Why I Believe in Early Pregnancy Announcements

I've been peeing on sticks like a crazy lady, and I finally got the two pink lines last weekend. I know what you are thinking- why are you sharing this pregnancy this early? Why would you announce a pregnancy that isn't past the first trimester, the first twelve weeks, I mean- at least wait until the ultrasound. I know the risks of announcing our bundle of joy this early- there is the chance that something could happen and I'd have to share my grief with the world. But, let's get real here- that's what I do. I believe in sharing my story, sharing it wholeheartedly, and being vulnerable. That's how I do life- so wouldn't that be how I do pregnancy?

We are early- possibly very very early. According to my estimates, I should be around 4-8 weeks. When I went to my PCM on Monday, they only did the simple pee test, so I have no clue how my hormones are going or exactly how far along I am. But- between the positive tests, nausea, constant peeing, fatigue, this weird stretching stuff- I feel confident that we are indeed brewing a baby- even if it is early. Morning sickness (or all day sickness, as we refer to it around here) has been in full force, and looking back, it's been around for at least two weeks.

At first, we held back. We told our parents and our siblings. We swore them to secrecy because "it was early" and anything could happen. But then, I began to feel deeply convicted that I needed to share about this baby, our baby- because it is exactly that- a baby. I mean, I claim to be "ProLife" and feel that the things that Planned Parenthood and abortion clinics are terrible, heinous acts because- "it" isn't just a blob of tissue- "it" is a baby. Yet, I hesitate to announce my own pregnancy to the world, because its "not quite enough of a baby yet". I decided in that moment that I was not going to spend my pregnancy in fear. For, God did not give me a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7), and I do not want to make decisions out of fear. I am going to celebrate each moment, each hour, each day, each month, each year that I can with this precious child. Even if God only blesses me with him for a small time, I am going to rejoice in that small amount of time that I get to spend carrying this child. I believe that for all of eternity- I am going to be a mama to this baby. I will always carry this child in my heart- why can I not share him with the world?

1. I believe that life begins at the nanosecond of conception. As the cells multiply, my baby is growing and forming- but it has been a baby all along. A baby is a life, even when it is the size of a poppyseed or a pea. I will honor this life that God has blessed me with by celebrating it each and every step of the way. I believe that God already has given this baby a purpose in its very small life- part of that has been to bring me and T great joy! I want it to be said that from the very beginning, my child's life was worth celebrating.
2. Why should we wait to announce the pregnancy? If I truly believe that this baby is a baby, then why am I buying into the lie that the world tells me that it isn't a life until 12 weeks or 20 weeks?
3. We are so excited and want to share our joy with others. I feel like I have been waiting so so long to be able to be a mama- since I was a wee little girl. We also want to share with others so that they can join us in beginning to pray for this precious life, and the life of our little family. Pray for the baby grow and grow and grow! Pray for the morning sickness. Pray for our family as we prepare to move to a new base that is nine hours away in a few weeks. Pray for T as he deals with my hormones and my complaining. :)

While we are choosing to announce early, I do believe that it is a personal decision. There is no judgement on my part if you choose to wait until the end of the first trimester. Whether you announce at 4 weeks, 12 weeks, 20 weeks, or some other time- it is all about what YOU choose and how God leads you. As for us, I'm a terrible secret keeper combined with my adamant ProLife feelings, so we chose to announce early. I also knew that I wanted a village surrounding me in prayer, so that we could keep the anxieties down and I could be supported through this transition. We are so excited about the coming months ahead- no matter what God brings our way. Yes, the threat of miscarriage scares me sometimes, but I can rest in the fact that no matter what- I've got a God, a husband, and a village that will love and support me every step of the way.

And if not, he is still GOOD

But even if he doesn't, we want to make it clear to you, Your Majesty, that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up. 

-Daniel 3:18

This verse has been echoing through my mind the last few days. 
There's just so many things that I seem to be waiting for, and sometimes it feels like they are never going to come. It can be really really hard sometimes not to lose it. It can be really really hard sometimes to not give in and blame God. It can be really really hard sometimes to not turn to false idols, to not let my dreams and ideas and plans become these idols. I mean, sure- I'm not worshipping Buddha or Baal- but these things- these good things- can still become idols in my life if I keep building them up and letting them get in between me and God. 

I'm about to get a wee bit personal here- and vulnerable- and I'm a little scared to write what I'm about to write and publish it on the internet. I SO so so don't want to hear lectures about how we aren't ready, or now is not the time, or about how I just need to be patient and give it some time. I know, I know...if I'm overwhelmed with our new puppy- I definitely shouldn't be wanting to add a baby to the mix. So please- I'm asking you- don't offer advice. I just want to sit down with a cup of tea and chat with you guys for a minute and let some thoughts out. Okay? Awesome. With the knowledge that we were going to be making a nine hour move five months after our wedding- T and I started discussing the idea of having a baby. I mean, it started innocent enough. We weren't going to be super-psycho-serious about it- we were just going to let things happen if they happened, if you know what I mean. Well a month later, a day late, and a negative test later- I was devastated. Sure- I "knew" that making babies wasn't that easy. I knew it could take some time. But suddenly- I really really wanted to be pregnant. I really really wanted a baby. Its become a bit of an obsession over the last four months. From ovulation testing, to other things that I'm not going to discuss on a public blog that my father reads (Hi Dad!), to obsessive peeing on a stick- I began to feel very very negative about myself. I mean, surely- if God had put this desire to be a mommy in my heart all of those years ago- wouldn't he make it easy? Why are we not getting pregnant? Why can't a stupid line show up on a test? Why do I feel the need to let the results of a test define my worth and value? I feel like everybody that I know is announcing a pregnancy. No lie- I had three announcements on my Facebook timeline last Saturday. I began to beat myself up internally. I began to believe awful, terrible lies about myself and about God. My innocent longing to be a mommy turned into an anger against God. What horrible thing had I done to deserve this? Does this mean that I'm going to be infertile? What if we can never have a baby? What if it's just me and T and our new puppy forever and ever? I began to fall into the shame spiral. I began to let the darkness engulf me. And--I might have wasted another pregnancy test that I knew was going to be negative because it was way, way, way too early for anything.

No, I don't have a cute little announcement at the end of this post about how the last four months have been insanely terrible but that some magical glitter sparkle baby dust flew into me and decided to form a baby. It hasn't yet. Like months 1, 2, and 3...I'm still waiting. But, when I came across this verse at the beginning of the post, it really made me began to think about how I'm made my ability (or lack thereof) to bear a child into an idol. Even if we don't get a positive this month- HE is still GOOD. Even if we don't get a positive this year- HE is still GOOD. Even if we never ever ever get a positive pregnancy test or are able to carry a child- HE IS STILL GOOD. I don't have to turn to false gods, I don't have to curse the name of God, I don't have to say that he is an evil evil god because he won't give me a child to carry in my womb. I can know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to HIS purpose. I can know that God DOES have a plan for my life, and T's life, and our life together- and if it is his will, he can make any kind of miraculous act occur. Patience. Patience. Waiting. Waiting. This really really stinks. But, in the middle of the mess, I know that even if my plans don't come to fruition, even if it takes a long time, or never happens- he is still good and I will worship Him.

PCSing with an Anxiety Disorder: PreMoving Tips

Part of being married to the military means that every two or three years, our lives will drastically change and we will take part in what is called a PCS, or Permanent Change of Station. I go back and forth on a daily (maybe even hourly) basis on how I feel about this issue. T and I will be PCSing this August to Ohio- a place nine hours away, that until a week ago I had never been. As the date of our departure inched closer and closer, my anxiety went up and up and up. I mean, I already have a diagnosed anxiety disorder. I already have attachment and separation anxiety issues. I already have gone through a massive life change this year (getting married). AND NOW THIS? It's enough to cause a girl to lapse or relapse in recovery, it's enough to cause various different health issues due to stress/anxiety, and it's enough for me to want to just spend my days in bed, in bed, with the lights off, pretending that none of this is really happening. But, in recent weeks, T and I have made some conscious choices to try and make this move a little easier- hey, PCSing with a dependent is something that he's never done either. I thought that today might be a good day to share some of the steps that we've been taking to make this transition go more smoothly.

1. Operation Find A Home: T took permissive TDY so that we could spend 10 days in Ohio searching for a place to live, exploring the city, and getting oriented with our new base. Honestly, I don't know how people do a PCS and wait until they get into town to find a home. That's a super important thing to me, as my home is my "safe place", the place I can retreat to when I feel overwhelmed. The idea of living in an extended stay hotel or on-base lodging for weeks didn't appeal to me or my anxiety. Luckily, I can report that after only a few apartment tours, we found a place to live. Yes, we wanted a house, but we couldn't find one in the area we were looking in for a price comparable to our BAH (basic allowance for housing)- everything was too expensive, if we were looking for something comparable to where we live now. For 18 months while we are at AFIT, I think we can handle the tiny spaces of a two bedroom apartment. We can make it work. Finding a home took a major stressor off of my shoulders.
2. Therapy Plans and Continuation of Care: I'm special. Since I see a therapist and a psychiatrist for mental health issues (i.e. anxiety), I am enrolled in the Exceptional Family Member Program (EFMP for short). Basically, this is just to ensure that the Air Force does not send us somewhere where I cannot receive adequate care. This has been a bit of a learning curve though- most resources out there for the EFMP program are for children with special needs or adults with severe special needs. There isn't much out there for "the girl that's just trying to get a therapy session before January". It doesn't help that we are changing Tricare regions, so I can't get ANY referrals until we actually move up to Ohio and I get reenrolled in the program up North. I've spent hours on the phone with various people (both at our losing and gaining bases) trying to get this figured out. As it is, I normally see a therapist every 1-2 weeks. The idea of going months without therapy is scary. I called both EFMP programs, both Tricares...and nobody had any answers for me except to wait it out. Well, I don't like taking no for an answer, so I kept calling various different places. I finally decided to call up the on-base mental health clinic and ask them what to do...and they figured out a way that since I'm technically in their system due to EFMP (they approved the move), they could bend some things around and I now have an appointment about a week after we move to see a psychologist. Hopefully, from there we can figure out a treatment plan so that I can ensure that I have a provider that will meet my needs and so that maybe I don't have to wait until January to see a psychiatrist to get meds either. Lesson of the day: Keep calling, don't take no for an answer, and if you ask super nicely- sometimes people can make things magically work. :)
3. Lists, Lists, and More Lists: I'm a to-do list person. On my desk, beside my computer, I currently have three pages, front and back of lists and phone numbers, and to-dos. I feel so much less stressed about everything that I have to get done when I have a place that says exactly what I have to get done. The goal isn't to get everything done on these lists today- just sometime before midAugust. :) Progress, not perfection. I do have a couple "dailies" that I'm trying to find a place to fit in my schedule each day- read a chapter of a book, yoga, and journal. This is for my personal sanity and stress relief, not necessarily to get anything done for the move.
4. Cook What You Have: We are currently playing a game called "what can we cook with what is in the fridge, freezer, and pantry?". It means we've had some adventurous meals (I made meatloaf the other night!), but it also means that we will use what we have up, save on grocery bills, and since the moving company won't move our food- it means we won't have to throw it away! Some of the things on our list for the next week or so include: burrito bowls, chicken with whole wheat pasta, chicken stirfry, Hamburger Helper, chicken and rice casserole, and english muffin pizzas! I'm also trying to use up our muffin mix stash that I have by baking muffins for us to grab for breakfast. Our main thing to use up is the meat that we have stored in the freezer- chicken is easy enough for me to cook with, but ground beef is hard for me to come up with ideas for. I mean...tacos...and tacos....and...I don't know. Leave ideas of yummy ground beef recipes in the comments below! :)
5. Capsule Closet: I've been reading online about this concept called a capsule closet for eons. While I was drawn to the idea, I always thought that I had too many different clothes, too many different styles to make it work. But, since changing sizes (yay recovery!), I've cleaned out and simplified my closet and dresser quite a bit. Since we are PCSing soon, I decided to go ahead and pack up most of my clothes (fall/winter and dressier items--all things that I will wear again and that do fit) and try this whole capsule closet thing out for the next month before we move, and for the time after we move until we get unpacked. Who knows...maybe I'll love it and stick with it. For now, it means less clothes and less laundry, so I'm all for that. Look for a post on this project in the coming days..I just have to find a time to write it. :) This whole capsule closet gives me so much less to be anxious about- getting started packing, simplifying, having clothes that fit and that I truly love, and less laundry! I hate laundry. T hates laundry. Thus, we have fifty-bazillion stacks around the house of clean and dirty clothes. 

So, that's what I'm doing to prep my brain for our upcoming move. Honestly, I think most of these tips could be useful for any move, or even just everyday life (hello, capsule closet). Now, it's time to get started on dinner- burrito bowls/tacos tonight. I think I'm going to have to run to the store and grab some Mexican cheese...I feel like my husband wouldn't think tacos were tacos without taco cheese. 

10 Months Sober, or Wearing the Scarlet Letter

Ten months sober, I must admit- just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it.
Ten months older, I won't give in- now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it.
- Taylor Swift, "Clean" 

A year ago, I was another girl. A year ago, I was a completely different person. I was a depressed, miserable, mentally unstable, skeletal, shadow of myself. A year ago, I wrote the following in my journal:

Running. I am running hard and fast into the cold, hard ground. My face is slamming against the pavement. I am so frustrated. Here I am, sitting at twenty three years old, a college degree under my belt, and I’m unemployed and will most likely be underemployed for my entire life. My light is going dim. I am so depressed right now. My motivation is lacking. I find it hard to conceive complete sentences and coherent thoughts. The days run into each other like a freight train flying fast down the tracks. I am frustrated. This is not how I imagined my life to be. I always imagined I’d be happy. I’d be either employed or married with children. I always imagined my life to be so much different than this. It does not seem fair that mental illness has stolen so much from me.

I wish I could say that things got better in August. They didn't. The descent into darkness was not as a slow, seeping drop of syrup, dripping down the bottle. No, the decent was a spiral of doom, a black hole, a tornadic even with enough force to hold me in, so that even though my nose was against the glass and I could see what was outside...I could not escape. August turned into September, and the storm seemed to get darker and darker, stronger and stronger. That's where this post really begins.

Ten months ago, shit hit the fan. Pardon my language, but there is no other way that I can think of to adequately describe it. I had told my therapist that I was self harming, but nobody really knew the point it had reached. At a doctor's appointment, wounds were discovered, people freaked out, and my mom and dietitian were called- something had to be done. I was to be shipped off to rehab again- in hopes that this time would be the time that everything magically got better. I remember sitting with my mom and her crying and begging me to "please make this work" that it was "rehab or the psych ward" and that "we could lose everything". Honestly, in the darkness of that long night of waiting, I just wanted to die. But, I knew I had to fight this- I didn't want to cause any more pain to my family than I already had. So, I agreed to not self harm until I got to treatment. This was huge. At this point, it had been almost two years since I'd gone more than a day or two without harming. It was incredibly frustrating. I just wanted to feel something. I wanted to numb all of these emotions within the confines of my brain and quiet the noise for five minutes. But, I lasted until the Sunday that I admitted to treatment, if only because of the threat of locking me up in a psych ward. And then treatment went south, and I begged my parents to just let me come home. It was a terrible, awful feeling. On the phone, I made all sorts of agreements- agreements to eat, to not purge, to not harm myself, to be better. Honestly, I didn't believe myself as I agreed to most of the conditions for me returning home. I just didn't think it was possible. But, I was desperate to do anything to get out of that place and return home- I would agree to anything. When I got home, everything from before changed. Yes, a part of me still wanted to die. A part of me still wanted to continue the slow painful suicidal actions of before. The day I left treatment was September 17, 2014.

I met T on September 27, 2014- honestly, it was probably not the wisest decision I've ever made. My therapist was begging me to get off of online dating. My parents were not terribly happy with it. It was honestly just another one of those bipolar/borderline "let me feel something" spells- until I met T. Things didn't change overnight, but they did change quickly. I suddenly had a reason for living, a reason for fighting. So the "no self harm" thing continued. Eventually, by the grace of God and the love of my wonderful husband, I was able to quit purging. As I look back to my life a year ago, I realize just how different things are, and it amazes me that God could take the brokenness of my life a year ago and change it into something this beautiful. As T and I were driving to therapy today, the song at the beginning of this post began to play. Since the CD was released, I loved "Clean". I loved the words. And I loved the truth and vulnerability contained in the line "Ten months sober, I must admit- just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it." There is so much truth in that statement. There are some days that I miss my old destructive coping mechanisms. They sneak into my brain and they taunt me- telling me terrible, horrible lies. As I sat in the car today, I realized that it's been TEN MONTHS since I last self harmed. Ten months since I picked up a sharp object with the intent of harming myself, in the name of "feeling something". I'm really proud of myself for this feat. It's a huge thing. 

Nothing can prepare you for the moment when the person you love discovers your wounds and your scars for the first time. The most horrible, most awful moment in my relationship with T happened when he ran his hand across my leg and found those horrible awful marks, still not completely healed. Having to answer the quiet question of "what happened, honey?" totally gutted me. I felt so teeny tiny at the moment. The first time, I answered something like "I don't really want to talk about it" and he didn't press it. But the next time, he patiently prodded me on to explain this chapter of my story. For the most part, a majority of the scars have faded or blend into my skin. But, there is one section that I fear never will- the section where I carved the word "fat" into my thigh. The scars from these terrible letters haunt me every time I get dressed, every time I see my leg, every time my shorts go up to high, every time I'm lying in bed with my husband and his hand brushes across it. I can't wear a bathing suit without showing the world my scars- literally. They have faded somewhat, but I fear that they will never be completely gone. How will I explain this to my future daughters? 

If you are struggling with self harm, please reach out. There is so much more to life than spending your days and nights punishing yourself. It is not worth it- and please, learn from my mistakes so that you don't have scars of your own someday. I don't want you to have that awful experience of explaining to your husband that there was a time when you used to hurt yourself, when you used to carve terrible awful words into your thigh because you believed that you deserved to carry that scarlet letter. You don't have to carry that scarlet letter. Jesus came down and because a man and walked on this Earth and died on the cross so that you didn't have to bear that scarlet letter. He bears it for you. Please reach for healing today? Please reach out for help? Please know that you are not alone in this darkness- Jesus is standing there with open arms, just waiting to embrace you and love you as you are- as messed up and shitty as you might feel that you are. You are never too broken for Him. He redeems. His job is making broken things beautiful. Don't bear your scarlet letter alone.