If I like to write why do I find it so hard to sit down and do it? Why does my grammar disappear and creativity float out the window? I begin to doubt myself, my voice, my importance... I doubt my purpose. I've lived through so much and I have thoughts and ideas to share, but I feel so small and insignificant. I just struggle with knowing where to start, so I haven't started. Then I feel guilty about not starting so I continue to NOT start. It's a bad cycle. A rut. I just took a grammar exam. I only got 70% so the company didn't want me to write for them. How to I get better if I never start? How will anyone hear me if I never speak out. I suppose the biggest share I have is my relationship with the Lord. It's been a real tug'o war lately. I feel like I keep putting words in His mouth. I am so Christianized. I've gone to church most of my life (usually Baptist or non denominational that's like Baptist) and then I went to a Christian University after that. I feel like all that Christian noise drowns out what God is trying to tell me. I want to write what I know. I know Christian faith, divorce, depression, motherhood, childbirth, cancer... But then, my life doesn't revolve around these topics. Lately, I've been in a season of loss. We moved to Yakima, Washington and I left so many relationships behind. Some relationships were good and some were easier to let go. I've let go of my relationship with my mom. I let go of the life we were living in Portland. It just felt overwhelming. My husband was making barely enough working two jobs and then he was fired/let go from his church job without any notice. I scrambled. We decided to make the plunge to move to Yakima - we have friends and family here, it seemed possible/plausible to move. But, I lack a sense of purpose here. Our days are backwards with Tre working in the evenings. The house we bought needs so much work. I'm just lost right now. I'm afraid my Christianize has drowned out God's voice. Maybe he was telling us not to go and we just barreled right past him. I've learned that I like happy endings. I feel like I leapt past a whole lot of steps to get here. I fought tragedy with triumph, but I don't feel triumphant. I feel wounded from our church. I feel like I should be making money and contributing more to our household. I feel like we're still under financially when we should be fine. We had so many connections in Portland that we don't have here. I don't know if moving here was as advantageous as I first hoped. But, there was really no way to know before leaping. Usually I leap and land just fine. I'm not usually thrown like this. I know this is a better community for Vivianne. I know Tre had a better and less stressful job. I have a house with a beautiful view and hopefully some sweat equity in our home already. I am so grateful for all that we have... so why do I miss our 1000 square foot home with the crazy neighbors in Rockwood so badly?

My Sweet Child

My sweet child just ran into my bedroom. Her episode of My Little Ponies came to an end and she came in to let me know she wanted to watch another show and to put her hand on my face and ask if I was happy. My two-year-old has intuition up the wazzu. She'd seen me crying earlier this afternoon (okay - if I'm honest -snotty, blubbery, cough/hack crying) so she wanted to check on me. I love her little heart. I told her that you can be sad and happy at the same time. My heart feels heavy, but she brings me joy. I smiled. Then, that was enough for her. I'm crying because I feel lost. I reached out to someone I hoped (desperately hoped) would mentor me and was told it wasn't possible for them. I wasn't surprised at their response, but I was surprised at mine. Tears? Anguish? When what I knew was a long-shot didn't work out? I think there is something deeper going on here. I've taken a time out recently. A time-out from a severely draining, manipulative and abusive relationship. I restricted my mother's access to my Facebook and I changed my phone number. When I was in contact (almost daily) with my mom - I could sort of pretend things were normal. Before I had my daughter I even prided myself with how safe I could keep our conversations. We had topics that were not up for discussion: my Dad and Katie primarily. I felt confident that if we stayed between those parameters we could have the mother/daughter relationship I longed for. Then my Grandma fell and my mother unraveled at the seems. Then Tre lost his job and my world shifted on its access. My mom became paranoid about every Facebook interaction I had with her sister (who she'd gotten into a blazing fight with). Eventually I had to either be on her "side" or I was siding with her sister (no Switzerland in my mother's viewpoint). I didn't believe either side to be fully in the right and I wasn't going to compromise that belief. But it wasn't until my mother called me a vindictive bitch after I restricted her access to my Facebook account that I decided I needed a real time-out. Five months later and I don't miss the conversation that tiptoed around land mines. I don't miss having what I share with her thrown back in my face the moment she loses her temper. I don't miss the game of pretend that I was taking part in. I do miss having a mother. This longing goes so much deeper than the past five months. I've never had a mother. I do not consider (any longer) the fact that I shared a house (and a womb) with that woman "mothering." I don't want to come across as cold-hearted, but that is the risk I take in saying that. My heart aches with a longing unfulfilled. I wept this afternoon because my request for a mentor was really a "will you be my mother?" attempt. I need an adoptive mother. A spiritual mother. Someone who will help me be the mother, writer, friend and spouse I long to be. Where are the good, strong Christian women, Lord? I am sick with longing.