A Vision: The Least Perfect are my Favorite

I sat down at the computer today to edit some photos that sorely need to be finished.

First I took some advice from a friend and did something that might lift my spirits, I turned on a slideshow of the photos in my photo library.

I didn't sort them. Organize them. Put them perfectly to music…I just turned on some instrumental hymns and pushed play.

I just pushed play.

The slideshow was of our little family's Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve my kids, husband and I were decorating cookies for Santa.

I meant to do it the day before. I meant to not push it to the last minute. I meant to not be behind. But here we were, 8 pm on Christmas Eve, decorating the cookies.

It was fun! I tried to let go of how late it already was. And pushed through my disappointment in being behind yet again this year.

I loved squishing the ziploc bags filled with colored icing in my hands. I loved how it came out quickly and I swept my hand back and forth to make this beautiful Christmas tree.

I loved that I had mini M&Ms that I hadn't planned on buying or using for cookies and that I could decorate my Christmas Tree and make it look beautiful and "perfect".

I loved my perfect cookie.

As I looked at the kids cookies, I almost didn't want to put them in the pictures next to the "perfect" cookies that Tim and I had made. I felt we had discovered a hidden talent and that Tim and I had realized we were actually really good at making beautiful cookies!

And our kids cookies. I loved that they were decorating. Having fun. Expressing themselves. But they weren't much to look at. And they kind of messed up my tray of "perfect" cookies.

It was hard for me to see them put too much icing in clumps, sprinkle way too many sprinkles, and frost the table as much as their cookies, but I still loved that they were doing it.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't perfect. But I was good with it. Even though I would have to clean the frosting off the sprinkle containers for 20 minutes afterward.

I was proud of myself for being a good mom and letting my kids express themselves, even though messy.

And I put their creative cookies next to the "pretty" ones and took a picture. Cause that's reality. And reality is cool.

But still. I thought those cookies weren't quite a sight for sore eyes.

And then here I was today. Listening to the song that came on. "I Know That My Redeemer Lives". The song that I didn't perfectly pick. The song that was at the top of the playlist.

And then the decorating cookie pictures came on.

My kids were squishing frosting.

They were happy. So happy that my son decided to decorate cookies at his birthday party instead of having cake.

And then I saw the pictures of my "beautiful" cookies. Nice photographic depth of field. Cool bright colors. Nice clean lines and appetizing views.

Cool. I'm a little bit proud I could do that. I enjoyed it.

And then these. My kids cookies.

And I almost started to cry.

These cookies. These imperfect cookies. These cookies that caused me the most cleanup time. These cookies that didn't look oh so appetizing. These cookies that would not be put in a bakery shop window. These cookies that I almost was afraid to feed someone. These cookies. These were my favorite.

I like these cookies the most.

And then I almost wanted to cry again. A good cry.

Tender Mercies

So many times I brushed over, I think we all brushed over, this little verse in scripture not seeing the treasure it beheld:

1 Nephi 1:20 

But behold... the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.

"The tender mercies of the Lord."

Because of Elder Bednar pointing this expression out to us, I think we all realize God's hand more in our lives. We all love this phrase.

I pondered a lot yesterday the tender mercies of the Lord. It was because of the strength He gave me to say no to living with my best friend after the mission, that I was able to move in with women that have deeply effected my life.

In particular, one of them whose life, comments in passing, and quiet observances affected and opened my heart.

One of my friends had mentioned in passing one day, not a deep conversation or confession, that she was in counseling. Prior to this comment, I thought counseling was only for the "crazy." Without this, I don't think I would ever have been open to the idea, and truth, that counseling is a gift and every single being in the world could benefit from it. It is not for the "crazy", but for all.

Without that counseling, I would not have started a journey to healing and discovery. I would not have enjoyed the blessings of the angels God put in my path along the way to help me move forward in this life. To help me cope, even survive.

So many things in life that happen in passing actually turn out to be hinges to major change and progress for me.

And that same friend, whom I spoke to for an hour yesterday, has given me priceless knowledge that someone else aside from my Savior, someone that I can talk to on the phone and that is living and breathing in recovery, has been where I am.

Someone to remind me, as I needed when I had postpartum depression after my second child, that this really isn't  me. That I really will come back one day. That I wasn't always like this. That one day I will look back on this.

And in the middle of it, that is so hard to remember and believe.

And wow. Without that answer in the mission field, without the strength to follow through, without that best friend, who was sad and hurt we wouldn't be living together, giving up her own desires and finding me a place to live herself! Without all those pieces coming together because of the Lord's tender mercies. Where would I be?

"How merciful the Lord hath been."

Moroni 10:3 

3 Behold, I would exhort you...that ye would remember how merciful the Lord hath been unto the children of men, from the creation of Adam even down until the time that ye shall receive these things, and ponder it in your hearts.

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

People say this to me from time to time. And their motive is kind and loving and even praising. They think I am better than they perceive me as knowing. And that is kind. And they want to help.

But the best name I can give for what I have is Clinical Perfectionism.

Did you know that I actually don't want to be so hard on myself? I have tried to not be so hard on myself for over twenty years. I look around at people that are "laid back" and "easy going" and don't sweat the small stuff and I wish and hope and ache for that ability.

I wish. I hope. I ache.

It literally feels impossible for me to let go of things when they aren't perfect. I can't concentrate. I can't go on. I can't think my next thought. I need things around me to be perfect or I struggle to function.

And everything is never going to be perfect. Yet I feel like I can't rest or relax until it is. And it can't be.

And it's like living in my own self-made hell.

My own hell.

I wish. I hope. I ache to be like you.

Today's Kleenex

As I read the Book of Mormon this morning, and again, as in times before, the words took on completely new and tailored-for-me meaning to my present trial, I was brought to tears over and over again. My scripture study is more deeply felt during this trial. And how can I not be grateful for that.

I guess it really does take deeper trials to feel God's love more, to grateful more. I wish it didn't, but I am still a frail human. And one day it won't.

As the tears stained the top of my chest and dropped off my face, my hands could no longer absorb all that was flowing. No kleenex in sight so I reached down to the pile on the side of my bed.

When my mental health goes downhill, a sure sign that a breakdown is imminent is the growing pile on the side of my bed. Things are mostly in their place when I'm doing well. Not completely. But mostly, as I really like things in their place. It's just how I am. But when I am starting to lose the ability to function, when my mental health is getting in the way of living, the piles start to grow.

I guess this is a way I can know it's time to stop, think, take a break, take care of myself.

I guess in a way this is a sign. A sign from Heavenly Father that I'm gonna have to take care of myself or soon I won't be able to care for my family again.

So I really should pay attention to the piles from here on out. When I see a pile, I need to schedule in my break.

It hurts a lot when I can't care for my family.

I wonder, did God really send me to earth with an inability to care for the children He gave me? But I don't even finish that sentence in my mind, cause I know He didn't. I know these children are mine. They are supposed to be mine. And that because of that He has sent me to earth with all the tools necessary to care for them. Not meaning I won't have trials. Specifically, not meaning I won't struggle mentally to the point I won't be able to care for them and I'll have to dig down deep, sacrifice, humble myself, and get the tools I need to care for them again. But yes meaning that He DID send me to earth with the tools. Trials yes, but ALSO the tools to get through those trials.

Cause these kids are mine. They were always meant to be mine. And I CAN care for them.

So there is the pile. The sign that a breakdown was coming. And here I am, in the middle of it.

No kleenex in sight. So what will catch these falling tears? Cause they're falling fast.

So I wipe my tears with the dirty burp cloth hidden deep within the pile.

To Serve

I don't really know what to say in my prayers right now. It's like my brain can't produce things to ask for; I'm so desperate.

This morning I was able to compose one thought to pray to my Heavenly Father, and that was to thank Him for not taking away my Ainsley too. I need to focus on me. Just me. Because in turn that is focusing on how I can serve my family again. But it feels so selfish. I'm such a selfish friend right now. Not smiling, not checking in, not thinking of them and wanting to help. Just focused on me. And service is helpful when depressed. But maybe not right now, when I'm at the bottom.

But that need I have to nurture and serve…I at least have my Ainsley. I take care of her and feel the blessing of being a blessing to someone else. Of being needed. I am fulfilling my need to be needed. And I'm serving. And I hope I can heal while I try to do that too.

It is interesting to find a balance. I need to focus on me, but it's helpful to serve. So I have my baby.

I hope that service doesn't interfere with my healing, cause I want to speed this up. I just want to speed this up and get my kids back.

But I probably can't rush this or it won't work. Will my desire to speed this up get in the way of me doing what I actually need to do, really need to do, to get some traction in my healing and have it be permanent? A foundation to build on and not lose?

No.

No. This can't be happening.

I feel like I'm in a dream or some sub-reality. My kids were just taken away from me.

My girl. My girl that wakes up and comes out of her room with a princess on. My girl that sings around the house. My girl that says, "I want to hold you."

My boy that is so smart. My independent boy that helps me and takes care of his sisters and loves them and draws and does his chores by himself and his earning cards.

And the kids that I ignore. The kids that I just want to go back to bed. The kids I just want to get rid of.

Was I not built for motherhood?

I adore being a mother countless times more than anything I can even imagine. It fulfills me. I don't know who I am without it. I have to have it. I thrive on meeting their needs. yet I don't want to meet their needs. I just want to get rid of their needs and only enjoy them. I'm just not capable of caring for them.

How can this be? How can I not be capable?

I feel like they were ripped away from me.

The opposite is actually true. I am thankful I am able to recognize that I am incapable of caring for them and myself. I have sought help and reached out. And they are in the second best place in the world, second only to my arms. But my arms aren't capable of them right now. They are with their Nana and Papa and cousins and aunts and uncles. My husband's family. They're dream is to be with their cousins and play with them. They have the best grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. So if there is any place in this world I would want them to be. The place where they can be the happiest. The safest place. The funnest place. The place where I know they are happy, safe, having fun, and want to be there, and where they don't feel kicked out, that is the place.

Yet I wasn't capable of taking care of them. I know that the best place for them, here with me, is actually not the best place for them right now.

How can that be okay to be feeling as a mother? To want them. To love them. To have nothing dearer to you in this life. Yet to know that you can't have them, cause you need to heal and get a handle on things.

Ow. It hurts really badly.

It is not possible to explain what it feels like to know that the best place for my children is away from me.

But I love them. And I love them enough to try to make myself the best place for them again.

So I have to take this seriously. I have to seriously get to work to fix me.

How am I suppose to do that quickly? How am I suppose to do that when I'm in so much pain? If I'm hurting so badly, how am I suppose to be able to concentrate to heal?

Here goes.

Here goes.



I have felt for some time that I needed to start an online journal of my mental healthy journey.

It's a scary thing to put feelings so personal and so painful…and so vulnerable…out into the void.

Maybe it's even scarier to face the fact that those feelings are actually happening as I put them down on "paper".

But I'm gonna take the leap. Cause maybe I just can't heal until I do.

This will only work if I don't think about my writing, don't over obsess about formatting, grammar, readability.

So I'm just gonna blurb it out there. Just. Write.

And send out this disclaimer:

I ask immediate forgiveness for these things: bad formatting, bad grammar, bad readability, inevitable bad spelling.

I ask immediate forgiveness if it's uninteresting, strings of non-sensical ramblings, or completely unuseful to anyone who may have thought it would be a helpful or diverse read and find it otherwise.

So hear goes. Unsensored. Painful. Hopefully joyful. And totally naked.

Totally scary.