SHE'S ALLLLIIIIIIIVVVVEEEEE!

I have fallen off of the face of the earth.
It's official: I've been dumped into the sinkhole that is otherwise known as Life. :)
I recently called a friend of mine that I hadn't spoken to in quite a while--her response?  "SHE'S ALIIIIIIIIIVE!"
It's so totally true!  Between my hectic work schedule (I work 4 10-hour days; figure in a 45-minute long drive--on a good day--each way), and my weekdays start with a 3:45 am feeding. They end around 8:30-ish...Okay, by the time I get off of Facebook, it's more like 9.
Anyway, you get the point.  Weekends are spent going to church, catching up on a little bit of sleep, and monopolizing my son. I want as much time with him as possible; Mondays are my favorite, because he's all mine, the entire day. He gets lots of smooches; I try to keep up with the cloth diapers and a bit of housekeeping (my mother has been SUCH a blessing in this department!!!!)...and by the time I blink, it's time for me to get ready for the work week.

A few years ago, I made a decision to stop being such a hermit. I made a lot of really great friends during that time, that have had my back through a lot of ups and downs. I also have my best friend, VS, who's been by my side since the third grade. So, there are quite few people that I have to stop "hiding" from...It's just so easy to get lost in my little routine!
I'm trying to find the balance between my spiritual life, parenthood, marriage, my job, my family, and my friends...unfortunately, while I'm in the process of figuring it out, some things are getting bypassed.
My diet has not been good. I've gotten back into some bad habits with food; most of those are because I grab what's convenient, rather than taking the time to plan meals and shop intelligently. The medicine I've been on for PPD has exacerbated my weight gain. I've put on 20 pounds since March! I was warned that this could happen with this medication--I guess they were right. So now, we begin the process of weaning off of the meds, and of getting back into smart eating habits. A busy life is no excuse for the slow suicide of a bad diet!!!!!!!
I also need to get out more. This month (June), I am recommitting to not being a hermit. Weather permitting, I am hoping to get out and see more people in person...as opposed to Cyberspace! I'm feeling better about going out, and about taking JD out. I feel like it's time for his little world to begin to expand!
I hope you can forgive me for hiding in my box for the past few months. No one can understand what this experience has been like for me in particular (much less, for my family), since I was first hospitalized...I'm only just now beginning to recognize the level of fear, stress, and anxiety that I have been carrying. It's slowly been falling away, and peace is being restored. My sense of adventure is being renewed, and I am excited about things to come!!  God has great plans!

Flamingoes and Broken Bones...

My thoughts seem pretty scattered this week. I know—that’s normal, right? It just seems a little more scattered than usual. Sometimes blogging seems like the only way to sort it all out…

I figured out the catalyst—Target has a whole line of little girls’ clothes with flamingoes on them, for summer. I noticed it the other day, when I was shopping for JD…(Rant—boys’ clothes are JUST NOT CUTE! They’re sarcastic, mildly flirtatious, or just plain blah. The only “cute” stuff that I’ve seen is monkeys, crabs, or monsters, and there’s only so much you can do with that. Rant over!). Before JD, I could simply walk by the baby clothes section and pretend to ignore it. Now, I actually have to shop there—this is NOT a complaint, by any means; rather, it’s an observation of the change.

Avoidance is a BRILLIANT form of therapy, LOL…

Seeing those little, pink, ruffly, flamingo-covered dresses was kind of an arrow to the chest. 

I have a friend who’s first little one was a beautiful baby girl who passed away at just 10 days old. Since then, she’s gone on to have four gorgeous boys…Each one is full of personality and love, and I know she wouldn’t trade them for anything. I talked to her in depth, after we brought JD home, and asked her how you ever get through the feeling of knowing you’ll never have that family picture, and have it be whole…you’ll never pile all of your kids up on the bed for an epic wrestling match…you’ll never see your little girl hold her baby brother…I’ve blogged about this before—this isn’t a rehash, just a reference—She’s been a huge influence on me, in realizing this adjusted reality, and in embracing the fact that this will always hurt.

It just will—it doesn’t mean I’m not healed, or that I’m stuck. It’s kind of like a bone that breaks—it’s healed, but you get that achy feeling in it, when the weather’s about to change. That’s the closest thing I can liken it to.

The benefit of having a little boy, after losing a little girl, is that you’re going through the-same-but-different. The differences are pronounced from the very beginning. Yes, the personalities are totally different; the fact that the bodies are so different allows you, as a mother, the ability to force yourself to think “this is not the same.” You’re going to relive some stuff, but not to the extreme, I believe, that you would if you’d have had another little girl. I would have been happy either way, but I truly believe that God meant for me to have my little guy, and though that’s not the only reason, I’m sure it played into His decision. I am not saying any of this to say that I wish I’d had a girl. I don’t. My little guy is perfect-he is my joy. I can’t believe that yes, it is possible to have loved so strongly, twice in one lifetime!!!

I had wondered about that—could I possibly love another child, as much as I love my Hannah? Oh, yes—most definitely. And this love is different, like JD himself: It’s incredibly strong. It’s an intense love, coupled with protective capabilities like I have never known…because I know what it means, to be without.

My little guy is an amazing testimony to the Lord, and I hope I get to tell his complete story to the world someday.

So, it’s the season of ruffly, pink, flamingo-covered dresses…and it’s a season of firsts…and it’s a bittersweet-but-mostly-sweet symphony called Summer…

And I will dream of family reunions…

The Random Answers in the iPod...

David and I share an iTunes account. This has it's own pluses and minuses--this means that when I sync "all checked music" to my iPod Classic, I'm going to get his stuff mixed in with mine.
On the plus side, David has introduced me to a ton of different worship music that really blows my mind. I was raised on Maranatha and Hosanna (it had its time). He taught me Vineyard, and as I've gotten older, I've learned to love it.
On the minus side, it means I'm stuck with jazz...which I hate...in most forms.
Of course, it also means that David is stuck with my love of show tunes and rap music, so we're pretty even :)
We have a shared external hard drive that contains all of our music and movies--we're getting close to 20,000 songs, and most of those fit onto my iPod, so you can imagine when I hit "shuffle," anything can happen. I never know what I'm going to hear next. It could be a classic 80's jam...it could be Phantom of the Opera. It could be George Thoroughgood--who knows?
Sometimes, God speaks through the Randomness of The iPod. Today, a song came on that so clearly summed up how I feel about both my husband and my son; I'm going to share the lyrics, for my friends that are hanging on to hope deferred. I'd not heard it before--it's called "Answered Prayer" by Keri Noble. Hang on, my friends...hang on to your Prayers Like Hannah....He hears you.

You are the answered prayer

That I thought was never heard

But here you are in front of me

And I admit, I'm finding it hard to breathe and

I believe in answered prayer

I put away what I thought was youthful faith

 But someone must have heard my silent cry

For here you are before my eyes

And now you know that you are the reason why

I believe in answered prayer

Some may try to convince me

That this is what everyone else feels

 But I know that God and I are the only ones

Who ever heard my appeal, that's why

You are the answered prayer

That I thought was never heard

But here you are in front of me

And I admit that I'm finding it hard to breathe

And I believe in answered prayer

 You are my answered prayer

Over-exposed

I have always been a news junkie. Obsessed with knowing what’s going on around me, I started reading at a very early age. Although I used to have amazing retention of current events and geography, over the years I seem to have lost that ability. Now, I just really, really like to check my news apps.

Something started happening to me, though, when I became pregnant with my daughter. That year, someone killed their infant daughter via microwave. A microwave. I remember a rage filling me, like I’d never known. After Hannah passed away, such stories of abuse and neglect became fuel for my anger against God: “Why didn’t You step in? What’s Your point, God? Where are You? Why do those people get to have healthy pregnancies, and I don’t?” I was so furious, and heartbroken…At that point, I began to self-filter my news feed.

Over time, that need to filter began to wear off. The anger began to be proportioned with sadness; although I still have a lack of understanding, I don’t cling to it like I used to. I found myself able to read the news with a certain detachment; I don’t believe that was necessarily an improvement. I think it was more of a survival mechanism…and then I got pregnant with my son.

The anger returned.

Throughout my pregnancy, stories of rampant sexual abuse have plagued the headlines. From the Boy Scouts, to the priesthood, to the Paterno scandal—I literally could not click on the news without hearing, in lurid detail, stories of children being abused. For someone with a vivid imagination, it is too much. I feel like the news should come with a rating system—it’s too heavy of a burden to bear by anyone, much less young eyes that may be reading over your shoulder.   But we’re a society that feeds on scandal—we feed on details, on descriptions, on knowing things we shouldn’t know. We’re a curious world, and we are drawn to disaster.

There are diary entries that are revealed…things such as the Arias trial, where words and phrases are uttered and repeated during prime time that shouldn’t even be discussed afterhours…There are photographs of death and destruction that shouldn’t be displayed. 

Hey, world—that’s a person. That’s a human being, and their life has been wrecked. Why are you salivating over their pain?

Somewhere, there’s a mother who grew that baby boy into a human being. She cuddled him; she loved him, and now he’s an adult. Now, he’s been injured or hurt—and there’s his picture on msnbc.com, waiting for you to click on the headlines and hear the graphic details of how he died. Somewhere, there’s a mother who has to deal with the pain of losing a child on a national level.

Somewhere, there’s a photographer who’s taken a picture of a father’s face as he realized his daughter isn’t coming home.

Somewhere, there’s a reporter who is shoving a camera into the face of a child who has lost their innocence.

And somewhere, millions of people like me will click on their story.

Over the last few months, I’ve been more and more affected by what I see in the news. It’s because of that beautiful little face that I kiss every morning…how can we raise him, in a world like this, and keep him innocent? How do we keep him pointed toward Christ, in a society that goes in for the kill? I read the reports, and I’m deeply angered by those who end the life of another—that could be MY son, or YOUR daughter. We lived in Lexington, KY for a year—do you know the difference, between Lexington and St. Louis? In Lexington, we were actually SURPRISED to hear of a shooting.

In St. Louis, people die by gunfire every. Single. Day.

The unfiltered media bares stories of malevolence on a voracious level. They celebrate it, and they advocate it by the way the broadcast it. Celebrating violence and sadness magnifies it. It glorifies it, and it breeds it. 

In the wake of mass destruction, whether by natural disaster, or by deranged lunatic, I find my heart breaking more and more. When it’s the result of a human decision, I find myself struggling with rage. I want to see the perpetrator’s name stricken from the news, but to see them publicly executed. I realize that makes no sense. When it’s the result of a natural disaster, I find myself struggling with “why?” I picture myself hiding out at the feet of Jesus like a child, looking for comfort and refuge. 

None of this stuff makes any sense to me. I don’t know why society has reached the level of violence that it has reached, or why natural disasters have reached the levels of destruction that they have reached.  I do know that our media’s glorification of sadness has reached an unprecedented level. Nothing can satiate our appetite for misery in the news.

As a mother, I have to stop. My news obsession has already been filtered…I almost feel like I have to withdraw from watching the news altogether. It’s just too much.

I can’t bear to look on the news sites and see another pair of eyes that reflect so much sadness or madness. I don’t want to click on the stories and observe what’s going on like it doesn’t affect me—it does. That could be, my mother, my husband, my father, my sister, or my son. That could be you, on that headline.  I don’t want to be insulated, but I do want to find the balance between overexposure, and living in oblivion.

There has to be some kind of balance, somewhere…The average heart was never designed to be exposed to the level of pain we see in the news every day. 

I believe in the Rapture. I hope it happens, sooner than later.

Embracing the Happy...(The Parable of the Chocolate Bunny)

I’ve been pretty open with my struggles with fear and anxiety. I’m a born worrier…I think I came out of the womb wondering what was going on, afraid that I was going to miss something. I fought sleep (man, am I reaping that field with JD!!!), learned to read at an early age, jumped into every conversation (whether I was supposed to, or not), and regularly have those what-I-should-have-said conversations with myself. I am just not a person who comes by peace easily.

That’s not how we’re supposed to be.

Meekness, quietness—they don’t come naturally. It all boils down to that simple, four-letter word-from-hell: Fear.

And just when I think I’m making great strides in overcoming little pieces of it, something will come along and set me back. It affects every level of my life--home, work, motherhood—and it’s something that I have to keep in constant prayer over. “Lord, let me trust you.” It’s not just being afraid; it’s about not trusting God. When we trust Him, when we believe in His perfect love, we are simply not afraid.

I have to rest in Him.

I had a conversation lately that really sparked in my heart. A friend of mine had prayed for something for so long; now that her answer was looking right at her, she was afraid to embrace it.

 It was like a kid in a candy store…Every day, she passes by that candy store, looking at the big, chocolate rabbit. For years, she sees this rabbit. She sees other people buy that chocolate rabbit…she sees them eat the delicious candy, and she wishes she could have a bite, but no, not now…and every day, she walks by. Suddenly, one day, the candymaker comes out with a box for her. He’s seen her walk by his shop—he knows she’s there, even though she didn’t always know he could see her. He knows that little girl would love to have that big, handmade chocolate bunny. So one day, he lovingly wraps it up, puts it in the box, and he carries it out to her.

She can’t believe it. For her?!?  But…it’s never been for her! It’s always been for everyone else! She just can’t get over it—Really?!?!?  So, she takes the chocolate bunny…she’s ever-so-thankful…

But she’s afraid to eat it.

What if it melts?

What if the candymaker gets mad, or changes his mind? What if he takes it back?

She didn’t earn it. What if he sends her a bill?

She can’t even make herself take that chocolate bunny out of the box…

Yet every day, she still walks by the candy shop, and looks into the windows.

One day, the candymaker comes out, and asks her what she’s doing. “Didn’t I give you a beautiful, big chocolate bunny?” he says…

She tells him, “Yes, of course…”

“Well, did you try it?”

“No.”

“Did you open it?”

“No.”

“Why not? Aren’t you pleased with your gift?”

She finally tells him the truth: “I am afraid that you will change your mind…I am afraid that it wasn’t a gift, that you’ll take it back.  It just doesn’t seem real.”

It sounds kind of silly…especially when you compare it to chocolate. I mean, I am THE LAST person that earth that would ever just look at chocolate in a box (unless it’s my chocolate monkey from Crown Candy; I’m saving that for a special occasion). It just makes sense: You get a gift, you open it, you put it to good use! Otherwise, not only do you not get to reap the benefits of the gift; you also offend the giver!

How many times have I done that to the Lord? How many times has He given me a gift that I was too afraid to use?  Just like my friend that I spoke with earlier this week: How many times have I been afraid to Embrace The Happy?

We have these things that we pray for…not just gifts, like God is some kind of Bob Barker; we have deep heart’s desires that we pray for, that we earnestly seek His face for. Some of my friends are praying for husbands…true men of God that will love and respect them, that will raise a Godly family with them. For me, personally, I prayed for a child—crazy, drunk prayers like Hannah in I Samuel. These are the desperate, soul-wrenching prayers of a heart that’s on fire. And yet, when God decides that it’s time, we recoil in fear….

We are afraid to Embrace The Happy.

My first Mothers’ Day is approaching. I talked about it a little bit, earlier this week; but the more I think about it, the more afraid I am of the joy that I’m feeling. It sounds ridiculous! I am afraid to admit that yes, Cassidy Cooley is truly, madly, deeply HAPPY! Not just happy….I have joy in my heart!

I am crazy with joy!

If you could see inside my brain, all you’d see is Tigger bouncing around—that is how happy I am!!!!

Yet I find myself holding back, not telling anyone how I feel, because I am afraid that if I talk about it, that Smite button will find me, and I will be back in the Horrible Valley again…

I am afraid to Embrace The Happy…

But I have to.

So does my friend…They have an opportunity, to stop for a few minutes, and breathe. The candymaker has given them the Chocolate Bunny. Are they going to enjoy it, or are they going to leave it in the box, out of fear?

I want to enjoy it. I want to embrace every moment. I want to seize the opportunity, to enjoy it in full and living color, and to celebrate every breath, every step, and every day. I want to wrap myself in this moment, and leave a monument of joy to the Lord. I want to create a Selah in my life, and just press pause. I don’t want to let fear derail me, or to keep me from dancing on this mountaintop…Yes, I know that we can’t stay on the mountain forever….but when you’ve spent so many years in the valley, you appreciate the time that you get to bask on the peaks.

Fear will not win. It will not take this away from me…and the only one that can prevent that, is me.

To all of my friends who are in that valley, and who think they will never again see the light of day: You will. It takes time…it takes healing…and it takes Jesus. It takes support from friends and family that you can’t be afraid to ask for; it takes support from friends and family that they can’t be afraid to give. As unbelievable as it sounds, the valley is temporary. “Temporary “ means different things to different people. For some of us, it’s years. But I promise you—God is faithful. He may seem like He’s a thousand years away, but He’s right there through it all. You will emerge. And one day, you will find yourself able to Embrace The Happy once again…

I will celebrate this moment with my whole heart.

I will not hold anything back; I will not reserve myself because of fear.

I will not be afraid.

I will Embrace The Happy.

Adventures in Postpartum...The Continuation

I used to think that antidepressants were the devil. I was one of those judgmental, self-righteous bigots who think that all hormonal and psychological imbalances are simply the effects of people who need to suck it up, and get over themselves.

I thought that all mental “issues” were demonic  attacks, and that if we prayed hard enough, we would be healed…or that if we ate only the right foods, or if we drank enough water, or if we ________, that it would all go away.

Granted, I’m anything but a paragon of health. Obviously, I’m fat. It’s okay—“fat” is not a bad word, just an ugly word. I don’t like it, but I did this to myself, so I have to accept it. I’m fat. But since my mid-twenties, I’ve been very good about getting regular chiropractic adjustments (I started that when I was 15), drinking lots of water (like, a gallon a day—seriously), and I’ve always liked my vegetables (except for lima beans and asparagus). But, I’m not morbidly obese…I barely touch soda…and though I have a major sweet tooth, I don’t live on chocolate (but I could!).  I am, in a word, an average American woman.

I’m also a Christian, which comes with its own bag of stones.

After Hannah’s death, the depression was crippling. Not only was I mourning the loss of my baby girl; I was dealing with the post-partum hormonal imbalances from hell. Anti-depressants were no longer an option. I had to go on them, or risk suicide.

I felt terrible.

I just couldn’t seem to break free from the pit that I was in, no matter how hard I prayed, or how hard I tried. Nothing made me feel any better; it was like walking in concrete. The ADs certainly didn’t “fix” anything; they simply made me able to function. It was then that I really began to respect the need for some people (certainly not all—I firmly believe that as Americans, we are HEAVILY over-medicated) to get a little chemical balance in their lives.

When you’re chemically screwed up, you can’t pray for healing. You can’t make cognitive choices. All you can see is darkness, and it’s so oppressive…Getting the medication into your system, and getting your little neurotransmitters functioning properly again, is the kick-in-the-pants that your body needs to refocus, and to get spiritually focused again. I think that sometimes, we’re so chemically twisted that we have to have that.

That being said, I believe that some medications are only for a time…that after a point, we have to take responsibility and wean ourselves off of them. We have to find a way to be balanced without them. When ADs were first researched, they were never intended for long-term usage. They weren’t even tested for it. I’m not sure how the research has changed, but I know that for me, spending years on a drug like that is not something I want to do.  

6 months after Hannah passed away (in 2007), I weaned myself off of the anti-depressants. In 2008, I wound up having to go back on them for a short time. I still don’t really understand what happened, but after I got off of them again that year, I haven’t had to be on anything since.

I’ve been pretty open about the shock of having to go back on the ADs after this pregnancy. I truly didn’t see postpartum depression coming, even though I had all of the markers (previous postpartum, first child after a loss, etc). I was really disappointed, and ashamed. Why would I feel shame?

I mean, I’d just spent over a month in the hospital. I’d been on a massive amount of medication, including major antibiotics at delivery (antibiotics strip your gut; you actually make serotonin in both the intestines and the brain = Bad gut, bad serotonin levels = depression). I was exhausted beyond belief; I had not gotten a full, uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep since 12/30/12 (part of that is motherhood in general; part of that was from my “incarceration”).  My hormone levels were shot!  So, on the day that I decided I was going to drive my car off of a cliff, I figured I’d better call the doctor.

I had an almost immediate response to Zoloft; I felt better, so quickly! It didn’t change my personality; it just allowed me to function. I could pray! I could be happy! I felt like I could enjoy motherhood! It was great!

I have been able to take care of my son, and do my job, and be nice to my husband. It’s not all because of some little pill…It’s because some little pill got the chemical ball rolling in my brain, to allow me to be me, instead of some crazy, hormonal, mentally exhausted, suicidal lunatic. It’s a good thing.

 I have learned to appreciate psychological medications. When  given with the patient’s best interests in mind, they can do a lot for people. For my friends who are bipolar, they’re a miracle. It’s not always a physical or a spiritual deficiency, people—just because your body requires a medication, doesn’t make you a bad person! It doesn’t make YOU deficient! It just means there is an imbalance that needs to be leveled out. I think that Christians in particular are far too quick to throw stones at people who need chemical assistance. That’s not fair, and it’s not Godly.

No one would chide me for taking my heart medication.

I have a problem with my heart. For some reason, it doesn’t work like it should. It doesn’t  mean that it won’t eventually be healed. It might actually, at some point, be considered “normal.” But for now, no amount of healthy food that I eat will fix it. It’s structural.

I can pray my little eyeballs out; it doesn’t mean that it will be fixed. It doesn’t mean that I’m not spiritual enough, if God decides not to heal it.

It doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person.

There are things that I can do, to help—I can eat better foods (bye, bacon!). I can go walking (I am). I can lose weight (not going so well). These are the things I can be responsible for.

But that little white pill that I take twice a day? I’m dependent on it right now. It’s strengthening my heart.

Why do we, as Christians, look down on someone for taking a little pill that strengthens their physical mind?

The antidepressants have not been kind to my body. Yes, they’ve been great for my mind…but I’ve gained 14 pounds in the past 2 months. NOT GOOD. So, based on that, and based on some stomach issues I’ve been struggling with, I went to my doctor the other day (PCP). Her suggestion was that I try a different AD. When I looked it up (because the thought of trying a new AD just scares me to death!!!!), I couldn’t believe the side effects. Sure, you lose weight…but one woman stood over her daughter’s crib so the “aliens wouldn’t take her!” SERIOUSLY?!?!?  That stuff is supposed to level out your brain, not make you nuts!

So, based on that, and based on the side effects of the AD I’m currently taking (weight gain, arrhythmias, etc), I’ve made the decision to start weaning off of the AD all together.

It’s a scary decision, and one that means I’ll be watched like a hawk by both my husband and my mother (“That’s it! You’re going back on your crazy meds!!!”). If it doesn’t work, and I’m not able to get off of them just yet, that’s fine—I’d rather be fat and sane, then skinny and looking for aliens.  

But really, I’d like to be off of all of it. I think that getting my stomach regulated (I'm doing a strong probiotic combo to rebuild after the antibiotics) will be a huge help.

Everything for a season, right?  Even chemically-initiated “sanity?”

Wish me luck…and smaller jeans…

PS--for the record, I'm weaning off of the AD very slowly, and with my MDs full knowledge. If you're on any kind of anti-depressant, you absolutely cannot go off of it without a doctor's supervision!!!!  Just my PSA...