eighteen weeks

We've made it eighteen weeks. I'm still just as nervous as I was the day we found out, and I'm starting to think that's not really going to improve. I'm also still sick at least 50% of the time, and while that's obviously a huge improvement over 100% of the time, it's by no means fun. I think all the nausea is really hampering my ability to appreciate each moment I'm given...

Despite the undercurrent of anxiety, worry hasn't really been my focus this week. I'm sure that (along with the three straight months of sickness) contributes to the awful mood I'm in, but I'm going to attribute the mood mostly to the fact that I'm back in my normal place of feeling alone. I don't see why we have to constantly fixate on life stage as the basis for relationships, but inevitably, someone wants to go that way. And it sucks to lose people I care about because of something that should be good. Yes, I'm married, and we're going to have a baby. No, that doesn't mean I can no longer be your friend.

It's particularly frustrating to me that it always seems to be my Christian friends who want to take that route. I get the temptation. I hate change as much as anyone, but being on the other side, it hurts when your friends abandon you. It's also really hard to explain to my non-Christian friends why they would want to consider Christ when they see how much pain these "church" relationships end up causing me. They don't get why I keep coming back, and it's a fair question. We've been friends for years, and they would never dream of cutting someone out just for getting married or divorced or having or not having kids. Why would they want to subject themselves to this?

So today I'm sad and just want this week to be over. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

excited?

The day I thought would never come is here: I'm pregnant!

And now I don't really know what to say.

I know all the "right" things, but for some reason those just don't seem to fit right now. As we've gradually told people over the past couple of weeks, the question I've been asked more than any other is, "Are you excited?!?" It's a totally "right" question, and for my own sake and the sake of the happy askers, I usually just say yes. But, if I'm honest, I'm not excited. While I appreciate the huge blessing we've been given, this doesn't feel real. I want to feel the hopeful happiness I see others feeling, but I can't stop thinking that something this good can't actually be happening, not to me. So it's not exactly exciting... it's surreal.

We found out a little over two months ago, and since then I've spent most of my time certain that I'd have a miscarriage. When I reached the point where that became less likely, I moved on to other fears. I can think of a million ways this could turn out badly, but after years of thinking it could never happen for us and watching so many people go through heartbreak after heartbreak, I just can't let myself believe that we might have an actual, precious little baby to hold in November. The risk feels too big.

So for today, I'm cautiously optimistic (so cautiously that I'm a little afraid to admit there's even a glimmer of hope), not excited. We'll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings...

my chemical imbalance is cooler than yours...

I know it will shock some of you, but I religiously read the website dooce.com. If you're brave, you can check it out... it's one of my links. The author, Heather Armstrong, is pretty much everything I'm not: an outgoing and vocal ex-Mormon who can be crude at times.

I respect her immensely.

Last December I opened my inbox to find a link to one of her recent entries:

http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone

I read it mostly so I would be able to have an educated discussion if that friend asked what I thought, but I was immediately hooked. Her honesty hit straight to my heart because I could relate to every word she said.

Like Heather, I've dealt with chronic depression and anxiety for most of my life. I knew as a young teenager that something was very wrong, but I chose for years not to get help. I was afraid of the stigma of therapy, not to mention a label, and I was steadfastly opposed to medication... until I finally hit rock bottom and all the prayer and Bible study in the world couldn't pull me out of my darkness. I realized I had a choice: treatment or death. I went with treatment.

For a long time, I kept my choice a secret. In fact, to a number of people I know, it's still a secret, and that saddens me. I consider my experience in therapy and my relationship with my therapist to be one of the greatest blessings in my life, and though I'm still not a fan of needing daily medication, I'm thankful for the stability it provides. I've learned a tremendous amount about grace and what it means to love like Jesus from the people who've walked through treatment with me. I've finally begun to see myself as He sees me. Recovery has been excruciating at times, but I have never experienced God as tangibly as I have during these months. I couldn't be luckier.

Unfortunately, in the conservative Christian circles I run in, far too many people still believe that mental illness and particularly being on psychotropic drugs makes a person less of a Christian. This ignorance deeply saddens me. So many aching people are isolated from the mainstream church because we hide our hurts, habits, and hangups for the sake of looking like the picture perfect congregation. So many others hide within the church for fear of being ostracized if people knew who they really were. That so many might miss out on the healing God can bring because admitting their imperfections would open them up to ridicule breaks my heart.

I hope that as mental illness slowly loses its stigma in society in general, the body of Christ will follow and envelop the hurting in its loving arms. Until then, I pray that the hurting people around me will find the courage to seek recovery even if it's not easy. I did, and it is a choice I will never regret.