On soaking “it” in

Something happens when you have your first kid. Every person you run into with older kids feels the need to tell you to soak “it” in. The grandpa at the grocery store. The mom with teenagers. Jordan Peterson in that annoying Instagram reel audio that went viral a few years ago starting with, “You only have 4 years…” I actually really like him by the way. I just hate how that particular clip makes me feel anxious that I am missing “it” while “it” is happening before my very eyes.

These first few weeks, months, years of motherhood go by quickly. And at the same time, some days feel like an eternity. You know, the days where everything feels like pure chaos and you feel like you’re failing right and left. On the good days, it’s easy to want to soak the moments in. But on the hard days, it’s difficult to want to stay in the moment, let alone the season. The only thing soaking is your shirt - from spit up or snot or pee. This morning my carpet got a good soak in when Leo projectile spit up almost an entire feeding… I’ve never seen anything like it.

When I quit working at the gym about a year and a half after we had Ellie, it was because I felt like I was missing “it”. I worked from home three days a week and I found myself just waiting all day long for nap times so I could get work done. I was so stressed and so focused on getting to those times so I could be productive that I wasn’t present in the moments I was not on the clock. I finally decided I didn’t want to miss “it” and that was when I became a stay at home mom.

Now we have two kids and I’m realizing that in a lot of ways, I just switched out work for housework. A lot of days I’m still just waiting for nap times so I can have time to do  productive things. Like dishes and laundry and cleaning up after Ellie for the thousandth time that. On rare occasions, I’ll use the time for myself. Like writing or napping or showering. But that’s assuming both kids are asleep and I can ignore the never ending piles of things that need to get done around my house.

There’s a song “I’m in a hurry (and I don’t know why)” by Alabama that I often think about. It goes, “I'm in a hurry to get things done. Oh, I rush and rush until life's no fun. All I really gotta do is live and die. Even I'm in a hurry and don't know why.” I feel like this describes my general approach to life. Except I’m often running late to things, so I kind of know why…

So how do you live in the moment, stay present, soak “it” all in? How do you make sure you’re not missing “it”? The truth is, I’m not sure.

I find myself frustrated a lot of times with how much of my attention Ellie wants. She constantly wants me to play with her and if I’m completely honest, a lot of times I wish she would just entertain herself so I could get things done without having to wait for nap time. I forget that her desire for my attention is a gift that only lasts such a short time.

At the same time, it’s ever on my mind that she’s getting older and less and less of my baby and someday she won’t ask me to play with her anymore. I don’t know if it’s because having Leo around makes her seem older. Or if it’s the fact that she stopped saying “nana” and “poepoe” last week and started saying “banana” and “purple” instead. Or if it’s the fact that Jonathan and I have just been talking about it a lot lately. But sometimes I feel like these precious days are slipping through my fingers. My heart breaks just imagining me offering to play with her and her saying, “no thanks Mom. I can do it by myself.” Insert sobbing emoji.

I know these are the golden years. I know my heart will long for these days someday. I know there will be an ache deep down inside  of me that wishes I could just pull them up into my lap for one more snuggle or book or rock to sleep. I’ll miss the days that I was her world, her best friend, her number one playmate. 

Jonathan and I talk about how simple her life is right now. When she wakes up in the morning her agenda is play, eat snacks, snuggle, read books, and on the best days, “Go to a new park with swings”. All she really needs is Mama and Dada, and she’s finally acknowledging Bubba too… lol Her world is small and simple and beautiful. And Jonathan and I are the very center of it. What a gift. What a joy. What an honor. What a responsibility. How many of us spend our whole lives chasing acceptance and love from other people and right here in front of us we have unconditional love on display. We are their world, and yet we miss “it”.

I’m Leo’s world in a different way right now and I’m still struggling with feeling like I’m missing “it”. Right now, I am “home” for him. We shared a body for nine months and I am “safe” in this foreign world. My heartbeat is the lullaby he prefers. My body is where he finds food for a hungry belly. We’ve been trying to get him to take a bottle lately and he’s mostly refused it. I was disappointed because sometimes it feels almost sophisticating that we can’t be apart for more than a few hours ever. But then when he did take a bottle for about 2 minutes, I was sad because it meant I wasn’t the only place he would receive nourishment from. He wouldn’t need me as much as he did before. And then he stopped taking it and I was disappointed again. The emotions of motherhood are complicated and confusing at times… 

I feel like I’m missing Leo’s “it” because he’s a second born and I’m so busy trying to care for Ellie that he often only gets my leftover attention. He’s a pretty happy dude which is a blessing. But it makes it easy to give him less attention than he deserves. When Ellie was little I feel like we just sat around and stared at her all the time so we saw her grow. Poor Leo seems to magically change leaps and bounds. I feel like I all but missed his newborn phase. How do you make time slow down?

Ellie and Leo have been sick for over two weeks. It’s been a tough few weeks of being mostly at home. Our house feels like a perpetual mess and I’ve been caught in waiting for nap time again. Yesterday was particularly rough and I felt like I ran out of patience way too many times. Then I saw a video on Instagram where the mom showed her perspective of a day, followed by her daughter’s perspective. The mom saw messes and her kids fighting and herself failing as a mother. Her daughter saw games and sibling love and her mom making the day a wonderful adventure. Of course I was crying by the end of it and of course I have a lump in my throat right now just thinking about it. It hit home. I’m so stuck in my own adult head that I forget to imagine life through her eyes. 

How do we make sure we don’t miss “it”? I’m not sure how to answer that question. But I do know that I want to love Ellie and Leo well. I want them to grow up in a home that is full of love and joy and safety and adventure. I want to be present. 

Sometimes I get angry about how much I miss “it” because I’m always consumed in my phone. I want to chuck my phone into the pavement when I realize I’ve been half ignoring this sweet little face that’s begging for my attention. In those moments, I do imagine things from her perspective. And it breaks my heart.

Today I pondered all of these things as I rocked Ellie and Leo to sleep simultaneously. Most days getting Ellie down for her nap comes with high levels of anxiety. If Leo is already asleep, he could wake up in the middle of me rocking her. If he’s awake, he might prevent me from being able to get her down altogether. But today was one of those unicorn days where they both fell asleep while I holding each in one arm. Some days my arms feel full, like on the good days where I do slow down and soak “it” all in. Some days they feel empty, like when I’m exhausted and impatient and over caffeinated and under hydrated and I feel like I have nothing else to give. But today my arms felt like love. I felt the ever present sense of urgency to get up and do something. But I resisted. I soaked “it” in. I held their tiny hands in mine and thought about the future, while savoring the present. I hope to have another baby someday. I won’t be able to rock all 3 at once. But then again, Ellie will be big enough that she won’t need to be rocked anymore. For now I have two. One arm for each. I can fit my world in my arms (well Jonathan is a part of it too…). I want to enjoy this moment, this day, this season. The dishes can wait.

This blog feels all over the place. But so does my mind these days. And my emotions for that matter. I’ve found the months right after having a baby to be particularly emotional and confusing. The hormones and the life changes seem to make me feel things much more deeply than I normally do. It’s both a blessing and overwhelming at times. But perhaps they help me see things more clearly, while everything else feels jumbled? All I know is I don’t want to miss “it”. And so I’m slowing down to rock my babies to sleep and to hold their tiny hands and to write a blog that will hopefully help remind you to ask yourself the important questions in life. Like what is “it” and how do you soak “it” in?

On why I write

I have a lot of ideas to write about. Well, I guess a better way to put it is I have a lot of life experiences to write about. Most of my blog topics are conceived in a moment of inspiration. I’ll be driving down the road or thinking about life or taking a shower and BAM! - it comes to me. Most of my blogs have to do with something I’m experiencing, feeling, or pondering in my own journey through life. But it’s really easy for me to get imposters syndrome or to think to myself, “eh, what’s the point of writing that? It’s not really that important…” And so sadly, most of my blog ideas remain just that - ideas. Only the few experiences that I feel really compelled to write about ever make it into actual posts on this site.

I’ve mentioned before that writing for me is just as much a discovery process as a sharing of complete ideas. I usually find what exactly I’m trying to say as I go through the writing process and it helps me to better understand myself, my thoughts, my feelings, etc. So I suppose part of me writing this blog is to remind myself why I even started writing in the first place. The truth is, I know why. But I think I need to remind myself of why, because I’ve felt a bit lost in the weeds lately.

So why do I write? The answer is simple. Life is hard. Even when life is good, it is still hard. And every time I go through something hard, I remind myself that I am not alone. The thing about life being hard is that it’s often in the hard moments that we feel the most alone. We feel like others don’t understand us, don’t see us, don’t care about us. I write so that other people will feel understood, seen, and cared for. I write so that other people no longer have to think, “Am I the only one?”

There are so many different paths through life. Mine happens to be that of a 33 year old, Jesus-loving, married, mother of two little people, who loves fitness and lives in a subdivision where every fourth house is the exact same. So I imagine my writing attracts mostly people who fall into similar categories. But at the same time, I don’t think our paths have to look the same for us to experience similar things like loneliness, brokenness, or confusion. Which also means we can all experience connection, healing, and clarity. My hope is that in sharing my experiences with you, you too will find the hope and joy that I have found on the other side of life’s struggles.

This might be the shortest blog I’ve ever written. I guess it’s because the reason I write really is that simple. To help you feel less alone and to give you hope. That’s why I share my life experiences on the internet for anyone to see. Because I know life is hard, and I want you to know I’m in it with you.

On the birth of Leonidas (part 3: the story of redemption)

Monday, December 11th is my Pop’s (Grandpa) birthday. On Thanksgiving he joked about me having Leo on his birthday and I thought, “there is NO way we are making it that long.” Joke’s on me… I woke up that morning and had a day full of baby appointments ahead of me. Because I was a week past my due date, Jonathan and Ellie came along for the ride - or rather Jonathan chauffeured us to all of my appointments.

First we went to see the chiropractor - something I always looked forward to. She adjusted me and felt my belly to see what position Leo was in. I was relieved to hear that he was facing backward, but slightly bummed to hear she didn’t think his head was engaged (in my pelvis, which helps with dilation). She told me not to bother booking another appointment for that week and booked my next appointment three weeks out because she really thought he would be coming soon.

Next we headed to a midwife appointment. This appointment would be a bit longer than normal because at a week past due, they start running tests to make sure the baby is doing well and the placenta is still functioning properly. We started with the midwife checking my cervix. I told her in advance that I didn’t want a membrane sweep, but that we could discuss it at my next appointment which was already scheduled for Thursday, should we make it that far. She checked me and said I was dilated to a four, 80% effaced, my cervix was “soft and squishy”, and that I would be so easy to do a membrane sweep on. I felt like part of the Lord’s challenge to me in resting and trusting was to not do anything to try to induce labor, so I declined the sweep. Next we did a sonogram to make sure I had enough amniotic fluid and to watch Leo practice breathing. Then we did a non-stress test where they hooked a fetal heart rate monitor on my belly and watched his heart rate variability for about 20 minutes. Everything checked out as good. When I was leaving, the midwife told me she didn’t think I would make it to my appointment on Thursday. I was excited to hear that, although I didn’t count on it…

We left the midwives office around 12:30 PM and headed to Chick-fil-a for lunch. The whole drive there I felt uncomfortable, but I couldn’t tell if it was contractions or Leo just moving around like crazy - elbowing, kneeing, and head-butting me in the bladder as he liked to do. We went in to Chick-fil-a, got our food, and sat down to eat. About two minutes later Jonathan looked at me and said, “Are you ok? You look really pale. Do we need to go home?” I told him no, I was hungry and needed to eat anyways. About a minute later he looked at me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” To which I responded, “I think that would be best.” We left in a hurry and didn’t even clear our tray. I think that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

We drove home and Jonathan set Ellie and I’s food up in the kitchen. I spent the next 30 minutes or so going back and forth between eating and feeling like I needed to go to the bathroom. It was strange. I was still uncomfortable. After eating, around 2:15 PM, I climbed into bed while Jonathan put Ellie down for her nap. Not long after laying down, Leo stopped moving around like a madman and I could tell that I was in fact having contractions. I watched a movie (She’s the Man - iykyk) and ignored them since I had had plenty of prodromal labor at this point and didn’t want to get my hopes up. I texted my doula just to give her a heads up.

Around 3:30 PM I started realizing the contractions seemed to be following a consistent pattern. I started timing them just to see if they were worth paying attention to, and to my surprise they were pretty close to the 4-1-1 pattern that both my midwives and doula had instructed me to look for. 4-1-1 stands for contractions that are four minutes apart, lasting for a minute each, and that continue for an hour. At 4:00 PM I texted my doula again and she said the contractions were looking good and to keep her posted. Somewhere in there, we texted my Dad and asked him to come pick Ellie up, just in case. At 5:15 PM my doula texted me again to see how I was doing. I told her that the contractions had slowed down or become a bit more sporadic in the last 45 minutes, but that I had gotten up to go to the bathroom so maybe that had interrupted them? She told me to continue to rest and to eat something if I could in case this was the real deal. Right before 6:00 PM I texted her that I was starting to have back pain with some of the more intense contractions. She recommended I take a bath or shower, along with a few other things. I decided a shower sounded nice. At this point, I still wasn’t getting my hopes up that this was the real deal.

Pretty much as soon as I got out of bed things started to change. I had Jonathan come to the bathroom with me so that he could continue to time my contractions while I was showering. I didn’t know it because I wasn’t watching the clock, but my contractions were coming closer to two minutes apart. The contractions were pretty intense at this point, but the real kicker was I started feeling like I needed to poop each time I had a contraction. Thanks to all the research I had done this time around, I knew that that was a big sign that I was approaching the pushing phase. I think that’s the point at which I realized this was in fact the real deal. I was in actual labor! I was actually going to have Leo for real this time! Hallelujah!

At 6:25 PM my doula said to go ahead and call my midwives and that they would probably be ready for us to head that way. Jonathan urged me to finish up my shower quickly. He called the midwives and they recommended I stay in the shower another 30 minutes, but Jonathan and I both agreed that we needed to go to the birthing center then, no waiting. I got out of the shower and got dressed in an excited hurry. Jonathan packed up all the last minute items and we left our house at 6:50 PM. I couldn’t really believe how quickly things seemed to be progressing, but my body was telling me we were getting close. It’s weird how even though I had never made it this far in the birthing process before, I just knew it was time to head to the birthing center. There really is something to mothers’ intuition…

Jonathan put on the carefully curated birth playlist that I had created and I’m glad he did because it somehow made the ride more peaceful - well the time in between contractions, that is. The contractions were so intense that I couldn’t relax or breathe through them any longer. A contraction would come and I’d grip the car door handle and moan or utter something along the lines of, “oh Lord!” Then it would be over and I’d rejoin the world around me for a few minutes of relief before the next one started. The whole ride is kind of a blur. I didn’t really think I was going to have him in the car, but I also wasn’t 100% sure it wasn’t a possibility…

We got to the birthing center and the midwife on call checked me. She said I was dilated to a six or a seven and I honestly can’t remember what she said about my effacement or the state of my cervix. Apparently she said she could feel my amniotic sack coming out (I don’t remember that at all, but Jonathan told me so when I was retelling the story to a friend). She asked me if I wanted to labor at the birthing center for a bit longer before heading to the hospital, or to go ahead and head that way? I told her and Jonathan that we needed to go to the hospital, I didn’t think there was time to wait. Again, mothers’ intuition… As we were heading to the car, my doula pulled up into the parking lot - everything had gone so quickly, she didn’t even have time to meet us at our house!

We drove the few blocks down the street to the hospital and pulled into the parking garage. The next I don’t even know how many minutes of the story make me laugh because I envision it from the perspective of all of the strangers we passed on our way to the labor and delivery floor of the hospital. We got out of the car and I had a contraction in the middle of the parking garage. Then I made it to the elevator just in time for another one. Someone tried to get on the elevator with us and my doula and the midwife were kind enough to recommend they take another elevator. I had another contraction while we waited in line to check in at the hospital front desk. The line was surprisingly long and after a minute or two my doula recommended we just start walking down the hall and tell them where we were headed if they stopped us. Normally the people pleaser in me would sweat at just the thought of skipping the line, but this was one instance where I was willing to make an exception. Besides, they probably didn’t want me standing there, scaring away all the hospital visitors... I had another contraction or two in the hall on the way to the L&D elevator. Then at least one more while we checked in at the L&D front desk. They asked me if I wanted to walk or ride in a wheel chair to my room. I told them I would walk, and of course my room was the last room all the way at the other end of the hall. I had multiple contractions on the way there and remember stopping right in front of the nurses station for one of them. I’m sure it’s nothing they haven’t seen before, but it still makes me chuckle just thinking about it.

When we finally got to my room, they asked me if I wanted to go to the bathroom before climbing in bed. I think I told them no at first, then changed my mind since I was already up. I went into the bathroom, peed, and felt a “POP”! I immediately told Jonathan and my doula and whoever else was in the bathroom (I really don’t remember who all was there - it’s crazy how you kind of disengage from the world around you intermittently during labor), “My water just broke! And I’m feeling the urge to push!” Well that escalated quickly!

I’m pretty sure the midwife that was to deliver Leo walked into the room right about that time. She came into the bathroom and recommended I stay on the toilet for a couple more contractions. Then we moved to the bed and she recommended I start on my hands and knees, with my arms leaning on the raised part of the bed. I heard her say, “I’m going to check you if that’s ok?” and immediately thought, “Awe man, I’m probably not at a 10 yet. I’m probably going to have to wait to push.” I told her she could check me and in a cheery voice she said, “You’re at a 10! You can start pushing!” I was shocked. Again, with my first bieth I never dilated past a 5 and therefore I never got to the pushing phase. I couldn’t believe how quickly we had gotten there. I couldn’t believe that Leo was going to join us any minute. In case you forgot, I labored for 32 hours the first time before having the c-section. This time around, I felt like we had just gotten started! I couldn’t believe that it was all going to be over in the very near future.

I pushed on hands and knees for about 20 minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever sweated more in my entire life - and I used to coach at our warehouse gym in the middle of the Texas summer… The midwife was so encouraging and I think just a few pushes in she said she thought he could be here with the next push. She had to keep cueing me to close my mouth and hold my breath when I pushed, which was counterintuitive thanks to four plus years of intentional pelvic floor health training at the gym. I gave every push everything I had, then rested in between. Somewhere in there, the L&D nurse came over to put a hep-lock in my arm just incase we needed an IV port available. While it’s a minor thing, I remember being so uncomfortable when laboring during my first birth because of the hep-lock in my arm. It felt like I was being continually stabbed by a needle - because in a sense I was... I had hoped I wouldn’t need one this time around, but had already resolved that I would most likely end up getting one since we were giving birth in a hospital. I started having a contraction right before the nurse placed the port, she walked away to help with another task, and never came back to finish it! My doula told me later that the midwife had told her not to bother with it. Bless them both! The midwife and my doula continued to encourage me with each push and tell me that we were getting really close. I was both happy to hear it each time, but also disappointed with each push when he didn’t come out. But I kept telling myself, maybe the next one will be it!

We switched to a position where I laid on my side and pulled my top knee up with each push. After each pushing effort my back hurt intensely and my angel of a doula would rub out the pain. We tried that for about 20 minutes and then switched to a position with me laying flat on my back. I would pull both knees up into a squatting position with each push, then let them go straight again to rest in between pushes.

At this point I felt like I was loosing steam. My energy to push was fading and I told myself I needed to give each push everything I had. It’s funny because I never really doubted myself, which in my research about birth is apparently a very normal part of most womens’ natural birth experiences. Probably just because things had progressed so quickly and I never had time to worry about if I could keep going? Any time I would even start to think about how hard it was, my only thought was, “The only way out is through!”

I pushed on my back for about 20 minutes. The midwife kept commenting on how strong my pelvic floor was. I was very proud to hear it from her, considering I have worked very hard for many years to make that the case. But I have also heard that while CrossFitters tend to do better in the early phases of labor, they also tend to struggle more in the pushing phase and often tear because they don’t actually know how to relax their pelvic floors. I’ve also spent years training my pelvic floor to relax, but definitely carried a lot of fear about tearing into this birth. With each push, my doula, the midwife, and the L&D nurse got excited. But with each push, I couldn’t feel a difference. I felt like nothing was happening and it was taking forever. At one point the midwife asked if I wanted to reach down and touch his head. I didn’t want to make any extra movements so I said no thank you. Then she asked if it would help if I saw a picture of his head and I said sure. She snapped a picture of my downstairs with his head crowning and showed it to me. It was truly wild seeing it. After he was born, the L&D nurse commented on how amazing it was that I sat there with him crowning for 10 minutes and wasn’t screaming the whole time. I don’t know how many more pushes it was before he came out after that. But after about 20 minutes of pushing on my back, at 9:19 PM, our Leonidas Nathanael de Friess was born! 9 lbs. 3 oz. AND I DIDN’T TEAR! Praise Jesus, Hallelujah! I could not believe it when they told me that. I thought, “NO way.” (Here’s my shameless plug to join the Bloom class at our gym where you will learn how to contract and relax and strengthen your pelvic floor ladies!)

Leo came out and they placed him on my chest. I told myself the work wasn’t over yet - I still had to push the placenta out. My research told me it could take up to an hour and some hard work, but mine came out in 5 minutes with only the tiniest push to get it out. Yet another small but significant blessing in the story. I held my son as they cleaned him off. I think I just kept saying, “I can’t believe he’s here!” over and over. Because I really could not believe how quickly it had all progressed. Around 8 hours earlier I was sitting at Chick-fil-a! Now I was holding my son in my arms.

As I mentioned earlier, one of my big fears was having to be on antibiotics. My plan had been to hold off until my water broke and then make a decision on if I should start taking them at that point. I literally said to the midwives and my doula in the weeks leading up to Leo’s birth, “Hopefully my water won’t break until I’m pushing him out and the antibiotics won’t be necessary”. Technically my water broke and then I immediately started feeling the urge to push. But thanks be to God, I didn’t need antibiotics. The blessings in the details of Leo’s birth just kept piling up.

The hours after Leo’s birth were such a joy filled experience. For one, I was fully awake, fully aware, fully alive. With my first birth, I remember the c-section and holding Ellie for a few minutes afterwards. There are photos and a video from right afterwards when we were in the recovery room before they wheeled me to the postpartum wing, but I don’t know if I actually remember that time or if it’s the pictures that gave me a memory of it. I don’t remember when my memory stopped that night and I don’t remember when it picked back up the next day. But I have a chunk of time that I literally don’t remember. With Leo, I was laughing and celebrating with everyone in the room. I was even alert enough to realize that my L&D nurse was actually a student I had once known when I was a leader at my church’s youth group! It was just another sweet little detail that the Lord had orchestrated to make the whole experience good - redemptive, peaceful, joyful, hopeful good! She was absolutely wonderful, by the way. I felt just as supported by her as I did by my doula and midwife. My faith in nurses was restored.

By the time we got around to looking at food delivery options, most of the good places were already closed. Our options were pretty much fast food, so of course I thought of the other best fast food place aside from Chick-fil-a - In and Out. To our disappointment, none of the food delivery services would deliver from there, so we started thinking about who we could text to pick it up for us. Of course my sister Janae was the first person who came to mind. We texted her and got an immediate, “YES” back from her. Sure it was after 10 PM, but newborn nephew snuggles are a pretty fair trade I would say. Janae brought us food and I’d say we did Leo right for his birthday - Chick-fil-a AND In and Out in the same day!? Yes please! You know what they say… Raise em’ right!

We moved to our postpartum room and continued to revel in it all. I kept telling everyone that I just couldn’t believe how easy it was. Don’t get me wrong, the contractions sucked! And the pushing was the hardest part. But after such a long, painful, exhausting, discouraging experience with my first birth, Leo’s just felt too easy. I still couldn’t believe he was already here! It was over. All the months of worrying and preparing were over! To be honest, it was the kind of birth story that used to piss me off. It just didn’t seem fair that some people had such beautiful, quick, easy births when I had had such a rough experience. I believed some people had births like that, but it would never happen for me. And here I was - drinking a chocolate milkshake and holding my newborn son in my arms. It’s been five weeks and still can’t believe it. (I started writing this blog like a month ago and it’s been slow going… You know how it is when you have a newborn.) Aside from having a pain-free birth, which I think is a very rare occurrence, I don’t think I could have dreamed up a better birth experience. I can’t quite come up with the words to describe how thankful I am to the Lord for giving me a truly redemptive birth experience. But He didn’t just stop there.

We are now five weeks out and there have been many more blessings along the way. Leo took to breastfeeding immediately. Nursing had been a struggle the first time around and Ellie lost weight very quickly, which was quite stressful. Leo hasn’t had any issues with nursing - so much so that he also sleeps like a champ. He has consistently slept 4 hour stretches - day and night. At just a few weeks old he slept 7 hours straight and I woke up feeling - dare I say - rested. Since then he has even given us a few nights of 8 hours of straight sleep. What newborn sleeps like that?! My little Leo lion does. I want to post about it on social media because I’m so proud of him, but I’m pretty sure I’d get kicked out of all the mommy support groups I’m in… To say I feel blessed in an understatement.

A common question we keep getting is, “How is Ellie doing with the adjustment”? Once again, the Lord has blessed us. To be honest, I thought the adjustment was going to be rough for Ellie. I expected her to be jealous for our time and to one way or another tell us that she didn’t want Bubba sticking around. But much to my surprise, she has done great! She thinks he is cute, loves his “fuzzy black hair”, and gives him kisses on the head. She loves to give him his papsi (the word Ellie coined for pacifier) when he is crying. And she has yet to do anything that feels like she’s in competition with him. She is definitely a Daddy’s girl and I was also worried she would have a tough time adjusting to Jonathan going back to work. But once again, she surprised me and has been handling it well.

Another thing God is redeeming is my relationship with my body. I struggled for over a year after my first pregnancy and birth to accept my postpartum body. I had fully believed that I was going to “bounce back”, a term I have come to hate. When I didn’t lose all of my belly quickly and I wasn’t able to perform in the gym like I wanted to, I began to really dislike my body and the way I looked. This time I feel differently. Sure I would love to have my body look the way it did before having babies - I’d be a liar if I denied that. But when I look in the mirror and my mind starts to want to critique what it sees, I gently remind myself of the beautiful work that my body has been doing for the past 10 months and the life-giving work that it is still doing in breastfeeding. I partnered with God in creating a new life - how crazy and cool and mind-blowing is that!? And now my body is literally producing food for a tiny human… also crazy and cool and mind-blowing. I still have moments of wishing I saw something different when I look in the mirror, but for the most part, the Lord is redeeming my relationship with my body in replacing criticism with appreciation.

Another area that the Lord has redeemed my ability to trust Him is in not struggling with postpartum anxiety like I did last time. I remember being afraid to leave Ellie alone in another room. I remember holding my breath when other people were holding her and not supporting her head in the way I thought they should be. I remember dreading going to sleep because it meant I couldn’t constantly watch her. I remember checking her every time I woke up to make sure she was still breathing. The first night that we were home from the hospital with Leo, I started feeling that same dread as bedtime approached. I started feeling the anxiety creeping in and that’s when I stopped and reminded myself that I could trust the Lord. He had already proven that in Leo’s birth. I went to bed that night without postpartum anxiety ruling my heart and mind.

I’ve been working on this blog for over a month now, and as I reread it, words just don’t do it justice. I wish you could feel the significance of every little detail and the ways in which God’s grace and blessings have encouraged my faith. This time around, I knew I didn’t deserve any particular outcomes - because I don’t deserve anything. But God was kind enough to give me what I hoped for - and more! I’ve shared my story in hopes that it will encourage you - in whatever it is that you hope for. Regardless of how things go, I’ve learned that God is good both in the withholding and in the redemption. My first birth was a story of withholding my desires so that I could be developed through my struggles. My second birth is a story of redemption of my desires so that my trust in the Lord would be restored. I wish you could understand just how much Leo’s birth, breastfeeding, and my postpartum experience so far have healed my heart. But I suppose that what I feel is in some ways only for me. My experience is my experience and it’s meant to be a part of my personal journey with a personal God. He is not some far away deity that cannot be reached. He is a loving Father and Friend that wants to step down into our situation and walk through life closely with us.

So there you have it folks - the most beautiful story of God’s redemption - both in Leo’s birth and my trust in Him. I’m a list person, so here is a “sparknotes” list of some of the ways in which He has so kindly blessed me:

• I feared needing an induction. I went into labor naturally.

• I feared needing antibiotics because they could cause gut issues for Leo and I. My water didn’t break until the pushing phase, which rendered antibiotics unnecessary.

• I didn’t want a heplock, simply because they are uncomfortable. Everything happened so fast that my midwife rendered it unnecessary.

• I feared a long labor - something I had experienced before with my first birth (32 hours to be exact). Everything happened in roughly 9 hours, but it had really only been about 6 hours since I started timing my contractions.

• I was afraid of tearing. I had a 9 lb. 3 oz. baby and didn’t tear!

• I was worried about giving birth in a hospital and having to advocate for myself for a natural childbirth. The nurses were so supportive of my desires and I felt not only respected, but like they were on my team.

• I was worried about breastfeeding. Leo took to it immediately and continues to eat like a champ.

• Added bonus blessing - Leo eats so well that he consistently sleeps 4 hour stretches. For the most part he only wakes up once in the night to feed. At the time of me writing this, we are about 5 weeks out and he has given us multiple nights of 8 hours of straight sleep!

• I was worried about how Ellie would do with the transition. She has handled it beautifully.

• Another added bonus blessing - Leo is genuinely just all around an easy baby. He doesn’t cry much except when he wakes up hangry and when he needs help falling asleep. Other than that, he’s a pretty happy, chill dude.

• I really struggled with accepting and loving my postpartum body after my first pregnancy. This time I have appreciated all that my body did to bring a baby into the world and all that it is still doing to provide for him.

• I was overwhelmed with postpartum anxiety when we brought Ellie home from the hospital. This time I trusted the Lord and it’s been a much more peaceful transition.

On the birth of Leonidas (part 2 - the final week)

One of the biggest things I struggled with in the weeks leading up to Leo’s birth and especially in the final week was the tug of war between “rest and relax” and “do, Do, DO! all the things”. I’ve found that there are very real, very conflicting opinions that people throw at pregnant women. One is that the body needs to be in the rest and digest state in order to go into labor, so rest, rest, rest! The other is that there are a bunch of ways that you can help your body go into labor, primarily by moving and stretching and eating a bunch of different things. I think people in both camps genuinely want to help when they offer their suggestions and I had a lot of people I respect and look to for guidance give me recommendations. I really did appreciate their genuine desire to help. But with all the conflicting advice, I spent the last week of my pregnancy and the weeks leading up to it on a perpetual hamster wheel of, “what should I do?” I was tired and uncomfortable and I really just wanted to rest. But I was also afraid that I was sabotaging myself and my desire for a natural childbirth if I wasn’t doing all the things to try to make it happen. I really wanted to just rest and trust that God would work things out, but every time I started to relax a little voice in the back of my head would say, “yeah, but that’s what you did last time, and it didn’t work out.” Like I said, my trust in the Lord was still wounded. And as each day ticked away, I was more and more nervous about the potential need for an induction.

Monday, December 4th was Leo’s due date. I woke up and got ready to head to the gym. I hadn’t been in three weeks because of those horrible energy crashes, a busy Thanksgiving week, and I kept thinking he was going to come early so I was staying home to conserve energy for birth. But after three weeks of nothing happening, I decided I might as well go to class and see my friends again. While showering before heading that way, (yes, I showered before heading to the gym… don’t worry about it!) I lost part of my mucus plug. I never saw my mucus plug with my first labor and delivery, so I had no clue how much of it I had just lost. But I noticed some of it and took note. I knew from my research this time that the mucus plug coming out doesn’t really give you any indication on how soon labor will start, but at least something was happening. I went to the gym and had a bunch of contractions while working out, but mostly ignored them because that had happened many times before. My coach had me do some curb walking as a part of my workout, you know, to try to move things along. After class I headed to the chiropractor and started feeling really nauseous while being adjusted, which had never happened before. Again, I took note, but didn’t assume anything. I went home and climbed in bed and for the first time, my contractions didn’t stop. I knew that prodromal labor usually stops when you lay down, so I took note once again and eventually texted my doula. The contractions were also feeling more crampy than they had before, so it seemed like things were different this time. My doula seemed hopeful that it could be the real thing, so we loaded Ellie up and took her to my parent’s house for the night. I felt excited and also tried not to get my hopes up all at the same time. We took one last family of three photo - just in case - and kissed Ellie goodnight. Then we headed home, finished packing our hospital bag, - for real this time - and headed to bed. I slept terribly. At first because of the contractions and the excitement, and then because of frustration and disappointment when the contractions slowed down and I realized it didn’t seem like things were going to happen. I woke up exhausted and discouraged.

Tuesday, December 5th I got up, got ready, and headed back to my Mom’s to pick Ellie up. My Mom had an appointment midmorning, but she was going to watch Ellie again in the afternoon for a midwife appointment that I had scheduled. So I decided to try to drown my disappointment in distraction by taking Ellie on a date to the trifecta - Chickfila, Target, AND Starbucks. All the while, I was having less contractions than I had been having on any given day for weeks leading up to now. I headed to my midwife appointment and decided to have them do my first cervical exam. The midwife said I was dilated to a “one and a wiggle”, 50% effaced, and he was starting to engage in my pelvis. She also said she thought he was moving into a better position than before and could easily move into the ideal birth position during labor, which was encouraging to hear. She recommended a bunch of different things that I could do to help induce labor - Spinning Babies exercises, curb walking, sex... We made two appointments for the next week - Monday and Thursday - since I would be a week past due, and she said we would discuss induction options at Monday’s appointment. I really hoped we wouldn’t make it to that appointment and conversation. That evening my contractions picked up slightly and a few were a bit more intense, but nothing worth writing home about. I told Jonathan I was disappointed and emotionally over it. Bless my heart, if only I knew what was ahead… I went to bed and got a great night of sleep.

Wednesday, December 6th I woke up with a day full of appointments. I got a much needed massage (every pregnant woman needs a prenatal massage - ESPECIALLY when she’s past due…), an adjustment at the chiropractor, and headed to a therapy session. The massage therapist, my chiropractor, and my therapist all suggested things I could do to help move things along. All day long, I had very few contractions, which once again frustrated me. That night we headed to my best friend’s gender reveal party - something I was glad I could make it to, while also having really hoped I would not make it to due to Leo having already arrived. I went to the bathroom as soon as we got home from the party and lost a huge chunk of my mucus plug. I also thought I had my bloody show - but in retrospect that wasn’t it. Against my better judgement, I got excited again and texted my doula. Also against my better judgement, I asked her typically how soon people go into labor after having their bloody show. She said 24 hours, but that there’s no guarantee. I went to bed, got a good night’s sleep, and woke up to a very boring morning.

Thursday, December 7th I headed to my Mom’s house for our weekly cousin playdate. My sister and her three boys joined us and we spent the day hanging out. Once again, I had very few contractions that whole day. As the hours dragged on, I got more and more frustrated and discouraged and for the first time, angry. I was tired of waiting and tired of being disappointed. I vented to my mom and sister and we talked about doing a quick curb walk around the block, but I just wasn’t up for it… I went to bed that night emotionally and mentally exhausted.

Friday, December 8th I woke up over it. I lost even more of my mucus plug and thought I had my bloody show - for real this time - but my doula said it was common to see blood every time you go to the bathroom at this point. My best friend came over for breakfast, which was a nice distraction. At this point, I was looking for distractions like it was my job, so in the afternoon Jonathan, Ellie, and I went to the zoo and got ice cream. All day long I felt kind of numb and burnt out emotionally. I told Jonathan I was sad because I didn’t even feel that excited about having a baby anymore. We talked more about the struggle to relax or do all the things to induce labor. While we were getting ice cream, a well meaning mom of four young kids asked me when my due date was. When I told her I was past due she recommended I do some curb walking. I later pointed out to Jonathan that even complete strangers add to the pressure to “do, Do, DO!” all the things. I also told him that I was worried I was starting to feel some postpartum depression… before I was even postpartum. We went to bed and about an hour and a half later I realized I hadn’t really completely fallen asleep yet because I was having minor contractions. I started timing them and they were 4-6 minutes apart, lasting 45 seconds to a minute and 15 seconds, for about an hour. They weren’t particularly intense, so I waited around to see what happened. Jonathan was asleep, so I texted my sister who I hoped would be up in the middle of the night nursing her nine month old. Thankfully she was awake and she kept me company while I waited and watched my contractions. Eventually she went to bed and I got up to go to the bathroom and thought, again, that THIS time I had my bloody show. I climbed back into bed and the contractions slowed way down to between 8-11 minutes apart, but this time they were way more intense - I’d even call them painful. I watched them for about an hour to see what happened and finally texted my doula around 2 AM. She said to keep resting and see what happened. Eventually things slowed down again and I went to sleep.

Saturday, December 9th was a day filled with resting. I was exhausted - too exhausted to stress about things - so it was actually a relatively peaceful day. I also felt somewhat encouraged by the night before - at least it felt like we were getting closer to the real thing. My doula checked in with me and mentioned some things we had discussed I could do to help labor along should things pick up again, but I had barely any contractions the whole day. We went to Five Guys, walked around Target, and watched Cars - Ellie’s favorite movie - for the millionth time. We went to bed and I slept hard.

Sunday, December 10th I woke up feeling like a new woman. We went to church and I left feeling so encouraged. The worship pastor shared a word on trusting the Lord and encouraged us to stop trying to make things happen - AKA stop trying to do all the things. That felt timely… We went to Texas Roadhouse after church and headed home for nap time. Jonathan and Ellie napped while I had a quiet time with the Lord. I wrote about how I was feeling at peace and how I was disappointed in myself for how I had handled the past week. I had spent all of my quiet times for the week writing out the details of my days because I thought they would be important in the story of Leo’s birth. While I was glad to have the details recorded, in retrospect that time would have been better spent talking with and listening to the Lord. When I started journaling the details I thought Leo would be arriving very soon. Now, a week later, I wished I had spent that time more wisely. Without the daily encouragement and wisdom of the Lord, I had spent the week in misery. The back and forth of rest vs. do had worn me completely out. And then, I finally quieted my soul and the Lord spoke words of life to me.

This part deserves it’s own paragraph because it was a pivotal moment for me. Here are some of the words I feel I heard the Lord speak to me: “I want to free you, once and for all, from your fear of disappointment in me and your hesitancy to just trust. This is a chance for that healing you so desperately need. I promised you a redemptive birth. The redemption is in your ability to trust me. I have told you it will all turn out. Now you can choose to stop striving and “blindly” trust.” “I had purpose in Ellie’s birth. It was not what you wanted. But I have and still am using it in infinite ways to shape you into the woman I created you to be. I was not surprised, nor absent from the way it unfolded. In fact, I orchestrated it - for your eternal good. Now let it go. Know the plans I have for you are good - plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.” “Let go of your regret. Let go of the judgement you place on yourself for not preparing for Ellie’s birth. Let go of your regret for your ignorance as her birth unfolded. Set yourself free.” “I desire to set you free. But your freedom is dependent on truly trusting me. Not just saying you do. Not just wishing you do. Not just partially trusting. I’m calling you out to lay it all on the line. Let go of your reservation completely - I want total abandonment. It may come down to the final hours, but I am faithful to fulfill my promises. I am testing you here and now.”

I felt like the Lord was not only calling me to trust Him, but to stop doing. I felt like He was telling me I didn’t have to make things happen because He was going to take care of it. I felt like He was challenging me to let go of my desire to control things and trust that He was in control of not only the outcome, but the timing of everything. He was calling me to rest.

I left that quiet time feeling at peace, encouraged, and hopeful. I was ready to lay it all on the line. I was ready to trust and believe that the Lord was going to not only give me a redemptive experience, but also going to redeem my ability to trust Him completely. I was expectant. We spent the evening setting up our Christmas tree. This was the first year that Ellie really participated and she had a blast. Nevermind that the majority of the ornaments ended up on the bottom 1/3 of the tree. It was a sweet evening together - our last evening just the three of us.

On the birth of Leonidas (part 1: the background)

Note to reader: I started writing about Leo’s birth a week after he was born, but it’s taken me about a month to finish it. You know how it is… I’ve been busy with newborn stuff. :) Anyways, you’ll see me mention different timeframes along the way and that’s why.

As I climb into bed one week after Leo’s birth to write this blog, I find myself wondering where to even start. It would make sense to start with the first signs of prodromal (some call it “fake”) labor, or when I was 32(ish) weeks pregnant and thought I might be going into pre-term labor, or perhaps even with finding out that I was pregnant. But as I think about it, I would say Leo’s birth story really begins with the birth of my firstborn, Ellie.

I don’t have space to share all of the details of my first pregnancy, birth, and postpartum experience in this blog or else it would be a novel. If you’ve read a number of my other blogs, you already know to some extent that it wrecked me. Perhaps someday I’ll write a blog with all the details, but for now, I’ll give you a very brief synopsis.

Growing up, there were two things I dreamed about in regards to being a mother: having a non-medicated, natural childbirth and breastfeeding. I was pregnant with and gave birth to Ellie during the Covid pandemic. At the time I wasn’t much of a reader or researcher, plus Covid made it so there weren’t as many resources available to educate and support parents. I was painfully naive in thinking that both birth and breastfeeding would just happen naturally and exactly how I wanted them to. I just assumed everything would turn out according to planned because my body was made to do it. I also just “blindly” trusted that the Lord would work all the details out.

Then my water started leaking and I had to be induced and intervention after intervention lead us to a c-section. I could rant for days on how ridiculous it is for a woman to have her entire abdomen sliced open and then to be expected to jump right back into life - with a new baby - but I’ll save that rant for another day. Anyways, motherhood started with me in a hydrocodone induced haze, with a very wounded body, feeling like I had been run over by a train. But that wasn’t all. Breastfeeding was a struggle for us from the very start. Ellie had tongue and lip ties and even after getting them revised, nursing never really clicked. We should have switched to formula much sooner than we did, but I was too stubborn and adamant and prideful to let go of my desire to breastfeed. After five months of feeling like I was drowning and spiraling into postpartum depression and anxiety, Jonathan and I decided it was time to let go. After a month of gradual weaning, my breastfeeding journey was over. I wish I could say everything got better then, but I continued to struggle for the next six months with my self-image and self-worth. I had built way too much of my identity on my body and my ability to perform in the gym, and my body was still very much recovering months after giving birth. I was disappointed. Disappointed in how birth turned out. Disappointed in how breastfeeding turned out. Disappointed in how my body and return to the gym turned out. And above all of it, I was disappointed in the Lord for not giving me the desires of my heart. I felt like He simply didn’t care about me or what was important to me.

Shortly after Ellie turned a year old I started seeing a therapist and to say it was the most life-changing thing I’ve ever done for myself is an understatement. It still took months, but with her help I slowly untangled the web of my postpartum depression and anxiety, misplaced self-image, and disappointment in the Lord. The first two are a big deal, but it’s the third one that really matters in the story of Leo’s birth. After a lot of time and a lot of hard work and a lot of healing, my relationship with the Lord was restored. But if I’m honest, my trust in Him was still wounded.

We found out we were pregnant with Leo on April 1st of this year. I was so excited for just about everything ahead (minus the morning sickness), but I was also anxious about history repeating itself. My therapist and I had already worked through and found healing for much of what had happened with my first birth, breastfeeding, and postpartum experience. But I was very worried about it happening all over again - more specifically disappointing circumstances leading to another disappointment in the Lord leading to another fracture in my relationship with Him. I was hesitantly hopeful - believing a better experience was very possible, but not quite allowing my heart to hope for it.

My first trimester was what I expected it to be - morning sickness and counting the days until my second trimester started when it would lift. My second trimester was also mostly what I expected - feeling much better and loving being in the cute pregnancy phase. But my third trimester was nothing like I expected it to be. For starters, I had a couple of weeks where my pelvis was out of place and I felt crazy pressure on my pelvic floor and really thought I might be at risk for pre-term labor. But a trip to the chiropractor seemed to do the trick and everything went back to normal. I was also slightly anemic, so I would have these crazy energy crashes. I’d be going about my morning and all of a sudden feel like a truck hit me. It was rough, especially with a toddler to chase after. Let’s just say we got our moneys worth out of our Disney+ subscription. When I hit 36 weeks with Ellie, everyone started telling me about how their kids had come 2, 3, 4… weeks early. I remember being so stressed out by it because I didn’t feel ready. I still had so much to do! I thought I would be way more chill the second time around, but I found myself thinking Leo was going to come early for some reason. I spent the last month of pregnancy on pins and needles, just waiting for it to happen. But it didn’t happen. Not early. Not on my due date. Not for another whole week… More on that later.

Over the course of my pregnancy, I spent a lot of time worrying about Leo’s birth. I spent a lot of time reading, researching, and learning about birth. I spent a lot of time stressing over Leo’s position in my womb. I spent a lot of time fretting over which Spinning Babies exercises to do (exercises to help with baby’s positioning). And I spent less time than I should have talking to God about all of it. But, as always, He was faithful to speak to me in the times that I did slow down enough to seek Him about it.

A few months before Leo was born I was journaling to the Lord like I normally do first thing in the morning and He spoke to me about Leo’s birth. I felt like He said, “Embrace and surrender to the unknown, knowing that I know every detail. Where you feel vulnerable, know that I’m watching over every detail of your birth as it unfolds.” “This is a test. Are you going to let your fear of the unknown control you or are you going to believe me when I say it’s all going to work out beautifully and choose to rest in the peace I am offering you?” “This is a test about your mind. Who is going to win - fear or faith?” “"I’m talking about believing what I have in store for you is good - redemptive, peaceful, joyful, hopeful good.”

I wish I could say I took those words and spent the last few months of pregnancy in perfect peace, trusting that the Lord was going to work it all out. But that was far from the case. My heart and mind spent the last few months in a battle between fear and faith. Some days I rested in perfect peace, believing God’s promises. Some days I spent anxious and in fear of things spiraling, once again. I was especially anxious about a few things.

One, Leo was in an unfavorable position for birth as his due date approached. He was facing forward, instead of backward (which is the ideal position). Ellie was facing forward when I was induced and I think it is one of the reasons we ended up with a csection. When they pulled her out, she was facing forward and her head was stuck sideways in my pelvis. I had never dilated past a 5 and I think her positioning is the reason why.

Second, I was Group B Strep positive, which was another issue in my first birth. Group B Strep is a bacteria that lives in the birth canal and in very rare cases it can cause serious infections in newborns that are catastrophic. GBS isn’t a threat until the amniotic sack ruptures - aka the water breaks - at which point the bacteria can reach the baby. When my water started leaking in my first pregnancy, it was my GBS positive result that caused them to admit me immediately and induce me. And it was also the reason why I was on antibiotics for 32 hours straight during labor - which completely wiped Ellie and I’s gut biomes out. Ellie had stomach issues for months and at one point I was eating dairy, soy, and egg free because the breastmilk I pumped wasn’t agreeing with her tummy. I was really worried that my water would break early once again with Leo, and I’d have to be induced and hooked up to IV antibiotics for a prolonged amount of time. This would not only cause stomach issues for Leo and I after birth, but would also restrict my ability to move during labor.

Third, I was anxious about the possibility of being induced in general. In my first birth, I think my body just really wasn’t ready yet. I hadn’t had a single sign of labor starting or my body even moving in that direction until my water started leaking. I think the induction failed because we were trying to force my body to do something it just wasn’t ready for. This time around I was nervous for multiple reasons. First off, because I was trying for a VBAC (vaginal birth after csection) with Leo, the midwives were going to be delivering him at the hospital instead of the birthing center. I was nervous about being in a setting that could be less supportive of my desires for a natural birth for a prolonged amount of time. Second, because I was trying for a VBAC, my induction options were already limited. There are a bunch of induction techniques that are commonly used: Membrane sweeps separate the amniotic sack from the cervix which releases hormones that can help induce labor, but that wasn’t ideal because it can cause your water to break. Also intentionally breaking the amniotic sack can be used, but wasn’t ideal for the same reason. There’s a medication called Cytotec that “ripens” the cervix to help with dilation. I was given three doses of it during my first labor, but have since learned that it’s been known to cause maternal and fetal death (I won’t go into how furious it makes me to know that no one bothered to tell me the potential risks of taking it when they suggested it in the hospital…). So that was obviously not an option in my mind, although I don’t know if the midwives would even recommend using it considering the risks. Pitocin, the synthetic version of oxytocin - the hormone responsible for contracting the uterus - is often used. But because it tends to produce more intense contractions than it’s natural counterpart, it’s not ideal to be used for someone who’s uterus has a csection scar - because it can cause the scar to rupture! As Leo’s due date approached, my anxiety about the possibility of induction grew.

On playing the waiting game

You know how annoying it is when you’re waiting for a delivery or service man to come to your house and they give you a time range? You have to sit there for four hours with no clue when they’re going to show up. And sometimes they even call you and apologize because they’re running behind and are going to be even later than expected. Welcome to the last month of pregnancy - except there’s no apology for being late.

I hit 36 weeks of pregnancy on Monday and it set off some internal ticking time bomb that I remember all to well from my pregnancy with Ellie. You see, theoretically, Leo should be here in about 4 weeks (surprise - his name is Leonidas - Leo for short). But in reality, it’s considered completely “normal” and “safe” for him to come anywhere in the next 2-6 weeks. So basically, he could be here in what feels like tomorrow, or a month and a half - aka an eternity for a very pregnant, very uncomfortable Mama.

Six weeks. I suppose some easy, breezy, carefree mamas aren’t bothered by this part of pregnancy. But as someone who tends to run anxious/worry a lot, six weeks is a long time to be constantly on edge. I feel like we still have a lot to do to prepare for him to be here, but yesterday my nesting instinct kicked it up a notch and I really started feeling the urgency to wrap things up - just in case. I think Jonathan started feeling the pressure too, because he put the infant carseat in the car - just in case.

In my last blog, I talked about how I think the unknown and lack of control of labor and birth are intentional parts of God’s plan for us. I think they are meant to teach us just how little control we actually have in a world and culture that scream we have ultimate control of every aspect of our lives. This last 2-4-6 weeks of pregnancy are just another part of that. It’s almost maddening reading the list of symptoms that could be signs that labor is starting - because most of them are just “coulds”. Meaning sometimes it indicates the start of labor and sometimes it means nothing at all. Labor itself can start and stop many times, over the course of many days or weeks, before it’s actually showtime. Effacement means nothing as far as a timeframe of baby coming. Dilation means nothing too. You could drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out. I know I spent the last month of Ellie’s pregnancy on edge. This time I can already feel myself going crazy, just a few days in. And that is why I’m writing this blog - to process how I’m feeling and to hit the mental reset button by reminding myself of some simple truths.

The thought that it could be another six weeks almost makes me want to cry. At moments it feels almost unbearable. How could we possibly make it that long? The thought that he could be here in just two weeks is overwhelming. We aren’t ready yet! (Although I have to say, if I’m picking, it would be nice to not be pregnant anymore - and to have a sweet new baby at Thanksgiving). How can we possibly finish all the things we need to get done before he gets here? The answer is simple - the same way we live every day of our lives - one day at a time.

Over the past year or so of my life the Lord has really been talking to me about the principle of the path. I imagine I’ll write a blog about it someday, because it’s been quite integral to my spiritual growth over the past year. But I’ll sum it up for you: Our entire lives are a continual path, and as long as we are walking closely with the Lord on that path, He will lead us where we need to go. It’s not about making big strides or leaps, it’s about taking one small step at a time. It’s not about knowing where you are ultimately going to end up, it’s about trusting that He is the one in control and He will lead you there. One of the nice things about the path, I’ve found, is that it takes away the pressure to try to control or know everything. I’m a lot less anxious when I trust in a God who knows and sees everything, rather than trusting in my own incomplete and faulty perspectives. I don’t know where He is leading me, but I don’t have to. I can trust that He will complete a good work in me, in His timing. I can’t be late or miss the boat, because He’s the one driving it.

The same can be said about this last stretch of pregnancy. I’m not in control. I don’t know when or how Leo is going to come into this world. But God does. I have the choice to spend the next 2-4-6 weeks anxious and on edge. Or I can choose to relax and trust that he will arrive at precisely the right time. Rather than getting overwhelmed by all of the unknowns, I can simply focus on this day - the tasks I need to complete now, the precious time I still have with just Ellie, Jonathan, and me, the time I can take to rest before I’m responsible for not one, but two small people… There are still a lot of good things in this season, and I don’t want to miss out on them. It’s so easy to wish away the uncomfortable parts of our lives, and in doing so, to miss out on the beauty that is still present in them.

You may not be pregnant, but you are probably playing some sort of waiting game yourself.

How often in our lives are we playing waiting games - or at least we are supposed to be? We should wait on God - His direction, wisdom, guidance - but we get impatient. Rather than trusting that He will reveal His will for us in the right time, we try to force things. We make our own plans, execute on them, and because we don’t experience some massive opposition along the way, we assume they are in alignment with God’s plans. How often does the Lord have to lovingly bring us back to the path and show us once again, where we need to go?

It’s easy to wander from the path when we’re not walking closely with the Lord. It’s human to want to know and control everything. But I’ve found that life is so much more peaceful when I let go and allow God to lead the way. When I choose to walk with and trust Him daily, He leads me to where I need to go.

And so, today I’ll go about my normal life. I’ll head to the gym, enjoy my therapy session, and meet with my doula to discuss our birth plan. Each moment will lead me closer to when Leo gets here. How much closer? Who knows - except God? 2-4-6 weeks? Either way, I’m going to trust it will be the right time. And until then, I’m going to keep on living, one day at a time.

On preparing for birth

I’m 32 weeks and 5 days pregnant today. I’ve got 51 days to go. All my baby tracking apps keep reminding me of this, as if my body isn’t a big enough of a reminder. I’m pretty sure I’m already the same size I was when I had Ellie at this point. And I’m seriously wondering how I’m going to make it another 7ish weeks…

Pregnancy has been an interesting experience this time around - not that it wasn’t the first time. Last pregnancy (my first pregnancy) I was working full-time at the gym. It kept me busy right up until the Friday of the week before Ellie arrived. Everything was new and exciting (or confusing and scary). And, as is usually the case, my body stretched and shifted at a much slower rate than it has with baby number two. I was able to keep up with “business as usual” for almost my entire pregnancy and other than some annoying back pain, I had a pretty easy pregnancy.

This pregnancy has been much different. For one, I traded my day job in for chasing a toddler around. Not that working a job isn’t tiring, but I don’t think it compares to the level of energy required for keeping up with a toddler. Let’s just say I’ve had a lot more exhaustion this go around. I had morning sickness with both of my pregnancies, but it lasted longer and was more intense this time. I definitely had to slow down and modify things in my workouts at the gym much sooner this pregnancy as well. Overall I’m feeling way more aches and pains, like my body is having a harder time keeping up with all the rapid changes. But it’s not all bad…

One of the biggest differences between my two pregnancies has been my mindset. Like I said, with Ellie everything was completely new - and I was completely naive. I say naive in both a good and a bad way. I was blissfully naive in assuming the best for all that was ahead. I was also painfully naive in being completely unprepared for the tough things that were ahead. I honestly thought I’d have the birth and breastfeeding experiences of my dreams without much effort, because birth and breastfeeding just come naturally! Boy was I wrong… I give myself some grace because my pregnancy, birth, and postpartum with Ellie were during Covid times, so the amount of support and resources out there were a bit more limited than usual. But still, I didn’t read a single book, take a single course, or even learn much about the basic processes of birth and breastfeeding before I actually experienced them. And in case you haven’t read any of my other blogs where I talk about how those things went, let me summarize it for you: NOT WELL.

This time around I’m taking a much different approach. Not related to birth specifically, my mindset has been one full of acceptance and grace. This time I am not naive. This time I know what pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, and becoming a mother are like. Sadly, a lot of my experiences with those things have been tough and disappointing. But my experiences have also taught me how to lower my expectations of myself and give myself grace through all of it. When I felt sick or needed to slow down in the gym or felt too tired to even go, I respected my body and accepted my limitations with kindness. When I needed to stop committing to so many things and focus the majority of my attention and energy toward taking care of myself, Ellie, Jonathan, and Baby Boy, I did so unapologetically (this is a BIG deal, if you know anything about my people-pleasing past). When my brain started shifting all it’s focus to preparing for baby to be here, I allowed it to let go of the pressure to keep up with other things in this season - like blogging consistently, for example. This pregnancy I’ve learned a lot about simplicity and letting go of the expectations of others or even myself. I am very present in the process of pregnancy - sometimes a good thing and sometimes a bad thing, like when I feel flat out uncomfortable.

Now to the point of why I initially started writing this blog (I always mean for these blogs to be shorter than they end up being, but writing is somewhat of a discovery process for me. I start with something I want to discuss in mind, but as I start writing, my thoughts become clearer to me and I process through things I haven’t been able to fully grasp. And so, you’re left with a longer-than-I-wish blog. So here we are…): My mindset in preparing for birth.

Without giving too much detail (for the sake of time - I have no reservations sharing the intimate details of what I’m hoping for) I’ll give you a quick explanation of what I’m hoping for for Baby Boy’s birth. I’ve always dreamed of having a completely natural, unmedicated birth. No induction. Zero interventions. Just my body doing what I truly believe God created it to do. I say that not to shame anyone who chooses to birth in a different fashion, or to discredit that there are absolutely situations in which medical intervention is not only necessary, but a blessing. As disappointing as it was to have a c-section with Ellie, I am so very thankful that I live in a time where both she and I emerged from her birth safe and healthy. But this time around, I’m both hoping and preparing for a different experience.

Last time, I did next to nothing to prepare my mind and body for birth. This time around, I feel almost obsessed with preparing both mentally and physically for what is ahead. The more I learn, the more I realize just how much I didn’t know when bringing Ellie into the world. And the more I learn, the better - and worse - I feel. If I could summarize my mental game the past seven months up to you, it would be a battle between fear and faith.

When I first started to think about preparing differently for this birth than last, I thought more information would be the answer to calming my fears. I thought information would be what I needed to go into this birth with confidence. And at times, it has. But with more information also comes more fear - the more I know about birth, the more I know about what could go wrong. My birth experience with Ellie has already filled my mind with plenty of things that could go wrong. Some days, more information just adds to the list.

On the flip side, the more I learn, the more in awe I am of the glorious design of pregnancy and birth that the Lord has created. It is truly mind-blowing how every intricate detail works together to create life and bring it forth into the world. The female body is capable of unbelievable things and it makes me believe even more in God’s divine design for our lives. I’ll never understand how people try to use science to discredit the existence of God. Scientific discovery only further proves the existence of something much greater than our brains can even fathom. Some days, as I learn more about how God created my body to be able to birth a baby naturally, no interventions needed, I feel more confident than ever that I can - and will - do it.

In the middle, there is also a neutral discovery in all my learning that is the simple fact that we are not in control. My sister has had three beautiful boys without pain medication and with minimal interventions and I have learned so much from her experiences. She’s my birth hero in a lot of ways. One thing I remember her telling me after the birth of her second son is that we really can’t control the birth process and the more that you can accept and embrace and submit to that fact, the better the experience is going to be. I’ve been pondering that concept a lot lately. I think perhaps, birth is meant to be a lesson to all of us women that we are not in control. So much of our lives are controlled. We want to have control over everything - from our jobs to our hair color to what we are eating for dinner tonight. But at the end of the day, there is so much out of our control. Control is an illusion, and it makes us feel like God. In reality, He is the only one in control. I think perhaps, a husband’s inability to help his partner through the pain of labor is the male version of this lesson. Men are notorious for wanting to be able to fix things. Labor pain is one thing they simply cannot fix. They must learn to find a new way to love and support their wife through it. But the pain, they can’t control.

Pregnancy is also a great lesson in lack of control. I find it interesting that with most other medical conditions (if you want to call pregnancy that…) there are pretty specific and consistent symptoms that accompany them. Pregnancy, on the other hand, has a never-ending list of symptoms and every woman can experience any combination of them and it can be completely different from one pregnancy to the next. Pregnancy “is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get…” I remember when I would go to my prenatal appointments for Ellie, they would stop me at the door and ask me if I had been experiencing “any of the following symptoms” and then they would read the Covid symptoms list. Sometimes I would laugh and say all of them, sometimes I would just say no for the sake of time, but the list was hilariously similar to many common pregnancy symptoms. Ah Covid, good times, good times (said no one ever!).

I so want to control my birth. I want to learn all I can and do all I can to prepare so that I can have the exact birth outcome I desire. But I am not in control. I’ve felt like I’m caught in between two places in that I want to do everything I can to prepare my mind and body for what is ahead, but I also want to trust that God is in control and recognize that I can’t force anything. I’ve spent countless hours journaling, praying, and listening to the Lord talk about this upcoming birth. I feel like the Lord has clearly told me that it’s going to be a very different experience - redemptive, peaceful, joyful, hopeful, good. And yet, every other day I feel hopeful then discouraged, peaceful then fearful, at rest then anxious. Once again, it’s a daily battle between fear and faith. Am I going to give into fear of everything that could go wrong? Or am I going to believe the promises I feel I’ve heard from the Lord? Where is the line between being diligent to do my part in preparing and resting in the peace that God is in control.

Another thing the Lord has been speaking to me about is that the way in which I birth does not define me. Birth is but a moment in time. What really matters is how I love, care for, teach, and raise my babies. It’s ok to want to birth in a certain way. But who I am - my identity - is not tied to how my births unfold. I’m a c-section Mama hoping for a VBAC. But if I end up with another c-section, I didn’t fail or lose something.

As I’m writing this blog, I am feeling more at peace than fearful. I hope I stay here for the remainder of my pregnancy. I know that this battle between fear and faith is just another opportunity to grow in my trust and faith in the Lord. James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” As I mature in my faith, I learn to embrace these challenges because I know that they are ultimately for my good. Through LOTS of therapy, I’ve come to realize that my c-section, breastfeeding struggles, and postpartum depression and anxiety with Ellie all lead me to a place of desperation that opened the door for the Lord to do a great work in my heart. My faith and who I am today would not be what they are if I hadn’t experienced those challenges. As painful as those things were, I wouldn’t trade the fruit they have produced in my life for a different experience. My trust in the Lord - especially in the hard times - is stronger now because I’ve seen His faithfulness through the storm.

And so I start each day as I normally do - reading my Bible and journaling and talking to the Lord about what is on my mind. Most days it has something to do with preparing for Baby Boy to be here. And each day, I’ll try my best to choose faith over fear. Because while I can’t control how his birth unfolds, I can trust that God will be with me through it all.

On why am I even here

I wrote this blog almost a year ago, but for some reason never posted it. I was talking with a friend at the gym after class last Saturday and our conversation reminded me of it. After re-reading, I felt it needed very little editing - my thoughts on the matter are still the same today as they were a year ago. We are blessed and I think it’s worth taking the time to recognize that.

Have you ever found yourself in a place where you asked yourself, “why am I even here?” I’m talking both physically and existentially. A lot of times we mean it in a negative way. Like, “why did I waste my time coming to this social event that I didn’t even want to come to in the first place where I know nobody and feel absolutely awkward making small talk or standing in the corner like a creeper?” (Wait, you’ve never been in this situation? Just me? Ok, cool, cool.) Or maybe we find ourselves in a situation in life where a series of decisions lead us down a path we never intended to go. One day we wake up and with pain in our hearts ask, “why am I even here?” I think most of us can relate to the question in some form or fashion at some point in our lives.

Yesterday while I was driving to see my therapist I listened to the sermon our pastor preached last weekend. In it he shared financial statistics from around the world. He said that the average annual household income in the United States is $70,000. In Germany - $52,000, Israel - $49,000, France - $43,000, Poland - $16,000, Mexico - $9,000, Ukraine - $4,000, India - $2,000, Cambodia - $1,500, Sudan - $670, Afghanistan - $500. Now say what you want about cost of living being different in different places. No matter how you slice it, if you live in the United States you are rich by the world’s standard.

Every so often while I’m driving it will hit me just how blessed we are. I’ve traveled to third world countries and seen some pretty poverty stricken places - places where families are starving and parents sell their children into slavery to try to make ends meet. And as I drive down the highway on my way to a grocery store full of whatever type of food I’m in the mood for and adjust the A/C nob down a click because it’s a little too cold, I realize just how privileged we are. I have my own car. I have the financial means to purchase the food I want. I have the convenience of air conditioning and heating and a soft bed and safety for my daughter when we go to sleep at night.

Yesterday I thought to myself, “why am I even here?” I believe that there is a God who creates each of us and chooses where it is that we are to be born. He chose to put me in the United States. He chose to give me loving parents who taught me the things I needed to know in order to grow up and become a successful adult. He brought Jonathan and I together in a loving and supportive marriage. He inspired Jonathan to start the gym - a gym that after many years of hard work is thriving and growing and providing for our needs. And He gave us our Ellie bear (new edit: and our new little one on the way!). God gave us a wonderful life full of blessings and freedom and privilege. But why?

He could have put me in the slums of India or a small mountain village in Afghanistan. When I say that, I don’t mean it as a punishment - I have been to the slums of India and seen some of the most joyful people you’ll ever meet living there. But I mean it as a recognition that He chose to put me in a place of financial prosperity.

It’s easy to forget what you have and take it for granted. Just like any gift, what was all shiny and special at the beginning eventually fades into the normalcy of life and we no longer value it the way we did at the start. Or perhaps when we are born into it, it’s simply our normal and unless something outside of “our world” causes us to realize it, we will never see how special the thing we have is. I’m a huge fan of missions trips for this reason. I think everyone should visit another country (and I’m not talking about a boujie vacation to a tropical island, I’m talking third world country) sometime in their life so that they can have their reality checked. It’s so easy to be absorbed with our own little world and never realize it is just a tiny part of a much greater place. It’s good to have our selfishness challenged through seeing the lives of others. And if we let it, seeing the struggles of others creates empathy and compassion that we may not have had before.

So why are we even here? Why were you and I born in the United States (I’m obviously making an assumption here…)? Why were we placed in a country of privilege? Why do we have the blessings and means to do what we want? Why are we not in a third world country just struggling to survive?

I believe part of the answer is so that we can help others. I don’t think God gives us great financial blessing just so that we can live a happy life and die rich. What a selfish and empty way to live. Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy a meal for a starving child. And I can speak from experience that there is great joy in knowing you have helped someone in need.

It’s the parable of the talents. A master went on a trip, leaving three of this servants in charge of five, two, and one bag(s) of gold. The servants with the five and two bags of gold invested them and doubled their money, but the servant with the single bag of gold buried it and did nothing with it. The master returned and rewarded the two servants who had dealt wisely with their money, but punished and took away the bag from the one who did nothing with his.

God has blessed each of us. Some of us have five bags of gold, some two, and some one. But we all have at least a bag. Now we get to decide what we want to do with that bag. Are we going to invest it into the lives of others, multiplying the blessing from our lives into the lives of others? Or are we going to hold on to it and miss the joy of seeing other people being blessed.

The money is His anyways. He gives and He takes away. We are just meant to be stewards of it. We have opportunities every day, whether it be giving to a worthy cause like fighting human trafficking, or noticing the family at the grocery store who is having to put things back because they can’t afford everything they need. (Yes, there is need in our country too.) Why are we even here? We are here to be conduit of God’s blessings into the lives of others.

I also believe part of the answer is so that we can be grateful to the Lord. 2 Corinthians 9:6-15 says,

“Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. As it is written:

“They have freely scattered their gifts to the poor; their righteousness endures forever.”

Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God.

This service that you perform is not only supplying the needs of the Lord’s people but is also overflowing in many expressions of thanks to God. Because of the service by which you have proved yourselves, others will praise God for the obedience that accompanies your confession of the gospel of Christ, and for your generosity in sharing with them and with everyone else. And in their prayers for you their hearts will go out to you, because of the surpassing grace God has given you. Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”

He has blessed us so that we can be a blessing and so that we can praise Him for his goodness with a thankful heart. That is why we are even here.

On feminism and the Barbie movie

So here’s the deal: I’ve spent far too many years afraid to speak up on the things that I believe or that matter to me. And at 32 and a half years old, I’m finally done living that way. I am FINALLY learning to love myself more than the opinions of others and to walk confidently in the person that God created me to be. I’ve never been a confrontational person, in fact, I’ve avoided it like the plague for my entire life. But it’s amazing what a really great therapist and the freeing work of the Lord in your life can do. And so here I am, ready to pick a fight with the feminists AND Barbie movie lovers of the world. (I’m not actually trying to fight anyone… I just want to share my perspective on things and I recognize that some people may find my perspective offensive. If you happen to feel offended after reading this blog, please feel free to reach out to me - I’d love to have a respectful conversation and learn more about your perspective on things.)

I’ll start with my general consensus on the Barbie movie: I am not a fan. As any good millennial female, I was excited to see the movie. I love Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling (The Notebook will forever be the best Nicholas Sparks movie). I played with Barbies well past the age of it being socially acceptable (and blamed it on my 7 years younger sister). I was looking forward to a cute, lighthearted, nostalgic chick flick. What I got instead was most accurately described by my sister as, “whiplash between funny Barbie-isms and aggressive social and political statements.” I left feeling disappointed, confused, and misrepresented.

I’ll pause here to say off the bat, I am writing this blog knowing that I may have entirely misunderstood the meaning and intent of the movie. I have never enjoyed movies that make you really think, like Inception or Interstellar… I watch movies to relax, laugh, and generally speaking feel good about life. I prefer stories where the guy gets the girl, the villain loses and the hero wins, and the endings are happy, as well as predictable. I left the Barbie movie feeling like they were making strong anti-male, pro-feminism statements, and I expressed to a friend after watching it that I think I missed a lot of other things they were trying to say in all the back and forth of the whiplash. So knowing that I am not always right and I perhaps misunderstood the entire film, here are my thoughts on feminism and the Barbie movie. And if I did completely miss the mark, I still think it’s worth recognizing that whatever they meant to say, this is how it was received, at least by one person…

So what is a feminist, really? No really, how do you define it? Because I’ve been kind of confused about it for years now. I just looked it up on Dictionary.com and it says, “advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.” Well if that’s the case, call me a feminist. I mean I also looked up the definition of advocate and I can’t say I publicly taking action on it so maybe I’m not quite a full-fledged feminist. But do I believe that men and women were created with equal innate value and deserve to be treated with equal respect and love and care? Absolutely. Do I think men and women both create value and bring something unique and important to every realm of our society - social, political, legal, and economic - and therefore should be equally honored, respected, and included in those realms? Absolutely. Do I think there have been huge discrepancies in the equal representation of men and women in those realms in the past and in a lot of ways in the present? Absolutely. But do I believe some people have taken the whole feminism thing wayyyy too far to the other end of the spectrum? Absolutely.

While I don’t disagree with the actual definition of feminism, I think there are a lot of damaging and dangerous beliefs and behaviors that often accompany it. I posed the question, “How do you define it (feminism)” earlier because I feel like we all have a slightly different perception of it. Here are some of the things I perceive to go along with feminism, based of the “vibes” I get from those who claim to be feminists (a very scientific approach to all this, I know…) I will also share my thoughts on how the Barbie movie affirmed these beliefs and behaviors as I go.

One: a strong distaste for, anger and bitterness towards, and/or just generally speaking negative perception of men. Maybe this is just my experience with the feminists that live in my little corner of the world. But when I hear them speak, I often see a lot of hurt, pain, and anger towards men as a whole gender. I never want to be insensitive to the hurt and pain of others. Maybe a lot of feminists have been legitimately hurt, repressed, and/or abused by men and that’s where it stems from. For those of you who that is the case, I am so sorry for everything you have been through, truly. I think the man or men who treated you that way should be held accountable for their actions. But I don’t believe a whole gender should be blamed for the harmful actions of a few. Women have just as much of a potential to hurt men as the reverse. It’s simply not ok to demonize an entire gender. I think this negative perception of males in general was very prevalent in the Barbie movie. It was shown in the mob of ridiculous Mattel executives. In the Kens subjecting the Barbies to giving foot rubs, handing out beers, and wearing maids outfits (all stereotypical and degrading “make me a sandwich woman” type behaviors). And it was even in the depiction of America Ferrera’s husband (a white man who is shown struggling to pronounce Spanish words) throughout the movie. I feel like there was an underlying level of disrespect toward males that I did not appreciate.

Two: a desire for reverse discrimination. I just Googled “reverse discrimination” not knowing if it was an actual term. Turns out it is - and it defines exactly what I was hoping to describe: “the practice or policy of favoring individuals belonging to groups known to have been discriminated against previously.” Like I said, I think there have absolutely been (and still are) discrepancies in the representation of men and women in many important arenas of life. But I often get the feeling that feminists don’t just want equal representation - they want to entirely own the representation. I think this point was shown in the Barbie movie at the end where the Barbies executed their plan to completely overthrow the Kens and reclaim complete control of Barbieland. You know, with the entirely female congress… You know what I think would have been a much better ending? If they had decided that it could be Barbie AND Ken Land. Everyone could have been given equal value and representation and dignity. And if you want to come at me with, “yeah, but that was the whole point of Barbie telling Ken he needed to find himself apart from her, and his struggle with being Kenough…” I don’t feel like that small part of the movie counteracted the major anti-patriarchy message of the whole film. Or was I the only one walking out with those vibes? The points I want to make are these: Seeking revenge for past wrongs is never going to fix things. Subjecting a whole gender to paying for the wrongs of a few isn’t justice at all. And trying to make up for a lack of power by overpowering others is just doing the exact same thing that you claim to hate to someone else. And none of these lead to a better, more equal future.

Two side notes about the ending of the movie: Why did the Barbies have to use manipulation and deception to overthrow the Kens? If you’re trying to create a movie that lifts women up, let’s come up with a better method of achieving our goals… And more on the Kenough thing - it seemed like they were trying to say that nobody cared about Ken. I beg to differ. We only had one Ken doll and my sister and I fought every damn time over who got to play with him. I had a friend who wanted a Ken doll so badly that she turned one of her Barbies into a weird Barbie - cutting all the hair off so she could pretend it was a Ken. Ken was well loved in our household. Also, considering Barbie dolls were meant for young girls, would it really have been appropriate for Ken to be more emphasized? Five-year-olds don’t really need to spend their time thinking about romantic relationships. They should focus on building healthy, positive female friendships. Also, they did create a doll entirely dedicated to males and his name is G.I. Joe…

Three: a victim mentality. The monologue, oh the famous monologue. Am I the only one who didn’t love it - or agree with it? America made some legitimate points. I think some of what she said is true. But why is there such a strong message of, “it’s so hard to be a woman” going around? Here’s the things: It IS hard to be a woman. But you know what, it is ALSO hard to be a man. You want to know some of the things that I think are hard about being a woman? Being pregnant. Birthing a baby. Nursing. Or being devastated at the fact that your body is unable to do those things if you are dealing with infertility, birth complications, or nursing issues. Those are all things that ONLY women can do. (Although I did see an interview recently talking about how some men are taking medication that allows their nipples to produce some form of liquid that they are then feeding to newborn babies. I am not even going to get started about how absolutely ludicrous and disgusting and criminal this is. Those poor infants are being subjected to ingesting a medically induced, completely unnatural liquid. It honestly makes me absolutely enraged and sick to my stomach just thinking about it. But I’m not even going to get started on that...) But back to the Barbie movie… I’m tired of this woo is me, women have it the hardest, nothing is ever fair, we can never win mentality. Am I arguing with the “fact” that women probably deal with more discrimination than men in the social and political realms? No, I’m not going to say it’s not true. What about the economic and legal realms? I can’t say for sure, but I would actually dare to say females may have the upper hand in these areas, at least in the United States. How much financial assistance does a single mother get compared to a single father when their income can’t cover the bills? - I truly don’t know the answer to this question, but I do feel like I hear much more about programs to help single mothers and their kids out than single fathers. And how often does the mother get more custody in a divorce? I’m not saying women don’t have it tough, I’m just saying can we stop throwing a pity party and start acknowledging that everyone has it hard in one way or another? On that point, you want to know some things I think are tough about being a man? Having to miss out on time with your family so that you can work hard to provide for them. Feeling responsible for the protection of your family. Living in a society that is currently attacking your masculinity and with a whole group of people wanting to subject you to discrimination based on the mistakes of others. Obviously there are situations where a women work just as much as men - or are the sole provider for their families. There are single mothers who play the role of mother and father, as there are single fathers who must do the same. I get that all of these are generalizations and assumptions. But again, my point is that choosing to have a victim mentality does not help create equality - which is the supposed goal of feminism. Choosing to see men as the enemy or oppressor is never going to help create unity or progress.

Another thing I’d like to discuss to expand on my last point: I believe that God created two separate genders on purpose, with purpose. I think the differences between men and women are intentional, in our DNA, not some construct of modern society or some outdated religious concept. I think the differences between men and women are beautiful, meant to strengthen us, meant to be celebrated - not a problem, meant to weaken one gender, meant to be despised. While once again these are generalizations and I recognize we all carry these traits in us to some extent, I think it’s also true that men and women tend to carry certain traits more strongly than the opposite gender. Men have an innate the desire to protect, to provide, to explore. Women have an innate desire to nurture, to create a safe home environment, to care for others. When men and women pursue these desires and work together, everyone is taken care of and important needs are met. Again, I’m not saying we don’t all possess each of these traits to some extent - I know full and well the desire to protect my daughter as a full fledged Mama Bear - but even that’s different than the fact that it’s mostly men who choose to go to war. My point, once again, is that we are all - men and women - created with value in our own unique ways and I believe our differences should bring us together to work in unity toward equality, not pit us against each other as if we are enemies. Also, if we were all truly supposed to fill the exact same roles in society, why would God bother creating two separate genders in the first place?

I hung out with a friend of mine earlier today and she added even another thought to my mind about the “it’s men vs. women” narrative. We were talking about the monologue and she shared the idea that women actually struggle a lot more with comparing themselves to other women than they do with having to meet the expectations of men. That that is the actually hard thing about being a woman. And I think she’s right. Is it really men that tell us we have to be “thin, but not too thin”? Or is it our own minds telling us we have to measure up to a standard based off how other women look? Are men really the enemy trying to repress us and force us into all these boxes while they get a free pass? Or are we the ones setting all these impossible expectations for ourselves - and then blaming men for it? Just food for thought…

So why did I feel the need to write this blog? Do I think my thoughts and opinions are ground-breaking? Absolutely not. Do I think I’m someone special and others should want to hear what I have to say? Absolutely not. To be honest, I’ve been asking myself why I felt the need to write a blog that I know could potentially hurt the feelings of people I love dearly or provoke angry responses? And I just finally figured it out. I feel like the Barbie movie is meant to represent my generation. Of course Barbie has been around a lot longer than I have, and she’s still going strong today. But I feel like this film was created for all the millennial girls out there who grew up on Barbie. And (assuming I actually did understand the statements that they were trying to make) I strongly disagree with a lot of what was represented in the movie. I guess I just want to let people know that not everyone in my generation supports a “male vs. female” narrative. That it’s possible to fully support the equality of men and women, without it being painted as a battle between the two. That the answer to reaching equality is in working together, not waging a war.

I want end by acknowledge that I’m saying all these things coming from my own unique perspective and life experiences, as is every single person on earth when sharing literally any thought or opinion. I am fortunate enough to say my experiences with men have been mostly positive. I have a father who loved and protected me and made me feel safe and accepted growing up. I have a loving, supportive husband who values me for who I am. I have had many male bosses who believed in me, gave me opportunities to grow, and trusted me with responsibility in what I did. Our gym is full of men who cheer us women on in our athletic journeys, as well as life in general. My community is full of loving, supportive men who wish the best for me. So everything I have said is coming from a lifetime of positive experiences with men. I do want to acknowledge, again, that I know this has sadly not been the case for all women. Many women have had terrible, damaging, and even dangerous experiences with men. And if that is you, please know I am not trying to negate your experience or disregard your very legitimate pain. I see you and I feel for you and I genuinely care for you. I also feel like I need to say that at the end of the day, we all have a choice. Regardless of our experiences, we can choose to let them harden our hearts in bitterness, or lead us to finding true freedom and healing. We can choose to stay victims, or we can choose to take ownership of the things we can control and contend for our own mental and emotional health. If you get nothing else out of this blog, please know I really do care about your pain, I am rooting for you to find healing and freedom in your own journey, and I share my thoughts not to condemn you for your own.

All that being said, I think the one thing we can all agree on is that Dua Lipa’s “Dance the Night Away” is a real bop.

On things weighing heavy on my heart

Well, I’m back from a four month hiatus… In case you haven’t heard, I’m pregnant with baby d #2! We haven’t posted this publicly yet, but we found out this last week that it’s a boy! So you’re one of the first to know - thanks for reading my blogs! :) I’ll probably write a blog(s) all about pregnancy, first trimester woos, the beauty and awe of carrying another life inside of you, the things I ponder as I prepare for life with a toddler AND a newborn, etc. But for now let’s just say morning sickness sent me into a hole for a while, but I’m finally back!

Part of why I mention all of that is that pregnancy has put a magnifying glass on my emotions. Or maybe it’s the year of therapy and learning to accept emotions as a good, healthy thing, not something to be controlled or stifled or embarrassed by. Either way, I’m crying A LOT more these days. And let me tell you something, it feels good. I even started a series on my Instagram stories where I post, “On today’s episode of pregnancy hormones made me cry…” with whatever random video that sparked waterworks for the day. It’s fun and also a real testament to the growth (or hormones) I’ve gone through recently.

There are some things that have really been weighing heavily on me lately. Well, actually, I think they’ve been weighing heavily on me for most of my life, but in different facets. Sexual abuse, child abductions, and human trafficking are all terrible in and of themselves, but they are also all connected. This blog feels vulnerable to write, but I also feel the need to do so. Maybe to shed some light on things that need to be seen, maybe to process my own feelings and fears.

I was 11 years old when Elizabeth Smart was abducted from her own bedroom. I feel like most people my age and especially older at least recognize her name. If you don’t know her story, you can learn more than you want to know with a quick Google search. But essentially she was stolen from her home at night at the age of 14. Her story made national - and I’m sure international - news, but that wouldn’t have mattered. I lived one town over from her. And her story shook our community, as well as my little heart and mind. I wouldn’t (and honestly still have a hard time with) sleep with my second story window open. I grew up always paranoid that someone would try to harm me. I still get nervous walking through dark parking lots at night. And so, it should have come as no surprise that some of my biggest fears after having Ellie have revolved around that topic of abduction - as well as abuse.

I’m not saying being cautious is a bad thing - it’s not, in the world we live in. But dealing with postpartum anxiety and constant fear for your daughters safety are not fun ways to live. Checking the baby monitor every time you wake up at night might be a normal parent habit, but when you’re checking to make sure your child is still there, perhaps not so much. I know the odds of something happening are SO small, and yet, I still struggle with it.

Part of why all of this bothers me so much is I know that eventually I will have to teach Ellie about these things. I was walking through the parking lot at a local water park earlier this week and passed a sweet little group of elementary aged girls with their mom. It grieved my heart to hear the mom reminding the girls that they needed to keep their eyes open, not go with anyone who said they knew her no matter what, and that, “the normal looking people are the worst offenders.” She actually said that. And she’s not wrong. Child abusers and human traffickers alike hide in plain sight. I hated hearing her say those things to her precious, innocent little girls, but also knew that part of why I hated it was because I will be giving Ellie the same speeches someday.

Another thing you should know about me - When I was six years old, my family met another family that does missions work overseas. I think at the time they focussed more on building water wells, feeding starving children, and educating kids from some of the poorest communities in the world. But at some point, they got involved in rescuing women and children from human trafficking. My family became fast friends with their family and over the years we became very involved in the work they are doing. My dad started working for them when I was young, still works there today, and my first real job out of college was working in their marketing department. I worked there for five years and I am still on their volunteer panel to this day. I love and support the work they do and always will. But let me tell you, working in the area of human trafficking rescue and prevention does something to you.

I mentioned that my dad started working for them when I was young because it not only opened my eyes to things I had never seen before, but also the eyes of my parents. My mom was tasked with the same burden I am - teaching her daughters to be safe in a world that is full of darkness. The things I’ve learned - the things she learned - have left their mark on both of us. I grew up being constantly reminded of the need to protect myself, stay alert, and always be aware of my surroundings. My mom did her best to keep me safe. Unfortunately I received her wisdom and it turned into fear.

I struggle with the tension of how to teach my daughter safety, while not instilling her with the fear I’ve carried around since childhood. How do I teach her to be wise, but not to be paranoid? To keep her eyes open and be aware, while not constantly imagining something bad happening to her? The world we live in today isn’t the same world I grew up in - and even that world was dangerous. I desire for my daughter to be able to ride her bike through the neighborhood as I once did, but the protector in me says there’s no way in hell that’s ever happening. Just last year a precious little girl from our community was stolen from her own driveway by a Fedex driver and we all sat in the tension of it until days later they found her body. We all know that evil exists in this world, but it hits differently when the evil happens just a few miles from your doorstep. How do I teach my daughter safety, but also let her be a kid?

If this blog is making you feel uncomfortable and like I’m a paranoid, anxious wreck, don’t worry - I am and plan on continuing to talk to my therapist about all of this… I’m just being real about where I am at.

So all of this brings me to some current headlines in our news.

The film, The Sound of Freedom came out just a few weeks ago and is based on the true story of “Tim Ballard, a former government agent who embarks on a mission to rescue children from sex traffickers in Colombia” (according to Wikipedia). I have not seen the film or looked much into the story, but major media headlines have alarmed me. Things like, “'Sound of Freedom': What you need to know about the hit faith-based thriller fueling conspiracy theories. - The indie flick has become an unlikely box-office hit and a darling of right-wing influencers. And Ashton Kutcher and AMC are now involved.” (from Yahoo. Of course they want to bash a faith-based film. And apparently even Ashton Kutcher, who happens to be involved in the world of human trafficking rescue and prevention, isn’t safe from the attacks of the media.). Also, “‘Sound of Freedom: the QAnon-adjacent thriller seducing America’ - Jim Caviezel stars as a hero trying to stop child traffickers in a paranoid new movie turning into a surprise box-office hit.” (from The Guardian. QAnon-adjacent? Seducing? Paranoid? Interesting - read: accusatory - choice of words.). And another one “‘Sound Of Freedom’ Is a Superhero Movie for Dads With Brainworms” (from Rolling Stone. I almost laughed at this one… I just can’t with these people.)

Like I said, I have not seen the movie or done much research. So maybe I shouldn’t have opinions on something I haven’t really vetted. But I do believe that there are powerful people with powerful voices who are willing to do whatever it takes to keep the truth from being told, justice from being served, and the innocent enslaved. We live in a world where some people would rather smear a story that exposes a very real darkness rather than face the truth. One of the things that keeps trafficking alive is the unbelievable corruption - on MANY levels - that exists behind the scenes. I’m not saying those media outlets are necessarily involved, but someone writing for them doesn’t like the truth being told. I find it unsurprising, yet still disappointing, that they are trying to discredit a faith based movie. I don’t remember anyone getting up in arms about the Taken movies. And I don’t remember anyone questioning the validity of the more recent Extraction movie - or accusing fans of it of having brainworms… But as soon as a faith based version of a rescue story comes out, it’s full of paranoia and seduction and conspiracy theories?

Which brings me to the second thing: A child sex trafficking bill that was struck down in the state of California. Again, I haven’t done much research here, so perhaps I should keep my mouth shut. But the headlines told me enough to start a rage fire inside me - “California Democrats Block Bill To Make Child Trafficking a Serious Felony” (from Newsweek). I could stop there, but I did read the article just to understand a bit more. I didn’t need to read it, however, to know that I am disgusted by the decision. In case I haven’t made my opinions on this matter clear enough yet, child trafficking is one of the most despicable atrocities that exists in our world today. I will never understand people who would turn down an opportunity to hold those responsible for it accountable to the utmost degree. It makes my blood boil just thinking about it. Trafficking is real. CHILD trafficking is a heinous crime. And I’m enraged by any and everyone who would treat it as anything but the disgusting, heartbreaking, life-shattering thing that it is. Yet we live in a world where it continues to exist. The good news - the bill has since been revived and is moving on to the next stage, thanks to the intervention of California’s governor. While I am hopeful, I am still disturbed by the fact that there were people who initially opposed it.

This blog is getting long, so I’ll just say one thing about sexual abuse that weighs heavy on me - that the majority of victims are abused not by strangers, but someone they know and trust. (This does not apply to children who have been trafficked.) I think most people already know this, but again, my immersion in the world of trafficking and at risk children sometimes causes me to question if the knowledge I have is known to the general public, or not. So assuming you already knew this, I imagine your heart is also broken by this statistic and that I need not expand on the thoughts you already have.

These things are heavy. Most of my blogs end with some positive note about the lessons I’m learning or the things God is showing me. I think perhaps I’m learning some weighty lessons right now. The first one is that I need to learn on a greater level how to lay down my fear and trust God more. Ultimately my daughter’s safety is in His capable hands, and I need to learn to rest in that. Secondly, I’m learning that part of following the Lord is allowing your heart to be broken by the things that break His. I want to protect my heart from the ugly truths in our world for the sake of self-preservation. A part of me would rather simply not know about the evil in this world so I could keep on living a peaceful, unbothered life. But the Bible makes it clear that self-preservation is not the end goal of following Christ. In fact, following Christ often involves putting yourself in very vulnerable places where you expose yourself to even death for the sake of the Truth. Along those lines is the fact that it’s not only necessary for me to allow my heart to be broken by these things, but it’s actually a privilege to connect with the heart of God in that way. He shares His heart with those who know and love Him. So to carry the weight of something that matters to Him is to partner with Him in bringing light to this world. And lastly, I’m learning to have the courage to speak up. I’ve been concerned with these things for years, but I feel it’s time for me to start adding my voice to the chorus again. I feel vulnerable and uncertain of myself in speaking on things I don’t have complete knowledge of - I haven’t seen The Sound of Freedom or done enough research on the California bill to be able to confidently take a stand on the validity of either one. But I do know that I know a lot about trafficking and that I despise it and that I feel the need to express my concern over the voices that would try to dampen the work being done to combat it. I’m tired of allowing my fear of being “canceled” because of my beliefs to silence the voice I have. The yells of an angry few have got to stop overpowering the whispers of the concerned many.

I guess some of my grief recently is really over the state of humanity itself. The Bible makes it clear that at the moment that sin entered the world, we were destined for darkness. And yet, we live with the reality that God sent His son to die for our depravity, and the promise that someday He will return. And when He comes back, sin and darkness will be eliminated. Perhaps what I’m experiencing now is actually a longing for that future, when everything is made right and only light exists. It’s the promise of that future that gives me the hope I need to continue living in our world today.

Pregnancy hormones, successful therapy, or perhaps just the Lord taking me yet deeper in my faith - I hold these things with a heavy heart. My daughter will grow and someday I’ll have to teach her about the evil in this world. But as I do so, I will also teach her about the security, hope, and light that are found only in Christ. I’ll learn to hold as much of the tension of all these things as I can in my inadequate hands, while placing the rest of it in the capable hands of my Father. If I’ve learned anything from my years of doing CrossFit, it’s that it’s in the tension that strength is built. So I’ll trust that the Lord is strengthening my faith in the processes.

On walking through the valley

In Christian rhetoric, there’s a lot of talk about the mountains and the valleys of life. Mountain tops are associated with the moments in life when everything is good. You love your job, your family is doing well, all the hard work you’ve put in is paying off, and your dreams are coming true. You feel like you are on top of a mountain and nothing can bring you down. Valleys, on the other hand, represent the tough times in life. You lost your job, your loved ones are sick, nothing is going your way, and you can’t make ends meet. You feel overwhelmed, discouraged, and full of fear. Human nature desires the mountain top experiences of life. But I’m learning to desire the valleys as well.

I’m in a season of life where I feel like I’ve been walking through the valley for a long time now. I’m not saying everything has been bad, but there have just been a lot of tough things I’ve been working through. As much as it honestly sucks, I am learning a very important truth for perhaps the first time in my life: It is in the valleys, not the mountain tops, that we are most changed to become more like Jesus.

I’ve been a Christian my entire life, or basically from the moment when I was old enough to understand salvation and ask Jesus to come into my heart. I’ve always loved the Lord and wanted to serve Him. But it wasn’t until I walked through the darkest season - valley - of my life after having Ellie that I really understood my need for God. I was your classic church kid - never did anything wrong (ok I guess I did date a kid from youth group behind my parents’ backs and got caught because my dad found his Myspace page… a story for another day). I never drank underage, never partied, never snuck out. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen drugs in real life. I was a good kid. And my goodness lead me to harbor a heart full of pride.

It’s a long story (so long that I wrote a four part blog series on it… you can read it starting here: On being humbled), but here’s the spark notes version (speaking of, I made it through all of high school reading spark notes instead of the actual required books for lit class… maybe we should add that to the list of my sins of my youth?). When I started CrossFit and realized I could be really good at it, I threw myself wholeheartedly into performing in the gym. I placed pretty much all of my identity and worth into my performance, losing myself and alienating people I loved along the way. But it wasn’t until I had Ellie and really struggled to regain my athleticism postpartum that I realized the error of my ways. I basically had to hit rock bottom - feeling worthless because I could no longer achieve in the gym - to recognize that I had gotten way off the path the Lord had for me. I was building things for my glory, striving to achieve self-worth and the acceptance of others, and so steeped in pride that I couldn’t even see it. And then it all came tumbling down. My house built on sand could not stand. It was here that I finally recognized me need for God.

The Bible talks about the valley in Psalm 23:4 - “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (yikes), I will fear no evil, for you are with me…” That first year postpartum was the darkest valley I’ve ever walked through and to be honest, I spent most of it separated from God. I still believed He was my Lord and Savior, but I had very little desire to walk in relationship with Him. But about a year postpartum, I started seeing a counselor and slowly started turning my heart back towards God. I stopped letting my anger, disappointment, and hurt push me away from Him and started walking with Him in the valley. And that was when everything changed.

It took time, a lot of time. But one step at a time, He brought me out of the darkness and into the light. He opened my eyes to see my pride. He showed me where I had been wrong and hurt people in the process. He showed me the truth about where I had been placing my identity and lovingly guided me to the truth that my value and worth rest secure in Him and Him alone. He freed me from my fear of man and desire to people please. And He taught me what true submission to His will looks like.

I think this season is perhaps the first time in my life that I have submitted myself to the discipleship process. To dying to myself and taking up my cross daily. To placing the will of the Father above my own. To sitting in extremely uncomfortable places and refusing to give up even when my human nature tells me to throw in the towel. To examining my heart, feeling my feelings, and then submitting them to the cross, over and over and over again. To looking inward rather than blaming outward. To letting go of my desire for personal justice. To actively choosing forgiveness, grace, mercy, humility, and compassion over bitterness, vengeance, pride, and judgement. I finally understand what it means to be not only a follower, but a disciple of Jesus. And I think I may finally understand what Paul was talking about when he said, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” (Phillipians 4:12-13)

It is in the valleys, where everything feels like it is falling apart, that we are tested. Are we going to give in - to our human desires, our sin, our propensity to try to do everything on our own, and our striving to somehow earn our salvation and satisfaction in life - or are we going to give up - and let God step in and change us? It is in the valleys that we come to the end of ourselves. And when you reach the end of yourself, you have two choices: choose you or choose God.

I’m still in the valley. Life’s pressures are closing in around me and I feel it. But just as heat applied to gold brings the impurities to the surface, I can see the Lord refining me in this season. It’s uncomfortable and if I’m honest, a lot of ugly things are coming out. But in the midst of all of the crushing and pressing, I am finding joy in knowing that I am becoming more like Jesus. I am finding joy in my salvation, peace in His presence, and hope for the future. My soul senses that He is preparing me for something He has for me in the future. And I know in my heart that this season, this valley, is about my character being built and me becoming the person I need to be in order to do the things He has called me to. I now understand more clearly what Paul meant when He said, “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

I’ve started thanking God for this valley that I am in. My heart is full of gratitude for the heartbreaking things I’ve walked through and am still walking through, because I know, “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:11) As much as I desire a mountain top moment, when all the world is quite and still and peaceful and blissful, I think I desire the valley more. I desire to become more and more and more like Jesus. And I’ve come to learn that it is in the valley that I experience the most growth. It is in the valley that I most seek His face. And it is in the valley that I find life in the dying of myself, peace in the middle of chaos, and joy in the midst of hardship. I will praise Him for the valley, because it is there that I find Him.

On God’s faithfulness

I’m reading Judges in the Bible right now and it’s basically a repetitive story of God’s people, the Israelites, flip flopping between following God and following their own sinful desires. The story goes “The Israelites did evil in the eyes of the Lord; they forgot the Lord and served the Baals and the Asherahs.” (false gods of the people who lived around them) As a result, the Lord allowed them to experience oppression from their enemies. Then they cried out to God for help. He saved them. They worshiped Him for a short period of time. And then the whole cycle began again with: “Once again the Israelites did evil in the eyes of the Lord…”

Something I’ve noticed about myself when I read the Bible is that I often judge the people in it for the mistakes they make. I look at the Israelites and think, “How could you forget what the Lord has done for you AGAIN?!” I see the Pharisees and think, “How could you be so arrogant?!” I look at Adam and Eve and think, “You had ONE job… Could you really not resist taking a bite? You walked with God daily! How could you so easily disobey Him?!” And I look at Peter I think, “After all you had been through with Jesus, how could you deny Him?!”

But you know what I forget? Two things: First, I have the whole Bible in my hands daily. I have the whole book, the whole story, the whole picture of God’s goodness and faithfulness and mercy and love and grace. (I say “whole”, but what I mean is whole up until this point, meaning the story isn’t over yet! We are still living part of the story and someday Jesus will come back!) None of those people I so easily judge had the perspective I have today. They didn’t have a beautifully bound book with all the proof that they should trust God, because they were living those moments. Their lives are the proof that I so thankfully stand on. But second, and I think more importantly, I often forget that I am more like the Israelites, Pharisees, Adam and Eve, and Peter than I like to admit.

“Once again, Katrina did evil in the sight of the Lord; she forgot the Lord and served her own selfishness and ego.” Once again I walked away from my daily walk with the Lord. Once again I forgot His faithfulness. Once again I placed my hope and trust in created things rather than the Creator. Once again I built my own alters to myself through achievements and the acceptance of others. Once again I felt the crushing weight of the emptiness of a life apart from my loving Father. Once again I reaped the consequences and oppression that come with a life not submitted to the Lord. And you know what, once again I cried out to the Lord and once again, in His faithfulness He answered me.

I am forgetful like the Israelites. I am prideful like the Pharisees. I am disobedient like Adam and Eve. And I am afraid like Peter. God has been faithful to me all my life, yet my life is a story of “agains” where I lose my way and, like the Good Shepherd that He is, God so lovingly brings me back to Him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve prayed the prayer, “Lord, I want to want to follow you. I don’t even have the desire to follow you, so I’m asking for the desire to follow you.” He has answered my cry. every. single. time.

It’s kind if like when Ellie comes to me with a toy she can’t quite figure out yet and yells, “HEP!” When I don’t know what to do or how to find my way back, I just cry, “HELP!” and as the good Father that He is, he answers me.

“Again the Israelites cried out to the Lord, and He gave them a deliverer…” He rescued the Israelites again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and… Some of the Pharisees humbled themselves, followed Jesus, and received eternal life. Adam and Eve still spoke with God after they sinned. And Jesus said, “And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.” after Peter denied Him. God is faithful and because He sent His Son Jesus to satisfy the penalty due for our sins, we stand forgiven for every time we walk away, for our pride, for our disobedience, and for our fear. Jesus is the deliverer for all those who believe.

The Bible is really one big story of God’s faithfulness to a faltering and fumbling mankind. We fail often, but we can find hope in the fact that God’s love never fails. I find solace in the fact that the people in the Bible were just as imperfect as me, yet God never gave up on them. He rescues us again, and again, and again. All we need do is call His name and He is faithful to answer. every. single. time.

On “heavy!”

We live in Texas and we are four days into a life halting ice storm. If you are from anywhere in the northern part of our country, we know you are laughing at us, and we don’t care. They say everything is bigger in Texas, but the ice storms actually aren’t. Our responses to the ice storms, however, absolutely are.

Anyways, being as we haven’t left the house in four days, we have been making sure to do the at home workouts our gym is programming, you know to counteract to be sudden unexplainable baking interest I have taken up. Apparently all it takes is four days of lock down for me to connect with the innate feminine desire to cook. That was a joke, by the way.

Anyways (again), let’s just say Ellie has been carrying the team as far as enthusiasm for the at home workouts go. Not only has she joined us in doing burpees and dumbbell snatches, but she has so selflessly offered herself up as an added almost 22 lb. weight to most of the movements each day. Who needs equipment when you can do push-ups with a tiny human on your back? No need for a dumbbell, just squat with a monkey wrapped around your body. The movements don’t need to be complex, because dodging a toddler is complicated enough! It’s been fun, but there’s no denying that Ellie is in the “all in on whatever we are doing” phase of toddlerhood. 

When I’m in the right frame of mind - patient and remembering that raising a tiny human being is one of the most important things I can do - I love Ellie’s enthusiasm to “hep Mama!” (help). But when I’m unfocused or in a hurry or stressed, I have to be honest when I say I find it frustrating. Everything takes at least three times as long when Ellie is participating. When I recognize that these are the moments where she learns and grows and hopefully comes to love doing important life tasks, I embrace the chaos. But when I just want to get it done and move on, I often brush her aside and try to distract her with some toy, activity to do, or - here’s the ultimate Mom guilt move - a show.

Ellie is also in a phase where she constantly needs help. One of my favorite things she does is yell, “HEAVY!!!!” when she can’t do something. Sometimes she uses it in the right context, like when she is trying to move something that is in fact heavy. But my sweet baby also uses it as a call for help for anything she can’t do, like peeling a sticker off a sticker sheet. It’s adorable and funny and of course I help her no matter what the problem.

This afternoon I was thinking about God as our Father. How often do we try to butt into things He is doing when He never asked for help? Do we try to go “all in” on things He never intended for us to go “all in” on? And how often do we yell, “HEAVY!!!” about a situation as a cry for help? I wonder if I cry, “give me more finances!” when what I really need is more discipline. I ask, “take this situation away!” instead of asking for the patience to endure. I ask Him to, “change this person” rather than, “give me more compassion for them.” I call out the wrong thing and my Father looks down on me with love and adoration, and says, “oh honey, that’s not quite what the problem is, but you’re cute and I love you, so I’m going to help you anyways.” And I don’t mean any of that in a belittling sense. I mean that in the way that I look at my Ellie girl and love her all the more for it. 

He is a good Father. He loves us so much that I wonder if He finds even our misguided requests endearing, just as I find Ellie’s misinterpretation of the word “heavy” to be so. Because even if we are crying out for the wrong thing, He loves that we are at least crying out to Him. He hears us. And He knows better than we do what we really need. I’m actually thankful that He knows better than I do. Just as I answer Ellie’s cry for help in the appropriate way, He responds to our calls in the way we actually need Him to. 

Something I learned in sorting through the mess of my birth and postpartum experience is that sometimes He doesn’t give me what I want, but instead, He gives me what I need. While I wanted a seamless natural birth, thriving breastfeeding experience, and smooth path to reclaiming my fitness, what I really needed was to be humbled and the error of where I was placing my identity to be exposed. Of course the experience was painful and hard and I hated it. But after a lot of counseling and healing, I can see how if He had simply given me what I wanted, I never would have experienced the life change I’ve experienced over the past year since starting counseling. My postpartum depression is what drove me to seeking out help, but it was really just the door to Him bringing much deeper freedom and healing in my life. I now thank God for allowing me to hit rock bottom, because it was there that He got my attention and begin the work of rewiring my heart and mind to be more like Him.

He is a good Father. He loves us enough to answer our call for help. Sometimes we cry, “HEAVY!” and His response is something else. But we can trust that His response is the best response. Because just as I know more than Ellie does, He knows infinitely more than we do. Isaiah 55:8-9 says, “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’” I find peace in the fact that my future is not dependent on my own inadequate abilities and plans, but in the hands of a loving Father who is both omniscient and omnipotent - all knowing AND all powerful.

He’s a good Father. He sees and He knows and He cares and He responds. I’ve found my prayers shifting lately - from asking for specific things to asking for His will to be done. Because I know that His will is always better than mine, and He knows what is best when I do not. I know I can trust Him because He has proven Himself to be faithful in my life, over and over and over again - as if He needed to prove anything to me.

I share all of this because I hope to encourage you, whoever you are, to put your trust in your loving Father. He sees you and He knows you and He cares for you and He responds to you. Whether it’s your first time to place your trust in Him, or your thousandth, He is always faithful to respond when we call to Him. Even if you cry, “Heavy!!!” and what you really need is something else. His answer might not look how you want or expect it to, but you can trust that it is the best response. Because He is a good Father.

On decluttering

Jonathan and I have been decluttering our house lately. We’ve always loved the idea of minimalistic living, but over time our desire for the simplicity of it has grown. Jonathan has been reading a book on how to declutter your house, and we have been attacking it one room at a time.

Yesterday I began on the most overwhelming room of the house: our master closet. Our house has a stupidly large master closet when compared to the rest of the house’s storage space. We don’t have a coat closet or a linen closet, but our master closet is the size of one of my apartment bedrooms in college. It has a built-in bookshelf as well as the regular above clothing storage shelves. This has been home to my 32 years of sentiment, shoved in miscellaneous boxes without labels. To be completely honest, there is a box that I have zero idea what is in it. Last night I opened one of the boxes, unpacked a few items, packed them back up, and shoved it back on the shelf for later. The task of unpacking childhood memories and deciding what stays and goes was too much for the moment. But this morning I am thinking about it with new eyes.

One of the boxes contained quite a few soccer jerseys from my elementary school years. What am I going to do with those? I am obviously never going to wear them again. I’m not going to frame them. Ellie really has no use for them now and by the time they would fit her, she’ll probably have her own soccer jerseys to wear. I also found team soccer pictures. I know what I’ll do - Ditch the jerseys and keep the pictures. 

Speaking of pictures, I have piles and piles of miscellaneous photos from the days when we used to actually print them. Some of them I actually like, but a lot them of aren’t even pictures I care to keep. But the mental task of sorting them is overwhelming, so they all sit in dusty little piles. It got me to thinking about how rarely I even look through old photos, which made me think about how pointless it is to keep them if I don’t care to look at them. 

Then it made me think of what I would actually care to keep of Ellie’s as she grows. Which made me think of how the youth of today won’t need their parents to keep the outfits they came home from the hospital in because they will have every single outfit they ever wore documented in digital photo and video form. Which made me think about how the photos I have of Ellie are probably the one thing I would really like to keep. But then I thought about how my phone is glitching daily because the 27,750 (I’m not joking, that is the ACTUAL number) photos and videos I have saved on my phone right now are taking up all the available memory. I have 10 versions of every photo of Ellie. Which made me think about how while I do enjoy scrolling back through photos of her life, I will NEVER have the time, energy, or effort to truly enjoy all of them. Which made me think about the actual point of me writing this blog…

What would it be like to live life to the fullest in the present? I love looking at those photos of Ellie. But she will never be that small again and holding on to pictures of her won’t ever actually give me back that moment. I’m not saying photos aren’t special and worth keeping or that they don’t give us a piece of those special moments. But I am wondering if it’s possible to be so in love with the present version of my life that I no longer feel the need to hold on to the past so tightly?

“You’ll miss these days!” “Cherish every moment!” “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it!” I would be a rich woman if I had a dollar for every time someone with older kids told me to cherish these years when Ellie is young. And I am trying my best to do so because I know they are right - it does go by so quickly. And in a lot of ways it’s already breaking my heart that she’s not that tiny little baby anymore. But I also think this current phase of Ellie’s development is the most fun phase yet and I’m trying to soak it in. Every phase is precious and I know it will go by quickly. But what if 20 years from now I could look back with joy, not a twinge of sadness, knowing I lived every moment to the fullest along the way? 

I’m not trying to say it’s bad to miss things in the past or trying to shame anyone for feeling that way. But I’m wondering if there’s a way to enjoy the journey so much that I can look at the past with joy, rather than longing. Memories are beautiful, but so is living in the present. 

Tiny baby shoes are precious. But they will mean more on the feet of my future grandchildren than sitting in a dusty old box in the top of my closet for me to give to Ellie when she moves out after college. Pictures are wonderful, but not when there are 27,750 of them clogging up my phone memory. And this one gets me deep - keepsakes from my Grandpa who passed away are sentimental. But as a friend told me recently about her approach to decluttering after her parents passed away - it won’t bring him back. Perhaps a better way to honor his memory is to live a life of integrity with a strong work ethic and deep love for family, like he always did. I’d rather fill my mind and heart with the characteristics he passed on to my father, who then passed them on to me, rather than fill my closet with his old belongings.

God gave us the amazing gift of memory. I don’t have to hold on to things when I can hold on to the actual memories themselves. I also know there are times when I mourn the memories that I can no longer recall. I’ve lived a lot of life and sometimes I wish I could remember more of my childhood. But I can let go of even my sadness of lost memories if I can learn to simply appreciate them as a step in the process to where I am now. Yes, rec soccer taught me about hard work and teamwork and competition. But I don’t need to keep the jerseys or photos or be able to recall memories of games to appreciate those things - I use those skills in my everyday life. I appreciate them for what they have become and how they serve me now, not for how they helped my team win a few games.

We only get to live once and we can’t go back in time. I want to enjoy every moment to the fullest so that when I hang up my hat for the last time, I can smile, knowing I didn’t miss any of the experiences God had for me. It’s easy to miss the past, or look forward to the future, but I’m trying to embrace the now.

I don’t know if it’s possible to truly live life in a way that I never look back with a sense of longing. If I’m honest, I’ll probably always long for those moments when Ellie was a newborn asleep on my chest. But I do want to try my best to be present in my life right now. I wish I could give you a list of practical ways to stay more engaged in the present moment, but I’m still at the beginning of this thought. The only thing I know will help for sure is for me to put my damn phone away more often - which I have been trying to do and seeing the fruit of. But other than that, this blog is really just the seed of an idea. I’ll keep you posted if I come up with any other great ideas. And I’d love to hear your ideas in the comments!

So I think I’ll give that box in my closet another shot today during Ellie’s nap with a new perspective. Keep the things that mean something to me. But let go of things that aren’t going to add anything but clutter to my life now. Then when Ellie wakes up, we’ll go play outside and enjoy right where we are at that moment in time. This life is a blessing, and I want to enjoy every second of it. We’re not promised tomorrow, but we do have this moment right now. Let’s make the most of it!

On new year, new you

It’s the beginning of 2023 and, “New Year, New You!” - am I right? (Read in the most bro voice possible.) I have a love/hate relationship with the entire concept of “new year, new you”, but I’ll save that for another day… Today I want to talk about the gift of transitions of time.

Over the past few years, I’ve been thinking about this concept of the gift of transitions of time. Maybe it’s mostly because I’m a tired mom and many days getting Ellie to bed feels like it takes the energy of an olympic sport and my own bedtime feels more rewarding than accepting a gold medal on the podium. But I think most people can relate in one way or another, in this weary world of ours.

When I was decorating Ellie’s room before she was born, I ordered a print from a small hand-lettering business I follow on Instagram. The woman who owns it had asked for recommendations of phrases or verses to use in her art, and I submitted the paraphrase of the verses in Lamentations 3:22-23: “His mercies are new every morning.” She created the piece and I obviously had to buy it. But the reason I recommended it and then purchased it was that somehow I knew in advance I would need that reminder when I was deep in the throes of early motherhood. So it came in a beautiful package, I framed it, and it became a focal point to Ellie’s sweet little newborn bedroom.

His mercies are new every morning. God created time. He created day, and He created night. He created the rotation of the Earth around the Sun and the tidal waves and the seasons. And I believe He did it out of His great love, grace, and mercy.

Can you imagine a life where there was no day and night? And I don’t just mean whether there is a sun in the sky. I mean what if there was nothing to indicate it was time for us to rest. No predetermined time to sleep. To slow down. To stop. What if we were responsible for deciding when it was time to do those things? I think we all know that the world would be a shit show. And I mean moreso than it already is today…

In today’s society, we don’t know how to stop. We don’t know how to slow down. It’s all about productivity. It’s all about more, more, more! Without the sun and moon telling us it is time to pause, I think some of us would keep going until our bodies gave out on us. In fact, some of us do.

So back to God. The more I think about it, the more I appreciate the fact that God chose to create a separation between the day and the night. He created different seasons. He decided the structure of our year in that it takes (roughly) 365 days for the Earth to rotate around the Sun. And I think a huge part of the blessing isn’t in the physical separation of these things, but in the mental separation of them.

Some days are just a shit show. You know the ones I’m talking about. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Your kid woke up with ANOTHER snotty nose. Then you dropped the glass container of pre-cooked bacon (oh, just a de Friess thing?) on the kitchen floor, shattering the container and more disappointingly, ruining all that bacon. After 20 minutes of yelling at your tot to stay in the living room while you cleaned it up, you have to come up with a new breakfast plan… In “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” fashion it just keeps getting worse and worse until you reach bedtime desperate and pissed off and about to punch your husband in the face if he breathes the wrong way (again, just a de Friess thing?). Maybe your bad days don’t include snotty noses or bacon, but you have your own version and you know what I’m talking about.

And on those days, I thank God that His mercies are new every morning. When I find myself in the midst of an especially tough day, I simply remind myself of that promise. Tomorrow is a new day. And more importantly, there is a God who greets me first thing in the morning with a fresh start. It doesn’t matter what yesterday held. Today is a new day, with new possibilities, new hope. There is forgiveness for yesterday. There is a chance to let go. And a chance to move forward.

I think the concept also applies to a new year. God’s mercies are greeting us anew here, at the beginning of 2023. And while nothing actually changes between Decemeber 31st and January 1st, it’s also a chance for everything to change. Our minds like the idea of a new year, a fresh start, a chance to make a change. They also like the idea of letting go of the weariness of the past. The ending of a year, while in reality an arbitrary ending of something that actually never ends - time - is an opportunity to lay the disappointments, hurts, pains, struggles, etc. of the past down. We can put them to rest and approach the new year with new hope, joy, peace, and grace.

So if you find the idea of a new year and a fresh start helpful, leverage it! Use this time as an opportunity to let go of the past and accept new hope for the future. Accept the gift of God’s mercy anew as you set down a new path this year.

If you’re like me, you love the idea of all of this. But when January 12th rolls around and we still haven’t made any goals or have already failed on the one or two we did actually set, here’s another approach: Treat every day as a fresh start.

This year, I’m doing two things differently. One, I decided to set some goals - something I have shied away from in the past because of overwhelm and a fear of failure. And two, I’m viewing reaching my goals as a process, not a pass/fail. If you set a goal to workout 5 days a week and only go 4 days, technically you failed. And that’s discouraging and most likely going to end in you abandoning your goal altogether. But if you set your goal to be working out 5 days a week by the end of 2023, and view the next 354 days as the path to get you there, perfection is no longer required on the way to achieving your goal. Every time you show up to class is a step in the right direction, rather than 4 days (which is 4 whole days of showing up!) being a failure.

As usual, this blog feels a bit all over the place, so allow me to summarize. God is gracious and merciful in that He created changes in time for our physical (when to rest) and mental (when to let go of the past and accept hope for the future) benefits. Our brains love the idea of a fresh start, so use the start of a new year as an opportunity to renew your hope and set a path in a new direction. Remember it is a path, not a one time pass/fail - a process, not a requirement for perfection. And never forget that every single day is a new opportunity for change and for better.

His mercies are new every morning.

On kids being mirrors

Ellie is talking more and more these days. It’s like everyday she says a new word or phrase. And every single time Jonathan and I marvel in the fact that she is a genius. I don’t know how we did it, but we ended up with the smartest child to ever walk the face of this planet… Anyways, as Ellie’s words grow, so does our awareness of the things we say.

A few days ago Jonathan was taking some vitamins and jokingly said, “I need to take my drugs.” For those of you who don’t know, Jonathan used to be addicted to prescription painkillers. He’s been sober for over 11 years now, so we both recognize just how blessed we are that he is in a better place and we can joke about it in good fun. On this particular morning however, Ellie responded to his joke by immediately saying, “drugs”. On the one hand, we found it hilarious in the way that any parent finds their child saying something bad funny. But on the other hand we decided it would be best if the former drug-addict’s daughter did not walk around saying the word, “drugs” for all to hear. Jonathan now takes his, “VITAMINS” every morning, as we intentionally stress in the direction of Ellie’s little ears.

Also a few days ago, Ellie exposed one of my subconscious habits. She started saying, “sorry” for reasons that do not require a, “sorry”. Oh no. Apparently, “sorry” is one of my vocal fillers. And by apparently, I mean it definitely is.

I apologize all the time. For anything and everything. I’m an enneagram nine, so some of my favorite memes are the ones of people apologizing for outrageous things, like breathing or existing or asking reasonable questions. And by favorites I mean the ones that make me laugh and cry and cringe and feel fully known all at once. The ones that really get me are the “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I seem to have just cut my own hand off trying to cut down a Christmas tree, if it’s not too much of a trouble, just when you have the time, could I see the doctor - and if he’s too busy, no worries, I’ll just bleed out” ones. There funny because they are kind of true… Not that we would actually tolerate bleeding out in order to not inconvenience anyone. But that we never want to be a bother or burden to anyone. And we apologize for things that we do not need to apologize for.

Ellie was walking out of the laundry room this morning and tripped and fell and immediately said, “sorry!” If I’m honest, it kind of broke my heart. Oh honey, you don’t need to apologize for that. You falling down is not an inconvenience to me. You having an accident is not something I’m upset about. I struggled with how to explain to her that she didn’t need to say sorry, partly because of her age, but I think also partly because I don’t know how to tell myself that a lot of times I don’t need to say sorry.

Kids are like mirrors. They show you the things you do and say that you are otherwise unaware of. And while that can be a bit painful at times, it can also be a gift. Parenting is hard. Knowing how to teach your kids things is hard. But in learning how to teach them, perhaps we can learn how to teach ourselves things too.

I’m now aware of how often I say, “sorry”. I’m going to work on not apologizing for things that don’t warrant an apology, including apologizing for being me. I am not an inconvenience. I’m going to stop acting like I am. And I’m going to try to pass the things I am learning in this season on to my daughter. I pray that my Ellie girl will benefit from my growth by growing up into a woman who feels free to be herself, no apologies necessary.

On being humbled (part 4: the truth)

It took months of counseling and slowly dissecting the lies I have believed for me to see God’s hand in all of it. You see, my pride - and the self-confidence that I carried because of it - were so deep that I would have never stopped building my kingdom. I was on a path that was leading to destruction and I was building idols to myself, one athletic achievement at a time. I truly believe that it took the Lord physically stopping me - through the process of pregnancy and my changing body - for me to discover the lies. I had to have my abilities stripped from me in order to realize just how deeply they affected my perception of myself. I had to feel the crushing weight of worthlessness in order to re-evaluate where my true worth comes from.

I am a Christian and I grew up in a Christian home. I know the Sunday school answer that my value and worth come from the Lord. But what does that really mean? To be completely honest with you, I feel like I’m back at the very beginning on discovering what it means. I don’t have specific answers right now. In a lot of ways, I feel like I understood it better when I was a teenager than I do now at 31. But I do know that Jesus died on the cross for my sins so that I can could be reconciled to the Father, and somehow He says I am worthy - of love, value, and respect.

It saddens me to think of how far off the path I got. I accepted Jesus in my heart when I was a young child, so I’ve spent my whole life loving Him. But I got lost along the way. Not in a “I left my faith” kind of way, but in a “I was very confused” kind of way. Even at the height of my pride, I still loved and tried to honor the Lord with my life. But again, in my heart, much of my happiness, value, and confidence came from my own abilities. I was striving to prove my worth, rather than resting in the truth that God not only says I am worthy without having to do anything, but that I actually cannot achieve my worth by my own works.

So here I am, approaching my 32nd birthday, and I’m finally submitting to the process of true humility. After months and months of experiencing the abrasiveness of failing over and over again to prove my worth to myself, I am finding the humbling process much more gentle. It’s not another slap in the face of “you should be better” or “you should have known better” (although if I’m honest I do feel that way from time to time), but a kind call of a loving Savior. A call to rest, rather than strive. A call to peace, rather than push. A call to joy, rather than regret. A call to celebrate, rather than compare. A call to accept the free gifts of love, value, respect, and worth that I could never earn.

To be honest, I’m still very much processing and wading through the mess of what I believe about myself. But I wanted to share these things for one main purpose: Because I know some of you struggle with the same thing. How do I know? Because you have told me so.

I believe there is something beautiful in sharing our messy, unrefined, still in process thoughts and struggles with each other. In my own life, I can tend to want things all figured out, in a logical manner, and tied up with a pretty bow. But that’s not real life. Real life IS messy and confusing and full of painful realizations. But it’s also full of beauty and connection and so much grace. The Lord is teaching me to rest in His peace, to lay aside my propensity to want things to be perfect, and to allow Him to lead me through the process of discovering His truth, once again, in my life. I welcome you on this journey with me, and more importantly, the Lord welcomes you to it. If pride, or self-loathing, or striving, or depression, or confusion, or anxiety, or any other thing is affecting the way you view yourself - your value - know that you have a loving Father who has a better way for you. And that you have a sister right there with you in the weeds.

I’m still working on deconstructing my pride. I’m still working on untangling the lies I have believed. I’m still learning the lessons that the Lord is trying to teach me. And I’m still learning to be patient as He slowly connects the dots of where I’ve been to where He is leading me. But now I am filled with hope, knowing that He who promised is faithful. He is a redeeming God and He can use anything - even a year of darkness - to bring freedom in our lives. Sometimes our darkest moments are exactly what He chooses to use to bring His light into our lives. You see, it was in my absolute brokenness that the Lord started my path to freedom. It took me feeling the emptiness of myself for me to see the fullness of His grace. It was in my most desperate moments that He was working behind the scenes to rescue me from myself. My eyes were so focused on the darkness that I did not see His light. But now my eyes have been opened and my heart is filled with gratitude. What a loving Father we have, that He would allow us to experience temporary pain in order to bring true healing in our lives.

If you find yourself in a place of brokenness and desperation today, this hope is available for you. God loves you, sent His son Jesus to die on the cross for your sins, and all you need to do is believe. It’s a free gift to you, that He paid for with His life. You can’t earn it, all you can do is accept it. No more striving, no more proving, no more pride. Just accept His peace and allow Him to start your path toward healing and freedom today.

On being humbled (part 3: the lies)

So I started seeing a counselor and it was life changing. Within just a few weeks of meeting with her, I began to realize an integral belief that was the root cause of so much of my pain and disappointment in postpartum life. I had attached my value to my ability to achieve in the gym. I also realized that I had a deep-seated belief (so deep that I had no idea it was there) that I had to prove to others that I was worthy - worthy of love, respect, and value. My performance in the gym had become my number one indicator of what I was worth, and at the time I was so far from where I had been before getting pregnant. As a result, I felt worthless.

WOW. The recognition of those beliefs was tough. But it was also the beginning of my journey toward humility and freedom. It feels necessary to state that I see the irony in claiming to be humble… Those who are truly humble aren’t the ones boasting about their humility. So when I say my journey toward humility, I very much mean I am still on that journey and will be on it for the rest of my life. But as any AA or grief counselor will tell you, acceptance is the first step. Discovering those beliefs was my first step of accepting I had a problem and needed help.

I spent over a year in the dark pit of self-loathing. Because I believed that my value, my worth, and my ability to be respected were attached to my performance in the gym, the long, slow process of not only healing and recovering from pregnancy, but also regaining “lost” ground was a daily slap in the face to remind me of how much less I was now. Now. As in, compared to how I used to be.

Ah, the discovery of a third lie I had believed - Even my past self was my competition and I must master her too.

Let me remind you that in part one of this post I mentioned how much I love that there is always room for improvement in CrossFit. It’s a beautiful thing to continually push towards becoming a better version of yourself. BUT, it can become an ugly thing when the motivation of becoming better is so that you can prove your worth to someone - even if it’s yourself.

I felt so lost and I just couldn’t see how any good could come from it all. Until recently.

On being humbled (part 2: the fall)

My kingdom started to topple the day I got pregnant. I was about six years into my CrossFit journey and Jonathan and I decided it was time to grow our family. It was all exciting and I honestly embraced and enjoyed slowing down during my pregnancy. I had been pushing so hard to maintain control of my spot at the top, it was actually nice to have a bit of a break from all of the pressure. I coached and worked out through my pregnancy. And I fell into another trap - the “you’ll bounce right back” trap. Everyone and their mom (literally so many moms) told me that because I was so fit going into my pregnancy, I was absolutely, without a doubt, 100% going to “bounce back”. I drank that Kool-Aid, and I drank it HARD. I had all these grand plans to show my glorious return on social media - to humbly inspire others of course (gag). It was going to be great and I’d be back to my spot at the top in no time!

Except I didn’t “bounce back” and I wasn’t even close to the top for well over a year postpartum. I had VASTLY underestimated the struggles of motherhood and postpartum life. I ended up having a c-section, had a lot of struggles with breastfeeding (another area that I was so absolutely determined to succeed at that I drove myself crazy), found myself deep in postpartum depression and anxiety, and felt like total shit - both physically and especially mentally - in the gym and as a result in life. Working at the gym felt complicated when I felt so badly about myself.

I spent over a year in a really dark place. In my brain I sometimes refer to it as a year without God. Just as my pride had reached unprecedented levels prior to pregnancy, my self-loathing reached an all-time high in the depths of my postpartum reality, leaving me feeling broken (physically) and shattered (mentally and emotionally). I just didn’t understand how I could be so absolutely in love with my daughter, yet so absolutely hate my present self. All I could see when I looked in the mirror was my forever changed (in a negative way) body. All I felt in the gym was how far behind I was from where I used to be. I felt weak and broken. I felt ugly and undesirable. I felt worthless and unworthy. I knew that a lot of it had to do with my relationship with the gym, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was that gave the gym so much power over me.

To add to the darkness, or rather preceding it, was the fact that I felt so disappointed in God. So much of my birth, recovery, breastfeeding, and gym experiences had turned out differently than I had hoped for. And rather than pressing into the Lord and allowing him to bring clarity and healing, I all but turned away. I know that I never lost my faith in that time, but every time I would try to take a step in the right direction, something else would happen and I’d snap right back into disappointment, anger, and frustration. I knew somehow the Lord would bring me back to Him, because He’s done so many times in my life, but I truly could not see how. As each month passed and I slipped further into darkness, my hope faded with it. 

Shortly after Ellie’s first birthday, I felt another round of depression coming on. Yet again my expectations and reality didn’t matched up. For some reason I thought the one year mark would be magical and I would feel normal by then. Once again, I was mistaken. It was around this time that my boss (our co-owner, not my husband lol) looked me in the eyes and said, “I think you need help.” He could see me drowning and recommended I see a counselor. In some contexts that could be considered a serious insult, but in this case it was a friend handing me a lifeline. I had considered the idea a few times before, but it had been a fleeting thought, nothing serious. But when your boss and friend says you need help, you realize you probably need to get help.

On holiday overwhelm

I don’t know about you, but I feel like I am surviving, not thriving, right now. It’s the week of Thanksgiving and the beginning of my annual love/hate relationship with the holidays. On the one hand I love all of the magic of the holidays. Time spent with people you love, decorations and holiday cheer everywhere you turn, presents. But on the other hand, I’m already feeling overwhelmed AF. 

I’ve already started to overbook my schedule. I’m already dreading the pressure I put on myself to fulfill all the social obligations. I’m already exhausted emotionally. I hate the crowds. I never know what to get people as a gift. And no matter how hard I try to avoid it, I’m always shopping on Christmas Eve. I just don’t seem to know how to say, “no” when I need to. 

To add to all of this, my birthday is December 20th. As a kid, I loved it. But as an adult, it kind of sucks. Nobody wants to go to another party the week of Christmas. I don’t even want to go to my party the week of Christmas. My middle name is Merrie in honor of my birthday being so close to Christmas, but rather than being full of cheer I feel a bit more like the Grinch.

This morning I wrote out my schedule for the week. Like on paper. For some people that’s a normal occurrence, but for me that’s a very clear indicator that I am living with an elevated level of stress. And I kid you not, Ellie started saying, “um, um, um” last night because I said it all last week as I found myself in a perpetual state of mental fog.

It’s funny how life comes in waves. Two weeks ago I was eating Whole30 to prep for a CrossFit competition, and today as I write this post through voice text, I am preparing a nutritious meal of sausages and Walmart brand tater tots for myself and Ellie to eat. And she’s pregaming with a bowl full of Cheetos puffs (the white cheddar ones because they are the best).

Grace. Grace to myself. Grace to you. Grace to the holiday induced road rage drivers. Grace to my sweet Ellie who unintentionally triggers my anxiety on a regular basis when I’m stressed. Grace to the Starbucks worker who gets yelled at for making a drink wrong and Grace to the Starbucks addict who, because of their own internal overwhelm and stress, yells at the Starbucks worker (well, only partial grace for you, I still think y’all need to calm down and just be nice to people! I’m kidding… mostly). Grace to us all!

To be honest, I’m not exactly sure what point I’m trying to make with this blog. I think I’m just admitting that I’m already overwhelmed and I hate that I’m dreading the next month and a half. I don’t want to check out and fly through the holidays on autopilot, not really engaging with the people around me. Every day of life is a gift and I don’t want to wish away a single day, let alone a whole season, because of overwhelm. I know some of you feel the same way.

I also think I’m trying to hit the reset button and make a commitment to myself to not overcommit this holiday season. I need to start filtering invitations not only through the lens of, “am I available at that time?” but also, “does saying yes to this prohibit my ability to show up fully engaged to the next important event?” Family time is my number one priority during the holidays, so I need to make sure the events I say yes to this holiday season don’t take away from those special events that I absolutely do want to be present for.

So if you’re already feeling overwhelmed by this holiday season, join me! Join me in evaluating where you are. Join me in only committing to the events that truly matter to you. Join me in staying engaged with the people you love. We don’t have to be victims of this time of year. We can choose to take ownership of our schedules and ownership of our capacity. No more holiday dread because of overcommitment and overwhelm. Just Happy Holidays and a Very Merrie Christmas to me and to you!