All Moved In

These past few days have been insane. We are finally moved into our new house. Mostly everything is in order... except the back bedroom that is crammed full of crap that needs to be put away. (Just think of Monica's junk room from the TV show Friends.) Joe has adjusted very well so far.

I, on the other hand, have not been ajusting well. I don't know if  it's PMS or just my melancholic personality, but I have been feeling a deep, hard sadness bearing down on me lately. I feel like I am absorbing all the sadness in the world. Maybe I'm just tired. I know I'm feeling very anxious about school and getting things organized.

Easter weekend was good. We got mostly everything packed away so that my brother and his two daughters could come visit after Mass. Mass was packed and I didn't really get to enjoy it, but the excitement of our risen Savior from all my facebook friends gave me some joy in the day.

I can't write much more, because I have a sick little Sam laying in my arms, and my left hand is falling asleep. Here are some photos from our weekend!

A family friend of Ryan's gave us their king size bed! As you can tell, Sam loves it!

Bow ties are cool.

My little loves on Easter

Enjoying our new backyard on a beautiful day!

Weight Watchers... again...

The blogging blahs have hit.

I've felt especially blah in all areas of my life.

I finished a novena about a week ago praying for 3 particular knots in my life to be undone. I usually always feel a sense of peace when the 9 days are over. This time I felt worse. The despair and fear kicked into high gear.

I've felt blah as a mother and wife. My husband has been doing most of the cooking because I've had no energy. My Joe has watched so much Baby Einstein lately that he is constantly requesting "Oatzart! Oatzart!" I let Sam roll around on the floor. I just stare at him, waiting for him to crawl, which should be any day now.

I am out of shape. Thanks to my short stature, I am bordering the obesity end of things. That is definitely taking a toll of my body. I get winded putting Joe into his car seat. I am lethargic. I feel depressed and lonely.

Besides, there really hasn't been anything interesting to blog about. It has snowed. A lot. Class was cancelled for a week. I sat around and watched Dr. Who. Nothing particularly blog worthy.

At least someone likes snow...

 I've been wanting to go back to Weight Watchers. I had great success with it last time. But spending money on a weight loss program just hasn't been in our budget. I tried doing it on my own, but that was a big fat failure.

I finally decided that I HAVE to go back. It's either spend money on meds and therapy, or spend money on Weight Watchers because I am unhappy mentally and physically. Oh, I'd also need to spend money on a new wardrobe because...

..
After weeks of putting it off for one reason or another, I went into a Weight Watcher center last Saturday. To my surprise, since I am a Lifetime Member, and having a baby is the reason I am not at goal, I have 3 free months to get the weight off and get back to goal! I wish I would have known that sooner or my lazy bones would have been there sooner! This is why I love this program. They are realistic.

So I bought some healthy food.

I bought me a fancy schmancy Tervis to encourage me to drink more water.

I've been doing Lindsay Brin's Postnatal Bootcamp DVD since it's been too cold to go walking. I HATE exercise DVDs. They make me wanna go all:

And seeing that overly-cheerful, 6-packed mama makes this giant blob of blubber, exercise-hating mama somewhat irritated.

But I appreciate how she tailors the workout for women who have had babies. And she's not a mean psychopath like Jillian Michaels.

I've felt a difference in my attitude over this last week since I've gotten back on the WW bandwagon. I know it will take time to get this weight off again. But I'm happy I am taking a step forward to feeling better.

So be prepared for some "I lost 2 lbs this week!!!" posts. At least they'll be happier than these bummed out posts! :-)

But... I don't adore Him...

It is the first week of Advent. I'm preparing for blog posts and articles about "preparing the way" and having a spiritually fulfilling Advent. While all that joyful stuff is going on I'm going to write a post that has been on my mind for weeks now. I hate writing the "oh, poor me, I suck at being Christian and Jesus doesn't like me" posts, but I just feel the need to get these feelings out on paper my own space.

Mass is hard with a 2 year old who likes to scream and climb everywhere. I rarely ever hear the readings. They could be reading snippets from Harry Potter and I wouldn't even notice. ("A reading from the first book of Kingsley Shacklebolt.") I say the words to the prayers, but I mutter them somewhat mindlessly. However, a few weeks ago I actually paid attention to one little thing I prayed along with the other parishioners, and it I swear I could feel my heart stop.

There I was, saying the words to the Gloria. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will. We praise you. We bless you. We adore you. -" and that's where I stopped. The slow realization crept in.

I don't adore God.

I just... don't.

I started thinking of those that I do adore. My first thoughts went immediately to my husband and sons. My heart is filled with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for them. They bring me such happiness. Words cannot express just how much I love them. Thinking about my husband and boys brings tears of happiness to my eyes sometimes. Then I started to think about how much I adore my mom. She has helped me in countless ways. Whenever someone hurts her or tries to bring her down I get furious and want to start cracking skulls. I think about how I adore my brother. My heart fills with pride knowing that he protects our city as a police officer and I admire how devoted he is to God and his wife and children.

My adoration extends to my uncles, aunts, cousins, Ryan's family, and my friends. It even goes as far as to some women who I've met over the blogosphere that I've never actually met in person. I love all these people with such a fierce love. When they hurt, I hurt. When they are full of joy, I am full of joy. I would do just about anything for them. I would do just about anything to protect them. I would die for them because I love them so much.

But God? Would I be as brave as those martyrs who chose to be burned alive, beheaded, or tossed into a pit of lions rather than deny their Lord? Of course most of us say that we would die for God, but I sometimes have serious doubts that I would. If I did, I wouldn't be one of those brave and happy saints who danced and sang hymns while being marched to their deaths. I'd be bawling, peeing myself and curled up in the fetal position. Heck, my heart would probably explode from fear before they even got me to the chopping block.

Something is wrong with this picture. My priorities are backwards. It seems I love my husband, my son, my family and friends moreso than God. Jesus says the FIRST and greatest commandment is to love God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind. (Matthew 22: 37) It is sometimes hard for us to put God first in our lives. I know a lot of people who disagree with that ideal. Even though I feel like I don't practice this commandment, I get it. We wouldn't have our loved ones if it weren't for God. God gave us every little thing in our lives... uh... even our life itself, so he should be #1. He became man and died a cruel and torturous death to save each and every one of us from Satan. It makes total sense to love him above all things.

There is no doubt in my mind about the existance of God. I've felt his grace and witnessed his blessings in my life and in others lives. I know he is real.

And there's no doubt that I love him. I really do love him... but not as strongly as I should. I love him in the way you love your 2nd cousin, twice removed. You love them simply because you do, because they are family. It's not a case of "well they are family so I HAVE to love them" because if you are forced to love someone, well, that's not real love. I know my love for God is real, but it's lackluster. I know this sounds so incredibly spoiled and rotten of me, but sometimes I feel God's love for me is lackluster as well.

I thought of all this pretty much the rest of Mass. It has stuck with me. I don't know what my deal is. I love Jesus and I'm thankful for what he has done, but I'm not on fire for him. I am so jealous of those people who have such a zeal and passion for Christ. It's like Jesus in their best friend, their father, their brother... But my Jesus is my 2nd cousin, twice removed that I see on occasion at the family reunion where the only conversation you have with him is the awkward "How are you? How about this weather?" It is hard to love someone you don't see. I know we interact with God in the sacraments, but I just don't feel it. 

I feel so far away from God. I go to Mass because I know I need it the Eucharist. I hate that I have felt this dryness for years now. I know that some of the greatest saints have suffered through dark periods in their spiritual life. Mother Teresa was one who suffered years and years and years of spiritual darkness. However, she still seemed to love God fiercely and did all things to glorify him. Why can't I have that kind of strength? Why does God even let people go through feeling so far away from him? I have heard the "why does God let bad things happen to good people" question over and over again. The answers of free-will, strengthening us, and bringing us closer to him are somewhat satisfactory answers. But why does God abandon super holy people who actually try to cling to him? What kind of God does that? I am not trying to compare myself to these saints. I'm quite lazy on my end of my relationship with God. Still, I want to know why he flits in and out of our lives.

Now here is where some of you readers might think I'm a little cray cray. Just bear with me. Part of me wonders if this distance from God that I am feeling, this "eh" attitude that I have is from the devil. Ooooh great, y'all are probably thinking. Not only is she Catholic and proud of it (what a weirdo..), but she's one of those "LEAVE HER SATAN!" people.

Rest assured, I'm not going all Carrie's mom on you all.

They're all gonna laugh at you!

I often wonder if Satan has planted a "ho hum" seed within me. It's not like I hate God or am questioning his existance. If I were, I'd be clinging to God because I am even more miserable than I am now when I have animosity toward God. And the devil is smart enough not to use all that scary ass demon trickery on me, because the second I start hearing voices or experience creepy shit like upside down crucifixes I'm hauling butt to the priest. I will run faster to God than Usain Bolt because that stuff freaks the eff out of me. Instead, I think the devil is using the subtle tool of not really caring. He's slowly putting out the fire of adoration I have for Jesus. Damn him.

I have experienced dark forces in my life before. I have physically felt spiritual battles going on around me, one of them being the night Joe was born. I know of other people who have also dealt with being sensitive to evil around them. I know Satan is real and he never stops getting us to turn away from God. Thankfully my guardian angel and St. Michael have protected me.

Only God knows who or what is behind the reason for my dull attitude towards him. Maybe it's the post partum hormones ligering around. Maybe it is Satan. Maybe it's just the season of life that I am currently experiencing. I just don't know...

I know what I need to do. I need to get my butt to confession. But here's the conundrum I am facing. I am sorry for my sins because I am utterly terrified of going to hell and want to go to heaven someday. But I cannot fit it into my little dumb brain about how my sins offend God, and therefore I feel like I don't feel truly sorry for my sins. So I feel like a fraud going into the confessional.

I know I should go more to confession more often and go to adoration and read more spiritual material instead of the Entertainment Weekly I have on my nightstand. I need to turn to the Blessed Mother. I need to unplug from the internet on occasion. I was doing all that regularly when I was a student at Benedictine and I felt so much closer to Jesus.

I think this Advent will be a good time for me to really step back and look at what I need to do to start adoring God again. I feel so blah in so many areas of my life. So lonely and melancholy. I need the joy of Advent. I need the joy of Christ. So if you kind folks could throw out any prayers, I'd greatly appreciate it.

The Line

The poverty line.

We're hovering around it.

Living so close to going below the poverty line is taking its toll on me.

My dreams of having a big family are slipping away. I'm tired of the judgement just from announcing this second pregnancy. We can't afford 2 kids.

I feel so foolish.

I feel like a failure since we live with my in-law's.

I feel like our financial predicament is all my fault. I should have been more careful when applying for student loans. I should have worked harder in part-time jobs. I should have lived in dorms longer. I should have applied for more scholarships.

If I was working, we'd be better off. But could we even afford the childcare? If we have a lot of children we won't.

Resentment grows towards my friends who aren't struggling as much as we are. Some people get bitter at baby announcements. I get bitter at "We just bought a house!" announcements.

We wanted our children two years apart. God is blessing us with that gift. But was it's God's will or mine? We didn't feel a strong feeling to avoid, so we were open. But maybe we should have prayed about it more.

I am always feelings so judged and looked down upon because of our financial situation.

I feel like I should be using the gifts God gave me to supplement our income, but I feel like I have nothing to contribute.

I feel worthless. I feel like I should be working harder.

I feel hopeless. We've prayed for God to lead us in what to do. We're not asking him to send us a winning lottery ticket. We just want to know what to do. He has taken care of us, for sure, but we need to know WHAT TO DO NEXT.

I hate living in the city surrounded by all these rich SOB's. I've never wanted what they have- the big cars, the big houses, the designer clothes, but seeing them reminds me that even a small tiny rental house is unattainable at this time.

I keep thinking that my grandparents survived on nothing and they raised 7 kids. My mom raised me on nothing and I know many other family members that have struggled. They have lived wonderful, happy and fulfilling lives. But I just don't see that happening for us.

I'm so incredibly naive sometimes that when something out of the blue happens- like getting a huge pre-payment bill for my OB- I totally freak out. Of course the bill will be higher, Maggie. Ryan's insurance has changed and we live in a big city now. Duh.

I'm tired of crying over bills and finances. It's a roller coaster that I want to get off of right now.


Of course, being almost 15 weeks pregnant and super duper giantly hormonal doesn't help matters any.

My apologies for such a depressing, crabby-ass post.

I just really needed to get my feelings out there.

On this third day of Christmas...

I don't know why, but I always get sad when Christmas Day is over. Yes, yes, I know that it is technically still Christmas until the Epiphany, but I just feel like all the magic and splendor of the Christmas season is gone. Christmas morning comes, the presents are opened, and just like that- poof- it's gone. People take down their Christmas trees that day. The neighborhoods are cold and dark with no twinkling lights to shine in the night.

I always get so emotional on Christmas Day, probably due to lack of sleep. However, the days following it I am still morose. For some reason I hate New Year's Eve. I hate all the specials on TV about the year in review. I hate when things come to an end, even something as inevitable as the year. I've always had this melancholy depressed feeling watching the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve with all the peppy pop culture hoopla and excited people lining the streets of Times Square. Maybe it stems back from when I was in elementary and high school. I knew that once New Years Day came then that meant back to school in two or three days, and that was no fun. Maybe it is because I know there is about three months of crappy, cold and snowy weather. Yes, the first few snows of winter, especially around Christmas are pure magic, but after that I'm sick of it and ready for spring.

I wish the joy of celebrating Christ's birth would storm into my heart. I wish I could be like this:



End of the year blah's. Yay. It doesn't help that I feel like the last 15 months of lack of sleep is catching up with me.

Hopefully this Mrs. Poopy-Pants attitude with go away soon.

Be Kind. Be Compassionate.

This morning I woke up to learn my favorite weatherman, Don Harman from Fox 4 News, had died. I have watched Don Harmon since I was a freshman in high school. Mr. Harman was hilarious and wacky. He had such a good camaraderie with the anchors of the morning show. The light-hearted, fun-loving atmosphere he created made me want to watch the news in the morning because it wasn't all about murders, scams, and car accidents.

The station was keeping tight-lipped about the situation because not all of his family members had been notified. I kept wondering what it was that claimed his life. Had he been in a car accident that morning on the way to work? Perhaps he suffered a heart attack. When I got on the internet the rumor was swirling around- suicide. Suicide??! How on earth could this man who was so funny, so fun-loving, and knew he was adored by many in Kansas City kill himself? This man who was only 41 years old, with a wife and a young daughter... what was going on inside his head that made him feel like he was beyond help? What was going on inside his head to make him feel that his life wasn't worth living?

I don't know why his death affects me so. I had never met him. I feel a heaviness in my heart, not just because Mr. Harman's death, but just because I am sometimes overwhelmed at what seems like an enormous amount of darkness and sadness in this world.



Don Harman's suicide makes me realize that you never really know what is going on in a person's life. He appeared so confident and happy, but that was apparently a mask. How many people do we encounter everyday that are on the verge of suicide or having a mental break down?

I saw on the news today that the number one reason people dislike the holiday season is because they are "forced" to be nice to others; others meaning mostly their family and friends that they would rather not be nice to.

What is wrong with being nice? What is wrong with being kind? I suppose if someone is nice as opposed to being strong-willed they are considered weak. They are considered fluff compared to a stone.

What is wrong with keeping our mouths shut when we want to say mean and hurtful things? We take delight in saying mean things because it's funny and a thrill to demean someone.

It is easy to lose our patience. It is easy for us to snap. The holiday is a stressful time, but we need to remember that we are not the only person on this planet. There are others out there that are just as stressed, if not more. Our feelings, wants, desires are not the only feelings out there.

Instead of snapping at a cashier to get the line moving faster why don't you take a second and look at her name tag. Yes, she is a person who has a name, not just a corporate tool that scans your merchandise and takes your money. She is a person who has worries and fears and joy and excitement. She is a person who possibly is a single mother and this is the only job she could find to support her two children. Instead of complaining to her, or even cutting her off and being short with her when she tries to make conversation, how about you compliment her earrings. Tell her thank you for what she does. Tell her how much you admire her for working in the retail business during the holiday season. Tell her Merry Christmas.

Instead of throwing a fit that you didn't get fries with your extra value meal why don't you take a second to remember that the gentleman who took your order doesn't have it out for you to make sure you don't have your fries. People make mistakes. People get distracted. Sure, there are the occasional lazy-bones people out there that don't put in the effort to make sure your order is correct, but have a little more faith in people. Maybe this kid who has taken hundreds of food orders that day is tired because he had to wake up extra early to take his mother to chemotherapy and has two finals to study for when he gets home. Maybe he is distracted for good reason.

There are some things in life that are good cause for us to speak up and say something. Voicing our concerns about some things in life is necessary. But let us keep our priorities straight. Being mean to the teen who bags our groceries for accidentally dropping the bottle of spaghetti sauce isn't necessary.

We live in a world where rudeness and hostility rule, a teenage girl can be hailed as a free-speech hero for making disrespectful comments to an adult (who happens to be the governor of Kansas) and where people can tear each other apart while hiding behind a computer screen. I stay away from comboxes where people can easily accuse the authors of being bad parents, bad Catholics, and destined for hell because they believe in XYZ.



The world can't be all lollypops and sparkly unicorn glitter. There are people out there who are sarcastic and cynical. God made us all different and it's good to have a little spice and crunch in our lives. But no matter what our disposition is, we must be careful of our words. We must be careful of our actions.

Our words and actions can make or break someone's day. Our words and actions represent more than just ourselves. They represent our parents, our church, our country. It is not all about me, me, me.

I see the darkness of life and the sadness that seems to overshadow everything. I sometimes wonder what kind of world I have brought my child into. I hope to raise my son and future children to bring LIGHT to the world instead of darkness.

I have a different take on Advent this year. I wait for the coming of our Savior. I see the darkness of our world and I know that Christ has defeated it and has brought light to our world. He does it every single day.

There is good in this world. There is such incredible good in this world that it busts through the darkness of sadness and tragedy. God helps us to become that light that crashes through. It can begin with us.


May God bless the soul of Don Harman and bring comfort and peace to his family during this tragic time. May he rest in peace.



May God bless all those who are affected by suicide.



May God bless those who are sad and lonely this holiday season.

My Moments of Peace

I have been feeling down and out lately.

What else is new, right? It seems a lot of my posts have been me bleepin' and moanin'.

The stress and anxiety are starting to take its toll. I can actually feel my chest tightening with tension when I start worrying. I catch myself subconsciously holding my breath and clenching my jaw multiple times a day.

I keep thinking I need to suck it up and go to a doctor and get some anti-depressants. I have been on them before and they have helped. But for some reason I feel uncomfortable going on them again. I can't really explain it. Maybe I'm being too prideful. Maybe I just need a good confession and some spiritual direction. Maybe I just need some booze. I'm only partially kidding on that last one.

But God is merciful and sends me moments of peace throughout the day. They are true fuzzy-wuzzy feelings. I feel like the world slows down, my heart softens from the burden of worry and for a moment I only feel happiness. I'd like to share some of those fleeting peaceful moments that get me by.

I find peace...

...in Winter Candy Apple lotion from Bath and Body Works. It is my most favorite smell in. the. whole. wide. world. I start wearing it after Halloween and stop wearing it soon after Christmas, so it's very much a holiday smell. It has actually become a Christmas tradition for me. It instantly puts me in a good mood. I've been wearing it for years. If they ever get rid of it I will be very sad.
... in long conversations with my big brother over theology and other random subjects.

... in more long conversations with my nephew. This past weekend I drove him back to my brother's house and we talked the entire way. It was an hour and a half long trip! Max is almost twelve years old, but he is so grown up. But he's not obnoxious like adults are- he still has that innocence about him. It was a nice fall evening when we were driving back. We talked about a variety of things. It was actually almost therapeutic for me! I dropped him off with a smile and in wonderment at how fast he has grown up.

I find peace...

... in the first forecasted snow of the year. Snow is so magical. So otherworldly. There is nothing better than that seeing the silent snowflakes fall and to hear the cold winds howl while I am nestled all toasty underneath a warm cozy blanket. I love this time of year. Even though the vibrant beauty of the beginning of fall has faded, I find allure in the bare trees and the lifeless grass. Plus, I love all the things that are associated with this time of year- hoodies, fireplaces, chili, piping hot soups and stews, hot chocolate, fuzzy socks, fleece, over-sized blankets, warm bubble baths... I could go on and on.

... in listening to the soundtrack from Chronicles of Narnia. For some reason I always get the urge to watch it when it gets cold and snowy. This music of this soundtrack is pretty fantastic.



I find peace...

... in going to Mass. Yesterday I went to All Saints Day Mass by myself. (Joe wasn't feeling well so Ryan stayed home with him.) It was nice to be able to actually focus on the Liturgy. When I walked in I just felt a sense of peace. I found comfort in that church smell. It's hard to describe- you can smell the oldness of the building, the perfume and cologne from the parishioners. It just has that clean, holy smell. And when I am praying I really feel that Jesus has his arms around me and is letting me know that all will be well.

... in the anticipation of the upcoming holidays. This is another reason I love this time of year. I love Advent and Thanksgiving. And of course I absolutely love Christmas. There is nothing better than friends, family, scrumptious food, traditions and memories and it all being centered around being thankful for God's blessings and for the birth of Jesus Christ.

One of the reasons I feel so down lately is because we don't have our very own home to celebrate these holidays. We won't be able to pull out the ornaments that I have collected for nearly 15 years because they are in storage. One of my favorite parts of the holidays is making my home festive and joyful. However, the joy of this holiday season overcomes my bitterness and sadness over not having our own place.





I find peace...

... in my husband. Our marriage gets stronger every day. We laugh often despite me being a Mrs. Poopie Pants. He always knows what to say to cheer me up. I think back on our friendship and budding relationship in college and the memories always make me smile.


I find peace...

... in my son. He lights up my life and I hope to have many more babies that are just as fun and sweet as he is! I feel like he is growing up so fast. Sometimes I still can't believe that he is my son. I helped create him. I nourished him in my womb. His personality bursts through every day and I find myself smiling every day because of him!





I have a lot I can complain about in life. I often feel beaten down. But God sends me these moments of peace and for that, I am thankful.

On Being Melancholic

I am a sensitive person.

I have such a delicate nature that I consider it a cross that I bear.

I have been an easily affected person as long as I can remember. This is so embarrassing to admit, but one time when I was a child I was watching a TV show and this old man was walking a dog. The dog got loose, and the old man started chasing him and hollering after him, begging his dog to stop. The dog didn’t stop. The old man was distraught. I started crying.

Um, HELLO?! MAGGIE- IT’S A FLIPPIN’ TV SHOW! It’s make believe. Like unicorns and fairy poop- it is NOT REAL! I just couldn’t stand to see this sweet elderly person in emotional pain.

I remember another time when I was very young and I was at a Royal’s game with my brother. A man was walking up the stairs next to where we were sitting and he tripped. He was holding a tray of food and it went everywhere. He was fine, but probably embarrassed. My heart ached for him.

As I got older my sensitivity grew with me. When I entered my teenage years and those pesky hormones started kicking in… well, it was game over. Depression and anxiety grew out of my delicate emotional state. Every teen feels lonely and worthless at some point, but my feelings were much more severe.

You’d think that now that I’m all grown up my overly-sensitive feelings would have faded away. Um, not so much. I can’t stand to see people eating at restaurants alone or sitting by themselves at a movie theater. I know that 98% of the time these people are not lonely, they are alone by choice and they are perfectly happy. But I wonder if that elderly woman sitting by herself at Cracker Barrel just lost her oldest childhood friend to cancer and is hurting deeply, or that man in the business suit hasn’t seen his family or friends in two weeks because he has been traveling for his company. I just want to go and sit with them to keep them company.

Because I am so sensitive I don’t handle criticism very well. That is part of the reason I haven’t really started to work on my writing skills to kick start my dream of free-lance writing. I know in the world of professional writing there is a ton of rejection. I can get pretty protective of my writing, so when it is criticized, I take it as a direct criticism of me. There are times I get overly sad when I lose a blog follower or when someone who used to be a regular commenter stops commenting. I spend a little too much time wondering if it was something I wrote that made the person “mad” at me and stop following me or commenting. Too many times I measure my worth on who is following me or by how many comments a post receives. Very unhealthy thinking, I know.

I don’t do well with those people who like to make fun of others. There’s nothing wrong with a little harmless teasing once in awhile, but I really cannot stand to be around people who tease others constantly. My feelings are very easily hurt. I take things very personally. These people might tell me to lighten up or that they weren’t meaning to be mean. Believe me, I wish I could just laugh off those jabbing comments, but I just can’t sometimes. I hate it that I am so sensitive. There are people out there who are mean just to be mean and it irks me to no end.

Sometimes I wonder if my sensitive nature is something that needs medical attention. Sometimes I will start crying for no reason. One time I was watching Joe play with his toys and tears spilled over because I was just so in awe of how he is growing up so fast and the pure innocence in his eyes and smile. I have struggled with depression before and one of the obvious symptoms of depression is persistent sadness. However, the sadness I feel doesn’t feel “clinical.” I just think that I am a melancholic, wistful person. It’s how God made me.

Oh how I wish I weren’t such a sensitive person. I wish I could be one of those people who are perpetually in a good mood. I wish I could be a positive, optimistic person. I want to be one of those people who are bursting with happiness; a person who is a joy to be around. I know that people like this have their down days, but they cope with it much better than I do. I try not to be an Eeyore. I try to be as positive as I can. But there are days that I just shut down. I can’t snap out of my funk, and usually it is quite obvious to others.

I feel so silly and foolish being so emotional and sensitive. I hate getting so easily upset. I try so hard to reason with myself that usually the things that make me sad, angry or worried are not that big of a deal. They shouldn’t agitate me. I wish my intellect would win over my emotions, but most of the time it does not.

I am no saint. I struggle to embrace this cross. I want it to be different. I want to be different. But God does things for a reason and sometimes I feel like he makes personalities like mine because we need compassionate people. Again, I am no saint. I am a very selfish person. I can be mean and hurtful. However there are times I want to make a really mean, snarky comment on someone’s facebook status, but I don’t want to hurt their feelings. If I can’t say anything nice, I shouldn’t say anything at all. (Thanks for that, Mom!) There might be a time I want to make fun of liturgical dancing with bongo drums or a priest’s tie-dyed cassock, but I wonder if someone who is interested in joining the Catholic Church will hear or see my hateful comments and decide not to join because of my hypocrisy.

I avoid writing about controversial topics because I don’t want to make anyone mad. For example, I refrain from posting anything online that says “Abortion is murder.” I fully believe that abortion IS murder and that Roe v Wade should be overturned. However, I know there are women out there who are deeply hurting from their abortions and are full of regret. I don’t believe throwing the word murder around will help them to repent and start to heal. I know that the truth is sometimes hard to hear and that controversial topics need to be addressed. I just believe that people’s feelings need to be taken into consideration sometimes.

Being a sensitive person has helped me to help others. I can usually always tell if something is wrong with someone. Sometimes I am freakishly in-tune with how someone is feeling. That helps me to better communicate with them and sometimes I am able to give them comfort when they need it the most. But believe me, it is not easy to take on someone else’s pain.

I have learned to love others so much more because of my sensitive nature. When the 10th anniversary of 9-11 came around this year and there were all these stories of women who had lost their husbands or children who never got to meet their fathers I often broke down in tears. I even started tearing up in Mass that day when we sang America the Beautiful as our closing hymn. It made me realize just how short life is and to never take anything for granted- including living in the United States. Today, right here in Kansas City, a 10 month old baby girl was taken from her crib while she slept. Someone came in through her bedroom window and took her. I cannot imagine the pain and fear that her mother and father are going through. My heart breaks for them. I realize that when Joe wakes up for the 10th time tonight, in his crib that is in my room, I should be thankful. I know people are sad when they hear this story, but I’ve been thinking about it almost constantly and feel worried and sad.

When I hear of a woman who has had a miscarriage or stillborn, or who is suffering from infertility I cry with them. I know the pain. I know the emptiness and sadness. I know the questions they ask. I always cry when I see the video of the baby who hears his mother’s voice for the first time or the child who runs a race with prosthetic legs.



It makes me so thankful for the advances in technology and look in amazement at the tenderness and brilliance of the human soul. Heck, I even cry at Dancing with the Stars! This all makes me realize that life is precious. Life is a gift. I want to reach out to those who are lonely and grieving. I want to hug those young women who are confused about what to do with their life and who don’t realize their self-worth. I want to hug those men who work hard and get no recognition. I want to pray with those who are hurting.

God gives us gifts. Sometimes I get mad and want to know why God made me such a moody-mooderson. It’s not easy to suffer and feel this way. However, I try my hardest to see the good that can be brought out by my sensitive nature. Hmm… a pessimist who sees the glass half full? I know, I know- I’m strange.

Depression and Postpartum Fears

A couple months ago I wrote about the physical aspects of my pregnancy. I mentioned there that I had been battling depression once again and that I would write about it later. I've been putting that subject off for so long. First of all, I was still in the throughs of the sadness and wasn't quite ready to write about it. But with the help of my doctor and Zoloft I have broken through the deep abyss of despair. Even though now I am doing 100% better I still didn't want to write about it because my thoughts were, "Who wants to read about depression?" I want to make people laugh and smile. I want to uplift. But with life there comes the good and the bad, and if anything, I want to encourage others to battle through the bad.

Ever since I was little I have been plagued with bouts of loneliness and extreme sensitivity. Some of my sadness was rational, but other times it was out of control. I couldn't stand it when people made fun of me, even if they were doing it in fun. I remember crying at the silliest things on TV. On rare occasions I would have panic attacks. I remember in first grade when my brother was in Saudi Arabia during the War of Desert Storm and I burst into tears thinking about him getting hurt or dying. I was inconsolable.

Thankfully these occasions were very rare and when I think back to my childhood I peg it as being a very happy and care-free time. Even though I was raised by a single mother I was loved, cared for and safe.

However, in high school those feelings of sadness came back and they were dark and twisted. I remember it being very bad the summer before my senior year of high school. I would be in a crowded room with my family or my closest friends and feel completely alone and unwanted. And this is the part that made me so mad at myself- I knew I was loved very deeply by my family and friends so what was the matter with me? Was I such a selfish person that I wanted more love? Was I that much of a drama queen that I wanted attention on me at all times? I knew those weren't true, but I just couldn't shake those feelings. I lived in a great town, was active in a good school, was a good student and a good worker- why did I feel like I was a blob of nothing?

I figured it was just typical teenage angst, but it wasn't going away. The sadness was gnawing at me every second of every day. I wanted to escape, run away, hurt myself- do something- anything to stop it. At that point I suffered more despair because there was nothing I could do about it.

I remember volunteering for a women's health seminar shortly after my senior year began. I walked around to some booths and saw a brochure on depression. I looked at the symptoms and was shocked to learn that I fit basically every single one of them. Depression? There's no way I had that, I thought. People who lose family members or lose their job are depressed. Depressed teenagers were those who painted their fingernails black, had their hair covering their eyes and wrote poetry that made no sense. I couldn't be depressed. Not me, with my bubble gum pink painted fingernails, president of the student body and National Honor Society member. I didn't have a mental problem. Not me... not me...

Things got pretty bad in the following weeks. I won't tell you how bad, because there are some things I do believe should be kept private. (Even though I sometimes share TOO much on here.) I finally found the courage to approach my mom about my problems. I was so scared she'd shrug them off as typical teenage woes, but she listened to me and made a doctor's appointment for me.

The doctor put me on a trial run of the antidepressant Paxil. It seemed to help. After my medication ran out is when I decided to get into shape. I worked out and ate healthy and the difference it made on my body both physically and emotionally was incredible. My senior year ended up being the best year ever.

The following years I battled depression on and off. I still kept wrestling with the idea of depression. On one hand I knew it was something I couldn't help. It wasn't something as simple as a bad mood to shake off. It wasn't my fault that I felt this way and I didn't have to try and battle it all by myself. However, on the other hand, I hated that I had been diagnosed with depression. I felt like I was weak. I wanted everything with my life to be all put together in a neat presentation, but depression was like a big ugly splotch on it all. I hated myself when I was under the crushing power of depression and couldn't get out. But I put my big girl pants on and talked to a counselor and was put on Zoloft a couple years ago while in college. I weaned myself off it shortly before my wedding.

Finally, what made me come to terms with my depression is that there is someone depending on me to be as healthy, both physically and mentally, as possible- the child that is in my womb.

I read up on depression during pregnancy and post-partum depression very early on in my pregnancy. I knew there was a big chance that I would be susceptible to both. I talked to my doctor about my past problems with depression, just to give him a heads up that further action may be needed. It felt good to finally overcome my embarrassment of depression.

Each doctor's visit he'd ask me how I was doing emotionally. Each time I'd answer with a smile, "Fine!" But one visit, around week 27, I couldn't answer "fine" anymore. The depression had been sinking in slowly. I chalked it up to regular pregnancy hormones. But it started interfering with sleeping, eating and being semi-rational. I would cry at how beautiful a piece of paper would gracefully fall from the refrigerator if the magnet accidentally was bumped. I cried at zombie movies. I cried when paranoid thoughts of losing my husband would creep in.

This time around the depression scared me. In the past when I suffered from these bouts they only affected me. But here was this helpless child inside me depending on me for food, water and the essentials of life. I was diligent about staying away from cigarette smoke, alcohol, chemicals, deli meats, hot dogs... and here I was creating a toxic atmosphere with my own body.

I was still upset that I was so unbelievably sad during the most amazing time of my life- being pregnant. I know that there are a hundred and one things going on in my body and it's normal to feel depressed. But I wanted more than anything for those feelings of despair and emptiness to get the heck out of the way for my true feelings of joy and elation that there was a living being growing inside me.

It was not hard for me to swallow my pride and ask the doctor for help. He prescribed me with a low dose of Zoloft and it has done wonders. I still get into an occasional Darth Pregger mood but I've come to terms that that is just a part of my personality! :-)

I still fear that I will suffer from a severe bout of post-partum depression after my son is born. The thought of hurting him or not wanting to be around him scares me to death. I'm hoping since I've tackled this issue head on that it won't be as much as a struggle for me.

My prayer life has definitely had an extra oomph these last couple of weeks. I refuse to let a spiritual dry spell suck me down, even though it has been a constant struggle. I need God now more than ever.

My days are happier now, even though crushing exaustion sets in every once in awhile, but it just means my body needs rest to develop this precious baby boy! I am so lucky to have such a supportive husband who encourages me in everything I do and makes me feel beautiful (and who lifts me out of my recliner like an old woman!) I am so thankful for my family and friends who love me and take care of me. Most of all I'm thankful for this little miracle inside me who has taught me what love truly is.

Rock Bottom...

33 weeks today

I try and keep it light and funny, and occasionally spunky here at From the Heart. No such luck today... sorry folks.

No wondering Wednesday post today. Actually, if I'm wondering anything, it's when this spiritual dry spell will end. I wouldn't even call it a spiritual dry spell... I feel completely drained of anything spiritual.

I have been so tired lately. I'm sure part of the reason is being so pregnant, but I feel it is much more than that. The other day I was so tired I didn't have enough energy to go brush my teeth. I was so desperate to rid myself of that nasty morning breath/cereal/orange juice taste in my mouth, but I when I would stand up, a wave of exhaustion would crash over me like a tidal wave. All I did was crawl on the couch where my husband was sitting and sob in his lap. There he was, gently holding his pitiful wife who had bad breath, a desperate need to shave her legs and was due to put some deodorant on.

Yesterday was a horrible day. It started out by reading a beautifully written blog post from Femininity Revisited. She wrote that her dreams of being a stay at home mother were literally too late to be fulfilled. The post broke my heart and of course I bawled my little eyes out. I felt so bad for her, but also was afraid that her dilemma could be my fate. As much negative criticism I get for wanting to be a SAHM and have more than 2 kids, I get a lot of positive feedback as well (mostly from you lovely folks in the blogosphere.) "You can do it! Trust God! Budget well! If we can do it, you can do it!" Unfortunately at this point I have this big fear that we won't be able to manage it. Maybe it isn't God's plan for me to stay at home. But I have the strongest pull and desire to be a SAHM. It isn't because it's what other people do or because I'm lazy and don't want to work or because I want to be one of those crazy, smothering mothers who end up having spoiled children. I feel it in my heart.

Yesterday I received some pretty crappy financial news. I'm surprised I didn't bawl on the phone with the lady who delivered this news, but I sure did after I hung up. I crawled into the fetal position and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It wasn't just because of this news- it was a combination of feeling alone and worrying about the future. I literally was crying out to God to help us. (Ryan was at the store. My dog was looking at me with confused eyes.) I was sobbing so hard I started having a panic attack. I could feel the hyperventilating coming on and as I was gasping for breath while tears were streaming in my mouth I remembered that if I wasn't getting oxygen, my baby wasn't getting oxygen. I grabbed my belly and took deep breaths. "I gotta calm down for the baby" was something I repeated over and over again. Miraculously, my panic attack quickly subsided- almost instantaneously, and for those who have been around me when I've had an attack know that it usually takes a long long time to calm me down. It's amazing what one can do for someone they love so much.

I've been meaning to write a post on depression during pregnancy but haven't gotten around to it. But I know the difference between depression and spiritual emptiness. I still love being pregnant. Sure it's getting harder to move around and sleeping at night is practically impossible, but when people keep saying to me, "I bet you're ready for this pregnancy to be over with!" I only agree because I am ready to see my son in person. But I still love looking and rubbing my growing belly. I love feeling the nudges and rolls and the way my stomach moves when he's doing the rumba in there. I love pressing down on the hard parts of my belly (maybe a foot? or his head?) and knowing that I'm just a couple inches away from touching my child. I know I am tired because of this growing baby (he's over 17 inches long now!) and maybe that is causing this spiritual dry spell. I feel like I'm in a very deep pit. I look up and see God way up there, out of the pit. I know he's there. I know I can get to him. I just have no mental or physical energy to use the ladder right next to me to climb out of the pit.

I know God doesn't get annoyed, but if he did, he sure would be annoyed with me. Last night while praying I said, "I'm sure I'm driving you nuts, Lord. When I need you the most I run to you and cling to you. But when things are going OK, I put you on the back-burner." I think I'm going to start a novena or dig through my book shelf to find my In Conversation with God devotional. I have no energy to do so, but I will power through.

No Quick Takes

No Quick Takes this week, folks. The purpose of Quick Takes is to piece together little tidbits that don't equal up to a full blog post. But I don't have enough tidbits to even make up 7 quick takes.

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Not spiritually (thank goodness) but just a depressed/irritable funk. I'm sure I can chalk it up to pregnancy hormones, but it is still a pain in the bum. I've been stressed about so many little things- like facebook statuses that I take personally, my neighbors pounding up and down the stairs and annoying the living crap out of me, not having a washer and dryer- just stupid stuff, really.

Then there's the big stuff. This whole health care bill has weighed very heavily on my heart. People fighting each other over it (here comes my Pollyanna view of the world...), family and friends divided... it just makes me sad. Then there are finances... I'm just so afraid that finances will block our way of having the family that God wants us to have. Then there's the fact that I want to get out of this town and on to a good (hopefully Catholic) community... and where we don't have to drive 25 miles to a good grocery store and entertainment.

I'm also now getting paranoid about our next doctor's appointment this coming Tuesday. Normally appointments are 4 weeks apart, but we decided to wait close to 6 weeks for the next appointment because we're doing some testing. Things feel like they are going perfectly, but I'm still a little worried that when we go to hear the heartbeat it won't be there. I'm sure everything will turn out just fine, but it's just been so long since we've had that visible evidence that all is well.

I've been trying to walk everyday- not only to benefit the baby and myself health-wise, but just to get my happy-feelings a'movin' to the rest of my body.

Sorry this sounds all gloomy and depressing. These feelings just popped out of nowhere just a couple days ago. For the most part I'm grateful for the blessings God has given me and I try SO very hard to shake off these crappy feelings. I know I just need to toughen up and get over it!!!I'm craving Sunday and Mass so I can be with Jesus. Perhaps I should go to daily Mass?

I hope everyone has a fantastic weekend!

Bad Night

Some days are better than others. Isn't that true for all of us? Well it is 3:00 a.m. and I can't sleep. Tonight has been a bad night. I've received some bad news that doesn't directly affect me, yet I'm taking it hard. I've read some silly inside joke on facebook that doesn't have to do with me, yet I still take offense to it. WHY? There's lot of reasons...

To generalize, I will use a quote from Rachel Green from the TV show Friends:

"There's rock bottom, fifty feet of crap, then me."

Before I go on about what is depressing me tonight (which I probably won't get to) and before I go on with posting to my blog I guess I should just put it out there that some people may think I share too much information with the world.

I'm not sure why I had to give a speech at my high school graduation....but I did. I thought long and hard about what to say, and I didn't want to give the usual hokey speech. I decided to put myself out there and talk about my struggles with depression and all the junk that goes with it. I talked about how I overcame my struggles and I correlated my experience with how we can overcome the struggles in our own life after we leave our safe little town and go into the Real World. I ran my speech by our principal who thought it was a little "too much." Not appropriate for a high school graduation. But thankfully one of my class sponsors thought it would be fine to speak about and encouraged me to deliver the speech. So I did. Perhaps some people thought it was inappropriate, but after graduation was all over and the festivities were done, I had two people come up to me thanking me for the speech since they had gone through the same thing. For the first time they didn't feel alone regarding their depression. If these were the only 2 people that appreciated my honesty and the rest of the crowd hated the speech, I am 110% glad I gave it.

Why did I get so personal? To have people feel sorry for me? To gain attention? NO, I did it because I wanted to give words of encouragement, of hope, words of how family and friends and the people around you can shape and literally save your life. The best way to get this message across was to relate my own experience.

Lately I have had another heartbreaking experience. I had a miscarriage. Worst pain of my entire life. I shared this information on facebook. I know quite a few people were quite upset by this. I see their point. But I'm so glad I did, because a number of girls personally messaged me saying they had gone through the same thing. I felt so alone before since I knew no one my age who had gone though this terrible ordeal. They gave me comfort, hope and advice. The rest of my friends and family graciously let Ryan and I know that we were in their thoughts and prayers....which is what we were needing.

I will say it again: Why did I get so personal? To have people feel sorry for me? To gain attention? NO, I did it in a frenzy of despair and sadness, and Ryan and I knew that our good news had slowly leaked to others that we hadn't planned on telling for awhile. I could not have been able to handle it if someone came up to me saying, "So how are you doing? How's the baby growing?"

Someday I will post about my miscarriage. Someday I'll post about how my day was so crappy that I pigged out on a whole bag of those miniature Reece's Peanut Butter Cups. Someday I'll post about how I can't stop crying.

So please, bare with me. Please don't think I'm an attention-whore. This is how I express myself. I wish I could be like those who take their struggles silently and privately. You have NO idea.

Even though I haven't really discussed the things that have upset me tonight I wanted to write this as my WARNING BLOG. There will probably be blogs where I will probably get personal, sappy and full of emotion. Not everyday.

But some days are better than others.