One Word for 2017...with 5 days to spare

I am in the anti-resolution camp. I was trying to figure out why. Maybe it’s because I am too pessimistic and cynical. Maybe it’s because life has seemed so out of my control in the past few years. Maybe it’s because my failure meter is too high – I already know I won’t meet up to my standards this year, why set up something to specifically remind myself of how I don’t measure up? I understand the purpose of resolutions is to actually meet them, but how often does that truly happen?

Although I don’t make resolutions, the past few years I have started doing one word for the year. This has its own hashtag #OneWord365 so you know it is a real thing. The idea is to choose a word that you want the year to encapsulate or that you want to focus on.

I thought about my word last January. I thought of choosing Light. I was thinking a lot about light, being so surrounded by darkness, but it seemed too abstract. I thought about Restore. I knew we needed restoration and I thought that we had passed the worst part of depression and sickness and surely things would start looking up after the new year.

Then I spent most of January and February completing our “world hospital tour.” The flu in Cambodia, a terrible stomach bug in Thailand, another stomach bug in Myanmar. When we finally had a month of health, I realized that despite the relief antidepressants had brought, I was still having trouble completing simple daily tasks. We took a trip to Beijing so I could get a few days of counseling, because that kind of help is 500 miles away. Then we came back and I got pneumonia and the semester ended in a fog of sickness that reached ridiculous proportions.

So I forgot about choosing a word for the year. I’m glad I didn’t choose a word last January because once again the year has not turned out at all like I would have planned or hoped. This was not a year of restoration, more of demolition. Although I have realized that the mess of tearing down is often the first step of building up something new.

But now, five days before the end of the year, I would like to choose my word for 2017. The timing seems entirely appropriate for the year it has been. Despite the ridiculousness and difficulty of the past year, as I look back I realize it hasn’t been terrible.

It’s funny that I would think this because I also feel that most things have not gone well this year. Way too much pneumonia and asthma and flu. Crappy discipline, too much anger, and out of control children. Little contact with students and sometimes with the outside world in general. Not enough exercise and too much stress eating. Pretty much nothing that would be described as success.

The other day I got an email from a wise friend who understands. She said, “There is a lot that I don't know about my identity right now, but I do know that I have been faithful... And that is what the Lord asks of us…"

And despite all the failings, all that was out of our control and didn’t go how we wanted, this is what I see looking back on this year. We have been faithful.

We stayed when things were hard and we were just trying to keep everyone alive another day, trusting that God would care for us and provide what we needed. And he did – not at all in the way I would have asked for it. We sought help when we needed it. We have made the difficult decision to uproot our family for a year for the sake of our health and well-being, trusting that God will work out all the overwhelming details - details like where we will live and work in America and where we will live and work when we come back.

More than that, God has been faithful. He has sustained us when I wasn’t sure I could carry on. In faithfulness he afflicted us, even when it didn’t make a lot of sense at the time. In faithfulness he has torn down the old and dying things inside us to prepare a way for something new. In faithfulness, he has given us more of himself – his strength, his consolation, his grace – when we had nothing left in ourselves.

Sometimes I think we have been faithful because we had to rely on God. I feel like Peter when he said, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words of eternal life.” It’s not that I have great faith. I don’t even feel like a very good Christian sometimes. But I don't know how to live without God.  His story is so wrapped up in me and in this past year, I couldn’t begin to unravel it. I couldn’t tell you where the ordinary ended and the sacred began. It seems that more often than not, the terrible and the beautiful danced hand in hand.

So my word for the year is Faithful. When I look back, I see a LOT of sickness, a lot of trials, a lot of surviving. But over it all I see that we stayed faithful to the One who was faithful to us. Oh, we have not been successful, but we have been faithful. And I think, actually, that has been enough.

Joy Belongs to Us

We were healthy the entire first week of December. Adalyn and I had just recovered from the stomach bug that wiped us out after Thanksgiving, and we made it all the way until the evening of December 7th before Adalyn came down with a fever.

That first week of December, we put up our Christmas decorations. We had a magically calm cookie decorating experience. We lit our first advent candle, the candle of Hope, and I felt hope that our life could actually be manageable. I sorted through the girls clothes, and our jumbled medicine stash, and eliminated unneeded kitchen items. We couldn’t really pack anything yet, but I did what I could to get rid of anything we didn’t really need. Purging brings me inner peace.

A surprisingly peaceful cookie decorating experience

But the feeling of peace did not last for long. The day we lit the second advent candle, the Peace candle, Nadia was already down with a fever. “It shouldn’t be too bad,” I thought. Adalyn only had a few days of cough and congestion, so I expected something similarly mild.

Instead Nadia’s fever continued, and she lay listlessly in our arms, half asleep. On Wednesday, I was worried enough to call the pediatrician. After Nadia submitted to her examination without any resistance, the doctor said she had pneumonia and a double ear infection. Her fever, heart rate, and breathing rate were all high, and her oxygen levels were low. The doctor had us start her on a high dose of antibiotics and keep a close eye on her. “If she gets any worse, she needs to go to the hospital for oxygen.”

Sad, listless baby

It was appropriate that this was the week of Peace, because I felt anything but peace. I was so anxious I couldn’t think straight. I tried to count simple numbers to figure out her breathing rate, but I could not make sense of them. I kept reminding myself to breathe. My head was pounding from headache and fear. Over the course of one hour, I sent 20 emails back and forth with my mom and doctor-sister trying to figure out what to do. I have never been so worried about one of my children before, as I listened to her struggle to breathe, as I watched her oxygenation numbers, as she lay listlessly across my chest.

At the hospital the next morning, the children’s waiting area was overflowing with sick children: babies crying, children coughing, some sounding even worse than Nadia. Dozens of parents and grandparents watched us curiously, ever the spectacle, but we were all in this together, worried and waiting.

The children's injection room at the hospital

We were happy to return home after a few hours, but we almost headed straight back when her oxygen levels dropped dangerously low that afternoon. What relief to see the difference albuterol made! After an exhausting morning, carrying Nadia all around the hospital, the rest of the day and night were still stressful, monitoring her breathing, trying to decide if she needed to go back to the hospital. Late that night her oxygen level dropped disturbingly low, and we were already out the door to the hospital when her breathing improved dramatically.

She finally got an inhaler like her sisters

We lost sleep over worry about her breathing, over waking up frequently to give her medicine during the night, and over the effects of the medicine – Nadia was so hyped up she was running around crazy at midnight. Instead of napping, she has been climbing out of her crib. But finally she was breathing. Her fever dropped, she started eating some, she played and danced and climbed on the washing machine to explore the medicine cabinet and grabbed a cleaver in the kitchen. Back to the normal worries about keeping her alive.

Yesterday we started the week of Joy. I struggle with joy more than the others. I am grateful for the promise of hope, I easily recognize the need for peace in the midst of my panic, but joy feels like a pressure. I should feel joy.

Joy belongs to those other people – the ones with the matching Christmas trees and prettily wrapped presents and smiling children. The ones who like the happy carols instead of the wistful ones, who run around doing fun Christmas activities, who are full of optimism.

Not the ones ready to sweep all the clutter straight into the trash, or the ones who whisper-yell at their children, “Go. To. SLEEP. Don’t you dare wake up your little sister!!” with angry eyes in the dark. Not the ones still scrambling to get presents ordered, or the ones with lights burned out two-thirds of the Christmas tree. Joy doesn’t belong to us.

Last week I thought, “You know, this December has still been better than last year.” Which just goes to shows how terrible the last one was. This time last year, as I sat covered by the blackness of winter and sickness and depression, I wrote about waiting for the light. I certainly wasn't feeling the joy; I was just hoping to survive a few more weeks.

Adalyn Lucia leading our St. Lucia Day procession last week. Lucia means "bringer of light."

And I remembered again: we aren’t the ones who have to make the joy happen. Anymore than we are ones creating peace or hope. A star bore witness to generations of hope finally fulfilled. Peace was not a silent night and an anglo-saxon baby who didn’t cry; He himself is our peace. The angel didn’t say, “Hey shepherds, get your joy on!” No, he came to tell them that joy had already arrived - joy in the most ordinary form of a newborn baby.

Next week is the week of Love. And for you and for me it may be a week of whining and snapping and arguments and comparison and imperfection. We can be pretty bad at loving one another. What relief to realize Christmas is not about our love, it is how great the love the Father has lavished upon us.

Sometimes we feel the joy and warmth and love. Sometimes we wait for it. At Christmastime, as nights reach their longest, the darkness seems to be winning, and some years the darkness steals straight into our hearts. But there is a Light that shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

We are the ones who wait. Expectantly, imperfectly, empty.

Joy belongs to us.


He did not wait till the world was ready,
til men and nation were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady
and prisoners cried out for release...

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

~ Madeleine L'Engle, Miracle on 10th Street

Sick

Once upon a time I thought that sickness meant being sick. You feel gross, you take medicine, you press through when you have to and get extra sleep when you can, you get better. Then I had children. And my children got sick all the time. And I got sick all the time too. And I realized that sickness effects everything.

Sickness is exhaustion. It is baby waking up every 10 minutes because she is too miserable to sleep. It is baby “sleeping” on top of you, elbow in your face, knees in your side, moving restlessly. It is middle of the night throw-ups: wiping faces, changing pajamas, stripping sheets, settling a pale child back into bed. It is daddy putting on new sheets while mama deals with crying child. It is the washing machine going in the middle of the night. It is lying in bed with children climbing all over you because you are too tired to get up in the morning.

Sickness is nursing and nursing and nursing. It is wishing you had stopped nursing by now. It is being so glad you are still nursing, when your baby or toddler won’t drink anything else and is looking increasingly less pudgy than a few days ago. It is nursing your almost 2 year old in the middle of the night, even though you finally got her night-weaned months ago, because she is so miserable and just needs comfort.

Sickness is an everlasting fever chart. It is peering confusedly at the medicine record, bleary eyed in the middle of the night. It is feeling that telltale hot forehead and knowing it is starting all over again. It is finally throwing out the fever chart and then reluctantly starting a new one the next day. It is owning 6 thermometers because somehow they never seem to work.

Sickness is trying to keep track of who is supposed to have medicine. It is managing to get your children properly medicated but realizing you forgot to take your own medicines, again, even though you really aren’t supposed to miss it.

Sickness is vitamin C and elderberry, probiotics and apple cider vinegar and essential oils and hand cleaner...and wondering if they will do any good against germs coughed directly into your mouth. Sickness is toddler who won’t leave your lap coughing into your food at every meal, and wiping her nose on your shirt, and drinking from everyone else’s water bottles. It is children who remember to cover their mouths...sometimes...and who use tissue to wipe their noses...when you remind them.

Sickness is coming down with your own sickness when already worn down from nights of comforting and days of carrying around a fussy, clingy baby. It is planning your day around possible naptimes. It is not having enough voice to read home school. It is dragging yourself out of bed to make chicken soup. It is children watching too much TV. It is everything you own exploded all over the floor.

Sickness is slowly getting better – itching to clean that mess which is driving you crazy, catching up on home school reading with a scratchy throat, dealing with the dire laundry situation. It is arms so tired, hanging up the clothes. It is dizziness. It is the decision whether to press on or to lie down and rest.

Sickness is trying to listen to your body, when it says you need to rest or you might fall over and die. But sometimes your body says, “What you really need is coffee. Lots of coffee and sugar and carbs.” And sometimes it says, “I hate you. Why are you so mean to me? How would you like some double pneumonia,” and you don’t need that kind of crap right now.

Sickness is wondering why there isn’t more public recognition of the monumental milestone of “learning to throw up in a bowl,” because it may be second only to “sleeping through the night.” It is when everyone has been throwing up enough you start to hear phantom throw-up sounds.

Sickness is toast and crackers and electrolyte popcicles. It is rejecting any food or drink. It is ravenous hunger before you are allowed to eat. It is excitement over the first real food – an egg or that blessed first peanut butter sandwich.

Sickness is asthma flare-ups and extra inhalers and that barky, croupy cough going on and on.

Sickness is lying in bed looking out the window at the waning sun, darkness falling over your room like a weight, like depression. It is the knowledge that you have spent almost all day in bed, and bed feels like a prison. It is summoning energy to get children to bed amidst the evening fever rise, feeling stale and dirty but too weak to shower, looking ahead to another sleepless night.

Sickness is the disappointment of canceled plans. Missing a rare party or your child’s performance or a date with a friend. It is staying home with sick children during the holidays. It is having to tell your child that she won’t be able to go to the party she has been talking about all week. It is your toddler insistently bringing you her shoes wondering why she never gets to go outside anymore.

Sickness is confinement. It is days without stepping outside the confines of the apartment. It is well-children going stir crazy, because you can’t even send them outside to play. It is well-children missing school because you don’t want to take the sick children out in the cold and pollution.

Sickness is anxiety. It is looking helplessly at your listless child who has hardly sat up in two days. It is listening to your baby’s rapid heart rate and labored breathing. It is the dread of having to go back to the local hospital. It is self-prescribing. It is finally going to the hospital...waiting in lines and lines with sick people who touch your child’s face. It is the 30 second check up and antibiotics you hope are actually warranted. It is the fear that it could be something serious. It is searching Google, even though it will try to convince you it is cancer or TB or the plague.

Sickness is kids who act like jerks, even when they aren’t the sick ones. It is being an even bigger jerk than your children, when you are supposed to be thirty years more mature. It is taking a while to even feel bad about being a jerk because the whole world is stupid and deserves your full wrath. It is parents snapping at each other, even though we know we are both just tired, so tired and not feeling well.

It is hoping your kids forget the jerk-mom and remember the one who put a cool washcloth on a hot forehead. It is cups of juice with bendy straws and crackers to nibble. It is making meals you are too sick to eat. It is realizing your baby would sleep if only you stood rocking her for the next 10 hours. It is little heads drooped on big shoulders, little hands wound through hair. It is finally seeing the shine return to their eyes.

If, of course, you aren’t too sick to notice.

So This is What Burnout Looks Like

“We are doing better than last year,” I told our member care specialist.

“Better than double pneumonia?” she asked skeptically, “I’m not sure that’s saying much.”

She had a point.

Last spring when I was recovering from pneumonia I thought, “You know, I’m really doing much better...Of course, I haven’t been outside yet. And I get out of breath if I talk much. And I have to rest every 10 minutes. And I’m still spending most of the day in bed... Hmm, I may be worse than I thought.”

That’s how this fall has been for us. Compared to last year, it’s not too bad. We haven’t been to the hospital yet! We aren’t sick all the time, but when friends ask if we are healthy, I find myself saying, “Yeah, I think we’re healthy. I mean, Kevin and I just had a weird virus that made all our muscles super sore. And Juliana threw up the other day but she’s okay now. And Adalyn’s allergies are causing her asthma to act up. But yeah, we’re pretty healthy. Nadia and I just have a little cold.”

We are functioning much better than last year. I am able to cook meals and clean the house, at least when I’m not sick. Most of the time I have had enough voice for home schooling. Kevin has continual headaches, but he’s still able to teach and handle what has to be done. But we haven’t been able get far beyond survival.

We toss around the word burnout a lot, but when I started reading about real burnout, I felt like I was reading a description of our lives. Frequent illness, frequent headaches, continuous fatigue, anxiety, inability to concentrate, feeling overwhelmed by needs, frustration and anger, emotional exhaustion, compassion fatigue, drop in productivity, questioning our calling… I could go on, but you get the idea. Check, check, and check.

I knew we were pretty burned out last year, but that was overshadowed by the relentless sickness and the darkness of depression. We were so far down in the pit of survival mode it was hard to see beyond keeping everyone alive for one more day.

This fall we’ve been able to see a little more clearly. We realize that some of the roles we have been in are not the best for us. In recent years I have often felt sidelined, unable to participate outside the home in the ways I would like. I am becoming more aware of roles I would like step into, but we have to get beyond survival before I can add anything else.

I have learned some important things about myself in the past year, like how I have been pushing against being an introvert and highly sensitive person, damaging and devaluing myself in the process. I have realized I have ridiculous self-expectations that will never be met – and don’t even need to be. I have realized that depression and anxiety will always be part of the equation, in lesser or greater proportion, and that prioritizing mental health is not an option.

For Kevin, team leading has been stressful, dealing with difficult people who may or may not get mad and hang up mid-conversation. He gets emails from the school at 10pm saying, “We need all of your lesson plans for the semester in two days!” (real example). He negotiates with the school, “I’m sorry but that’s impossible. We have never taught these classes before and have to make up the whole curriculum, but we’ll get you as much as possible by the end of the weekend.” Then he communicates the unwelcome news to the other foreign teachers, “Hope you don’t have any weekend plans...”

Kevin has also been the mostly-healthy one for the past couple of years. Since the beginning of my pregnancy with Nadia, it’s just been one mess of sickness and Kevin has been picking up the slack. He is tired. He has had a continuous headache for a year or more.

I knew this had been a hard season of life for me, but I am recognizing that the effects are longer reaching than I thought. My depression has definitely improved since last year, and I’d like to think I’m “over that” now, but the reality is I am not at all ready to stop taking medication. In fact, it would be a pretty terrible idea.  And I am tired of being sick so much, for no real apparent reason (except maybe stress or exhaustion or pollution or carrying around little germ magnets…). The kids are not even surprised to see me in bed because “mama’s not feeling good” is such a normal thing. That's not what I want them to remember of me.

We realize that we are yelling at the kids. Honestly, we’ll probably always yell sometimes because cute little people can be extremely aggravating. But we are frustrated and angry too much. We are not handling their emotional needs well. Things I used to enjoy doing with the kids, like cooking or doing anything crafty, just stress me out now.  This is not how we want our family to be.

And recently I realized, it doesn’t have to be this way. What if we could be healthy? Physically, mentally, emotionally. Not “okay” in the sense of “hopefully won’t fall apart in the next few months,” but actually well. Of course there will always be issues, but there have been times when we were really okay. We weren’t carefully measuring out our inner resources or questioning our ability to be here.

We planned to spend some time in the US next fall, but several wise friends kindly asked, “If you already aren't doing well, isn’t next summer a long time to wait?” If there is hope for more than survival, what are we waiting around for?  We talked it over together and with other friends and recognized that maybe our desire to stick to The Plan had more to do with pride and being in control than actual necessity.  Apparently it's not a good idea to stick it out until you are physically unable to anymore.

So we will be leaving this January to spend a year in the US. This fall has given us some time to think through what we need to return and do well here. We need to rest. We need to get in better physical health. We need to dig deep and deal with some long-term issues. We need to think through our roles and figure out how to find a better fit – doing things that are enlivening not just draining. Taking roles that we actually have a talent and passion for, not just ones that stress us out. We need to build into our family.

It is a hard decision, and I have been surprisingly sad about it. After all, we are used to leaving friends and “home” for a year or more. We say goodbyes all the time. And it’s not forever – we plan to come back. But we aren’t used to leaving China for a year. We have an amazing community – people we have known for 6 years - and we want to be a part of what is going on here. I feel sad that we aren’t doing well, and really haven’t been for quite some time. I feel sad that we have to completely uproot our lives and move to another country just to get the help and healing we need!

We will need to move our of our apartment, the only one the kids have really known as home, and find somewhere to store our things. We haven’t moved in over four years and two kids, so we’ve accumulated a good bit of stuff since then. I do love a good opportunity to purge, but I hate moving and transition.  I will miss our neighbors and our bright blue cabinets and the way the light fills our laundry porch.

But I also feel relief, knowing that we don’t have to keep pushing and keep pushing and hope we make it. I feel hope that we could actually be healthy and well. I feel hope for our future in China, that we could be effective instead of just getting by. And I feel hope for our future as people, which is important.

When I came across this song recently, I immediately loved it and felt like it was a theme for our current life. I have since listened to it enough that Nadia joins enthusiastically with, “I tust, I tust yooooooooou.”

Letting go of every single dream
I lay each one down at Your feet
Every moment of my wandering
Never changes what You see
I try to win this war
I confess, my hands are weary, I need Your rest
Mighty warrior, king of the fight
No matter what I face You're by my side

When You don't move the mountains
I'm needing You to move
When You don't part the waters
I wish I could walk through
When You don't give the answers
As I cry out to You
I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You

- Trust in You, Lauren Daigle

Life Lessons from Labor

When I think of never going through pregnancy again, I feel So Happy. But I am actually a bit sad about not having another labor. It is such an incredible experience. I have often thought of how helpful those breathing exercises are for every other part of life with children. Then I started thinking about all the other life lessons I learned through labor. Here are some of them.

~ Everyone says, “You will know when it is time. You will know, you will know.” And you will know...but maybe not as soon as you would like. But that’s okay, you don’t have to have it all figured out, even if you have been through this before.

~ Sharing horror stories seems to be part of human nature. Whatever you are about to experience, someone will feel it is their duty to tell you about the horrible thing that happened to them or their cousin’s sister-in-law. Seek out the good stories.

~ Listen to the truth about what is going on inside yourself. Your head may be telling you something different – I shouldn’t feel this way. It is not time yet. This is not how I expected things to be.

~ You may not handle things as well as you thought. That’s okay. How could you possibly have known what you were getting into?

~ Preparation matters. Knowledge matters. Support matters. But sometimes life still happens anyway and there is nothing you could have done to prevent it.

~ Just because things didn’t go according to your plan doesn’t mean they went wrong.

~ Other people will try to tell you how you should feel about your life experience. You should feel happy because “nothing bad happened,” but you still feel heartbroken. You should feel violated because someone else made the decision for you, but you just feel relieved. You should feel pain but you feel joy. You should feel empowered but you feel helpless. Feel what you feel. Find people who will let you feel what you feel.

~ If 1000 people go through the same thing, they will all experience it differently. Live your experience. Don’t compare.

~ You are stronger than you think. So much stronger. You are also weaker than you think, and you can be both at the same time.

~ Sometimes you just need people nearby who can hold your hand and remind you to breathe.

~ When you think too much about what is coming, you may feel your courage failing. Focus back on the moment, back on the most basic elements of life. Breathe in, breathe out, focus with all of your might. This moment is all you need to handle right now.

~ Sometimes you need to be quiet and breathe. Sometimes you need to yell.

~ The deeper you are consumed by the task, the less you care about what people think of you.

~ You have to let go of control and surrender completely to birth something new.

~ Everyone has scars. Some are visible.

~ There are some things you can control. And a whole lot of other things you can’t.

~ There is a time when the line between singing and swearing and praying nearly disappears.

~ Two people can go through the same experience together and feel very differently about it at the end. It was beautiful, it was terrible. It was holy, it was traumatic. It was the best and worst day of life.

~ In the middle of the labor and pain and overwhelm, you may lose sight of what you are even in this for. But when the end comes, it is even better than you imagined.

~ When you finally get what you were waiting for, sometimes you feel joy. Maybe you feel relief, or fear, or unaccountable sadness. Maybe you are so tired you’re not even sure you care anymore. Maybe you feel nothing. That’s okay. It will come.

~ When your whole life changes in an instant, after the hardest day of your life, in the midst of pain and exhaustion, the world expects you to keep right on with life. Hold tightly to your rest. Make space for recovery.

~ When things get really tough, you may forget about the fundamentals of life. Drinking. Moving. Breathing. You don’t need someone to tell you what to do: you need someone to give you a drink, to show you how to move, to breathe with you.

~ When you are going through something really hard, things you wouldn't even notice in normal life can drive you utterly crazy.  Noise, smells, touch, people.  What is helpful one minute might seem torturous the next.  People can't read your mind, so you'll have to let them know.  And try not to bite their head off in the process.

~ You may feel normal and pain-free one moment and doubled over the next. It doesn’t mean that the pain isn’t real, or breathing space between isn’t real.

~ You are the one experiencing all the pain, but realize it can be an exhausting, emotionally trying experience for the people around you too.

~ If what you are trying isn’t working, try something else.

~ If you are too engrossed in the process to think clearly, surround yourself with people who can think clearly and advocate on your behalf.

~ You need someone who has the expertise to handle the problems and complications. You need someone who can show compassion. And you need someone who can just clean up the mess afterwards.

~ Your mind may tell you that you can handle this, but if things are intensifying quickly and your body says this is getting out of control, don’t wait around. Get help. And it’s okay to speed.

~ Pain feels different when you can relax, when you have support, and when you feel safe. Pain does not always equal suffering.

~ When the task seems most impossible, when you are sure you cannot go on, often you are close to breakthrough.

~ The hardest experiences can also be the most awe inspiring.

Excuse Me While I Turn Off The Lights

I am the one going around turning off the lights and turning down the music. I hate using overhead lights. During the day, our apartment fortunately gets enough natural light that we rarely need them. By the time the sun starts to go down, I switch to lamps as soon as possible. The light doesn’t just hurt my eyes; it hurts my sensibilities.

This year I discovered I am highly sensitive.

I had heard people talk about being highly sensitive, but since I didn’t really understand what that meant, I didn’t think it applied to me. I’m not that sensitive. I don’t cry all the time. Which is true. But that’s not really what it means to be a highly sensitive person.

A highly sensitive person (HSP) is one who processes everything more and is extra sensitive to the subtleties around them. Because they are observing and processing everything, they are easily overstimulated. They also tend to have strong empathy for others, perhaps because they are in tune to others’ moods and needs. Being highly sensitive is not a disorder – there are good and bad things about it. About 30% of the population (around the world and across species) is thought to be highly sensitive.

It is easy for an HSPs to get overstimulated, and when we do we tend to shut down and become less sensitive than others. Lights and noise become unbearable, and we just want to lie down in a dark, quiet room to recover. I think of it as a migraine of the nervous system.

For me, noise is a big stressor. I live with three small, very big noise makers in a country that loves firecrackers, megaphones, and blaring music from competing stores. When Nadia is crying and Adalyn is screaming and Juliana is whining, I feel like my head is going to explode. Last year I often thought the official emoticon for mom-of-three should be an exploding head.

Background noise is very distracting. Trying to talk to someone in a restaurant when the background music is slightly too high and other people are talking nearby is stressful. I have a hard time concentrating and I know I will feel frazzled after a while. A truly loud restaurant, supermarket, or shopping area is hard to handle, and even the humming of the refrigerator is annoying.

When I started reading about being highly sensitive, it was like dozens of lightbulbs going off in my head (which you know, is quite overstimulating). It all made so much sense! It explains why I often get so stressed by normal life things that don’t seem to bother others quite so much. I always feel tired and dazed after going to the supermarket, in China or America. There are so many lights and so many people (here), music, noise, choices, and so much visual stimulation. I find myself staring blankly at a row of vitamins trying to figure out what I came to find (even though I have a list in hand) and how quickly I can get out of there.

I try to keep my home neat and decluttered because I am very easily visually stressed. Of course, since I live with a bunch of very effective mess-makers, my cleaning attempts seem rather futile. Every time I walk into a room I notice the 15 random toys and items on the floor and the papers piled up on the counter. On those rare occasions when the toys are picked up and the surface are clear and the couch cushions straightened, I feel so much more at peace and in control of life.

It also perhaps explains why I love familiarity. There are plenty of places in the world I’d like to see, but I don’t actually want to go to new places. I can’t appreciate them as much as the places I have already been to multiple times. I am fine with eating the same food over and over again. I re-read books more often than I read new ones, and I’ve read my favorite books at least half a dozen times. I listen to the same album of music for months, and I almost always dislike new music – even new albums by my favorite artists – until I am familiar with it.

Life as an HSP can be tiring because your brain is constantly working hard to decode all the little nuances of life. I think of it like functioning in another language/culture. In a Chinese environment, I have to be extra alert, working to understand not only what is being said but what is being implied. What is the cultural context behind this? Are they subtly angry with me? Is there something I am missing? Am I communicating clearly – not only the right words but the right message? This is a little what normal life as an HSP is like, even in your own culture/language.

In reading about highly sensitive people, I understood a huge source of stress that I had been ignoring. I had recognized the burnout, the constant exhaustion and over-stimulation, but I didn’t understand where it was coming from. If everyone else could handle the normal life stimulation just fine and I couldn’t, it must mean that something was wrong with me.

I know my depression and anxiety have a genetic and hormonal component. But I realize they are also exasperated by trying to be something I am not. I am trying to understand myself better – my strengths and limitations and uniqueness, so I can be true to who I am, without constantly comparing myself to others and how I “should be.”

I am learning that I need naps. Partly because I’m tired and have been sleep deprived more years than not. But also because I really need some quiet time, devoid of any sensory input, to make it through the whole day. Fortunately I live in a country that believes in after lunch rest time (as do many countries because they are really smart), so I am also being culturally appropriate.

I am becoming more aware of over-stimulating situations and realizing I will need some quiet time afterwards to avoid immediate irritation and long-term burnout. I am learning that yoga helps in refocusing and coping with the physical stress of over-stimulation. I need to get out of the loud, messy house and walk (with earbuds in so I can pretend there aren’t hundreds of people around). I need to sit in my chair on the laundry porch and decompress. I need a relatively clean house so I don’t feel constantly stressed out by my surroundings. I need moments of peace and quiet for my physical and mental health.

I realize this post is mostly related to the negative parts of being highly sensitive.  It is true that being an HSP is not a bad thing, but I usually have an easier time recognizing my limitations, so I am still learning how to appreciate being highly sensitive.  To be honest, I think I have spent enough time lately in the "overstimulated" state that I haven't been able to tap into the benefits.hig  I'll let you know if I have any great breakthroughs in understanding.

It’s crazy to think that 1 of every 3 people may be highly sensitive. If you suspect you may be highly sensitive, you can take this helpful test here, created by the author of The Highly Sensitive Person. She says if you score more than 14 of 27 you may be HSP. I scored 21, so I guess that’s pretty definitive.

I read a couple of related useful books and articles this year.

1. The Highly Sensitive Person – this was a real eye-opener in explaining what it meant to be highly sensitive - and that it wasn’t a bad thing. I loved the book initially but as it wore on I got a little bit annoyed because the author is just so sensitive. Not being very emotionally sensitive, this got on my nerves. She talks about how being highly sensitive effects childhood, jobs, and relationships, but the section on parenting was laughable. Seriously half a page which said, “Many HSPs choose not to have children. But if you do, you’ll probably be a good parent.” Um, thanks. That’s so helpful. Fortunately I found a few other blogs that were much more helpful (see below).

2. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Won’t Stop Talking – (You could probably find this at the library) This book was more about introverts than HSPs, although she does talk about HSP’s as well. I highly recommend this one to anyone who is an introvert or knows one (so yes, everyone.) I particularly appreciated the cultural aspect of this – her exploration of western culture (especially Americans’) idealization of the popular, gregarious type. This sounds simple, but it was actually huge for me to recognize that extroversion is a cultural ideal, not a mandate.

3. Abundant Mama has some good articles about recognizing if you are highly sensitive http://www.abundantmama.com/highly-sensitive-mom/ , tips http://www.abundantmama.com/tips-for-highly-sensitive-moms/ , and how it affects parenting http://www.abundantmama.com/highly-sensitive-mom-2/

Me Too

Trigger Warning: Sexual harassment and assault

It was a stranger on a crowded bus.  A man in a shopping mall.  A “friend” who was a little too free with his hands. I have been lucky.  For me it was just unwanted touches or getting “felt up.”  It was inappropriate comments I don’t even remember clearly because that seemed too “common place.”  It was disturbing and violating, but it was not scarring.

Sometimes I wonder if there are women who have not been sexually harassed in some way or another. Some of these things are seen as so ordinary we view them as just part of the life experience, as if the stranger on the street has a right to make unwanted sexual innuendos because that’s just how guys act.  And nothing happened.  And he was just joking, lighten up.

Yesterday on Facebook I started seeing posts of “me too,”  women sharing that they had experienced sexual harrassment or assault in an attempt to bring light to the pervasiveness of the issue.  I didn’t think too much about it honestly, because there is always some movement going on in social media. We can’t be aware of everything, okay?

But I was surprised when I started seeing more and more of these statuses from friends and family.  Really, her too?  When I thought about all the people who didn’t post because they don’t use Facebook, or aren’t addicted and on it every day, or don’t feel comfortable sharing about something like that, or don’t feel safe because they are still experiencing some form of abuse, suddenly it was staggering.  All these were normal people living normal lives - students, mothers, teachers, doctors, women in the military, overseas workers.  How did this become so common place?

I’m not sure if it has become more common or if, I suspect, people are speaking up about it more.  Victims of sexual violence or abuse are very unlikely to speak up because of the consequences.    

I thought maybe I was just being too sensitive.  That’s what my “friend” said, “Just lighten up! It’s no big deal.”  I felt very uncomfortable but maybe it was just me. That’s what I thought until I talked to another friend who had had been treated the same way by the same person.  I finally realized, oh it’s not me who is the problem, it’s him.

I was lucky not to be in a high stakes situation.  It was not my boss or my church leader or a family member.  I didn’t have to see the person every day. But still, I didn’t say anything.  It was just “something that happens.” Besides, I had heard what people say.

Be more careful.

Why is she making a big deal about it? She just wants the attention.

Are you sure that’s what happened?

She was probably asking for it.

He wouldn’t do that - he’s a good guy!

Maybe you have never said that to a victim’s face, but if you have talked about another victim in that way, even one you didn’t know, we remember.  We know not to tell you.

I will try to be more careful.  Not to take a bus? Not to go to a mall? Not to be friends with guys?  None of these things happened in dark alleys or nightclubs. I don’t remember what I was wearing, but I can assure you it wasn’t seductive.  

And you know what, it’s not about the clothes or the makeup. Wearing a short skirt is not saying, “Come and act like my body belongs to you.” In no language is too much eyeliner code for, “Please abuse me.” Flirting may be an invitation to flirt back; it is not an invitation for date rape. The very nature of harassment, assault, and abuse is something that is not wanted, not asked for. It is a violation. We must Stop. Blaming. The. Victim.

When I am not sure if I am overreacting about a gender issue, I generally find it clarifying to ask, “What if this happened to a man?” In what world has anyone ever said to a man, “You didn’t have a shirt on so what did you expect?  Of course she grabbed your crotch.  She just couldn’t help herself.”  Who would ever say, “Dude, you had an inappropriate saying on your shirt, or you made a inappropriate joke - didn’t you kind of expect to get raped?”  “You put your arm around her shoulder - naturally she thought that meant she could touch you wherever she wanted.  You can’t just turn a girl on like that and then decide you are uncomfortable.”

Can you hear how crazy these statements are?  These are the things said to your sister, your wife, your friend, your daughter.  These are the ideas we too often accept.  We have a president who graphically talked about wanting to assault a woman, talked about taking advantage of women, and called it all joke.  And we elected him anyway.  (Yes, before you go there, I know about Clinton.  If you remember, we were horrified and impeached him.)

Sure, I could be making it up.  Maybe I just misunderstood. But I am trying to understand in what situation is it okay for a stranger to grab a woman’s breast?  Why does a friend or even a boyfriend have the right to treat a woman’s body like it belongs to him?  How can we possibly justify a counselor or a pastor taking advantage of the person coming to him for help?

I have been fortunate because I learned that women should speak up for themselves, not that women should be kept silent. I learned that women were equals with men, not made to be subjected to them.   I knew enough good - and respectful and self-accountable - men and enough strong women.  I knew this wasn’t just “the way men are.” They don’t all abuse their power. They can practice self-control. They can be respectful.  They don’t get to blame their actions and choices on others. We should not demean men by expecting so little of them.

I know this post is a little angry.  You know what, I don’t know how to talk about this topic without a little anger.  Less for myself and more for my friends and family members and so many innocent children who have been harassed and assaulted and abused.  Think about your daughter, your sister, your mother.  If you saw her being abused, would you laugh?  Would you blame her?  Would say she was overreacting?  I hope to God you wouldn’t.

The next time you hear of another woman being harassed, imagine it was your daughter, it was your sister, it was your mother. Because probably, it was.

This Is The Age

I am the first to admit (and complain) that this age is hard.  So hard, so exhausting, so constant. Some days I long for the girls to be older. When Adalyn stops throwing tantrums...When Nadia stops eating things off the floor...When Juliana stops wanting someone with her when she falls asleep every night...
But tonight at bath-time I remembered:

This is the age of rubber duckies and washcloth puppets.  The girls are excited to don their princess towels that fit over their heads like dresses, and Adalyn worries, "Where is Elsa's face and feet?" ("You are Elsa's face and your feet are her feet.")

This is the age of boardbooks and picture books, some torn and chewed and falling apart because they were everyone's favorites (and apparently tasted good too).  I still read the same story over and over at bedtime when Nadia starts for another book, then decides Quiet LOUD deserves another re-read.   Adalyn loves following a little girl through her bedtime routine in My Goodnight Book, asking why we don't do exactly every step the same way.

This is the age of stories and songs and prayers before bed.  It is daddy's rides to bed and the blanket just so, or all the right stuffed animals cuddled around. It is frantic calls from the bedroom - when you just want to finally be alone - to say, "MAMA, I didn't give you a kiss!!"

This is the age of excitment.  New bandaids call for imaginary cuts. A visit from a friend is a good reason to jump up and down.  A carton of yogurt satisfies every need, at least for the moment.  They exult over pumpkins and stickers and anything new.  They rush to be the bearer of good news, "Juliana we are eating MAC AND CHEESE for lunch!!"

This is the age of peanut butter sandwiches.  Gallons of peanut butter smeared across bread and jelly spread too liberally by a young hand.  It is making lunch special with "double decker sandwiches" or making lunch exactly the same every single day.  It is "girled cheese," which we know means a piece of bread with cheese on top, microwaved just enough to be fully melted but not too bubbly.


This is the age of songs - endless requests to listen to Moana or Capital Kids! or Go Down Moses.  At bedtime it is "Daddy, sing a made up song that's not true about a Yes."  At school time it is Nadia requesting "JEEEEE," bobbing her head and clapping enthusiastically to "Jesus Loves Me."  On the road it is Juliana singing the same line over and over until it is stuck in your head for all eternity.

This is the age of simple problems.  Adalyn called me booty! Nadia is sitting on my drawing! Juliana won't let me play with her!  Why do I have to clean up my toys every night - I do everything around here!  The stool is not pulled out far enough at the sink, the soap is too far away, the counter is too cold to lean against, you are always making me wash my hands and you are RUINING MY LIFE!

This is the age of hugs in the morning and joy when you return home.  It is, "Mama, you are the best mama ever," and "WHY does daddy have to go teach? I just want him to stay here." It is nose kisses and imploring arms and let me poke my finger in your belly button just one more time.  It is love so intense it clings and wraps and holds on because it cannot imagine life without you.

And yes, it is the age of tantrums and sleeplessness and neediness and screaming. It is the age of toddlers crying at your feet while you try to cook dinner.  It is whining and bickering and crying  and did I mention screaming? It is putting a blanket back on, or finding a pacifier, or making trips to the bathroom, or sitting through night terrors, or putting that stupid blanket back on again, every single night.

But we get duckies and boardbooks and so many giggles.  We get bright eyes and smiles at 6:30am.  We get soft cheeks against ours, little hands searching for our own, little bodies smushed against us for protection and comfort.  We are the miracle workers with all the answers, fixing problems with bandaids and crackers and do-overs.

We see glorious, energetic, confident dances around the living room, because they haven't yet learned to be self-conscious.  We experience all the raw emotions they haven't yet learned to hide.  We glimpse the black and white world as they see it, full of right and wrong and good guys and bad guys, before everything gets confusing. We are peppered with anger, such honest over-the-top anger, and showered with love, given freely and abundantly, as if they could never run out.