In Need of a Recharge

You know those times when you feel totally and utterly drained?  You’re running on fumes… Your battery is down to it’s last bar…  You are mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted…

I have been feeling like that a lot lately.  I just want to give up.  But then I get to chat with a friend or spend some time with my husband or go to the store without the kids.  These things give me a bit of a recharge.  Sometimes, though, it is JUST enough to get me through the rest of the day.  Then I have to start over the next day…

When I wake up feeling like this, it’s a huge feat just to get out of bed, let alone getting to all the responsibilities I have to tend to.  Throw in all the things I WANT to get done in a day and all the things I would LIKE to do for others and it’s no wonder I feel hopeless at times. 

So how do you recharge when you’re feeling so down and empty and hopeless?  This question has caused me to reflect lately on my personality and what fills me up.  If you’ve never heard of love languages I would definitely suggest looking them up.  My primary love language is quality time.  I thrive on spending time with friends and family.  I am recharged when I have someone’s undivided attention.  I feel loved and cared for when friends visit or call or text or send me a message and ask how I’m doing and then respond with care when I answer.  I will always answer with the truth.  That’s just what I’m like.  I’m not good at saying, “I’m fine” when I’m really not.  Healing and refreshing comes to me when I am able to share my thoughts and talk through my emotions and struggles.  But there needs to be a genuine listening ear on the other end.  If not, it will have the opposite effect…

The other factor, I think, is that I’m an extrovert.  To the max.  Whereas an introvert may find times of solitude refreshing and rejuvenating (although there is the risk of too much isolation for an introvert), I find too much solitude fuels the depression I have been feeling.  I get lonely.  I get antsy.  I get anxious.  I need to reach out and talk to someone.  Anyone.  I’m the type of person who will strike up a conversation with the person in line behind me at the supermarket if we’ve been waiting too long.  I talk to the mom sitting next to me at my daughter’s swimming lesson.   I spill my guts to the pharmacist while picking up a late night prescription. 

I like to be busy.  I like to have things planned.  I like getting out of the house every day.  I love spending time with my children but I also need to have some adult conversation.  I need to get away from the daily grind of housework and dirty diapers and cooking… I need to talk to people who understand. 

Lately though, I have felt too busy.  I’ve been overwhelmed with all that needs to be done at home.  So I have scaled back on my commitments and plans.  A lot.  I haven’t been to playgroup in three weeks.  I’m trying to find balance.  It has been so difficult.  I know I need to build some solitude into my day.  I know I need to spend more time with the Lord.  But I struggle with that too.  Sometimes, especially during these “low” times, I need “Jesus with skin on”.  I need people.  I also need to not feel so busy and overwhelmed.  So where is the balance?  I have no idea.

I’m not sure, but I think maybe friends don’t often worry about me because I’m so good at reaching out.  I always call.  I always text.  I always invite.  But I’m getting tired.  I hate to admit it but I’m in a season of need rather than give.  I want to give.  I want to serve.  I want to reach out.  But I’m so empty at the moment that it takes everything out of me to do it.  When my counselor suggested that I stop having people over unless they can bring lunch, I drew back in horror.  Are you kidding?!  My M.O. has always been to cook and bake and love on people in that way. I love serving people.  I love baking and allowing my friends to enjoy a warm piece of banana bread.  That in itself is a feel-good activity for me.  I had a hard enough time accepting meals and help when my infant daughter was sick!  Now I have to tell people to bring lunch if they visit?!  No way!  To be brutally honest, a little part of me worries that friends may not want to come if there are “conditions”.  That’s totally my insecurity speaking… the fear that no one cares beyond what I do for them.  I know it’s not true but in my loneliness, those are the thoughts that come to mind.  

I just wish I wasn’t feeling this way… So I will continue to search for balance.  Rest.  Rejuvination.  And I’ll continue to survive.  That’s what moms do, don’t they?  They survive.  I’m hoping I can more than just survive though.  I’d like to thrive.  I know God wants that for me.  I'm very excited to be going away overnight next weekend with a friend to a Women's conference.  I'm sure I'll find some answers there.  At the very least, it will be the time of refreshing I have been needing.  I just need to hang on another three days...

What about you?  How do you recharge?  Have you found that balance?  What is your primary love language?  Are you in extrovert like me?  Or an introvert?  I’d love to hear your thoughts.   

A Picture of God

If they gave out an award for the worst mother in the universe, I’m pretty sure I would have received it this week.  I had been having an absolutely horrible day (counseling in the morning which brought up a bunch of things, an argument, that feeling of being totally overwhelmed, a migraine and just feeling completely DOWN) so when it came time to drive my five year old to Sparks (Girl Guides for 5 yr olds), I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I called a friend whose daughter is in the same Sparks unit and asked her to pick my daughter up and bring her home.  She said she would.  When she came to the door to get my daughter, my friend mentioned she would take some pictures.  I said, “Sure, okay, thanks,“ but was thinking, “Why?  It’s just a regular meeting…”

When my friend dropped her off again that evening, my daughter was wearing a crown and holding a certificate.  In that instant, it hit me.  I had missed her swearing in ceremony (where she states her Sparks promise and receives a badge and certificate to welcome her to the unit).  I burst into tears right there at the front door.  My friend hugged me, apologized for not mentioning it (she wasn’t sure if I had remembered and just didn’t want to go or had forgotten but would have been stressed out to be reminded at the last minute) and then said goodnight.  I closed the door and went and sat on the couch.  I began bawling and repeating, “I’m so sorry I missed it.  How could I have missed it?” over and over while my daughter hugged me and kept saying, “It’s okay, Mommy.  You can come next year.  It wasn’t a big thing.  I forgive you. Don’t cry.  It doesn’t matter.”  There I was, a total mess, beating myself up for being an utter and total failure as a mother (missing her very first ever ‘important’ day), and there was my five year old, mature beyond her years, consoling me, comforting me, instantly forgiving me.  I was the one that had completely let her down and she was trying to make ME feel better. 

My guilt plagued me all night.  I know the combination of the horrible day I’d had and the way I have been feeling lately made this event seem infinitely worse than, in hindsight, it really was.  Nevertheless, I cried myself to sleep and woke up in the morning with puffy eyes and a bleak outlook.  I took my daughter out for breakfast and drove her to school.  I apologized again for forgetting her important day.  And again, she forgave me.  She reassured me.  She radiated love.

As I thought about it that day, I began to give thanks.  For a daughter who forgives.  For a fresh start.  For the knowledge that, despite my numerous imperfections as a parent, God is in control.  He is molding my daughter.  He is protecting her heart.  More than that, He is using her to display His love and grace.  To me. 

I often think that, as a parent, I am representing God’s character to my children.  Whether we like it or not, they will, in many ways, view God the way they view us.  Are we forgiving?  Are we kind?  Are we harsh or unrelenting?  Do we discipline in love or anger?  Do we love to spend time with them?  Do we give them our undivided attention or are we always distracted with something ‘more important’?  I know I am always needing to work on these things.  We will obviously never be a perfect picture of God, which is why we need to pray and teach our children about grace and the need for a Savior and the importance of Scripture.  (We need to learn that ourselves as well!)

That day, however, I was miserably failing at representing God.  I was revealing weakness, frailty, humanity.  I allowed my struggle with depression to overtake me.  Instead, my daughter was the one displaying God’s character to me!  Weren’t her actions a perfect picture of God?  We let Him down and yet, in our devastation, in our agony, in our shame, there He is, consoling us, showing us grace and forgiveness, bestowing His perfect peace.  “Don’t cry, Mommy.” “Don’t cry, child of Mine.”  “You can come next year.” “There’s always tomorrow.”  “I forgive you.” “I FORGIVE YOU…”

Buried in Clutter

Lately I have been feeling completely and totally overwhelmed.  I’m overwhelmed with my schedule.  I’m overwhelmed with the to-do lists I have written in my head.  And mostly, I’m overwhelmed with the clutter in my house.  I feel like I’m drowning in clutter – in toys and clothes and shoes and dishes and boxes and books and papers… Like my house is going to cave in on me any second.  One minute I’ll be standing in the midst of the chaos, looking around, utterly hopeless and lost.  Where do I start?!  Then the next minute I am going on a rampage cleaning the closet, or the junk drawer, or that one box that has been sitting in my bedroom forever.  It’s like an obsession overtakes me and I NEED to clean the closet.  I tell myself I’ll feel better when my closet is clean.  And I do.  Until my husband fails to hang up his jacket in the newly organized closet.  Or until my three year old decides that the newly organized closet is the perfect place for her stash of Strawberry Shortcake figurines and plastic bracelets and random lego blocks and broken crayons.  Or until we take out the winter stuff and I have to reorganize the closet all over again with the addition of the new stuff.  OR until I look around and notice MORE clutter and chaos. 

I dropped off two garbage bags full of STUFF to the Salvation Army thrift store the other day.  It felt good.  It felt cleansing.  But then I drove back home.  And walked into my house.  I realized that I wasn’t feeling better.  I wanted to run away.  I fantasized about moving to a new house and leaving EVERYTHING behind.  I had a nagging feeling that the clutter was not really the problem.  STUFF was not really the issue.

My counselor confirmed this (I have been to three counseling sessions now).  As I described my thoughts and feelings, she led me to the realization that maybe the way I feel in my house is really just a representation of the way I feel in my head.  I’m not comfortable in my house at the moment.  I’m not comfortable in my head at the moment.  Did the clutter bother me before I realized I had post-partum depression?  Has anything changed in the house?  No.  And no.  All of a sudden I’m severely irritated and thrown off balance by all the “clutter”. 

I realized that I’ve lost my sense of control and this is my attempt to regain it.  I can’t control my emotions so I’m going to control my environment.  I’m reeling.  I’m grasping for any sense of stability.  You know that feeling you have when you’re in the thick of the flu and the world is spinning and you just need to find ground?  So you swing one leg off the bed and put your foot on the ground?  That’s what I’m doing.  I’m swinging my leg off the crazy roller coaster bed, looking for ground.  So I’m cleaning the closet.  I’m yelling and crying and stomping and throwing and going numb.  But I’m cleaning the closet.

I do need to clean the closet.  But not the one at my front door.  More accurately, I need to allow God to search the hidden things.  To cleanse the doubt and the guilt and the shame and the pride. 

So as I sort the shoes, throw out old batteries, recycle the flyers, organize my recipes, I’ll pray.  I’ll ask God to be my grounding, my sense of stability.  I’ll allow Him to heal me.  Maybe soon I’ll be okay with a messy closet.  Maybe I’ll even crawl in there and play Strawberry Shortcake with my daughter while she tries on my shoes…