Lexapro Lock & Gratitude

I haven’t written anything in what seems like forever.

I think I’m okay with that.

Every now and then, I think a writer needs to refuel, rebalance, and refocus…I think I’m in that phase, and I’m not sure how long it will last. I’m enjoying reading other’s projects, finding new books to dive into, and focusing on the day-to-day of life.

Does that mean I am wasting my so-called “talent?”

I hope not.

In order for me to write and to write well, I have to feel connected. Sometimes, that’s hard for me to do; in fact, the last time I wrote something was back in February, and then in March, I was put on Lexapro due to increased anxiety (this is in addition to a low dose of Wellbutrin). I think I have felt slightly disconnected ever since (although I can appreciate the overall calm I’ve felt since then). Although I’m on the lowest possible dose of the Lexapro, I’ve gained a BUNCH of weight, and am really having difficulties in areas of self-control. In the course of the last 6 months, I’ve gained 20 pounds. 20 pounds, on an already-fluffy frame. I’d lost close to 50, and now I’ve gained 20 of it back. I’d like to wallow in self-pity, but what good would that do? I need to get this weight off; it’s the only way for me to NOT be a diabetic, it’s the best thing for my heart, and it’s the way I feel the best about myself….but it’s hard to get motivated when you feel disconnected.

So, do I stop the meds and deal with the stress? Or do I take the meds and just relegate myself to being fat and calm and somewhat disconnected? What is it worth, to feel so completely, and to risk the imbalance of doing so? And what are the consequences?

I know that it’s probably not “normal” to publicly and candidly discuss medications. It’s been no secret that I’ve been on a pretty solid routine of meds for the past 11 years. Life experiences have side effects, as do various medications and surgeries, and there are emotional and neurological consequences that have to be considered. It’s easy for someone to look at me and say, “Can’t you just get over it?” I get it. And I also know that as Christians, it’s really easy for someone to look at me and say, “Well, we’ll just pray for you to get where you don’t have to take those meds anymore.” And sure, if God wants to do that, I know it’s possible…but I’ve also seen Christians stop their meds based on someone’s prayer, and wind up in a padded cell (or worse). So, I personally think it’s better to be honest about these things, and to take some of the stigma off of it.

Sometimes, we just need medicine.

Sometimes, we just need to be okay with that.

My biggest struggle right now is with worship. It is so, so hard for me to truly plug in right now, and to tap into that part of my heart where I feel I can totally let go and get face-to-face with Jesus. I feel like the Lexapro is somehow fencing me off from not just my true emotions, but from my true heart—does that make sense?  My creative process is affected as well, which is NOT normal for me. I’ve thought about trying natural options, but the side effects usually counter other meds I’m on, so I have to consider that as well.

So, that’s what’s been going on. Life has been good; my son is amazing. He definitely keeps us on our toes, which is pretty typical for a 4-year old. I actually think the Lexapro has been great for our marriage, LOL, because I am certainly a lot less-stressed about dirty dishes, for SURE! J We have been tackling home improvement issues (which means we have FINALLY been hiring wonderful, amazing friends who are far more skilled than us, to tackle plumbing & drywall issues). We are both working our tails off in our respective offices, and getting ready to put Jericho in pre-school in the fall. So, life is “normal.” And maybe that’s also part of my “dry spell”—I am so used to episodes of chaos that I’m not sure how to handle a calm.

So now I’m going to just shut up and praise God for a lull, because I certainly think we need it.  I’m going to praise God for “normal.” I’m grateful.

And I’m grateful for medicines that balance hormones, regulate hearts and blood sugars, replace missing organs, and that help prolong and sustain life. I’m grateful that I have opportunities and health care and excellent specialists, and all of that other stuff.

And maybe focusing on that—on all of the things that I’m grateful for—I can break through the fog and find my reconnect. Maybe that’s how I plug back in, and restart the creative process.  Maybe gratitude breaks the Lexapro lock…

Because I definitely know that God is greater. I may not feel Him to the extent that I have, but I know that He’s there, and I know He is far from cut off.

It's a little late for Resolutions...

There are no New Year’s Resolutions in the Cooley household.

There are thoughts, sure—like, are we ever going to lose weight or actually work out?—that are generally followed with “Dear LORD, where would we EVER find the time?!?”

There are hopes—“I can resist raiding the box of cookies!”—followed by “Where are the $%*(% cookies!!!?????”—followed by guilt-wracked wails of “Why did I buy the %*(%* cookies?!?!?”

There are dreams—“I’m keeping those jeans—I may fit back into them someday!”—followed by the handing of said jeans over to my mother, because I’ve just ripped them, and I don’t know how to sew.

But really?

I’m struggling with self-acceptance.

I’m struggling with not caring about my weight anymore.

I’m struggling with just giving up…

But maybe that’s where I need to be?

All of that aside (and that’s a LOT), there are just no resolutions in our household. I’m not promising to get anything done. David and I are trying to re-organize some things (our little house was just fine for the two of us, but with an increasingly-mobile little one, we have to move some furniture around!), and we’re learning about what life with a soon-to-be toddler means.

It means smiles and tears…new discoveries (toilets are AWESOME drums!)…It means falls, and learning to climb over everything (before he’s walking, he’s climbing everywhere. Nothing is safe). It means learning new words (mostly that Mommy says “no!” a lot!!!), and making new sounds.

It means that everything is new for JD…and everything is new for me. Everything is new for this Mommy role that I’ve stepped into, that I’ve dreamt about my entire life.

JD breaks every barricade that I set up for him—is this indicative of his personality later on? Will he be my boundary pusher? Will I have the patience for it, or will I throw up my hands in frustration? Will I be the kind of parent that learns to channel that risk-taking into Kingdom living?

I take everything so seriously—shouldn’t I?

That’s not to say that I don’t have some fun with it—my little guy is a riot. Nothing’s funnier than his laugh, and nothing makes stop in my tracks and praise God, like hearing it come from that sweet soul. He’s hilarious, he’s challenging, he’s everything I’ve ever hoped for!!!!! 

He has 7 teeth, and they were hard-fought battles. Going to sleep is a challenge in his crib; I’ve spent a few nights crying to my husband that I’m afraid he’s going to think I’m a terrible mommy for abandoning him in the nursery I tried so hard to make inviting. It’s getting better…but I’m not going to lie: When he starts crying at 2:30 in the morning, I go and get him. I bring him to bed, where he lays on my arm and snuggles…and I feel complete, with my little family snuggled under the covers (Holly is on the floor—but she’s in the room, so she counts).

These are the happiest days of my life.

I do the most writing when I’m struggling, and when I need to vent….but I don’t really want to vent. The times I’ve needed to blow off some steam have been unprintable; even though there are areas I’m struggling in, they’re nothing new, and it all feels redundant. Yep—we’re still broke. Yep—I’m still a working mom (although I had a PHENOMENAL holiday break). Yep—I’m still fat. The things I typically complain about haven’t changed, so why bother?  Every day is a trial of finding ways to improve various situations.

My biggest struggles have been with anxiety and fear….again, something that just hasn't changed.

Someday, fear will die, and anxiety will go away. I hope it happens for me in this lifetime, because when it gets out of control, it robs me of the happiness I've been given. 

I worry that if anything happened to me, does David know that I love him more than life itself? Does Jericho know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, to see him have his very best life? Does my family know how much I thank God for them, for their love and support? Do they know I couldn’t breathe without them?

Have I said the things I need to, to the people I need to say them to?  I hope so.

Life is short, but love is long. And the love that I pour into today will make an eternal impact for someone…

Maybe that’s my New Year’s Resolution: To tell the people I love every day, that I love them with all of my heart. To make sure I don’t go to sleep without thanking God for putting them into my life. To make sure that above all, Jesus knows that I cannot live my life without knowing He is the Reason and the Center of it all, in spite of my fears and failures.

The things that need to change, will change on their own. Our finances will eventually get figured out; I will eventually get my weight under control. These are not things I should waste my time worrying about—really, I’m done. It’s exhausting, worrying about all of this crap. That’s not to say I’m having a free-for-all; I just don’t want to stress over it anymore. And for the love of God, if one more person trolls my Facebook site with weight-loss information, I’m going to smack them in the face with a bag of Oreos!!!!!

I just want to love my son and my husband. I want to enjoy my life, and close my eyes at the end of the day, knowing that I’ve done just that. And I do.

I like my life.

Can I stay in this moment forever?

Noodle-Bugs and Sunrises

During the week, it feels like we’ve established an effective “routine” with our son. Most days, I get up before work to feed him; this allows my husband to get a little more sleep (he takes the last feeding of the evening, so that I can get a little more sleep—it’s a good trade-off!). The only problem is, that early in the morning, JD is not necessarily awake.

I find myself blowing zerberts on tiny cheeks and tickling baby feet in an effort to wake him up to feed him…and this is after the diaper change! He’s a sound sleeper, like his daddy. 

When he finally comes around, I’m rewarded with the most beautiful smile in the world. I promptly forget how tired, crabby, or sore I am; I can’t help but to smile back. Someone at church kissed his little cheek the other day, and got the same smile; she said, “He likes kisses! You must kiss him a lot!” 

All the time…

Every chance I get…

I know the day will come when I will hear, “Eww, Momma! That’s gross!”

And even though my mama’s heart will crack just a little bit,

I will kiss him anyways.

He’s going to have to deal with it for the rest of his life.

So, this morning was pretty typical, although he seemed more tired than usual. He’s got a cold, and he didn’t sleep well. Couple that with the morons that see fit to blow up fireworks at 10:00 on a weeknight, and I didn’t sleep well, either. Waking him up this morning took a herculean effort.

Lots of kisses!  Lots of zerberts! Lots of tickling!  So. Much. Wooooooorrrrkkkk (insert sarcastic overtones)!!! 

He’s so stinkin’ cute.

The cold has made him pretty cranky this week, although it seems my day with him was the worst. David had him all day yesterday, and I was so happy to hear that the fussiness was minimal. It seems like he saved his best screaming fits for ME. Yay. By Tuesday’s end, I was exhausted, and wondering if I was just terrible at this stuff? I don’t think so…but I bet I walked 100 miles with that child, in my living room alone. There’s not much you can do for a baby with a cold, except run the humidifier. I’ve also been rubbing him down with Vicks, eucalyptus, and lavender, and praying A LOT. We did make a frantic run to the pediatrician after he went kind of listless on me; after a nap, he seemed normal, so I felt a lot better.

Anyways, this morning, he was so sleepy…holding him was like holding a doll filled with sandbag. Every time he lays like that, I’m reminded just how precious he is…my little wet noodle-bug! 

He feels secure enough with me, to sleep peacefully.

He feels secure enough with me, to smile at me, and snuggle into my chest.

He feels safe with me…

As I was driving into work this morning, and caught the sun rising behind the St. Louis skyline, I couldn’t help but to stop, turn off the radio, and pray. God paints the most amazing wake-up calls! How could I not be thankful? How could I not pause and celebrate a Lord that loves us enough to make THAT?

I snuggle the bundle of sheer happiness in my arms, and think about the sacrifice of Jesus. I’m sorry, y’all, but I would NOT let my son die for you. Ain’t happening.

Yet another reason why I am not God.

I would die for my son. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my son. There’s another person inside of me that is a ferocious beast of a bear that would seriously end someone who tried to harm my son. They’d be done for.

Yet our Father stood back and let the world beat, maim, torture, and kill His baby Boy.

What kind of Crazy Love is THAT?!?!?!?!?

I can’t even comprehend it. I start to think about it, and I get physically ill, thinking of what the Father went through.  

My pregnancies have completely revolutionized how I view the Crucifixion…how I view various types and shadows in Scripture…I cannot comprehend His love…

He holds us in His arms…We find rest.

Just like JD knows he can flop like a wet noodle in Mama’s arms, we know we can rest in the embrace of Jesus…

I recently found out that I have to have yet another surgery. My initial response was to call my mother in tears (I actually woke her up, which probably wasn’t my best move), and to freak out about my job, about being out of medical leave, how am I going to take care of my son, etc (not in that order). As usual, she reminded me that God is bigger, which I’ve struggled with realizing this week.

I’m not looking forward to this. Frankly, I’ve been cut on WAY too much for this lifetime. This is my 5^th abdominal surgery, and my 7^th overall. I’m tired of anesthesia, tired of hospitals, tired of nurses, and tired of being “broken.” I’m aggravated that it’s come to this, and I’m scared.

This morning, I was reminded of my place.

It isn’t my place, to be afraid.

It isn’t my place, to worry about my job.

It isn’t my place, to make plans and preparations, and to freak out if things don’t work out according to my order.

It isn’t my place, to stress.

It is my place to pray about this stuff…

It is my place to model my heart after my son…

To lie in the arms of the Father…

And to rest…

I feel safe enough with Him…