As I enjoyed a lunch to myself this afternoon, I realized how afraid people are, especially of this generation, to be out in public alone. Or even in private on their own. I know that I am pretty introverted, so it's easier for me to be alone, but I really think everyone needs to know the value of treating yourself to some alone time. It's a nice chance to get to know your self, or even in my experience, let God treat you. I find that if I'm alone with him somewhere, the music playing on the radio gets infinitely better. And I find I am so much happier if I acknowledge His presence when I'm on my own. I get through traffic more easily. People are in better moods if He's with me. It's just pleasant. It's so fun to take myself to lunch and hear some of my favorite songs while getting awesome service and easy traffic to put up with.
Now, I could easily be fooling myself. It could be a good CD the restaurant is playing, it could have been a good day for the people working, and I could have just been out at a good time, but I don't care. I like to give God credit, because in the long run, isn't He still responsible for my pleasant me-times?
It is a good thing to have time alone. It can be rare if you are an extrovert, but it's still important. You need time to know yourself, your wants, your needs, and your shortcomings. If you haven't come to know, love and respect yourself, how are you supposed to expect others to know, love, or respect you? Think about it. And, if you're into it, let God know you too. Your alone time doesn't have to be a big hours long ordeal where you sit in silence waiting for Him to grant you His messages. It can be in the car when you have a few minutes and are running late and you thank him for all the green lights, or when you are at lunch alone and recognize the awesome playlist He had ready for you. He's there. It's not hard to find Him. Just look, and be happy. He is not some scary Creator in the skies measuring your sins and faults. He's with you when you're bored to death in traffic and when you are too sleepy to get out of bed on time.
Treat yo' self to some alone time. You'll like who you find.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
The Energy Paradox
As you grow older, or are pregnant, or experiencing grief, I have some advice. Get up, and do something. I have been so tired since I got pregnant. All the time I think about how I would like to nap and stay in bed all day. And from time to time, I'll indulge myself and just do it. Especially after the baby, I stayed in bed for weeks. I just didn't have the energy. It sounded too exhausting to get up and be a person. I know you have to allow yourself time to heal, but I was more interested in allowing myself time to assimilate as a new part of my bed.
The kicker is I never ever ever feel refreshed or re-energized or invigorated. I just feel more exhausted. Always.
However, on days when I am exercising, working, doing several things at once, I always have the energy for it. I get my stuff together and I manage to look like a real person for once. It's so strange. You would think the less I do, the more bored and energetic I would get, and the more I do, the more exhausted I would be.
Herein lies the paradox of energy. You have to do things to feel energy. You have to get up, use your muscles and your mind to feel well. Lying around just makes you tired and sore. In fact, the fastest way I know to make myself feel better is to do something for someone else. They may not be grateful or whatever, but at least you got out of your own head and tiredness and age and did something nice. That is a really good thing. I think Ethan had gained weight (that he is losing) because I just kept making him food so I would could accomplish something for someone else.
So get up. Run around. Dance. Tell a joke. Bake some cookies, and instead of eating them all, give them to someone who isn't expecting it. Lying around wallowing in dead skin cells and dust mites isn't going to make you feel better, but getting outside of yourself for a while just might. God made us this way. So use your muscles, your mind, and your heart while you can.
The kicker is I never ever ever feel refreshed or re-energized or invigorated. I just feel more exhausted. Always.
However, on days when I am exercising, working, doing several things at once, I always have the energy for it. I get my stuff together and I manage to look like a real person for once. It's so strange. You would think the less I do, the more bored and energetic I would get, and the more I do, the more exhausted I would be.
Herein lies the paradox of energy. You have to do things to feel energy. You have to get up, use your muscles and your mind to feel well. Lying around just makes you tired and sore. In fact, the fastest way I know to make myself feel better is to do something for someone else. They may not be grateful or whatever, but at least you got out of your own head and tiredness and age and did something nice. That is a really good thing. I think Ethan had gained weight (that he is losing) because I just kept making him food so I would could accomplish something for someone else.
So get up. Run around. Dance. Tell a joke. Bake some cookies, and instead of eating them all, give them to someone who isn't expecting it. Lying around wallowing in dead skin cells and dust mites isn't going to make you feel better, but getting outside of yourself for a while just might. God made us this way. So use your muscles, your mind, and your heart while you can.
Dreams
This post is a little weird, but bear with me. I am trying to go on a trip to London this May, and I am saving for it and fundraising and the whole bit. And I am worrying myself because I keep having dreams about it. I fear that if I fail to save enough and go, I have already gotten myself too attached to it, if only on a subconscious level.
I really believe that the dreams of women can say a lot. I think that is why they get so vivid and intense during pregnancy. The hormones you are full of are just a cocktail of crazy town for dreams, but they're important. In your vulnerable dream state, you experience the fears and aspirations you think about while awake. I had CRAZY pregnancy dreams about the weirdest things, but they stemmed from thoughts I worried about while I was awake. It's an obvious occurrence, really. But I am curious why my dreams have stayed so vivid and consuming now that the pregnancy hormones have had over a year to escape my poor brain. And the other mothers I talk to also have crazy dreams from time to time. I think God had a reason for it.
My dream about London really confronted me with the reality that I either need to calm down about this trip and keep my heart in check, or I need to go ahead and put all my eggs in that basket and deal with the chance of failure. It is dangerous to dream about your dreams.
To all the pregnant women out there, especially the ones considering adoption, please allow me to give you a warning no one else gave me: your dreams are incredibly dangerous. Your pregnancy hormones wreak havoc on your logic in dreams. They play on your biggest fears about the baby, and they can really do a number on you. I had so many many many dreams about changing my mind, keeping the baby, and running off into the sunset away from the problems and fear of what would happen. These were so hard on me. It is hard to get your head back in the right area after your brain paints you vivid illusions of things that could never work out that way. I can't tell you how many times I woke up and just cried because I figured out it was not real, or it was just too hurtful to deal with.
I still find myself having to pray right before bed sometimes for peace in my head, because if I don't I'll just have a string of nightmares night after night. Once you are pregnant, your dreams will never be the same. They might become less frequent after the baby, but they'll never go back to the way they were before. Perhaps it's just me, though.
I pray I will make it to London. I really pray my subconscious will calm down about it, but I am going all in on this opportunity. I know if I put my heart in it, the worst thing that can happen is a few nightmares and some disappointment. I'll never have a chance like this again, and I need to take that leap. I know God is always around to catch me, or help pick me up when I fall. Guard yourself from your dreams, or at least be careful about them. They're a dangerous place to lose yourself in.
I really believe that the dreams of women can say a lot. I think that is why they get so vivid and intense during pregnancy. The hormones you are full of are just a cocktail of crazy town for dreams, but they're important. In your vulnerable dream state, you experience the fears and aspirations you think about while awake. I had CRAZY pregnancy dreams about the weirdest things, but they stemmed from thoughts I worried about while I was awake. It's an obvious occurrence, really. But I am curious why my dreams have stayed so vivid and consuming now that the pregnancy hormones have had over a year to escape my poor brain. And the other mothers I talk to also have crazy dreams from time to time. I think God had a reason for it.
My dream about London really confronted me with the reality that I either need to calm down about this trip and keep my heart in check, or I need to go ahead and put all my eggs in that basket and deal with the chance of failure. It is dangerous to dream about your dreams.
To all the pregnant women out there, especially the ones considering adoption, please allow me to give you a warning no one else gave me: your dreams are incredibly dangerous. Your pregnancy hormones wreak havoc on your logic in dreams. They play on your biggest fears about the baby, and they can really do a number on you. I had so many many many dreams about changing my mind, keeping the baby, and running off into the sunset away from the problems and fear of what would happen. These were so hard on me. It is hard to get your head back in the right area after your brain paints you vivid illusions of things that could never work out that way. I can't tell you how many times I woke up and just cried because I figured out it was not real, or it was just too hurtful to deal with.
I still find myself having to pray right before bed sometimes for peace in my head, because if I don't I'll just have a string of nightmares night after night. Once you are pregnant, your dreams will never be the same. They might become less frequent after the baby, but they'll never go back to the way they were before. Perhaps it's just me, though.
I pray I will make it to London. I really pray my subconscious will calm down about it, but I am going all in on this opportunity. I know if I put my heart in it, the worst thing that can happen is a few nightmares and some disappointment. I'll never have a chance like this again, and I need to take that leap. I know God is always around to catch me, or help pick me up when I fall. Guard yourself from your dreams, or at least be careful about them. They're a dangerous place to lose yourself in.
The Servant
My mother used to joke to people that she had me so I could be her servant. It wasn't much of a joke. It never made me laugh. Because, unbeknownst to most, it wasn't actually a joke. No, she didn't actually give birth to me with the intent of having a servant. However, she certainly took advantage of the situation. From a rather young age, she had me cleaning and serving her alongside my sister as much as possible. In the midst of the mind games she would play between my sister and I, she would have complete control over us, and exercised it at her will. As I grew older, I grew more defiant, and lazy in her eyes. I stopped doing things as soon as she asked, I would do a poor job, or I would claim I forgot. Frankly, I was tired of fighting such a losing battle to her increasing hoarding tendencies. And, as I thought, and still do, "She is a grown woman. Why can't she pick up after herself?" Honestly, the mess and stench were enough to drive anyone to rebellion.
But, in God's own perfect way, the joke was ultimately on her. I love to serve people. I love to be in the background helping everyone achieve their goals. At any other home, I am always the kid who refuses to sit down after dinner until the kitchen has been cleaned up. I am always the kid with eyes peeled, looking for some way to alleviate a chore from the adults. It's why I love my job as a receptionist at the Church. I do not matter at all, and yet I feel as though I help the staff with all the little tasks that must be done so they in turn may serve the community. I am so inconsequential, but always there to help. In my head God has made it clear why serving others is so good. It is a much more fulfilling experience to me than direct mission work or anything like that. I would much rather be able to facilitate someone's coming to Christ than actually personally help that along. That idea in itself terrifies me. I'm a background and grunt work kind of person. I live to serve. I think, in my gratefulness at being free of my mother, I went back to what I knew, but this time I loved it. God took the punishment and yoke of my abuse and neglect and turned it into this heart that wants nothing but to serve Him. And I do. I find so much joy in trying to help others with their tasks and burdens.
I will say that there are limitations to my service. I could never be a server of food. After living with a hoarder who didn't rinse out anything ever and then asked me to clean those with out a garbage disposal, I am done with dealing with other people's left over food. I can do it occasionally at my own home or Ethan's, but it still makes me a little sick. Washing dishes is definitely the area I am weakest at in the area of serving others.
I think the world could really use more people who like to serve. Leaders especially. I am so grateful to God for a heart that finds joy in a most unassuming and easily unnoticed way. I love to find ways to help others. I think we could all use that mindset. The world would be a slightly more pleasant place. I really pray that my daughter has that sort of heart as she grows up. I know her parents have the tools and the love to do it, and I know what a sweet person she can be with them bringing her up. I am really grateful to God for that: the knowledge that it doesn't take an abusive childhood to make a good person. I worried, before I had her. God is so good at easing one's fears. I'm so grateful to Him. I am so excited to spend my life in His service.
But, in God's own perfect way, the joke was ultimately on her. I love to serve people. I love to be in the background helping everyone achieve their goals. At any other home, I am always the kid who refuses to sit down after dinner until the kitchen has been cleaned up. I am always the kid with eyes peeled, looking for some way to alleviate a chore from the adults. It's why I love my job as a receptionist at the Church. I do not matter at all, and yet I feel as though I help the staff with all the little tasks that must be done so they in turn may serve the community. I am so inconsequential, but always there to help. In my head God has made it clear why serving others is so good. It is a much more fulfilling experience to me than direct mission work or anything like that. I would much rather be able to facilitate someone's coming to Christ than actually personally help that along. That idea in itself terrifies me. I'm a background and grunt work kind of person. I live to serve. I think, in my gratefulness at being free of my mother, I went back to what I knew, but this time I loved it. God took the punishment and yoke of my abuse and neglect and turned it into this heart that wants nothing but to serve Him. And I do. I find so much joy in trying to help others with their tasks and burdens.
I will say that there are limitations to my service. I could never be a server of food. After living with a hoarder who didn't rinse out anything ever and then asked me to clean those with out a garbage disposal, I am done with dealing with other people's left over food. I can do it occasionally at my own home or Ethan's, but it still makes me a little sick. Washing dishes is definitely the area I am weakest at in the area of serving others.
I think the world could really use more people who like to serve. Leaders especially. I am so grateful to God for a heart that finds joy in a most unassuming and easily unnoticed way. I love to find ways to help others. I think we could all use that mindset. The world would be a slightly more pleasant place. I really pray that my daughter has that sort of heart as she grows up. I know her parents have the tools and the love to do it, and I know what a sweet person she can be with them bringing her up. I am really grateful to God for that: the knowledge that it doesn't take an abusive childhood to make a good person. I worried, before I had her. God is so good at easing one's fears. I'm so grateful to Him. I am so excited to spend my life in His service.
Burdens
I will be the first to admit that one of my major flaws is my constant fear of being a burden: to anyone at all at any time in any way whatsoever. It can consume me from time to time, and it can also really hurt my relationships with other people. I would rather be alone and by myself than with people, thinking I am in the way.
This really stems from the fact that I have never truly fit in anywhere. There are anecdotes about me as a child screaming to my mother and sister about how they'll never understand because, I'll quote myself, "I'm not like you people." At the time, in my six or seven year old head in the heat of my melodramatic battle, I blamed this difference on being left-handed, adding to the cuteness of the anecdote, but I did have a point. I was a rather lonely child. Yes, I had my mother, father, and sister for a time, but most of the time my parents fought using my sister as their weapon and largely left me to my own devices, an afterthought, a burden. I knew very early on I was different from them, but I wasn't yet able to see why.
After I left my mother's home, I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle, and once again, did not quite fit in. Obviously, they were and are incredible parents who I know love and care for me, but it could never really be the same as with their own children. Logically, unemotionally speaking, my aunt and uncle weren't actively seeking another mouth to feed and care for, they weren't out in search of a child to take in. They took me in because they felt they were morally obligated to stop the abuse I was suffering at the hands of my mother. I know they love me, but I was undoubtedly a burden. And I could tell. To my biased eyes, where they were somewhat lenient with their own kids about getting jobs and getting out the house or when they got in trouble, they were just harder on me. And Christmases and birthdays were always a bit different for me as well. Whereas it was expected for the kids to get lots of gifts from all over the family, it was a big deal that I got gifts under the tree, too. Because I had not always had gifts under their tree. It was just different. And birthdays were different as well. Gifts were hard for me. I never dared ask for anything very expensive, in fact, I rarely asked for anything at all. I did not want to be a burden to my parents on their holiday budget for the kids, or their budget in general, for that matter.
And now that Ethan's family has also tried to invite me into their home, I am once again feeling burdensome. I really worry I wear their patience thin. I know in my heart I am always welcome at the dinner table, yet my head really tries to convince me otherwise. I am terribly paranoid about being a burden to any of the people God has placed in my life to care about me.
I was so grateful this Christmas when I saw that I, too, had a stocking on Ethan's family's mantel. I was touched. Really and truly touched that these people welcomed me into one of the most sacred of family traditions: Christmas morning. I was over at six to open presents with them, and was so blessed to have gifts under the tree, but once again, the pit of my stomach told me I was being a burden.
Christmas is simply a hard time for me. I love the Christmas season and the lights and the love and the coming together of families, but, this year included, it is just hard for me. It not only reminds me how much of a burdensome parasitic life I have lead, but it is also just one of those rare times when I am sad that I was not meant to have a traditional family on Christmas. I rarely mourn the lack of true mother and father in my life, but Christmas is just one of those. I am also reminded of the Christmases I had growing up, whether it be when my father was alive and he fought with my mother, or when I was with my mother and we had to cancel Christmas because she blew all our money on things we didn't want or need, or with my aunt and uncle, where I was a burden. This Christmas especially irked me, because I was unable to get gifts for anyone. It's not that I am obsessed with the commercial idea of reciprocity, but really that I love giving gifts so much more than getting them. I love excuses to try to show people how much I care for them, and I was unable to do that this year. Christmas is a time of year that reminds me how dirt poor I have been my entire life. Simple as that. Poor monetarily, and poor family-wise as well.
This feeling of being a burden and not belonging is probably a huge reason why I am so eager to marry Ethan. I am ready to have a home where I actually belong, gifts under a Christmas tree that truly belong there, and pictures with me in them hanging on the walls. I am so ready to be done having this feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me how annoying, frustrating, and easily forgotten I am. Because that is the real fear of it all. How easily I could be gotten rid of from all these people who care for me. Their ties to me are not as strong as those forged by mother or father. I have been alone for my entire life, and I look forward to having someone on my team who has pledged to God to never fling me aside no matter what.
Until that time comes where I can get married, I am still an outsider. I have, my whole twenty years on this Earth, been waiting to feel like I belong somewhere. The only place I really truly feel like I am not in the way is when I am alone with God. It's why I like him so much. It is why I would rather be alone than annoy people with my presence. He always cares. He was absolutely right by my side on Christmas morning as I tried to quietly cry into my makeup bag as I got ready for my family's gift exchange. He didn't mind caring for me while I selfishly mourned my silly fears and failings instead of celebrated the coming of His son. With Him, I am never a burden.
This really stems from the fact that I have never truly fit in anywhere. There are anecdotes about me as a child screaming to my mother and sister about how they'll never understand because, I'll quote myself, "I'm not like you people." At the time, in my six or seven year old head in the heat of my melodramatic battle, I blamed this difference on being left-handed, adding to the cuteness of the anecdote, but I did have a point. I was a rather lonely child. Yes, I had my mother, father, and sister for a time, but most of the time my parents fought using my sister as their weapon and largely left me to my own devices, an afterthought, a burden. I knew very early on I was different from them, but I wasn't yet able to see why.
After I left my mother's home, I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle, and once again, did not quite fit in. Obviously, they were and are incredible parents who I know love and care for me, but it could never really be the same as with their own children. Logically, unemotionally speaking, my aunt and uncle weren't actively seeking another mouth to feed and care for, they weren't out in search of a child to take in. They took me in because they felt they were morally obligated to stop the abuse I was suffering at the hands of my mother. I know they love me, but I was undoubtedly a burden. And I could tell. To my biased eyes, where they were somewhat lenient with their own kids about getting jobs and getting out the house or when they got in trouble, they were just harder on me. And Christmases and birthdays were always a bit different for me as well. Whereas it was expected for the kids to get lots of gifts from all over the family, it was a big deal that I got gifts under the tree, too. Because I had not always had gifts under their tree. It was just different. And birthdays were different as well. Gifts were hard for me. I never dared ask for anything very expensive, in fact, I rarely asked for anything at all. I did not want to be a burden to my parents on their holiday budget for the kids, or their budget in general, for that matter.
And now that Ethan's family has also tried to invite me into their home, I am once again feeling burdensome. I really worry I wear their patience thin. I know in my heart I am always welcome at the dinner table, yet my head really tries to convince me otherwise. I am terribly paranoid about being a burden to any of the people God has placed in my life to care about me.
I was so grateful this Christmas when I saw that I, too, had a stocking on Ethan's family's mantel. I was touched. Really and truly touched that these people welcomed me into one of the most sacred of family traditions: Christmas morning. I was over at six to open presents with them, and was so blessed to have gifts under the tree, but once again, the pit of my stomach told me I was being a burden.
Christmas is simply a hard time for me. I love the Christmas season and the lights and the love and the coming together of families, but, this year included, it is just hard for me. It not only reminds me how much of a burdensome parasitic life I have lead, but it is also just one of those rare times when I am sad that I was not meant to have a traditional family on Christmas. I rarely mourn the lack of true mother and father in my life, but Christmas is just one of those. I am also reminded of the Christmases I had growing up, whether it be when my father was alive and he fought with my mother, or when I was with my mother and we had to cancel Christmas because she blew all our money on things we didn't want or need, or with my aunt and uncle, where I was a burden. This Christmas especially irked me, because I was unable to get gifts for anyone. It's not that I am obsessed with the commercial idea of reciprocity, but really that I love giving gifts so much more than getting them. I love excuses to try to show people how much I care for them, and I was unable to do that this year. Christmas is a time of year that reminds me how dirt poor I have been my entire life. Simple as that. Poor monetarily, and poor family-wise as well.
This feeling of being a burden and not belonging is probably a huge reason why I am so eager to marry Ethan. I am ready to have a home where I actually belong, gifts under a Christmas tree that truly belong there, and pictures with me in them hanging on the walls. I am so ready to be done having this feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me how annoying, frustrating, and easily forgotten I am. Because that is the real fear of it all. How easily I could be gotten rid of from all these people who care for me. Their ties to me are not as strong as those forged by mother or father. I have been alone for my entire life, and I look forward to having someone on my team who has pledged to God to never fling me aside no matter what.
Until that time comes where I can get married, I am still an outsider. I have, my whole twenty years on this Earth, been waiting to feel like I belong somewhere. The only place I really truly feel like I am not in the way is when I am alone with God. It's why I like him so much. It is why I would rather be alone than annoy people with my presence. He always cares. He was absolutely right by my side on Christmas morning as I tried to quietly cry into my makeup bag as I got ready for my family's gift exchange. He didn't mind caring for me while I selfishly mourned my silly fears and failings instead of celebrated the coming of His son. With Him, I am never a burden.
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