This Is My Brave

brave [breyv]
{verb} to meet or face courageously, to defy/challenge/dare,
{adjective}possessing or exhibiting courage or courageous endurance
{noun} a warrior
{synonyms}bold, daring, courageous, fearless, valiant, gallant in the face of danger or difficulties

I am not a risk taker.  I am a rule follower and I like staying in the safe zone.  I don't like stepping out in courage in the face of difficulties.  When struggles come, my first reaction is to hide and ignore.  I am not one to face a challenge head on.  I avoid conflict at all costs.

That definition of brave?  At first glance, I am far from it.  Fearless? Valiant? Courageous? Bold?  Who me???

Annie Downs writes in her newest book, Let's All Be Brave: "If we are each as unique as the Bible says we are, then our calls to courage are each equally unique...Courage looks different for each of us." Maybe brave for me isn't being a missionary in a far away country in the middle of no where.  What if, for me, brave simply means getting out of bed with a smile on my face ready to face the endless piles of laundry, never ending discipline, and overwhelming responsibilities of every day living with perseverance and purpose?

Sometimes brave simply means recognizing the beauty and value in who God made me to be and being confident of my calling, no matter what anyone else might say.  I know my children are a gift and I'm grateful for this life, but it's easy to get caught up in comparing and forget that what I am doing right here, right now matters.

So, when my littlest one starts to fuss, I put down my to do list and pick her up, even if all she wants is for me to hold her and talk to her while she smiles and coos.  Because the time and love I give her now matters.  And when the big kids beg me to read them a story for the millionth time, I do it with a grateful heart, because this is my purpose right here, right now.  This is my brave.  

Brave also means sharing my story, every hard and broken piece of it, and boldly testifying about all the ways God has used all of the bad for good.  It means letting down my guard and opening up my heart to a new friend, even when I'm scared of being hurt.  Someone, somewhere needs to know they are not alone and that God can make beauty out of any of our ashes.  Brave is recognizing His purpose in it all and the way He has never forgotten or forsaken me along the way.

Some days, being brave means hitting post or publish when the words on my heart need to be shared, no matter how terrified I might be of what others might think or say about me.  Or maybe it means sending a message, and email, or a text, or making that phone call I've been dreading.  Remember how I said I avoid conflict at all costs?  Yeah, being brave sometimes means facing those confrontations and speaking the truth in love.

So, when a mom I've only just met moments before hints at the broken pieces of her story that are so similar to my own, I ignore the schedule and noise around me and begin to open my own heart to her.  As I speak and our stories become intertwined, we both find our brave.  Just like Annie says, "You aren't headed out to find courage.  It's in you, it is blooming, and it is with you as you travel and say yes to things that seem scary."  This, right here - sharing my story and connecting with a new friend - this is my brave.  I hug this new found friend and, as we both walk back to our daily lives, I'm grateful, so grateful for the way God really does work all things together for good. 

My brave might not look like your brave, but that doesn't mean my brave is not brave.  The only one who gets to define my brave...is me.  God has placed a specific purpose and calling on each of our lives and sometimes the bravest moment is when we step forward and allow Him to finish the work He began in us.

*Disclaimer: This post was sponsored by Dayspring and inspired by their new line of Letterpress Blocks, but the words and stories are my own. 

 

When Hard Is Just Plain Hard

I can't remember where I found this photo, but I saved it from a Google image search a while ago.

I've seen a few different posts and shares on facebook lately with quotes that say something like this: "There's always someone who wishes they had what you have." For some reason, it bothers me every time I read these quotes.

It's been a tough week for me, for many reasons.  I've been struggling with some underlying fears that needed to be addressed, allergies and sinus pressure that are worse with pregnancy, and just plain exhaustion from lack of sleep and kids who are testing every ounce of my sanity. 

I realize that everyone has their own struggles and that my struggles may seem minor compared to someone else...but when you're in the thick of your own hard, being told that your hard isn't really that hard can feel like a crushing weight of defeat. 

Yes, we each have our own struggles.  None of us are perfect; what looks picture perfect on the surface may simply be hiding some difficult trials or circumstances that would surprise even your closest friends. 

It's easy to hide behind a facebook status, a smiling photo, or even a quick "I'm fine" when asked the customary "how are you?".  But being vulnerable enough to share our deepest hurts and pains can be downright terrifying...especially when the response might be "well, at least you're not going through..." or "you know, it could be worse...". 

It's so easy for me to play the comparison game and I think that's what bothers me the most about these quotes.  It's good to have a healthy dose of perspective, but the underlying tone of these messages is to compare our lives to someone else. 

Comparing my life to someone whose struggles are far bigger than my own is just as dangerous as comparing my life to someone who appears to have it all together.

Yes, your hard may be harder than mine, but hard is still hard.  What we really need when we take away the mask and show our real mess is to be loved and known for who we really are.  So, maybe, instead of pointing out how one person's struggles are harder than another's, we should stop comparing and simply be present.  

***

 
If you're looking for a place to be real and trying to find your brave in order to share your deepest heart's cries, tonight is the start of a beautiful online conference put on by one of my favorite online communities, (in)courage.  Check out their free (in)RL conference; it's not too late to join!

 

{Back to School, Back to Writing} Confession

 photo source

I've written about not being perfect and what it is to be broken, but sometimes, if I'm not careful, my story can become an idol.

Just writing those words sends a gut punch to my soul, because conviction is hard.  It's much easier to just ignore the whispers and continue on my merry way.

Except the way is not really merry when I place anything or anyone on a pedestal and forget the One who wrote my story from the beginning. 

I focus so much on brokenness and imperfections, but forget how He calls me to lay them all down at His feet and walk instead in His righteousness. 

And in the forgetting, I let pride get in the way of loving on others and being His light. 

My struggles become magnified when they are all I can see and I fail to see the ones walking alongside me with their own hurts and pains. 

I grumble and I mutter and I am shocked at the selfish, condemning words that pour out of my sin filled heart.  This isn't who I am...and yet it is. 

Every day I have to make a choice - to speak hurt...or speak love.  And the only way to choose the better is to keep pressing into Him, allowing His words to write over the sins that tempt and attack at my soul.

When I look beyond myself and stop to listen to the story hidden behind a plastered smile and "I'm fine" replies, I remember how every one of us is facing our own pain filled, tear stained battle. 

I can't ignore the conviction for long, because I know how much I need Him...how much we all need Him.  So I stop and listen, laying down my selfish pride at His feet to let Him sift and change and use me. 

Then, instead of the criticism and judgement creeping into my heart, I begin to listen for the hidden words and wonder at the secrets behind weary eyes. 

I have a story to tell, but so does she...and sometimes she just wants me to listen to her story to know she is loved and understood. 

She needs someone to tell her she's not alone and that there is always One who knows every one of her tears and waits with open arms. 

She longs for a friend who will hold her as she cries and cry with her. 

She wants to know she matters and that her story isn't finished yet. 

So, I listen, really listen, whispering Truth and speaking the love she needs and the love He freely gives. 

I'm joining the Creative Soul community this month for Back to School, Back to Writing.

***

Are you one of those women stuck in the hard part of your story wishing you had a community to love on and encourage you?  (in)courager community groups are back for another session and I'm blessed to be a part of this beautiful ministry. 

I'm returning as a leader for the group Broken & Mended which is a safe place for women struggling with postpartum depression to find hope and encouragement and love to fight this often lonely and difficult battle.  If you, or someone you know, are struggling with postpartum depression, sign up here or email me. 

Or, if you have a different story to tell, find the group that is right for you, because there's a bench waiting for YOU. 

 

{Guest Post} My PPD Story: Deb

photo source

My PPD experience seemed to begin during my last pregnancy, even though I did not realize it at the time.
I was dealing with health issues such as elevated blood pressure & gestational diabetes which required a strict diet.  I also had a test done called a "triple screen" that showed an elevated risk that my baby could have Downs Syndrome.

All of these things combined caused lots of stress. I had an amniocentesis to rule out the Downs, but then needed to be induced 1 month early because my blood pressure was so high. I was experiencing problems sleeping, but also some intense anxiety. At first, I didn't realize how bad the anxiety was getting or that it really wasn't normal.

Once my healthy little baby girl was born, everything seemed okay for a week or so, but then the anxiety kicked in full tilt. My blood pressure also didn't settle down and I had to go back on medication for that. I felt nervous all of the time and had a "shell-shocked" feeling that I couldn't shake. I had strange symptoms, too, like tingling & cold hands/feet & profuse sweating. I felt like my body's "fight or flight" instincts were kicked into overdrive.

Shortly after that, the depression set it. I had all of the typical symptoms: sadness, lack of energy, sleeplessness, inability to make decisions, feeling "foggy" all of the time, excessive worrying and many bouts of crying. It was truthfully a very scary time for myself and my family.

I was given a book by one of the Nurse Educators from the hospital I work at entitled: "This Isn't What I Expected: Overcoming Postpartum Depression". I read it cover to cover and that is what completely convinced me that I indeed had a significant case of PPD. I made doctor and therapist appointments and started to take an antidepressant, but continued to struggle with my symptoms for months. My symptoms were often most intense in the morning & some days were worse than others, too.

I remember many days just trying to get through one hour at a time. I hated being alone at home and would watch the clock constantly, waiting for afternoon when my husband would get home from work. Accomplishing even small tasks, like folding a load of laundry or cooking supper seemed completely overwhelming to me.

I tried lots of treatments during that first year of my Daughter's life: medication, therapy, biofeedback, even a visit to a chiropractor. I know that different things work for different people, but what I felt helped me the most was finding the right antidepressant (the first one I was put on did not help at all), and the support of my husband, family & friends. I literally spent hours on the phone when I wasn't feeling well, talking to friends and family. It was my own form of "talk therapy" and it really worked for me. Usually I'm not extremely social or much of a talker in general, but when I had PPD, I NEEDED to talk.

For anyone out there currently suffering from PPD, I'd like you to know that I was initially very resistant to the idea of taking an antidepressant.  I was breastfeeding and worried that the medication passing through my milk would not be safe for my baby. I was also worried that I would have to take an antidepressant for the rest of my life. My doctors did reassure me that they were prescribing medications that were considered safe with breastfeeding & as my symptoms slowly improved, I was able to wean myself off of the medication by the time my Daughter turned 2.

One other thing I like to share with women suffering from this illness is that the illness will cause you fear that you will never feel like yourself again; that you will have to live with the miserable symptoms of PPD for the rest of your life. These thoughts are symptoms & are not true. You will feel better. You will recover and become yourself again. Tell yourself that over and over, because it will happen. 

***

Hi! My name is Deb Waters. I am 47 years old and a wife, proud Mother of 3, Registered Nurse & Lactation Consultant. I had PPD with my last baby (she is now 13 years old). In sharing my story, I hope to give Moms who are struggling with PPD a healthy dose of information, support & hope.

***

This post is part of a series of guest posts called My PPD Story that are part of my ministry with (in)courage in leading an (in)courager community group called Broken & Mended: Hope in the Midst of Postpartum Depression.  Several brave moms have graciously offered to share their stories in this space to raise awareness about postpartum depression and help other moms know they are not alone.  If you are struggling with PPD, please check out this website for some amazing resources to get you the help you need, because there is hope and healing is possible.  


 

{Broken & Mended} Truth Reminders: Psalm 34:18

photo credit: SodanieChea


"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted 

and saves the crushed in spirit."

(Psalm 34:18)

I remember too well the hopelessness and weariness I felt in the midst of my postpartum depression.  It took all my energy just to get out of bed and, by the time my husband came home from work at the end of the day, I had nothing left to give.  I would collapse on the couch in tears, broken and crushed, feeling completely and totally defeated.

When I opened my computer yesterday, I felt the same brokenhearted, hopeless feeling as I read the news from Boston and thought of the numerous tragedies our country has endured in the past few years alone.  I couldn't help thinking, "where are you, Lord?".

But I was reminded, in the same way God spoke to me in the darkness of depression, that even when I don't understand and even when it seems hopeless, He is still near and He is still Savior.  

God never promises that there won't be trouble in this world, but He does promise to be near.  The word near here is defined in Strong's Concordance as "intimate acquaintance...familiar to us...daily in our mouths".  In Christ, we can boldly come to the throne of the One who is above all and know Him as one who is near.

Jeremiah 23:23-24 says: 

"Am I a God at hand, declares the LORD, and not a God far away? Can a man hide himself in secret places so that I cannot see him? declares the LORD. Do I not fill heaven and earth? declares the LORD."  

What a comfort to know that He is not a God far away, but a God at hand, nearer even in our darkest hours!

***

 This blog post is part of a series of posts I will be sharing on Sundays (or Mondays...or Tuesdays...when I need to give myself grace on a busy weekend) during Session 2 of (in)courager community groups to encourage the women I am honored to be ministering to and leading in the Broken & Mended: Hope in the Midst of Postpartum Depression group.  Each week will include a Truth Reminder from His words that gives hope of healing and mending in the midst of postpartum depression.


 

Guest Post: My PPD Story {Tammy}

I Love Her, I Really Do!

Nobody explains just “how” life will change when a newborn enters into your life. Oh, don’t get me wrong, many will say: “Oh, your life is gonna change now!” Yet nobody really says how it will change. I kept thinking, like how? It couldn’t change that much.

But life does change.

           

Being on fertility meds, I was truly ecstatic once the baby was here. I had a very uneventful pregnancy with no complications or problems. I did everything that my doctor (and all the books!) told me to do. I ate the best I have ever eaten for a nine-month stretch of time up to that point. And, to be honest, have never done that for nine months ever again! I never had morning sickness, but I did have daily headaches during months three through seven. Yet I refused to take any medicines. I wanted to do the best I possibly could for my baby to have a great start. I loved that baby immensely already, though still inside of me.

           

Then she was born. 

(Our daughter, six hours old)

No longer was my sleep the same. I had to awaken and tend to someone else when they wanted tended to. No longer could I just run out the door for anything, it was a planned event. I must confess here, though, that our daughter was such a good baby. She slept through the night beginning at 11 weeks, never had colic, ate well and wasn’t fussy.

Then what was the matter? Why would I break down sometimes in the middle of the afternoon while she lie sleeping so peaceful? Could it have been the feeding every two hours? Or that I could never seem to finish a task I started? Could it be that I no longer controlled my schedule the way “I” wanted to?

I’m not sure if it was any of those things. I do wonder to this day if it was the fact that for being a perfectionist and control freak that I used to be, if it just sent me into a tailspin. I never did get an answer from my doctor, he would say; give it time-your body has been through a lot, or he would pat my knee, smile and tell me this is normal and it will go away.

But it didn’t.

I started to think I was losing my mind. She breast-fed every two hours and I began to start staying home because I wasn’t doing “that” in public! I just felt I couldn’t hold it together. I’m a people person and I was becoming confined to my home. I had no sisters or sisters-in-law to go seek wisdom from. I had some friends that had babies, but they were pretty much at the same stage I was. Add to that, I didn’t want anyone to know that I felt like I was losing my mind. I would see other women with their babies out and about and looking so gleeful. All the while I felt like a fake walking around smiling while my insides were screaming out – HELP ME, I don’t think I like this little thing!

I finally decided to visit the Mom’s Club at the big church we had been visiting. My thoughts were if I accidentally slip and say something and the ladies think I’m a lunatic, this church is so big, they would never see me again.

But God had other plans.

That very first Wednesday morning I visited Mom’s Club, wouldn’t you know that God knew exactly what I needed. (Isn’t He just amazing!) At this meeting, I not only found others with older children that had walked through (and survived) this path, but I found others who admittedly were having some of the same struggles I was. When I admitted that sometimes I felt like I didn’t even love this long awaited arrival, several shook their heads in agreement and shared with me that this can happen. They encouraged me to not hold it in and to find someone to talk with when I was feeling that way.

I did meet a sweet woman back then and she is still one of my dearest friends. She had a son a couple years older than my daughter so she had more or less blazed the trail a little before me! To this day, I am ever grateful for my friend who would let me tearfully share my feelings of inadequacy or that sometimes I wondered if I loved her--then feel guilty, because how could I not. Once I had unloaded, she would share words of encouragement, ideas to help me for that day and would always pray with me. She never judged me for what I said and she always took time for me. Most importantly she always loved me for who I was, not what I thought the world expected of me.

If I could encourage you as you go through this season of your life, please do not hold it in or do this alone. Whether you find a trusted mentor or seek professional help, do not let this go on for too long. You matter. Your health matters. Some people never have issues with post-partum depression, but some of us do. That doesn’t make us bad moms. It especially doesn’t make us a bad person if we seek help through this time. You want the best for your baby and your family, why would you not want the best for you, too!

Just to set the record straight, I really did love her. And I still do!

  

***

You can find Tammy seeing humor and laughter in every aspect of life and then telling all about it on her blog: http://tickledpinktammy.com.  Tammy’s rough childhood as a lonely, only-child who received much criticism from family is the driving force of her passion to always encourage others and make them smile.  She is a Christian who resides in Ohio with her husband of 31+ years, Larry.  They have a grown daughter, Kristen.   You can also connect with Tammy on her Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/tammy.karasek), twitter @tickledpinktam or e-mail: tickledpinktammy@gmail.com

***

This post is part of a series of guest posts called My PPD Story that are part of my ministry with (in)courage in leading an (in)courager community group called Broken & Mended: Hope in the Midst of Postpartum Depression.  Several brave moms have graciously offered to share their stories in this space to raise awareness about postpartum depression and help other moms know they are not alone.  If you are struggling with PPD, please check out this website for some amazing resources to get you the help you need, because there is hope and healing is possible.