Existential Crisis

I've been morphing into a new person. Or maybe it's more accurate to say that my old self has been dying off, bit by bit. The new bits of me are tender, like the fragile pink skin under a wound. It's so sensitive. And I don't know myself at all.

Most of my core beliefs in the gospel of Jesus Christ are the same. My marriage is rock solid and my relationships with my kids continue to be great. These are blessing. But everything else sways like a boat out to sea, and sometimes it makes me seasick.

Here are some of the lies I've believed all my life:
—Heavenly Father is like a really mean teacher who won't let me into heaven if I don't earn enough points.
—My worth is based on my achievements.
—My personal preferences don't matter.
—And agency is just an illusion, and there really is only one way for me to be saved...OR ELSE.


I'm having an existential crisis. I sit quietly with my psyche, and we grieve together. That new skin near the wound is so sensitive that it is painful to be around many people.

Now I see that some of my minimalism comes from wanting to let go of things that hurt me. Often it's stuff that reminds me of the past. But usually it's stuff that represents the fantasy self I aspired to be but never lived up. My fantasy self is a lie too, and she makes me feel false guilt.

Guilt says, "I did something bad." Shame says, "I am bad." But I hope it's a lie. I hope it's okay that I can barely run a sewing machine, and I could never get through all that enriching but BORING literature that I sold off. I hope it's okay that I can't turn out beautiful cakes and that I'm terrible at deep cleaning.

That shouldn't stop me from feeling like I contribute to the world, but it does. When my grandpa was sick for decades, there was a song that said, "Only he who does something has reason to live," and it made him feel so badly about himself. They've changed the words: "Only he who does something helps others to live." I have to remember that I'm good at some things, like snuggling, and listening, and getting my husband and kids to laugh.


One lie I used to believe is the one about Heavenly Father being mean and not letting me into heaven, even if I want to be there and I'm kind-of-an-okay person.

I always noticed my faults as a child. I knew I was bad. I thought I could make up for my badness by doing the most heavenly thing in the world someday: be a mother. My mom told us that she could have been a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or anything else, but she chose to be our mom because it's the most important work.

Once when my friend came over to play dolls with me, we played hospital, and she said she wanted to be a nurse. I thought that was a great idea. And as I got older, I decided I could earn extra heavenly points by using my natural talents of taking care of people. I could not only be a mother—I could be a nurse too and save the WHOLE WORLD!!! That would give me some extra points and maybe put me over the top to qualify for heaven despite being bad.

I worked and made things happen, and my plan worked. I became a mother just before I passed the nursing board exam. But working as a nurse was hell for me. I hated it (I don't use that word unless I really mean it). I felt my gifts come through when I asked for them. But I hated leaving my kids. I hated caring for other people instead of them. And it made me so sick in my heart that my body soon followed. Organs started failing so I would finally listen, and I finally, finally quit. And now I'm talking to you.

I grieve that I ever believed God wouldn't want me. I think He's actually a parent, and He thinks we're adorable when we fall down and try again, as many tries as it takes. I think He regards us with mercy and trust.

I could have done something that would have fed my heart. I mourn this. And this is only one story. Every one of those lies and a host of others have dozens of stories attached to each. Existential crisis, folks. But the truth comes through. I don't have enough threads to weave anything substantial yet, but as I process the lies, and any manipulation and bamboozlement and I abuse I've ever felt, I sometimes drop burdens and feel better. I honor those who see beyond my scabby grossness and let me change, especially my Heavenly Father.

Summer 2017 Update

Oh, hey guys! It's been a long time since I've written. It's hard to find Lyme people who are doing a lot better because they stop putting their journey on the internet and instead focus somewhere, anywhere, else.

So I apologize for abandoning you and humbly return as one who feels yet again unwell. I had more vigor and stamina the last several months than I had in years, but summer came and made my Lyme multiply in the heat (at least that's how I perceived it). Right now, the dream is to spend my summers in the cool, wet, and mild Pacific Northwest, where temperatures rarely rise above 80 degrees Fahrenheit.

During my recent "months of plenty," I knew I was better based on how much I was able to do. When I was the most ill, I could do one thing per day: pick up kids from school, OR shower, OR cook some food, etc. (It all feels so familiar as I lie here in my nightgown from two days ago.) But then I started doing three things. Then eight. And sometimes even a good dozen! To increase productivity by 1200% is amazing. I ran errands and cooked our dinners and chauffeured my children place to place. I purged my house of even more stuff. Yes, I lied down about twice daily for a good rest, but I was doing stuff. I was living. I wasn't waiting to get stuff done--I was GETTING it done.

I try to live in a perpetual present, but I admit to the rare glance at the "what-if" banner in my brain. What if this energy didn't last? Nah, things are good, I'd think. I've got my rife and better nutrition...this should work out.

But this summer has cut my legs from under me. I can't do all the stuff, and it's sad. Back in the early spring, I verbally hoped I could help with my sister's impending twins in the summer because I would have oodles of healing time in between. Mid spring, I felt no increase in energy and retracted my hopes to be their nanny. And now I lie in bed most of the time, of little use to anyone except the puppy who naps beside me. To want to be relied upon by people I care about, but being unable to deliver, is heartbreaking. Nobody wants to take a step backwards.

One thing I still do well enough is carry my own load, even if I can't help with others' loads. Yes, we've had to modify our style from having a power mom to horizontal mom, but it's working. My children have full summer days of assigned chores, assigned reading, and assigned play. We change up enough things to keep their lives new and fun, frequenting the library and showing them movies they are finally old enough to enjoy (like "National Treasure," "The Princess Bride," "The Ten Commandments," "The Sound of Music"). We participate in holiday celebrations and take a lot of drives into the mountains. They play with the dogs and splash around outside. And I am teaching them to cook and clean, play piano and swim. They are making memories.

So yeah, they're doing great even if I feel like a bum and want to move on from this. But I have to remember that they were meant to be in this family and that if I'm meant to handle this life, by extension they are too.

So that's an update. It is what it is, and it's good enough. It has to be.

Stasis

I'm okay. I'm much better than I was a year ago, and better than the year before that. We have adapted our lives to accommodate my slowness. We are fine. I am happier than before but still feel anxious and dark at times. 

That's me. 

I finished the rife 45-day Lyme protocol as 2016 ended. I am not cured and well, and I thought I wouldn't be. But I did think I'd have more energy, optimism, and clarity. I thought I'd leap to seventy percent. 

But, you know, I'm not hooked to IV's, and I can do this from home. Bless. 

These are my thoughts. 

I don't think I am going to get better. I have improved, but I don't think I'm going to get back to one hundred percent function. I am too scarred. I have been severely ill for nine years. And I have reached an apex that will probably dip and plateau from here. I've reached stasis. It's a better place than it could be, and I am grateful. 

The objective is to survive until a cure is found or I have finished my work. For now, I can improve my quality of life...

...which is already pretty great. Just today, I soaked in the tub and thought, "Man, this is luxury. I have this house and my family and my dogs and warm, clean water, and I am so fortunate." So my ideas here are first-world myopic. 

1. I reduce stress. I do less and rest more. Seeing too much stuff in my home has always bothered me, so I'm getting rid of lot. A lot. My decluttering journey has been a continuous spiral toward just the right selection of items to serve our family, and each pass around the circle I understand better what is serving us and what is not. 

This doesn't just go for items: I constantly edit what I allow into my life. Anything unwelcomed is treated like junk mail--unapologetically chucked before it can enter my inner sanctum. 

2. I increase hygge--a Danish word describing a feeling of safety, coziness, and well-being. I relish good smells, soft fabrics, delicious food, living creatures, soft lighting, sparse furnishings, clear surfaces, and enjoyable books. We have more calm and seem to get out games to play as a family more often because of our desire for togetherness, and because of the spare orderliness that is beginning to allow this. I have more help with chores because we all want that good feeling that comes with a hyggelig home. 

3. I seek doable service. I dig my fingers into the incredible, arctic coats of my grateful dogs for a good scratch. I wave at the neighbors when I pick up the kids. I comment on Instagram and do my best in my calling. From these small things, I hope to roll forward--even if only with the momentum of stiff, cooling magma--toward my hope to pay forward the kindness that has been shown to me. 

Service can sometimes take my mind off of pervasive loneliness and mourning. Who can't smile when a dog is kicking its leg because you found THE sweet scratching spot?

I can think of a lot of things I'll probably never do, like run a marathon, get a PhD, or have more children. But I live a good life, a simple life, a small life. I didn't think that would happen to me, a small life. I planned to walk the whole world and be a big influencer in it. 

But maybe I'm meant to be the steady home base from which my family can leap.