*Note: I wrote this in the morning yesterday and let it sit for awhile. My thoughts are raw, and as the day continued of course we were hammered with more. My heart is never to complain, my heart is to share that I do not have it all together. It’s easy to look at life on social media and think someone else is more of a perfect human, and I don’t ever want to appear that I am anything more than someone that desperately needs the grace of God in my life. I love you guys and thank you for all of the encouragement, help, and prayer! I am truly blessed beyond measure and excited for the new journeys we will walk down together.
This last week my hair revealed three new bald patches in addition to the two that I had found last month. Alopecia Areata showing up like an unwelcomed old friend that hasn’t changed.
Growing 32 weeks pregnant, with the miracle baby we have had to fight so hard for. Hyperemesis Gravidarum is no stranger to those closest to us. Our family has been through a lot in the last 32 weeks, and it seems to revolve around my health. If you know me, then you know on my list of favorite things to be, needy is probably winning for last place.
If you’re into the enneagram, “Hi! I’m a 7!”
“7’s Key Motivations: Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.”
The last 32 weeks have stripped me of “freedom” and caused me to miss many “worthwhile experiences.” That last part about pain, well I certainly did not avoid it or discharge it.
Before this pregnancy, being a mom and boss gave me freedom to grow and experience new things with my family, or at least it felt that way. All of the life that I crave at my core. To give experiences and financially to my family and the people I care about.
I knew, we all knew, taking on another Hyperemesis pregnancy was going to stretch us. It was going to be really hard. But we had done it twice before and knew we were supposed to walk this valley one more time. (No, there will not be a fourth at bat, three strikes and I’m out!)
What I hadn’t considered was the fact that this time I would be walking through the valley with 2 kids, 2 dogs, and a successful career. I certainly did not have a 2 million dollar team during either of my previous pregnancies.
I also did not have the auto-immune diseases I now carry.
Anthony has seen me with my eyes shut more than open the past 32 weeks. I’ll sleep 9 hours and wake up tired. Take a shower, use up every drop of energy, and need a nap.
Ever feel like you’re failing in every area of life? As a self-described overachiever, anything less than 90% looks like complete and disgusting failure. I’ve got buckets of grace for anyone else running around at 40%, but acknowledging I’ve been running around at 40% makes my stomach queasy.
Icing on the cake: after sharing all of these feelings with my husband Saturday morning, we finished our Saturday night in the ER with one of our girls who lost a game of fetch with the doodle. My pathetic body throwing up in the parking lot while my husband carried our two girls inside. The true hero he is.
“God, don’t let anyone see me here.” Sweatpants, 32 weeks pregnant, hadn’t worn makeup in days, and so ashamed. As far as I know, no one did, or at least I’m telling myself that!
After trauma, at least in our home, it’s like we hit a reset button.
Saturday and Sunday I stayed off social media. I cleaned our home, played with my girls, and continuously thought how thankful I was for my husband, my solid rock. (Also how grateful I was to not work in a hospital, because I clearly was not made for that level of stress!)
Greeted this morning by a new Monday, came sunshine and stillness to sit in all the past 32 weeks have been. Opening the door of opportunity to share how unperfect I am and how grateful I am that even as I write, there is a peace I was supposed to go through exactly these 32 weeks.
Sometimes I want to quit. I want to throw away one of the plates I spin.
“Then I will be able to spin the other plates better,” I try to convince myself.
No surprise, the first plate I look to drop is the one that has also given me a full time income. But truly, the plates I currently have spinning have all been handmade by a God who loves me and looks at me and says, “I will spin the plates for you.”
Wife, mom, business owner, friend, and all of the tasks that come with each. Each plate specifically designed for me.
Spinning several plates with my two hands has not been going well. Plates barely spinning at this point, the weight each feeling heavier as they lose momentum.
And the ‘aha’ moment this morning when I finally took a moment to listen, “Emily, hand me the plates,” (because that’s how He talks to me). It’s not my job to judge how fast I can spin the plates, and make sure they are all properly spinning at least 90%. Who do I think I am?
I passed the weight of the plates back to the one I took them from without asking.
Today I quit. I quit trying to fit my life into my own definition of success. I am handing over the life that is not mine in the first place, but a loving God’s. I will allow Him to continue to use me as a wife, mommy, business owner, team leader, encourager, autoimmune disease fighter, Hyperemesis Warrior, friend, and vulnerable human being. However He sees use.
All I really want is the freedom only He can give. My friend, are you ready to hand your plates over? (Because you and I both know mommy doesn’t want to clean up one more broken dish!)