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.

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. 

Next Right Step

I spoke in church a few weeks ago. 

They didn't give me much direction so I gave them my life story. 

I didn't tell them about addiction but I told them about divorce.

I didn't tell them about the custody battle but I did tell them that I struggle to attend church because I feel like our family is broken.


My testimony still goes between "this is exactly where I'm supposed to be" and "I never want to step foot in this place again".

Someone please tell me that's normal. 


I believe the church needs my messy self in it. I truly do. Even when I don't feel like I fit in, or maybe especially when I feel like I don't fit in, I feel like I'm doing the right thing.

The church is full of messy people. 

I see it so much more now than I ever did growing up.

There is so much more grey than I ever used to think there was.

But I think grey is what makes us, us.

If everything was black and white, it'd probably look more like Satan's plan.

But because we get to choose for ourselves and because God made us individuals with different views and opinions, our world is full of grey.

I like that thought. I really do. 

I like the grey. Because it makes us unique.

And I like being unique because it makes me feel more needed on earth---like my specific personality and opinions and ideas are helpful to others on this earth.

I think that's why I take it so hard when my people get hurt---and even harder when I feel responsible for that hurt.

It is pretty important to me that I'm helpful, that I'm looking for ways to help others feel good about themselves. In fact, that very last phrase is in my patriarchal blessing.

It is a testament to how well my Heavenly Father knows me. He knows I am capable of lifting others and that lifting others helps me lift myself too.

So even though I'm a messy person and I sometimes want to run away, I am not going to.

I am not going anywhere. 

I have been active in the LDS church for a YEAR now. An entire year! 

My prayers were answered a week after Thanksgiving in 2016. 

Because last Thanksgiving, after hearing about my kids spending the holiday with (in my daughter's words) "their possible new mom", I completely broke. And I cried for days and allowed myself to sink so low.

And it was at this low point that I was finally able to listen and hear what God was saying. I went to Him with absolute humility {and a dash of anger} and told Him I would do anything and be anything and say anything---I just needed Him to tell me what the next right step was. 

This past year, I've lived by that "next right step" rule and it has gotten me through some of the ugliest moments of 2017.

And I'm realizing there are always going to be ugly moments. 

But if I keep my focus on my Heavenly Father, I will never fall short of that next right step.

Unbreakable

 Once upon a time, I thought I was unbreakable.

And then my husband left me.
And my children struggled.
And a lot of my friends decided to hate me.
And some of my friends betrayed me.
And I struggled with my faith.
And my eating disorder almost killed me.

And I broke. 

I thought I was unbreakable---and I broke. 
Not once. Not twice. But multiple times, I broke. 

And I remember as each of these things happened that I would look toward Heaven and wonder WHY?
I would get so angry.
I would cry.
I would reach out.
I would hide out.
I would experience deep feelings of anxiety.
And some of the times, I wanted to die.


And then time would pass and people who truly loved me would remind me why they stay and God would comfort me.

And somehow, the thing that I thought I would never heal from would start to heal. The wounds would scab over. The sun would peek out of the clouds. The flowers would start to bloom again.

It was in these moments that I was reminded time and time again that I am not unbreakable.
I am not. 
But when I break, I don't break forever.

Today I am relishing in this truth---that I am a survivor. I did not give up, even when I wanted to so many times.

I did not give up. 

I have spent countless hours of crying and wondering and doubting and although this sounds awful, it isn't always awful. Because those hours of crying and wondering and doubting are what made me who I am today.

A much stronger, more resilient, more compassionate Wendy. 

And I've learned that the people who blame me or hate me or try to break me---they don't know me. And that thought used to frustrate me. I used to get upset thinking I'd given up a portion of my life to people in my life whom I truly loved but who didn't love me back and I hated that they never took the time to truly know me.
But I no longer feel that way.
It no longer makes me angry.

It makes me sad---for them.

Because I know who I am. I know how incredible I am. I know what is inside of my heart. And anybody willing to try and break that is missing out.

My life is beautiful not because it's perfect and not because the sun is always shining. My life is beautiful because I choose to see it that way.

I choose to bask in the brightness that is my children and being a dance teacher and being a child of God and a Christian. I choose to remember the good and learn from the bad.

I might be breakable---but I am also capable of healing. 

And that is what truly counts. 

Because It Matters

I often find myself alone at the end of the day pondering on the past 14 or so hours and wondering why my heart feels the way that it does.

The exhaustion of the highs and the lows that seem so intertwined and connected to each other.

The battles with myself to eat or not eat or exercise or lay on the couch.

The worrying over whether I'm doing a good enough job at mothering my two children.

The frustration over not being able to budget correctly or the excitement that I have budgeted correctly.

The fear that if I leave the church, I'll be judged and I won't be able to handle it.

There are so many things---and usually, at the end of the day, I find myself believing that none of it is as important as I'm making it out to be. I start to tell myself that I'm being dramatic and overly tense and creating problems that aren't there.

And most of the nights this happens, I forget to remind myself that it hurts because it is real. It is real because it is important to me.

It may not matter to everyone but it matters to me.

After my fight with Peter last night, we went days without speaking before I finally called him to find out when he was going to pick up our children that night. On the phone, he apologized for the way he had treated me and he told me he was going to try harder---and for a minute, I felt bad for being angry at him.

But then I remembered that even though his apology might be real, it still hurts when he calls me names and uses emotional abuse to try and negotiate with me.

This has happened way too many times and it makes it harder to trust him when he apologizes.

I distinctly remember months ago when I called him crying to relay some really emotional information that he needed to know about our children and having his initial response---through my sobbing replies---be full of judgment and anger that I had failed as a mother. 
And as I sat there stunned and vulnerable, I remember hanging up the phone mid-sentence because I couldn't believe his lack of empathy. I couldn't believe that as he listened to me sob, he couldn't find it in him to listen to my pain---instead he chose to make it worse.

I often don't understand Peter. I'm thankful that he is getting to a point where he apologizes after the fact but it still baffles me that after everything I gave him for 7+ years, he finds it hard to trust ME and be kind to me.

It is hard to navigate these feelings, to put on a brave face when I want to spew my anger out all over the world.

But that is not who I am. I am not a grudge-holding, anger-spewing, judgmental woman. I'm not.

It is hard when I feel like I'm not being who I really am---even though I am trying my hardest to stay transparent with my people.

LDS General Conference was really hard for me this weekend. I turned it on Saturday morning and liked the first talk but it seemed to stop there. I missed the afternoon session because of prior commitments and then I ended my night at Mission church where I attend service and then serve in the special needs ministry.

Saturday nights are mine. They are when I feel like I am who I'm supposed to be. They are when I see God's plan for me the clearest.

I usually find myself attached at the hip with a 4 year old boy who has Cerebral Palsy, among other special needs. He is non-vocal and usually comes in looking nervous and concerned---until he sees me. We spend most of the hour dancing around the room, singing songs about God's love for us.

It. Is. Beautiful. 

This past week, he wasn't there and we had more volunteers than children so I spent most of the hour singing and dancing around the room with the older children, laughing until our stomachs hurt. We learned the story of Gideon and spoke about how we can be brave when things get hard and how we are all warriors in our own way.

And as I danced around the room, I found myself wondering more than ever before about another volunteer in the room---a male volunteer with dreadlocks and tattoos and earrings and the hugest heart in the world---and I wondered.

Just wondered.

Because his awkward personality and goofy smile are imperfectly perfect but I wondered if thinking more about this little crush would cause an uproar among my people---because he isn't a Mormon.

And it was in that moment as I watched this man goofing around with a little Down Syndrome boy that I realized I want to be with someone like him---not someone who is Mormon but someone who is genuine and goes to church even when they are single and volunteers in a special needs ministry.

Whether that's him or it's someone else, I'm realizing that all I want is a man who is centered in Christ and knows he is a child of God. I want a man who isn't afraid to be himself and let me be who I am.

I know that was a little bit of a tangent but Saturday nights are usually so beautiful and I find myself getting carried away with the happiness and peace I feel as I spend my Saturdays with those children.

I digress---conference was hard because my mother, who I know loves me, kept asking if I'd come over and watch at their house. I politely declined on Saturday but she asked again on Sunday and after declining the morning session, she told me she would expect me for the afternoon session.

And I went but the hardest part is that I've already made some pretty definitive decisions when it comes to my faith. I've already realized that the Mormon church isn't right for me.

Spending the afternoon with my mother was hard because she kept asking what I had learned from conference and I was feeling defensive and teenager-ish and I didn't want to answer her. It was painful for me because although we made it through the evening with no pandemonium, I felt like I was fighting the urge to act hostile toward her---and I don't want to be that person!

I know it is going to be hard and that my family will mourn and hurt and be more aggressive in their attempts to help me believe what they believe. I am not looking forward to those feelings.

But the way that I feel, the happiness that I feel in knowing that I am becoming who God wants me to become is worth all of the uncomfortableness.

I am right where I am supposed to be and that is what matters the most.

Forgiveness is Freeing

The beauty of life is that although really hard things happen, we can move on.

We can pick up those broken pieces and fight like hell for what is important to us.

Lately, I've been thinking about forgiveness and how powerful it is---or more-so how freeing it is.

Two years and one month ago, I was in a marriage that I had fought for, living each day and believing that I would be married forever---and then my husband came home and told me he no longer loved me.
Two years ago, I was told by some of my family members that I needed to fight harder to keep my marriage together, even after Peter had left me.
Twenty-two months ago, I was told on two separate occasions that I should "lose weight to show him what he's missing out on".
Sixteen months ago, I found out that my ex-husband had hidden a pornography addiction from me our entire marriage.
A year ago, a family member told me they didn't understand why I felt the need to broadcast my pain all over the internet and that it could ruin my family.
Six months ago, I lost a friendship I thought would last forever.
Three months ago, there was a stream of hateful comments on my blog that stabbed at my character.
A month ago, my Bishop told me that all I needed to do was pray and read my scriptures to find my faith in the LDS church again.
Three weeks ago, I tried to open up to my mom about leaving the church and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Aren't you worried about ruining your children?"

It's been a painful few years---and not all of the pain is listed above.
But the reason I brought that pain up is not to relive it---I've done that enough in the past two years.

The reason I bring those painful memories up is to remind myself that I am a different person, a better person, because of each and every one of those comments and trials. I am stronger and I have forgiven.

This past month, it started to hit me just how much I have moved on. I woke up one day and realized that I hadn't thought about my pain in over a day---and then sometimes it'd go two days or three days or a week.

And the dreams have stopped. That might sound odd but for me, that is an indicator of my healing. For at least a year after Peter left, I had nightmares almost every night about him. Once in a while, I'd have a good dream with him in it but for the most part, my dreams brought out so much of the pain I was feeling and wasn't able to articulate.

I survived the anger phase---I survived so much that I thought I wasn't capable of surviving.
I can look back to six months ago as I sat in my therapist's office and sobbed for the first time in front of her (after seeing her for 2.5 years) and how much pain I was trying to unload. I can look back at that moment and marvel that I am here---that I am not only breathing but smiling and focusing on so much of the good in life.

God has been working miracles within me. I have faith that the journey I am on is exactly where He wants me to be.
I have faith that whatever I decide will only bring my children and I closer to God.

Forgiveness, for me, starts when I am able to see the perspective of the other side and feel empathy for the other person's pain.
I first felt this a week after Peter told me about his pornography addiction. I remember him sobbing on the phone and apologizing over and over again. I wasn't yet able to forgive him in that moment but it was my first glimpse of empathy for him. I realized how scared he had been for years leading up to the day he left.
And God allowed it to happen many more times in the past two years, from realizing my family was trying to grasp the reality of divorce just as much as I was to realizing that the hateful comments I've read about myself came from a place of love and protection for another person in their lives.

We can choose what we want to see. 
We can choose to see the hate and label it as such or we can try and look through it to see the fear or the protection behind the choices people are making.

Today I choose to look beyond and find empathy for everyone around me.

We are all fighting battles. We are all trying to do what we believe is right.

Forgiveness is freeing and I am choosing to be free. 

One Year of Pain

Yesterday was my one year anniversary of the day Peter left me.

I cried a few times yesterday. I got so FREAKING angry a few times. I grieved my past life and my new life.

I didn't know how yesterday would hit but it hit like a ton of bricks. It felt like I was reliving that very day, a year ago. I kept replaying moments and feeling anxiety and wondering how the hell I am still standing after such a horrible experience.

I reached out a lot yesterday. I reached out to WoPA friends, my friends who were there on d-day, and I even reached out to my parents who are on a cruise right now. Everyone reached back with loving words and validation. Even people I didn't reach out to were sending me texts and emails, reminding me that I am strong and that I can get through this really hard thing.

Yesterday was hard.

Today was even harder.

This morning, I called Peter to ask him a question and he didn't answer. No big deal. He does that a lot.
But then he texted me almost immediately and said, "Can't talk. What's up?" and to any normal person, that text wouldn't have been a big deal. But in my story, that text is an extremely triggering text to receive.

Because it is almost the exact same thing Peter texted me the day I called to check on him at work. It was the very last text he sent before our phone conversation about the lies and the secrets---the very conversation where he told me he no longer cared about me. It was the last text I ever received before my husband left me.

I didn't text him back. In fact, I threw my phone across the car and tried to focus on something else the entire drive to the gym. But it didn't work.

All day, that text has been running through my mind.

Just breathe, Wendy. Just breathe.

I knew I wanted to come on here tonight and talk about those triggering moments. I knew I wanted to remember how I felt this morning. But as soon as I started to type, I decided it would be a good idea to link back to my d-day post.

And when I linked to it, I decided to read the post.

And when I read the post, I started breathing heavily and my heart was pounding and I started to sweat. I was frozen. I was frozen and my chest was physically hurting and I couldn't move out of my chair.

That day was real. There is no escaping the painful memories of that day.

I panicked. I knew I was having an anxiety attack but I've never been frozen like that. I wrote on a message board and reached out to some loving friends and started receiving message after message of comfort. I also received messages telling me things my brain couldn't even think of.
Wendy, have you asked anyone for a blessing? Can I call the temple and put your name on the prayer roll? Do you have Xanax in your house?
One by one, I did the things I was being told. The Xanax started to kick in and I called a friend sobbing, asking if her husband was available to give me a blessing.

Within minutes, he was in my home and we were talking about what had happened.

And then I received one of the most powerful blessings I have ever received.

I had recently lost hope in a few things and in that blessing, those things were promised to me. And I felt my Savior comforting me, telling me it is ok to break down and cry and be worried. It's ok to feel scared and need to reach out to others. It doesn't make me a weak person.

It just makes me a person.

There have been so many lonely nights were I sobbed and screamed and panicked late into the night. I'm glad tonight wasn't one of those. I am grateful for people in my life who can help me get through some of the roughest shit I've ever, ever had to deal with.

Tonight I am broken but I am still alive. Tonight I know that with my Savior by my side, I can handle nights like tonight.

I am going to fight. I am going to get through this hell. And someday, I am going to get remarried and feel real love. I don't doubt any of that tonight.

The triggers aren't over. They will keep happening. But I have hope that when they come, I will be surrounded with the love of my friends and family and the love of my Savior.

One year down, eternity to go.

I can do hard things.

Dear Peter Pan

Dear Peter Pan,
I wrote you a letter last night and it was painful to put into words how I really feel about you at this moment. Because I don't love you and I feel like there is a hole in my heart where I used to. It's empty and hardened and I am not sure it will ever be able to open up to someone again.

I feel it is important to write you and tell you some of the things I have been feeling since you've returned from your summer job.

I am angry. I see you and my chest tightens and my eyebrows furrow. I have realized that I resent you for deserting your children for an entire summer to go find yourself. And maybe it's selfish but this doesn't have as much to do with the kids as it has to do with me. I don't have the luxury nor do I want the luxury of leaving my children for an entire summer to go figure my shit out. Parenthood just doesn't work that way.

This summer, I spent countless hours awake at night just to get some time to myself because my days were spent caring for our children and babysitting other children to pay our bills. I didn't get to take time where I could reflect on my life without the worry of children. And I'm realizing this resentment goes beyond just this summer because there has never really been a time where I could reflect on this mess of a life we've made without factoring in the worries I have for our children.

When you left me, you broke them and you weren't there to pick up the pieces. Those hours upon hours of comforting our sensitive daughter while she cried in her bed or raged about her unfair life were all spent with me. I have helped her find security in her very insecure world. I was there when she yelled at me and blamed me for kicking her daddy out of our house. I was there when she begged and pleaded with me to get remarried soon so she would have a daddy again. I was there when her friends asked why her daddy no longer lived in our home and she burst into tears because IT JUST ISNT FAIR THAT THEIR DADDIES GET TO COME HOME EVERY NIGHT.

Divorce has shredded our hearts. We are piecing them back together but it isn't easy. And the hurt I have felt over your decisions and how you treat me now is a hurt I never could have imagined.

You have betrayed me in the deepest way possible. I wasn't first in your life. And now that we have been living life separately for a year, I can see that you are baffled that we can't just be friends. I can see that it doesn't make sense to you why I get angry and hurt so easily. I can see that you don't understand why I act like you know nothing about our children---because you chose a life that takes you away from their lives and you aren't there for them when you should be.

I loved you once upon a time. I gave you my heart. And now you are just the father of my children. Now you are your own person and you can feel negatively about marriage or women or whatever you'd like and there is nothing I can do to change your mind.

But I hope someday you take responsibility for your actions and understand that marriage can be a beautiful thing. Our marriage could've been a beautiful thing. It didn't have to end. We could've been warriors together but instead, I am now my own kind of warrior. And because I do it alone, I will fight for our children and for myself so that we can make this hell work.

We will make it work without you. I just hope you can learn from your decisions and become stronger on your own too. I pray you learn to fight for the things you are passionate about instead of giving up when things get hard. I pray you learn that your children have broken hearts and they need a dad who will be there when they need a shoulder to cry on. I pray you learn that I loved you for you and I would've fought for you if you would've given me the chance.

I pray you can someday know that there IS a God and that He loves you. He loves you regardless of your actions. He loves you for you, unconditionally. I pray there is a day where you let Him into your life because I know how incredible you can be if you would just let Him love you.

I am angry and sad that things ended. I hate the permanence of your decisions but someday I am going to be a stronger Wendy. Someday I am going to believe in the person my God intended me to be.

I hope you can learn to do the same.

Sincerely,
Wendy

Control

Addiction is like a gaping wound that is hard to close.

I tried, dear friends. I promise I tried. I tried to keep my head afloat and sense when my body was feeling uneasy and question why it was happening. I tried to be ok with even the stagnant number on the scale--because stagnant is better than weight gain. I tried.

But it caught up to me. Ed's lies caught up to me.

I reached out (a very good choice for an addict) and was met with love, support, and suggestions---and every suggestion felt overwhelmingly heavy.

I bought groceries (another thing I don't do often when in addict mode) and tried to plan meals and take control.

But I still felt out of control. No matter what I do, I feel at least a little bit out of control.

Control issues, much?

As I was driving in the car the other day, a thought came to my mind. Wendy, just stop telling people about your struggles and you will continue to lose weight. Speaking out about your eating disorder is what has caused you not to lose any more weight. Speaking out has caused you to believe them over me---and who has shown you how to gain control and lose weight? I have.

It was Ed. I went back and forth with the idea to just stop telling people. I went a few days in complete addict mode. But today, I remembered how much I hate deceiving and lying and not being genuine. Addicts aren't genuine. They can't be. Everything is hidden and shameful.

Hiding is when I know I'm back in eating disorder hell again. Hiding was how this all started. I didn't tell people I was struggling on day one. I let it seep out slowly and the more it seeped out, the more I felt like I could fight this disorder.

So I'm trying to come back and I'm really scared. I am scared that this is my life and my fight. I don't like it.
I'm scared because I don't understand myself. Sometimes I am so extremely confident and it isn't an act. I can talk myself out of feeling self conscious in most situations. So why do I struggle with this particular addiction? I don't feel like I have a normal eating disorder---but really, what the hell is a normal eating disorder?! I kind of hate that they're all different because nobody can fully relate to me.

But then I remember Christ and the pain He suffered for me. Tonight, I'm going to hold really tight to that and remember His promises and sacrifices that were made specifically for me.

I don't know how I'll get through this---but I'm still hopeful that I can.

When Answered Prayers Dont Make Sense

When Peter left me, I fixated on how this was my fault. I was a stupid 18/19 year old girl who made stupid decisions and ignored stupid red flags. I was simply stupid.

I would tell my therapist this every week. Why couldn't I have chosen differently? Why couldn't I have asked him more questions? Why couldn't I have known better than to marry an addict? And she would always tell me, "Wendy, you need to forgive yourself for not knowing then what you know now."

Deep down, I knew that. I knew there was no way I could've known better. I was young and in love. And the most confusing part of all of this was that I prayed about whether I was supposed to marry Pan and I received very strong Spiritual answers that he was to be my husband. So young and stupid or not, I had done what I thought was the best decision for my life.

This made me angry for a while after filing for divorce. Why the hell would it be right to marry this psycho addict who had hurt me so deeply? Why would I receive an answer to prayer to marry this man?

And I've come to a few conclusions.

I received an answer to prayer to marry Pan because it was right to marry Pan.

Peter had free agency and could do with that whatever he wanted. He could choose to leave me, even if it was right to marry me.

I think that's something I've always had a hard time with and something my Heavenly Father is trying to teach me through trials. Sometimes Satan's plan of control looks really appealing to me. I like having control in my life and free agency just kind of freaks me out because nothing is certain!

Satan's plan probably would've made it so I'd still be married but I wouldn't have the intelligence that I have or the trust in God and I'd probably be more confused as to what my purpose on earth is.

No matter how easy Satan's plan would be, easy doesn't make it good.

I still have sincere faith that I received an answer to prayer 8 years ago that I was supposed to marry Peter Pan for time and all eternity. I look back and when I think about the promptings and feelings I had, I don't blame myself for the choices I made---because they were still right.

It all ended kind of sucky but that's ok. I have learned to be ok with free agency for others because I wouldn't want to trade my own free agency for anything. I love having the opportunity to learn and grow and find out who I am and why I'm here.

Divorce isn't as scary as I thought it would be. From the outside looking in, divorce kind of looked like a death sentence. It was something I feared since the beginning of my marriage when things got hard. It was this dark cloud that loomed over me when Peter walked out on us and left me to decide if I was going to file the actual paperwork while he pranced around like a teenage boy.

But divorce isn't the end. Divorce has taught me that I can have new beginnings any time I want. I can wake up any day and decide to start something new. I can make things happen in my life. I can put a genuine smile on my face.
And from the outside looking in, people might be confused that I'm "dealing" with this so well and it's ok that they don't know what I've been through and what I'm going through. It's ok that they don't see the dark nights and that they think I'm super strong and amazing all of the time. This isn't me being fake.

I really am happy today.

So today, I'll smile.

Addiction Won't Win

I've been happier lately---a real happiness that I didn't have to work as hard to find each morning. But it still isn't the lasting happiness I'm hoping for.
I went a week, a whole week, without acting on my eating disorder. It felt so huge. It felt so amazing. I've been a prisoner to the mind games of bulimia for over 8 months and I felt a little bit more free. But I also felt panicky the first few days. I also felt a lot of fear to step on a scale. I felt sadness when my clothes weren't as loose as they have been.

Since that week, I've slipped up every few days. But my goodness, when I look at where I was and where I am, one slip every few days is kind of amazing. That being said, I'm still so worried. My brain hasn't just started loving my body because I stopped throwing up. That part is still pretty prominent in my daily thoughts. I know I've gained weight and that makes me want to spiral.

Weight gain = not good enough. This is the thought I need to fix in my brain. If God can love me at any weight, why can't I love myself? And why can't I believe that someone else could love me?

I do see a brighter future ahead. I see it and I understand that it is possible. Fighting Ed is more possible than ever before and I can do this. I can love the body that is a part of me. I can love the wild, obnoxious, and often times hilarious personality within me. I can love the sensitive, compassionate, and caring side of me. There are so many pieces that make up me and I am going to learn to love each and every one of them.

Because I'm unique and I love that. I don't want to be a cookie cutter of someone else. I don't want to look or act like other people because I am not them. I want to be me and be ok with that.

My addiction will not win. I am a fighter and I'm strong enough to handle an eating disorder, an addict ex husband, two rambunctious kids, full time school, and 3 part time jobs---because I am STRONG!

I don't necessarily believe God gave me this life because He knew I could handle it. I think God gave me this life because He knew how much this life could teach me and make me a better me and He promised that He would never leave, even on the crappiest of days---wait, ESPECIALLY on the crappiest of days.

I'm going to continue to fight. It won't be perfect or pretty or the same as anyone else's fight but I can make it. I am going to make it.

The All-Consuming Lies

I've been thinking a lot this weekend about pornography, my eating disorder, and Satan.
I am a part of a Facebook group of women who are wives or ex wives of porn addicts and we all struggle with eating disorders or disordered eating. I thought this group would be good for me. So many parts of it have been good for me. But I'm still new to all of this stuff.

One of my struggles with our eating disorder group is the things my eating disorder tells me about myself when I read what people post. If someone says they are struggling to force themself to eat that day, Ed tells me, "Wow, Wendy, you are so weak and fat and stupid. You are not strong enough to starve. You give in when you are hungry. And often times, you binge and then either you purge or you don't---but either way, you are a loser. Purging means you're failing at fighting me and not purging means you're going to get fat."

Ed tells me a lot of heavy things when I compare myself to the people around me. He tells me that if I lose 20 more pounds, I'll suddenly feel "good enough". He tells me that I am a horrible mother and that I am the reason Peter was addicted to pornography. He tells me that I should be more self-conscious than I currently am. When I start to feel any amount of confidence in myself, he laughs in my face and tells me the people who say nice things about me are doing so because they feel sorry for me. It's so hard to believe that people say things because they truly mean them. It is so scary to trust people.

At church today, a loud and bubbly woman asked me how I'm getting so skinny. I looked at her with bewilderment. Me? Skinny? Ha! But I told her a friend had referred to this as the "divorce diet" because I just don't have an appetite right now because of stress. It was a lie. I hate lying. I wanted to tell her how I'm struggling with an eating disorder---and not just "an eating disorder" but bulimia, an eating disorder that doesn't come with loss of appetite very often. I wanted to tell her how I hate the girl I see in the mirror. But I have no idea what to say in these situations. I am not ready to just be "the girl with the eating disorder" or "the girl with the eating disorder because her addict husband left her". I want more of an identity than that and I'm afraid if I tell my real story in the middle of my struggle, I will get lost somewhere in there. When I'm stronger and have the confidence to help others with all of this, I know I will be able to tell my story and still be Wendy.

 I'm still here fighting. I still remember my wake up call from two weeks ago. I still remember my meeting with my parents last week. But today, my choices are equivalent to what they would have been two weeks ago. Ed is screaming in my ears how ugly I am. He is yelling at me for thinking my friends are supportive because they like me as a person and not because of pity. I don't feel strong enough to fight him today but I'm trying to do it anyway. I have prayed that Ed leaves me alone and that my Heavenly Father with give me strength to downsize the lies my eating disorder wants me to believe. I have struggled with prayer more these past few months than ever before but today, I needed the one person who hasn't left me during this whole thing and I knew He would still be there waiting for me to come to Him.

Satan and Ed are like the nastiest of twin brothers. Actually, I think Ed is Satan's son.

I will continue to try and fight them. As hard as this is, I will try.

Faith and Fighting

It has been a good week.
Monday started out rough but ever since then things have been a lot better. I think this has been the most consecutive good days since my divorce.

I am loving summer so far.

I have felt a lot of freedom this week. Our schedule has been mostly wide open and I have loved the sleepovers and late nights and lazy afternoons and time with my kids. I've always felt like one of my biggest callings in life would be motherhood. Although it tries my patience, motherhood brings me the most joy.

I have been more loving to myself this week. At the gym, I've had a goal to run two miles instead of one. Normally when I go to the gym, if I quit early or get tired, I talk down to myself using words like lazy, weak, stupid, fat, etc. but starting yesterday, I decided that what I am doing is quite incredible. I've never been a runner so two miles is a big deal. I started telling myself things like, "I am strong.", "I have power.", "I have worth.", "I am amazing." and I really can feel a difference in my running. Positive affirmations go a lot further than I used to believe. I hope someday I really believe those things about myself but even if it takes a while, I'll keep telling myself them.

I have a lot of faith this week. I have faith in myself that I am going to heal from this trauma. I have faith that my children are going to be ok. I have faith in God.

My desire to fight my eating disorder just keeps getting stronger. I've eaten lunch every day this week and even dinner a few times. I have tried so hard to keep truths in my mind and weed out the lies. This has been the hardest part. I saw my therapist on Wednesday and I was telling her how discouraged I am that ever since I decided I really needed recovery, I am frustrated that I'm not just better. She explained to me that recovery doesn't mean I'm done fighting. This fight is going to be a part of my life. Recovery means that I am always trying and that I believe the truths over the lies. She said, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly." and I think that was my favorite thing from our entire session. I've really felt like if I can't just stop purging or starving myself, what is the point of trying? But if it's worth doing, it really is worth doing poorly. It is going to take a lot longer than I anticipated recovery to take.
Because I've never experienced my eating disorder to this extent before, I honestly had no idea what a fight I'd have to put up to recover from this hell. But I'm doing it. I'm getting there. I'm doing it poorly but I'm inching my way on the path to recovery and I can already tell that it's making a difference in my demeanor.

Today I am incredibly grateful for resources and hope and support.

Today I am grateful for my life.

When Wendy Met Alice

 It was a happy beginning---no endings in sight---to a fairytale.
I am Wendy and I was feeling so alone. No one understood me. No one really got what was happening. I don't even think I fully understood what was happening. But I knew I needed to reach out. I knew I needed to muster up some courage and find someone who would be able to understand me.
And I did. I found her. And just like me, her fairytale was a basket case being juggled by a pinata-hitting child. Yes, folks, what I mean by that is we are all a little bit unstable. I'm surprised you didn't gather that directly from my so awesomely stated analogy. Wow. Ok, back to the point.

Her name is Alice. And she is looking for Wonderfulland.
She struggles. Don't we all struggle? I met her through the good ol' World Wide Web after realizing we fight similiar battles. Her wounds looked very similiar to mine and I found my courage to try reaching out to her because I had a feeling---a feeling like this might change my life.

I met Alice one day---in real life. And I've re-met her many times since then because she is now one of my closest friends.
My original belief was correct. The experiences I've had in the last few months have been life changing and I owe a lot of that to Alice.
I owe almost all of that to Alice.

Alice is an eating disorder conquerer. Alice is a WoPA. Alice is a warrior. Our commonalities kind of suck because we have a lot of crap in common---but that's ok. Because Alice helps me fight. She keeps me brave when I don't want to be brave. She teaches me about resilience and love and laughter---oh my goodness, she teaches me about laughter.

On a cloudy Friday afternoon in April, I was laying in the grass in Alice's backyard, watching the clouds move back and forth, and I felt it. For the first time in months, I felt peace. It was in that grassy spot, laying next to my warrior sister, being attacked by a miniature guard dog, that I had a prompting that things were going to be ok. Whatever crap Peter throws my way, I can handle it because I learned that day that peace can be mine no matter what.

Throughout these past few months, Alice has been there when I needed her most. She has talked me through Peter's return to Neverland. She has talked me through my feelings of worthlessness. She has talked me through some of my late night demon sessions---stupid late night demons need to get the hell out of my life.

And when Alice struggles, I am there. And if I can't be there, I say a prayer. Because I look at Alice and I see a queen. I see so much worth in her and I hate seeing her struggle. It doesn't matter what struggles she faces, for some darn reason, I hate it. I can hardly stand it.

Alice shows me what bravery is. That girl has stared hell in the face and she still stands. She still loves. She still dreams.
Brave people choose to stand after they're punched in the gut with a sledgehammer. It might take days or weeks or years but eventually, they stand.
Alice has proven time and time again that she plans to keep standing and I love her a little more each time she does.

A few weeks ago, Alice gave me a challenge. She challenged me to open up to the people I am most afraid of right now---my parents. The second she said it, I knew it was something that needed to happen. But I put it off. And then I put it off again. I was so scared.
But last week when shit got real here, I knew I couldn't put it off much longer. I knew I needed Alice to walk me through this brave, life-changing step.

And she did.

She proofread the letter that I wrote them. She changed some of it. She told me what I needed to prepare for. And then tonight, I handed it over to them.

I handed over a letter to my parents explaining that I am knee deep, struggling with my eating disorder.

I've been shaking most of the night. I don't know if they've read it yet but I assume they have. And because she is my warrior sister, Alice will go with me this weekend to have a talk with my parents to further explain all of this mess.

I'm scared.

I keep thinking of all of the horrible scenarios in my head. I keep thinking about abandonment or hovering or broken boundaries or heartbreak and I just want to run away. But I won't.

I have Alice here and she promises never to abandon me. She promises she will always be my friend. And I believe her.

I'm often worried that people will leave me. This isn't something that happened after Peter left. I've struggled with abandonment my whole life---with almost no explanations as to why. I can see it now as a struggle with insecurity because I've never felt good enough. Peter leaving just magnified the problem.

But tonight, I am focusing on my trust in Alice. I am focusing on how brave she has taught me to be these past few months.

I heard a song tonight that reminded me of Alice. The chorus drew me in because I felt like that is what Alice would be singing to me, if she were sitting on my couch tonight (Gosh, I wish she were sitting on my couch tonight...I hate being alone).
"Cause I have been where you are before. And I have felt the pain of losing who you are. And I have died so many times but I am still alive."

I'd keep writing most of the night to show you how much Alice has influenced my life for good but I am still trying to process through knowing my parents' lives are changing tonight too. Sleep needs to happen soon so I can find peace with the decisions that has already been made.

But I'll leave you with the words to the song I quoted above.


Alice has taught me that God is real because I know He placed her in my life for a reason---or maybe a hundred reasons. He loves me. I feel it tonight. He loves me enough to provide relationships that teach me bravery. He loves me enough to send earth angels to my door when I am too weak to do this all on my own.

Thank you for becoming my partner in crime, Alice. I couldn't do this without you.

God is Real

I felt like I was sinking further than I've ever sunk before. Because I was no longer loving and I was no longer carefully considering the way others would feel.
And it was a low point---truly the lowest point I've felt in a long time.

Last night's post coincides with today's post because that wasn't the ending. I wrote that earlier in the evening. But I continued to feel broken and selfish and horrible about this person that I am.
Wonderful? That couldn't be a description of this person I was seeing in the mirror.
But I am wonderful. I am selfless. I truly do care about other people. I see it when I'm not loathing myself for all of the horrible decisions I make. I even believe it when I'm in a clear state of mind.
Satan has taken over. He has set up shop in my heart and I allowed him to. I allowed his presence to overcome my peace.

Last night, I was apologizing over and over for the wrong choices I have made but the most important thing is that I figure out the right choices and start utilizing them in my life.

I tried. In my mind, things were going to change. I went into the kitchen to put away the food I had bought at the grocery store hours prior and I just melted. I was feeling more broken and horrible than ever before. I layed down on that kitchen floor and cried. I cried for myself. I cried for the people I hurt. I cried for my children.
I cried harder when I replayed a text conversation where a friend told me she needed me. Someone needed me. Someone thought I was wonderful and selfless and caring. Someone wanted me here.
And by some miracle, a little head poked around the corner and looked at my tear-streaked face. Those hazel eyes stared at mine and then he walked away. I was confused.
Why was my little boy out of bed? And why did he see me crying and just walk away? Odd...

But without another second to think, that little red head came back around the corner, this time with two pillows and a blanket. He lifted my head up and placed a pillow underneath and then he layed down beside me and pulled the blanket over both of us. And he said to me, "Mom, I'm just going to lay here with you until you feel better." and we layed there and I cried and he wrapped his arm around my neck.
A four year old boy was prompted to do what God knew I needed last night. A tiny four year old boy.

I felt God's love last night. I felt his presence and I felt like He would be able to help me overcome this trial in my life. I can do this with Him. I can do it with the people He has placed in my life to give me strength.

What a beautiful ending to a horrible day. I am grateful to be a mother and I'm also grateful to be a child of God.

God is real.