It’s been a long while since I’ve posted on the blog.  I think it started because I was struggling to find time to engage in my writing.  Sleepless (again) nights left me feeling exhausted and unable to engage with a sharpness of mind.  Right around the time of my last post, however, I started going to counseling for a number of reasons, but largely because of a crippling insecurity I was experiencing as well as an inability to control two emotions:  sadness/tears and anger/frustration.  “There’s no weakness or shame in wanting to get to the bottom of this, Linds.  In fact, I think it shows more strength than convincing yourself that everything is alright,” Gabe would encourage me in moments of doubting whether or not it was worth it.

As I waded more deeply into the counseling, I began sinking into some undiscovered territory within none other than the seemingly familiar walls of my very own heart.  I learned go to the office of my counselor without makeup anymore because of the absurd number of tears that seemed to surface at a mere, “how are you?”  Always on my drive back home to nurture, feed and care for my kids, I find myself batting my face to rid myself of the red splotches and watery eyes.  When I leave that office, the last thing I feel capable of doing is engaging with my children and putting on a “happy face” after digging through the muck and mire of my past.

Until this very moment, I have feared writing because the purpose for this space is for authenticity.  I have shared with you my most present thoughts—the ones nagging at my mind, and leading me home to truth; yet I’ve had no idea how to share these new, present realities being discovered on a brown couch with crazy amounts of tissues absorbing the floodgates that come pouring out without warning.

So, in the spirit of honesty, since about October, I’ve had many moments when I’ve wanted to curl up in bed, draw the curtains and sleep.  There’s a specific kind of exhaustion that accompanies emotional rubble; one that somehow surpasses that of physical exhaustion.  Counseling has lead me to relive some of the most difficult seasons and moments of my life, validating emotions and fears, yet giving me the ability to strip them of their power.

I won’t share all of the things I’m working through, because despite committing to remain honest here, there are some things that are too personal to me and to the ones I love.  But one thing I have discovered is that I still have a hard time talking about my mom without crying, and I have a great deal of unresolved grief there below the surface. There is a lot of trauma, and a number of terribly vivid memories associated with her loss that I don’t think will ever go away.  But giving myself permission to reminisce and express all of the things I miss and loved about her has been healthy for me.

So on that note, I miss my mom because she would have been proud of me for running hard after this dream of one day writing a book.  She would have reassured me that while there are many others blogging and writing as well, that what I have to say is important too.  If she were still here, and she would have noticed that I wasn’t writing on my blog for the last couple months after taking such a huge risk to create the space and bear my soul, she would have pushed me to get my butt back on this computer.  In fact, she probably would have come down to watch the kids while I did.  So, here I am feeling encouraged by her memory, and pushing myself not to give up, for taking a break does not mean that all is lost.

Actually, so much has been found on the pages of this blog:  courage, hope, and friendship.  Thank you for following along, sweet friends.  Here’s to starting again and continuing to run hard after my passion for writing.