The Iliad and The Audacity of Hitting The Ground Limping

My daughter just finished reading the Iliad for homeschooling. Like just about every high school age American youth, she was not a fan.
“Mom, they literally start in the middle of the story. You have no idea what is going on and who all of these people are. There’s no context or background. Why would they make us read this?”
I’m sitting here thinking that maybe I’m a little like Homer? He told legends of gods and men, sometimes retelling from others and, like my daughter points out, the beginning had been lost and cut off.  Except really, he didn’t even know that, did he?  He told stories and others wrote them down afterward.

Goodness, I don’t want to get so busy talking that I never sit down and put the words to a page as I’ve always meant to do.  I decided that I just need to start. It had to be somewhere and it just happened to be this week.  I will add some context over time, but if it’s basically “all Greek to you,” I ask you to just hold on a little while.

Let’s backtrack a bit.

 Sunday I shared a letter about my parents and celebrating 51 years of marriage.
18,629 Days and Counting – A Letter To My Parents

On Monday I dropped you into the middle of my story and basically flashed you with a baring of my soul and view into my spiritual journey.

My Body Was Broken, But My Soul Has Turned The Corner

Then yesterday I walked you around my house, without makeup on.  Obviously, something is going on but you can’t tell what I’m getting into. Even my husband said, “Why in the world did you carry around your laptop instead of your phone, with a better camera?”

Bringing Home The Awkward

(Note: My husband is a super awesome AV consultant who designs AV systems in the millions of dollars, for techie stuff I don’t understand. He was not home when I did this video and definitely facepalmed when he saw it. He won’t be showing it off to his clients, but did laugh and watch it again. While he was appalled, he also may be my newest recruit in finding better equipment. So Awkward wasn’t a total loss, right?)

Today I’m going to give you a little insight into my goals. I know that you want some context, so I’m going to give you what I’m working toward. While details of the health stuff may come out over our time together, as I use it to share what I’ve learned, I know you do not want it all at once in a 5,000,000 word blog post. 

You are welcome.

If you are new to my blog, you should know that I blogged for many years before. I had enough readers to feel absolutely content in my reach and very successful. At one point I started something like a podcast and absolutely LOVED LOVED pouring myself out for people.  It was wonderful. I want to do that again.
I cut it off over two years ago, cold turkey in a need to focus on my family and hold boundaries. What appears right now to be out-of-nowhere is more of a jumping-back-in and not skipping a beat. At this time, the majority of my older writings are private and may be repurposed over time, but there’s a lesson in that I’ll be getting to as well. 
See? You thought vaguebooking was bad, I’m over here vagueblogging… are you still reading this?


Here are the Cliffnotes on my “Why?” of this week’s postings. Maybe it will help:


Some of My Actual Goals FYI:

1. Be active here, on my blog, because I’ve avoided it like that friend you totally dropped while busy and now your ghosting because you know it’s your own fault. I didn’t mean to!
2. Finish one of the three books that I have sitting on my hard drive (one is close!) because I want them out there for you to read. 
3. Start awkward conversations in a podcast/vlog that will get us all thinking, challenging each other, and claiming the margins on the pages of our own history, even if you need copious amounts of footnotes as I do.

I don’t want an awkward story like the Iliad, but that is what I’ve been given. I want the audacity of admitting I’m a nobody with only a few minutes here and there, but the determination of sharing that with others.

I’m inviting you into my margins!  This is as close to an Iliad as I’ll ever get.
I believe I have important things for you to hear, and I know that God’s told me to do it. That’s it. It may take a while for this to roll smoothly. 
Please consider these random spurts as a sort of jump-start to a dead battery that still has some juice, or maybe it’s more of an awkward side-hug from that friend who you just haven’t seen or heard from in years.  Yeah, awkward, but man we used to share so much together!!
Let’s get right back to THAT!!

Also, have you LIKED me on Facebook yet? Please?
Followed on Instagram?

Give me two weeks. I have a point. I do. It’s just coming out with a limp instead of hitting the ground running.

My next step?
Another awkward video from the porch! It will be on my cell phone because my husband and teenagers are probably right about it being better quality.  And safer to walk around with, I suppose.  


Real Question:
Does anyone know how to actually use MailChimp? Apparently, I’m not really good at that either, but lots of people are signing up and you should, too!

Still Learning to Be Still

Special needs momming is a full time job, and the business model is super complicated.  I spent Tuesday at the psychologist with Ruckus, working on a round of updated evaluations. Wednesday I was in Atlanta again, from dawn to dusk for Mozart’s day with his health team. It was planned and well prepared for. The other four children had their needs well met in my absence.

Yet my little Cricket, whose sensitive heart struggles with anxiety and trust after losing his first family, woke today with a deep need for constant connection with me. And by that, I mean I spent my morning as a piece of furniture.

We spent much time snuggling, and watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood on Amazon Prime.

I set aside my mental to-do list to let him have his time, and be present.  That’s a hard thing to do when tasks snowball and the weekend is coming with no free time to squeeze the laundry into.
I help him. We colored, snuggled, watched Mr. Rogers and Highway to Heaven, both in one day!! His joy was immense, and I loved it!

Still, that  epic battle of “to Martha or to Mary” battled in the back of my head.
Because I still can’t get the knack of  how to be still and know.

 

We have the opportunity for love and therapy with many animals. Cricket and I took advantage of a few minutes with a horse today.

Now it’s after his bedtime. I have that mile long to-do list and a decision to make. 

Be.
Still.
Know.

How much I know depends on the day and a thousand variables reliant on the actions and choices of several other people, both in and outside of my home and family.

What I KNOW is that this is complicated.

There are the days that my inner Martha spits the words back. Be STILL? When? How? Have you not seen? Even my to-do list has it’s OWN to-do lists.  Have you not heard? There are people calling Mama in rapid succession from 5 different directions. How then, do I fit in being still?

Yet there are the times that a Mary spirit wells up within me. I kick off my shoes to ground myself on the earth He’s given and I throw agenda to the side, to watch children fly away with their imaginations and meld into the wonder of the life around me. We breath in fresh air and run in fields. We know how to BE.

I can never decide if this verse is meant to be a deep call to intimacy with my Maker, or a chastising of my flesh for being so easily consumed by what I have to do, seeing that I really do HAVE to do a huge amount of doing!

If asked, I could never decide who it’s for, my Martha or Mary, and I have finally decided it comes down to the day I’m having, every day.

And this is why.

We, the lovers of Christ, have a habit of remembering verses in small tidbits.  We like small bites because then we can say that we ate today.
I’m learning to take the time to look them up and enjoy the pages of my Bible in fuller context.
Decision made. Those words have run through my head all day. Be. Still. Know.
I’m looking up the chapter.

Ladies…. this “be still and know” one is nestled smack in the middle of Psalm 46, and the rest of it is FULL of context that we all need.

Just look for yourself (below)! That little verse that has vexed me is so much better when I stand back and see it as part of this full work God inspired.

He is ever-present.
God is within her, she will not fall.
He makes wars cease.

He writes of refuge and fortresses, I think of hiding in the laundry room, folding, but also of blanket forts and reading nooks.  The word mountain always conjures up laundry to me, however the streams and rivers call to mind his great wisdom in creating the coffee and the constant flow here in my kitchen.  And also, chocolate.  He lifts is voice? Did someone turn on The Fish radio station again?

The last two years I’ve been mostly gone from the internet publicly. My family needed safety and seclusion (for details on that, read THIS PREFACE and sign up for the list. So while, I can joke about the mom thoughts and snark this chapter brings up, my heart hears the promises it holds. Promise of protection and God’s faithfulness. We have been cocooned in tightly. Now it’s time to spread wings again.

After all this time, I know. It’s for all the days. Every one of them whether I feel the depth of stillness welling within my soul, or I’m grappling with stilling my struggle with self.

It’s there, every day.
He has us.
He is with us, we will not fall.
The least I can do is listen.
I can BE.
I can STILL.
I can KNOW.

It’s more than the verse.
He gives us whole chapters, my friends.

Psalm 46

1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
5 God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

7 The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

8 Come and see what the Lord has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields[d] with fire.
10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”

11 The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

 

 

ModUp Monday: There Is Hope For The Hopeless…I Mean This Dress (ReFashion)

I heard you. You thought this dress was beyond hope. You wondered if I had hit the point of no return and a guaranteed fail on this one.

Thanks for that extra motivation. I needed it for this one. Continue reading “ModUp Monday: There Is Hope For The Hopeless…I Mean This Dress (ReFashion)”

Losing Your *IT* vs. Saving Grace (5 Things I’ve learned through 7 years of Poop)

 

Last week was one of those. A week that sapped us of sleep, and strength. Of two cars with issues that drained the bank,  just like they did last month.  Of many things broken in this house.

My mug, known by all as an extension of my arm and used every day.

My mug, known by all as an extension of my arm and used every day.

My favorite cofffee mug, used 50x a day.

My mug, this week.  Followed by my favorite tea cup and my grandmother’s porcelain ash tray. All in a week.

I sighed, I felt disappointment… deeply struggled with the inner beast… but no children were broken and that is something, if you consider how close I was to edge of my walk in grace.  That fine line where the sidewalk ends in this walk with my Guide. Sometimes, he’s just gonna have to carry me, because I can’t take a step.

 

I teetered on the edge for a minute there, but I took a deep breath. I’ve been here before more times than I could ever recall enough detail to relate to you. It’s that often.   I can scream with the best of them. I can stomp and slam doors and rage to high heaven.  I have, and sometimes I do, but I’m finding that it’s not as often anymore and that this grace that is said to be sufficient… it actually is if you let it be.  I wonder how I got to the place where suddenly I’m choosing grace over rage more often than not. Especially when current circumstances would predict otherwise, based on past experiences and outbursts from my inner godzilla.
I suppose it could be a phase. It could be my constant expose to the need for it, and the scarred knees from falling over and getting back up, over, and over, and over, and…
I think, like many of my other blog posts will tell you, God likes to teach me how not to lose my **IT** by giving me many opportunities.  Hundreds of them. Could it be that I’m finally getting the message?
IMG_1741 copy

Here are a few things I’ve learned in my battle between choosing a saving of  Grace or a losing of **IT**.

 

1. WHEN I RAGE AGAINST THE GRACE. The rage does not heal and it does not put back together my pieces of broken things…the mug I love and the heirloom that I never used anyway. It was beautiful and special, but what need to I REALLY have for my grandmother’s ash tray?  No, crossing the line won’t bring the things back. Any of the things. It simply breaks and bends more things around me, and the next in line tends to be my children.

2.  BE PREPARED, IT WILL KEEP HAPPENING. I, alone, choose my focus, to be aware of where I am and who I am to them.  To accept the truth that it is not a question of IF I will ever be on the edge of losing it again, but WHEN.  We have to stop crossing our fingers and hoping for days where we are not tested. Let’s simply agree to accept as fact that we will be. We should even PREDICT that today we will be, and the real question is which way we will step. After it all, I know what happens when I cross over from this field of grace to the release of anger. The grass is not greener on the other side.  Sure, there is some bizarre feeling of release in that short moment of Losing **IT** that I can try to convince myself feels “good” to let go of.  It’s not good. It creates a wasteland in tiny hearts around me.  Angry, selfish parenting…making our children’s mistakes and struggles about US and our day is self-centered and excludes their needs. This is THEIR day, too. I do not own it.

3.  I CAN’T CHOOSE THEIR OUTCOME.  My kids are individuals, who also choose their own opinion and response to my behavior.  I can not guarantee that they will not reach adulthood feeling cracked and warped from being in our care.  I do not choose to parent with Grace in hopes of creating perfectly behaved little people and adults that will give me a great reputation. I do it to give them an example of giving in, of choosing grace even when you don’t want to.  Their perception of their childhood is their own and I can’t control how they process our moments together, the good or the bad.  Many a child has felt wounds from parents who struggled to be their best but all are human and all fail.   I can’t choose their reaction to us. That is theirs. I just want to be by their side in their life, which is where God has put me.  Just what I asked for!!!  And how I treat them will dictate how these children will trust me and want me beside them in the future, when it become THIER choice to call me…or not.  Their future decisions about me start with how I care for them now.  Their future decisions on when to run to grace and when to lose their own **IT** will conjure up memories of a mom. What do I want them to remember?

4. I CAN’T CHOSE CIRCUMSTANCES, BUT MY RESPONSE IS MY CHOICE. And that’s good because some of our current circumstances are much less than I had hoped.  I still have my choice. I choose my actions, right now. I can refuse to cross over when I know I’m there at the edge of control, the steam rising before my eyes.  When I have that split second of awareness, that moment of saving grace or losing my **IT**.   A still small voice says “breathe”, but do I want to stomp my foot and scream “No!”?  That point of no return where I either “Hulk” their mom before their eyes and turn green in the face, or fall back onto grace that will save me from myself and what that ability to rage inside me is capable of.  Dear God, why did you have to make it so easy to go green? Moms would be so much better with your kids if you made us a little more Stepford.  Just kidding. Thank you SO MUCH for not making me a Stepford!

5. I AM NOT THE **IT**, IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME. Last week wore on more than just me.  Each day had it’s something for him.  Husband flew away and flew back. Locked keys in the car and had to walk miles.  He worked late every night except for the night that his car gave us fits and I had to drive across town to get him. That was his only “early” night at 9:30pm.  Then the weekend came with no rest but  side jobs to fill in for those ends that aren’t meeting at the end of this month. Then the man had hours upon hours of working on the cars and fixing his wife’s laptop so that she can write and share our the innermost whatever of our lives. This man is amazing. How did he happen to me? He wears shoes like this to work on the cars. I find myself in a lack of content because I haven’t got the color I want my shoes to be. Dumb woman. I want my eyes open. I’m only alone in this when I close them to these things.

He spent hours in these this weekend.
And after all of that, a week filled with so much struggle, it was also the most filled with grace and a surrounding of prayer and precious moments with children.  I was filled with utter shock, to be honest, and then joy at how often I found myself turning away from the edge of hysteria and losing of **IT**.  I did it! I found it!  I may not always, but I feel strength for tomorrow from what I accomplished in my heart last week. Looking back, I wonder, did I really make it through without one outburst?
I’ll take it, but I’m not applying for any awards ceremonies.  Because that was just one week. Now there’s this one and I’m not one to take bets on the future.  Just taking each day as it comes, thank you very much.

This morning, things were sailing along smoothly, for a Monday.  All were fed and dressed with bags packed and lunches made for our two out-of-home-schoolers.  The homeschoolers were ready to begin. It’s a new week and the last one is behind me. Then after we settle in,  husband walks back in the front door with the 7 year old.  Ladies, toddlers aren’t the only ones who wait until the last minute to go in their diaper and make you late.  For those of us who are still in this diaper business with older kids….**IT** still happens. So, there I stood once again. He will be late for school, again. So will his sister.  Because of a load of **IT**.  And I’m not feeling the extreme edge of anger that I could, but I know this is another of those crossover moments.  Mondays are already hard days, do we really have to start with **IT**? Yes, apparently we do and I don’t get a choice about that. **IT** already happened.

4.1.1

My choice now is in how I respond. So I walk my big boy to the bathroom trying to convince him that he DID go, but he doesn’t believe me because he doesn’t feel it or smell it. He doesn’t understand. We go through the routine, again.  And I know my words, my expression and my choices will affect how this guy feels about himself as time marches on and he is still in diapers in a year… maybe even two. Third grade? Fourth? He’s the one who has to process this. I’m helping HIM.  I can’t feel sorry for myself to still be dealing with diapers. This is not about me.

And he’s off to school. All taken care of.  Not yelled at or shamed..whew.  I made it through another change.

I’ve washed my hands 8 times. I still smell like **IT**.  Now I don’t want to drink my coffee. Gets my hands too close to my face and ruins it all for me.  Sigh…

I remember complaining when he was 4, unaware that the issue was not stubbornness or laziness. I did thinks like the Extreme Potty Training Makeover.   Why would this kid not potty train!?!?  Now, as he nears the age of 8, and we understand what he faces ( Read: A Boy And His Poop, Getting To Know Asperger Syndrome)  I have to tell you. I am thankful for his issue with  **IT**. Every time I change him is another chance to exercise my soul.  Will I go for saving grace or for losing **IT**.
And here’s the deal. God is so into hilarity. He absolutely knows my sense of humor well and my love for a bit of irony. He has quite literally  used almost 8 years of actual feces to teach me how to not to lose my **IT**.  You’ve gotta admit it.  That is pretty much awesome.  (Want more hilarity? Read: A Pathetic Tale of Miserable Hilarity, And The Quest For A Shower)

So for those of you who have asked “How I do it”, who seem to think that I have something you don’t, be aware that I spent my time Waiting For Supermom. She doesn’t exist.  I, of all people, will never reach a stake of being some kinda Mama Yoda.   And let us not forget, Yoda was 900 years old!!! That’s way more practice than  any of us will ever have.  And there’s something else to consider…..
304314_419493788098527_206165850_n

Notice, you never see them together,  just like Miley  Crunkis and Justin Blueberry…   There may be something to this Yoda vs. Hulk thing.  Saving Grace vs. Losing our **IT**.

I think the answer is in finding the grace that is IT, because it  IS always available. The question is not whether grace exists in our moments of  struggle with **IT**.  His grace is present in ALL of the moments.

The ones leading up to **IT**.

The moment **IT** happens.

The second we choose whether Saving or Losing…. Grace or **IT**.

And ultimately, the grace is still there….. even if you chose to lose your **IT** this time.

It’s there. Always.  You have to choose to know it, see it,  grasp it, cling to it and don’t let go. I pray that it won’t take YOU almost 8 years of daily **IT**… but if that is what it will take, I’m gonna have to pray that you be blessed with lots of **IT**.

Now, while you try to process all of that…. I’m going to go wash my hands again. I really thought I had it gone that last time.  But then, I always do and there’s always more…. Thankful for more…again.

Hello, My Name Is…

How do I start…

No, how do I pick back up. What do I pick back up?

That’s the problem with juggling hats, you see. I have so many and I love them all.  I hold them close, I spin them in the air. I store them in the closet.  And sometimes, I crush them because hats do crush so easily, after all.

Woman, wife, mama,  homeschooler, friend, designer,  crunchy, fancy, creative, maker, baker, picture taker, writer, artist, trainer, teacher, chauffeur, birth doulam volunteer, problem solver, coach,  foster mom, bio mom, adoptive mom, cheerleader, realist, dreamer….

IMG_7087

I don’t know which one to wear for you you. What comes first? What do I put up in the closet for next season?  Actually, why am I wearing a hat when I hate the way things feel on my head?

All that.
Running through my head.
For months now. Years, actually.
Stepping out in a funky hat takes some serious chutzpah.
Audacity.
How long does dauntless take, to become a habit?

Over the years I have had six different blogs. They have all been topic specific and  I have never just blogged as me, with my name.  As open and honest as I have always been, putting my name out there was something different. I orten did it anonymously or with a pen name.
She was braver than I, always.

It has taken until now to give myself permission to embolden from the ground up.  Let me tell you why.

I have blogged off and on for several years. Behind a keyboard pouring out my heart,  vulnerable to the point of flooding my face with tears and snot, only to panic and take it back frantically making those juicy tell-all posts private.

I’ve bared my soul, my history, and my body image. Then made it anonymous because it hurts. 

It hurts to have women and moms tell me that I inspire them,  and then have the someone I see day-to-day scoff and tell me I’m ridiculous. It’s that one that gets me, stabs and slays me, no matter if a dozen thank me. Why am I so weak?

It gets tiring to be the elephant in the room, especially when you’re the one willing to unpack your trunk. Haha…trunk. See what I did there?

The more I mull it over, the less likely I am to ever do this. So,  I’m gonna be real here and just…start typing.

But it’s ok. I’m ready.

I am not going to do fear and loathing anymore. I just won’t. I’m not going to make excuses for how people feel and worry if I am just “too much” for them. They did not even ask me to. I put that on myself.

I’m going to hash out a few things right now, before I start the baby-steps-back-into-blogging. I’ve been holding off on letting this out, trying to decide which way to go, what route to write…

I’m going to start with answering how I feel about me, before I put me in front of you on a silver platter to pick apart and mull over…in case anyone cares to do that picking business.

“You’re too intense.”

I am thankful for my God given intensity. I’m sorry if it stuns you and makes you uncomfortable. Nine times out of ten I’m thanked for being encouraging and challenging growth in someone. I refuse to take that one outlying opinion and mull it over in my head for days as a failure anymore. I’m not going to spend so much time if I have been wrong all along, over one opinion.  It’s ok. You’re allowed to read someone else’s blog. From now on, I’m me. All of me.Take me or leave me. Really… you are welcome to leave before this gets real. And I am not kidding here. Please. Feel free to read someone else’s blog.

“You’re too passionate.”

I am blessed by the gift of passion. Once in a small group we were supposed to go around the room and say what we are passionate about. I wasn’t sure. The minute I said that out loud someone piped in,
“You are passionate about parenting and family!”  
“You are passionate about supporting women!”
“You are passionate about sewing and clothes!”
“You are passionate about cooking!
“You are passionate about homeschooling and DIY stuff!”
Let’s just call it, y’all. It’s not that I have one thing. It’s everything.
I. Am. Passionate.  
There ya go.

Passion for my family. I am blown away by my husband and children and aim for growth in every day we have together. I’ve blogged about parenting  and love sharing that part of my heart. I do that because we all can do it better, not because I think that *I* do it better. I want to share that walk with you and with all the parents swimming through the sea of controversy in parenting. Staying above water is a struggle and we are constantly hit by tidal waves.
I do not share about parenting because I am bitter. It is because I am learning, and I love to learn! My mama taught me that. I do not challenge parenting standards because my parents were horrible. I parent differently than them. I absolutely do, unashamedly. When I blog about it, it has the potential to hurt feelings. They have told me so, and I absolutely understand why it would be uncomfortable. I feel confident enough to discover new ways because they taught me to. I owe that to my parents for homeschooling me and teaching me to teach myself. They are as amazing as they are imperfect, which is where the beauty lies. By that they have taught me that I can be equally imperfect and amazing, in being me.

Passion for the beauty of a woman’s body and its beauty in style,  in pregnancy and in birth.
Over the years I have had the great job of encouraging and supporting women to have a birth surrendered to truth. Truth is different for each birth. But don’t act like I’m a werewolf at a babyshower. Please. I’m ok with you loving your birth, however it was. Be ok with me encouraging others toward something that may be different. I’ve seen about 250 of them over six years. If there is one thing I know, her birth is not about YOU, and it’s not about ME. So… let me speak.
And then there’s my whole modesty mantra. Look… I’m basically a modest nudist. I like to be naked. But my spirit won’t let me. God won’t let me, ya know? I follow that still small voice that tells me what to wear. I’m going to tell you about it, and why I will champion the cause of modesty, yet dress as a “Modesto Incognito”.

Passion is a powerful part of my faith. Passion has lead me to places from which fear would have kept me. Passion left me dissatisfied with a mediocre faith based on popular Christianity and drove me to stand firm in searching for the Truth and the Light. It brought me to somewhere I never, never expected… The Catholic Church.

What?!?!? Did she just say Catholic?
She did. She said it. She did it.
She’s Catholic? What the what? Since When?
It’s ok. I love Jesus. Jesus loves Catholics.
Oh man, she’s gonna talk about Catholic.

Yep, I’m going to tell you about that… because it’s Jesus. I love to share Jesus. Stick around or don’t. That’s totally up to you. I free you from it if it bothers you. I mean, it’s all Jesus and you can read and not be Catholic… but I am. I found my freedom in it. So much freedom that it blows me away.

“You are so judgmental… “

Please understand that I make judgement calls. It’s what God asks of us, and I prayerfully try to toe the line of judging sin and not the heart and soul of a sinner, other than myself.  I’m not judging you by making a judgment call on what I believe to be a healthy standard. My choice is not about you. Also, I constantly encourage others to search their hearts and find that sound judgment that is there. It’s not what you think it is, and our culture and society is doing everything they can to destroy our good judgement.

“Nobody can make everything from scratch and do all that healthy stuff. I could never do what you do. “

Really, that’s fine. I can’t even do what people think I do. I love to make things myself. I also love ordering pizza, and I miss that option in my life. So there.

I love treating bodies well, nourishing them with whatever is wholesome and caring for them on a daily basis. But you may not believe me. You may think I’m a liar because…. gasp….

I had WEIGHT LOSS SURGERY!!!  Give me a few weeks and I’m going to explain to you in about 100 ways why that was NOT the easy way out. I promise. It’s hard. Especially when you’ve been known as a health freak for years…Yes, me. I did this… gasp…. Just wait. I’ll tell it all.

“I can’t believe you would tell people that! You know, that thing you just said.”

What, the truth?

Listen, I’m all about healthy boundaries. As a professional birth doula I am trained and experienced at following strict guidelines and HIPPA privacy regulations. It’s second nature. I was an HR manager with 900 employees when I was 22 years old. I can be diplomatic and discrete. I can poker face to the enth degree. That doesn’t mean that I can’t share failures and lessons I’ve learned, myself, in hopes that the experience can be used to help others. It’s part of who I am. To share. To support. To hold myself open to ridicule so that someone else can feel that they aren’t alone. I do that. Often.

I could go on and give you 100 things people have said to me about things I have written in the last nine years. I have the rebuttals ready. I think this is enough for you to get the idea, right? Right.

Moving on.

I’m starting fresh, from scratch and that may be with five readers instead of what I have enjoyed in the past. If you are reading this and you can see where I am going, it is worth it to me.

You want to know what all of this rambling is about? In a nutshell, it is a coming out in the light of day. I’ve spent years trying to hide ME behind a purpose or topic… every. time. I. write.


Because the real me, the whole me, was too much for people. Because Jesus wants us to see Him, not us. So I had to hide that for Him, right? Isn’t that required?
I  named blogs different things and kept them separate. At one point I had 5 at once, compartmentalized by different topics so the topic was what you saw. You aren’t supposed to see me.

I can’t maintain that. I can’t hide behind the banners and the goals anymore and say that they are what is important and I’m to be as invisible in the process as possible. I’ve refused to use my name in most of my blogging. I thought that was doing “Humility” correctly.

It wasn’t.

It was letting the fear of others cripple my heart. I let them hold back the baring of my soul, and if there is one thing I have known since I was a child, it is that God gave me a soul that is intense and passionate… that loves to DIY for everything… and he wants me to bare my soul. He gave me a crazy one… to share it. Yes.. bare… naked. Like that.

I was afraid.

Now I am not. So this is all about taking a deep breath and for the first time presenting me. All in one place. All my randomness. All my depth. It’s ok for my blog to be about me. Who I am is ok. That can be useful.

Most of all,  I want to share all that I’m meant to be… with you. To believe and know that I AM worth seeing and knowing. I don’t have to hide behind the words that flow from me, yet I don’t have to give them up to be something that I’m not. I can do both.

And if I’m worth reading.
I am worth seeing as a whole.

If I am,
That means you are, too.

But first, I have to tell you about me.

Bare and openly yours,

Talitha Cumi Seibel

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