded now, and providing grounding for anyone else.  I have trouble getting my bearings, finding and feeling secure. I feel like I’m standing on a wire that’s stretched out between two very tall buildings and with one little blow will topple over and go plundering to my death on the concrete below (graphic.. painful… it’s what I’m experiencing  daily).

This has come along with a significant amount of anxiety.  I struggle to go into crowds or places where there will be more than 3-4 people, especially alone.  I am less likely to go anywhere alone, and will often only go places when someone is accompanying me who I feel completely safe with. And by that I mean, someone who can read what’s happening by my body language and can quickly get me out of a situation if I start to become too overwhelmed.  Usually I just stay home. It doesn’t feel worth the risk.

I’m sure this is all very hard to imagine, especially about me. The outgoing, performing loving, karaoke singing, joke telling me.  Trust me, most days I can’t swallow it myself.  It makes me angry. Angry that in an instant, me… the me I know... the me you know… is changed.  And while I keep telling myself, it’s just a season.  The doctors keep saying, have grace, be easy on your brain, it needs to heal, it will heal.  I just don’t see it… not yet at least.  So I need all of you to see it for me.

I need you to see me.

To those who didn’t know me before,

When I tell you that I’m different now, that I don’t understand what’s going on; when I get frustrated easily, go from happy to solemn or crying at the drop of the hat. THAT IS NOT ME! When I say no to being invited places, or bail at the last minute… THAT IS NOT ME! I’m sure you’ve realized by reading my first part that I’m experiencing a lot of change. Change that not only did I not anticipate, but that I don’t know how to regulate.  You probably experience me as “normal” because you don’t know the me from before.  

My entire world has turned upside down. I’m learning how to adjust to that. But just as I feel I’m getting into a groove, something else changes, or something else that I rely on goes.  

You’ve probably seen me carrying around multiple packages of lined post-it notes or calendars. If you work with me, you’ve probably had a good chuckle at my “sticky note computer screen.” I know it seems funny, but in many ways, it is a cold daily reminder of an area that I am greatly lacking and adjusting to. Your grace and kindness is greatly appreciated.

To you all.

It may seem trivial to you. It may seem like a mountain out of a mole hill.  I strongly encourage you to think of something that you greatly depended again, and imagine it gone, or greatly damaged. How did it function then? How did you function with it? And, as much as I hate to say it, temporarily at least...  start seeing me that way. 

The real me is temporarily out of order.

Johnny

I remember very little about my early childhood. I have pieces of memories that are hard to fit together and most times I don't try. Those memories are dull, dark.. Almost gray if that makes sense.

But I have a few memories that are sharp, bright and vivid. Those are memories that are forever etched in my heart.

Johnny was born on July 4, and the entire pregnancy for my mom had been traumatic. (That's not really my story to tell) but I can say that... It was amazing that she survived it let alone delivered a living baby.

They were in the hospital the entire time Johnny was alive.  I was too young to understand what was happening. But I have a few memories from that time that always creep up this time of year.

I remember visiting my mom in the hospital. I remember her being so weak.

I remember the look of worry and concern on my dad's face, which seemed to take up permanent residence for several weeks.

I remember Danny and I trying to be as quiet as we could. We were both very afraid. We thought if we were very quiet maybe people wouldn't see us or how scared we were

I remember the tubes... there were lots of tubes. And the machine that he lived in. I remember taking the machine for a walk and being able to push it slowly down the hall of the hospital.

Then I remember crying... Not me crying... But my mom... She cried a lot.

I don't remember what it was like when Johnny died. I don't remember how they told us and actually I don't even remember if there was a service.

For what seemed  like a long time time, Fourth of July was a sad time in our house. My brother and I slowly learned that it was just best to keep that day as normal as possible and to be as well behaved as we could be. We knew it was hard for mom and dad.

Mom used to wear a locket for Johnny. I remember I found it once cleaning the bathroom after she thought she'd lost it.

Even now, twenty some years later... I still think about Johnny today. Not necessarily in a sad way, it's almost nostalgic now. But I still remember. I remember how the hospital sounded, how it smelled, how it looked.

My words to Johnny this year:

We never really got the chance to know you. Your traumatic entry into this world is forever etched in our minds. We wish we would have had more time, to know you, to love you, to be family together. I remember very little other than you being here... And then you were with us no longer. But you will always be our brother, and son. Our hearts miss you. And one day... We will know you again. A healthy you, a happy you. A whole you.

Memorial Day

A reflection from a mother in the community on the loss of her son.

My son, Tech. Sgt. Matthew Schwartz, died January 5, 2012, in Afghanistan. He performed acts of heroism every day while he was away at war. Entering cities in Iraq,

clearing roads, feeding children who had become orphans, un-detonating bombs, rescuing people who were being held hostage in their own countries--all of those acts are scary to me… as his mom.  He would never tell me about that part of it, the scary parts; he was always trying not to make me worry. He was a very good son.

All these things made me think of Jesus. Did he not do these same exact things? Did he not pave a way for all to have a new beautiful life with him? Did he not feed the hungry and adopt us into his family making us a Royal Priesthood? Did he not defuse explosive situations with just the sound of his gentle voice speaking with wisdom?  Wow… what an example.

I think of the times Matt would reply, “It’s no big deal. It's my job.” Humble, always humble. He was always placing others before himself; and oh how he loved his family. Ten days before he died, he emailed his wife to express his love for her: "So Jennifer if God comes today and takes me home I will have had more blessings than anyone could have ever wished for." 

Many have described my son's death as "the ultimate sacrifice."  My response? "No, Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice; my son just followed in his footsteps. Thank you Jesus for being Matt's hero!"

As told to Charissa Kaschel by Cindy Schwartz.

Mother

This blog is dedicated to my mother.

To those who have stepped in as "mother" during my younger life; Roxie & Anne. 

To ones who have become "mother" me; Nancy & Kandy

To those who inspire me as mothers: Jennifer, Sarah, Jesi, Katrynia & Brandee

As I find myself reflecting on Mother’s Day this year, I became curious as to the origin of Mother’s Day along with. How do we determine who “mother” is? Especially if perhaps we don’t have a biological mother.

Mother’s Day is a modern holiday that was first celebrated in 1908, when Anna Jarvis held a memorial for her mother. After a three year campaign to make Mother’s Day a holiday inspired by her mother who was a peace activist who cared for wounded soldiers on both sides of the American Civil War, Congress rejected the bill. By 1911, all states observed Mother’s Day and in 1914, Woodrow Wilson designated the second Sunday in May as the national holiday we now celebrate as Mother’s Day. (Thanks wikipedia)

Webster’s Dictionary defines “Mother” in two ways. 1. A woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth. 2. To bring up (a child) with care and affection.

I’ve been quite fortunate to have a biological mother who has always been present in my life.  Equipping me with many qualities and influencing me in many ways to help mold me into the woman I am today.  My mother is driven, strong, intelligent, snarky, a little, okay, A LOT Type A (shhh.. that’s a good thing, clearly I come by it honestly), wise, encouraging and always ready to give me a dose of reality when I need it. She taught me always to honor my commitments, speak my mind, have an opinion, and how to cook.

 As amazing as my mom was growing up, I was also provided with some women who filled the spots that my mom couldn’t.  I had a woman who fed my very dramatic, music and sequin loving girly side; and one who was loving, warm, nurturing and always had a kind word when I needed it.

I have four adopted sisters who experienced the trauma of a mother who wasn't able to care for them well which provided quite a contrast to my life as a teenager and young adult. As an opinionated (shocking I know) teenager, I couldn't understand how a mother, or what I knew a mother to be, could do things that left life long effects as she did. To this day it grieves me greatly.

As an adult, I’ve come to greatly value the saying “it takes a village to raise a child” combined with “there’s no love like a love for a mother.” As a single mom raising two boys, there are days where my “mom super powers” just aren’t enough to get through the week let alone the day. There are other women in my “village” who can step in and love and nurture my children when I’ve reached my breaking point.  Thank goodness there’s no love like a love for a mother, I mess up A LOT.

This year, as I experience my second Mother’s Day post divorce, it comes coupled with the strife a four year old grieving the separation and change and often knows no other way than to lash out with words such as “I don’t like you,” or “I hate you.” While I know that he loves me deeply, I also know he is hurting greatly and I am unable to fix that hole in his life right now. It’s been quite painful as a mom. To know that a decision I have made has caused such hurt and void in his life at such a young age.

I’ve always struggled with Mother’s Day as a mom and for a variety of reasons but mainly because I never have felt like I’ve actually done a “good enough job” to be celebrated as a mom. I’ve failed my children in so many ways, divorce, moving, being unwell, recovering from surgeries and accidents… and the list goes on.  Someone very wise once said to me: “regardless of how you feel about your mothering, there are those without mothers who would take you in a heartbeat;” which of course got me thinking about those who grew up without mothers or maternal influences.

So, no matter how you grew up or live now; whether you are connected to your mother, or someone who stepped in where your mother couldn’t. Whether your mother is no longer living on this earth, or whether you’re honoring her in memory this year. I encourage you to celebrate Mother’s Day this year by honoring those who influenced your life, or your children’s, in a way that maybe you’re only now recognizing as “mom.”

A very Happy Mother’s Day to you, and thank you to whose who have loved my children and I with reckless motherly abandon.

Crash

The theory is that certain events can altar your course for the rest of your life.  Some are positive events: graduating from college, getting married, having children, finding the perfect pair of shoes...  Those types of things usually make your life better, happier, on the course for success.

And then there are the events that are not positive.  For some they're tragic, things like death, rape, job loss,  addiction and so much more.  Those are the types of things that altar your life in a way that some say "you can never come back the same from."

Nine months ago, my life was significantly altered due to a car accident.  As someone who has dealt with PTSD most of my adult life, I'm no stranger to nightmares, paranoia, insomnia, and many of the other things that PTSD brings with it.  But I never thought that something as small as a car accident which lead to a serious concussion could make me any more "ridiculous" as I so affectionately refer to it as.  Having been diagnosed with PTCD (Post traumatic concussive disorder)... did you know that's a real thing!?! I didn't..... but I digress.  I have become increasingly aware over the last couple of months of how significantly it has impacted my life.  Aside from the stabbing headaches, the nausea, the significant amount of pain that I live with on a daily basis, but more than all of those is how it has affected me mentally.  

First of all.. my boyfriend should be nominated for sainthood... I'm not even joking.  He walks through each of my meltdowns like a champ and still comes out at the end telling me he loves me, a love I very much don't deserve some days....  again I digress....

What is it like?

Most days I feel like I'm watching a much slower version of myself.  I can tell that I'm different.  I used to be incredibly quick-witted, driven, going a mile a minute (granted that is not always healthy) and I had plans, goals and a course set for my life.  I was stable emotionally, my boat was rarely rocked.  

However, since my accident, I have become an emotional basket case so to speak.  And I wish I could know exactly when the "episodes" were going to hit, or that they had a tell so that I could warn people... "watch out... here comes the ridiculousness." It's as if instantly, I go from a relatively normal, fun, rational person to a puddle of mud.  And of course to make it worse... I KNOW I'M MAKING A BIG DEAL OUT OF NOTHING.  But now, I have these moments, where I go from a rational person to a person I can't even recognize.  

Then comes the crying... I HATE CRYING! and goodness if I told you how many times I've cried in the last month... those of you that know me well would be shocked.  Because if you know me at all, you know that I hate crying and I refuse to do it in front of people.  One of my many hang ups of being Type A.  I never want to appear weak to anyone.  to me... crying was a sign of weakness for a long time.  (Now I must say that I have found growth in that area... don't get all excited... I haven't had THAT much growth)....

There are many times where I don't even recognize me.  Whether I'm having a meltdown or sometimes just having a "normal" day, I don't recognize the person I'm watching live my life.  The desperate search for purpose that is attainable (because I can't do things the way I used to anymore... yes I know.. those of you who know me are going.. "that's probably not a bad thing") to wishing I could get through just one day and be happy about who I am now.  It's been beyond devastating.... knowing that I'm forever changed, and desperately trying to find a way to come to terms with that and accepts it for what it is.

Today was a perfect example.  I woke up and felt great! Very little pain, a positive outlook, and so I seized the day.. I got a hair cut, a mani/pedi, actually smiled at people, had energy... I felt like my old self.... bought a new pair of jeans (wohoooo I went down yet another size... a reason to celebrate in my books)got dressed up and went to dinner with my guy and some new friends... (I did mention he should be nominated for sainthood right... you'll understand why in a moment)... went to surprise my dear friend for her birthday.... and then.... all of the sudden... there it was.... the ridiculousness.  Rearing it's ugly head like Medusa... (again if you know me, you know how much I HATE snakes)... but there they were... writhing their way through my brain pulling bits of pieces from the day that in NO WAY had anything to do with each other and putting them together in a stream of crazy that caused me once again to melt down into a person I didn't even recognize.  And again.. .the worst part is knowing that I'm being ridiculous,  knowing that I can't control it, and not being able to stop it....  it goes something like this:

You said my hair was poofy, you told me to go hang out with my friends, that means you don't want me around, you said you were feeling off, that must be my fault, maybe I'm not pretty enough to go out with me, what's wrong with you of course he wants to spend time with you, why couldn't he have said I looked nice, man my head hurts, he's never going to want to stay with someone like you, you're a mess, you aren't good enough, you're a shell of who you used to be, gosh this medicine gives me dry mouth, why are you letting this bother you,....and so on and so forth.
And that is on a good day... there are some days where just getting out of bed and going through the daily motions take every ounce of energy I possibly have.  Often, my ability to focus, process details and basically do all of the things I used to do with no problem, is significantly less, if at all.

I wish I could say that I have faith it will get better and that I will go back to how I remember me being.... I'd like to have that.  I certainly hope it doesn't get worse... But I am forever changed.  I'm still learning how to accept that.  Most days, it's quite depressing.  I refuse to accept that I'll always have to deal with this.  I want to go back to how I used to be. I've endured my fair share of hardship in life. and I must say, this is by far the worst in many ways.  I know there's a silver lining... I just haven't found it yet.

So, for those of you who encounter my "ridiculousness" please know, I know it's crazy, I know it makes no sense.. and if I could stop it... I most certainly would.  I'm trying.. I'll get through it.  It's totally ALL ME and not you. I'm sorry for it, and I'm trying.  

Can you see me?

Can you see me?
I'm standing right in front of you.
You see my smile and my laugh.
You see what I want you to see.
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
Crouching in the corner.
Shielding my face so you can't see the tears I've cried.
Covered in dark cloth trying to hide the scars.
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
Shedding tears of blood for all the pain I've seen.
Slowly fading away into the abyss.
It's safer there I think.
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
Screaming out "don't leave me alone"
I need you here with me.
Please stay here with me, but you're already gone.
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
Holding the blade so tight to my skin.
Anticipation builds as it finally sinks in.
A slow release.
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
They've pumped me full of drugs "to keep me safe"
They say "you'll be better now"
But they can't see what you did to me.
What they see is not me.

Can you see me?
I've died on the inside.
My body is a shell that keeps breathing.
You took the rest from me
What you see is not me.

Can you see me?
I'm standing right in front of you.
What you see is not me.
Why can't you see me?
I can't see me

• Each year, 1 in 5 females and 1 in 7 males engage in self injury
• 90 percent of people who engage in self harm begin during their teen or pre-adolescent years
• Nearly 50 percent of those who engage in self injury activities have been sexually abused
• Females comprise 60 percent of those who engage in self injurious behavior
• About 50 percent of those who engage in self mutilation begin around age 14 and carry on into their 20s
• Many of those who self injure report learning how to do so from friends or pro self injury websites
• Approximately two million cases are reported annually in the U.S.

Some thoughts on my children.... and to the woman who will help raise my boy

I love being a mom.   There is little that brings more joy to my face than spending time with my boys and watching them grow, learn, experience new things and become the young men that they are destined to be.

Often I identify with failure when it comes to my parenting.  My boys are being raised in a split household, I'm not always as patient and understanding as I would like to be, and I work... a lot... to make sure that I can provide for them. If you're a single parent, I'm sure you can identify with that feeling.  But then I remind myself of the perks... my kids aren't in jail... yet... they like spending time with me... most of the time... and we aren't living on the street, we are well provided for, and we love each other.

As a mom, I want nothing more than the very best for my children.  I want them to always feel loved, accepted for who they are, and never feel responsible for this mess that we have them caught in.  Divorce is an incredibly hard thing for children. And I'm sure, that no matter how many times I tell them, it's not your fault, there will be part of them that always wonders... was it my fault?

The tricky thing about being a single mom raising boys is.... BOYS ARE GROSS! and.... THEY MAKE NO SENSE! I'm sure you could say the same thing about raising girls... but since I'm raising boys, well, you get my point. My boys are quite different in personality which makes parenting them an adventure.  

Let me tell you about them.

Nicholas is a very kind and loving boy.  He thrives on one-on-one time and encouraging words.  Nicholas is very sensitive to things going on around him and wants to do everything he can to be helpful.  Last winter, when he saw that the man snow blowing our drive way also went to do several of the neighbors, his immediate response was to go get the shovel and make it his responsibility to shovel the side walk. He can tell when I'm not feeling well often before even I can.  He gets up with his brother on days when I'm struggling and makes them breakfast and keeps him occupied so that I can get a few more moments of precious sleep.Nicholas is a dreamer, he loves to imagine things, paint them, he definitely has inherited my artistic brain. Nicholas wants everyone to feel accepted all the time and struggles when he doesn't feel like he fits in, OR, when he feels like someone is being left out. Nicholas is very emotional and often is WAY MORE emotionally charged than I am. When I think of Nicholas as an adult, I see him in a helping profession.  Perhaps a counselor, or the head of a non profit teaching kids to cook, or working with kids with special needs.  Nicholas thrives on helping others. All who encounter Nicholas quickly love him deeply and feel his love for them.

Then there's Alexander.  Alexander very much has my Type A personality.  He is incredibly dominant, physical, and All Boy if you catch my drift.  He can negotiate his way into, or out of most things. especially time outs... at 3! He talks... ALL THE TIME... and remembers the funniest things like the line "My fists thirst for vengeance"  (a line from Kung Fu Panda) that sends us all into stitches as he runs through the house yelling it.  Alexander is very affectionate.  He loves to snuggle, kiss, hug, anything he can do where he's practically on top of you to be close.  As his little personality develops it's become quite clear that Alexander is going to be my bold world changer.  Potential careers for Alexander: A lawyer, a judge, a politician... or quite possibly, the president.  There is no doubt in my mind that Alexander will take the world head on and turn it completely inside out. 

I've also been very blessed to enter the lives of three other beautiful children who each bring something dynamic to the family. Let me introduce them to you briefly... 

Meet Olivia.  Olivia is blossoming into a beautiful young woman both physically and emotionally. She is incredibly bright and carries a passion for causes that many should be envious of.  While she is embracing teenager-hood (yes, I made that up) head on, it's quite clear that whatever Olivia decides to do in the future will be big.  She has the potential to make a HUGE difference in whatever area she decides to take on.  Olivia thrives on one-on-one time and lights up when you acknowledge that she's done something well.  A champion debater with a quick wit, Olivia enjoys bantering back and forth on almost anything.  She feels deeply, and loves deeply.  She is simply stunning.

Emma quickly captures your heart with her quirky personality and charm.  She is energetic and outgoing.  She can bring a smile to your face in an instant.  Emma is an includer, she never wants anyone to feel left out. Emma has the drive to tackle anything she wants and succeed.  Emma carries the burden of others. She is kind, intelligent, and is searching for her place in life.  As she starts to develop into a young woman, it's extremely exciting to see what things capture her heart and desires. Emma will be the one to make a huge impact in a quiet way.

Then there's Abraham.  Abe is ready to take the bull by the horns and defeat it.  At 5, Abe is bold, precocious, and has a knack for creating things.  A quick thinker, he thrives on being close to you, whether it be sitting next to him while he shows you the latest move on his game, or showing you the new karate moves in the living room.  Abe is also All Boy and there is no doubt in my mind that as he blossoms into a young man he will be able to succeed at anything he puts his hands to. After he rebuilds it and re-purposes it of course. 

As I've stepped into the roll of... well.. I'm not actually sure what you would call it. Anyway... as I open up my heart and family to these wonderful additions, it's caused me to do some thinking about the woman who will potentially enter my children's lives in a similar capacity as I have to Olivia, Emma and Abraham. And so in that thinking, I have a few words for her.

To the Woman who will help to raise my boys,

Thank you for being willing to step in and love my boys when they aren't with me.  Know that you are being given the extraordinary privilege of knowing them... and that in and of itself is HUGE.  

Some things you should know about my boys.

Nicholas loves BIG. When he opens his heart to you, know that you have been invited into a very beautiful space.  Know that he loves deeply and will love with grace and understanding.  You will not find a more loyal and faithful child than Nicholas. But encourage him to be a child.  Encourage him to grow and try new things even when he hesitates.  Nicholas will treat you with a tender kindness that is beyond his years.  He will cherish you.  Treat his heart with kindness.  Love him gently, in good and bad times.

Alexander can be a handful. His enthusiasm for new and exciting things, (and probably multiple trips to the ER for broken bones and bumps) will keep you on your toes. Have patience with him, kindle the fire for greatness and he will bring you great pride and joy.  Snuggle him... a lot! He will feel closest to you when he can FEEL you.  Challenge his thinking, push him to take on the world with integrity. Experience with him all of the greatness he brings to you and you will earn a place in his heart.

I know that loving and helping to raise the sons of someone else is extremely challenging at times.  It's hard to find your place.  Know this... If you love my sons and see the beauty in them that I see, your place will be easy to find.   I truly believe that you can never have too many people that love your children. And while the situation may seem difficult and the number of stones that have been thrown from side to side is great, Jeff and I agree on one main thing.  Our children are our priority and we would do anything for them.  Treat their hearts with care as you would your own. Be honored when they come to you with their troubles and their joys.  Celebrate with them, for they are to be delighted in.  You have been given an extreme honor, and I am glad to be able to share my beautiful boys with you.  Thank you for loving them.  I know they will change you as they have changed me.  

Welcome to the journey.

-Charissa

Changes

It's been awhile since I've had the desire to blog... I've had a lot to say, but sometimes, just because I've had things to say doesn't mean it's the time to say them.   I've decided that now is the time to say them.

So... an overview on the last... 6 months or so.

July 2015:
With July came beautiful weather, lots of beach days to fill in the the times when I wasn't working at Single MOMM. Single MOMM was focusing on planning for the upcoming year while trying to get the ReVIVE program ready for it's official launch AND planning for Blue Jeans & Pearls was well under way including applications and interviews for the candidates of the scholarship for those who had completed ReVIVE.  This was a really unique process where we actually got to see on paper how each woman felt their life had been impacted by their time in group and where they felt they had the most personal growth.  As someone who is sometimes is frustrated because "growth" can't always be seen... it was incredibly encouraging to be able to read the about the growth each woman found. It made me very excited to prepare for the next round of group with a renewed enthusiasm for the program and all of the brain energy it sucked from me.

July 30,2015 I was on my way to have ice cream with a man (whom little did I know would capture my heart in the many months to come) I was in a severe head on car accident.  After seeing my car shortly after the accident, I was fortunate to walk away with the injuries I did.  A severe concussion, bruised chest and sternum, and a banged up knee.  These injuries caused me to slow WAY down. .. including several weeks off from work. If you know me at all... you know that I don't accept help well from others... but the injuries left me unable to drive and really do much more than sit on my couch (or the beach in most cases) and many loved ones came to my rescue.

August 2015:
As I spent lots of time sleeping in the first few weeks of August so that my brain could heal, I was able to spend a significant amount of time in personal reflection and examination of my life.  It became apparent that I was still struggling with some co-dependent tendencies that I was allowing to dictate ALL areas of my life. I never realized that while I've always considered myself incredibly independent... I was terribly afraid to make decisions on my own without the endorsement or approval of those I confided in... and for the last several months those people had included my boss and co-workers.  I made the decision that in going forward, I needed to focus more on living my life on my terms, well on God's terms, and stop seeking the approval of others.  This was going to be a challenge for sure!

The middle of August brought the time for me to return to work.  However, much to my sadness, Single MOMM had come to the conclusion that we were no longer a good match.  This left me at quite a crossroad. While I desperately needed the time to refresh and find my love for the job again, I didn't feel that my time with the women I worked with was supposed to be over yet.  Unfortunately, that was no longer my decision. For the next several weeks, I worked through a lot of sadness, frustration, and then needing to mend the hearts of those who were also quite saddened by the news.  This was challenging. Lots of tears were shed during this time.

While normally my first instinct would be to go out and get any job that I could... I felt that I was supposed to wait and spend some time healing and rejuvenating rather than rushing into a job. Again.. this was not something I was overjoyed about.. but I knew that in order to find the next step for me... I would need to be healed and well rested.

September-December 2015:
Remember the ice cream guy from before? Turns out he's pretty spectacular. Nothing like meeting someone in a neck brace and a hospital gown for the first time to make a SMASHING impression  He brought many things to the table including holding me to my word of not picking up just any job. UGH! He has endured my many melt downs, encouraged me, challenged me, and loved me in all of my glorious mess. He might need to be a whole separate blog. Stay tuned for that one. :)

Nicholas started his last year of elementary school and quickly  fell into the school routine happy to be with his friends again.  Alexander continued at Angel Care and in all of his 3 year old glory continues to capture the hearts of his teachers.  It always amazes me how opposite the boys are. They are adjusting to the co-parenting schedule relatively well and look forward to time with dad as much as time with mom.

Things at church proved to be challenging, and as I did some consulting for them, it became clear that some significant changes needed to occur, and that some of those changes were going to be quite painful.  This brought many more tears.

December 2015:
December brought with is a temporary job at Grace Episcopal Church and a time of significant personal healing. I definitely think that I've found some peace and freedom in the many changes that have occurred this last year.  From divorce to job loss, car accident to new relationship, relational loss to relational gain. Holy changes batman! And that peace would not have been possible without the help and support of many of you... new friends and old. The holiday season brought with it a new challenge as this would be my first Christmas without the boys home. That combined with more family stuff left me feeling tired and overwhelmed.  Not a good combination when you're recently recovering from a head injury.

January 2016:
After a crazy holiday season, I'm thankful for some quiet, and yes, snow.  Nicholas has joined a ski association this winter in hopes of doing some racing and I am so proud at how he has taken to not only the demanding practice schedule, but there's a twinkle in his eye when he talks about skiing that has been missing for quite awhile.

January also brought with it a second concussion as I took a cement step to the back of the head.  For those of you who are chuckling at this point because you know my history with falls, and clumsiness.. I WANT A
SPARKLY  PURPLE HELMET! The aggravation of the old injury has brought new challenges including horrible headaches, poor sleep and vision troubles.  I for see lots of needed rest in the future as my brain tries yet again to recover.  Seriously...  I probably should look into living in a bubble.

January also brought the resignation of the Pastor at the church who, along with his wife had become dear friends.  The sadness that came with that also brought disappointment in the way the event was handled.  This will put the church in a precarious position as we move forward as the need for relational healing and accountability is HUGE in order for us to succeed.

I am continuing to enjoy my day job at Grace Episcopal and have been welcomed with very open arms.  While I am only there for a short time as they experience transition, I know that it will be a rewarding time.

While I still am quite unsure of what my future holds... it's looking bright and I am excited for the many opportunities that have yet to unfold.  Ya never know what I'll end up doing next... maybe I'll pursue my childhood dream of running for president... ok well maybe not... but it will be big.. so stay tuned.