Medical Motherhood.
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The Miners League Master Binder: A Guide to Streamlining Your Home’s Systems
I really thought it was the isolation of a global shut down brought on by a pandemic… or the heaviness of bringing an infant home with six different heart diagnoses and her name written on a heart transplant waiting list… or the pressure of so many different symptoms to monitor, medications to give, milestones to catch up with… but when I experienced the same anxiety as I left my career all over again and brought home a healthy newborn five years later, I knew there was something I was missing. Yes, twice now I’ve had the opportunity to leave full time work in order to enter into seasons of stay…
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Permission to Live.
When we first found out Savannah would need a little extra care, I remember asking the Lord, “How am I going to do this?” I knew her life held great purpose from Him, and I knew the promises of His Word from my own healing testimony. I could gather the Scriptures. I knew how to stand on them for her. He’d do the rest. But how could I live out my faith in between those moments of sink-to-my-knees, cry-out-my-eyes, call-out-His-name prayer closet sessions? What would it look like to take my stance in my bedroom- standing and shouting, pointing my finger at an invisible enemy, boldly declaring God’s Word over…
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Mom Guilt.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by “Mom Guilt?” Oh, phew. I knew it couldn’t be just me. For those of you mamas-to-be who’ve stumbled across my page, Mom Guilt is the irrational sense of not being able to give your baby everything they need and deserve for a healthy development. It’s root cause is a deep, sacred love for the children entrusted to you. It also stems from honoring the purpose of motherhood/longing to be intentional in the role. And its symptoms make up a long list of, well, crazy. I’ll go ahead and insert a few of my own here: waiting for a “Mom’s Day…
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I Know Where The Sidewalk Ends.
Let’s talk about trauma, mamas. Experiencing and recovering from trauma is like running along a moving sidewalk. Life feels fast-paced and, honestly, maybe even just frantic. You are exhausted trying to keep the pace but you’ve got your eyes locked on the end in sight. That place where the yellow and black striped metal meets the concrete and you know life will slow to a stroll. Things will be easy again. Life will be good. But nobody ever tells you what life looks like on the other side of that sidewalk- whatever event you’re just trying to get through. No one tells you about the moment your legs, now adjusted…
