Random Thoughts in the Middle of the Night

 Random Thoughts in the Middle of the Night

It is what I call 'Writers Unite" hour. Except it's not exactly an hour. It's that time in the middle of the night when writers everywhere have all the thoughts zipping this way and that and they start writing things in their heads and then get into a debate about going to all the trouble to get up and write the things in their heads, and mostly the urge to lie still and keep thinking and doze off wins out and most of those thoughts float into 'nowhere land.' Which reminds me of that great Beatles song, 'Nowhere man,' but I digress, as I'm prone to do, forgive me.

So I was thinking about mental health things - like, mostly my mental health things - and I was thinking to all my strange and unusual journeys. I was thinking about all the wonderful ways God has shown up for me. I reflect on these things often - sometimes they are super tangible and concrete, and often they are super obvious, yet hidden all at the same time. I was thinking to times where I had to completely trust God as I had few, if any, other resources to cope. And this girl came to mind. A young girl, a child I was with, and how she was my momentary emotional 'manna' for that hour or so.

You see, I had been dealing with some Mommy guilt. I'm sure none of you have heard or experienced that. It went like this:

"Sarah, *other* moms volunteer and serve at school. You are a hermit - you don't contribute because you tend to drown in life, like laundry, cooking, chauffeuring, sorting out squabbles. So, self, I get it. You've been burnt out before you ever set foot in this school. This school has served you, rescued you from homeschooling, provided OH SO MUCH. Other moms have it together. They give tirelessly of their gifted selves. And you are such a taker. You ought to *do* something, you know, sign up to volunteer or *something* - anything."

Now, I'm not saying all this line of thinking was entirely helpful. I don't know which voices had crept in that I was somehow buying into that I needed to be like other super-moms. Especially the Wheaton Moms. In our house, 'Wheaton Moms' are famously known as those all capable, gym workout, organic-from-scratch-cooking, tidy homes, pleasant children, high-achieving-whatever-they-do-is-awesome semi-superheroes. Sometimes our kids wish I would at least try to become a Wheaton mom. And then I tell them that they'd have to be gluten-free and have no sugar and eat only fruit when they want something sweet. And then they decide being a little scruffy around the edges as a mom suits them just fine. If only I would take more pride in making sure our lawn had less weeds, scruffle, and sickly looking efforts to make things grow, and spent my days freshening up the home, tidying, cleaning, and you know, whatever it is that makes everyone else's home seem so perfect and ours not. So, I bless the Wheaton moms. They inspire me. But I have to be careful to not internalize their stellar example as something I feel I must become to be ok. In God's eyes, I am ok. And I need to stick with what He says of me, not what all the impressions I get say to me, which, speaking of mental health, are obviously somewhat skewed. I hear Wheaton moms have their own struggles. They just tend to be pretty good at dressing them up. And I just happen to be the type with gifts that can support driven women, because I live the struggle...only a bit more openly.

So back to the girl...this little girl that was my mental health stabilisation during a stressful hour. You see...I listened to those mom-guilt-voices, whether I should have or not, I braced myself and signed up for the most innocuous task possible. Something I could handle. Something that wouldn't tax my relational energies, of which I had very little. Something that involved typing, listening, engaging and being one-on-one: win-win!! All these are up my alley - small gifts that have few landing places, but this one volunteering opportunity presented itself and I thought: 'this is surely something I can do!! The only sacrifice is time, and I have that to give.' So I signed up to be a scribe for oral testing at our kids' school. In the younger grades they realize that children may be slowed down in handwriting answers to questions. So they have parents sign up to verbally ask a test question and take down their oral answers.

This one day I had begun to scribe and it was this sweet girl and I think she was answering something about what she learned about pelicans. I learned some great things about pelicans that day. In the middle of our 'test' there was a minor situation of an unwanted person in the building. The shcool has a very safe setup, but unless you enclose a building in an underground vault, things can happen, and that is why they have all these procedures and protocols in place - it is such a comfort that these things are anticipated and planned for. It was nothing super scary, but simply required the pre-arranged procedures to go into effect. An administrator quickly knocked on the door and asked us to sit behind a counter where we couldn't be seen from the window with lights off. Now, at this point, you might need to know that I was at the time in my regular, non-volunteering life, somewhat in an on-and-off-full-blown-PTSD type of thing. I was learning how to live and cope with this stuff. I was making my way. I'd have nightmares, panic attacks, dissociative episodes. Fun fun!! Not really!! I'm not generally that into sharing my mental health status with the broader public, but since you've perhaps read my stories, it may come as no surprise that the things I've suffered, witnessed, experienced, may result in some mental-health-shaky-ground. I hestitate to share sometimes because I resist a) being overly dramatic b) inducing pity (I know, I know, people are more often compassionate that pitying...I'm working on thinking in better terms!) c) inviting judgement (you haven't experienced this earth-shattering xyz inner healing?! I'll give you the book on it! Oh, did you pray enough? Memorize scripture enough? I heard you can do xyz and it will disappear! I thought it was all a hoax!) etc. etc. You get the idea. I used to say if I were to write my life story the title would be one word: Judged. And now I will never write such a thing because God is daily and yearly changing my story, and I hope that if I do, it will have some other title that will be less gloomy and sour. Don't hold your breath for the 'bestseller' - with my A.D.D., Depression and P.T.S.D (only 3 of 10 labels I'm willing to divulge at this point), it's not likely that bestseller will ever come out: thanks procrastinator self.

So there sweet-girl and I were, on the floor, in a semi-dark room. I had an anti-anxiety medicine but it was on the other side of the room. I couldn't get up to go get it as it was against the protocol. I had the girl to focus on and God at my side. And God, (having sent the girl as support), was enough in that moment. You see, I looked at her, and I thought: "I do not want her to have any heightened memory of this day or moment. I want her to be protected and shielded from any fear, legit or not, so that she can grow up to have the least emotional baggage possible. She is innocent, trusting, oblivious. Let's try and keep her that way." God gave me a person to serve. I was not allowed to have a panic attack. I practiced focused breathing when she wasn't paying attention. I chatted, whisperingly, casually, with her: 'Isn't this fun!? You get to miss the whole next hour of class and we get to just sit an talk! Tell me what your favourite subject is...' I made it into an exciting time.

I talked with the girl and learned about her family and sisters. She giggled shyly and laughed at my jokes. She was all things precious and I loved her. God gave me a gift that day: someone else to focus on. Someone else to care for so I could not engage my own (rational? irrational?) fears. She seemed completely relaxed and unphased. I indicated nothing major was up, but we just needed to what they told us. I loved that in that moment I was just another mom, not an admin, not a teacher (who are all incredible by the way!) I felt we could just sit and relax together. I didn't tell her when I saw a police-guy go through the hall. I made sure her line of vision was out of sight of the window. Inside I worried that an experience like this could be alarming to a kid. I had the alarm bells going off in me, and thought, 'Sarah, what's with you? Do you just attract ridiculous situations? It's like you have some kind of radar alert: Criminals welcome with Sarah! Go find her!' I had an hour to sit with this delightful child and become like a kid again. A kid who is trying to kind of be looking-like-a-responsible-adult-but-who-really-just-does-better-being-kid-like.

Eventually we were herded into another classroom where there were really young kids, and they were all hiding in a small room. That teacher was amazing. How do you keep small children quiet and occupied and still in a small dark room for an hour? She was totally in control - those kids trusted her and listened and did whatever she said. I bet those kids have no fear to this day because of the kind, warm and protective adults around them that day.

After this incident, I came away not only relieved, but self-reflective, and perhaps one step further along on my process of living with my struggles. I think I had been reserved and fearful of engaging more with the school and church and others perhaps because I felt too broken, too emotionally drained, burnt-out, crippled. And even though I believe it was false-guilt that induced me step into volunteering, even in that, God is present. Sure, God doesn't condemn and judge and compare me the way I do. But He takes even those screwed up voices and puts me in a challenging place, providing for all I need in every moment. What is it that I need every moment? Sometimes I think it's money! Sometimes I think it's emotional support! Sometimes I think it's for my situation to change! (Change the people around me, God!!)

Is it all those things I need? I don't know, I'll let God figure that out. He does say in Matthew 6 (I think) about 'your heavenly Father knows you need all these things...' referring to basic daily provisions. Mostly I need 2 things. I need to know and rely on the love God has for me. It says that in 1 John somewhere (I don't bother to go looking things up as these are off the top of my head, and I figure you have access to Biblegateway and can find the exact verse...or just a Bible and read the whole book and you might find treasure!). Know and rely - that means Trust. But trust WHAT? Trust the love of God for me.

Here's the thing about mental health. It can be destabilizing. It can be something others fear in us. But broken people tend to know how to love others, if they engage their brokenness. Did you catch that: IF they engage their brokenness. If they deny it, pretend it away, strive to conquer it, stuff it, sugar-coat it, dismiss it, then you likely might find that person has trouble in crisis situations (then again, maybe not, this is not clinical data here; merely observations, so take it with a huge dose of salt, will ya?!) If you have people in your life who have trusted you enough to let you know some of their challenges, I hope you will be able to embrace and welcome them, empathize, trust and believe in them. This goes a long way in others' healing process, believe me. I've had more than one therapist friend say to me: you are the kind of person we therapists wish were all our clients' friend. If you are of that great minority that grew up in a functional home, experienced warm nurturing upbringing, were delivered to your 25th birthday unscathed by life, betrayal, harm, horror, major upheaval etc. - like, if you've had a good, loving life, you are not only rare but a SUPER asset in this world!! You have the opportunity to be someone's friend in their journey, to demonstrate good mental health hygeine. You can enable growth and healing in others. Use your life as a spring-board of love for the rest of us who need to see what stability looks like. Part of my motivation for getting the help I've needed is to a) deliver my children to their 25th birthday with as little baggage as possible (don't worry, they have plenty to make sure they're normal and can relate with others) b) to not leave myself with the damage but seek to repair it with the gifts of God's people and brilliant thinkers who've given lifetimes of learning to the stuff that hampers me c) be a conduit of grace for others - living out honestly and openly my struggles so as to provide an experiential insight for those who might experience, or be close to those who experience, trauma.

A wise scholar once said, "I don't believe the root of all sin is pride as many theologians do. [He acknowledged pride may likely be in every sin somehow, but I'm paraphrasing...really loosely]. The root of all sin is *doubting the love of God*." (Check out Jerry Root in some talk he gave to Wheaton College grad school. It's on youtube, if I dig around for a link, I'll post it). I think I have to agree with Dr. Root. It indicates to me what my deepest need is: To Trust in God's love. That His love is enough. That He will lovingly provide all I need in any moment. If I'm crouching on the floor with a youngster for an hour, God's love is sufficient. He gives what is needed.

So, these are just my random thoughts in the middle of the night, when introvert writers everywhere entrust their thoughts to a screen, journal, or simply to God in prayer. For once, I was restless enough to pick myself up and type them out.

Let me know what your thoughts are in response. I really do love to hear from you.