Painful Beloved

Awhile ago I made the decision to stop making plans out of fear that I would just end up canceling them. Canceling plans, especially last minute, always resulted in feeling like I was failing and disappointing those are me.

Thankfully, work is different in a good way. I am blessed with two part time jobs, both where I have the option to sit a majority of the time, and one I have the option to do from home.

I had a conversation with my boss because I was in the hospital and couldn’t go into work, and she was so unbelievably understanding. She researched what I have so she could create a better work environment. Her compassionate understanding blew my mind. I am aware I am beyond blessed with these two work situations and that it is, unfortunately, not the norm for those with disabilities or chronic illnesses.

But when it comes to ministry, church, and my personal life…those are failing. By the time I get home from work I am depleted. Utterly drained. My feet are up, my ice packs and heating pads are on, and I am tackling motherhood with a toddler from the couch. I have little energy left to do much else. And that’s not even on a flare day.

I feel horrible canceling plans. It has probably had the biggest negative impact on my life since my body and mental health have rapidly declined. I long for social interaction outside of my adorable patients and my family. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, they are my biggest support system, I just miss being able to go out and see friends and feel normal.

We have two yearly trips with my husband’s church ministry. This past one I spent a majority of the time fighting intense pain and laying in bed, I felt useless. I hate who I am from being in constant pain. I feel myself getting angrier and less patient, I barely recognize myself anymore. I had to quit being a full time leader in the ministry and move to a communications/social media position that isn’t as demanding so I didn’t have to commit to going to church three times a week. I can pick and choose when I go which has been a huge help. I used to hide and quietly cry my way through events and youth nights just so I could attempt to be present, even though I was in too much pain and fighting fainting.

My goal is to be rested enough to get my daughter and I to church on a Sunday morning and worship alongside my husband instead of from the couch, but that hasn’t happened in months. I miss singing with the congregation.

The feeling of being a burden, a drain, an exhausting emotional suck to those around me, it’s palpable. I don’t want to tell my friends how bad this is, I fear it’s a draining conversation topic that doesn’t seem to end. Yet, anytime I am asked how I am doing I don’t want to lie. I want to be honest that right now I am struggling so hard and the quality of life is all but gone. I know I am not a positive ray of sunshine who lights up every room I walk into, but I at least don’t want to be an exhausting negative drip.

The truth is, this season of my life is exhausting. I am drained and frustrated, so I figure it must be draining and frustrating to those who have to deal with me. And this season has been particularly difficult. I don’t know how to convey that I desperately want to see my friends, be involved with them and their lives, but I am struggling just to make it from my bed to the couch most days.

My heart is so heavy. I can feel the walls I am putting up in a way now that seems irreversible and I am absolutely shattered by it. I hate this. I truly, deeply loathe what life is at the moment.

I am trying to surround myself by media that is purposeful and positive, as I continue to battle post partum depression and bipolar disorder that has significantly worsened since having my daughter. Obviously chronic pain is only making my mental health harder to heal, so I cling to scripture that talks of healing and a reliance on the Lord and not self. Each day though, I feel as if I am taking a step back, deeper into the hole I am desperately clawing to get out of.