Will the Real Teresa Please Stand Up

So, I have begun my path on the road to recovery. To claw myself out of the depths of post-partum depression back to (hopefully) feeling like myself again. And as I say and think those words, I wonder, "What does that even mean?" The last time I remember feeling like myself was when I had no human being to rely on me to do that little task of sustaining their life. (I hope you're sensing the tone, cause there is one).

Who will emerge when the dust of hormones settle? What are the parts of me that I will choose to leave behind because they no longer fit as my new role as "mommy"? What will I keep? What will I hold onto, refusing to let go, kicking and screaming as God continues to refine me? And why does this refining process have to be so freaking painful?!?! Why can't refining be a comforting process that feels like getting a foot massage? Or as satisfying as eating toaster strudel? (which I'm officially off of, btw).


I knew that becoming a mom wouldn't be a walk in a field of daisies along calm streams and toaster strudel waiting for me at the end of the path (*sigh*), but I didn't expect the identity crisis.

Fragile And Feeling It

I'm singing at a friend's funeral tomorrow. He died of cancer. I sang at another friend's funeral almost 4 years ago to the day who also died of complications relating to cancer. I sang at a 2-year old girl's funeral back in 2002 who died of a brain tumor. And I have to say that tonight, I'm angry. I'm angry at this disease that takes people that are much too young to leave this world. I'm angry at dying young. I'm angry at cancer. To be honest, I'm a little angry at God. Not in a relationship shaking way, but in a very honest, "Why?" kind of way.

Cancer touches all of us in so many ways. Everyone knows someone who has gone through treatment, on remission, fighting it or passed on. And I think that I'm mourning tonight for all of the ways it has effected me and my family and my friends.

In some way, the death of a loved one is always a reminder to live. And I always regret that it takes someone's passing to remind me how very precious and fragile the life we live is. I know that I should listen to my spirit that says that death is the ultimate healing, the ultimate victory. Where is that line between holding onto my faith and being honest about what I feel? I know that we are not creatures led by our emotions, but God created them within us for a reason.

So tonight, I give these emotions to God and ask Him to help me through. I'm angry, sad, mournful and.... yes, I'll admit it, scared. I don't want to live my life in fear, but I am a little afraid. Afraid of a world I don't understand and the fragility that comes with it.

Open Flesh Wound

There are times in my life when I feel open and vulnerable. As if I have a large gaping wound in my gut for the world to see. I feel desperate and needy. My soul crying out to be healed. I'm not sure why or when it comes. And it seems to come at the most interesting times. My life is good. My life is absolutely wonderful. I have a faith that fulfills me more than anything I've ever known, an incredible husband, a beautiful son, a job that comes pretty close to being a dream-job and the endless encouragement of family and friends that surround me. I have a life filled with love. And yet, there are times, like tonight, where I feel like my guts are laid out on the floor and I'm bleeding all over the place.
I've never been able to define this feeling that comes and goes like a tornado ravaging my being. It does feel that intense. Where my insecurities rise to the surface and I feel them so acutely. Insecurities that I was sure I dealt with so long ago come back to haunt me. I ask the Lord,
"Why?"
"Haven't we dealt with this?"
"Haven't I moved past this?"
"Haven't I given this over to You?"
I search deep within to find any shred of evidence as to what might be in my life to bring these things to the surface. I want to move past these places that remind me of a hurt little girl from yesteryear. To be the grown-up I always admired in people but never felt in myself. You know that feeling when you're a freshman in highschool and all the seniors look so grown-up and mature and by the time you become a senior you think to yourself, "I don't feel the way those seniors in my freshmen year looked"? Yes, that feeling.
I have adult-like surroundings. House, spouse, child, job.... and I just don't feel like all those adults looked to me as a child. Will I ever feel that way?
I put my hope in God,
"I believe You'll get me through this."
"I'm open and willing, with my guts on the floor."