Be Still

Yesterday morning, I decided I was going to kick my depression in the butt.
I woke up, I GOT up (rarely two simultaneous events these days), and I got working.
I made pancakes for breakfast.
I did the dishes.
I folded the three weeks' worth of clean laundry that had been sitting in my laundry room so that my children could once again find some clean underwear to wear.
I started picking up my room...
and then I crumbled.
I couldn't do it.  I didn't have it in me to fake it.  I was yelling at the kids, I was crying at my husband, and I was miserable.
And I felt guilty for being miserable.
So, I finally called my sponsor (after hiding from her for the past two weeks), and talked.  And cried.  And talked some more, and she let me know--I needed some self-care.
Not curling up in front of a movie with a bowl of ice cream style of self-care....I didn't need to numb myself.
I needed to be still.
She suggested a walk, so after I studied and prayed and took the time to be still for a while, my husband and I took the kids to the park, and I watched them play.  I didn't hover, I didn't force myself to participate, I just watched.
And was still.
Then, when we got home and I got them to bed, I did some yoga.  And during the savassanah phase, where the instructor asked me to lay down and be still--the part I usually fast-forward, because it's not "real" exercise, I was still.
It's hard to be still when you want to escape from the darkness of your thoughts, when you want to run, to hide, to ignore or numb who you are and what you're feeling--but sometimes, that's what the Lord commands us to do: "Be still and know that I am God."
And last night, when I fell into my bed and was still yet again, I felt it.
Peace.
Be still.

Me Again

I woke up yesterday morning feeling like myself again, for the first time in I don't know how many months.
I got out of bed without my children forcing me to.
I cleaned.  ON MY OWN.  I swept and mopped my floor (it's literally been over a month since the last time I did that), and I cleaned without resentment or anger, but with the genuine satisfaction that comes from seeing a job well done, as well as the peace that come from living in a house that doesn't resemble a place where you would keep livestock.
And then my husband came home from a camp out, and I could tell he was irritated.  Irritated that I had talked him into taking both the three-year-old AND the five-year-old with him (I know, I'm so demanding).
And I started feeling guilty.  And then I started feeling resentful and manipulated, and then cleaning suddenly became a CHORE instead of a gift of service to the people I love.  Another symptom of just how much I was taken for granted.
And then I felt guilty for being resentful, and I thought I could hold it in and just fake it--I could just go and take a nap with my husband on our bed...but Heavenly Father doesn't let me do that anymore.
Thank Goodness.
So, after mopping and sending my cranky husband in to take a nap, I went and ate some lunch (I'm one of those people who get hangry--I get cranky if I haven't eaten for a while), and then I took a nap on the couch, after a few more surrendering prayers and a little bit of reading in my Steps.
And after we woke up, when we felt better, I pulled The Husband aside and TOLD him.  Honestly, but kindly.  "I'm glad you took the boys camping, but I was angry because I felt that you had a bad attitude about it.  That's why I didn't come sleep with you for nap time."
He was gracious about it and apologized for his bad attitude, and I felt better.
I gave him the truth.
And the truth set me free.

Control Freak

I've learned that I like being in control.
I like being in control of my emotions, of maintaining my yard, of the choices I make, of how my household is run, of how I feel and think and react to things.
Problem is, I've never been in control--I've only had the illusion of control as I've shoved emotions down through cake and binge TV-watching (curse you, Netflix) and as I've swept, mopped, folded laundry, taught piano lessons, made dinners, and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, all while resenting what was going on inside of me and pretending that I was being Christlike by never (heaven forbid!) actually SAYING what I was feeling.
And then my husband went out of town in February, during the same week that I was scheduled to teach 27 piano lessons, my three children all had a nasty mix of Strep Throat, fevers over 104 degrees, bronchial infections, and ear infections, right after I had to put on a HUGE, incredibly stressful dance for the members of my local community, and I was expected to take care of it all.
And that week was when I lost any sense of control that I might have had.  I pretty much had a complete nervous breakdown, which I'm now grateful for, because it lead me to needing the Twelve Steps.
I've learned about the Steps before, you know--when my husband admitted to me that he'd been struggling with pornography three years ago, I got the pamphlet and like the dutiful returned missionary I was, I studied and took notes.
And then my husband got on antidepressants and felt better, so I felt better, so I stopped with the steps.  I didn't "need" them anymore, because, after all, the problem was "under control."
But this time--it's different.  Six years of me shoving down emotions without ever actually admitting to them or feeling them or letting myself actually say anything about the way I felt when I was left alone to deal with hard things--that's added up.  And I can't pretend to have control anymore.
Step One was incredibly empowering and enlightening to me--Honesty.  Honestly admitting to yourself that your life has become unmanageable, and voluntarily surrendering all control to God... nothing is more empowering than realizing that we aren't MEANT to control it all.  We have Someone who is more than willing to take control of the reins, so long as we quit clinging to them blindly and hand them over to Him.
Last night I was reminded of the need to surrender.  I got myself into a situation where I was told that I would be contributing a specific need to a particular occasion (I was on the judge's panel to cast a local children's production of Annie).  I was told that since I didn't have any children trying out for this play, that I would be an important, unbiased part of the panel, and I went into last night with a definite illusion of the control I would have over the choices made.
However, due to some other judges who had differing opinions from mine, the cast list went out last night, and three of the main leads are the daughters of one of the judges, while another main lead is the daughter of another judge, while yet another lead is the daughter of yet another judge.
So much for being unbiased.
I genuinely felt sick when I got home at 3:00 this morning.  I had tried to defend my personal casting choices, but been outvoted nearly every time, and knowing that my name was going to be on that casting list, showing decisions that weren't mine to make, makes me feel angry, fearful of dealing with upset parents, victimized, betrayed, and a host of other emotions that I realize probably aren't proportionate to the situation I was in.
I thought I would have control over what decisions were made last night, and after the first fifteen minutes of hearing one of the judges trying to convince me why his daughter would be the best Annie, I realized that whatever control I thought I had was definitely an illusion, and I resented that fact.
However, after some good venting to my sponsor and an out-loud, kneeling-down prayer (something I'm trying to do on a daily basis after being in the habit of praying silently for the past many years), not to mention lots of "help-me-surrender-this" prayers as I've gone about my business this morning, I'm feeling better now.
These are good parents who want their children involved in something wonderful.  They are positive, optimistic people, and I genuinely look forward to working with them and their children.  If last night didn't go how I had planned or imagined it going, I can still feel confident about the fact that I didn't tacitly go along with something I disagreed with, and if the cast ended up the way it did, it did so with my full honesty about being uncomfortable with it.  I don't have to victimize myself or vilify the other people involved in this project--all I have to do is surrender, to do my best to ensure that the kids under my stewardship have a good experience, and to know that God will take care of those poor broken-hearted 11-year-old girls who will cry themselves to sleep tonight, and that He has a plan for them that makes whether or not they got the lead role in Annie an incredibly insignificant part of their lives.
And knowing that little fact will help me sleep better at night.