A Bit of Regression

This past week was a struggle.

All of my failings, all of my weaknesses, seemed magnified. I couldn't escape them. Being forgetful, losing my cool, saying the wrong things to my children... always.

It all came to a head Sunday with my two oldest. I couldn't seem to do anything right with one, and the other's lack of cooperation was exasperating. As usual, I blamed myself for their poor choices, feeling I hadn't taught them well enough. Feeling their bad habits are merely a reflection of my own.

I thought, They can't get their act together because I can't. It's all my fault... What is wrong with me?!

I had cried off and on throughout the morning, even letting the kids walk in to church on their own so I could take a moment to collect myself before heading in. The last thing I wanted was sympathy or attention. I needed the tear stains to dry, and the redness around my eyes and nose to fade. I silently prayed that no one would notice... One friend saw me in the car, and tapped on my window. I halfheartedly smiled at him and waved, like, "It's cool, bro. I'm fine." But I wasn't fine. If I could have slept in the van for the rest of church, I may have done that. Instead, I took a few deep breaths, got out and walked into the building as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact while still trying to greet people.

Drew and Eve knew I was "off," and cuddled next to me, Eve hugging my arm and occasionally reaching up with her little face to kiss my cheek.

I kept my head down, fighting back tears. Sometimes, a few fell, but I hoped it wasn't terribly obvious. I had to keep it together, because after the first speaker the choir was going to sing, and I was the accompanist. Then after Sacrament Meeting, I was supposed to teach one of the Young Women classes. The lesson the girls had chosen for that week was "Who am I, and who can I become?" I had read all the lesson materials, and had come up with a plan, but then I was battling this meltdown-- one that frequently happens on days when I'm assigned to teach...

The time for the choir to sing came, and I quickly made my way to the piano, trying to stay focused on the task. After I sat on the bench, I looked up to see friend after friend following me up to the stand, lining the choir seats till they nearly didn't have enough room for them. I haven't seen a choir that big in our ward in over a decade.

Our number was simple-- a basic arrangement of the hymn, "A Prayer of Thanksgiving." Straight out of the hymnbook. But the power that came from that choir-- bearing pure and simple testimony, expressing a prayer of humble gratitude and praise, strengthened my soul and lifted the burden that had been resting upon my shoulders.

The lesson I had prepared for the Young Women (all two of the them that came to my class that day-- one of them being Allie), was one I think was chosen really for my benefit.

I had thought about last month when Drew had taken a field trip to the Orlando Science Center. They were able to spend about forty-five minutes in a lab trying to build their own roller coasters with marbles and rubber tracks, having discussed potential and kinetic energy-- potential being stored energy, and kinetic being energy in motion. The greater the potential energy, the greater the kinetic energy. Ever since that day, I thought about our own "potential energy"-- what we are capable of because of who we really are.

So I brought this up in my lesson. Then we read the beginning statement from the recently updated Young Women Theme:

I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Parents (yes, Latter-day Saints believe that we also have a Heavenly Mother. Wild stuff, right?!) with a divine nature (meaning, I have inherited attributes from my Father in Heaven) and eternal destiny (He has provided a plan for me to come home and live with Him eternally, forever). 

Right there. That is who we are. And if our destiny is eternal life, meaning our kinetic energy has eternal possibilities, then our potential energy in infinite as well.

We are eternal beings by nature, made by the Divine, bestowed with His gifts and characteristics. Imagine what we are capable of learning now, and learning throughout eternity! Because of Jesus Christ, such an eternity is our destiny. He is like the track, without which, the roller coaster would crash and burn.

I can rejoice that, while I will make mistakes, Christ has made my potential an actual possibility. And He has given me an eternity to realize it.

I need not punish myself, holding a tight grip on my shortcomings. Because He doesn't.

Nor do I need to be ashamed of myself when I am weak in spirit. Because He isn't.

I love this quote from Elder Dale G. Renlund, "...God cares a lot more about who we are and who we are becoming than about who we once were. He cares that we keep on trying."

So keep on trying, my friends.

The Young Women made small, simple stuffed bears for the ER, to hand out to little ones who might be afraid or sad. Allie isn't super comfortable sewing, but she did it anyway! 

Iratus sum, ergo sum

I don't speak Latin.

But Google Translate is amazing.

I was thinking about that old phrase by Decartes. Cogito, ergo sum. "I think, therefore I am." Truly, if we are able to ponder our own existence, then we exist. No doubt about that. I wouldn't leave it there, though. If we are able to feel our own existence-- all the emotions that go along with being human-- then we are. We are alive. We are present.

So, iratus sum, ergo sum. I am angry, therefore I am.

That's not to say that I am necessarily angry right now, nor do I want to be. In fact, I know I have been angry too much lately, getting upset with others (perhaps, if only internally) when it's not worth my time, and frustrated with situations I can't control.

I need to let it go. I need more charity.

So I have been praying daily for more charity for others, even focusing on specific individuals-- individuals whom I love, but perhaps haven't been loving perfectly. Praying has helped. Fewer things have bothered me, and it has been glorious feeling less angry.

But anger is normal. It's a very human feeling, and sometimes it's even justified. Hey, even Jesus got angry!

The problem with that "justified anger" is that we may not know how to express it with respect, or we hold it in, letting it fester (could take days, could take years), till we can't hold it in anymore. Explosive anger is the worst, but long-time festering anger contributes to depression.

I tend to feel such justified anger when I feel I've been disrespected or judged harshly or falsely, or when I see it happening to others. If the culprit is a child or teen, I step in and correct, as long as I am the nearest authority figure. I don't yell, but I am firm and clear.

Adults are a different story. I do not feel, nor have I ever felt, comfortable calling out an adult when I am angry with them regarding their behavior. I hate contention, and avoid it like the plague.

Sometimes, I step back and look at the situation and realize that keeping my mouth shut and letting it go is for the best. Other times, my anger is kindled because the offense is recurring. I sit back and say nothing, hoping it won't happen again, but knowing deep down that it will. Really, I'm just setting myself up for abuse, albeit minor.

Personally, I am just tired of carrying such anger around with me.

Obviously, I am going to continue to pray for charity. Daily. Multiple times a day, even. It will help me " not sweat the small stuff," or even the BIG stuff! There are heaps of issues around me that I have no control over. Perhaps they happen on the other side of the country, or even the world. But I do have control over my little world, my life, my own actions.

But when I do feel I've been wronged, and when I step back to look at it and evaluate, I realize that, if it's important enough, I can't keep silent. Speaking up (with civility and respect, otherwise it will have the opposite effect) will get the weight off. It will liberate me.

And I've always been a big proponent of agency.

Since beginning my self-care journey, I have made quite a bit of progress in terms of saying no and loving myself.

This month it's time to honor my anger... when it has it's rightful place, of course.

Sunshine Beyond the Clouds

In the Women's Session of the General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints earlier this month, Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society Presidency, opened up about depression, anxiety, and even suicide.

I loved the story she told about being in an airplane above a storm, with the sun reflecting beautifully off the clouds below. Soon the plane descended below the clouds and she was stunned at the contrast. Just moments ago there was so much light, and now the light had seemingly vanished... When overwhelmed by the storms of life, it can be difficult to remember that the Light is still there.

I had received one distinct message as I listened-- I need to keep blogging.

Of course, it's partly for me. Writing is incredibly therapeutic. I sort out my own thoughts, organizing them on paper so they quit bouncing off the walls inside my head and even multiplying till they're unbearable.

But it's also for you-- for anyone who reads this. I want you to know that you are not alone. My posts are just a virtual hug meant to tell you, Hey, I get it. Even if just a little. It's ok. You're ok.

After the April General Conference this year, I decided that the best way for me to review the talks again was to watch one or two a day-- just enough so I'm not overwhelmed, but can ponder them as I run errands and fold laundry. And when the October Conference came, I knew I wanted to make this a habit.

Sister Aburto's talk popped up today as I ate my lunch. My eyes fixed on her face as she poured out her heart, with love and peace washing over me. And I knew I needed to share this message with all of you.

So find a quiet place, and set aside twelve minutes and watch it. You might want to keep a notebook handy, just in case you feel a burst of inspiration. In the comments below, I would love to hear how this message moved you!

"Your struggles do not define you, but they can refine you."

-- Reyna I. Aburto

Living Life "Right"

Allie is in her second year of Seminary, and I'm still not used to it. My alarm goes off at 5:20am, and I can't remember ever being in a good mood about that, especially since it's so dang dark in the morning right now.

My one consolation is the quiet time I have once we get to the church and she enters the classroom. From there I keep walking down the hallway to the chapel doors. The chapel is dark, except for a couple safety lights that are always on. It's just barely light enough for me to sit on a pew and pull out my scriptures, as well as whatever novel I'm slowly working my way through at the moment.

Right now, it's Little Women. And Marmee is probably the wisest mother I've ever seen... But I digress.

This morning after Seminary, we made our way home, still in the dark at 7am. We arrived with just enough time to open up to 1 Thessalonians, chapter 1 (a short chapter) as a family for a few minutes before sending everyone off to school.

Eve had a choir practice before school this morning, so Kevin took her, and I walked Drew. Kevin could have taken Drew as well, but I enjoy the mile walk to school. It's a special time with my kids that I will one day be without, so I'm soaking it in while I can.

And, this morning, rather than walking back, I decided to run. Running isn't a particularly enjoyable activity for me, but I can handle a mile or so. I'm not a "runner" by any means. I guess I just want to make sure I can run if I really need to, for whatever reason.

Within the hour, I was driving Sami to school, and I was happy with the way my morning had gone. It isn't all the time that I'm able to squeeze all of that in. Sometimes my time in the scriptures is a bit... abbreviated. Or sometimes my walk to school doesn't happen. But I try. That's all I can do, right?

As drove with Sami in the car, I caught myself almost thinking, Hey, I'm living life right this morning. In that moment, I realized that those habits aren't living life "right" at all, and thinking so is not only prideful, but dangerous. Rather, they are preparing me to endure through hard times in life when my faith and testimony and perhaps even my body will be tried and tested-- they are preparing me to live my life "right."

Within the past year, I have gotten all new tires on the van. The difference between tires with brand new tread and tires that have been worn bald isn't really apparent on a road that is newly paved and dry. But add some rain or oil, ice or snow, and the difference is very apparent. The newer tires grip the road, and the driver can maintain control of the vehicle. The bald tires, though?

So I study God's word each day, not just to say I've done it, not just to check it off the list and pat myself on the back. I study to learn something profound and important, to hear the voice of the Lord speaking to me. I know it's not having read from the scriptures that will help me navigate a slippery road, but having studied from them.

It's the same with literature or exercise. When I focus on what I'm learning and what I'm gaining, how I'm preparing myself for life, all becomes more than a task on my "to-do" list. And this is part of my own self-care journey.

I was asked recently about how I'm actually doing-- how I'm feeling and progressing. Is the Self-Care making a difference in my life? Absolutely!

I'm learning my limits. I'm learning a whole new approach to honesty that includes being true to myself and my own energy and nature. I'm learning I don't need to try to make everyone happy.

It's completely liberating.

I'll admit, I have moments of sadness and discouragement. I still battle feelings of failure. But they may never really go away. These self-care exercises are meant to help me prepare myself for, defend myself against, and navigate my way through my own "slippery roads." They are meant to give me new tires and new driving skills for all of those road hazards against which my previous bald tires couldn't stand a chance.

So, as much as it pains me to re-set my alarm clock each morning, knowing it will jar me from my sleep in the wee hours the next morning, I know I'm just adding tread to my tires.

You Might be Mad at Me...

So this month's challenge is very closely related to last month's.

I have to disappoint you. I have to allow you to possibly be upset with me, angry even.

And I have to be completely okay with that. 

I can't backtrack to try to appease you. I can't do what you'd like me to do (but I really don't want to do) in order to keep the peace. I can't be the diplomat.

Like I said, this is almost like what I worked on last month, except this is not just about having an absolute "no" list. It's about saying no when I need to do so. It's about following my gut and not giving in to guilt. It's about recognizing that I have needs as well-- needs I need to fulfill and protect.

Honestly, I hate it when others are upset with me. Oftentimes I stew over negative feelings I know someone may have toward me, obsessing over what I can do or say to "make it better." Yet, when I'm trying to make it better, I'm really trying to feel better about myself. I'm trying to subconsciously manipulate someone else's feelings about me so that I don't have to obsess anymore.

Because it's torture.

But that means that my desire to fix things isn't coming from a true, sincere, selfless place. It's actually coming from a vain and completely self-centered place.

Serving others is one of the most noble acts we can perform, and yet it only is such if it comes from a heart that's in the right place. It is only meaningful when done altruistically.

I have those experiences as well! And they are awesome! I come away from serving feeling like I really served myself as well, when that really wasn't the intention at all.

But when done out of guilt or shame, or to keep the peace (or when I really know I don't have the time nor means), I feel... ripped off. I feel cheated. Bitter, even. I'm mad at myself for saying yes when I KNOW I shouldn't have, but I try to put off my frustrations on those that asked me for help or I perceived as having taken advantage of me so I don't have to admit it was really my fault.

Boy, how's all that for anxiety?!

As I teach my kids all the time, though: Worry about yourself.

Of course, I tell them this when they are arguing about how awful and rude the other sibling is, when each kid really needs to take a good, long look in the mirror and see what they personally need to change. But I also teach them that this means they can't control the other person. Allie can't turn Sami into someone she's not. Neither can Sami make Allie act or think or feel a certain way.

Worry about yourself.

I can't take the responsibility upon myself to determine how you think or feel either. I can and will be polite, respectful, considerate, honest, and as compassionate as I can be. But if you ultimately don't like my choices-- if I say no to you-- whether or not you are upset is not a problem for me to handle. It's a problem for you to handle.

Cheryl Richardson, in the chapter titled "Let Me Disappoint You" in her book The Art of Extreme Self-Care says, "Remember, if you're going to disappoint people the right way, the idea is to tell the truth with respect and care, not manage their emotions. While you can't control how someone feels or how they react, you can control how you feel and how you choose to make your point. Don't measure your success by the response you receive. Measure it by how you feel once your anxiety disappears."

And I would absolutely love for my anxiety to disappear!

As I kick off the next month, I will have to become comfortable with others being disappointed in me. It's okay if you might mad at me.

I mean, my kids feel this way about me everyday. So it shouldn't be too hard, right?

The Angels Are Listening...

I knew I was in for it the moment I said it...

You see, this year has been a bit of a challenge for us financially. And I'm not saying that in comparison with anyone else. I totally realize that there are plenty of people across the globe whose challenges are far worse than ours. 

But in terms of our goals and desires (like, we would like to purchase a third vehicle next year so that Allie can drive herself to school and activities when she has her license), we have not been able to save as much as we would have liked due to some big-ticket home repair and maintenance issues.

Monday morning, as I took Sami to school, I was discussing this with her, as I explained why we probably wouldn't be able to take a Christmas break road trip to the mountains this year, which we have done five out of the last six years. 

I, once again, listed the expenses for the broken pool chlorinator, pool pump, and garage door spring (forgetting to mention the faulty control panel on the water heater). Then we had to have our large oak cut down, because it was dead and hazardous, and the pines out back trimmed. We just fixed the burned-out burner on the stove, and still have to replace the gasket on the freezer. A couple months ago, we had to replace the microwave plate because Sami had accidentally dropped and shattered it on the tile. And now our kitchen faucet is acting up.

For us, this is way more than we usually have to deal with. 

I concluded this list to Sami with, "But, I am grateful..." And I hesitated. See, my dear friend Sarah used to tell me back in our college days, "The angels are listening." We would laugh over it, because we knew it was true. So I tried to be careful with the way I worded it...

"... I'm grateful that we have been pretty healthy up until now and haven't had a huge amount of medical expenses." I hoped I would be safe with that since the angels can't change what already happened. After all, I also felt it important to express gratitude where gratitude was due! But, deep down, I knew I was in for it.

And then Allie came home later that afternoon, sat on the couch and said, "I don't feel good." 

Oh, those angels! Did they have to be listening so well?!

I had her take a nap while I made dinner. I woke her up to eat, and then I left for choir practice. I came home later that night to a groggy girl who couldn't think clearly to get any work done. She was grumpy and felt like the world was caving in on her. I even had to help her with her chemistry homework, and I have never even taken chemistry! 

The next morning, I felt prompted to let her sleep through seminary, and woke her up an hour later. She got ready and made it to the bus stop while I took other kids to school. After the house was quiet, I rolled out my Yoga mat for a little Yoga practice, but when it concluded, I thought about Allie. I felt that I needed to text her right then, just to check on her.

Me: How are you feeling?

Allie: Terrible 

I have a fever so I'm freezing even in the sun 

Can you please check me out

I drove right to the school, and then took her straight to the urgent care. No test was needed. The doctor looked at her and said, "Congratulations, you have the flu." 

I haven't gotten the bill from the urgent care yet, because we don't have copays and it has to go through insurance. But we will pay 100% since we haven't hit our deductible yet. Same with the Tamiflu. The pharmacist felt awful about the cost, but that wasn't her fault. 

I have quarantined Allie upstairs in the bonus room and sanitized the rest of the house, praying that no one else will catch it, thinking about all the important activities and projects and tests happening in the next couple weeks, also mentally multiplying the amount spent on Allie for this by six. 

I'm sure somehow it will work out okay. It always does. The angels help there, too.

I got to thinking about how we are starting the last quarter of the year, getting ready to head into 2020. Often at the New Year, I hear so many people say things like, "Man, last year was awful! I am so glad to see it go!" Honestly, my brain doesn't usually work like that. This year has been tough at times, but it has had some really great moments, too. And, when I think of the coming year, while I may be optimistic, I also remind myself that, realistically, this next year will likely be full of its own set of challenges.

But I can't dwell on that. Worrying about what hasn't even happened, over which I have absolutely no control, isn't helping anyone. 

I'll just take things a day at a time, hoping for the best, but saving for those rainy days (rather than dreading them). 

And I'll trust that the angels around me are going to do much more for me than just dish out irony.

(My "angels" in front of the gorgeous and serene Los Angeles Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints)

UPDATE 10/3/19: My dryer just broke...

I Just Might Say No...

My friend Heather and I often got asked to sing at church as teenagers. We were both pretty good, and could throw together a musical number fairly quickly. So I think we were the bishopric's "go-to." Of course, her dad was also a member of said bishopric, so...

I remember one particular time, though, when we were asked to sing. I'm pretty sure I didn't want to, for some reason I can't remember-- maybe too much homework, or too many activities. Or maybe I was just plain tired. None of those would surprise me, really. I think I even complained a bit to my mom about how they "never asked anyone else."

In spite of the way I felt, I agreed to sing. My mom, frustrated, looked at me and asked, "Why didn't you just say no?" Honestly, I didn't even think that was an option. If someone asked me to do something for them, unless I literally, physically was incapable of doing so, I did it. Part of it was that I didn't want to let them down, and perhaps part of it (if I'm being completely truthful) was to prove to those that thought I shouldn't or couldn't, that I could-- that I could be Supergirl. I always had an issue with wanting to prove others wrong if they told me I couldn't do anything, for whatever reason... even perhaps a good one.

And, because I was stubborn, the fact that my mom wanted me to say no, made me want to say yes. Always.

I never thought about how much stress or anxiety any one activity caused me. I convinced myself that it would be weak of me to say no, and "doing it all" could actually be done. No one taught me to believe this way. And, trust me, nowhere in the scriptures can you find such a ridiculous doctrine.

It all comes down to the need to prove myself, either to others or maybe just to me. I just wanted approval.

I think that might be why I began my journey in self-care with the exercise to look at my reflection and say, "I love you, Krissy." I had to show myself that love wasn't something I had to earn. I had to see first-hand that I was lovable, by God and others, no matter what I did or didn't do, looking at myself as if I were my own child, needing a nurturing, gentle, encouraging hand. My kids know that they have my love, no strings attached, forever. So why shouldn't I?

And since I have no need to seek approval, then I should have no problem saying no, when saying yes would would not be a loving response toward me.

I was just reading 2 Corinthians 8 yesterday, where Paul teaches the Saints in Corinth about imparting their substance unto the poor. He wrote, "13 For I mean not that other men be eased, and ye burdened. 14 By by equality, that now at this time your abundance may be a supply for their want, that their abundance also may be a supply for your want: that there may be equality." (KJV)

When I read verse 13, I thought about it over and over. And then I connected it to the next verse.

Sure, when we are blessed with abundance, the Lord expects us to give to the poor. But the poor can't be expected to give away the little they have, the bare necessities, to make others' lives easier, without it creating undue burdens upon them and their families. (Yet, ironically, these tend to be some of the most giving, selfless people in the world.)

Well, what about the "poor in spirit?" Or the poor in time or energy or health?

This is where saying "no" comes into play.

It's a beautiful thing that there are so many willing and capable hands on this earth-- billions, even! If my own hands are weary, or busy, or weak, there are others to lift them. Or if another's hands need lifting, and mine are not capable of reaching out to help, there are others who can.

Remember, billions of hands.

I don't need to do it all. I don't need to be the savior (there's only One anyway...), and I surely don't need to make everyone happy. I cannot take that responsibility upon myself without feeling the weight of the world resting upon my shoulders. And who in the world would want that?

So, I give you my "Absolute 'No' List."  Before I go further, let me emphasize that are going to be things that sometimes I do and sometimes I don't (i.e. sometimes I will be able to bring a meal to someone, and other times I will say no) because my resources and circumstances vary from day-to-day. But this list refers to things to which I will always say no in order to take better care of myself.

This list I will be strictly adhering to for the next month. My list may not be your list. There may be some things on here that you think are not a big deal, and that's fine! But for me, they cause anxiety and stress. I don't need them. Here goes:

* I will not answer the phone or be on my phone during meals, even if I'm alone.
* I will not feel obligated to spend time with others who choose to live in chaos or attempt to pull me into their drama.
* I will not feel bad about saying no when it is what's best for me.
* I will not attend sales parties unless there is something I need in particular, even if it is to "help a friend."
* I will not give to charities over the phone, or feel guilty for not doing so.
* I will not bring catalogs into the house unless there is something in it I specifically need.
* I will not drive more than 20 minutes each way to drive my child to/from a regular weekly activity.
* I will not commit to more than one community leadership position at a time.
* I will not apologize for not being able to help or volunteer.
* I will not let others' demands of me take away from time to get physical exercise.

Boy, just writing out this list is so liberating!

My challenge this month? Place this list somewhere I will see it and review it daily.

So, my friends, what's on your "Absolute 'No" List?" Or, perhaps, what would you like to have on your list? What can you work on this month?

When Life Gives you a Hurricane, Go Fly a Kite

We put up our storm shutters on Sunday afternoon. At that point, all possible tracks of Hurricane Dorian showed it at least side-swiping our coast, and we were officially on Hurricane Warning. Earlier that week, we had been told we might be hit directly-- as in the track pretty much went over our house-- as a Category 4 or 5.

Dorian obliterated the Bahamas. Category 5. 190 mile per hour winds. And it sat over them, moving at one mile per hour, for 48 hours, battering them over and over again.

Our hearts broke for them, and then we waited. We heard a rain band come through, and then thought, Here it comes...  Then, nothing. Then some fairly strong wind gusts, then nothing. And most of the time, there has been nothing.

I had read an article in the local paper the other day that mentioned how our county hasn't experienced hurricane force sustained winds since Hurricane David of 1979. Sure, we've had some run-ins with destructive hurricanes, storms that have done a lot of damage. But by the time those storms reached us, the winds weren't even within hurricane range. Sobering, for sure.

I don't know why the Bahamas had to suffer, and we were spared. I can't even speculate. Really, we were much better equipped to handle such a storm. We never even lost power here. Regardless of the reason, we (as in, mankind) will reach out and help, because that's what we do. It's what we do for our brothers and sisters who are hurting. And organizations are already reaching out, and that warms my heart.

By Monday we watched in agony as the storm continued to sit motionless over the Bahamas. But we figured we were in for some intense weather within the next couple of days, so I made chocolate chip cookies. A double batch. It's a tradition I began the last time a hurricane threatened us. If the storm shutters have to go up, then cookies I will bake!

Yesterday, I took a walk in the morning with Kevin and Sami. I was tired of being stuck indoors, and the wind had just barely started to pick up. As we walked, I noticed the lack of cars on the road, and I commented, "Hey, it might be a good day for Allie to practice driving, since the roads are empty!" So Kevin took her out to drive when we got home.

Later that afternoon, Kevin spotted the kites in the garage. "Hey, Eve! Let's go fly a kite!" I wanted to go out and watch, but I had a stomach ache and couldn't get up off the couch, so I sent Allie out with the camera. Kevin told me later that Eve was nervous about letting the kite go too high, but from the pictures I could tell she was absolutely giddy.

We all know the saying, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." I believe this. I really do. But, admittedly, for us, making the lemonade was a piece of cake. We didn't have to work hard to find the "sugar" to make our "hurric-ade" somewhat enjoyable. But for our Bahamian neighbors, a lot of that "sugar" got washed out with the storm surge.

Although, I saw one video that brought me hope. The video showed the destruction of an apartment complex. While the walls were still intact, the roof had been blown off, likely from the windows having blown in first. Every inch of the floor was covered in dirt and soggy insulation. But as the woman holding the camera rounded a corner, there was a father holding his newborn child. He smiled at the baby, swaying back-and-forth as the the little one cooed back at him.

He had his beautiful "lemonade."

I think, more than anything, making the most out of a rotten situation means looking for hope, wherever you can find it. And for this father, it was in his child's face, amidst the chaos.

So as I make our "hurricane cookies," or as Eve flies her kite in the face of the storm, what we're really saying is, "Hey, it's going to be ok."

We will make it through, we will rise above.

Learning to Love Myself

For the past two weeks, I've tried not to miss a day. I'll admit it was pretty awkward at first, and I felt like I was lying. I recall sheepishly looking at my reflection in the mirror, somewhat avoiding my own gaze, and mumbling "I love you, Krissy." Whew! I'm done with that for the day. This is weird, and going to be a long month of this. But as the days went by, I started to stare back at myself with confidence and reassurance. I was even protective of myself. I began to say out loud, "Krissy, I love you. You are beautiful and good, and I am going to take care of you. I'm going to protect you and keep you safe." It's nice to feel something that inside of me is changing...

I guess I've battled it much of my life-- just didn't know it.

I would see depression from the worst side of it-- suicidal, not being able to get out of bed, sleeping too much, eating for comfort.

And anxiety to me meant uncontrollable panic or stress-- all-consuming, paralyzing worries of always doing the wrong thing, of messing up.

I didn't realize there was a spectrum, a gradient. And because of this, perhaps I was on the road to the deepest, darkest places of these diseases because I wasn't getting the help I needed.

I've been coping with this sense of worthlessness-- one that comes and goes, and I tried to keep at bay by staying busy. The busier the better, because it meant less time I had to be left with my negative, self-destructive thoughts. Thoughts of never being good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. Never measuring up to standards I assumed everyone else had placed upon me. Feeling I was a complete failure and let-down, and measuring my success on whether or not those I cared about were happy with, and proud of, my efforts.

My self-worth stemmed from what I did rather than who I was. In my mind I was worthy of love and respect only if I earned it. Only if I performed well.

This bled into every aspect of my life-- music and performance, education, motherhood, and my marriage. And that anxiety put me on edge. I would snap at my kids when I felt like my world was falling apart because of my own weaknesses, and then mentally torture myself for having made such a stupid, awful mistake. I would grumble to myself about my husband coming home from church and falling asleep on the couch rather than helping me with the kids.

And when the anxiety overwhelmed me, the depression set in. Those days would feel dark and gray, as I wallowed in my apparent inability to do anything right. I would spend hours on my knees, my tear-stained face resting on my bed, as I prayed to Heavenly Father to make me a better person. In reality I wanted Him to magically make me perfect, free from what made me human-- failure. I was tired of it, and thought my life could only be worthwhile if I was free of it.

Something would always snap me out of these depressed states. Perhaps a friend needed help, and I needed to go outside myself and serve. Or I had to attend a meeting at the school. In spite of my reluctance to engage, I would clean my face, take a deep breath, put on a smile, and go and do. And then I would forget about myself and my woes for a while. But the underlying problem was always there, looming.

Early this year, for my birthday, my mother-in-law gave me a book written by Jane Clayson Johnson called Silent Souls Weeping. The book highlighted numerous cases of depression, and of how we all too often suffer alone, in silence, hoping that we can just pray it away. I had thought by reading the book I would come to understand better those suffering with depression, and particularly severe depression, since I assumed it was the only kind out there. But when I finished the book, I took a long, introspective look at myself.

I thought about how many times within the past several months I had wished that I ceased to exist. Death didn't seem appealing to me, because I felt I would hurt people by taking my own life. And I was tired of hurting and disappointing others because of my mistakes. But if I could just disappear, I thought that might be the best option. I felt like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life when he tells the Clarence the angel, "I suppose it had been better if I'd never been born at all."

And I knew then that I needed help. I probably had known for years, but was afraid to get it-- afraid to be seen as weak or fragile or needy. Mental illness scared me, and perhaps I feared being diagnosed at all.

Throughout the summer I visited with Dr. Bethea several times. For the most part she let me talk. We talked about family, fears, broken hearts, and unfilled dreams. And that's when I made a breakthrough. Through all these years, I had been trying to make everyone happy, but myself. I had been trying to care for everyone, but me. And the irony of life is that I will be able to better love and serve others if I know how to love and serve myself first.

I talked with Drew last night about this very idea. He's hard on himself for his mistakes, just like me. He likes to make people happy, just like I do. But I've tried to explain to him that while he can try to make people happy, he can't hold himself responsible if it doesn't work. He isn't responsible for others' happiness.

Well, he messed up yesterday. Nothing big-- just failed to come home from his friend's house when he was supposed to, so he had to face the consequence we had previously agreed upon. He went in his room and sulked, not because he was mad at me, but because he was mad at himself. I could tell he was beating himself up for making such a "dumb" mistake. I asked him if he would do that to me, if I had made a mistake, and he admitted he wouldn't.

We then talked about the two great commandments. He knew the first one, to love God. And when asked about the second, he responded, "To love our neighbor." I reminded him that he was leaving out an important part. To "love thy neighbor as thyself."

"You know what that means, Drew?"

"No..."

"That we're expected, after we first love God, to love ourselves. We can't love our neighbor very well unless we love ourselves first."

Dr. Bethea had recommended a book to me at our last meeting four weeks ago-- The Art of Extreme Self-Care by Cheryl Richardson. Extreme... Boy, self-care is serious business! Twelve chapters of enlightenment and 30-day challenges. She advised the reader to read the entire book first, and then choose which challenge to do first, suggesting the challenge I really, really did not want to do.

The idea of telling myself everyday that I love myself seemed ridiculous at the time, and I knew I would feel ridiculous doing it! So, with some hesitance, that was the first challenge of my maiden voyage toward better-- extreme-- self-care.

And for the first time in more years than I can count, I feel like I am actually beginning to love myself.

So over the next year, I will be sharing my journey with you. My intent is to be open and honest, as I find joy through pain, even opposition. Feel free to join me.

Not Quite a Vacation

The kids are on their second week of school, but the same end-of-summer small talk with other moms still occurs. I’m approached with…

“Ugh, I’m so glad that school has started and that we’re back on a schedule, aren’t you?” I smile in validation, all the while thinking, Nope, I’m not glad. I hate it.

“My kids got to do some really cool camps! Like baseball, and drama, and dance, and…” Camps? Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of those… Tried ‘em a few times. Not a fan. I have to drive there, and then home, and then back again to pick them up, and then back home. That’s like school. I just want to go to the beach with my kids and eat hotdogs and ice cream.

“Hey! I saw the pics on Facebook of your amazing vacation! How was it?!” (Screech!) Wait, what? Did you just say “vacation?”

Kevin had a professor in graduate school, a family man, who taught us that there is a distinct different between vacations and family trips, and the two should never be confused. Ever. The difference? Basically, children. One includes them, and the other does not. He was an electrical engineering professor; therefore, a man of logic, reasoning, and efficiency, and he must be correct. He has thought about it, come to a hypothesis, tested it, and found it to be true. So. He’s right.

I will admit, we had an amazing family trip this summer. Two and a half weeks of exhausting adventure, driving from the Pacific Northwest coast to San Diego. We explored Snoqualmie Falls and braved the glass floor from the top of the Space Needle in Seattle. We met up for a family reunion on the Oregon Coast, looking for sea stars and anemones in the tidepools around the majestic Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach and letting our Florida toes barely touch the icy ocean water while our Utah cousins dove in to body surf. We climbed the Astoria Column, played in the snow still surrounding Crater Lake, visited my grandparents’ old house in Grants Pass, walked through sacred Redwood Forests, skipped rocks on the Smith River, drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, ate ice cream at Ghirardelli Square, watched the sea otters and admired the crashing waves around Morro Rock, and then spent another week with family in San Diego.

The pictures are awesome, the memories priceless. But, no, it was not a vacation.

We also had our credit card number stolen two days before we left-- had to cancel them. We wouldn’t get our new cards in time for our flight, so I had them mailed to my parents’ home in San Diego. “No worries,” we said. “We’ll just use our debit card.” We didn’t anticipate that the rental car company wouldn’t accept debit cards as a holding card for the minivan, even though we had already paid for the it. They weren’t going to give us the van until Kevin pulled out his wallet and said, with some reservation, “We could use my corporate card...” Problem solved.

Then in Tacoma, the hotel I booked was… well… one of those hotels. You know, the ones where more people are living there than staying there? I realized what kind it was when we pulled up to check in, and there was a kids’ scooter sitting out front alongside a skateboard, their owners a group of kids just hanging out in the lobby shootin’ the breeze with the desk clerk. I chuckled and thought, Oh, boy… Our non-smoking room reeked of cigarette smoke, Kevin ran into a domestic dispute almost turned violent (until he intervened) on his way to the front desk to pick up a can of Lysol air freshener, I couldn’t sleep because I heard yelling and foul language all night long, and we could only eat our free continental breakfast if we brought a voucher proving we were staying in that hotel and were eligible to eat it.

The following week in California, my oldest daughter came to me wondering if she had eczema on her scalp. Oh, no, I panicked, and rushed over to check her head. Lice. Are you freaking kidding me?! I checked her two sisters, and they had it, too, just not as bad. We put their hair in French braids, and continued with our plans that day to meet up with my sister-in-law and her kids, having made sure to warn her of our plague. She was gracious and understanding, and didn’t seem worried. Once we made it to Morro Bay that evening, we stopped at a drugstore to get lice treatment, and spent the next two hours combing out their hair in the hotel room.

The next morning, I received a text from our bank notifying me of suspicious purchases of digital items on Amazon with our debit card. My debit card number had been stolen, too! I reported it immediately, and the card was cancelled. And then we had no money—no credit card, no debit card, and I had used most of the cash I had in my wallet to buy some little mediocre painting from a “starving” street artist in San Francisco the day before. I only had four dollars in my wallet. In desperation, we ate the granola bars we had in the car for breakfast as we drove to our bank’s nearest branch twenty minutes away to take care of the problem.

By the time we arrived to my parents’ house in San Diego, I was spent. I declared that I didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere for the whole week. For the most part, that’s what we did—nothing. The kids played in the backyard on the giant tree swing, ran around with their cousin, watched an unhealthy number of movies, and organized their annual lemonade stand.

And when we got home, I needed a vacation from our family trip.

By the looks of things, that may not come for a while.

Forever Now

Dang you, Michael Bublé! You had to do it, didn’t you? You just had to try to make me cry. Well, it worked, okay?

I knew I would. And usually I try to avoid these sappy songs and videos that pull at your heart strings and make you regret every ounce of anger you’ve ever felt at your kids. You end up wanting to drive over to the school, check your kids out, and never bring them back for fear that their childhood is slipping away and you’re totally missing out on all of it and have completely wasted your time worrying about dumb, insignificant tasks like laundry and dishes and groceries.

So, Mr. Bublé, you succeeded. Now, I’m looking at the clock, watching the minutes tick away until I can pick them up in an hour and half. And hour and a half! That’s, like, an eternity!

But, seriously, that song. That video. “Forever Now.” It’s true. So true.

My oldest daughter is fifteen and a half—just started tenth grade. She has her learner’s permit to drive, and she’s taking AP classes. When she sings, she sounds like she’s twenty years old, and she has just barely passed me in height. (I’m pretty sure her three younger siblings will also pass me up.) And, truly (I mean, truly) I could have sworn I, too, “just met” her. I was just seeing her eyes open for the first time and tucking her in at night, holding her hand while we walked, or singing the same three songs to her every night before bed while she sucked on her fingers and held her stuffed tiger underneath her nose, her big blue eyes fixed on me in the moonlight.

I’m not sure I’m ready for this whole child-turned-adult thing… But I’m sure praying she’s ready.

Now, through the years I’ve made mistakes, which is all too easy with your first child. The Guinea Pig. The Hey-let’s-try-this-method-and-see-if-it-works kid. Life’s not fair for her. All of us know that. But she’s cool with it, for the most part. I just remind her every once in a while, that we’ve never parented a child who is fifteen and 168 days old before and that she needs to be patient with us.

But, you know, I think we’ve done some things right. She (finally) keeps her room clean (which may be just to spite her sloppy younger sister, but we’ll just say it’s from good upbringing). She bathes regularly, dresses modestly, and doesn’t feel the need to wear a ton of make-up. She’s confident and comfortable in her own skin, and has always been so. She genuinely cares about people, and is a hard-working student. And she is a gifted musician. I remember the days when she was little and we prayed that we would be able to potty-train her—that we’d be home-free once she jumped that hurdle. Two years later (yup) that day came, and we rejoiced ever so briefly till we realized she next needed to learn how to read. We thought, Okay, once she learns how to read THEN she’ll be good to go! Well, now we stare at her driving permit everyday anxious about the fifty hours of driving time she needs before she can get her license next summer.

And I need her to drive. Badly.

While the sun may be setting on our time at home as a complete family of six, I see the glimmer of dawn on a new beautiful day—an entire lifetime of adventure for her, and a front-row seat for her dad and me. Just as you say, I—we love her “forever now.”

Ugh! Hang on, I have to go change the laundry…

Beneath the Surface

This is a tough one for me. I fear that my honesty will lead readers to think I feel sorry for myself-- that I overlook how dang lucky I am. But I fear that by lacking transparency others will have the false notion that my life is pure sunshine.

It isn't. Pure sunshine, I mean.

This doesn't take away my gratitude, and I think I'm a fairly optimistic person. But I experience my own cloudy days, my own storms. But they usually end with some kind of rainbow.

My storms may be different from yours, but like yours, they need to be endured. Weathered.

I get pretty lonely, but not in the sense that I need to have people around me all the time. Just in that I see others form tight bonds with others, and I so rarely have been able to do that. Lately it has hit me pretty hard.

In high school other girls frequently told me I was perfect. Maybe it was a combination of my high moral standards and my involvement in school, but I hated it. I don't know if I ever told them that. Not only was that so far from the truth, but I knew it kept them from wanting to bond with me. I mean, who on earth would want to be friends with someone that would "make" them feel inferior all the time?

So I stuck with the guys mostly. They didn't care. They appreciated me for who I was, but had no need to compare. My best friend Anne shared many of my standards, so at least we bonded easily.

Fast forward through college and early-married life, and we come to the point where, again, I feel like an outsider, mainly because I have a label. I am the Stake President's wife. (For those that aren't members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Stake President is the ecclesiastical leader who oversees the congregations in a certain specified geographical area.)

Maybe to some I actually have a name. A lot of people know who I am. Yet I think so few want to know me. Or, rather, they probably think they already do, assuming that a stake president's family never has any problems and can't relate to anyone, or that we totally have our acts completely together.

Never mind the Legos and Jenga blocks scattered all over the floor, or the recycling that's piling up on the kitchen counter, or the kids that "forget" to practice piano, or all the unmade beds and open dresser drawers, or the water heater that decided it didn't want to work anymore.

Never mind the 12-year-old griping about have to ride her bike to school, or the 14-year-old who gave me attitude last night when I asked (at 10 o'clock at night) if she had even started her homework yet, or that the dinner I made last night was too salty.

Never mind that the 7-year-old was late to tap class and the 10-year-old was late to baseball (when I'm the team mom and Kevin is an assistant coach), or that our lovely Brazilian friend always thinks to give us gifts and I rarely think to give anything to anyone.

Admittedly there aren't Legos and Jenga blocks on the floor all the time, and a lot of the time they actually do practice their music and make their beds (except Sami...), do their homework, and make it to practices on time. And occasionally I think to give something to someone, but it's rare. (So if I have given you something, feel special-- especially if I made it!)

We are trying. I am trying. Every single day. I actually rolled out of bed today to say my prayer, and I realized that I always plead for "help through the day." I beg for it. And I don't really consider it a "vain repetition" because I honestly need it. I need Him to help me, and He does-- often through friends and neighbors who are able to lend a helping hand when I can't get one child to a voice lesson and pick up another from school at the same time.

(I'm laughing to myself because even right now I am nearly falling asleep at the computer from running on so little sleep, having woken up at 5:20 to get Allie to seminary this morning.)

So often I think we fail to look beneath the surface. What you see may not necessarily be a woman who "has it all together," but a woman who is holding it all together... for dear life. She is trying, too. Because that's all she can do.

It's ok to reach out to her.