I write for two reasons:
- To write- it’s how I process life. As soon I could fluently put sentences on paper I have been writing and I have a journal collection as witness.
- To testify to God’s faithfulness- He has called me to be His servant and He works mightily in my life. I must declare what He does.
And that is why I am writing today. I am not writing to flaunt my weaknesses or to seek advice; it would be easy to blog about my ideals and skew my words in order to imply that my life aligns with them perfectly. But it doesn’t. I struggle.
Most days it seems like the trials seize control. These postpartum emotions are all too real; they stalk me, taunt my inadequacies, and threaten to conquer when I am at my lowest point. Without them I would bravely face my husband’s work trips, not lose my cool with incessant harmonica playing and not sit on the floor sobbing after the one-year old pours a can of pee (don’t ask!) on himself and later locks himself in his room. I would roll my eyes in exasperation at the continual clutter surrounding me but not despair; I would feel blessed by having dogs and kids velcroed to my side all day (well, maybe blessed is too saintly a description).
I often lie awake at night reflecting on my day and regretting every lost opportunity for filling memories with love and gentleness rather than impatience, anger and harsh tones. My eyes will tear up with immense love for the little people that were so exasperating during nap time or went to bed screaming just moments before. I feel shame for even having this postpartum struggle because I should “know better.”
As real as these postpartum lows are Christ is greater than their reality. After a stressful nap time He reminds me that there can be bedtime snuggles. During a long night He soothes me with the thought that tomorrow is a fresh start. And after a desperate mother’s prayerful plea for help with a locked door, it swung open- reminding me that in the loneliest moments I am not alone.