So what's been going on with me?

I am in one of those churn-n-burn phases that I often go through. Lots and lots of things going on inside of me and around me. Accepting things I can not change is a tough thing for me sometimes even though I know there is such freedom at the other side of the acceptance. I often go through the stages of grief in these situations depending on, of course, the magnitude of it all.

According to Elizabeth Kubler-Ross the stages of grief are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and finally Acceptance. I discovered her and her works at the age of 16 when I was forced to cope with the death of my grandfather. Even though she applied these stages to any form of catastrophic personal loss, any significant personal change can elicit these stages.

I found liberty to allow myself to experience the stages and ultimately healing in reference to the loss of my grandfather. I have utilized my knowledge of the stages many many times since. It is said that the only constant is change. I have found that to ring true in my own life and the lives of my loved ones. There is comfort in knowing what to expect in the grieving process.

I often grieve the loss of expectations or dreams. Reality is often a hard pill to swallow. So in repsonse to "so, what's been going on with me is? is simply this: I am grieving the loss of a handful of expectations and dreams right now. I am in the depression stage. I look forward to reaching acceptance where I will finally have peace.

Jesus,

There seems to be much in my life lately that I cannot control. I am glad that I know You, Who controls it all. I need You. I need You more and more with each passing day. Please help me transition through all the upcoming changes. Please help me keep my eyes on You, the Author and Perfector of my faith-the One Who is and Who was and Who is to come. Jesus, my Rock, my Fortress, my Savior, my Healer, my Righteousness, my Provider. My life is in You. This is but another humbling experience to draw me closer to You. And I welcome anything that does that. I know You will be with me through it every step of the way. Amen.

This prayer came from here. Please take some time and do yourself a favor. Go visit this blog. She is so real, so open, so honest. I find inspiration to keep on keeping on almost everytime I visit. I thank God for putting her in my path, a fellow female traveler on the same journey.

SaSSY Meme

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This week I am featuring blogs by a very dear lady. I am sure that she has something for everyone!

1. Livin’ Life SandyStyle-Her Main Blog
There are photos, challenges, memes, fun, how-tos, freebies, and more!

2. Recipes
Recipes, Deals, Giveaways, Cookbooks, Reviews...OMG~ Check out the Make Ahead Mashed Potato Casserole!

3. Celebrating Life One Day A Time~
I LOVE this blog~ We can always use an excuse to celebrate!

4. Sandy's Stories Find stories of today and days gone by... of another time... a happy life... using prompts, photos, and memories.

5. Daily Blog and Product Reviews
She reviewed Scrappynhappy in Ohio here!

6. Making Money SandyStyl
Her journey to making money online.

Please stop by and see Sandy...I promise you will be glad that you did!

Today I am grateful for...

Today I am grateful for all of the other women in my life! I went to a fellow Grateful Gal's blog and read an amazing quote. We all know how I love quotes...lol.

Being a woman...wow. I have been female since birth, I know that is stating the obvious...lol. As a little girl, I was the apple of my Daddy's eye. As for my Mom, I read an explanation that fit her like a glove. It basically stated that some women distance themselves from their own daughters in order to not re-live the horrors of their own childhoods. Once the sons came into our family(4 of them), I no longer counted. I grew to accept this fact and even though I know that it shadowed me into adulthood, it was normal at our house.

My first experience of 'being a woman' was not good. My periods were horrid. The doctor, in fact, said that what I was experiencing was equivelent to labor minus the actual birth of a baby. I threw up, was in excruciating pain, and spent too much time sitting on the toilet. The good news is that my own 4 actual labors were a breeze:). Hormones were not my friend. At the age of 12, I had breasts that any grown woman would envy, and believe me the men noticed. I was mad; my body had betrayed me. My Father, who had no idea of how to react to me since I was no longer a little girl, stopped interacting with me on any level other than telling me what chore to do and when. There was one day when I started sobbing uncontrollably. I could not stop. My poor Dad sat down and offered me anything and everything I wanted, if I would just tell him why I was crying. I could not do so.

I became a woman, sexually, at the age of 18. The young man in question felt it necessary to inform our entire high school that he had relieved me of my virginity. I was devastated.

I married at the age of 19. The marriage lasted 18 months. I left for Virgina to live with friend. At this point in my life, I was young, beautiful, naive, and foolish. I drank, partied, and went to work every day. It was in Virgina, that, at the age of 23, I met and fell in love with a married man. At the age of 24, I birthed his daughter.

This incredibly amazing little creature changed my life. I was so mentally unbalanced that I convinced myself that God had apparently been sleeping at the time I conceived her and as soon as He realized there had been a mistake, He would take her away from me. This fear consumed me day and night for four months. I literally held her in my arms every single moment for fear that if I let her out of my sight, she would disappear. Even though I had gone to church joyfully from the time I was a little girl until I was 16-every Sunday and Wednesday, had never missed a day of Vacation Bible School, and had taken all of my friends with me to revival every year, I had missed the crux of the scriptures. I had no clue what a personal relationship with Christ was.

Finally, and thankfully, by the time my little one was four months old, I concluded that despite my failures as a human being, God, in His mercy was going to let me keep my little miracle. I loved being a mother! The drinking and partying had stopped when I found out I was pregnant and it only took one time of drinking after her birth for me to realize that I could not drink and be a mom.

When Alana was 16 months old, I gave birth to her sister. This was wonderful. Now I had 2 little miracles and I easily handled both girls. They were the light and joy and pride of my life.

I wish I could say that my choice of men had improved, but it did not. Phylicia's father cheated on me every chance he got and then demanded that I marry him. Since my mother had disowned me at this point, I married him as I felt there was no other way to support myself and my daughters. Shortly thereafter we moved to Ohio to rebuild my relationship with my mother and to start over. Needless to say, that was just geography and the marriage failed miserably.

I was working, but when he left I was not able to pay the bills. I was in the Coalition for the Homeless, through my job at the Kent Homeless Shelter and it was while I was at one of their meetings that I learned of ACCESS, a homeless shelter in Akron. I applied to work there and got the job. We also moved into a Transitional Housing Project where rent was based on income. Things began to look up for us. I was able to purchase a brand new car, using my tax refund as the down payment!

Can you guess what happened next? I met a man. At the time, I was lonely, scared, tired, and wanted a partner to help me. Because I felt an immediate bond to this man, we began a relationship. For the record, and before I go on, three of my four babies are birth control babies. I did not intend to have more children until I could financially handle all of my responsibilities. I was never short on love or acceptance when I did get pregnant and have realized that God had it all in control and He knows best.

I re-married and we had 2 sons(and not in that order!) This marriage, in retrospect, only shows more of my self-damaging patterns. I continued to make decisions that were not healthy for me or my children. The fact that all I did also affected my children heaped guilt upon the condemantion I already felt. Depression ran rampant.

My children continued to be my one and only reason to remain on this planet. I longed to go home to be with my Lord and yet I knew that my own life was not mine to take. The thought of abandoning my babies and spending eternity in hell kept me alive.

From the transitional housing, we moved into government subsidized housing where, once again, rent was based on income. I was pregnant with my third child and this is when Rheumatoid Arthritis reared its ugly head. I hurt to the point of tears and could not work. I went to welfare where I was given money, food stamps, and medical cards for all us.

The children and I shared many moments of laughter, tears, hurts, and triumphs. Through it all, we prayed. When I was 32, my brother, Donnie, was killed in a motorcycle accident. I truly thought I would never draw another normal breath...what ever normal meant. I know-deep deep deep in my knower, that God Almighty Himself carried me in His arms during this time.

Donnie's death began a period of losses in my life. I began counseling after his death as I finally realized that I needed help. The Christian counselor that I saw meant well, but definatley had her own issues to resolve. Her issues filtered into her treatment of me. It was during this time that I realized that I may have been raped before I was eight years old. Memories surfaced that I had buried.

What I do remember is that I was between the ages of 6 and 8 when the traveling preacher came to town. I idolized this man! Every year, he would come to preach a revival and I so wanted to impress him that I won the prize for bringing the most guests every year. Well, this year, he asked my mother if I could come to the church and help him out one day. I was thrilled and honored. I remember skipping happily to the church, walking quietly through the church, and my shock when I opened the door to the office he was in. He was sitting at the desk with a glazed look in his eyes and his hand was moving in his lap. I know now that he was masterbating. When he saw me standing there, he offered this in the way of explanation, "Men have needs, especially men who are married and travel all of the time." The next and last memory I have of that day is me attempting to hide behind some stacked chairs in the church basement and him reaching for me. I choose to believe that God will only reveal to me what I can handle and I am okay to not know the conclusion of that day until He chooses, if ever, to reveal it to me.

During this counseling, I also remembered another time I had been raped. This time I was 18 and living in South Carolina with a friend. I had lived for the day I turned 18 because I desperately wanted to get as far away from my parents as was humanly possible. I was babysitting for my friend's sister-in-law. She worked full-time and needed a sitter for her two darling little ones. I had always loved babysitting and jumped at the chance to be with her kids. One night, her husband came home early from work. He raped me on the living room couch. Somehow, it was as though I left my body and I watched what was happening from above. I kept telling myself, "Don't scream. You will fighten and wake the children. It will be over soon."

Worse than the rape was the fact that no one believed me. My friend threw me out of her house and phoned to tell my parents that I had ruined her sister-in-laws marriage. I returned to my parents house where my father took great joy in telling me what a tramp, slut, and whore I was and that I was killing my mother.

I have digressed. The Christian counselor had to leave the state due to her husband being transferred through his job. Even though I knew it had been an unhealthy alliance, I mourned her leaving. I sought secular counseling. This time things were much healthier and I was improving. This counselor was marrying and would immeiately become a mom to three young children, so she quit her job. This loss hit me even harder.

Around this time, my mother began having stokes which eventually led to her living with me so that I could take care of her. Living with her this time was no easier than it had ever been, but I loved her so I willingly made the necessary sacrifices. After one year, she was able to get her own place and she moved. She was still close enough for us to help her when needed. My daughters lovingly and devotedly spent as much time with her as possible. My mother was very mean to my sons and finally one day when the began to cry at the mention of "going to Grandma's" I knew it was time to do something. I confronted my mother and told her that I would no longer tolerate her behavior, that while I would continue to minister to her physical needs, there would be no attempt at relationship and she would never again have the chance to be mean to my children. A miracle happened that day. My mom had a new found respect for me and she began to treat my sons like the precious people that they are.

Mom died the next year. As I stood over her casket, I realized that my knuckles were white and that I was holding on for dear life. In the back of my mind, I could not comprehend just who would take care of her if I walked away. My poor sister-in-law walked up beside me and kept telling me that everything would be alright and that we would, as we always had as a family, get through this. I could not let go of the casket and even though I tried frantically to tell her this, she didnt get it until I hissed, I can NOT let go." that she took off in search of my brother. He came up behind me, put his arms around me, and began whispering in my ear. "You have done all that you can. All week you have taken care of all of us, making sure we had toothbrushes(we stayed at the hospital for days), that we ate, had clean clothes, and that Mom was taken care of. Now, it is time for you to do what you need to do to heal enough to be able to walk away from here." I screamed, "I want my mommy!", at the top of my lungs and released my grip on the casket. I also fainted. Again, God carried me through.

I began to feel an urging toward at least attempting a healing in my relationship with my Dad. I was able to spend a day with him at his apartment. By now, he was aging and ill, so he was no longer the vital handsome man I had known. He had also been humbled by life and was a more mellow gentle man than he had ever been. I offered to help him clean his place and he was thrilled. It did us both good to spend that day together.

Some years later, I got a call from my brother on a Sunday. He had gone to visit Dad and was convinced that Dad would not live another week on this planet. He had, in fact, gone back inside to hug Dad one more time before he left. He had insisted that Daddy allow him to take him to the hospital, but Daddy refused, saying that it would kill him to be carried to the car. True enough, that Thursday, my cousin called to say that Daddy had been admitted to the hospital and was dying. As a little girl, I had feared that my parents would die alone and I often asked God to allow me to be there with them when they passed from this life to the next. In His graciousness, He allowed this to be the case. As Daddy slipped into a coma, I was singing, "Jesus Loves Me" and reading to him from the Psalms. I often chuckle at the irony of those moments. I was not, I am sure, the person who my Dad would have chosen to be the owner of the last voice he ever heard, let alone me singing and reading scripture! I do love God's sence of humor.

I did not mourn Daddy's dying so much as the loss of any potential relationship that we might have had. Suddenly, I was faced with my own mortality. There was no longer anyone between me and death. I also felt like an orphan...I was no longer anyone's daughter. I began crying out to my Heavenly Father asking Him to show me who I was to Him and through His Son, Jesus Christ. Again, he carried me through.

It was during this time that for some unremembered reason I burst into a fit of laughter. It was bittersweet. The sound was music to my ears, but I immediately realized that it had been years since I had laughed out loud.

I am not sure why I have written this today, other than the fact that I needed to get it out of me...off my chest so to speak. Right now I am done-empty-the words are no longer flowing. I will continue this I am sure-when the time is right and the words begin flowing once more.

God is faithful,

Turning over a new leaf

Two years ago, I suffered six full-blown strokes in a matter of seven days. God is good and I have no visible residual damage from the strokes. The mental and emotional parts of me are scarred.

Although I had battled Rheumatoid Arthritis before the strokes, it has escalated since then. I also now battle Fibromyalgia. Due to these two facts, I am in severe pain most of the time and this has affected me both mentally and emotionally. In retrospect, it may have been a good idea to have sought counseling following the strokes.

I did, however, seek medical help. Since the strokes I must take the following meds: Aggrenox(to thin my blood), Altace(to regulate my blood pressure), and Vytorin(to reduce and conrol my cholesterol level). Those meds are considered life-sustaining. I also take the following meds: Cymbalta(to help with depression and fibromyalgia), and Plaquenill(to help with arthritis pain and to help slow the progression of damage to my joints). I also take Vicodin(to kill the pain)on the days when I absolutely have to.

I have good days, so-so days, and bad days. I live for the good days! Even though I am not an overly active person, I do enjoy the things I do...and when I want to do something, I want to do it! Pain often keeps me from being able to do even the simple things. Some days I can not stand long enough to wash the dishes or walk downstairs and carry a basket of laundry from the basement to the first floor, let alone cut fabric or piece a quilt top. This pisses me off!

I am only 47 years old...I am NOT 87, 97, or 107. Aging does not now, nor has it ever, frightened me. Not being able to take care of myself due to disabilities, does however, terrifies me. If at 47 I have days when I need assistance to partake in normal activity, what does the future hold for me in terms of independence?

Aside from the physical aspects of my life comes the normal mental and emotional things. I am working on acceptance of these changes in my abilities and yet need desperatley balance acceptance with NOT sacrificing my need to continue to strive to hold onto my independence, or as much of it as is possible, for as long as I can.

Then there are the fibro-fog days. Just like when I was having those six (initially undetected) strokes, my mind fogs up making it impossible to have any clear thoughts what-so-ever. These days are sheer hell and cause me to wonder which is worse...the physical manifestations of all of this or the mental and emotional ones.

Today is the third good day I have had in a row. This after two solid weeks of sheer hell enduring a dual flare-up of my conditions.

As I am learning more about the symptons of both Fibro and RA, I am attempting to educate those around me. I know it is difficult for my children-who are all young and brimming with life-to see me not being able to do normal things for myself some days. It is also, for the most part, difficult for them to understand what I am going through. The more we talk about it and the more they learn, the better it will be for all of us. Knowledge is power!

This blog entry is a major step for me. In the process of accepting life as it is for me, I have decided that blogging about what is going on with me will accomplish two things. First, it will help me vent. Secondly, it will potentially help others who suffer as I do.

I generally shun the thought of blogging on my bad days. No one loves a complainer. I do realize now that even though that may be true, I can no longer keep all of this crap bottled up inside of me.