First of all, I just want you to know that I’m on to you. Evidently you are declaring war. You’ve thrown down the gauntlet. You’ve made your intentions of being a repeat offender very clear.
I don’t know about you, but at times in my life I’ve totally been guilty of measuring other people’s pain against my own. I’ve judged others, thinking to myself they have no clue what real pain is. How do we become so prideful?
I think what’s really giving me pause for introspection is more about what’s going on inside of me. I’m finally taking a deep breath. The last 6 months have been the most terrifying, desperate, beautiful, confusing, and magical of my adult life. (NOTE TO SELF: A great way to challenge everything you ever thought you knew about life, God, and your identity is to have a kid.)
My husband asked me the other night if we can start eating dinner earlier in the evening. (A perfectly reasonable request.) Since working in marriage ministry I’ve been well-trained to honor my husband’s sincere requests— and I immediately responded with (equally sincere) enthusiasm: “Yes! Absolutely!” Only to realize, all too quickly, my tragic oversight…
A few weeks ago- out of nowhere- I started having mini panic attacks. I’ve never had a problem with them before and I never knew how hard they were to contend with. On a tiny level today— I want to say that I understand what you’re going through. They are ROUGH. It was a battle to shut them down.
There has been no more complicated or unnatural role in my whole life than being a stepmom. Don’t get me wrong– I actually have the two most wonderful stepdaughters anyone could DREAM of. They are smart, kind, respectful, awesome young women– and I’ve had the privilege of doing life with them since they were just 2 and 4. If ever there’s a problem or sticky place in our home life– it’s because of me.