My Crazy Path to Mommyhood

Thanks to the influence of my mother, I don’t think there was anything I ever wanted to be more than a homemaker. The idea of keeping a home, husband, and children appealed to me in a way nothing else could, and I grew up with that mindset. When I graduated from high school with no marital prospects, I went to college mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to do while I waited for my husband to appear.

Thankfully, he didn’t take long.

Shoot forward about a year and a half. I’m engaged, long distance, and I get one of those calls that every fiancée dreads: the “maybe we should wait” call.

Benny knew how much I wanted a family. It was one of the first personal things I ever shared with him. He had at least two more years of college after we married – perhaps more, if he decided to get a higher degree – and having a family when only one of us could work, and the one of us working could only manage part-time, because of chronic illness, seemed irresponsible. I was adamantly opposed to contraception, as well, so he knew that was off the table, and suggested we should postpone our wedding until he graduated.

Although I understood his reasoning, I resisted the suggestion. After all, we needed some time, I thought, to learn to live together before children, and there were ways outside of contraception that could keep pregnancy at bay. It was hard for me to say I would wait for two entire years. I was twenty-two at the time, and I had hoped to start my family at eighteen. As crazy as it may sound to a progressive ear, I felt like I had already wasted three years, and I was saying I would give up two more. It was a huge sacrifice – especially because I had done my research and was aware that my chronic illness could mean I would not be able to have children for as many years as most women; however, establishing my marriage was more important to me, and even if it was hard, I felt it was the right decision.

Less than a year later, we were married. I loved being married. It was a new layer of life I hadn’t known could exist, and there was a new peace. I was designed by God for that life, and for nearly six months, I was content to simply be Benny’s wife. It got a lot harder when we had a pregnancy scare. I had been out of sorts, and several people suggested to me that I might be pregnant. Although I wasn’t convinced, I bought a test. When the negative came up, I could tell Benny was relieved, and I was relieved for him. What would a pregnancy do to the rest of his college career?  At the same time, I was heartbroken. I had secretly hoped I was pregnant. I got in the shower and cried for awhile, and for quite some time I was low in spirits. Benny could tell and knew why. He was incredibly kind and understanding, giving me space to mourn the baby I had never carried. Although I normally wouldn’t dare to equate my feelings to that of a woman who  has suffered a miscarriage, that was how it felt. Thankfully, I had only shared the possibility with a few people.

It was hard not only because I wanted a baby so badly but because there was a lot of pressure for us to start our family. People who knew little of our situation would suggest that we should get started pretty soon – to not wait too long – and although we knew they weren’t trying to make things difficult, it was still painful to hear. You can have the best intentions and still hurt people.

Almost exactly one year later, Benny was nearing the end of his last school year. Since the beginning of our marriage, I had had random “nightmares” about getting pregnant before Benny graduated. By January 2014, Benny told me that if I did get pregnant and was able to keep my job most of the pregnancy, we could make it work. Although we still weren’t trying to have a baby, this was a huge stress relief. As though God was testing Benny’s sincerity, less than a month later, I was pregnant. I was absolutely unprepared and knew it. There were many decisions we had planned to make before starting a family, and now we had to make them relatively quickly.

One big decision was one I had been putting off: where to have the baby. My mother had given birth in the hospital for all her babies, and Benny’s mother had given birth at home. When Benny told me he thought I should consider homebirths, I thought he was crazy. It sounded dangerous and foreign. I hadn’t imagined giving birth outside of a hospital, and I told him I wasn’t comfortable with the idea at all but I would think about it and do some research.

When I found out I was pregnant, I hadn’t done any research and I hadn’t really considered it an option. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Benny, because I knew he wouldn’t support something without being completely comfortable with it, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I read two articles with opposing points of view on the subject – both of which were well argued but neither of which made me comfortable with making the final decision.

Since I was still unsure, I asked a doctor in the area to recommend a doctor and hospital for us. I figured she would best know the system in the area, and I knew she had similar values to us, so I felt comfortable going with whatever advice she gave. I was surprised when she told me she thought I would be better off with a midwife and homebirth or birth center, and she even went so far as to recommend one. For the first time, I considered it, but I wanted to ask someone else in the medical field. I asked my sister-in-law – a labour and delivery nurse – for her thoughts. She, too, expressed confidence in the idea of a homebirth, telling me upsides and downsides, what to look for in a midwife, and telling me where I could get more information.

After feeling like I had been assured by these people, I then asked my mother-in-law and one of my sisters-in-law about their experiences and opinions, knowing that they had had homebirths. Both of them stressed that I should do whatever I felt safest doing, and they talked to me about their own research.

At this point, I felt like I could take the extra step of actually meeting with the midwives recommended to me. I called to make an appointment, not yet completely assured it was what I wanted to do but sure it was a safe option, and I would be free to change my mind at any time.

When I went in for my appointment, it was immediately clear that I wasn’t stepping into a weird world of mantras and amulets but a place of medical business. It was homey, certainly, but was clearly not granola or avoiding the medical aspect of the profession. Not only this, the midwife I met with was strikingly like my mother, and I felt safe and assured by her no-holds-barred approach and bluntness when I asked questions. Although it had been a foreign concept to me, and knowing I would probably get a lot of flak from people who disapproved of my decision, I settled on a homebirth, and I never questioned my decision from that point.

Pregnancy was both hard and good. A lot of my fibromyalgia symptoms dissipated over the period of the pregnancy. My morning sickness during the first trimester was nasty, though after that I had few serious problems until the third trimester. It was a peaceful pregnancy.

When it finally came to the labour, choosing a homebirth sure seemed like the right idea. It started so fast (minute long contractions, one to two minutes apart within two hours of it starting), I’m sure I wouldn’t have wanted to travel to the hospital. The midwives were there shortly after Benny called, letting us quietly (well, I guess they were quiet) labour, keeping an eye on my progress and monitoring the baby – our personal lifeguards in case anything went awry, giving advice and encouragement. When it was all over, I had a baby in my arms: sweet, little Eleanora.

I’m a mother! It’s still a surprise to me, sometimes. In a way, it’s a change… but at the same time, it feels completely natural. I’ve been preparing for it most of my life, and holding a small child in my arms, nursing her, caring for her, was what I was created to do. Already, I see little changes every day, and I know it will be over sooner than I can imagine. Getting here was hard, and I know the difficulties don’t end after labour, but I feel assured by these three things:

God created me for this.

My mother prepared me for this.

My husband supports me in this.

That’s all I need. 

All About Bread

I’m a bit of a nerd about breads. I don’t have time to make them as much as I’d like (nor the energy, being pregnant), but I love pulling out my bread book and looking through the pages, deciding on one to try next.

This started when I married. Benny loves his bread. Let me rephrase. Benny loves his good bread. If you care about it at all, you know good bread isn’t very cheap. A half decent loaf is going to be around $3-5, and as much bread as we eat, I was quickly frustrated with how much it cost us. This isn’t even going into the realms of Italian loaves, rolls, biscuits… so I decided I would try making bread myself.

I pulled out my handy dandy kitchen aid mixer, attached the dough hook, and got out my Betty Crocker recipes. By the end of four hours, I had two, beautiful loaves cooling on the counter – and Benny was ecstatic. I could have used a bread machine, but feeling the dough forming and smelling it ferment was too wonderful to pass up. Ever since then, we’ve only bought bread when I am unable to make it myself (which is basically never). I don’t see the point of buying it when I can make it so much cheaper – and with ingredients we prefer (half wheat is the standard, though it changes once in awhile).

People are intimidated by the thought of making breads, for some reason. Maybe it’s just a general apprehension of cooking, I don’t know. I’ve thought about inviting people over and showing them how easy it is. It’s not like one grain too much of sugar will kill those lovely loaves. If you’re interested in trying out some things, here are some tips and thoughts:

1.      Buy this book: Bernard Clayton's New Complete Book of Breads

Not only is this book full of amazing recipes, there are tips for different things that can go wrong and ways to make up for the fact that you don’t have a steam oven or baking stone (which I will have, one day, when I’m wealthy). It talks about equipment needed and provides tips for three different kinds of preparation: by hand, with a mixer, and with a food processor. Seriously. Buy this book.

2.      Experiment with types of bread. Try making pitas – they are almost incomprehensibly easy. Cuban loaves are also fun (those round ones with the big X), and you can steam them in your oven to give them an amazing crust. Try different kinds of biscuit until you find one you prefer. I tried several recipes before I settled on one that used olive oil instead of butter or shortening.

3.      Collect roll recipes. There are many out there for a reason. A good butter roll is great, but so is one which is mashed-potato based. And they are good with different kinds of meals.

4.      Get tools used specifically for bread. Like a dough scraper – one that is stiff and doesn’t bend, preferably, with measurements written on it for quick cutting. Special bread pans for baguettes are nice, as well. The book I recommended has a more complete list.

5.      Buy bread loaf pans that you will only use for breads – and don’t wash them unless you’re making a sweet bread. Yup. Just like that cast iron skillet.

6.      Turn on the oven an hour before you’ll use it. Trust me. It will regulate the temperature better. (Bonus benefit: when it's cooler, you can put your rising loaves on the stovetop so they rise at a similar rate to when it's warmer.)

7.      Don’t ever trust the times given for cooking. Keep an eye on your bread. Watch for the browning and tap your loaves as you bake until you find out the times that work best for your oven.

Okay, I’ve shared enough to get you started. Go forth and ferment. 

As A Christian, Can I Panic About Ebola?

It's a situation I've been watching carefully, and it only recently seems to be something people are noticing. Studying epidemics is a sort of hobby of mine and has been for many years. I’ve been fascinated to study how different cultures – especially religions – react.

Take a very short trip in history with me, for a moment, to 1918, when the Spanish influenza was swallowing the globe. Only Australia remained untouched, as it cut off contact with everyone else, and it is estimated that anywhere from 50 million to100 million people died. The majority of those people were in the prime of their lives; the elderly and children seemed strangely untouched. Whole villages were wiped out. Cities became forced to bury people in mass graves because they were dying too fast to build caskets or dig proper graves. It was a dark time, and the line “bring out your dead” doesn’t seem so funny when you realize people were literally dropping their loved ones outside their doors, hoping against all hope that they hadn’t been exposed long enough to become ill themselves. All social events were banned, but one group of people stood out as defying this law: Christians.

Gathering together on Sunday, everyone wearing masks, many churches would set up chairs in the middle of the street and have their services. At a time when people were abandoning their own families and shutting themselves away, believers were finding strength in one another. This isn’t to say they were better than everyone else – because there were people who did amazing things without this form of faith – but they knew their hope lay in something other than remaining healthy. I have no doubt that there was fear in their hearts, wondering if they would die next, or a spouse, or a child, or a parent. It’s not as though faith makes things less scary, because they are scary, but it allows us to focus on something other than fear. We wouldn’t stand in the way of a rampaging elephant herd as a show of faith, so how should be think about this situation?

This is how I think about it: things like this - where one is so completely out of control - you feel more acutely, especially if you like order and predictability; however, there is nothing that works quite like an epidemic for bringing people face to face with eternity. It forces them to actively choose God or themselves in a way most wouldn't, because this culture is so lackadaisical and would normally enjoy the lukewarm feelings of disinterest or indifference. In a sort of strange way, I think these things are beautiful. It's amazing to see how striking the church can be in "such a time as this," where we can be unafraid and aware of the glory that awaits us if God chooses to take us up to Him. Even as one is completely aware of the danger, one can also be aware that – ultimately – our hope lies in something quite different than the next breath we take.

I'm thinking specifically of Romans 8:5-27, especially the last two paragraphs:

"For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit, the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. Because the carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can be. So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.

"But you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you. Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he is not His. And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness. But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you.

"Therefore, brethren, we are debtors—not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together.

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance.

"Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God."

2^nd Timothy 2:7 also comes to mind: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

We are in a fallen world, and our gut reaction will be one of fear; however, God gives us strength in Himself so that we can treat our fears differently and reach the world in its crisis, bringing others to share in our hope.

To the Pregnancy Disparagers

I don’t know if every first-time mother hears all the disparaging comments I have as I’ve been going through my first pregnancy, but I can’t imagine I’m the first. Perhaps you know what I mean. You’re curled up, reading a book, and someone says: “You won’t have time for that once the baby is born.” You say something about sleeping really well: “Enjoy your sleep while you can.” Almost everything I do, now, I’m told to appreciate and enjoy, because once the baby is born, my life ends.

What?!

Perhaps I’m a dying breed, but all I have wanted to do since I was eight or nine was be a wife and mother. That’s really it. There are things I did and enjoyed, certainly, that weren’t directly involved, but they were all things that will eventually benefit my children. I have planned for this my entire life, and during a time I expected to be encouraged by other women, I find them pointing out all the freedoms I will be losing – freedoms which I don’t really care about, to be honest.

Thank God my mother hasn’t been this way. It was watching her work so hard that inspired me. She homeschooled us, fixed our clothes, cooked on an amazingly small budget, raised us up with life skills people just don’t have anymore, and was our encourager. I felt completely prepared to take on the challenges of caring for my own home by the time I needed to, so I know she prepared me well. I want to do the same for my children. I know it wasn’t easy. I watched her struggle with the each of us in our own areas of, let’s say, lesser qualities. She cried over her worries with us, daily exhausted herself, and still found time to bring light to the lives of hundreds of others. I never heard her complain. I want to do that, too.

So when people tell me: “Enjoy your life; it will be over soon,” frankly, I want to slap them. In what other job can you do that? “Wow – you’re going to be a nurse! Enjoy this time when you’re working hard to prepare for the job you’ve always wanted, because you’ll hate it when it finally gets here.” No one thinks the job they choose will be a piece of cake, but they choose it for what they will win.

I don’t suppose I’ll sleep as much after the baby is born, or have the same figure, or have the same privacy, or whatever else people say I apparently need to have a life. But I will have a new little person who is my complete responsibility, who relies on me for food and learning, who loves me, and who no one else has ever had influence over. It will be completely unique to any experience I or any other person has had. There will be days, I know, when I’m ready to believe all the disparaging comments and say my life is over. Then I will remember this:

Proverbs 31: 10-31:
“Who can find a virtuous wife?
For her worth is far above rubies.
¹¹ The heart of her husband safely trusts her;
So he will have no lack of gain.
¹² She does him good and not evil
All the days of her life.
¹³ She seeks wool and flax,
And willingly works with her hands.
¹⁴ She is like the merchant ships,
She brings her food from afar.
¹⁵ She also rises while it is yet night,
And provides food for her household,
And a portion for her maidservants.
¹⁶ She considers a field and buys it;
From her profits she plants a vineyard.
¹⁷ She girds herself with strength,
And strengthens her arms.
¹⁸ She perceives that her merchandise is good,
And her lamp does not go out by night.
¹⁹ She stretches out her hands to the distaff,
And her hand holds the spindle.
²⁰ She extends her hand to the poor,
Yes, she reaches out her hands to the needy.
²¹ She is not afraid of snow for her household,
For all her household is clothed with scarlet.
²² She makes tapestry for herself;
Her clothing is fine linen and purple.
²³ Her husband is known in the gates,
When he sits among the elders of the land.
²⁴ She makes linen garments and sells them,
And supplies sashes for the merchants.
²⁵ Strength and honor are her clothing;
She shall rejoice in time to come.
²⁶ She opens her mouth with wisdom,
And on her tongue is the law of kindness.
²⁷ She watches over the ways of her household,
And does not eat the bread of idleness.
²⁸ Her children rise up and call her blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her:
²⁹ “Many daughters have done well,
But you excel them all.”
³⁰ Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.
³¹ Give her of the fruit of her hands,
And let her own works praise her in the gates.”

It is the life I chose. 

The Prostitution of Immodesty-Explaining the Battle of Lust

Modesty in clothing is one of those subjects of which I am most passionate. Let me bluntly explain why: I struggle with lust, and my husband does as well. This is one of the things in which we have fought together. It has put both the most strain and the most camaraderie in our marriage. I think it is the duty of women like me to explain the importance of modesty as best we can, so that other men and women can be understand on a less superficial level why it is vital to the life of Christian women.

First, allow me to explain how a person lusts.

Lust is not the immediate, uncontrollable, physical response to a man or women who is attractive. It is the purposeful dwelling on how they look (their breasts, legs, figure, etc.) and deciding to wonder what it would be like to have a sexual experience with them. This can be as mild as imagining them naked or more extreme – such as a forced sexual experience. It is to have mental power over them, and a lusting person almost always believes he or she could approach the object of their lust and have exactly what they desire.

Imagine building a habit of lust. Every person you see who is attractive or dressed sexually stays in your thoughts, fantasies, and you create opportunities to be around the person. You habitually “use” such people in your mind, without their knowledge, to maintain a sexual high. You begin to look for and hope to see people who are more easily fantasized about. You look for the short skirts, the shorts, the tight clothes, the unbuttoned blouse or shirt. You crave seeing people to arouse you. Once you’ve built this habit, it takes months to kill it, and you can never safely look at people again. You have to fight the desire, avoid the circumstances you once created, and try to recreate what you look for in people.

Having explained this, perhaps it makes more sense why I am so adamant that men and women do their best to be modest. When a person makes the decision to fight against lusting, it means changing a mental habit; as any habit, being forced to deal with what tempts you every day is exhausting, and the sexualized body is much harder to escape than cigarettes and alcohol. 

This is a personal fight for me, and it additionally is a passion for me because I fought to be modest before I married. Why should that make a difference? It means I won over my husband without the need to attract him sexually. Not only that, I fought for him. I still fight for him, and it hurts me when women only seem to care about getting superficial attention. Instead, it’s the easy way. Sometimes they say it’s because they need to do so to feel beautiful. I think they just aren’t creative enough to be modestly beautiful.

Though some may argue that scripture never mentions specific ways of being modest, it does say not to do anything which causes your brother to sin. In short, if you dress immodestly, you are sinning. Do you want to dress modestly? Ask someone (of your own gender or someone to whom you’re related) how you can. They will be able to tell you what makes keeping a pure mind more difficult. They know the difference between beauty and seduction.

Keep Crying

I hate it when people use their blogs to complain, so please forgive me for indulging my need to share my current struggle.

It’s been a hard week… month… year. As my health continuously declines, I am faced with more challenges to overcome. People who realize the severity of my fibromyalgia are shocked to know how much I still do. Most others, at this point, would be spending a lot of time resting, off their feet, medicated, and undergoing any treatment imaginable. I don’t have time for that, nor money, nor a desire for idleness and the fog which comes with being medicated enough to dull my pain. I would rather deal with the pain, most days; it’s the exhaustion that gets to me.

I used to be a non-crier. I cried maybe at funerals. Maybe. These days, I cry at least once a week. I told Benny I never know if it’s because I’m tired, because of the constant pain, because of problems at work… he said he would guess it’s the combination and the lack of control from working until I’m falling over worn out.

Heck, that sounds pretty bad… but I could even deal with being tired if I didn’t have a job. That’s the straw that breaks my back. I wake up in the morning with pretty good energy, ready to take on the day and get things done. Then I go to work. I use up all my energy trying to fit a housewife’s daily work into five hours, then I come home and have to fit in my own housewife work into the remainder of the day I’ve had… but I can’t. I can’t be a housewife in two homes. It depresses me. And the constant going means I’m constantly getting more tired. In the past week, Benny has had to drive me to and from work twice, and he’s had to have someone drive him there to pick me up on another day – because I would have been endangering others and myself trying to drive. Pathetic. And depressing.

And I ask myself: is it worth it? I know it is my duty to do my work well. I’m good at it, and I love it, but my job as a wife is more important to me. I’m not able to do both, and my home suffers as a result. I pray for strength to get through the morning – just the morning – then I pray to get through the afternoon and hope that nothing comes up in the evening.

I’m so tired. I would hand in my resignation today if I could, because I want to be a good wife. Working doesn’t feel like it does much, since I make under $800 barely keeping up with a part-time job, and most people could work full time at a better job.

I find myself praying that God would provide a way for me to do my job – my actual job – and quit the other one. I almost wish we could come by some inheritance that would help us survive for the next ten months – until Benny is out of school and can work. I can come up with schemes that seem to half work, but I keep coming to the same conclusion: I have to keep fighting. Keep crying because I can’t do both. Keep thanking Benny for being so understanding when his very sick wife can barely stand on her own two feet; keep apologizing that I can’t do more.

That’s all. I just needed to admit that I feel so dead, all the time, and I know others have had similar struggles and will understand. Sometimes, even admitting it makes one feel a little better.

A Day in My Shoes

Benny recently recommended that I write something describing how I go about my day – to help people understand how I cope, because I was explaining how people seem to be under strange assumptions concerning what I do to deal with my chronic illness. I’m taking his advice! Also, several have asked, and I want to help them understand as best I can. 

I usually start my mornings waking up as gradually as I can.  I am incredibly groggy and stiff, in the morning, but I try to ignore whatever is hurting.

Getting dressed is hard. I like to lay out my clothes the night before, because it’s hard for me to make decisions in the morning – especially when decisions need to be made quickly. At the same time, that might not be helpful, because my skin reacts differently to different fabrics and cuts on a day-to-day basis. I might put out a skirt and blouse for a day, get up that morning, and realize that anything cinching around my waist will cause too much pain, so I wear a dress instead. I try to gauge what I will be able to wear by the forecast, but it doesn’t always work.

Benny blesses me by making breakfast in the morning. If he didn’t make it, it probably wouldn’t happen. Since my brain seems to barely function, thinking through preparing something and actually doing it seem like two huge mountains of work. When we first were married, I really tried, but he gradually took over without any decision being made. I was very thankful and relieved.

We eat breakfast, have family devotions, and then my day begins. If it’s a work day for me, I go to work. Although I can’t be explicit about my workday, I can say that I work for five hours, five days a week, and I spread out the duties in my client’s home over the five days in such a way that it doesn’t exhaust me more than it needs to. I get home around 2:30PM, exhausted, and try to sit down for awhile, collect myself, and reboot as much as possible before mentally switching over to “housewife”.

At home, I try to keep the house generally neat and uncluttered. If there’s only a little bit to clean up every day, it’s far less stressful and physically demanding; however, sometimes I can’t even do a little, and rooms get away from me. Once a week, I dust thoroughly, vacuum, or scrub floors. Rarely do two of those overlap in a day. I keep a clean house because messiness stresses me to a point where I feel immobilized by the thought of having to gather enough strength to clean it up. Every week, I try to include a more vigorous task, such as wiping down cupboards or cleaning windows, but these rarely get finished because of everything else.

I’m sure it sounds like I have it pretty easy – light cleaning every day, with other tasks spread out – but it isn’t that simple. Every task has to be outlined beforehand. For example, if I decide to clean the living room, my list might look like this:

Clean living room

-clean up floor

-clean off coffee table

-put away books and CDs

-straighten up bookshelves

-dust

-vacuum

-wash windows and mirrors

-wipe off coffee table

It seems a little excessive, but if I don’t write it all out, it’s hard to finish, and I’m constantly worried about forgetting something. My “to do” lists are detailed, and I write them every day, including the things I do daily. A recent one:

To Do

Dust:

-living room

-bedroom

-bathroom

-study

Shower

Dishes

Supper

Sweep kitchen

E-mail Dad

Clean bedroom

For every task, I will have to convince myself to take it on. I rarely feel up to it, and I would rather sit and nurse my aches and pains, but I force myself to do everything because it’s my job. I’ll convince myself to dust and take fourty-five minutes to do it. I plan to take at least two hours to prepare supper, so usually by the time I’m done dusting, it’s time to start cooking. First, wash the dishes. It will take me awhile, because I take ten to fifteen minutes to prepare to wash dishes – by stacking them, putting hot water in the sink, and making sure there aren’t dishes hiding in other places. Washing them usually takes around half an hour. I have a stool to sit on so the standing doesn’t tire me overly much, because I need to be careful about using up energy before I even get around to making supper.

After the dishes are washed, I can start thinking about supper. I wipe down all the surfaces, then I look at the menu. I write out a monthly menu, which keeps me from stressing about varying the menu and forgetting groceries. Maybe it’s an easy day and the menu says I planned for spinach omelets. First, I get out all the ingredients I use for omelets: eggs, cheese, whatever meat I have, potatoes, corn, spinach, and perhaps other, random things. I chop up or measure everything into separate bowls, just as you would see on a cooking show, so everything is prepared, then I set out all the dishes I’ll need: plates for the omelets when they’re done, a spatula or two, the whisk, the skillet, and a bowl to whisk eggs in. All this preparation usually takes me half an hour to fourty-five minutes. Then I start cooking. Omelets are relatively easy. Cook the potatoes in the bottom of the skillet, whisk the eggs and chopped spinach together and pour over potatoes, flip omelet and add ingredients, put on plate. Half an hour to fourty-five minutes later, I’m done. This process seems overly complicated, but it’s the best way I’ve found to cook without causing undue stress.

When supper is eaten, I do internet tasks, which I try to keep short. When that’s over, I might take a shower. This is probably the most exhausting thing I’ll do during my day, because it requires constant activity and doesn’t allow for breaks. I usually take an hour to prepare, shower, get dressed and clean things up afterward. If I’m having a bad back day (meaning I can’t stand too long; chronic back pain means it always hurts – some times worse than others), I either take a bath or use my shower chair. The rest of the evening I usually spend off my feet or doing something with Benny. Once in awhile, we’ll walk or bike somewhere or nowhere. Sometimes we finish some cleaning/organizing task together or just sit around and do nothing. During school, I put a plate and note together for Benny’s lunch.

I really am very weak, and this is something I abhor about myself. I was once active and involved in other people’s lives. Now, social anxiety and the need to preserve energy keep me at home unless I need to go out or unless someone kindly plans an event. I do not, however, limit myself unnecessarily. I often can do more and am willing to do more active things when asked, but people often – while trying to be kind – refrain from suggesting things they think might be too much for me. Although I understand wanting to be careful, I know my limits better than anyone, and asking me to do something that may tire me or hurt me isn’t something to avoid. I have no problem with declining activities I know will do more harm than good, and I prefer being able to make that decision to it being made for me.

Depression as a result of loneliness is something I constantly fight; I have few friends here, at this point, and Benny has to tend to school and composing/practicing. I try to fight this mostly by having a book on CD to listen to while I’m cooking or cleaning and also by having open house hours when women are welcome to visit me. I desire and need almost constant companionship. I used to think I was a loner, but I’ve found that to be alone is something I don’t actually enjoy unless I’m having personal devotions (although I’m not truly alone then, either :)). When people come visit, I am often thrilled beyond words.

Which brings me to open enthusiasm. Many people think I’m quiet, reserved, and shy. This isn’t so much true as it is true that in public situations I find it difficult to keep from panicking. The way I fight panic (which is something I fight as a socially anxious person) is by mellowing out. People who meet me in the privacy of my home are often surprised by the openness I am comfortable with there. When I’m in my personal space, surroundings which are known, comfortable, and predictable, I am in my element. Especially if Benny is there, I feel safe. Being in public feels incredibly unsafe, no matter how illogical that feeling is, and I tend to reserve all emotions to damper the one which feels most threatening. One of the reasons I encourage people to come visit is because they get to see me at my most comfortable. I avoid anything even remotely resembling a party for this reason and also because I have a hard time concentrating when more than one person is speaking at once. When this happens, my mind is frantic to grasp onto anything, and when my brain is frantic, I can’t concentrate on anything.

One thing about dealing with my brain which is hard for a lot of people to understand is that it doesn’t process things quickly. As a result of this, everything I do has to be thought through. Most people do things mechanically, but it is rare that an action becomes so familiar I can do it without thought. When I’m walking, I move slowly when crossing the street or a lane. When I’m driving, the faster I have to react, the more stressed I am. Getting ready to go anywhere, I stop at the door and think through anything I might have forgotten (to the great frustration and training in patience for my husband). I can have a conversation with a person, but I think through my questions and thoughts more slowly than many, and I rarely speak before knowing exactly how I will say a sentence. Benny has learned to ask: “Are you avoiding the conversation or are you thinking about what to say?” when we’re talking. I may think about a conversation for days or even weeks before I feel as though I’ve full processed everything that was said. People say they hate it when they think of the perfect response a few minutes too late… I usually think of a response whole days later.

There are other things I deal with differently than other people… to mention them all would take far too long. I welcome questions whenever people have them, and few questions do I refuse to answer. To end, I’ll make a short list of things an “outsider” can take from this.

1.      You don’t need to show me kindness by not asking me to do something with you because I might be tired or in pain. I’m always tired and in pain! You can show me kindness by asking and letting me decide, not really caring how I answer.

2.      By the same token, you don’t need to do things for me to help me avoid pain and exhaustion. If I need help, I will admit it when you ask me.

3.      If you really want to know me, visit me in my own home. I love visitors, and when they are in my home, the situation feels far less threatening to me.

4.      Understand that I process things slowly. If I am moving slowly or taking a long time to respond to a question or comment, it isn’t because I’m trying to frustrate you; I move at a different pace.

5.      I need companionship like any person; I just have a limited way of receiving that companionship.

6.      I don’t like idleness, and I don’t coddle myself, but I also am careful where I expend energy. If I save energy by not doing one thing, I can spend it doing something else. This is a matter of survival. This means I will often leave aside things other people see as “correct”. One of the things I don’t expend energy on is open excitement. I’m really and honestly excited in my heart, but the energy open excitement takes isn’t worth wasting.

7.      I choose to live life outside of my chronic illness. It debilitates and frustrates me every single day, but I try to live with an attitude of thankfulness for all I can still do. You can ask me how I’m doing – I’ll be honest if I’m not having a good day – but then I’d rather drop it and talk about better things-like how glad I am you took time out of your day to say hello!