The mask I wear

It starts as soon as they begin to speak.  The first time my daughter said, "No Grandma!" I immediately shushed her.  We must be polite to others!  And she learned to be polite, but she also learned to put on her first, little mask.

Image: Adell Rucke

Later, we learn that the mask not only protects others but also protects us - from the rejection that might happen if others knew our deepest fears, our inner sufferings, our greatest dreams.  So we put the mask on a little more frequently.  And it starts to feel more comfortable, so that this mask, which was meant to hide who I really am, becomes a part of me.  I don't even have to put it on anymore because it's always there.

Sometimes when I talk to other people, I wonder, what's behind that mask?  Does she ever feel unsure of herself?  Does she wonder what the purpose of her life is?  Does she sometimes just want to run away?  Sometimes, there's a small, very small crack - just a faint look in the eye or a falter in the smile.  But most of the time, the mask is seamless, airtight.

When I started this blog, I wanted to take off my mask so that other women would have the courage to take their's off, too.  Because I have all this sadness, guilt, frustration, and anger that just wants to get out of me, but there's also love, sacrifice, joy, and beauty inside of me, too.  The mask keeps it all in and only lets out a sterile version of me.

But when I sit down to write what I really want to say, I start censoring myself immediately.  I don't want to make so-and-so feel bad.  I don't want my kids to read this someday and misinterpret what I mean.  I don't want to discourage my brothers and sisters in Christ.  I don't want to dishonor God.  Raw is good but raw can also be hurtful.  And by the time I'm done writing, I've written something with a lot of inspiration but very little of my heart left.

Don't get me wrong, I love inspiration.  But how do we also be real with each other?  How do we take our masks off without killing each other?  Maybe as long as we live in this broken world with our broken hearts, we can't.  So for now, I'll keep this mask on.  Because it holds together my brokenness.  And it keeps me from trampling on you and breaking you more than you already are.

So...all this is a very long and dramatic way of saying that I might be changing the content and format of my blog soon.  I'm just so tired of struggling.  What about you?  Are you comfortable with your mask?  Or do you wish you could take it off every once in awhile, let your heart breathe a little?

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Two under two

Some of you may wonder how I ever had a second child, considering how depressed and anxious I was with my first child.  I knew I wanted my daughter to have a sibling, so the decision to have a second child was cerebral rather than emotional.  I prepared myself for double the stress and read tips on "baby bunching" (having two children under the age of two).

Image: digitalart

Having two children is definitely harder than one on some levels.  There's more laundry to do.  There are two nap schedules to coordinate, which makes it difficult - some days impossible - to get out of the house.  I'm outnumbered when we do go out, so just getting everyone in and out of the car can be a workout.  Don't even get me started on mealtimes - I can't wait until the day all four of us can eat the same thing for dinner, unassisted.  

But ironically, there was a huge emotional burden that was lifted from me when I got outnumbered.  A lot of my depression and anxiety stemmed from my obsession with my daughter.  I wanted to "make the most" of every moment with her, so I forced myself to sing, play, and hold her during every waking moment, no matter how tired or bored I was.  There was nothing else to do but spend time with each other, so that's what we did.  I also never let her cry if I could help it

When I had my second child, I was forced to stop obsessing.  I can no longer immediately respond to every child's first cry.  Oftentimes, one of my children will just have to cry while I finish a certain task.  I've learned that that's okay.  I've noticed that when there's more people around, my kids are less likely to seek my individual attention.  Even though they aren't old enough to play together, just having another child in the room helps to keep them more occupied.  I don't quite understand the psychology behind it, but I'm grateful for it.  I've learned to tell my daughter to play by herself if I'm busy or tired and to not feel guilty about it.  It's been good for her, too, because she has learned to be more independent and creative.

So if you are a young mother with just one child, take heart that having another child may be twice the work physically and logistically but will provide a level of emotional freedom when you are no longer revolving your life around just one child.  I still obsess over certain things and feel anxious daily, but I'm somehow able to enjoy motherhood more now.

Having said that, I can't even imagine having a third child.  If any moms with 3+ children would like to share how much more difficult or easier that is, I would love to hear from you!

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Overprotectiveness

My parents rarely let me attend school dances.  They were typical strict, overprotective parents.  Unfortunately, I was part of the leadership council of the anti-drug club that put on several dances as fundraisers.  Attendance at dances was mandatory for those on leadership.  I dreaded telling our club sponsor that I couldn't attend the dances.  She was a stern woman who rarely smiled.

I lied to her every time.  My relatives were coming to town, or I was attending a rehearsal for something.  I wondered if she would see through my lies, if she would reprimand me for not attending yet another dance.  But she always just nodded her head and let me go.

Image: Michael Elliott

Now that I am a mother, all I want to do is protect my children from the darkness of this world.  I don’t let them watch any violence or read about anything scary, even fictional monsters in children’s books (besides "friendly" monsters). I once turned on the TV and accidentally let my two-year old daughter watch part of a nature show featuring a crocodile snapping at some fish bait. When she had night wakings the following week, I just knew she was having nightmares about crocodiles.  I blamed myself.

It makes me sad that my parents' overprotectiveness drove me to lie.  I take responsibility for my lies, but I also hope that I can somehow protect my kids in a manner that doesn't put them in that type of situation.  If my parents had known I was lying, I think I would have just gotten into more trouble, and they wouldn't have understood why I felt so ashamed.  I hope that I will have the wisdom to balance my desire to protect my kids but also to be sensitive to their social needs and to trust God for their protection.

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How it all (sort of) ends

When I was in the midst of my postpartum anxiety, I feared that the daily panic attacks would affect my physical health.  The anxiety and stress were so intense and frequent that I could not imagine overcoming them.  I felt that my only hope would be a divine intervention - a miraculous healing or perhaps a certain Bible verse that would provide instant peace.

Image: Sura Nualpradid

And...nothing of the sort happened.  I got better over time, but there was no trigger or moment that I can point to as the start of the healing.  I no longer have daily panic attacks or intrusive thoughts, but I'm still susceptible to both.  Depression does not characterize my state of being, but it is still a familiar friend.

We give praise when God blesses with discrete changes in circumstance or emotional state (I was sick, and He healed me.  I was laid off, and He provided a job for me.  Bonus to anyone who gets engaged in the process.).  And rightly we should give praise to God for those blessings.  But sometimes our struggles in life do not have an identifiable turning point and resolution.

I read the poem Footprints in the Sand for the first time when I was in elementary school.  In my 8-year-old mind, it was the most inspired and beautiful piece of poetry that had ever been written.  I aspired to have a copy hanging in my house some day.  HGTV has since taught me that my house should be filled with gallery photos and pop art rather than cheesy Christian poetry, but I was reminded of the truth of that poem during my "dark night of the soul."   To be sure, in my darkest times, I felt alone, but even deeper than that feeling of aloneness was the security that no matter how much fear or anxiety filled my heart, no matter how much I doubted God's love and goodness, no matter how much I ignored Him, He would not abandon me.  Sometimes He doesn't "show up" the way we want Him to, but He's still there.

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