Heartache

Today has been a hard day for me as a mother. The fact of the matter is, today started with last night, and last night was awful. I could rattle off all the various crazy behaviors that were flying at me at high speed over the last eighteen hours, but really what I want to talk about is this: I don't want today to be about all the different behavior that drove me crazy and made me feel like I was inadequate and scary and mean. I want to talk about how I want to be as a mother and how that affects me when I fail to be the mother that I want to be.
 
I often look at my children and see just how amazing and wonderful and completely unique they are, but I also feel tight, like there just isn't enough room for all the different emotions that having children brings up.
 
I had a son twelve years ago when I was a junior in high school. I was seventeen years old and my mom had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. At the time, we had never personally known anyone that had survived breast cancer, at least that we knew of. I learned that I was pregnant a month after my ex-boyfriend had moved to Southern California to go to college. Looking at that strange little stick, I was scared and in shock. None of it really sunk in and despite all logic, I felt like it would go away on its own. But it didn't and a few days after I found out, two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Everyone was watching. Everyone was scared. No one seemed to know what was happening or when it would stop. I went home from school numb and silent. I walked into the house and saw my dad sitting on the couch, watching the news. We exchanged a few words; something along the lines of “Have you seen this? Do you know what's going on?” and then I went into my room and didn't come out until dinner. I don't remember any of the rest of that day. The next day I went to school and I made my usual stop, which was the classroom of my favorite teacher. Being an English teacher it seemed perfectly natural that he had always known quite a bit more about me than almost anyone else through our class journals and essays. In the end, I classically self-destructed and destroyed our friendship, but on that morning so many years ago, when I saw his face I burst into tears and told him my secret. At that point, I was only a couple months pregnant and I'm sure he didn't know what I was planning to do. I don't remember if he asked me. All I remember is him letting me sleep in his classroom during lunch and the way he made me feel safe and guarded, sometimes quite literally. Honestly that was something I had never and would never feel again in my teenage life.
 
Somehow I managed to keep my secret for another two months and then told my closest friends. At that point, I was beginning to show and I had decided not to have an abortion and up until I was seven months pregnant I really thought I was going to keep my baby. But in February of that year I woke up to a wail and my mom's footsteps pounding down the hallway to the kitchen. I could hear her sobbing and my dad trying to understand what she was saying to him. I came out of my room and saw them hugging each other, both of them crying. My dad looked up at me and said, "Your mom found a lump.”
 
Around that time, one of my friends told my parents that I was pregnant. Unable to take the opportunity to come clean and help myself and my baby, I vehemently denied it. I don't know why. I think my brain just shut down. When I was seven months pregnant, I was nauseous and feeling faint. My parents brought me home from church, I went to my room and a few minutes later my mom came in.
 
"Kristine, are you pregnant?”
I started to cry.
“Yes.”
 
There was a flurry of activity after that. My mom and my oldest sister both helped me to get to the doctor and do tests and consider my options. I spoke with church leaders and eventually I spoke to my ex. I hated that part. In the end, I gave my son up for adoption. I've talked about this before. That experience left a pit in my chest. It made me desperate.
 
When I finally became a mother again, I knew I had made a mistake I could never reconcile with my first child. For me, it was a mistake. I'm not sure I'll ever know if it was a mistake for him or not. I suspect that it can't be either because it just is. He didn't have a choice. He was so small. Now that boy is twelve years old. There's no real point in trying to guess what life would have been like or what I would have been if I had kept my son. I do know that I am a good mother now even when I make heartbreaking mistakes with my children. I want to be the kind of mother that can see her children; really see them. I want to be the kind of mother that sustains them and makes them want Life. I want them to experience life and understand how beautiful it is and how horrible it is, too. I want them to know that they can make the world a brighter, more beautiful place or a more desperate and sad place, depending on their own outlook and actions. I hope they don't make the same mistakes that I did, but I know that they will make mistakes. I know that they'll regret parts of their lives and that some of their lives will be painful. I know that I will be a source of pain in their lives and that they'll go through their memories and pinpoint all those little moments with me that led to some of their insecurities about themselves. For that, I am so sorry. I hope that I can be a strong mother and provide both my children ample reasons to love themselves and be proud of who they are.
 
Today I feel like I failed. Hard. I could only see them as behavior, as things that needed to be corralled.
 
Today I am grateful for the man I married. He is so unlike any man I've have ever known before. Sometimes it almost feels like a fluke that we’re even married. I'm not really sure how it happened, it was so fast. It's strange to think that such an important decision can be made so quickly and have such positive results. The man I married came home from work today saw my face, saw how drained I was and without hesitation rallied the kids, redressed them and took them to the park. I married a man that is giving, kind, persevering, intelligent, calm, adventurous, and patient. On a day when I know I have not been a good mother I am so grateful to know that my children have a good father. I am so grateful to him for being there for me like no one else ever has been, for helping me to become a mother again, for helping me be the mother I want to be, and for being my most loyal friend and partner. There are so many moments in my life that did not end well and left me scarred and heartbroken, but I am grateful for him, my husband, and that little part of me that somehow knew to say "Yes."

a quick note to daisy

Because when one of your best friends exhibits such bravery to put her whole heart in the open, you respond. Even if that response is feeble and weak in comparison. You respond. I may never be the writer she has become and I may never be so brave, but I can do a better job of trying. In her heart there is an arrow that flies true. "Nothing dormant." So in that moment when it hit and hurt the most, I wrote what was first there. Highly imperfect:

a quick note to daisy

if i had a wish

a well

a bridge

a lamp

if I had a wish

my mind would go instantly blank

a pool of black ooze would move slowly

glubbing forward

blocking the holes

no escape

if I had a wish

no eyes would flash

no noses wiggle

no snaps of fingers

if I had a wish

that pool of black ooze would move slowly

gulping forward

blocking the holes

every escape

would go eventually black

and there in the black

sweet daisy

you would tease

there in the dark

sweet daisy

you have teased

if I had a wish

a well

a bridge

a lamp

sweet daisy you would be there

no pool of black could obscure your teasing finger

and no escape I’d need

if I had a wish

sweet daisy

Your Mind is Not the Only Part of You

A week ago, I was in the depths, but when I was confronted by another even further down than I, I was struck with a sudden clarity that pulled me out of it. My complete empathy with this woman I only knew through social media thoroughly turned me over. Seeing her words in front of me saddened me and I had to speak out for her and to her. So I did and in that moment, my own depression snuck out without a word and so far hasn't been back. So far. It will, of course. It always comes back. That is what depression is and it will most likely remain so unchangeable until it is no longer treated like something to be ashamed of. In my experience, there are a handful of people that take another's depression seriously as well as realizing that is a lifelong affliction, not something that is conquered forever. It is a transient. Though there is no doubt in my mind that others love me just as much as those that fully understand, it is always painful to meet with the callousness of willful misunderstanding. For now, I will let that matter go and focus on the afflicted. If there is a wider audience that might be touched into feeling just a bit better by the words I shared on Instagram, I would write these to them. My hopes are always with you. 

It is too much to see the thoughts in my own head written out as the thoughts of another. To see my own pain in another. It gives me sudden vision and desperation to say to you and myself that this sinking heart that aches and spikes can do wondrous things as well. It can bathe in delight even if it can never stay there. Happiness is not a lasting experience but something to be felt again and again, over and over, as if it were merely a reminder of the beauty. Each changing moment so different and new that it both hurts and delights--that is life, not a lasting happiness or a lasting sorrow, but everlasting change. I have stopped looking to be continuously happy. Now I yearn to feel those quick moments as often as I am able. I trick my mind into seeing beauty. Photography helps me to do that: to see the beauty even when it is not in my heart. When my mind is heavy and weighs me down the whole world still, frustratingly, looks exactly the same. It's unwillingness to morph to fit me angers me and soothes me. I remind myself that my mind is never in full control of my life. It should hold no more power than anything else. I look at the children and husband I thought would heal me and though my mind is drowning, to imagine them drowning in the sorrow of losing me is the true pain. I must be here if I can control it. So must you. Your mind is not the only part of you. It doesn't make the rules and it shouldn't be your puppeteer. Let the sorrow be. Feel it. Then feel something else until its inevitable return. Then feel something else again. Know you are not the only one with this ailment and that there is strength in a depressed mind. I hope we can both feel healed and feel all that life has to offer and then give love to those around us. My love to you. You can conquer your mind.

The Spring Garden

For now, I'm not going to explain why I haven't written in this space or what we've been up to this last seven months because it I just want to write and write about now. I'll save explanations for another time.

We are now living with my parents in Palo Alto, California. Despite no snow and mild temperatures all through the winter, the plants still do us the favor of abiding by seasons and there is now a renewed liveliness in the garden as flowers bloom and reach for the sun and the bees, artichokes are already being cut from their stalks, raspberry canes grow and buds form, and we release ladybugs to conquer the aphids and set out praying mantis egg cases to eventually hatch and capture the ants and grasshoppers taking over the lettuce beds. Finding the occasional grub makes us all long for the farm life we've temporarily left behind as we miss our flock of chickens. Despite the pang of country life, we're making the best of the garden we have and it feels good.

Tomatos are in, raspberries are budding, artichokes and lettuces are producing, the radishes are petering out, the green plums are getting bigger, the citrus trees are done, and the blueberry bushes were choked out by the borage plants. It's time to put plant pumpkin, squash, and cucumbers and build an arch for the raspberries to climb. The roses and wildflowers need fertilizer. The painted lady chrysalides need another week before they emerge and dry themselves then venture out into the garden. Rufous hummingbirds are searching out the fuchsias and salvia.

Keats and Frida spend most of their days naked playing with water, finding bugs, riding tricycles, watering plants, digging in the dirt, and practicing using the toilet. Arguments feel less common outside. Realistically, they fight just as much, but their attention is easier to both distract and grab. In general, they are easier to talk to and much more attentive, but they still have tantrums, fight, and misbehave. Honestly, so do I. Being outside and keeping busy does wonders for each of us in our own ways. And for now, the spring garden is protecting each of us from wanting what we don't have and helping me to realize the perfection of Now.

Learning to dance with the limp.

Loss has caught up with me. That deep, resounding knowledge that something or someone is gone has embedded itself within me and I cannot shake it. All my life I have connected too freely. I have fallen in love too easily. As time went by, these connections fell or ripped away. In the years since marrying and having children I have experienced a haven of love and comfort, but unfortunately, that haven couldn't last. As a person suffering from depression and anxiety, I should have known the peace would not last. 

There are walking ghosts in my life. The presences of those I've loved and lost haunt me now and I cannot shake them. I am gutted and I feel I have lost my ability to connect with myself and overcome as I once did. To quote a lost friend, writing was how I survived. It was how I dealt with everything that happened in my life. I wrote down everything. In order to understand my own thoughts, I had to write them out and study them, go back and edit, keep writing, keep editing, until my mind made sense. I used to write five to seven hours a day. For years, I barely write anything at all. It's as if a section of me has been cut off and my mind has not yet reconciled its loss. So now, all loss deepens. I see faces I shouldn't see. I see them in the cars driving next to me, I see them around the corner or in line at a shop, and then I see them far away: in reality, far away from me where I couldn't possibly see them except for in my mind. That sudden realization that what my eyes merely hope to see is not really there sends a rush through me. I shiver and I feel alone. 

I listened to a program this morning on writing and I cried throughout. It shouldn't have had this effect but it did. I realized that a part of me was missing. The part that made everything else make sense. The part that connected my past and loss with what is now and real. I've been neglecting the very part of myself that can lift up the rest claiming I don't have the time or the talent or the strength. I don't know how much I'll succeed in bringing back the part of myself I was most in love with but I must try. If for no other reason than to turn these ghosts into joyful and grateful memories. To usher my past into the past and wave every now and then instead of dragging it along, holding tight. To those I've lost: I miss you but please, please let me be.

"They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up.
And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg
that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold,
but you learn to dance with the limp."
- Anne Lamott

Back in the Moment

It's been a while, perhaps too long or perhaps just long enough to jump back into this space. We still have no internet at home, just as much from laziness as anything else. But today I have a moment sitting by the chicken coop, listening to clucks and sparrows chirping, using my neighbors' connection, feeling the breeze, and swatting away mosquitoes every three seconds. I have missed this space and wondered what the next subject would be but for now I just want to reacquaint and be back.

After months of fearing the news I'm finally happy to hear it. At least, that one bit I've been waiting for too long. Now it is here and more can be done and I am happy. Just in time to celebrate the 4th of July with a little more pride than I had before. Congratulations to all those who have been waiting and hoping right along with me. It's exciting news.

I can't even think of what has been going on with me for the last few months. It has been hard and confusing, but beautiful as well and I am so grateful to my husband, family, and friends who have shared in making the confusion I've felt less confusing or just helping me to forget it for a moment. I know I'm being cryptic. I'll share another time when it's more clear to myself.

Right now I'm going to join my family on a walk around the farm and fall in love with this place all over again on this, thankfully, sunny day.

Love to you all and be back again soon. Promise.

Learning and Researching: Farming Books that Inspire Me

I come from a family that loves research. In any given argument, I can guarantee you the dictionary was near always pulled out at some point. With a linguist for a father, a Scrabble champion for a mother, and five older siblings all ready to correct me at every opportunity, I picked up the Know-What-You're-Talking-About mantra. I plan forever in advance, read all that I can from different sources, and make list after list of what is needed and what I like. Yes, Pinterest is just about my favorite invention ever. Every once in a while when Birch and I are out shopping for needed supplies for whatever project, he'll say something like, "Are you sure we need that specifically?" It takes all my energy not to slap him upside the head with all the books, time, and effort I've used over the last several months planning for the project we're finally executing. I don't, though. Usually I just shoot a look of death and sigh that passive-aggressive sigh most men have come to fear and loathe.

So, it should come as no surprise that while Birch and I scheme and plan to exit our current life and enter into a dreamworld (to us) of buying farmland, raising heritage breed farm animals, building a sustainable house, and becoming self-sufficient, we are both soaking in just about everything related we can get our hands on. We talk to friends we've made here (farmers and ranchers) and vendors at the farmer's markets, read blogs written by farmers across the country, read magazines and articles dedicated to farming, and follow farm-related news. But most of all, we read books. As you can imagine, some are more helpful than others and some are more inspiring than others.

We borrow books from our local library then buy the ones we know we'll read again and again. Here is our list:

• Mini-Farming: Self-Sufficiency on a 1/4 acre by Brett L. Markham
• The Backyard Homestead edited by Carleen Madigan
• The Backyard Homestead Guide to Raising Farm Animals by Gail Damerow
• Barnyard in Your Backyard by Gail Damerow
• Small-Scale Livestock Farming by Carol Ekarius
• Making Your Small Farm Profitable by Ron Macher
• Starting & Running Your Own Small Farm by Sarah Beth Aubrey
• You Can Farm by Joel Salatin
• Storey's Guide (to anything)
• The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan
• Small-Plot, High-Yield Gardening by Sal Gilbertie and Larry Sheehan
• The Small-Scale Poultry Flock by Harvey Ussery
• Basic Butchering of Livestock & Game by John J. Mettler
• Seed to Seed: Seed Saving and Growing Techniques for Vegetable Gardeners by Suzanne Ashworth
• Four-Season Harvest by Eliot Coleman
• The Heirloom Life Gardener by Jere and Emilee Gettle
• Plowing with Pigs and Other Creative, Low-Budget Homesteading Solutions by Oscar H. Will & Karen K. Will

There are SO many books out there begging to be soaked in and churned out into practice. We're still making our way through them and more continue to be written! It is so exciting to experience this life through others and I am so grateful that so many people are returning to the farming life, even those converting their yards into a place rich in animals and vegetation. I look at this shift not as a trend or "the hip thing to do" but a movement. Sure, there are people not as serious about the philosophy behind the change, but I believe that as more and more people start growing their own food, more appreciation and concern will surface and our world will be a better place for it.

Birch and I struggle with our current place in this movement: willing and dedicated, but honestly, scared. Right now, Birch has job security, a regular paycheck, and amazing health insurance. He also has debt that we must pay. Changing our lives will mean the end of all those things. It will be a sacrifice. However, it is a sacrifice we are willing to make. We are confident that the satisfaction of our new life as farm owners and workers will greatly outweigh the comfort we feel now. It will be a difficult change which is why we strive to go in knowing as much as we can.

We can't, however, research forever. At some point, we'll have to act. Find land, move, and start the rest of our lives. So now we wait for that When. It's coming but not yet and we'll need to learn a bit more patience and take advantage of our advantages while we can.

What do you aspire to be? How do you help yourself to become the person you long to be?