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Part II: 60 Days of Anguish
Robbed. Last September, God made a way for me to leave my career, I just had to make it through the 23-24 school year. I spent almost 10 months giddy with excitement over what this new season would mean for me and my family. A slower paced life, less stress and anxiety, more time to focus on family, more time to pursue passions. Fast forward to the summer when I was only 3 weeks away from starting this new, incredible season. One in which I had high hopes and big dreams. But on July 23rd, my life froze in time with the grand entrance of the symptoms that sent me…
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Part I: Mayday
My body was not my own. Heart rate spikes, nausea, facial tingling, light-headedness, chest discomfort, limb pain. I tried to figure out every logical cause for these random physical maladies that had struck me on the eve of my entire family skipping town, leaving me with a gloriously quiet house. This particular week was supposed to be a highlight of my summer: space to breathe and recharge. Instead, I found myself crouched on my closet floor, crying from these physical symptoms that were holding me hostage. Not wanting Brent to cancel his trip with the kids to visit family, I dropped them off at the airport the following day and…
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Mischief Managed
This week I found myself wondering how many hours I will spend over my lifetime cleaning, decluttering, and reorganizing different areas in my home. How many minutes of this precious gift of a life will be shrouded in stress and anxiety because my domestic surroundings have a hand-holding relationship with my mental health. Our family, much like many others, routinely complete the cycle of purchase, place, purge. My husband and I are constantly trying to figure out how to tetris our closets or cabinets and come up with storage solutions to house all of our belongings. Belongings that once seemed like a blessing now the sepulcher for the illness called…
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Repurpose and Rebuild
My prayer journal from this past April is littered with petitions to God to make a way for me to stay home again. I didn’t feel as though my remaining school sand had slipped through the waist of the hourglass, but I could feel a pull in my heart, a whisper that was telling me it might be time again. I just needed his confirmation, his timetable, and his provision to make it possible. Writing a tuition check for two kids felt like a shoddy bridge suspended over a mile high cavern we would be forced to cross. I’ve always known that teaching is not my final destination. That I…