December Court

They said it was supposed to be a severance hearing.

They told me everyone agreed.

But then, on the morning of the hearing, they changed their minds.

Not enough time has passed. 
We won't win if we try to sever right now. 
She needs more time. 

I thought I was walking in to a court hearing for a severance and adoption case plan change. I thought we were starting the process of adopting our Cubby. For some stupid reason, I thought we would be the exception to the rule that 'everything is messy in foster care and adoption cases'.

Ha...ha...ha...

I feel stupid for even thinking that.

Cubby's bio mom knew they were going to ask for a case plan change and she seemed happy when they changed their minds the day of court. She had every right to be happy. I'm not mad at her. Really, I'm not mad at anyone.

But on the day of court, she let the caseworker know that she would be moving to Tucson two days later. And since then, she's been MIA and is not coming to visits.

We think she is running away because she doesn't want DCS to take her unborn baby when he/she is born.

It's not even that I wanted that baby. But I am sad she is making that choice. Because there are so many safety issues and I am praying that baby is safe after birth.

I'm frustrated that they didn't change our case plan and instead of that pushing bio to work harder, she ran away and is no longer even coming to see Cub.

Maybe I should be happy. It seems that adoption was going to happen and this will only help our case but I'm not happy. I'm sad that neither of Cubby's biological parents get to know how amazing and hilarious and adorable he is. I'm sad that they aren't fighting for him every second that they can.

I'm willing to do whatever it takes to give him the most beautiful life but it still breaks my heart. It's still hard to be riding this rollercoaster.

But it's worth it. With every fear and every hard court hearing (they asked me to speak at this most recent one), I know I am doing what it takes to fight for my boy.


I wish you all could know him. He is the happiest baby in the world. He has the cutest dimples and the chubbiest thighs, blue eyes and a beautiful darker skin tone. I never knew it would be possible to love someone else as deeply as I love my older two children but Cubby has shown me that it is possible.

He is loved no differently than if he had come from my own womb. He is my buddy when the older kids go to their dad's house. He keeps me busy and makes me smile.

I love this boy and will fight for him as best I can for however long I can.

And hopefully that is forever.

Miracle Baby

Dear Cubby, 

It's already been another month. 

Another month of loving you and raising you. 

We have become so complacent. I feel like you are mine and I believe that nothing will change that. 

But I'm scared of the complacency. I'm scared that I'm going to get the rug pulled out from underneath my feet. 

Your caseworker wants you here with us. So did your last one. And so do your therapist and your lawyer. And because I hear so many stories about caseworkers and lawyers pushing for reunification even when it may not make sense, I feel like God gave us these people who can see where you are meant to be. 

Your case has two big developments from the past month. 

The first one being that your birth father wants to willingly sever his rights from you---and from your baby brother or sister. Which brings me to the next huge development...

You are going to be a big brother. 

I don't say that with an exclamation point, even though as I typed it, that's how I read it in my mind. I'm just still trying to wrap my head around it all. It's sad. And it's crazy. And it's a tiny bit exciting but it's also not really something that should be exciting. I just hope that somehow, someway, you will get to have this sibling in your life. 

It's hard to imagine that at 11 months old, you will become a big brother. It's also hard to imagine what decision we will make at that time if (but more likely when) your baby brother or sister goes into foster care. 

It's ok that I don't know what to do. Because God knows. And I'm preparing myself as best I can to be ready for whatever He wants us to do. 

It makes me sad that your birth father has not seen you since you were 6 weeks old and that he doesn't get to know how amazing you are. 

It makes me sad that your birth mother loves you but will most likely never be capable of raising you. 

But it makes me happy that this is where you landed---that I got a miracle call on Easter Sunday and that I got to meet you. 

I know this won't be an easy journey for you for many reasons. 

I know it won't be easy to grow up without a full understanding of why you aren't being raised by your biological parents. I know it won't be easy being raised by a full Caucasian family when you are biracial (African-American & Caucasian, we believe). 

But I promise you that I will be there for you every step of the way. I promise to walk with you in the hard times. 

Every day, I am in awe of you, my miracle baby boy. 

Because the fact is---and this is heart-wrenching for me to type---you were an attempted abortion. And you survived abuse in utero that flashes through my mind almost daily. They tell me your birth father did not want another child and that he was angry. They tell me your birth mother was most likely taken advantage of because of her low mental capacity. They tell me this case is way more complicated than it was when you were first born and they told me you'd be with me for "maybe a few weeks" because your birth parents seemed fine and they just needed to prove safe housing for you. 

And I am telling you right now, Bear Cub, if nothing else proved that God sees us all individually, THIS DOES. Because He protected you. He loves you. 

And you are truly a miracle. 

I'll love you forever, my happy, baby boy. You are such a bright light in my life and I am thankful for you every day. 

Sincerely, 

Your Momma

Dearest Bear Cub

To My Dearest Cubby, 

I don't think I knew it was possible to love someone as equally as I love my biological children. A huge part of that makes me so happy because you deserve every ounce of love you are given. At the same time, it scares me wholeheartedly.

I went to my very first court hearing for you last week. I haven't felt anxiety like that in probably six months and it was hard for me. I wanted them to tell me you would be mine forever but they didn't. They couldn't.

Your biological father showed up. The man who walked out of you life when you were only six weeks old has now changed his mind. And so the judge gave him a second chance. I've learned that judges do that---not because they don't care about your well-being, even though it kinda feels that way.

I got to meet your biological mother. She loves you, Cub. I can tell that she does. And if love alone was all that was required, you would be living with her. But safety trumps love. And I am grateful the court understands that like I do.

I left the courthouse and cried for your mother because it isn't very likely that she will be capable of raising you. I cried for how much that will break her heart. I cried for the mental health and addictions that have taken over her life.

Cubby, you light up my life and every day, I pray that you will be my son forever. I believe you are supposed to be a part of our family. 

You are my baby boy. You beam when I walk in a room and cry when I walk away. You are content when I am snuggling you and you give the biggest laughs to your older brother and sister. You roll both ways and weigh over twenty pounds and love your bouncer/saucer that plays music. You have dimples and squishy rolls and the curliest hair.

Even though the court hearing didn't go as planned, it didn't go the other way either. The judge was pretty straightforward and I appreciated that. We will all meet again in three months to determine if your case plan changes to severance at that time.

Bear Cub, I just want the best life for you. And I cannot imagine living this life without you in it. But if I am not what's best for you, I'll live with the heartbreak of losing you. Because you deserve the best life you're capable of having.

Sincerely, 

Your Mommy 

Cubby

I am not ready to talk about this on my regular blog or post about it on social media.

So lucky you. You get to be the first to read this part of my story.

On April 1st, 2018, I received a phone call from DCS about a two-day-old baby who needed a home. I quickly said I'd take him, even though he was so little and couldn't go to daycare for six more weeks. I just felt like he was supposed to be in our home.

Not twenty minutes after I finished that phone call, a tiny newborn was brought into my home and I found myself staring at him and wondering how anyone could ever top this moment in my life.

Cubby was born marijuana-exposed but came to me with minimal withdrawal symptoms. His first night, he was up every 20-30 minutes and I believe that is because he didn't recognize the sounds or smells in our home. I believe he knew he wasn't with the familiarity of his birth mother.

Since then, Cubby has become an amazing sleeper. And really, he has become just all-around amazing! He smiles, giggles, coo's, rolls, and is an amazing eater. At 4 months old, he weighed almost 18 pounds. This kid takes his food seriously. :)

When Cubby first came to our home, we were told he would only live here for a few weeks while they helped his birth mother figure out how to get safe housing, etc. After those few weeks, they called and asked me if I would be ok with him staying longer because the case had changed to a more long-term situation.

Of course, I said yes.

I've had many nights where I've snuggled Cub in my arms and cried over losing him, wondering if the next day would be our last. I have felt like he is my son from the very beginning but have not opened up to very many people about those feelings.

About a month ago, Cubby's caseworker came over and said that at 6 months old, she was going to put in for a change of case plan to sever birth mom's rights. Birth mom is having a hard time showing up to visits or remembering to do the things she needs to even begin the journey back to raising her son. This also isn't her first severance in the past 12 months.

I kind of couldn't believe what the caseworker was saying but I just came home that night and prayed for everything to work out in Cubby's best interest.

And then last week, his new caseworker and his lawyer came over for a meeting and both stated that in less than 3 weeks, they are recommending the judge change the case plan to severance. From there, mom will have 30 days to appeal or decide to sign over her rights.

Three weeks.

Cubby will be 5 months old at this time.

As soon as the lawyer and caseworker left my home, I found myself sobbing and squeezing my baby boy so tightly. It was a mixture of pure joy, realizing he may very well be my legal son, while also realizing that when they tell birth mom this news, she will be devastated.

It is hard to watch someone with severe mental health disabilities want to parent a child but not be capable of doing so. It is so, so hard.

On the other hand, adoption was never really on my radar when I became a foster parent. I had no idea why Heavenly Father had called me to become a foster parent a year and a half ago.

Now I think I know.

I am afraid to say this out loud, for fear of being wrong and losing my boy, but I believe that Cubby is supposed to be my son. I believe we have a special bond and that God sent him to me so that I could keep him safe and loved and also, so that I could eventually be there for his birth mom.

I think that is my calling right now. I think he is supposed to be my third baby.

And time will tell, I guess. If I am wrong, it is going to rip my heart out but in the end, giving Cubby the safety and security that we have provided him is worth any heartache the rest of us have to face.

2018 has been a year of miracles and huge changes. I am in awe of all that Heavenly Father has done for me this year. He has reminded me just how important I am individually to Him.

The truth is, God loves each of us individually. He has a plan for us. He wants each of us to survive and thrive throughout our lives.

Right now, Cubby is a huge part of why I am thriving. He has brought a peace to our home that is undeniable.

And so, every night, I will pray for Heavenly Father to help us have peace with whatever plan He has for Cubby's life.

Because He surely does have a plan.

Five Years Ago

The five year anniversary of my d-day happened two days ago.

And it's hard to put into words how I currently feel about that because it has been so good and so bad.

I felt so panicked leading up to the d-day anniversary. I took off work and kept Cubby home with me. I had lunch with my daughter at school and then my mom took me shopping at the mall and I tried on a bunch of clothes for her as if I was 16 again.

It was actually a really great way to spend my day and I came home that night, wondering if I would start to obsess over the anniversary or whether it would be ok and guess what?!!

I was ok! I was happy! I sat down and blogged on my non-anonymous blog and talked about how hard that day was 5 years ago and how I am so glad to be where I am now.

I talked about how I wouldn't trade those times for anything because they taught me so much.

I love who I am post-d-day. I truly do.

I know it won't ever be rainbows and butterflies. Divorce is such a hard thing. I am reminded of that almost daily.

But looking at my personal growth, I'd take who I am now vs. who I was then any day of the week.

It's miraculous to realize that only five years after my husband told me he no longer loved me, I am doing ok. I am still standing. I am thriving. I am close to ADOPTING A CHILD! {But that's for another post}

This life I'm living---it's beautiful. I am so grateful for all of the knowledge that has occurred in the past five years.

Belle

Some days, I just want to run away because I don't believe that I'll ever be good enough. I don't think I'll ever be doing all of the things I'm supposed to be doing to be an emotionally and physically and spiritually healthy person.

There is always some way in which I am failing and I am really good at recognizing that.

My therapist told me we are digging deeper into my feelings regarding Belle moving two hours away. Probably because I waited until five minutes before our session was over to start letting my emotions out and actually talk about it all. I do that a lot with harder topics. And Belle moving away has been a harder topic because it makes me feel stupid. I feel weak and stupid that a friend moving two hours away affects me this much.

This loss makes sense based on my past relationships. I definitely have abandonment issues. But it just makes me so angry that it all stems back to my abandonment trauma with Peter and I hate how everything in my life seems to stem back to that awful time in my life.

I lost Peter. I lost Alice. And now I lost Belle. This sounds like an incredibly stupid Disney movie gone bad.

But it is definitely NOT a Disney movie. Because in an actual Disney movie, I'd get those people back in the end. This would all wrap up with some amazing happily ever after. All relationships would heal and we would all sing and freaking birds would dance around in the air.

But that isn't how life works.

Instead of a happily ever after that magically wraps it all up, I am supposed to be in charge of my happily ever after. And although some days, I am doing that pretty damn well, other days, I feel like such a failure.

I know I didn't lose Belle in the same way. She is still my best friend. We still talk. But she isn't right down the street and I can't go see her any time I want.

In fact, I no longer have anyone like that around me. And that has been brutal the past few months.

Peter left me almost FIVE years ago. And here I am, still struggling to be alone. I immerse myself in teaching dance and doing homework and filling out job applications and taking care of my 4 month old (Oh, did I not mention I got a BABY on Easter Sunday who is now 4 months old?!) but when my kids are with their dad, I still go home and have no one to talk to. I take care of Cubby and that gives me a sense of purpose but unfortunately, 4-month-olds don't talk.

I haven't gone to church much since Belle moved. I feel more alone there than I have in a long time. I don't feel connected to my ward. I go because my kids need me to go. I go because I know it's the right thing to do. But I'd like to go because I want to go.

I just want to stop going through the motions. I want to try harder. But I feel so stuck in this pit of anxiety.

I feel like I'm struggling to find enough energy for self-care right now because all of my energy goes toward providing for everybody else. And I love that I get to be teaching dance and going to school and spending a lot of time with my babies---but I just need to find a better balance.

What Is Normal?

Therapy was good-hard again. Two weeks in a row of that is a good sign.

It means I'm growing. It means she's pushing me. 

I've let so much go this week---not in a positive way. No anxiety meds. An incredibly disorganized house. Being late to work every day. Putting off my homework as long as possible.

End of the school year is crazy. Dance recitals are creeping up. And then Company tryouts. And then Nationals in California.

And in the midst of everything, I'm applying for jobs and wondering if I'm ever really going to be successful. I'm much better at failing, right? 

I'm pouring myself into everything I can and acting like I'm handling it all fine but inside, I'm just about ready to jump ship. My brain is scattered and my anxiety is high.

I saw a cockroach run past me at work and immediately---chest pains from anxiety. Over a damn cockroach.

My best friend gave me the date for their move and it's in two weeks. 

Two. Weeks. 

How am I going to live without her being only two streets away?

I want to NOT avoid her until then. I'm trying not to. I spent the afternoon over there on Monday and it felt a little foreign. I went over on Sunday for five minutes just to say hi and immediately began to cry.

Each time I leave her home, we hug and it feels different. It feels like a goodbye hug. And that feels painful.

I'm trying to feel normal but I don't really know how to anymore. 

My foster baby could leave at any time. So---anxiety all of the time. Because he truly feels like he's mine and even though I know he isn't, I am so scared to lose him.

Summers are hard. Getting babysitters is stressful. Leading up to the anniversary of D-day starts looming.

Not having sex is hard. Feeling alone is hard. Being the main financial provider for my children is hard. Thinking about dating is hard. Co-parenting is the absolute worst.


Peter and I were doing so well and the past few days, we've had stupid arguments.

So what is normal? How do I feel normal when I don't even know what normal is anymore?

I did kneel down and pray this week---once---so that's a start, right? I need that to mean something right now. I need it to show that I'm trying. Because I'm trying to try.

And that's better than giving up or ignoring the fact that everything is shifting right now. 

I'm trying so hard to face the scary things right now. And therapy is helping me do that.

I just need to keep from drowning. Because eventually, I'll get used to the big changes that are happening.

Right? 

Shame Culture

What does therapy look like for you? 

Am I doing it right? Is there even a right way of doing it?

Do people tell their therapists everything---like absolutely everything? Is that the only way to truly heal or figure your stuff out?

There are certain things I could talk all day about. Not necessarily easy things but things that don't feel shameful.

Shame culture runs deep around here. It does. And I don't even know where that started. Is it a religious thing or have I just learned to beat myself up about anything and everything that I can?

I went to therapy yesterday with one rule for myself---don't talk about sex. Don't talk about missing it or wanting it or thinking about it. Just don't. Because shit will get uncomfortable and your therapist will think you are gross and you will not feel better.

One rule. 

But here's the thing---it's one of the main reasons I used to refuse a specialized eating disorder therapist---my therapist has been in my life for 5 years. She was there as a marriage therapist and she was there to watch me as I went through my divorce. She gets me.

So I usually get in to her office with my set of rules---taboo subjects that I'm NOT going to talk about---and somehow those are always the things that get brought up. Partly because I start to feel safe and decide to throw out a hint (that sounds way dumber than it feels when I'm there...). Partly because she knows me really well at this point and there isn't much I haven't told her. So she figures out what my taboo subject is and dives in.

And I cringe and feel uncomfortable and stress about whether her perception of me has changed. But when I leave, I feel like I accomplished something huge.

Merely surviving the conversations that feel so absolutely shameful is such a huge deal for me. And I like being pushed. In fact, I need to be pushed. Because if it were up to me alone, therapy would be about only showing my best attributes and laughing and pretending that life is always awesome. [I'm kind of an idiot, guys...] 

So it's a good thing I'm not running the show. It's a good thing she knows me.

But this week, that hasn't helped me to pull out of the shame spiral where just the fact that I miss having sex makes me feel like a bad person. Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm gross. Like I'm not a "normal" female.

And I hate that. 

I hate that the shame I feel seems to have ANYTHING to do with my gender. Because---why? Why is it ok for boys to feel this way but not girls?

I'm working through it, I think. And if I'm not, I'm going to try and continue this conversation in therapy next week, even though I will hate it.

The hours where I hate therapy are usually the best hours. I always leave feeling better. Because there is just something about pushing past my comfort zone that makes me proud of myself.

Bravery, y'all. 

I Won

A few weeks ago, I put my story into words once again. I actually like how, each time I write it out, it sounds a little differently than the last time. I like that it captures different parts of the struggle and beauty from the past ten + years.

I entered my story into a Mother's Day contest and last night, I found out I won.

And so, I wanted to share this version here to have it saved.

Hi. 

My name is Wendy and although I am many things, warrior is certainly at the top of that list. 

I was a fairytale lover --- boy-obsessed from 1^st grade until I graduated from high school. Fairytales taught me that I needed a man to take care of me and I believed from a young age that if I was loved by a man, I would have infinite worth.

I was married at the age of 19 to a man who loved me. And the thing is, he truly did love me. That part was not a lie. But he loved me conditionally. He loved me for certain parts of who I was and began to tear down the parts of me he didn’t like.

Early on in our marriage (and unknown to me until after our divorce), my husband was viewing pornography and taking intimacy outside our marriage. I became a pawn in our marriage and learned that I was not the most important thing to him. But why? I couldn’t figure out what was more important.  I just knew things had shifted. He hardly ever wanted to be intimate with me and would stay up all night playing video games, claiming he had insomnia. I got used to marriage feeling mostly one-sided and found myself justifying the way he was treating me --- because at least he wasn’t physically abusing me. But I still wondered if the shift in our marriage was my fault.

I had given this man two beautiful children --- was it my body? Was I not sexy enough anymore?

For a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I am surprised when I look back and realize how much I lost myself in my marriage. Then again, for a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I had held the belief that my worth was dependent on a man for as long as I can remember.

Five years into my marriage, I was arguing with my husband one day when he told me he no longer believed in God and would not be attending church with us any longer. This shook me but I held my ground and poured myself into being a better wife and mother. I could fix this. I could mend this part of our world that felt bruised and broken. I felt our marriage falling apart but I wasn’t going to let it. I needed him and I felt he needed me too.

I found myself drowning while trying to save him. Often times, he came home from work angry and unresponsive and he would lock himself in our room or go outside to clean his guns or work on the car he was fixing up. The emotional abuse was weighing me down and I started to have panic attacks about seemingly normal things like what brand of food to buy.

And in the midst of me trying so hard to fix us, he abandoned our family in August of 2013, after seven years of marriage. Our children were only 5 and 4 years old and did not understand what was happening, so on top of being abandoned by my husband, I was left to tell my kids about the divorce by myself and deal with their heartache. And in turn, they knew I was their safe space and so they directed all of their anger toward me for months while begging me to bring their daddy back home. 

Throughout the 6 month process of separation and divorce, I found out that my husband was not the man he had claimed to be. He was addicted to pornography and was secretly numbing his feelings of guilt with alcohol. I tried so hard to stay afloat throughout this time but I began to drown in the form of an eating disorder and severe anxiety.

I felt so worthless. So used. So unloved.

And the thing is, my ex-husband is not a monster. We don’t always get along and he certainly makes some poor choices when it comes to his treatment of myself and our children but he isn’t a monster. He is an addict that struggles with knowing how to treat the people he loves most. He pushes us away in fear of us rejecting him. Does that lessen my pain? No. But it helps me to understand that I was not the problem. I could not have been prettier, smarter, or more subservient. This battle wasn’t mine to win or lose. It was, and is, his battle to fight and he chose to fight it without me by his side.

I’ve endured a lot since my divorce 4 ½ years ago. My ex-husband has crossed the line between discipline and abuse with our children. He has continued to treat me in a way that is disrespectful but about once a year for the first three years of divorce, he would come to me and tell me he loved me and wanted me back. He got remarried last year and immediately served me court papers for half custody, a battle that ultimately went to trial and ended up in my favor (and what is best for our children). He is there for us when it is convenient but the truth is, I am ok with that. Because I’ve got this.

I was forced to find myself when my husband abandoned me. That event, although extremely traumatic for me, has shaped me into a person that I very much like. I did not curl up in a corner and die --- I fought for myself and my children. I graduated from Arizona State University with a bachelor’s degree last summer. I am working two jobs to provide for my children. I got certified as a foster parent and was the mother of a sweet and sassy toddler for five months last year and last week, I was asked to take in a two-day-old baby boy and have been killin’ it in the motherhood department. My children are healthy and loved.

I still struggle with loneliness, especially when my kids go to their dad’s house but I know that my worth is not dependent on others. I will still live a beautiful life, even if I never remarry. I will continue to persevere when life slaps me in the face because I know for a fact that I can do hard things. 

Hope

I think my body must've known it'd been three years, even though my brain didn't know until a memory popped up on Facebook. 

The anxiety I've felt all weekend has been pretty severe---chest pains, numbing, considering giving up on everything I've worked for. 

I couldn't figure out why I felt that way. Was it a money issue? A friend issue? A parenting issue? A divorce issue? 

I still don't quite know. 

But what I do know is that yesterday marked three years since my deepest heartbreak as a single mom. 

So maybe that played a part. 

When I realized this, I thought back on the past three years and all of the changes and healing that have taken place. 

I lost support. 

I left the church. 

I cut a lot of ties. 

I made new, genuine friendships. 

I came back to church. 

And I realized just how seldom I think about that day anymore. 

A portion of the past three years was spent being kicked down, building myself back up, only to be kicked down again. 

But I've learned how to better dodge those kicks. 

You guys, the remarkable thing is that I'm grateful for everything I've been taught in the past three years. I'm grateful for my time away from my church and the time I've spent back there. I'm grateful for a God who very promptly put healing tools in place when I felt like suicide was the only way to break free from my heartache. I'm grateful for the atonement of Jesus Christ and the ability He gave me to forgive myself for "hindsight" and also the ability He gave me to forgive others for the pain they caused. 

I don't know if that is why my body is feeling so much anxiety right now and I hate that. I hate how anxiety since the court trial has become hard to identify. It comes and goes fiercely, often times without explanation or warning. 

But I know it won't always be this way. I know the effects of the court trial won't last forever, just as the pain and anxiety of three years ago eventually dissipated. 

So at least there is hope. 

Anxiety and Hating Change

This has been a hard week---probably my hardest since the week of trial.

I didn't refill my prescription in time and went three days without my anxiety medication. In the past, this never really did anything to my body. It used to take longer for me to notice the reaction of going off of meds.

But not this time. 

This time it took 24 hours before my first major panic attack. Sobbing, shaking, screaming, needing my friends to take over the situation and let me walk away for a while.

And in counseling, the question I HATE came up again. 

"Are you going to hurt yourself?"

Because it's an awkward question. And I hate giving either answer.

There's this part of me that wants to say yes but not because the correct answer is yes. Sometimes I want to say yes so that somehow it will reflect the turmoil my anxiety gives me.

But I always say no because that is the truth. 

My thoughts turned to suicide during almost every small conflict I endured while being off medication but they were never plans. There's a difference. At least, I'm learning there is a difference.

The good news is that each time those thoughts came to my mind, they startled me and I immediately knew they were irrational.

But I guess that's why I get so frustrated with my brain. Because if I want to live and thrive, why would my brain EVER consider the possibility of death as a means to an end for my anxiety?

Death is permanent. I don't want that. So why did I keep going there?

**************

I wrote all of that a week ago and never finished it.

I have been faithful with my medication and I'm handling my anxiety a little better.

But last night, I felt all of it crash down. I promised myself I wasn't going to go early to my daughter's dance practice since it's Peter's night with her and I don't teach until later on Wednesday evenings. As I was leaving work, I had a strong impression that I needed to go to the studio just in case she needed me.

And I'm so glad I listened to that impression.

I got to the dance studio and my baby girl was crying on and off in her class. I pulled her out and asked what was wrong and she told me she forgot her dance bag and her dad wouldn't drive back to the studio and bring it to her.

I was floored.

You guys, he lives three miles from her studio.

He also didn't send her any food and she dances for four hours on Wednesdays.

After feeding her some of my dinner and calming her down, she went back in to class and I broke down in front of all the other moms.

This Wednesday thing has been awful. I hate it. I know it's only one day of the week but the kids do not like going to Peter's house on school days. Our son cries every Wednesday morning and begs me to pick him up from school instead of his dad.

It breaks my heart that I have to send them somewhere they don't want to go.

I am so glad I get to take my kids out of town for Spring Break and have them for 9 days straight. We all need a break from this new custody schedule. It's been two months and the kids are still not used to it.

Luckily, our dance studio family is amazing and they cleaned out a drawer just for my girl so she can put extra dance clothes and snacks in there if she ever needs them.

But it is so hard to watch your kids hurting and not be able to protect them. That absolutely drives my anxiety over the edge.

All I wanna do is protect my babies.

I Want To Be Better

Another email came through containing a "Confidential Item" from the church.

They asked for a new letter because last year, Peter's temple clearance was not approved and he is applying for it again.

And I didn't lose my cool when the email came through! I sat down and wrote out my feelings and sent the letter within two days of the request.

Last year, I took 3.5 weeks to write the letter and it was six pages long. This time, my letter was three pages long.

And maybe I don't care if he gets sealed to her in the temple or maybe I kind of do. I know it's going to happen eventually. But I kind of wish it would've happened last year so I wouldn't have had to write another letter.

It's all going to be ok. 

I was listening to a conference talk at lunch about how our lives hardly ever turn out how we imagined they would and how we need to trust in God and allow Him to guide us through our storms.

This doesn't stop the pain from trials. But pulling closer to Him rather than pulling away from Him is the key here.

And I'm trying so hard to do that. 

I made a calendar of daily goals that include yoga and scripture study and journal writing, etc. I know I need to work harder to fight this anxious state I've been in since the court trial. I don't like the way I feel right now.

I want to be better. 

I want to give the control to God because when I try and control everything, I relapse with my eating disorder and I allow my OCD to make my decisions.

So as hard as it is right now, I'm going to try and give up the control I so desperately am holding onto.

Now I just need to figure out exactly how to do that...

Failure

I told her in a pretty rude way.

She asked about my eating disorder and I sarcastically gestured to my body. Because if you look at me, it looks like I have not been skipping meals at all.

That was just a short 30 seconds of how my first therapy session in 18 months went.

And it was mostly truthful. Because just considering purging every time I eat doesn't count, right? And sometimes having a day where I don't eat or a day where I do throw up doesn't count, right?

But when I left, I started to actually assess the past few months and how often I have snuck to a bathroom after eating a meal.

I don't like lying to people, mostly because I don't like liars. So when I left that session thinking I might've lied, I was pretty angry at myself.

I'm usually pretty hard on myself after therapy. It's always been that way. Because if I could just be completely real and comfortable and open and serious, maybe I'd leave feeling a weight lifted off my chest.

I've had a few sessions like that in my life.

But they're not often. Because most of the time, I leave therapy the same way I leave MOST situations in my life---thinking of all the things I should've said or could've done, reminding myself how I've once again failed and acted like an idiot.

Is there a point in my life where I'll stop being so hard on myself?

The Catch-22 of all of this is that I'm capable of believing I'm a failure no matter which choice I make.

For example, if I eat a meal and don't purge it, I am a failure for letting myself eat and letting those calories turn into fat, which will inevitably cause me to gain weight and make me less desirable to a possible future spouse.
And if I DO purge after eating, I am a failure for giving in to my eating disorder and being weak and not fighting hard enough to be the best mom for my kids.

So no matter what, I'm a failure here.

And that just plain sucks.

When Weakness Feels Powerful

There is a familiar feeling here.

The feeling of my hands shaking. My head spinning. My knees weak. My throat sore. And my stomach empty.

How can feeling weak also feel so powerful? 

That is the million dollar question. That is the question I've asked over the past decade and haven't quite figured out.

Control is a part of it. But there is more. There is a feeling of pride, of being strong enough to endure this hell to get the final outcome.

The final outcome. 

I don't know what it looks like yet but I know I want it.

And I'm at a crossroads where I need this. 

I need it.

Post-Trial Anxiety and Forgiving Others

I thought that the trial verdict would fix everything. I thought I would be able to breathe. But that hasn't happened.

I think my body realizes it's safe to feel all of those traumatic feelings from the past nine months and it's all just been building inside of me while I tried to stay strong throughout the duration of the trial.

I doubled my Zoloft dose and I'm going back to my therapist this week. I'm trying to use the tools I've learned to combat my anxiety.

And most of the time, it absolutely works! Because most of the time, I have my children at my side.

But when they aren't by my side, my anxiety comes on strong---it no longer creeps in like it used to. It just hits me in the chest and I worry about my children and their future and whether they're safe and whether their father is manipulating them into hating me. And then I start worrying about whether I left a curling iron on and the house will burn down or whether I'll get in a car accident or maybe someone will kidnap my kids or maybe someone will break into our home.

Irrational fears? Yes. But anxiety is almost always full of irrational fears.

I chose to sit alone at church on Sunday because my goal is to soak up the gospel this year. I wasn't sitting alone to be sad or reclusive. I wanted to focus on every word from every speaker. So I chose my own bench, just for me.

And last night, after dinner at my sister's house, I opened up my brand new LDS Addiction Recovery manual that I ordered online a week ago.

I have faith that working through this book will help me calm my anxiety from this past year. And even more importantly, I am working the 12-steps to find forgiveness for my ex-husband and a former group of friends.

I've realized that although I've worked through a lot of forgiveness over the years, I am still holding onto that last little bit---mostly because I am scared that if I completely forgive, it negates all of the pain I have experienced.

I want to be free of the anger and feelings of betrayal. I want to understand as much as I can and then forgive them.

And then I want to focus on forgiving myself for not knowing then what I know now.

Hindsight sucks. But it's also beautiful.

I've learned so much through the eyes of "hindsight".

And I feel this responsibility to myself and my children to use what I've learned in hindsight to protect our future as best I can. Although that won't keep bad things from happening, it will help me to know that I've tried to learn and grow the best I can in the situations I've been given.

Anxiety is one of the worst things I've dealt with these past 5-6 years because not everyone understands the reality of a person with an anxiety disorder. It absolutely affects my every day life and most of the time when I'm acting happy and cheerful, my brain is sending signals of panic and fear.

And then when other people doubt me or betray me, it just reinforces the idea that I should be worried or anxious all of the time.


So I'm anxious and excited for therapy and working the 12-step program and growing even more.

My life is so full of beauty and I do not want to miss the beauty because I'm too busy worrying or feeling anger.

The Verdict Is In

Well, the "up to 60 days" took 24 hours.

That's it.

And on Friday, I got an email from my lawyer with the verdict.

And I shook while reading the first three pages because it almost seemed like they were going to change our custody to 50/50.

But then I read the very last paragraph before the judge stated our new parenting time order and in it, he said, "The court does not have faith that father will follow through with his promised arrangement based on the past." And I immediately began to cry because I knew they weren't giving him 50/50.

Miracles beyond miracles.

They gave him one week night on top of the every other weekend he had. That's it.

The new parenting plan states NO ONE is allowed to use corporeal punishment on our children. Major blessing since it truly affects our son's anxiety.

And I am feeling so heard and loved by my Heavenly Father who knew what would be best for our children.


2018, you are going to be a great year.

Today We Went To Court

Today I woke up and got ready for one of the biggest days of my life.

Today I dropped my children off to a babysitter and picked up my best friend.

Today I did not eat a single thing before 7:00pm.

Today I walked into a court room followed closely by my lawyer, my parents, two of my sisters, and two of my best friends.

Today I endured an hour and a half of anxiety as I listened to Peter lie to his lawyer, my lawyer, and the judge.

Today I thought my anxiety might literally cause a heart attack because of the pain I felt in my chest.

Today I was called to the stand and found myself barely able to walk because of the shaking occurring in my knees.

Today I took a seat on the stand and gave the court my full name, the whole time trying to keep my lips from quivering.

Today my lawyer asked me questions and I felt the Holy Spirit fill my soul and cause my anxiety to dissipate.

Today I answered questions with confidence and instead of trying hard not to cry, I was focusing on not smiling at the people there to support me.

Today I defended myself and my beliefs firmly while my ex-husband's lawyer tried to put words in my mouth and accuse me of being selfish and manipulative.

Today I fought hard for my children.

Today I walked out of the court house, knowing I had done everything I could do to show that judge what is best for my children.

Today I was the definition of warrior. The absolute definition.

And tonight, although my anxiety has returned while I wait "up to 60 days" for a verdict from the judge, I feel this beautiful, sacred gratitude for my family and friends and especially for my Heavenly Father.

Today He was there for me on an extremely hard day. And He showed me how the Priesthood can work intricately in my life.

Today was filled with more beauty than I ever could've imagined.