I struggle sharing my thoughts and feelings about things I haven’t figured out yet. I can spill my guts if God’s brought me to the other side. If there has been a victory of some sort. But I’m noticing when I’m smack dab in the middle of the darkness, I don’t share and I don’t ask for help. That’s control. That’s self righteousness. Maybe even pride. All silent killers and self limiting.

I’m still not fixed. But it doesn’t take as long these days. After testing positive for the flu Friday morning and getting some fluids, I’m finally feeling a little better.  After I finished my morning coffee, I walked into my home office and thought, OK, I feel better so let’s catch up on work. 

Two years ago, I hired a new team member at work. She noticed that I was a “Giver” but also recognized that my giving at times was out of sync. She gave me some candid feedback. “Sometimes, people just need the Volkswagen. You don’t have to build the Cadillac every time.” I knew there was validity to that feedback and it came from the heart. I had already received similar feedback in my personal life.

There’s a routine for beach sunsets. You bring your own chair so that you can remain in place after the umbrella guy has come and gone. Another must is a ham sandwich and Oreo cookies. Ready, Set, Go. But this time we were staying in a new condo, at a different bend in the coast line and the sun went down behind another high rise. I couldn’t actually see the sun. I was so disappointed. I thought I had gotten through this vacation without setting expectations but maybe not. No Showstoppers. 

On my 33rd Birthday, after my divorce, my mom sent me a birthday card and it said, Life is Meant to Be Celebrated! Those instructions have stuck in my head for 15 years. I often sign birthday cards for my friends that exact same way. As an over-achiever, I have missed out on celebrating a lot of life. There are big moments in life and there are times when you win the blue ribbon but most of the moments are the small ones. I want to celebrate those. 

Two years ago, my son Jackson and I were going through a really hard time. It was the ultimate power struggle and it was sucking the peace out of our home. It had been just the two of us for so long. His dad and I separated when he was eight months old. And even though my older son Bryce was still home, with an age difference of 15 years, Jackson was raised like an only child. He thought he was the man of the house. I can see how he thought that … it’s a symptom of a single parent home, especially a boy and his mom.

I couldn’t see my life past two marriages. Although I wanted intimacy, I couldn’t dare take the risk of failing a third time. It’s obviously something I’m not capable of doing. Friends and family confirmed that. “Your picker is broken.” “It can’t be all their fault.” And they were right.

I am convinced that the enemy knows our weakest link. What I didn’t trust is Jesus does too. Career success, academics, social and community engagement has always been part of my strengths. I get it from my Momma. Intimate relationships, understanding who I should be yoked with, boundaries and self confidence…. Those are things that I have struggled with since I was old enough to date. I wanted to play it safe or fix someone. I trusted people to love me when they needed me, I didn’t trust people to love me when they didn’t.