I Am Not Okay. I Am. But, I'm Not

 

This picture popped up in my feed this morning and I saved it. Then I went to church and Pastor Chad was talking about how we all lie. When people ask us how we're doing, many of us give the easy answer. "Not bad." My go to answers are always, "I'm fine!" or  "Not too bad!" I could have just had an entire meltdown, but as soon as anyone asks it just flies out of my mouth and then I crack a joke. I often wonder how many other people have lied to me when I've asked how they're doing?

For me, it's just easier. I don't want to dump my problems on someone else. Or the things that are bothering me are MY issues. Not something I want to share with others. I hold a lot in. I've always been that way. 

I shared a post on Facebook this last week and it asked people to share something they like about me. It was just one of those generic posts for people to share and get comments. Several people commented that they like my sense of humor, my honesty and realness. Sometimes I think I overshare. In fact, I have a friend who leans far more toward privacy and they tell me I share too much and that no one really reads all of that or cares. My response is always that writing is my therapy. Yes, I could use a journal, but for me, reading other's personal experiences has always helped me, and maybe something I say will help someone else. In fact, I've had people tell me that I've helped them, or inspired them in one way or another. I always say that no one HAS to read what I share. Scroll right on by. It's not going to bother me. 

All of that said...if you ask me in real life how I'm doing, you're probably going to get my standard, "Not too bad!" response. If you ask the me who is typing this post though? I'm not okay. I am. But I'm not. I'm on a journey. The path has been rocky and I've taken some big tumbles lately. I've shared a little on Facebook about being down, but not specifics. I knew it was rough when I had people reach out to see if I was okay. One friend called me on Christmas Eve. I told her, "I'll be okay. I've just been down and out." She was quick to tell me, "You're down, but you are not out!" 

The truth is, I have struggled a lot in my relationship with God, and I think He is trying to work on my heart, but things had to fall apart for me to seek him out again. I hate things falling apart. God knows I hate it. I tell him frequently. But guess who has also been reading her Bible app and praying every day? Has it fixed everything? No. I'm still falling apart, but I know that God holds all of my tears and even when I can't always feel Him, he's been there holding me and working on things that I can't see.

I SUCK at patience. I want to see exactly what the future holds. I get frustrated when I can't. I do things my way. I've known God my whole entire life. You'd think eventually I'd learn to just trust blindly, but I'm praying after this brutal knockdown, there's a huge blessing on the other side waiting for me.

Now...if you're a curious person like I am and you've made it this far, I might as well share a little of what took me down. You deserve some tea for putting up with my ramblings.

A man.

That's what took me down. I'm not going to into all the details, but yep. I finally felt ready for a relationship. I met someone on FB Dating, kind of sort of by accident. You may be wondering how you accidentally meet someone when you're intentionally "looking"? You can set your distances of how far you'd like to search. Well, one way or another I matched with someone who lived 2.5 hours away. Either way it was an accidental "like" on my part. He said hello and I replied never thinking it would lead to anything. Yet, there I was chatting back and forth. It eventually led to FB messages, and then texting, sending voice texts and eventually talking on the phone. For hours. Every night. He came to see me. He sent donuts to work for my coworkers and I just because. I felt at peace. My nerves were calm around him. I shared and opened up. I let my guard down. There was a bump in the road. It stung. But I recovered. We tried again, only to hit that same bump again. It broke something deep inside of me.

I had to let him go. I had to go no contact. It's been almost 2 weeks and it's still killing me. It's crazy to me how a person can enter your life for such a short time, and have such a profound impact that you find yourself grieving something that could have been. I went from happiness, contentedness and hopeful, to sad, broken and depressed just like that. Granted there's more behind the scene things that have played into everything, but it's really put me in a place where I've had to rely on God to hold me up and keep me going. 

I felt like such a crappy mom in December. The first week I was on a high. Then a roller coaster. I tried. I hid the tears, and made the most of what I could. I don't think the boys really noticed, but maybe they did. I can't tell you how many tears I've cried in the past couple of weeks. Sometimes I'll be totally fine, and out of nowhere they spill over again. I go for a drive or turn on worship music to calm down. I've cried in my bed, in the shower, my car, the bathroom at work and now we can add church today. I pray for peace and healing for myself. I picked the word "Surrender" as my word of the year. I'm trying. I have surrendered, but I also know that doesn't immediately turn off the sadness. I have to continuously ask God to handle it. 

I'm in a season of challenges and growth. I know what I want. I know what I deserve. I know that God can heal me, and will provide. Like I said earlier, I think I have to endure this valley because maybe God is preparing something bigger for me. All I can do is pray and put my trust in him.

There's my overshare of the new year. I don't care though. Maybe someone else has been holding their sadness in. Maybe it's just something I needed to do to work through this. Maybe this will give someone else the courage to reach out to God  or others for help. I'm so thankful He never leaves my side even when I push him away. 

Homesick for Christmases Past

It's been 2 years since I've written a blog post. Writing is good therapy though, so I guess it's time to resurrect it. I have struggled with getting in the Christmas spirit this year. This Cindy Lou Who, has felt a little Grinchy. Thinking back on it, holidays in general have been rough this year. I think I finally realized it's because my kids are getting older. The magic I to love creating for them isn't as exciting to them anymore. They don't want to make crafts, have Christmas music dance parties or even drive around to look at Christmas lights. I think I built up my own expectations for myself too. I always go big, and this year I just haven't had it in me. Internally I have all of these things I want to do or expect myself to do, but I just cannot seem to muster up the strength to do them. As I change my Christmas countdown calendar at work each day I internally cringe because it means another day has gone by that I still haven't finished shopping, that I haven't baked Christmas cookies, or that I haven't done a fun activity with the boys. 

The first half of 2025 was great. The last half I have felt like it's been one gut punch after another. Especially since we lost Toby. After that, it's just been one thing after another. I keep a lot of that to myself. I've cried more tears in 3 months than the rest of the year combined. Silent tears in bed after the boys are asleep. Long hot shower cries that cleanse the soul. A few good sobs in the car by myself.

As I sit here today, I just want to go back. Back in time. Just to visit. I long for Christmas past. I want to watch a reel of my family at Christmas time growing up. I miss those nights where we'd turn all the lights off, turn on Christmas music and all hang out in the living room with only the light of the Christmas tree. There was something so magical about that. I'm literally in tears just remembering. I want to be sitting on a barstool in the kitchen at our Eastview house, watching mom roll out and cut cookies into stars, bells, trees and candles. I want to sneak into the refrigerator and steal bites of cookie dough she left to chill. I want to decorate the cookies and swipe licks of frosting from the spoon.

For several years, mom would host a Christmas gathering with 2 of our neighbor’s families. The kids would get banished to the basement to watch a movie. I thought I was an adult most of my childhood, so I would bounce back and forth between the kids and adults. Mom would have endless Christmas goodies sitting on the counter. I would go back and forth all night eating…this is probably the start of my binge eating habits!

I think about dancing around the living room to the Alivn and the Chipmunks record. I remember piling in the car on a chilly evening and driving around to look at Christmas lights with the family. Or the special nights when I'd spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house and they'd take me to look at lights. The best ones were in Stoney Point (or the "rich people" houses as we called them). 

I want to go back and sit on my sister’s bed going through the JCPenney Christmas catalog page by page. We’d each pick one thing from every page that we’d get if we could. There were rules. We couldn’t pick the same thing, and we HAD to pick something, even if it was on a page with “stupid toys for boys”. 

I remember Christmas programs at church every year. So many weeks of practicing and then the performance. Afterward we'd all get a brown paper bag with goodies. I couldn't tell you everything that was inside anymore, but I do remember there was always a colorful candy cane which was the first thing I would eat. 

There were of course Santa visits, whether it be at the mall or the local radio station. Of course we knew that wasn't the real Santa, but he was most definitely one of Santa’s helpers. I will always remember the sketchy Santa who wore white Velcro shoes and when I asked him for walkie talkies he asked what a “talkie walkie” was. 

I wish I could feel the anticipation of Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa Thatcher’s house. That 2.5 hour drive felt like forever. I knew Grandma or Great Grandma would have homemade chicken and noodles ready for me to devour. The entire dining room and living room would be filled with people, and I would spend most of the day wishing everyone would hurry up and go home so I could have more time with Grandma. As the years went on and people started passing away those dinners started getting smaller and smaller. Now they’re gone forever and  oh how I wish I could go back and just savor those moments. 

Christmas morning was almost always spent at home. I think there was only one year we celebrated in Chariton instead. Actually we need to back up to Christmas Eve. I LOVED Christmas Eve. The build up. The anticipation. Santa was coming! As kids, Grandma and Grandpa S would come over and usually give us some chocolate Santas. Mom and Dad would let us open 2 or 3 small gifts. Usually a calendar, socks and maybe another small trinket. Cookies and milk were set out and I swear to you there were years I heard reindeer bells. The power of suggestion is real.

Now to Christmas morning. I was usually the first one up. The rule was we could sit in the living room but we couldn’t touch anything. We could look. And we had to wait for Mom and Dad to wake up. Stockings were ALWAYS first. We went around the room one by one pulling out one item at a time. I used to laugh because Mom would fill her own stocking…now I do the same for myself! I always do a great job. There was always a pause for breakfast, and then on to the regular gifts. How I wish I could open gifts from Santa again with full belief that it was from this magical man in a sleigh.

Christmas afternoon was spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s. Grandma would make lunch. Nothing like my other Grandma’s fancy meals. But special nonetheless. Except for the year of the exploding macaroni. Grandpa said, “Time to eat, Rachel!”. He proceeded to put a cold metal spoon into the very hot Pyrex dish and, “BAM!” Shattered glass went flying everywhere, to which Grandpa calmly said, “Go back to the living room, Rachel.” Or the year Grandma tried to kill me by putting cayanne pepper on the deviled eggs instead of paprika. I don’t need to relive those moments, but it sure would be funny to go back and watch them from afar.

I long for moments that are just memories now. The boys and I have our own traditions and I still carry on some of the childhood traditions I grew up with. Maybe one day they will carry on some of them with their own families. 

Time doesn’t stop. It doesn’t slow down. We can’t go back. I keep seeing nostalgic 90’s Christmas reels and TikToks and can’t help but feel a wave of happiness mixed with grief. So thank you Mom (and Dad…but let’s face it, it was mostly Mom) for providing us with Christmas magic each year. Even though I’m homesick for a time that doesn’t exist anymore, I am thankful for the memories. 

Even though I feel like I’m not doing a good job this year, I pray the boys will still feel a little holiday magic. I’ve been trying to fake it til I make it. I know it doesn’t matter what’s under the tree. The thing that matters most is remembering the birth of Jesus and being together, even when your mom still makes you wear matching jammies. (One of the traditions I started). 

 

It's Happening!

It’s finally happening! I am getting my spinal fusion. (Although, I’m sure there will be hoops to jump through with insurance.) 

Let’s back up to early November. I had to go in to see my orthopedic doctor for a follow up on a medication he prescribed. I was annoyed beyond belief that I had to follow up in the first place, and then I ended up sitting in the waiting room for 2 hours with the boys before even being called back to be seen. I brought up the fact that my nerve meds don’t seem to be helping anymore. I walk 5 days a week to build up my bone strength and stay in shape, but I told him that more and more frequently my foot will fall asleep while I’m walking. I always press through because that’s just what I do. What can I say? I am stubborn. Always have been,

My doctor didn’t like the sound of that and said, “I think it’s time to get an updated MRI and put surgery back on the table.” My head was swimming that entire day. Last spring I was mentally ready. Then when the surgery was canceled I was devastated. While I understand now why God prevented it from happening, I didn’t then. Eventually I pushed it to the back of my mind and assumed it wouldn’t happen for another year or two. I felt blindsided when he said the word surgery. I felt unprepared and unsure. Last spring insurance denied me an MRI twice before my surgery was canceled, so I assumed this would be an issue again, therefore pushing surgery even further into the future. Lo and behold, they called me a week later to tell me that it was approved. Do insurance companies just flip a coin to decide what they approve and deny?

I went a couple of weeks ago for my MRI and it was a horrible experience. I don’t know why. I’ve had them before. The only thing different with this one was that they put a face shield over me. It wasn’t that that was bothering me though. My back was on FIRE. To the point I couldn’t stay still and they had to redo some images. I wasn’t about to ask them to let me out of there though because I wanted to get it over with. (See? Stubborn.)

I was able to see my results the following day, but had to use Google and my Grey’s Anatomy knowledge to try and decipher things. I could tell it wasn’t great. Essentially I have several bulging discs, some bad nerve compression and arthritis. Interestingly enough, I was surprised today when the doctor told me I have pretty moderate nerve compression where my curve is but it bothers me far less than the lumbar area. That’s where a ton of my pain comes from. 

Today I had to wait about 50 minutes in the waiting room and another 20 in the exam room. The one redeeming factor is that my doctor doesn’t rush me and he answers all of my questions, which means he does that with all of his patients. 

We talked about the risks vs. benefits again. A surgery of this magnitude is a last resort. He won’t perform it on someone until other avenues have been explored and their quality of life is deteriorating. Sometimes I live in denial, but over the last few years especially I have had a harder time doing some things. I’ve had a couple of breakdowns in the privacy of my own home on high pain days. Mostly because it’s scary to imagine living the rest of my life at that level of pain. My doctor doesn’t want me to get to the point where I’m disabled or unable to walk anymore.

In a 10 year time frame my curve went from around 42 degrees to 68 degrees. 

I am excited, scared and every emotion in between. The date isn’t set yet, but it’s looking like February. It’s going to take me out of work for a decent chunk of time and I hate that because I love my kiddos, and I have to figure out how to survive off of no pay. My mom has told me not to worry about any of that. If God works out the surgery for me, he’s got a plan on “survival” too. 

This is a huge and life changing surgery. As my doctor puts it…”I can’t reverse this, so I want to make sure every patient understands that.” Surgery can last up to 10+ hours. Rods, screws and fillers will be placed so that my vertebrae fuse into one bone. I will lose mobility in the area I am fused at. I’m scared about that, but thankfully I should still be able to bend at the waist. I will just need to learn new ways to do things.

Today he had me stand up and he twisted my body a bit to show me how things will work. I looked at him and said, “Oh my gosh. That’s going to feel SO good!” Obviously in time. I have followed a support group for a couple of years. I’ve read the good, the bad and the ugly. I already know that the first couple of weeks are going to feel like literal hell. By 6 weeks or so I’ll be allowed to start PT. I told him I want to be as mobile as possible as soon as possible. He gave me a look and I said, “Well, obviously I have to let my body heal too.” For the bones to fully fuse takes 1-2 years. I’ve heard that usually within about 6 months most people are feeling a lot better though. I hope mine is sooner.

I’ve had friends tell me of teens they know who have been back to normal in just 6 weeks or so. I’m here to tell you, that’s AMAZING. But age plays a HUGE part in recovery. The recovery of a 16 year old and an almost 40 year old are vastly different as my bones have become more rigid, arthritic and “old” for lack of a better word. 

I know things can go wrong. I could go in and somehow end up with worse permanent pain. But, I’m going to go into this optimistically. If I can walk away in 50 percent less pain when all is said and done, it will have been worth it. If I do nothing, my condition will continue to progress and I could end up in a wheelchair one day anyway.

In the end this is in God’s hands. I have no control other than to decide to go through with it. I fought against having surgery for 20+ years. It’s time. I just hope that insurance approves everything. Once we get through that hurdle it’s full steam ahead.

My mom will come and help for a while because I will need someone with me full time. But she can’t stay forever and I am going to have to do something I don’t like doing. Rely on friends here to help me and let people help me when it’s offered. So here I am telling the world that I am going to need help and if I tell you I’m “fine” you probably shouldn’t believe me. 

My word this year was “warrior” because I had planned on having surgery in May. It turns out I’ve been a warrior in many ways, and I just may keep that word another year. Here’s to having a “new” spine for my 40th year of life!

5 Things I'd Tell Younger Me

If I could tell my younger self these things, I would.

1 Being an adult isn't all that it's cracked up to be. 

Grown ups tell you that, and you don't believe them, but they're right. Sure, you can cook half a bag of tator tots for dinner, and eat ice cream right from the carton and no one can tell you no. (Spoiler alert, your metabolism is gonna suck after you have kids) But then there are responsibilities too. Going to work to make money to pay the bills. Having unexpected issues like having sewage back up into your basement not once, but THREE times. Having to make appointments, keep up on laundry, be awake half the night with a pukey kid. It's not always bad, but embrace childhood and don't take it for granted. Even those awkward middle school years...nah who am I kidding? Those few years sucked.

2. It's okay to question your beliefs.

You have never waivered in believing in God...but you will have many moments in life that you will find yourself questioning certain things that you were taught. Then you will inevitably feel guilty for thinking those things. A lot of people who were born in the "Millennial" era are doing a thing called "deconstruction", although some walk away from everything related to religion. Ironically, deconstruction will actually be the thing that gets you to go back to church because you realize it's okay to not agree with every single thing a pastor or leader says. They are human too, and as long as they're teaching the fundamentals of what you believe Christianity is then it's okay.

3. Alone time is everything.

Remember your meltdown on the first mission trip you ever went on? It happened mid-week. You had been around people 24/7 for at least 3 to 4 whole days, and you absolutely fell apart one night. You couldn't be around people for one more second. Thankfully a leader in the group acknowledged what was happening and found you a quiet space. You were even allowed to skip worship that night. It's the first time you realized you were an introvert. Being around people is all well and good, but you have a social battery and once it's dead, it's all over. Always make time for yourself. It's refreshing. And it's okay to say no when someone begs you to do something and you don't want to. Do not forget that!

4. Being a mom is amazing and torture.

Let me explain. First of all you better brace yourself because you didn't have girls like you had always imagined yourself having. It's okay though, because both times you found out that you were having a boy, you were so happy! Motherhood is what you dreamed of since childhood. Being pregnant was amazing...minus the acid reflux and James giving you a scare a few times. Like I said though, being a mom is amazing torture. You are blessed with healthy babies. It's love at first sight. Those sweet little angels then proceed to not sleep through the night for a year and a half each. But then they learn to say "mama" and then give drooly kisses. They learn to crawl and walk. They learn the art of throwing themselves on the ground and screaming bloody murder in the middle of Target. They learn to read and write. They tell you that they love you. They throw up all over in the middle of the night. They win awards in school. They sass back. They learn about Jesus and then ask him into their hearts. It's a roller coaster ride, but those boys are so loved by you, mama. 

5.You may never known what you want to be when you grow up...and that's okay!

You grew up thinking that you would go to college and land on one career and stick with it your whole life. Being a teacher or a nurse. Senior year of high school you took a college level CNA class, and it was then that you realized the nursing world was not for you. You were already working in daycare and you wanted your own independence, so you skipped the whole college thing and jumped headfirst into full time child care which you stuck with for 11 years. Then you got landed your dream job. Stay at home mom! Then on to become a preschool teacher and a paraprofessional.  Eventually, you'll have to find another path that's more full time, but you don't have to panic, because all it does is cause you anxiety. God always comes through with a plan. 

 

Warrior Status Activated

It's hard to believe that we're already halfway through the year. I think we say that every year, but it's going fast. 

While there have been hard times, there have been really positive things that have happened as well, but to get to the positive, I have to share the negatives too. 

After my New Year's Eve "mental breakdown", I took a deep breath and pressed on. I started 2023 by picking a word of the year. I chose "warrior", because I knew with my upcoming surgery it would be fitting. 

The tears that I had cried on New Year's Eve were tears of stress, emotional exhaustion and frustration. I had been struggling at work all year. It had nothing to do with the kids or their families. It had everything to do with the leadership within the church and the way that I was being treated both by the pastor and the committee that should have been there to support me. In November I had a review where I was basically told I was doing a crap job for 2 hours. Never in my life had I ever been given anything but outstanding reviews. I went straight from there to the Taylorville District Office to pick up an application to be a para. I messaged the principal at North to see if there were any openings. She said no, but to put my app in.

I carried on for another month, which brought us to the week Christmas break would be starting. I had approached the personnel board with concerns in a letter, which I asked to remain confidential which they did not...and I was pulled in for another 2 hour meeting that was demeaning and condescending. Needless to say, I was struggling. I could write a whole book on how myself and another staff member were treated, but I choose to rise above that.

The new year arrived and I decided things were going to turn around. Somehow. Some way. My first decision was going back and trying Calvary again. Daniel had asked about it the week before and after messaging with a friend, I felt like I needed to go. I was welcomed back with open arms. It was refreshing to feel at home again.

I also decided that same day that I was starting over for the millionth time with a weight loss journey. If you know me, you know I am a yoyo dieter. I am also a binge eater. It's an addiction. I usually make it a few months at most and then fall off the wagon. I'm happy to say that I am 6 months in and about 19 pounds down from where I started. My metabolism is not what it was in my 20's, that's for sure. Slow and steady win the race...although I've been heavy on the snacking this past week which had been a big struggle. I'm trying to walk 10k steps a day now though. I'm at my lowest weight since before I had James and feeling a little more confident in my own skin. Plus walking builds bone density!

That same week, I came in to work at the church. I remember telling a coworker how badly my body ached even though I hadn't done anything. I'm almost certain it was the stress of being there. I sat down at my computer in the office and my messenger notification popped up. It was the principal telling me a para spot was opening up and she wanted me! 

I had a few hurdles to jump to get there including a 2 hour test which I stressed over for days. I passed though! God literally let every single thing fall into place, and by February 1 I was able to start my new job which I loved from the start.

Life was good until April 6th. I went to my orthopedic surgeon to go over my bone density results. I had to wait an hour past my appointment time, so I was already in a mood. Then he came in to let me know my bone density isn't where it needs to be in my spine. If we proceeded with the surgery as planned, I would run the risk of the hardware failing. He left the ultimate choice up to me , but he also was very clear that he didn't recommend it. I didn't even make it out of the room before I started to cry. I sat in my car sobbing. I could not understand why God would stop this from happening, when it felt like he had lined things up for me perfectly. 

This is where I sometimes want to shake myself. I get SO worked up. I get emotional and consumed by anxiety. It's not that I like it. It's not that I want it to happen, but I need to learn to trust God more in these moments. I know exactly why he stopped the surgery from happening as planned. If I would have had it, I would never have been able to go and be with my grandma in her final days. I never would have even been able to make it to her funeral. He stopped my surgery because He knew my grandma was going to need me and that I needed to be there for her.

So, that's where I am. I was kind of mad at first because I had specifically picked "warrior" as my word because I was going to be one as I recovered. But looking over the major events of the year so far, I sure as heck have been a warrior, and I'm proud of it.