on getting your groove back

Hey guys. Every once in a while we lose track of who we are. The days become an endless series of moments in time just to get through, and, simply put, we lose our groove. I lost my groove, y’all. I don’t think it does me or you any good not to call this what it is. I wasn’t off “brainstorming great new ideas!” or “undergoing an invigorating transformation!” I was just scraping by, to put it simply. I went to bed tired. I woke up tired. I made meals and did (ok, mostly avoided) laundry in a fog, like my arms were fifty pound weights. I’m out of the fog now, but I don’t have shame recalling it. If you have found yourself in a similar place, or if you’re in one right now, you may wonder how to dig yourself out. How to reclaim your groove, so to speak.

Here’s the deal, though: I don’t know how your groove thrives. I don’t know what exactly feeds your soul or brings you back to joy. So I’ll offer my experiences, but they may not work for you. Of course, there’s a chance they might – so read on, will you?

Jennie2018
Also, IMPORTANT: never underestimate the power of a good selfie.

Embrace a New Hobby

Even in the thick of it, when I was overwhelmed at the thought of washing a dish, I fell into auditions and voice lessons. This is my non-mom thing. You may or may not know that once upon a time I was a choir teacher. I studied voice, I led singers, I put on shows. That feels like a different life I’m in no hurry to return to or replicate, but this kind of thing still ignites a fire I thought was put out by Thomas the Tank Engine and elementary school attitudes. Being in shows – just preparing to audition for shows – reminds me I have talent beyond cute school lunches. It’s a reminder I desperately need.

Reach Out to Friends

Yes, I’m talking to YOU, INTROVERTS! I’m not suggesting all of the introverts start going out every night and singing karaoke, but really soak up the people you have. And not just the ones you always reach out to. Open up to someone new and let them surprise you. I recommend friends of different categories; let me explain. I have mom-friends that I can text “I’M LOCKING MY KIDS IN THEIR ROOMS TODAY” and they’ll totally get it. If I text that to my non-mom friends, they might call CPS. But the non-moms remind me there are shows I should make time for and books I need to read. Allow your messages to come from different perspectives. It’s good for you.

Um… Talk to Your Doctor

Yeah, this one should maybe be first. It’s the most important, in my humble opinion. But if you read the most important thing first, you might not read the rest, and I wrote more words! What truly helped me out of the funk was a medicine switch. To get to this place, I had to do a terribly frightening thing: open up to someone I don’t really know at all and say things were not great. But hey, this is what doctors are for. They won’t think you’re a weirdo. (If they do, see a new doctor ASAP.)

No matter what, just believe this: the funk won’t last forever. It just won’t – but it won’t go away on its own, either. So go get your groove back, you majestic unicorn, you. Do NOT worry if:

  • it takes time
  • it takes work
  • you fall back into a bad day after several good ones
  • medicines don’t work
  • other people are confused

You can and will thrive; you can and will groove.

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the lies i tell myself, part 4


Full disclosure, I didn’t have a great picture for today, so here’s one of Jonah that makes me smile.

OK, it took longer than I anticipated to get these four lies out. I suppose the timeline I had in mind was just another to a long list of lies… but if you need to catch the first three, you can find them here: part 1, part 2, and part 3. Which brings us to the final lie (for now, anyway):

I am the only one who feels this way.

Now, I know we are quick to blame social media for constantly showing us glimpses of other “picture perfect” lives. And yes, to an extent, the general public *may* tend to post highs rather than lows, but here’s what I have found. When I’m feeling bad about myself and I’m scrolling through my timeline, I barely give a second glance to the posts that say “today is hard, I need a hug!” I zero in on anything that looks shiny and glittery, anything that makes someone else’s life look perfect compared to my own. But this isn’t even the trickiest thing my brain does: let’s say someone posts a picture of a a family fun day. All of the kids are smiling, everyone looks like they’re getting along, and I manifest this whole story about how this family is better at family time than I am. I read so much into one tiny image that I have suddenly put this picture on a pedestal that I can’t reach. And it doesn’t matter if this family’s very next post is about a baby who never, ever sleeps or a stress overload. I don’t see those. I only see the good.

When people tell you to see the good in other people, this isn’t what they mean.

Or it shouldn’t be.

What do we say 75% of the time when someone asks, “hey, how are you?” “Fine!” “Good!” “Great!” “Can’t Complain!” So when I ask someone how they are, if I only ever hear “good!” I think: I’m the only one who isn’t good. I’m the only one who doesn’t have a cute family picture online right now. I’m the only one who hasn’t showered in four days and has really stretched the power of dry shampoo to the max. Look. I know it isn’t easy to say “actually, everything sucks and I’m really stressed, how are you?” And, you know what? I also know that sometimes things are just good. And you should be able to tell that to people without having some sort of survivor’s guilt for being in a good place.

And so, here’s my radical proposal to stop this lie: just stop. I know. It’s easier said than done. But still —

Stop the comparison. Your life is your life, and you’re doing it better than anyone else can do your life.

Stop the fantasies. Other people don’t have the picture-perfect life you assign them in your mind. Remember everyone else is as real and raw and fragile as you are, when it comes down to it.

Stop setting impossible standards. Treat yourself kindly. Treat yourself like your own child if you have to; make goals that make sense for the person you are in the stage you’re in.

Stop trying. OK, hear me out. This one sounds like basically the opposite of most self-help advice, but here’s what I mean: stop trying to be something new all the time. Stop thinking “if I can do THIS (eat paleo, run a marathon, learn a new language, etc), THEN I’ll be good.” You’re good now. Stop trying to be “better” and start being who you are meant to be.

I’ve talked to lots of human beings, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s this: absolutely no one has everything figured out. You may admire certain people, and this isn’t bad on its own, but when you forget that you’re admiring qualities — portions — not a whole — that’s when you run into trouble.

This isn’t a lie that can be overturned by changing how we use social media. It isn’t a problem that can be solved by giving every simple greeting a thirty-minute therapy session on our deepest life issues. Rather, it involves looking at yourself with clear, unbiased eyes (as unbiased as possible anyway, because they’re your eyes so… just roll with me, here). Don’t let someone else’s victory equate to your own failure. Acknowledge the fact that you’re on different journeys, with different milestones, and it isn’t a competition.

But all of this isn’t even the very best way to stop this lie. All you need to do is accept the fact that it is one. Think of the most “perfect” person you know — the person you wish you could be. GUESS WHAT? They get overwhelmed. They feel inadequate. They make mistakes. EVERYONE FEELS THIS WAY — EVERY SINGLE WAY — SOMETIMES. When we compare similarities instead of differences, we find our degrees of separation are much closer than we think.

So, hey. Whatever lies you’re telling yourself? Recognize that’s what they are. If you can’t see the truth alone, talk to other people. Don’t be so afraid to show some of your mess, because other people have mess, too. They do. It doesn’t have to be the same as yours to be real.

“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” -John 8:32

what we give to God

what we give to God

Friends! It feels truly wonderful to once again be writing for you. It’s possible I’ll throw you a what-I’ve-been-up-to post in a bit here, but know this: life has been rich, full, hard, easy, stressful, fun, and lovely since I posted last. And now it’s a brand new year, and I’d like to back into some regularly scheduled Premeditated Mama. So here we go!

I’m starting today with a confession, and I’ll close with a story from this past summer. I hope it brings some value to you.

I love Christmas. This should come as no surprise to anyone who, you know, is nearby. I’m seriously considering making tattoo #3 Christmas-themed. YES, it’d be permanent all year long. YES, that’s what I want. Anyway, Christmas and me are like peas and carrots. I start listening to Christmas music in – OK I don’t ever really stop, but I really ramp it up around September. I own no less than three Advent Calendars (or four? Five?) and don’t even get me started on my Christmas Board on Pinterest. It’s a doozy.

Also this is a sweater I willingly and gleefully purchased for myself:

But I have depression. I do. And anxiety. And after weeks (months) of Christmas excitement, I get bogged down. My brain fills up, my heart runs out a little, and I falter. The wrapping paper is too much. The cookies are too much. The laundry, which so rudely doesn’t think to at least take a rest during this busy season, is way too much. And before I know it, I’m fighting every voice in my head that says to cancel every plan. To binge-watch every show. To just, kind of… stop. And this year? Things seemed especially hard. Every day the news carries some horrible story. Every day the government seems to fall apart a little bit more. Every day the world hurts.

That was my confession. Now for a story.

This past summer was the first one that Boone could really ride a bike on his own. Near the end of the summer, he was feeling so confident (and I so optimistic, I guess) that I suggested we ride our bikes to the local ice cream place, Captain Sundae. It was a little over two miles from our house, but Boone knew there was a giant ice cream cone to be had at the end of the journey, so he agreed. We started out with stars in our eyes (that’s actually a quote from Dear Evan Hansen, which if you haven’t listened to, DO IT), and everything was great. Until we came upon a decent sized hill right outside our neighborhood, and as Boone took on speed, he lost his balance and tumbled forward. We’re a helmet-loving family, so thankfully there was no real harm done. He got a scraped up knee, but it wasn’t too bad. I asked him if he wanted to go home. “No,” he said, through tears, “I want to get ice cream.”

And so we carried on. I was, of course, asking too many questions as we rode. “Are you OK?” “How’s your knee?” “What are you thinking about?” And finally, Boone said, “Mom, can you not talk right now?” I was taken slightly aback, sure, but I figured he was concentrating on balance; then he continued, “I’m just praying a lot.” I did have one more question: “what are you praying about?” “Mom, I’m just praying that God will keep me safe on big hills.”

Because that’s all he was worried about. He wasn’t worried about bees or other cyclists or sprinklers or stop lights. He was worried about hills. He needed to give his hills to God. (And yes, Boone got his ice cream and made it back home, completely owning every hill he encountered.)

I remembered this story as I felt the heaviness of the Christmas season weigh down on me. And please remember that I find medications and therapy to be life-changing and vitally necessary to those who suffer from depression and anxiety. But I learned something about letting go from my seven year old son on that summer night, and it’s to know when to say God, I just don’t have this. And I didn’t have it as I drove to a Christmas party this past December. I felt down, though I had been taking my Prozac and crying to a therapist. So as I drove, I prayed, God, please help me to feel lighter.

And. I. Did.

I know my meds are important, and I feel like God gave them an extra boost when I asked for it. Prayer is hard for me, and it’s something I wrestle with, but this prayer was immediately felt and answered.

When Boone was on that bike on that summer evening, not falling was the most important thing. When I felt weighed down on the way to that party, feeling lighter was the most important thing. Yes, the world is so broken and sad. Yes, the news is exhausting and terrifying. But I realized that these things aren’t more important to God. They are important, yes – but there isn’t a hierarchy with your little problems on the bottom. This has been the realization that has carried me through Christmas and into the new year. I know it isn’t groundbreaking or revolutionary. But the fact that my problems – minuscule in the grand scheme – are so important and so known? It’s what I needed to learn. And maybe you needed the reminder too.

Happy to journey through 2018 with you all. Thanks for reading!

focus, part 2

This is the second part of a two part series. If you haven’t read part one yet, you can read that here.

 

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Once we had Boone’s diagnosis and medication in hand, he and I sat down to chat. He had complained to me about having to do school work before, so I started with that. Our conversation went something like this:

“Hey Boone, you know how  you have trouble getting your work done at school?”
“Yep.”
“It turns out you have something called ADHD. Your brain has a difficult time focusing on things. So even though you know how to do your work, it’s harder for you than other kids to actually sit down and do it.”

Boone was quiet for a little bit after this. I didn’t know if it was just his trademark stoicism, but I didn’t want to let this conversation die. So I turned the tables and spoke about me.

“Boone, did you know I take medicine because I have something called Depression that makes my brain think I’m extra sad sometimes?”
He nodded.
“So it’s almost the same — you’ll take some medicine to help your brain focus, just like I take some to help my brain not be sad. Does that make sense?”
He nodded again, and since he looked like he was digesting this information, I gave him a minute. And then —

“Hey mom?”
I was sure we were about to have a hugely deep moment here. He’d ask tough questions, I’d give clear answers, we’d bond, we’d relate, we’d really share a moment–

“Hey mom, do any of those mosquitoes live in Michigan?”
OK, this is not what I expected. “Um.. what?”
“Those mosquitoes. YOU KNOW. THOSE MOSQUITOES.”
“Um, honey, I don’t know. There are mosquitoes here, but–”
“NO. MOM. The mosquitoes. The mosquitoes that make babies sick if they’re in their mom’s tummy.”

OK our conversation about ADHD somehow turned into one about Zika? What is even happening here?

“No, buddy, we don’t have those mosquitoes here.”
“So one didn’t bite you when I was in your tummy?”
“What? Honey, no.”
“So the mosquito didn’t make my focus not work?”

A part of me wishes I could say I fictionalized this conversation for the purposes of this blog, but I didn’t. My heart broke that he thought this diagnosis meant something was just plain wrong with him.

I told him ADHD doesn’t mean your body made some sort of mistake. It’s just means you’ll have to learn and do things differently than other people, but we’re all different in some way. This is one of the things that sets him apart. It’s not good or bad, it’s just different.

In the end, he agreed to try the medication, which I gave him the very next morning. Here’s where I’ll include that the week we tried the meds, he was in an afternoon camp at a nearby zoo. The first two days of the camp, before we’d started the Concerta, I’d said “Hey! What’d you do today?!” when I picked him up and he would, characteristically, mumble “I dunno.” But on this day, the third day of camp, the day he took medicine in the morning, he answered:

“Oh! It was great! I finished an art project I started yesterday, it’s SO cool, I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s drying. And we played a game called ‘Poison Dart Frog’ which was so fun, I want to teach Jonah how to play it. Except we probably need more people, so the next time we have all of our friends over for a bonfire, I’ll teach it to them. And we fed the budgies! It was a great day.”

And it was my turn to mumble a response.

The rest of the car ride was comfortably quiet, one of us asking or answering questions every now and again.

Since the start of this medication, for us, I’ve seen nothing but improvement. In addition to the medication, however, we have also implemented new methods for his continued success. He has very clear chores expected of him each day, he has a quiet space to work on homework, and for the most part, he stays on a very regular schedule. This is much easier to do in the school year, but that’s where we are, so we are sailing smoothly.

Before I go any further — we are a fortunate case. I have friends who have personally trialed several different medications and have yet to find the sweet spot. Our only negative side effect is that Boone occasionally has a hard time calming down for bedtime. This is still nothing compared to the hard bedtimes we had before medication, but it is noticed. That said, I have seen other kids have emotional breakdowns when they begin medications such as this. What works for one won’t always work for another — all I can share is what we have experienced.

Boone’s biggest accomplishment so far came in an email from his teacher. She wrote, in an email, that Boone was keeping up with his work at school. He brought home papers that were not only legible, they were completed far beyond the bare minimum. Just yesterday, he brought home his snack saying he didn’t want to stop what he was working on to take a break and eat it. THIS IS A BIG DEAL. However, I’m happy to report that he is also still bringing home his fair share of silly comics and drawings. He is still trying to play songs from The Legend of Zelda by ear in between piano practices. He is still our creative, inquisitive, intelligent boy, just with a little extra medicated help.

This makes me reflect on how I, as someone who has taken an antidepressant for three years, am calmer and more at peace in general, but can still unleash a lot of emotions at, say, a church worship set, or a particularly striking Hallmark commercial.

When used correctly, medicine can help us be our best self. It isn’t a crutch, or an “easy pill” — it is simply the missing puzzle piece. 

We are just at the start of this journey. I can’t speak to how middle school, high school, or even upper elementary will look. But right now, for at least a little while, I can see how second grade looks. And I like it.

If you or someone you love can identify with Boone (or me, for that matter), please speak to your doctor and see if there’s something that could help you. It might be exactly as simple as it was with Boone. It might be a heck of a lot harder to find something that works. But if you can have a similar payoff — if you can see this person that you love live their best life — it’s worth it. It’s very, very worth it.

Come back NEXT WEEK to hear from the resident Premeditated Pediatrician (I call him “husband”) who will give you the official doctor-y rundown on ADHD and what it means from the medical side. In TWO WEEKS you’ll find tips and tricks from parents JUST LIKE YOU. We’re all in this together. Share this post and grow our village!

focus, part 1

focus, part 1

When Boone was three, he had some awful bedtimes. During that three year old summer, he would be OK during the day, but as soon as the first hint of nighttime was in the air, it was like a switch would flip. His eyes got wide, his body went tense, and it was like he wasn’t in control of himself anymore.

It was rough. But, I theorized, he was THREE. And adjusting to a new baby brother. And one day, he’d grow out of it.

When Boone was four, the awful bedtimes continued. The same wide eyes and tense muscles, the same nightly stress for his mama. “He just needs to be in school full time,” I thought. “He’ll do much better when he gets worn out from learning all day.”

When Boone was five and started kindergarten, we had some bedtime peace. After school each day, I’d ask “what did you do?” And he would mumble something like “I don’t know” and shrug when I’d ask him where he left his lunch box. Or jacket. Or shoes.

But, clearly, this was an adjustment. He was still adapting, right? Adapting to a full time school day, to school rules, to… everything. I was noticing that other kids were telling their parents everything that happened throughout their day. Boone still wasn’t… but that was hardly anything to worry about, I decided. He was excelling at academics; one of his class’s top readers, top spellers, top workers.

When Boone was six and in first grade, his teacher said to me, “he’s clearly very smart, but his focus is not there.”

Umm… what?

WHOA.

WHOA.

My smart angel precious baby child wasn’t focusing well? At first I dove into some heavy denial (maybe she’s just remembering days he was kind of sick, maybe she’s confusing him with someone else?), but then I thought about the bedtimes. Then I thought about the times he couldn’t tell me what he did during a day of school. Then I thought about all of the lost lunch boxes and clothing items. Then I remembered when my husband Jason, the pediatrician, said, “you know, I think Boone has ADHD.”

I’m very open about my own mental health. Depression, anxiety, and meds are not topics I’ll shy away from.

When they’re about me.

But with Boone… I didn’t want him to bear labels and stigmas so young. He wasn’t at an age where he could “own a diagnosis,” or so I thought, and I did not want to push that on him. And besides, didn’t ADHD give kids unbridled energy? And if he had ADHD, could he do all of the things he does, like speed through novellas and ace spelling tests? In first grade he was doing multiplication worksheets, for crying out loud!

Too cool for school (and focus issues…)?

So, like any reasonable person would do, I cried and stressed out and ate chocolate and avoided making decisions for as long as possible.

But then I realized the problems weren’t going away, despite every “focus hack” I found online or in books. While Boone could sit and read an entire book, if he were told to do something he didn’t want to do, it was an epic battle of wills. It didn’t matter if he was capable of, say, practicing piano, or writing a short journal entry, if he didn’t want to do it, it was a struggle. And not just a little, tiny, let’s talk about it struggle. Nope. It was three year old bedtimes all over again.

So I made an appointment with our pediatrician (who is not Boone’s father, by the way, going for unbiased opinions here) and after some surveys with Boone’s teacher, Jason, and myself, it was clear: Boone’s focus needed help. We had an official diagnosis of ADHD and a plan to trial some low dose medication.

My questions still lingered. Where was all of his energy? Oh yeah… at bedtimes. How could he read so fast? Oh yeah… he was choosing the books he wanted to read. What about the multiplication?! Oh yeah… even though he could solve the problems, getting him to sit down to work on it was a chore, to put it mildly.

I had a little more research to do, but I was ready to help my son reach his full potential in any way I could. I filled a prescription for Concerta, said a prayer, and began to watch and wait.

For part two of this post, come back to this blog NEXT WEEK, Wednesday, September 27.

how my prayers have changed (some thoughts on depression)

I remember when I was in elementary school, I remarked to my friend’s mom that I could make myself laugh. I was an awkward adolescent, and I have no real recollection the context of this admission, but I do remember her response: “Well good, then you’ll never be depressed.”

And well, the joke’s on her.

I want to take a little break from mom-specific things things this week. Yes, this topic is important for moms, but it’s important for dads and kids and everyone else too. If you or someone you know has depression, I hope you know that “depression” doesn’t mean “super Eeyore-sad all the time.” It doesn’t make you start dressing all in black and going in hard on the black eyeliner. It doesn’t make you an invalid… until it does.

I didn’t officially latch on to the clinical depression diagnosis until my second son, Jonah, was born. I realized then that the fog all mothers experience postpartum wasn’t lifting. The bond with my newborn wasn’t forming. But most of all, I think I realized that I was finally in a space safe and easy enough to just call the doctor and request medicine. No one can fault the weary new mom for asking for help when she needed it, right? And about ten days later, once the medicine had time to get in my system and start working, the fog lifted. This call was absolutely the right one for me. My only problem?

That I hadn’t called sooner.

Before I continue, please know that I serve a God of miracles, of compassion, of love. The God of renewal and transformation. The Creator of heaven, earth, and me. I heard, at churches and retreats, over and over again how God answers prayers. How he can save us from the depths. How He is all we need.

The first time I really felt doubt about this was in college. I put on a mask that I had worn for a long time – the “funny one” – and didn’t let people really see me when life got overwhelming. I hid in bathroom stalls and pretended to be asleep to just be “off.” And while off, I prayed. To be happy. Just be happy. Please God, I’m not asking for much — I just want to be happy.

Keep in mind, I had a lot of great things going for me. I had great friends. I went to a great school. I won awards and scholarships for singing – my major – and my future was bright. By my junior year, I was engaged to the only man I’ve ever loved. If you’re waiting for the shoe-dropping moment, there isn’t one. My life was good. My life was good. But I wasn’t happy. Because this is what depression does.

Years passed, college ended, married life and real jobs began, and I still prayed for happiness. My first teaching job brought with it much praise and success, but I still doubted myself so strongly. There were never enough compliments to drown out my own voices of insufficiency.

Please, God, let me be happy. I just want to be happy. I know You can just make me be happy. I know You can. Please.

I believe God had been answering all of those prayers, but I didn’t really listen until I was driving with a preschool-aged Boone and a infant Jonah in the backseat. I was listening to the Barenaked Ladies album, Born on a Pirate Ship (because most of my music comes out of the 90s), and when I heard the words “I have faith in medications/I believe in the Prozac nation,” I knew God was declaring the answer to my prayers for happiness. I pulled into a parking spot and cried. I called the doctor with the strongest voice I could muster (which was still pretty shaky) and the rest is history.

That’s when my ears started hearing pastors urge congregants to pray for miracles. To trust God can fix everything. As I said earlier, I truly believe He can – but I think we need to be careful about how we present this to brothers and sisters in a time of struggle. A previous pastor of mine used to end prayers filled with requests with the line, “we know that You can, God, and we pray that You will.” I’ve adopted this into my own prayers, but I’ve added an extra step. I still pray for the miracle – but I ask God to show me how He wants me to fix the problem. Sometimes He’s quiet and I learn patience. But more often than not, I find that He helps my ears and eyes to remain open to see the answers He’s placing in front of me. I cannot tell you how many times I heard people talk about the power of anti-depressants while I was praying for God to simply take away my unhappiness. Do I believe God could have said “You’re happy now,” and I would have been? Of course. But He created us to live in community, and I think He needed me to find happiness by reaching out to others, by trusting scientists and doctors, and by sharing the journey with those who might need to hear it.

Don’t get me wrong, “I had a problem and God immediately fixed it,” is a decent story too. But what does it say to those who pray and pray and pray without feeling like they are getting a response? “Why did God fix them and not me?” No, I believe that God can and does perform miracles. Sometimes He works alone – He will make a tumor disappear in such a way that medical professionals are baffled. But sometimes, sometimes He’ll take an ordinary human and use them to revive an infant born without a heartbeat. Through medical training and expertise, that baby will live where he otherwise would have died. Surely God could have said “baby, breathe now,” but He wants to use His people.

If you know someone who struggles with depression, share this story if you don’t have one of your own. Pray for them. Pray with them. But ask that God uses His people to heal instead of only requestly He directly do all the work Himself.

doing it all and doing it better

At Boone’s school this year, the theme is TRY. Try something new. Try if it’s hard. If at first you don’t succeed… you get it. Boone brought home a “Try” worksheet yesterday that he had to fill out with his own personal “try” goal.

Boone wearing his school “TRY” t-shirt “TRYING” to teach Jonah counting. (This lasted about five minutes.)

“This year, I will TRY…” the paper prompted, and in Boone’s big, loopy, first grade handwriting, he had written “to do everything better”

This broke my heart.
OK. Before we start filming after school specials, I would like to present a theory as to why he wrote he wanted to do everything better: it was easy. This is the same kid who simply answers “God” when asked when he learned about in Sunday School. The same kid who, for his daily journal homework, still doesn’t totally understand why I won’t let him always write “I ate breakfast. I ate lunch. I ate dinner.” (But I DID THOSE THINGS!, he reasons.)
It broke my heart because that would be my “Try” goal too. But I wouldn’t decide on that goal until I had thought about how to add more exercise into my life, how to eat healthier, how to stop loving tortilla chips and beer at the end of a long day, how to organize a closet more efficiently. I would have all of these little improvements overwhelm my brain until I screamed in submission, fine! I’ll just do EVERYTHING BETTER!
I can go to bed at night after a full and wonderful day of healthy choices, productive housework, and important self-care time and still berate myself for not finishing that load of laundry in the dryer. It’s not healthy. It’s not right. And it’s exhausting.
During my social media fast, I found the times when I was most tempted to idly scroll through news feeds and pictures would be when I was overwhelmed with all the little things I just wanted to do better. It was an escape, a way to take the pressure off, if only for a moment. But the point of the fast was to replace something — in my case, social media — with a deeper relationship with God. When the demands of my life (the demands I put on myself, mind you) became overwhelming, I couldn’t just ignore them for a while. So I pulled out my Bible, either hard or digital copy, depending on the day. I pulled out Shauna Niequist’s Savor, or a devotional I was working through on my phone. I spent the time I would have spent mindlessly scrolling in the presence of God, and I realized I don’t have to do it all.

Free Advertisement: Buy this book. And all of Shauna’s books. They’re just… good.

But, God! The dishes!

Will be there tomorrow.

The laundry!

Isn’t overwhelming. And you have clothes enough for now.

Dinner! Bathrooms! Educational fun with Jonah! Social interaction with Jonah! All of Boone’s school work, piano, Cub Scouts, choir —

You need to slow down. Find peace in me, and trust that I will help you do everything you need to do.

I feel like when God says “everything you need to do” He literally means “need” and not “what pinterest and facebook and instagram makes you think you should do.” The little nagging voice of mine doesn’t go away. Especially when laundry isn’t done and the floors are covered in popcorn pieces. But I’m learning to try and replace my angry voice with God’s peaceful one. I may not be able to do everything better — but I’m really, truly learning that I might not have to.