It's Time to Be Me Again.

So here it is, 1 o'clock in the morning, and once again, I can't sleep. I've thought about whether or not to write this post for about a week now, but I think that sometimes we just have to be gut-level honest about where we're at. Besides, you never know when someone else needs to hear the things you're thinking, when they might just be thinking or feeling the same things, and feel like they're all alone. Some people know that I have struggled for years (possibly even my whole life) with periods of depression. After Lynnea was born, and then again about three years later, I was on anti-depressants for a while. I have tried very hard to not have to take medication again, not because I think there is something wrong with it, but because I don't want to become dependent on it. This past year has been so difficult, though, that I finally had to admit I needed to do something about it. I heard about an herbal supplement called Sam-E, which a doctor I trust said worked in a similar fashion to Welbutrin, but it is all natural. So I tried it. I've been taking it for about two weeks now, and finally the fog seems to be lifting for the first time in a long time.

Obviously over the past year I have become more and more negative, and I hate that. As the fog clears, though, I can begin to pinpoint why-and it is because, as much as I don't like this place, I hate even more what I have become, what I have allowed to change in my heart and mind because of it. I used to smile and laugh and love freely and enjoy life. That's one of the reasons I enjoyed Albania so much. I found that part of me again there. And I liked it.

I used to love and trust people freely. I trusted people until they proved themselves untrustworthy. In the past 11 years, I have begun to distrust everyone until they prove themselves trustworthy. I have seen so much fakiness, so many people who use "prayer requests" to gossip, so many people who will "honey dear" you to death to your face and tear you to pieces behind your back, so many people who will be nowhere around for years and then act like you're their long lost best friend when you see them in the grocery store, that it begins to feel like real relationships are a pipe dream. It's like high school in an adult world. It's depressing and hurtful. And the worst part for me is that I have allowed it to color my view of people in general. I don't trust, and therefore I don't love the way the Lord loves me and expects me to love others. And I have allowed the freedom that comes with selfless love to be chipped away until it is almost unrecognizable. I don't like that.

I always wanted four kids. I did. A lot. And then after our third surprise (no, we didn't plan any of them-but we wouldn't trade them for anything), Mark wanted to be done, and I just couldn't do it any more. I couldn't stand the thought of being pregnant and having another baby as long as we lived here. Ian was born in late October in Minnesota. The day we came home from the hospital, we took him to the laundromat while we did the laundry to get ready for the company we had coming that week. People oohed and aahed over him and told us what a precious baby we had. It was such a joyful and pleasant time. Family and friends came to visit. No one tried to cook our meals or clean our house. They just sat, held the baby, and celebrated with us. Then we moved to Tennessee and had Lynnea a little over a year after Ian was born. Mark's mom was so excited that she was a girl (no, we didn't find out before any of them were born), so we went shopping when we left the hospital. Grandma wanted to get some cute little girl things. It was supposed to be a fun trip. I was in the bathroom changing her diaper, and a lady I had never seen before asked me how old she was. When I said two days, she literally went off on me about how terrible it was for either of us to be out of the house that early. Excuse me???? Then, when Jadon was born two years later, my mom had to fly out of Memphis two days after he was born. We loaded the kids into the van to take her to the airport and have a fun afternoon out in Memphis. When we got home, I found out that people were mad at us because they had tried to bring us food and we weren't home. How was I supposed to know that people did that? I mean, they brought us food when Mark was in the hospital, but he nearly died. And it was an emergency. And we didn't have 9 MONTHS to prepare for it. So here I was, trying to enjoy my family and not being pregnant anymore, and I was criticized and belittled by everyone I met. And by the way, my kids have been sick very little. Now that I am watching my friends begin to have their 4ths, I have to fight the resentment over having the joy of just being a new mom diminished by people who expected me to stay in the house like a hermit for 8 weeks. Seriously. Talk about post-partum depression. I would have had to be committed after a week. I know that that was our decision, but I also remember what it felt like, and emotionally at the time I just couldn't take it anymore. And it's probably my biggest hurt about this place.

I have also become lazy. I used to be motivated, adventurous and excited about life. I loved to be busy and social. After 11 years in a place where people decide for you how busy you are and what you can handle, I have become accustomed to doing not much of anything. Until we moved here, I thought that the way it worked was that people called you to ask you to do things socially, or to help when needed. If you could, you said yes, and if you were busy, you said no. That's not the way it works here. They look at what they see from the outside, and, if they would be overwhelmed with three kids, a job and a husband in graduate school, they decide that you are overwhelmed, too. Then they don't call, they don't ask, and you get to watch and hear about the times that other people go out and do things, or work together on projects that you would have loved to have been a part of. If only you weren't too busy by their perceptions. So, I have responded to that by pulling back. I don't volunteer for things, because I am tired of hearing people say, "Oh, you have too much going on. I'll ask someone else." And I don't ask people to go do things, because I get tired of hearing, "You don't have to do that. I know it will take time away from your family." I don't like that about myself, either.

I guess I could go on, but my point is that I have responded to life in the south by becoming less than who I am, less than who I was created to be. I have to take responsibility for my reaction to my surroundings. And I can't do that anymore. For the most part, people don't like me much anyway. But if they didn't like who I was when I got here, and they don't like me now, they aren't ever going to like me. And I like the old me a lot better. And I think I'll like the person God created me to be even more, as I grow to learn and become more and more like Him. So, my choices are to stay the same and continue to respond to the culture I am surrounded by, or to rise above it and become the me I am supposed to be. I like the second option better. And even if I have to struggle through the process alone, I will go through it, because the alternative is unacceptable-to me and to the God who made me.