One Little Girl - Part 3: The loneliness & shame game

So, where was I? This story takes a lot of energy and time to write. But I feel good about getting it all out. I think working through the events of these difficult years has been helpful for me. Maybe some part of it will be helpful for you.

After we healed from the wreck, Tim and I moved into our little townhome in Lawrence together. I decided to take classes online (and as independent study) that semester, and Tim had classes on KU's campus, as well as 2 part time jobs and 1 volunteer opportunity. Because, y'know, adjusting to married life and a new baby wasn't really enough.

I'd like to address the concept of shame right now, because it is something I've worked through. The first random search engine I pulled up defines shame as, "A painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace." Have you ever felt shame before? Shame is not something I really experienced during the first 20 or so years of my life, but the last five or six years of my life have been laced with it. Luckily for me, I am recovering from it. I'll get to that part of the story eventually. 

Anyhow, when I first discovered I was unwed and pregnant, I felt all of those synonyms listed above- guilt, embarrassment, and disgrace, especially. Part of it was probably due to my Catholic upbringing (Catholics aren't supposed to...do it...until are married) and a very big part of it probably had to do with the extremely high expectations (and prideful nature) that I had for myself. My parents have always had high expectations for me too, but I don't think they would ever say they were embarrassed by me, or felt that I had disgraced the family. Most of my shame was self imposed. So anyway, I felt ashamed that I was pregnant. I could not stand the idea of walking around with a pregnant belly and no ring on my finger. I would have felt disgraced. I worried way too much about what others thought of me and I could not handle the idea of people judging me. My skin was too thin. So I felt very relieved that by the time I actually looked pregnant, I was married. I still worried about what others thought of me. That's why I decided to take my classes online that semester that Lexi was born. And why there are not very many pictures of me during that pregnancy. I was not comfortable in my own skin. I worried that people would ask how long we'd been married and how old Lexi was, do the math, and then judge me. 

How sad is that? How pathetic. I was worried way too much about others' opinions of me- total strangers included- and just wanted to hide myself. Even after the baby was born, I didn't put any pictures of her on Facebook for a while because I didn't want people to know about her. About what had happened to goody two shoes, straight laced little me. I am happy to say that I have found healing in Jesus by acknowledging these feelings and hurts and giving them over to him. Yep, sure sounds corny. Sure doesn't sound like anything I would have said five years ago. But I am now in a place where I am not afraid to say it. Jesus has healed many hurt parts of my past and I am living in freedom from shame today. w00t!

But it has taken a while. And the pathway to get where I am today wasn't an easy one. It will take me a while to share it, to explain it all.

I finished my two online courses in October, decided to drop one of my independent study classes, and slowly trudged through the other while waiting for Lexi to be born. I read as many parenting books and magazines as I could get my hands on and spent hours "researching" anything baby related online. It was an informative but isolating experience. We were living in Lawrence, a college town, as a married couple of soon to be parents, a definite minority. Some of our friends lived nearby but they didn't know what we were going through- they'd never been through it before. I spent a lot of time alone, and I was lonely. Tim, as I mentioned, was working at the Lied center of KU, as a Suite Ambassador for KU Football, and was volunteering for Headquarters Counseling Center, a suicide hotline where he took calls. And he was taking a full course load. I don't think I really understood the magnitude of all he was juggling at the time, but I am looking back now and feeling extremely grateful at how dedicated he was and how hard he worked to support our little family. We were blessed to have support from our parents as well.

On the last day of his training at Headquarters, 6 days past my due date, contractions started. Tim came home, we packed our bags, left our key with a friend so she could care for our cat, and headed to the hospital to begin...the waiting game. That part is kind of boring so let's just skip to the good part where the cute baby arrives. 

Alexa Rose was born in the afternoon (I forgot the exact minutes, not gonna lie) on November 17th, 2008. And boy did she change our lives. God had a plan.

I was proud of this beautiful new baby, but motherhood left me feeling pretty insecure and overwhelmed too. She was a great baby and it wasn't long before she was sleeping at night, thank goodness. I returned to a full load of courses in January, and that's about the time that the loneliness, insecurity and shame spiked. 

Tim and I were blessed that we were able to flip flop our class schedules so that one of us was home with Lexi at all time- we didn't need daycare for the first year of her life. I threw myself into my classes and continued "researching" my new baby via books and websites. That's just kind of what I do. When I'm interested in something, I read everything I can about it. I remember bringing home stacks of books about rabbits from the library as a child when I wanted to get a pet bunny. I think for me, it was a way to get as much info as I could about a subject so I could be informed, knowledgeable and prepared.

Well, as all you parents out there know, books alone cannot prepare you for the emotions of parenthood. I sure knew a lot about the logistics of nursing, extended rear-facing car seats, and the importance of talking to babies, but no book or magazine article could make me into the perfect mom. Which, I think, is what I wanted to be. Because even thought I hadn't planned on being a mom at that point in my life, I was, and I wanted to do a really great job at it. 

And you know what? I did. I was a good mom. I am a good mom. I can look back and say that.

It was hard though. Several people said things like, "Don't you just LOVE motherhood? Isn't it just amazing?" And I felt guilty because I didn't feel like a natural at it. I loved my baby very much, but man, in those first few months, it was all take, take, take.  Mothering was really, really hard. Why didn't anyone say anything about that part? I remember looking on blogs or on forums and seeing people say, "I am a stay at home mom and I love EVERY minute of it!" and I totally could not relate. You mean you love being sleep deprived? You love not being able to go anywhere without packing a bag and your car full of armloads of junk? You love discovering spit up on the back of your pants at the end of the day? You love listening to your baby cry and having no idea what she needs? I loved my baby but I did not love those particular moments. But I felt guilty for not loving them like I was "supposed" to. What was wrong with me? I loved bed time. Totally looked forward to it. I loved the chance to run to Target alone and just wander around the aisles looking at random household objects. I enjoyed taking breaks. And I felt unworthy of this precious baby whom I apparently did not appreciate spending every second with like I was "supposed" to.

When the doctors said that Lexi wasn't gaining enough weight and I glimpsed the diagnosis of "failure to thrive" on a scrap of paper when she was a few months old, I took it personally. Failure to mother, more like it. Why wasn't my baby growing? What was I doing wrong? Was she going to be okay? People would say things like, "Oh, she's so tiny!" and I would hear, "WHY IS SHE SO TINY?? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WRONG?!" and feel defensive and like I was failing. I still felt awkward and ashamed about being such a young mom, and felt that people probably thought my baby was starving because I had no clue what I was doing. I often took (and still take) my wedding ring off around the house because I am allergic to something in it and it gives me a rash. But I made sure to always wear my wedding ring when I went out with the baby, lest someone judge me. Part of me felt a little resentment toward my baby because I did not know what to do. I didn't know how to fix her weight issue or how to love every second of motherhood. I felt like a failure for feeling that way.

 On top of feeling like a failure to mother, I also felt extremely isolated at school and home. I was thrown into my classes with a group of students who had spent the past year getting to know each other and form bonds and as nice as they tried to be, I was the odd man out. My other school friends were graduating and moving on, and I was left feeling lonely, and overwhelmed by everything on my plate. I didn't have any friends nearby who had kids. No one to talk to about issues and no one to listen to my feelings or let me know that the way I was feeling was normal. Between the pressure of school and my struggle to be a good mom, I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water.

A very memorable low point came sometime in the fall of 2009. I was in one of my classes with the group of girls who were all friends, and we were working on a project. I was stressed because we'd been referred to a special clinic to help figure out why Lexi wasn't gaining much weight. And it was my turn for the laptop, or the stapler, or some special piece of equipment I needed for my project. But it got passed on to someone else, then another person. And despite the fact that I was not being passed over intentionally, I took it that way, and I had an epic meltdown in my COLLEGE classroom. Complete with bawling my eyes out, and raising my voice, and my professor telling me to look at her and pretend that it was just the two of us in the room. I remember yelling something about how my baby was sick and no one understood and I couldn't do it. Yeah, I threw a tantrum in front of 25 people in a college classroom. Twenty five people that I still had class with for the next few months. Yep. Talk about shame and embarrassment.

I was hurting on the inside for many reasons. I was hurting because my baby was supposedly not growing and I was scared of what would happen to her. I was hurting because I was the outcast in a group of close knit friends. I was hurting because I was overwhelmed by school. Hurting because I was in a whole new world of marriage and parenthood and none of my friends understood. Hurting because I pushed them away because they didn't understand.  Hurting because I was still ashamed of my circumstances. Hurting because my family was 45 minutes away and I missed them. Hurting because I felt like I was letting them down whenever I complained about motherhood. Hurting because I didn't feel like I was good at being a mom. Hurting because it wasn't coming naturally and I didn't know why. Hurting because I had no one to talk to about it. Hurting because I felt like I had lost control of my life. Hurting because I was lonely. Because I was bored spending my days alone in my apartment. Hurting because part of me was rejecting this new life and longing for the days that made sense to me. Hurting because I wasn't sure if I believed in God any more, because I felt like he abandoned me and left me in a painful, difficult place. 

I didn't know it at the time, but through my hurts, God had a plan. Through my perceived failures, my loneliness, my isolation, he was working in me and putting the pieces in place. I felt that I had no control, and in some ways, I did not. I fought it tooth and nail. I fought for control because I didn't know that God was in control. That he had my back, had his master plan, and while I was hurting at the time, I was growing. I was feeling a lot of hard feelings, but for a reason that would eventually unfold. I didn't know it at the time, but God was gently and slowly leading me back to Him. It would take a while though.

Those months of wondering, worrying, and struggling, seemed to last forever. I wondered if Lexi would be okay. I wondered if I would ever finish all the projects and assignments placed in front of me. I wondered if I would ever stop feeling so lonely. Would we ever finish school? Where would we go after that? Would I ever figure out this mothering thing? Would this chapter of our lives ever end? What would the next chapter hold for us?

 Somehow, even after my epic college-level meltdown, even after Lexi's failure to thrive diagnosis, I made it through. I finished my undergraduate degree. Tim finished his as well. Turns out Lexi was just (and is still) a skinny kid. Totally healthy, just thin. Took some testing and such to figure it out, but eventually I was put at ease. It was not my fault. It is just the way she is.

So we graduated and got the hell outta Dodge. 

Tim and I moved in with his parents, who graciously let us and our toddler live with them while we figured out what was next. As anyone who has let their adult children live with them, or been the adult child living at home can understand, it had its ups and downs. It was hard to go from living on our own for a few years to being back in the home of our parents (and I am sure was equally hard for them to let us) but it was an opportunity for growth. Tim went back to work for Budweiser and searched for a new job. Lexi went to daycare at our old high school a few days per week while I took a few graduate level courses, subbed, and started up what would be a short-lived Avon business. Life was hard in a new way, but we kept at it.

For four months we lived this situation. It was tough. Tim often worked long days, and I worried about him out in the heat. I had a hard time figuring out my place in the home. I was still lonely. I had managed to make one friend who had a kid about Lexi's age, but she lived pretty far away and our personalities didn't mesh well. I still felt out of control. Where would we end up? How long would we live with Tim's parents? Would Tim be able to find a better job? Would we be able to get a house? I was set to student teach the following fall and I was nervous about leaving Lexi all day long. Nervous about balancing an unpaid job and being a good mom. There were just so many question marks. I really wanted to know what would happen next. 

Finally, a promising job interview. With Farmers Insurance, the company my Dad was an agent for. Pay would be about $10,000 more per year, if he got the job. They said they would let us know. More waiting. And we'd started looking at houses. Looked at many and then...found one. The day it went on the market, we were the first people to see it. It was just what we were looking for, and so we made an offer on a Friday night. My stomach was nervous all weekend long waiting to see if our offer was accepted. It was in a great location, a great little starter home. I hoped and prayed about it. Please, let Tim get the job.  Please, let us get the house. Let there be some knowns in all of the unknowns we'd been experiencing for the past few years. I was tired of moving (from my parents' house to my apartment to our townhome to my in-laws' home) and tired of wondering (how could we make it financially? logistically, what would we do? what would each day look like?) and tired of waiting for everything. For the plan that I didn't even know about to fall into place.

And he did. We did. Within a few days of each other, Tim got the job and we got the house. The previous years of chaos and upheaval we slowly settling into some certainties.  Could it be that the days of uncertainty, the shame, the loneliness, might be drawing to a close? Could we just start fresh in a new town, a new home, a new job? Things seemed to be wrapping up quite neatly. For now. And as they did, as we moved into our home and Tim began his new job, I began to feel a new feeling. A sense of longing. But for what?