A Beautiful Journey - Part 1: "Confessions"

Well, the time has come. I am going to do some sharing. Grab yo' popcorn. It's probably going to be a jumpy ride because I am not sure how to neatly organize it. I've also been debating whether I am ready to share this much detail with others yet. I'm being vulnerable here. It's a messy journey. But I feel that I am ready to share some hard things with you, because in sharing my story, perhaps you can find something that will change your story in a positive way.

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Where to begin? I have shared about how Tim & I became a family of 2, and shortly thereafter, a family of 3. Then, two years and eight months after that, we became a family of four when this little treasure joined us:

I was crying in this picture because I was in awe of her. She was beautiful, and super chubby, which surprised me because Lexi was and still is very thin, like her dad. But I cried a lot in the days and months to come, too.

People told me that going from one to two kids would be hard. Really hard. And I believed them. I figured I would be exhausted. But I had no idea how overwhelmed I would be. It was hard!

It started almost immediately after we brought her home. Having a newborn is tough. Nursing was rough for the first 10 days or so. I don't want to get graphic, but it was painful. I knew I wanted to do it, and that it would get better, so I powered through it and ended up nursing her for about 10 months when we were both done. But that first week or do...was tough. I cried just about every time she ate, which was about every 2 hours. It sucked.

On top of that, there was the sleep deprivation factor. When you have your first baby, they tell you to sleep when the baby sleeps, so I did. But when you have one baby and one toddler, you can't always do that. I am a person who does not do well without sleep. I recall bawling my eyes out many times just because I was SO TIRED.

Then there was the guilt. Not gonna lie, there were many times where Tim would feed Lexi breakfast and then put in a movie for her before he left for work so I could try to get a little more sleep. My poor kiddo's life was turned upside down. She went from having me play with her and take her places all day long to having me a very cranky, emotional zombie. And I felt like crap about it, because I wanted to be the mom I was before Lydia was born, but I couldn't. I no longer had the resources (ie sleep) to do so. Looking back, I can say that becoming a big sister was a very good thing for Lexi, but in the moment, I felt guilty.

So yes, having a new baby was hard. It is hard. Everyone who has a new baby can tell you that :) I get that. It ain't supposed to be sunshine and rose petals. I wasn't expecting that. But I also wasn't expecting how it affected me.

 Lydia's birth changed something about me, or brought something out in me that I hadn't seen before, and that really sucked. Even months later when she and I were sleeping better, I felt anxious. I'd never felt anxious before. I would lose my temper with Lexi over really dumb things. I would scream and cry and spank and just freak out, scaring my kid and myself. I don't know if it was PPD or hormonal changes or what, but it really sucked. I would just feel completely overwhelmed about the littlest things and feel anxiety building up in me until I exploded into an adult temper tantrum. After it happened, I felt like such a jerk. What kind of a terrible person would scream at a 3 year old about something so dumb? I can't even think of any examples any more, but most of my outbursts were unwarranted, undeserved.

So the guilt deepened. Here I had two beautiful little girls, two sweet and precious babies, and I was a monster. I tried so hard to fix myself, to take deep breaths, walk away, count to 10, all of the strategies the parenting books and magazines and doctor's office hand outs suggested. They would work for a while, a few days or weeks, but then, I'd blow up again. I knew that having a 3 year old with a new baby in the house was going to cause the 3 year old to act out. But I also knew that my reactions were way over the top. And I knew that I didn't want to be that kind of mom. I was out of control. But I was afraid to tell anyone about it, lest they judge me, or worse.

I think the saddest part of this story is that I let the feelings of guilt and shame weigh me down for so long that this all went on for over a year. About 16 months. I felt ashamed of myself and hopeless, because I couldn't figure out what to do. I was scared that I would lose control and someone would get hurt. I was scared that Tim would give up on me. I had shared with him what was going on and he was the most amazing and supportive husband I could ever ask for. I can't even imagine being in his position, having your spouse come to you and confide that she had anger problems that she was taking out on your kids. I felt like I was letting him down, letting my kids down, letting myself down. I loved all of them and I wanted better for them than that...better that who I had become.

Tim stood by my side through it all. He loved me, supported me, and was more understanding that I ever could have expected. More understanding than I think I could have been. I started researching support groups, calling phone numbers, trying to find help. It was a humbling and scary experience. I was afraid of what others would think, so I didn't tell anyone. I kept searching but couldn't find anything that seemed like a good fit.

I hit my breaking point one evening when we were decorating our Christmas tree. The girls were having a blast, wearing their footed pajamas and digging into boxes of decorations. It had been a good day. But for some reason, anxiety started to build up. I started getting frustrated with Lexi, who was overly tired and no longer listening. I kept asking her to stand in front of our tree for a picture, but she wouldn't. She blatantly defied me, and I reached out and popped her on the back, right in front of Tim. In front of our beautifully lit tree, with Christmas music playing in the background. I hit her and she cried in Tim's arms, and I cried, and that was the end. I ruined a perfectly good day because I couldn't get control of how I was feeling. That was rock bottom. It remains a dark memory.

The good news about rock bottom is that, from there, you go up.

How do you know when you've hit rock bottom? It's when you put your shovel down and stop digging.

 I found help in the form of a group called Celebrate Recovery. It's a 12-step Christian recovery program for people dealing with hurts, habits and hang ups. (Here's the website for info about the general program: http://www.celebraterecovery.com/ ) I am not sure exactly how I discovered this group, but the chapter I attended met at a local church. I scoured the website for as many details as possible and thoroughly contemplated whether it would be a good fit for me. I actually recall seeing a flyer about the group at the library once a few months before this point, but feeling like I wasn't "messed up enough" to go. Ah, pride.

I actually attended my first meeting on November 29th, 2012, before the Christmas tree incident. I was terrified to go and I cried almost the whole time I was there. I mostly cried because I was in the right place. The group is there to help people struggling with all kinds of problems, from anxiety to alcohol, depression to divorce to drugs, to family members with addictions, and more. It was scary to admit that I needed to be there just as much as the people standing beside me. The format of the evening was listening to some worship music, a sermon from a pastor, and then breaking out into small share groups. The kind where you say "Hi, I'm Melissa and I'm struggling with anger" and everyone says "Hi, Melissa." Yep. That kind of group. On that first night in November, I attended the newcomers group where the pastor explained everything about the logistics of the group, what to expect, etc. He said something that I have quoted many times...

"If you think the people around you need Jesus more than you do, you're experiencing pride. If you think you need Jesus more than the people around you, you're experiencing shame."

Wow. That hit home. I'd actually felt on both sides of that spectrum before, but had been unable to put it into words so eloquently.

Still, after that first night, I wasn't sure if it was a good fit for me. Did I really need that much help? It wasn't until after the Christmas tree incident that I realized the answer: yes, I did. I had lost hope that my life would ever be okay again, that I'd be able to "get it together" and be the mom, wife and person I'd always dreamed of being.

But this group, Celebrate Recovery, showed me that that was not the case. That I was God's daughter, and he had not forgotten about me. That is how I started on the road to recovery. And it has been a beautiful journey indeed.