Dear Sensitive Soul, Know Your Boundaries

Dear Sensitive Soul,

Today I am preaching to the choir. Our sensitivity is an asset. We notice things others miss, whether in our friends’ expressions, the look in a stranger’s eyes, or that nuance in our surroundings. We can bring insight to situations and interactions.

But, we can also struggle with our own boundaries. I’m talking about feeling others’ feelings in a way that pushes us in. Empathy is good. Empathy is needed. But, dear sensitive soul, we must learn not to take on other’s feelings, thoughts, choices and attitudes like a cloak. We can’t let those things define us in any way.

Sometimes if you are with others for any length of time, discussions become heated. Opinions and personalities flare. It’s just what happens when people interact. Have you ever felt that the pressure of it all was suffocating? I have. I have felt the overwhelming need for space, physical and emotional. I have often felt shriveled  and voiceless because of all the, well, people and their people-ness. I have often not coped with it well.

Dear sensitive soul, we can and must learn what it looks like to have healthy boundaries. Not because others are big bad meanies, although we’ll encounter of few of those in our life time. Because we must know where we end and others begin. We do not let other’s feelings, opinions, attitudes or choices define us, no matter how forcefully they may be thrust upon us. We can learn when to say “stop”. We can learn when that needs to be said out loud, and when that just needs to be quietly affirmed in our minds. We can learn when to walk away and when to ask for strength to remain present and firmly rooted in a greater grace than we alone possess.

It’s taken me a long time to learn about boundaries. Most of my life, I didn’t really know they existed. But healthy boundaries are necessary for personal growth and fruitful relationships with others. I am slowly learning what this looks like in my own life. I hope this helps you too. I’m with you on this road. 

Grace and peace,

Steph


 

Showing Up

Today is Mother’s Day. For some it is a day of joy, while others find it a difficult reminder of what they still await. I’ve been thinking about the women in my life. The ways they’ve offered their giftings to those around them are as varied as they are. My mom homeschooled my sisters and I for over two decades. (She deserves a post of her own!). I have a friend who shares wisdom and compassion with boldness and graciousness on her blog. Then there are numerous other women I love that practice the art of living an abiding life in the midst of messiness and often, downright ugliness.

Lately I’ve been slogging through some tough writing things (which I’ll share here soon). As usual, doubts and fears have raised their ugly heads: is this really worth it? This process hurts. Sometimes I hate it. What if this helps absolutely no one?

And once again, mothering and writing have intersected to show me something crucial about both. I think about these amazing women in my life and what strikes me is that if they had held back, I and many others would not be in the place we are today. They’ve faced the same doubts and fears, but they have not allowed themselves to be defined by them.

It’s an outward look that answers both sets of questions, in mothering and writing. If we held back, we would be robbing others of what we were uniquely designed to give. We would be robbing ourselves as well. We would be denying the freedom we have in Jesus to act redemptively and leave the results to him.

Thank you to all the women who move from a place of abundance, trust, and freedom, no matter how small of a step you feel you have made. You have made all the difference in my life, and whether in mothering and writing, friendship and business, we need each other and what we have to offer.

Voices that Say “Be Quiet”: Postpartum Depression


I read the list of Postpartum Depression symptoms. What surprised me was that nearly every single item looked normal.

Everybody feels this way after having a baby, right? I mean, every mom feels hopeless and numb and so, so sad and distant from her baby sometimes, right?

Many moms do, but that doesn’t make it normal.

Oh yeah…those intrusive thoughts, the ones so violent and terrifying that I buried them deep down and tried to forget? When was I going to face those? Not normal.

What stared me in the face as I read that article was not just a mirror of my symptoms, but the understanding that I was trying to rationalize my situation away. I’m an emotional person. I feel things deeply, reaching extremes often several times in the same day. I’m guilty of simmering in my own feelings until I can’t see straight. Introspection can rob my awareness of outer realities. So I have lots of practice telling myself things like: you’re being dramatic. You know it isn’t as bad as you feel it is. This won’t last! Hey, you birthed three other children and you’ve all survived, right?

Here’s the thing. All those things I told myself were true, at least some of the time. Rehearsing  concrete facts sometimes helped me gain perspective during those bleary-eyed days that I’m only recently crawling out of. But my problem was that I wasn’t recognizing how deeply my mindset of shame isolated me and fed my depression.

This wasn’t my first brush with postpartum depression or depression itself. This was another brush with my habit of comparing and minimizing my depression, thus robbing myself of  healthy growth. The tape playing in my head said, “you should be fine, get over it”. It is very closely related to another familiar voice I’ve listened to for far too long. This one tells me I can’t and don’t understand my situation properly and I can’t trust my perspective. As you can imagine, it is paralyzing. It is not a voice of freedom. There’s a lot more I’ll write about on this later…

After reading that article I stood in the shower obsessing it over. I tried, from every angle, to say I did not have PPD. Stephanie, this is just one of your low moods. (That has lasted for weeks.) What do you expect to do to help yourself, frolic in nature all day? Paint your nails while watching hours of chick flicks? Sounds like an excuse to be lazy and avoid the responsibility that you signed up for when you became a parent. Tomorrow you may not feel better, but you will feel very silly for thinking you should classify your little troubles as Postpartum Depression.

Please tell me you see how dangerous this type of thinking is! The message of shame is “be quiet!”. When I listened to that voice of shame that sounds so reasonable, I sank a little farther away from everyone who loves me. I sank both away from myself and deeper into myself at the same time.

Motherhood is so hard. Sleep deprivation is so hard. Thinking that you have to do hard things alone makes it worse and we were not designed to go through life that way. I began to see that the label of postpartum depression was not a title to restrict or define me, but a tool I could use to avail myself of help and healing. I winced inwardly when I told my husband, mom, and a few close friends “I think I’m struggling with postpartum depression”. Yet when I uttered those words, I took power away from what threatened to suffocate me and harm my family. I was no longer slugging it out on my own, in the dark. I took one more step towards trusting those around me that have proven their love for me again and again.

Mothers, postpartum depression is common, and it doesn’t look the same for everyone. If your struggles look nothing like a friends’ but something isn’t right, reach out. It does not make you weak. It does not make you a failure. It means you are a strong woman willing to face the music that threatens to signal your defeat and turn those notes into a theme of grace and triumph. Don’t try to do it alone. Vulnerability may not be easy. But those who love you want to do just that-love you.

Today as I rocked my baby to sleep I gazed at his eyelashes, round cheeks, and fuzzy hair. He’s less of a stranger to me than he was a month ago. Now I know that I know him, and he is a delightful person. I had prayed for him months ago. I wept when I thought I wouldn’t have him. Then when he arrived I felt like a total failure as his mom and feared I’d never bond with him. But now, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Some days panic grips me and tells me this is not over and I will fall back into this pit again. And I might. But if I do, I won’t be alone. And I don’t have to be quiet any more.

I’m still learning to destroy the voices that bind me. But I do know that the voice of freedom belongs to my God, and he has never left me. He has heard me, and he will hear me yet.

 

P.S. If you struggle with PPD or postpartum anxiety, please reach out to a family member, friend, or therapist. The above link has help resources too.

Jumping In

I’ve always been more of an observer than a participator. Blame it on being an introvert-that’s normal these days, and I hear our brain pathways are longer? Or blame it on my homeschool upbringing-maybe I wasn’t “socialized” enough. 

Or, instead of blaming it on something in the past (we’ve all got plenty of those, right?), I could just look past that and jump in. 

I’ve had so many blog post ideas swimming in my head for years now. The time never seemed right to share them-I haven’t thought it all out yet! (Long pathways, like I said…) I can’t write about these deep things that form phantom-like in my soul, let alone think about them enough. I barely get to go pee by myself. (Mom probs.)

Well, here’s the thing: I keep reading others’ writings and the chord their words strike within me is too deep to brush off anymore. My words must come out…imperfectly and with fear, but they must come out. It’s time to stop holding back what makes me stay awake, for my sake and for yours. 

We never write or sing or cook or build only for ourselves…we flourish when we do these things, and from there we help others flourish too.

Jump in with me? Let’s flourish together.

The Sun Shines

I’m nursing my littlest in my room while my middle two children play in the bathtub. It’s hot outside, upper 80s, but I suddenly realize how bright and cheerful the sunshine is.

I’ve been looking out the window for a while, but it hits me. How many pleasant spring days have I missed this year? A few. The cool temperatures and sunny skies have not evoked any joy within me. They are there, but I’m viewing them through a screen, one that dulls my senses and my soul.

But today is different. I’ve spent most of the afternoon nursing B and trying to get him to sleep-not new. Helping with homework, navigating dinner and planning around an evening Walmart pick up-not new. Fussy, not-sleeping baby, sibling arguments, living room half vacuumed-not new. 

But today, I know the sun is shining, and it’s reaching my soul.