If you’ve missed any part of this series, click on any post directly below.
Part Two-My Storms in a nutshell
Part Four-More Depression
Part Five-Even More Depression
Part Six-Guest Post, Dan Blanchard
Part Seven-The Last Depression Post
Part Eight-Death of a Child
Part Nine-Death of a Child
Part Ten-Guest Post, Holly Good
Part Eleven-Death of a Child
Part Twelve-Death of a Child
Part Thirteen, Death of a Child
Part Fourteen, Death of a Child
Part Fifteen, Death of a Child
Part Sixteen, Conclusion
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD.
I thought I was just crabby. Very, very crabby. With a terrible case of PMS (my apologies to my male readers…but that’s seriously what I thought.) PMS that was lasting longer than it should. Like months.
Maybe it was that we had just adopted a new toddler. Talk about adjustment! Laundry suddenly multiplied exponentially, toys and crushed Cheerios littered my floors, schedules of five people perpetually clashed. And it was up to me to single-handedly balance all those plates in the air.
It always takes me a while to get into a new groove. I’ll be fine, once I have time to adjust.Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Elliana was 13-months-old when we adopted her. Her precious foster mother informed us that not only did Elliana and Foster Mom sleep together in the same bed every day of her life, but Elliana took only one morning nap—for a whopping 20 minutes. Which happened to be in Foster Mom’s arms.
No, no, no. This just won’t do in the United States. Not in a home where there are two other children. I need her to take—uh, I mean SHE needs to take—a longer nap than that. And while the thought of sleeping next to my beautiful new baby every day for a few hours sounds luxurious, it doesn’t work in a household with three little kids, exponentially multiplying laundry, and a husband who works 60+ hours a week.
So, let’s just say the transition from uno 20-minute morning nap to uno 3-hour afternoon nap had both of us tired and in tears for weeks on end.
Once Elliana starts sleeping on a regular schedule, all will be well and I’ll be my old self again.
I was trying like crazy to keep it all together. To maintain a heart of thankfulness. To spend time every day in the presence of the Lord and in His word. Yet, little by little, day by day, I felt joy slipping from my grasp. And in its place came irritability. And anger, defeat, exhaustion, guilt, and negativity.
And the tears. Lots and lots of tears.
I like to fix things. Make them run better and more efficiently. So when I felt “broken” I started on my quest to “fix” me.
Then two extended fasts. One for spiritual cleansing—because, clearly, I am completely self-absorbed and need to focus on God and not myself. And one for physical cleansing—maybe I have an overgrowth of some toxin in my system that’s throwing everything out of whack. You never know. I’ve heard yeast overgrowth can do this sort of thing.
Oh, and I better kick up those work-outs a notch, too, while I’m at it. Another 30 minutes on the elliptical every day ought to do it.
Next, I sought for creative outlets. I reasoned that my boredom and disinterest with life was simply an indication that I needed to try something new. Thus, my blog was born.
Once I start writing every day, I’ll feel more fulfilled and, thus, happier.
Then I started consuming and memorizing entire chapters of scripture. Clearly, something was wrong with my thinking and I needed to flood my brain with the word of God.
If I could just get my thoughts to align to God’s word, I would find joy. That’s the key. Scripture memorization.
I can fix this. I refuse to let this crabbiness—or whatever it is—over take me.
I tried and I tried and I tried everything I could think of. I felt like the Little Engine that Could. Only crabbier. I tried big things and I tried little things. Like new scented candles. Long baths. Time away from the kids. Book after book after book.
Yet at the end of each day, (and the beginning and middle of each day), I was still crabby. Though, now, it was far worse than crabby. It was scary. Because as the weeks and months went on, I was forgetting things. Really important things, like paying the bills, or helping a child with a major school project, or my volunteer appointments…or words.
I was forgetting words, midsentence.
So, in true, Sandy-fashion, between the tears and guilt, I would make a joke of myself. “Oh, kids, have you seen Mommy’s brain? I can’t find it anywhere! Maybe I left it in Guatemala. We should call the hotel and see if they found it.”
The kids thought it was a great game…looking in the cabinets and under the bed for Mommy’s brain. But inside I was frightened to death. What in the world was happening to me? Why couldn’t I shake this thing?
I swear, I am so clueless sometimes. Still at this point of the game, I questioned her.