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.

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. 

Stressed Out

“Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol' days,

When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out.”

I think about those two phrases whenever this song comes on the radio. Because I often wish I could turn back time to the days when I wasn’t stressed out as much.

To the days when addiction and betrayal and honesty and my eating disorder and dating and parenting didn’t stress me out.

To the days when the biggest mistake I made was wearing the red shirt to school instead of the blue one. Or hitting my sister and my parents recognizing that although I needed a consequence, I was a 5 year old and I was still learning.

How come people don’t give you as much grace as you get older and find yourself in new learning situations where you end up making the wrong choice unintentionally?

Is it because people expect adults to ‘have it all together’?

Because I don’t think I know a single adult who has it ALL together. 

I've been struggling fiercely lately---mostly since Thursday afternoon. I didn't get permission by the right person at one of my jobs and although I thought I was asking the right department for permission before going ahead with what I was doing, my boss found out and was angry that I hadn't gone to her.
And she said some really hurtful things to me in the process.

Like I don't even know how to process the things that were said, they hurt me so deeply.

And ever since then, I feel like I've been in this fog where I dislike going to work (at a job that three days ago, was my favorite place to be) and I'm not sure how to feel better about it all.

I get that she thought I was going over her head. I even tried to explain myself and why I was sorry for not asking her instead of asking for permission from the person that I thought was in charge of this special project.

I think the thing that worried me the most was how low I felt on Thursday night. People have said hurtful things to me many times in my life and this wasn't even the worst but I found myself bawling and shaking and feeling utterly hopeless. I was up half the night crying and I woke up on Friday with a massive headache. I wouldn't have even gotten out of bed if the kids' therapist wasn't coming over at 8:30am (Why did I even schedule a session that early?!).

And since then, I've had this hangover feeling, this gray, foggy, messy, anxious feeling.

So I don't know where I'm going from here or what is going to help me work through these hurt feelings I'm experiencing.

But I do know that with time, it will get better. It always does. Sometimes quickly and sometimes it takes years but eventually, I'll feel better and this will be a small blip in the history of my life. 

Face To Face

Finally. 

Face to face. 

It only took fourteen months. 

Fourteen months of hurtful comments and hateful looks. 

I took a trusted friend with me because I knew I needed someone to actually process and hear everything while my anxiety did it's work. 

And when we walked up to her, I felt this waive of relief that we were finally face to face after so long. 

And maybe I felt like I had missed her. 

Three hours of each of us explaining our side and trying to get the other person to understand. 

It felt like a divorce mediation. 

She said some things that later I realized were hurtful to me as I thought over them. And I think she knew that. 

I didn't need to know details. But because she had been hurt living through it all, she wanted me to know all of that pain. 

And the reason it was unnecessary is because the whole point of this meeting was supposed to be about moving forward and about telling her how ONLY in hindsight could I have prevented everything. 

The whole point was to convince her I wasn't ever malicious. 

She already knew that though. I know she did. Because she knows me---or at least she knew me. 

I am a completely different person after going through everything I've experienced these past fourteen months. 

So we met. 

And afterward, she asked if I wanted to keep talking and let my friend go home. Maybe her and I could go grab some lunch? 

But I said no. I wasn't ready for that yet. Or maybe ever. 

And when we got in the car to go home, my friend set me straight. 

She is still blaming you. 

What she said was manipulative. 

That felt fake. 

Don't go home and blame yourself all over again. 

And I was surprised because I felt so good. 

But my friend was right. 

Because later that night, I started to panic about all of those details. 

She had gotten to me again. 

Whether consciously or subconsciously, she had said things in a way that made me wonder if this was all my fault. 

Was I really to blame? 

Somewhere deep down, did I know what I was doing? 

And as I pondered these questions and allowed myself to go back to that dark place for a minute, I suddenly remembered back to those days and weeks. And I remembered my heart and how I did everything right in the moment---the best I knew how. 

I told the truth. And although that truth brought about more pain for a while, it was still the truth. 

And in that moment, I knew that meeting did not have the power to put our relationship back where it had been fifteen months ago. 

And I didn't want it to go back. 

Because I remembered how all of this hurt my family and made it so that I could not safely talk about my own children's pain and healing. 

I had been stifled because I had been blamed by someone who should've trusted me---who should've answered when I tried to call dozens of times---who should've come over to my house to talk face to face when everything happened---who should've trusted me instead of turning me into a villain. 

I was never able to talk about my own children being hurt because the times that I tried to, I received nasty comments about how this was all my fault anyway. 

 And I suddenly questioned how any of those people would've known the part about my own children. Because I had only told one person from their group. 

And so when months later, a comment was made on Facebook that said, "How sad that you are dealing with that on top of your son being molested", how did that person know? 

And I suddenly realized that the betrayal went much further than I had thought. I kept quiet about what had happened, not knowing that a large group of people were spreading around the fact that my son had been involved. 

My family was not kept safe in all of this. 

And none of them really seemed to care about that fact. Nobody stood up and said, "No matter the circumstances, we should NOT be gossiping about her children." 

Nobody did that for us.

So yes, we met face to face. And maybe it helped in little ways. 

But it will never be the same. Because the protection of my family is far more important than gaining a friend back who wasn't really a friend anyway. 

And I have so many people in my life who are capable of trusting me through really shitty times. 

So I'm glad it's over. And I will continue to move on and heal each and every day. 

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

PS: My children are bravely and beautifully doing well. They are warriors. And they are my greatest teachers. And I may never mention their part in this again. Or I might if it feels right. But I hope if you read this, you will respect the privacy of my children in all of this. 

I'm Afraid

Sometimes I'm afraid.

And as I try to pinpoint what I'm most afraid of, there doesn't seem to be just one underlying thing. In fact, when I try to pinpoint what I'm afraid of, I usually end up anxious when I realize just how big my fears seem.

Right now, I'm living in this limbo and I'm afraid to make a step in any one direction. Every single direction has downfalls.

In the past two years, my faith has wavered more than I thought possible. At times, it has been stronger and at other times, it is dwindling.

Minuscule.

Almost non-existent.

Shit happened this year---too much of it---and although at first it seemed like I was pulling through, I've been left with so many fears. More fears than ever before.

I've questioned how God could allow so much ugliness in our world---in my world. I've looked at where I am and where I want to be and I don't feel like my church is allowing the happiness and peace I am looking for.
I don't feel comfortable with the way things are set up---and the male dominance of my church gives me anxiety.
I don't need the Priesthood for women. I am not a feminist. But point blank, I don't agree with the sexual sins of a woman being confessed to a man alone in a room.

I experienced this in high school when my parents made me confess my sins to the bishop when they found out I had been making out with my boyfriend {This is not a joke...}. I remember how uncomfortable I was in that room alone with the bishop, speaking about teenage feelings and interaction. I hated it. And my children won't be doing that without their father or I in the room.

Ever.

 And after attending a non-denominational Christian church a few weeks ago and feeling so very emotional and peaceful, I started having really conflicting feelings. Because I'm a Mormon---and Mormons don't believe that other churches have the full truth. Mormons get upset when people leave the church, not because they hate them but out of love. And although that seems endearing to have people care so much about me that they'd push for me to keep going to church, I feel like I need this to be my decision without other voices in my head.

I'm worried that I'll lose all of my friends---or at least a lot of them---and after the year I've had where so many people believed ugliness about me in the midst of some circumstances that were out of my control, losing friends now would be devastating. I'm honestly still dealing with the after effects of what happened in March. I still feel like so many people hate me and judge me and blame me. And if they don't hate me, they sure aren't reaching out to make sure I'm ok---those kinds of friends have been few and far between.
So losing the people I DO have would be inexplicably heartbreaking.

I'm scared of what people will think of me if I leave. I'm scared of what Peter will think--because when he left the church 3 years ago, I freaked. I was scared for our relationship and how our children could be raised in that situation. I was so scared and if he found out I left the church now, he'd shove it back in my face and I'd feel stupid for fighting for the kids on Sundays and fighting for their baptisms into our church to be a part of our divorce decree.

I fought for something that I won---and now I might be giving it up.

I don't quite know what it is I'm searching for yet but I haven't found it within my church.

And I'm scared.

Because after questioning this deeply on my own for weeks, I told a friend...and then another friend...and then my best friend's husband who is my home teacher...

...and he told our bishop.

And I am meeting with our bishop on Sunday which feels ironic because if he asks, I am going to have to tell him that some of my questions involving the church are directly related to his calling.
My people-pleaser personality wants me to go in and stuff all of my feelings and doubts down and tell him everything is ok. In fact, as open as I am about my life, this subject has been extremely hard to open up about. I think I've spoken to 5 people about it.
But if I don't tell him the truth, I'd be a liar and I wouldn't be representing the kind of person I strive to be.

So I'm trying really hard to open up about my doubts little by little. I'm trying to trust myself and shut out the outside voices. I'm making small plans so that during this 'trial run' of leaving my church, my kids won't be affected.
I plan on going with them every other week and spending the week they're with their dad on my own, figuring out what I want in life and what is going to make me happy.

My belief that "one church fits all" seems to be changing. I don't hate my church and I wouldn't want to actively lead anyone else away from it.
But maybe it isn't for me. Maybe God knows I'll thrive more somewhere else.

And maybe in the end, I'll find myself coming back and realizing that my current church is, in fact, a healthy place for me.

I don't know how or when I'll tell my family or if I'll announce it to my larger groups of friends. I don't know how to feel safe in this situation that feels so vulnerable and scary.

But right now, I don't know what I believe. And I plan on figuring that out somewhere along the way.

The Worst Day Of It All

Today was the worst day of it all.

Because although I haven't eaten in two days or gotten off the couch or changed my clothes, the ONE thing I wanted out of all this was for my kids to never be involved.

Today I found out they were involved.

Today feels like the darkest day of my entire life.

I hate myself today.
I hate everything today.

Except my kids.

I love my brave kids with all my heart.

Another Week

Peter, please, are you serious? You can't help out with them again this week? That is so frustrating for me. I need a break. I can't do this. 

I'm sorry. I have no choice. I can't help you. I wish I could. I know I made these mistakes and I have to live with that forever and I'm sorry they're affecting you like this but I don't know what else to do. I have to work.

This was a blip of the conversation we had tonight. Another week. Another week with no help. Another week of needing babysitters and putting kids to bed by myself and doing homework late at night and working.

He knew I was upset. I told him I am exhausted. He apologized and it felt real. I felt like he was genuinely sorry. But that didn't stop me from feeling anger toward him because had he not made the shitty decisions that he did, I wouldn't be going to work three days a week and doing bedtime on my own.

I started crying as soon as I handed the phone off to the kids so they could say goodnight to their dad. My son looked over at me and then announced to his dad that I was crying and I heard Peter ask him to hand the phone back to me but I refused to take it. He doesn't get to hear me cry. He doesn't get to hear an emotion that is extremely vulnerable for me.

An hour later, I'm still crying. I'm still trying to figure out what days I need babysitters this week and how I'm going to get through another exhausting week of work and school and motherhood. I'm trying to tell myself I can do this but I'm screaming on the inside for someone to rescue me.

I love my kids. I love them so much and I would do anything for them. I just feel so stretched thin that I don't feel like I can be the mother that they need. The deal with this divorce was that he HELPS with the kids and ever since he left for Utah and then came back, it doesn't seem like he's been helping enough. I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff and I'm trying to figure out what to do next.

Peter just sent me this text right now: I'm sorry. For many reasons, and I didn't mean to make you cry. I wish for nothing more than your forgiveness for everything I put you through.

And I haven't responded because I don't even know what to say.

I'm trying to forgive. I'm trying to let all of my pain go. But all I really want to do is run away. I want to run away to a place where divorce and pornography and fears don't exist.

I'm so tired tonight. I feel like I'm falling apart and I can't do this. I can't be divorced and keep going. I just can't. This isn't what I wanted my life to look like.

I'm torn between my anger toward Peter and my gratitude that he recognizes and took a little bit of responsibility for the actions he has chosen tonight.

I hate being so confused.

I told Peter I didn't sign up to raise two children on my own when I gave birth to them. I told him I didn't choose to be single and work and go to school and still have all of the same mothering responsibilities I had when we were married. I told him I am hanging on by a thread and that I need his help.

But nothing helped. It's not like he could've said he would take off work so that I could get a break.

I said what I wanted to say to him. I'm glad he understood me tonight. I'm glad he recognized that he has put me through hell and that I am trying to pick up a thousand broken pieces and that after a year, I still have about 950 pieces to go.

But none of that changes the fact that I'm exhausted and stressed out and I just want this to be over.

Fears and Being Vulnerable

I feel like I utilize this saying in almost every area of my life, mostly because fear is usually right beside me while I do anything and everything.

It's hard to allow fear to be a part of my life without letting it consume me. I try to accept that I have fears but I haven't figured out how to let go of my fears.

This post is hard and vulnerable for me and I'm shaking while I write it because it isn't a post I'd like to discuss. I'm ok with talking about fears---OCD fears, fear of death, fear of the future---but my deepest, biggest fear keeps coming into my mind these past few weeks as I've been spending time with a boy. A boy that I might have a crush on. A boy that might be the first boy I could see myself trusting. A boy that hardly knows I exist. Dating is stupid...

But everytime I think about him or am around him, I feel it.

The fear that I'm not loveable.

The fear that a person could not physically love me.

Because I am not skinny enough or pretty enough and my teeth are crooked and I have a double chin and my stomach is all sorts if ugly and I have stretch marks. I just can't imagine someone picking me when they could pick someone better.

I spend my days with girls prettier than me who have flatter stomachs and better smiles. I try to tell myself that my personality will make up for my lack of physical beauty but it won't. There are pretty girls with great personalities.

And boys like pretty girls.

I keep having this reoccuring dream that isn't actually a dream but more of a daydream. It'll happen sometimes when I'm driving or when I'm laying in bed or even when I'm at work. I'll picture myself being intimate with a man and most times, the daydream ends with him sizing me up and choosing to leave instead. Each time I feel it, the pain in my heart is physical and gut-wrenching. I start to get anxiety. I overanalyze everything I'm doing. And I consider that someday, this could happen. It doesn't matter that it hasn't happened---I still feel like it has. I don't know if my heart could've broken anymore had Peter walked out on me in the middle of sex. Because I just don't know if it's possible to hurt more than my heart has been hurt.

Because intimacy is such a vulnerable activity for me and the ONE person I've ever had sex with left me.

He left me.

And even when he was with me and complaining that we didn't have sex enough or that we should be more adventurous (whatever the hell that means), he was viewing pornography. I wasn't enough. I don't give a damn whether his brain was broken---I still wasn't enough.

And I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not being enough.

A thousand people can tell me it had nothing to do with me but I'm sorry---it did. Whether it had to do with me not being sexually pleasing or whether it had to do with me not being a trusting enough wife that my husband could talk to me about his addiction, I wasn't enough.

And now I just don't know if I have it in me to do this all over again because the pain of rejection gives me a severe amount anxiety. The pain of rejection is something I fear more than anything else in the world.

My eating disorder feeds lies into my head and tells me I'll never be good enough and guess what? I think she's right. I think that although I can focus on the happiness of motherhood and the great friendships I have, I just won't ever be able to heal from the trauma of being rejected.

Doing this all over again, this time with a ruined body, just seems too much. I look at the guys I'm attracted to and think, they would reject me in a second. I'm not good enough for them.

And what if that's really true? What if I'm not good enough? What if I ask someone on a date and they say no because they aren't attracted to me? What if I never get asked out on a date because of how unattractive I am? What if I am never loved like that again?

That last question pisses me off just thinking about. Because what the hell does "loved like that again" mean when I wasn't loved enough the first time around? Why do I look at my marriage and see so much happiness when I think about the physical intimacy between Peter and myself? It makes me feel stupid and horrible for even having memories like that. Because he was probably looking at me the whole time and wondering why the EFF he was with me when he could go look at skinny porn stars instead. He was probably thinking about other women while he was having sex with me.

My heart hurts from writing this out because I don't want to acknowledge it. I don't want it to be real. I want to be strong Wendy, the girl who fights and is brave and loves herself. But instead I'm codependent Wendy, the girl who fears ever being loved.

In a perfect world, men would look for a wife who had a great personality but especially now with the effects of pornography, I think men want a wife who is gorgeous and as close to perfect as possible.

And I am not that. I don't think I can be that.

So now I have to choose whether I'm going to swear off men forever so I don't have to think about the pain of rejection or whether I'm going to be brave and fight for myself.

I can't think about this any longer tonight. I can't feel this way and feel vulnerable because I feel so freaking unsafe! I don't want to push "publish"...which is exactly why I'm going to push it. Because this is me practicing vulnerability. It's the best I can muster right now so if it doesn't seem like much, sorry.