Motherhood

Toilet Trauma

It didn’t go according to plan. ‘IT’, being, reducing my meds.  The decision was made by me, MYSELF, in the presence of my psychiatrist.  He wasn’t convinced but went along with it – maybe to spare my feelings or to let me really SEE. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Let me just say, I was monumentally wrong. 

Allow me to share a recent, fairly harmless example.

Here’s what would have happened IF I had been on a proper dose of meds:

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN.  How annoying. Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. How inconvenient. Being lazy and thinking I can just handle it using the toilet brush, albeit less effective, it will probably pump enough water to dislodge whatever is stuck. (EEW)

I quickly grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  I say, ‘OH SHIT’ (literally) as the container is right FULL of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor.   

I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet to swish it around and rinse off the offensive crap (HA HA).  I complete the rigorous pumping action and am rewarded by the glorious flush of the tank. “Oh good, the toilet isn’t broken.”

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, dump (Heh heh) its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  Put the container in the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. While Container and brush chill in the toilet, I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “Gee, I hope I got it all.” I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. 

How it really went down – me on reduced meds: 

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN. I scream, ‘BLOODY HELL! WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND WALKED AWAY? WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND FAILED TO REPORT IT IS OUT OF ORDER?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. “O MY GOD! WHERE IN THE HOLY HELL IS THE PLUNGER?  WHO TOOK THE PLUNGER? WHY WOULD ANYONE TAKE IT? AND DIDN’T WHY DIDN’T THEY RETURN IT?  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”  

In a frenzied rage, I grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  “OH SHIT!” The container is right full of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor. “UUUUUGH!!! YOU BASTARDS!”  I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, and hastily submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet. I VIOLENTLY pump it against the drain with superhuman force until it flushes. 

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, causing spillage and swearing under my breath. I dump its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  I angrily force the container into the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. Leaving the container and brush in the toilet, I yell, “I GUESS I HAVE TO CLEAN THE WHOLE BATHROOM TOO! WHY IS THIS ALWAYS MY JOB?  CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?  I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN! NEXT TIME SOMEONE PLUGS THE TOILET, IT IS STAYING EFF-ING PLUGGED UNTIL THEY FIX IT THEMSELVES!” I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “F***. I probably missed some. We just have to live in FILTH.”  I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. Everytime I meet someone in the house, I stop them and list ALL the UNPLEASANT things I HAVE TO DO EVERYDAY and how I’m not the ONLY ADULT in the HOUSE who is capable of cleaning.  I continue to passive aggressively return to this subject FOREVER. 

STOP.

I often question whether taking medication is stifling or ACTUALLY helpful.  The process of weaning off, changing my mind, and then slowly increasing the meds again until I reached a state of lessened anxiety, was a SIGNIFICANT struggle.  It was worth it just to discover that my spirit stays intact.  My essence remains with or without medication.

I officially take medications to curb the symptoms of borderline personality disorder.  Personally, I think ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’ is a misnomer.  It’s more of an EMOTIONAL disorder.  Without meds, I am unable to regulate my emotions and trend toward intense, catastrophic anxiety, inflexibility, negativity, and depression.  It is really hard WORK to check myself, especially as a pastor who is, by nature,  expected to be humble, accepting, and loving.  IF a trigger IS hit, it’s a challenge to reel it in.  I’m a bit of a walking emotional time bomb. IF I feel ignored, abandoned, or disliked, I react emotionally to quell the overwhelm of anxiety.  My behaviour CHANGES to protect, numb, or distract myself from the discomfort of extreme stress.  Shielding my fragile self-image sometimes spells personal sabotage and destruction. It can be AWKWARD.

Without the meds, my whole bathroom saga felt like a personal attack on my ability to parent and keep house. As if the clogged toilet was a CALCULATED demonstration of what I have FAILED to teach my children and how terrible I am for letting the ‘yuck factor’ in cleaning get OUT OF HAND.  It triggered a subconscious cascade of unwanted thoughts and memories about EVERY failure I have perceived in my motherhood and marriage. My self-judgment spurred the loud cursing that was designed to rouse the attention of my family, name myself as the victim and BLAME everyone else to take the pressure off of my isolated position in the story.

I don’t think this is unique to BPD, but I experience splitting, which is a marked division between my ‘NORMAL SELF’ and my ‘UNHEALED SELF.’  As a result, my mood swings are unpredictable.  I have issues with identity confusion and internal conflict. Insert [Imposter Syndrome]. Depression overtakes me with a deep sense of ongoing emptiness.  It is in THESE moments that I need MORE than medication.  I need to look inward, embrace mystery, and trust GOODNESS to prevail.

Once, when I was feeling pathetically helpless, I prayed for something very specific to cheer me up.  “God,” I said, “I never REALLY ask you for anything tangible.  It would help me enormously to know you ARE listening.” Then, as if God works like some kind of magical Santa Claus, I asked, “Please, please, please let the clothing I ordered arrive TODAY.”  I’m not usually so desperate about clothes, but these were clergy garments that would refresh my wardrobe after many years of body dysmorphia and clothes that just didn’t fit right and detracted from my professionalism.  When I finished I scolded myself for being SO petty.  I went on with my day.  When I got home THE BOX was on the table.  I began to do the math – “what day did I place the order?  Has it been 6-8, or maybe 12 weeks?  Was this MY intuition or did GOD really just DO that for ME?” The crust around my soul began to crumble. (sounds Grinchy)  “What IF God just did that?”….. “Um, God, okay, thank you for showing me that you ARE real and you HEAR me.  I’m so sorry that I put you to the test…  So…hey…you’ll deliver my package when I ask – what then will you do with my REAL problems?”  

This is an experience I often return to when I’m in distress.  God cares about ME. God loves ME.  God looks out for ME, myself.  The missing toilet plunger doesn’t matter.  The mess has no enduring consequence. My family is not to blame, no one is plotting against me or abandoning me.  The toilet is JUST clogged and there IS NO plunger. It’s an inconvenience. Nothing more. The goal of treatment for emotional/personality disorders is differentiation of self – having the ability to maintain one’s true self in anxiety and in emotional situations.  My healing work is focused on changing my relationship between how I THINK and how I EXPRESS my EMOTIONS. It leads me through the storms of life to find my center calm, my connection to the ground of all being, my Christ-heart, my godspark, my soul.

I’m a work in progress.  Aren’t we ALL? Dr. Richard Schwartz’ theory of ‘Internal Family Systems,’ takes Dr. Bowen’s ‘Family Systems Theory’ which is concerned with the different interdependent roles assumed within healthy AND dysfunctional families, and APPLIES IT to an individual person and their many ‘parts’.  This resonates.  I don’t feel that I have a bunch of different personalities inside of me that fight for leadership.  But, I do feel like I have distinct PARTS. 

In IFS the ‘parts’ include EXILES, the parts of yourself that your ‘system’ works to keep hidden and out of trouble.  They carry your burdens like shame, fear, grief, anger, dependency, and loneliness. They also long to be healed and freed. MANAGERS are your parts that protect ‘the whole system’ from feelings of hurt and rejection. They maintain control by creating an illusion of safety by being super competent, and utilizing your self-critic to prevent humiliation and abandonment.  FIREFIGHTERS serve and protect ‘the system’ when triggers hit too close to home.  They react, attack, and create diversions (like addictions, eating and sleep disorders, extra work, self-harm, and dissociation), all to keep your exiles from seeing the light of day.

My favorite part is the CORE SELF.  When you can uncover this part and maintain it, it becomes the active and compassionate LEADER of all the other parts. It takes away their ‘jobs’ and replaces them with pleasant, and positive, productive roles.  It is your natural essence, that has been sheltered from damage by all the other parts. Your Core Self acts with spontaneity, and creativity. It emerges when you feel centered and truly safe and calm. Your confident core self is Playful, Curious, Adventurous, and Stable. It is your BEST SELF.  When it is uncovered, it needs NO improvement, because it’s already perfect the way it is…..the way God made you.

As a Christian, the core self, my best self, fits the concept of my soul – which I believe is beyond the limits of the physical body or the human psyche.  The soul is the essence, energy, electricity, everlasting part of you that IS accessible during this earthly walk and contains ALL the wisdom and strength you need to find peace and healing WITHIN  yourself.  I’m not talking about a cure-all.  I am talking about a state of being that is calm, knowing, and in fact, a little piece of God’s all encompassing love that has settled in you no matter what else is happening in your life.  

People are complicated.  When you are faced with dirty toilet brushes and stuff that’s stuck, BREATHE. Center yourself.  Ask all your managers and firefighters to give you some room, to step aside.  Hug your exiles and draw on your CORE – the being that God meant for you to be – be filled with THAT light.  Bathroom drama, I think most dramas, CAN be navigated with improved self-awareness and the courage to be vulnerable. We can live as we die and die as we live within our personal ‘system’ and in interconnection with and care for the ‘systems’ of OTHERS, even if they expect you to clean the toilet.

Starshine

The Friday before the  New 2024 Year celebration was the twelfth and FINAL day of Christmas. The following Sunday was the Epiphany, commemorating the arrival of distinguished foreigners from the East, who were WISE in watching the sky and attuned to ancient prophecy. They made it  to Bethlehem, where they finally set eyes on the child whose birth was signaled by the appearance of a PECULIAR star.  The star remained and burned brightly above the infant Jesus. A sign of wonder to behold. 

Although Christmastide has ended it is still the season after Epiphany – a season of revelation and discovery before we delve into observing Christ’s road to a cross, a story of suffering and salvation through him.   

For a while now, I’ve been reflecting on the entirety of  the yuletide season. As I’ve gotten a LITTLE older, I am learning to accept that nothing EVER goes exactly as planned.  Personally, Christmas has never really been the same since my brother’s 2012, November passing.

Each year, as I begin to pull out our Christmas decorations, I think about HIS funeral because it corresponds with THAT TIME. We were in Orleans, Ontario at the Lutheran Church of the Resurrection. The WHOLE chancel area behind the altar, the focal point of the worship service,  is surrounded by floor to ceiling clear WINDOWS. It felt like we were sitting outside among the trees.  

As my Pastor father preached it began to snow the FIRST snow of the season.  It wasn’t a gentle, slow, large flaked, magical snowfall, rather, it blew VIOLENTLY, harder and harder as my father spoke, as if God was making a nod to my brother’s adventurous and turbulent spirit, a final, gusty and powerful leave- taking.  It FELT like my brother’s spirit was WITH us.  It STILL FEELS LIKE his spirit is WITH us.  I’ve heard countless stories of felt presence of loved ones passed – butterflies, cardinals, feathers, unexpected items reappearing from nowhere.   And WHY NOT?  The spirit that dwells in each of us is ETERNAL.  Signs and wonders to behold.

The STAR at Jesus’ birth was a sign pointing to the wonder of God’s PRESENCE born among us.  This SAME presence is ALWAYS with us. That’s what Jesus promises.  We are never alone.  The Holy Spirit fills us, teaches us, accompanies us, and guides us.  The spirit dwells IN us. Christmas tends to heighten my awareness of Christ’s indwelling, the Holy Spirit that fans the flame of my soul, and is part of my Christ-mind, my inner Godspark.

Two thousand years ago, John the Baptist, who was renowned for his preaching, and later for preparing the world for the expected Messiah, baptized people with WATER a sign of REPENTANCE.  John encouraged people to look their sin in the eye and make the CHOICE to grow past it.

To repent, in Christian terms, means to intentionally change your mind and turn around, to head in a NEW direction that contributes to an ever better and more intimate relationship with God.  For me, this suggests choosing to notice the voice of the Holy Spirit calling to me from WITHIN myself.

Christians believe that during baptism the extraordinary Holy Spirit enters into ordinary water and washes all our sins away with a promise that we are God’s children, adopted to continue the work of Christ in God’s ongoing creation, and that we will be forgiven whenever we repent and turn to God in truth and hope. 

We consider baptism a divine gift. Not everyone has the OPPORTUNITY or the WILL to receive this gift. Not everyone who IS baptized recognizes or chooses to unwrap and embrace the indwelling quality of the Holy Spirit.  Life itself comes from being FILLED with the breath, the holy wind, the Spirit of God. It’s what ANIMATES us at the moment of our creation.  The presence of the Holy Spirit is NATURALLY in ALL of us, baptized or not.  Baptism can give us the special ability and the will to seek and perpetuate our own sacred origins.

What animates YOU? What do you equate with signs of divine sparks dwelling in you?  The Spirit burns from within. Sometimes we feel the urgency. Sometimes we simply see the glow and feel the WARMTH.

In spite of all the things that didn’t happen the way they were planned this Christmas- Jesus’ paradise approaches.  It GLIMMERS. The Holy Spirit keeps on showing up.  That warm, loving, energized feeling of hope BURSTING forth from our own inner depths – awakened countless times in me over the last month or so.  

When sharing a meal, my son carefully cut a piece of lemon meringue pie for my neurodiverse daughter, who lives with MANY challenges.  He gently invited her to try to pick it up and put it on her plate because, “I really think you can do it yourself. It’s all lined up. Give it a try.  Here’s a good fork. I’ll standby in case you need help.”  And she DID IT!  My son empowered her with KINDNESS.  The magnitude of this moment may escape you but it overwhelms ME with spiritual glimmers of gratitude, hope, love and even joy. Into THIS mother’s arguing, disappointed, shame filled and exhausted heart, the Spirit WELLS up and whispers something new.   A NEW dawn on a familiar journey.  The WILL to keep going. It changes everything from the inside out. 

At my church, it was the first time since Christmas 2019 that Christmas Eve service was in person or not stormed out.  A flush of gladness swept through me at the sight of a full church, families united, children now grown, and hushed Candlelight.  

These moments of CONNECTION, belonging, familiarity – that’s the Spirit pulling us together HEART to HEART. When we see the dignity of one another- that IS divine recognition from within. Signs of wonder. They refresh us.

In the year ahead, we can embrace a little bit of the freshness of something new.  We are gathered together and brooded over in HOLY ways we cannot understand.  The sacred moves US to create hope in ways we cannot understand.  

We are the holy undivided family that encommpasses the whole of creation.  We come from the same source, we BELONG to one another.  How will we reach out to help others move away from lives of falseness, hate, and hurt and be restored to the way of truth and love?  How will we invite them into repentance, reparation, and reconciliation?  How will we work together to create a future based on mutual care, liberty and justice?  Can we listen to one another with LOVE this year? I think that renewal, the opening of hearts to the divine, IS the WAY to restore ALL parts of the Creator’s beloved community.  Can we remember that we are still washed in STARSHINE, born from unfathomable POWER and filled with holy light that SHINES ever brighter as we SHARE it? I hope this year that YOU will behold the signs and wonders of divine love that shine brightly and eternally.  Check out the night sky and watch the hidden tenderness of humanity. Signs and wonders ARE everywhere.

Wise Hearts

Well, maybe you haven’t heard (why would you?) but it’s true. I have lived exactly FIVE decades plus one year. Today, I am 51. According to the mostly white-haired congregation I serve, I’m still a BABY. They’re right, of course.  BUT, this year, I am more aware and feel a little unsettled knowing that I’m closer to being a SENIOR than I am to my YOUTH. It means my parents are actually old and my children are almost grown. (But not yet!)

It’s okay, though, really. A few of my dearest friends have at LEAST a decade on me. Some even have decadeS – PLURAL. Not everyone is so lucky. Aging is a gift. If we are willing, it gives us more time to learn HOW to love. To LEARN to be ourselves.

Since I’m (a bit) of a Bible nerd, I can pair this thought with an appropriate verse. I’m not a fan of cherry-picking Bible verses to prove a point. HOWEVER, I love the Psalms, and this particular verse just happens to bring comfort to my personal struggle with time FLEETING away.

So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.

Psalm 90:12

Moses (yes, THE MOSES who parts the Red Sea) is the ascribed author.  He is PROBABLY inspired while leading a caravan of Israelites through the desert to the promised land (Canaan – roughly modern day Palestine and Israel) AFTER being liberated from CENTURIES of  slavery in Egypt.   The people have grown restless and distracted.  Like PETULANT toddlers, Moses can’t stop them from getting into trouble.  For instance, when he turns his back (to receive the 10 Commandments – no less) their babysitter (Aaron) CAN’T keep them from being consumed by sin. They make and begin worshiping a golden calf. Pesky buggers. Their repeated rebellion against Moses and their lack of trust in his and their God added years, GENERATIONS, to their time of wandering. Different people from those who BEGAN the journey actually FINISHED it. The old people died. Babies were born. An altogether NEW people emerged.

This Psalm is for them and for anyone who is tired and restless like you and me.  Old Moses reminds us that the one he, I, and many call GOD and just as many describe as our one SOURCE, The CREATOR, the GREAT SPIRIT, is ETERNAL. God is beyond time and the universe; our Source has no origin or creation.  The Creator, the Great Spirit simply “IS.” Human beings, on the other hand, die and return to the dust from which they are made (Psalm 90:1–4). (Even Moses didn’t make it to the promised land on earth). To begin to understand our Source is to realize our own MORTALITY.

Moses introduces God as both a refuge and the Creator for we – whose days are numbered.

If I count my days, it has been 18627 days since my birth. I feel that in this time, I’ve SURELY accumulated SOME wisdom.  My heart is informed by many instances of joy and pain. It’s brought me this far. I’m still learning and relearning, uncovering and embracing my TRUEST me. Sounds easy enough. Nope. Not easy.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried or that I’m ready for tomorrow. I AM worried and I’m NOT ready.  I admit that this is NOT where I thought I’d be at 51.  Life takes us through so many unforeseeable twists and turns, doesn’t it?  What I expected of myself and where I’m at simply DON’T match up.

By 51 I had thought that I’d be out of debt and own a house, that my family and I would be healthy and well adjusted, that I’d always get along with my husband, enjoy my work, have time for fun, and that I’d be a ROCK STAR. Alas, it is not so.

It’s OKAY. Although it is super hard to stop beating ourselves up about the way things ARE, the gift of GROWING wisdom is always there. Waiting. Ready for us. Life is beautiful. Some of that beauty comes from recognizing that it is REALLY SHORT. Because of this, we are more apt to savour the moments we share and make the best of our relationships. LOVE through the pain. Find STRENGTH in the joy.

This week, I’ve been setting up an RDSP (disability savings) for my 19 year old daughter.  I never dreamed I’d make retirement plans for one of my children. Yesterday (it feels like only yesterday) when she was free to swirl and twirl with ferocity and creativity, we loved her spunk and assumed she’d grow out of her more troublesome emotional and mental conditions. We THOUGHT we had all the time in the world. We love her quirkiness. Now we understand that there is more to it than expected. It’s all a part of how she is wonderfully and mysteriously made and LOVED.  We don’t know what her life will be like when she is sixty, but there is comfort in knowing she’ll ALWAYS have her siblings and have a modest income EVEN when I’m long gone.

I like to think I won’t be gone. Not REALLY. I hope that the energy that animates my body, the vibrations of my soul will LINGER – perhaps as electricity and spirit. ‘Is that light bulb flickering, or is it auntie so and so?’ I don’t know, but I do believe in the connection the living and the dead SHARE in what Christians call the Communion of Saints. Others may be familiar with the phrase, ‘the great cloud of witnesses’. Different faiths turn to the spirits of their ancestors for wisdom and guidance. Somehow, we continue to EXIST and experience each other’s presence in life and in death. Signs, dreams, and feelings that loved ones are near are common across the boundaries of time and space.

It makes me think of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio (Rose & Jack) in the movie ‘Titanic’ and Celine Dione’s sappy song, “My heart will go on”.  Our time as human beings is limited.  Our hearts/souls/godsparks WILL GO ON. It makes me weep and smile at the same time.  What we do in this life is temporary. We have ETERNITY to figure things out together.  We are NEVER alone.

51 years is pretty cool. I’ll take it. Today and every day, I hope you will join me in counting our blessings as well as our days. Learn, grow, LIVE. Embrace the season. Time will hold us. Our hearts belong to the ETERNAL ONE.

God has made everything beautiful in its time. God has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Durably Disordered

In June of 2015 my daughter (the younger of my twins) was eleven years old.  We were camping and had just come back from a difficult visit to the camp store.  Stuff happened.  I was irritated by the onlookers and wrote the following on Facebook:

“My daughter suffers from selective mutism, social anxiety, learning delays, and unidentified behavioural disorders.  I stood beside her in the public camp parking lot as she lay on the pavement and loudly invited anyone to run her over … Because her mother doesn’t care.  ‘We’ don’t love her or want anything good for her.  ‘We’ are the worst parents. 
She proceeded to punch me until I couldn’t breathe.
You all saw it.
Don’t judge her. Don’t take it personally when she won’t look at you or talk to you.
This is a very real mentally disordered reaction to not getting the toy she wanted from the store and simply from being around strangers.  Your eyes on her make her anxious, and she assumes you want something from her.  Many things set her off.  Sometimes, she chooses fright, freeze, or flee.  This time, she chose to fight.  It happens often.  It’s devastating.  If you encounter us again, please give us the space to deal with it.  Prayers and love are welcome.
Don’t tell us how to parent.  Reserve judgment.  We are doing the best we can to do right by her.  Awareness is Everything.”

I received a lot of sympathy posts.  It just made me angry with myself for trying to protect my image of proper parenting.  Nobody needed an explanation.  My own personality disorder switched on and made me fight, too.   

I don’t know what it is like to be my daughter.  She, however, identifies with me.  She sees me get flustered, sweaty, angry, and popping pills.  We normalize each other’s behaviour.  It’s a daily struggle for everyone who lives with us. The pressures of life weigh heavily upon anyone who is mentally ill or somehow neurodiverse as well as for caregivers.  Mental illness is common, but my daughter says she often feels strange and alienated. Some days she feels like she should never have been born. Other days are tolerable. Once in a while, she has a happy day. We celebrate those moments. 

She began medication for anxiety, depression, and selective mutism when she was nine.  It was a hard decision.  I loved her spunk, bounciness, brightness, creativity, and  joie de vivre.  We were terrified that we would lose those beautiful parts of her personality.  It did change her.  I can only describe it as a kind of numbing.   Her intense emotions were replaced with a void of unfeeling. Her expressive body movements and her voice became less marked.  As the years wore on, we added Autism Spectrum Disorder to her greatest hits list.  Looking back, it all makes sense.  Cradle to nineteen – she has quirks that make her as unique as she is complicated.  She is a fabulous artist and extremely knowledgeable about insects, animals, and the natural world.  

I’m writing this after a couple of hours with the Newfoundland ponies that my friend at Poppy’s Haven so generously allows my twins and I to interact with.  Today my daughter wasn’t feeling her best.  Whenever she overextends her effort to be social, she manifests physical symptoms.

Oh, but the smiles!  Oh, but the sound of her voice!  Oh, but the delight she took in caressing, grooming, and whispering to the ponies!  It was so great for both girls.  Combined, the three of us are a walking ball of tension and anxiety.  Not today though, nope.  We even visited with my friend’s Newfoundland dog.  What a beauty.  He sparked much conversation.  

Today I caught a glimmer of the brightness I rarely see since starting my daughter’s meds.  We are so blessed to have a safe place for her to enjoy and practice being herself.  I am forever grateful.

Please. Help us normalize mental health.  Talk about it and fight against the stigma.

Love is a Rough Routine

Animals are medicine. At my house, our schedules revolve around the needs of our pets. In our family of six, five of us live with anxiety ranging from mild to debilitating. Habits are very important to our feelings of safety and calm.

Our twins are 19. One will likely remain a dependent for life. The other will be slow to launch. We’ve chosen to make the most of any goodness we can provide them. They can have whatever pets they want.

The dog is mine. I couldn’t do this without her. The time of day varies, but she and I enjoy daily walks with or without the company of my girls. I also take dedicated time to love on her. She expects it in the evening, especially when she gets on the bed at day’s end. I swear she has superpowers.

We feed and clean the guinea pigs twice a day. Before I go to work and before we settle in to watch a bit of TV at night. They are super cute and super disgusting. It’s like having an indoor farm. I do the bulk of the work because they technically belong to my daughter who lives with severe OCD. She loves them so much. (And many other critters we don’t need to talk about now).

Gerbils are my second twins’ entire life. She has a few online contacts. She’s done with in-person school and will slowly finish her diploma virtually. Her day is her gerbils. I participate regularly with their floor time and cleaning. We suffered the deaths of her first gerbils of four years. It pretty near destroyed both of us. You wouldn’t understand unless you knew them. So bright, intelligent, and friendly.

There is NOTHING worse than watching your child as she comforts her heart as it dies. Months later, her heart burst again as the remaining gerbil died on her lap.

She was thrown into an abyss of loss. She didn’t know how to order her days without her precious fur babies.

We eventually got 3 young gerbils from the same litter. It took a bit – allowing them to use the sacred things of her firsts, but the relationship blossomed, and she was almost back to herself.

The gerbils are coming to maturity and becoming more territorial. To her horror, just randomly, totally out of the blue, one gerbil picked a fight with another, a ball of angry rodents in a death grip. She got them apart. She got bitten for the first time ever. By God, I was sure it was the end, both covered in blood. This is just so MUCH.

Thanks be to God, they will live. We’ve separated them 2 and 1. Our routine has doubled. Still, it is her life’s work to honour them. She finds comfort in talking to breeders and providing the best care.

Domestic animals are a blessing, for sure. Loving them, as with loving anyone, is risky business. Anything could happen. Love is always worth it. (Even spending hundreds of dollars on veterinary care for rodents!)

I pray about our animals as much or even more than I do for people. It’s the last moments of my day – the most consistent habit. I pray my children will be comforted, strengthened by their experiences, and blessed with new joy. I pray for the dog, the cat, the guinea pigs, and the sweet little gerbils to recover, to live long and be well, and to gladden the hearts of my complicated family. Love is rough, but God is good. Always.