I’m sitting in the pitch black drinking coffee. Feeling like some sort of Wonder Woman for sneaking down and back without waking the kids on squeaky stairs.

Wondering how honest to be.

I’m in a spot. A hormonal spot yes, a chemically imbalanced spot. And it’s fairly new territory for me. The exhaustion is familiar; the tears I could do without. Feeling like I just can’t get a grip. Like I just need to get out from under it; yet I can’t. The anxiety, the unreasonable sadness.

This baby I’m scared I won’t have time for. With two already very emotionally high maintenance children; I only have two arms.

All the guilt. Flooding me until it doesn’t feel like swimming. The ocean I love is just waves and I’m barely treading.

My Chris is away after months home. I’m in a new, unpacked, unfinished home. And Shauna isn’t down here yet. The loneliness of a big old house haunts me. And my kids yearn for Mimi and Papa’s. For the familiar and it breaks me every time.

And I don’t know what to do. I’m still barely treading. The unshowered, food wearing momma breaking down in walmart.

And I’m reminded and remind myself, this too shall pass.

“God has set before each of us our own race of faith that we must run. It’s not a quick sprint or an easy jog to the finish line. It is more like a marathon. And it will require intense strength, commitment, sacrifice, and discipline. Our lives of faith and mine will require real endurance.

Endurance is the ability to bear prolonged hardship. It is the determination to keep moving forward at a steady, unyielding pace.” (first five)

And this rings true. I must keep feeding my soul with what feeds it. I must keep treading until the waves subside, and when I grow faint take the hand that’s holding me already.

I get to decide what’s holy and what’s mundane living. If Legos and hotwheels and ants and box shuffling is my mind numbing, soul churning, lonely life while Chris is away. Or Gods pre designed plan for my life. My loving ability to pour into my kids God-love in a language they know, to pour into Chris God-love via a holy wife and mother while he’s away.

While pregnant I can’t start new meds to help balance. To take away the daily breakdowns. I barely take Tylenol despite doctors ‘okay.’ So I must find coping skills for these hormones I’m drowning in. And even if my pace is slow, peanut butter turtle slow, I’ll keep moving. Keep smiling at the babes I adore. And take comfort in the God who gave me this blessed and sometimes burden-filled life.

The God who knows me inside and out and will see me through it. Even if that means taking my hand to my parents’ for the night.

And this too shall pass. And it’s ok to feel all these things. And it’s ok to talk about it. Maybe it’s pregnancy. Maybe it’s depression. Maybe it’s both and I’m bad at transitions and being alone.

But I’m not alone. Not ever. And if I’m feeling that way, I’m not rooted where I ought to be.

Be it God or family.

  • J
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