Relationships

Most of the kids I grew up with loved Saturday mornings. Sleeping late, cartoons, extra helpings of sugary cereal.

But my Friday nights were full of stomach-twisting dread at what would come the next day.

I was born into a strict religion. One of the expectations was to attend a private school run by the denomination.

My parents didn’t adhere to this unspoken mandate. But there was a penalty to be paid: Saturday morning religion class.

Classes started for me in first grade. Well, sort of. A class is run by a teacher, and there was no teacher.

I am confused about who exactly dropped the ball, for how long, and why I never told my parents. But I have a very accurate memory of my early life, and I know for a fact that there was no pilot in the cockpit for awhile.

This was an absolute delight for all the kids in the class but two. Greg and me. We stared miserably at our desks while our peers ran amok, deliriously noisy and free.

I complained every Friday night about going to religion school the following morning. My dad promised me a swing set if I sucked it up. I did, but the swing set never materialized.

One Saturday morning, I was surprised and relieved to see a new person in our Lord of the Flies midst. A tall person. An adult! We were saved.

Except that the kind looking woman suddenly exploded with anger at the group of unruly children behaving exactly as nature intended them to. And then there was Greg and me, the outliers who didn’t even get credit for suffering the whole unsupervised time.

Once the wrath was out of her system, she announced the day’s lesson. She would teach us to pray. I wasn’t excited, exactly, but willing to learn. My family prayed exactly once a year, before Thanksgiving dinner. So this would be something relatively new to me.

She led us through three prayers that we were encouraged to memorize. It reminded me of the Pledge of Allegiance in school. I didn’t know what either “pledge” or “allegiance” meant, but I recited the words dutifully. The prayers were full of those sorts of words.

There are probably only a handful of moments for any of us in which we hear words that change the landscape of our lives. But this particular Saturday morning held one of these moments.

She said, “You can pray these prayers. But you can also talk to God like He’s your friend.”

Boom. That was it. The missing piece. I couldn’t wait to get home and converse with my new Best Friend.

As soon as I was in my house, I knelt by my bed and prayed out loud. I don’t remember what I prayed. But I do remember my mom and my sister standing in the doorway, snickering openly.

From then on, I knew that no one could ever know that I was praying. It was ok to pray silently, but it didn’t count unless you laced your fingers together. That was easy at night, when I could hide my hands under the covers on my bed.

But I needed to commune with God a lot. Like all day. So I hid my hands under my desk at school, or under my coat on the playground.

It was worth it for the rush of reassurance I always felt. God was perfect. My parents weren’t always around to protect me, but He was. I loved Him, and He loved me back.

The fact was, I was a mess. A song in a minor key could devastate me for an entire day. I walked around my house with my hand over my heart to make sure it was still beating. When my class went to the circus, I cried the whole time because I thought that the tent would blow down.

(Actually, it blew down the next day, Ha!)

It would be a decade before I would become a full convert to Christianity. My religion didn’t explicitly teach about salvation through Jesus. In fact, while preparing to be confirmed into the denomination, I was studying Eastern religion.

The whole story of my conversion is for another day.

The takeaway from my story is one that I’m not positive is true. It’s this: if I hadn’t struggled so much mentally, I don’t think I would have the relationship with God that I do today.

I’ve faced a lot of rejection because of my faith. Initially, I lost all of my friends. My family mocked me (and still don’t respect my beliefs). For awhile, I was even disowned.

Is it worth the price I’ve paid? Absolutely. It’s been tough at times. But it’s nothing compared to the persecution Christians face in other parts of the world.

The other night, I was in a hot tub with my husband and two of my kids. One of my sons was gazing at the moon and marveling that people actually landed there.

I have never grown jaded to the wonder of space travel. Prayer is similar. How does the Ruler of the Universe make time for me, always? It’s a familiar truth and mind blowing at the same time.

If I could meet that religion teacher today, I would tell her that she owed our class an apology. None of us children deserved to be upbraided after being abandoned.

But I would also express gratitude. She broke through the wall of ritual that separated us from a genuine connection with our Creator. She gave us a tremendous gift.

I wonder: did any of the other kids meet their Best Friend that day? I’d love to know.

#Bipolar #Depression #GAD #OCD #PTSD

Most of the time, I’ve always enjoyed being alone. I think it’s because from an early age, I often played alone. I made friends in preschool, so I had many playdates and developed more friendships over the years throughout school and such. But still, I’m an only child, so there were many times I was left to my own devices to entertain myself.

The feeling of loneliness didn’t really come until my teenage years, when I started realizing that so much solitude had made me disconnected from others. In high school, I had a hard time making friends because I was just so used to being alone, and I struggled to approach people. Eventually, I did find a close group, but it made me realize that even when I’m in the presence of others, I still feel utterly alone. I still feel this way to this day.

The thing is, I make myself hidden, unavailable, and distant. I think loneliness has always cradled me in some way. And now, I know that too much solitude can be harmful when it starts to interfere with developing friendships or relationships. I love being alone — just not actually being alone. I like having others around, even if we’re not constantly interacting.

Here are some of the lessons solitude has taught me:

-Being alone can feel safe, especially when vulnerability feels risky

-Solitude can be comforting without actually being healing

-Feeling lonely doesn’t always mean being physically alone

-Too much independence can make it harder to ask for connection

-Hiding can protect you from pain, but it can also keep you invisible

-Wanting solitude doesn’t mean you don’t want relationships

-Balance matters — alone time is healthy, isolation is not

I’m learning that solitude doesn’t have to be something I retreat into out of fear. It can be a place to rest, to reflect, and to recharge, not a permanent state of disconnection. I want to be alone without disappearing. I want presence without pressure, connection without expectation, and relationships that feel safe enough to step into.

This is still something that I’m learning how to navigate. I don’t want to abandon solitude, because it has shaped me and protected me in many ways. But I also don’t want to stay hidden inside it forever. My goal isn’t to change who I am, but to ease the distance I place between myself and others. To let solitude be a place I return from. Not a place I stay stuck in.

Where in your life are you choosing solitude — and where might you be choosing invisibility instead?

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” — Michel de Montaigne

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #Depression

The biggest challenges and hurdles that occupy my life are the ones focused in areas of my mental health. For me, my greatest challenge is to be kinder to myself. I often view myself as unworthy, doubtful, and full of self-hatred. I wish that I could have a little more self-respect and self-compassion.

When you’re constantly feeling low, it’s hard not to put yourself down and compare yourself to others who you observe thriving while you’re stuck in a place of turmoil. The thing is, I don’t think very highly of myself. I’ll tell myself that I’m awkward, boring, and cold. This has held me back from forming new friendships and intimate relationships.

I’ve longed to have a significant other who genuinely loves me for me, but I have yet to find that. Constantly feeling like you’re not good enough to be loved really takes a toll on you mentally. The more I experience rejection, the more I retreat inward and build up a tough exterior. I create this barrier that shields me from potential harm, but it also keeps me trapped, away from forming deep connections. You can’t expect to find someone when you choose to stay invisible.

So, that’s my biggest challenge: to overcome self-hate and turn it into self-love. Even though this is a struggle, I truly have grown so much over the past year, and I’m fairly close to seeing myself in a new light. It’s just hard to unlearn years of self-doubt, rejection sensitivity, and constant negative thinking.

Some days, I feel like I’m making progress. I’ll sometimes look in the mirror and actually appreciate the person staring back at me. Those often rare moments are what I hold onto. But other days, I fall back into old patterns, and my inner critic becomes deafening.

I’ve learned that self-love is something that requires patience, persistence, and daily practice. It’s about small moments where you speak kindly to yourself and acknowledge that you are enough as you are. On days when I need extra comfort, I often repeat this mantra to myself in the mirror.

I’ realizing that self-love doesn’t mean ignoring my struggles or pretending everything is alright when it isn’t. It means challenging the thoughts that tell me I’m not enough and replacing them with truths that I’ve long denied: that I’m deserving, capable, and worthy to love and be loved.

This is my goal for this year: to step into myself with compassion, slowly dismantle the armor I’ve built, and let myself be seen — quirks and all. It’s not an easy journey by any means, but it’s the most important one I’ve ever taken.

What’s one way you can be kinder to yourself today?

“You don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of love — especially your own.” – Unknown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD

2025 has gone. In some ways I am glad. There were so many good things that happened in 2025 but the year ended badly with my accident.

What does 2026 hold? I have a few ideas but that’s all. This morning my Wife surprised me by dragging some outdoor lounges from our front patio and made an alfresco dining area facing our garden. She then brought out a wonderful tray of eggs, ham and chorizo. What a blessing. The birds are singing, there is a gentle breeze.

I have hope that in 4-5 weeks I should be able to walk unaided. Can’t wait. No doubt like most years there will be triumphs and tragedies. There will be disappointments and unexpected surprises that make us smile.

I must focus on the One who holds the future and is also holding me. Jesus, may I never forget or take for granted your mercy, love, protection and grace.

#PTSD
I’ve been a paramedic for my local 911 service for 23 years. I knew I had PTSD from my line of work, but for the last 2 years it’s gotten progressively worse. I live in a constant state of anxiety. I don’t know how to get out of survival mode when I clock out of a 24 hour shift. It’s getting to be debilitating to say the least.
I also have PTSD from childhood trauma and past traumatic relationships. I feel like it’s all catching up to me and I can’t seem to hold it all together anymore.
My nervous system is in overdrive. I don’t know how to “reset” it. I’m tired. My soul is tired. I’m not suicidal but I feel like, just for a moment, I don’t want to exist anymore.
I noticed I’ve been spiraling downhill since a certain call I was on where my 8 year old’s son’s 8 year old friend and family was brutally murdered. I was the first on scene. Since then I’ve had several other horrific calls that emphasize the evil that’s in this world. The murderer got the death penalty and will be put to death this next month. It happened in 2014. When asked why he killed an 8 year old child… he said, “because he was asking too many questions.” I couldn’t save him. I had to go home and tell my son that his friend was in heaven.
I see a Therapist and I’m on a butt load of meds… but I feel like I’m just getting worse. I can’t afford to go on disability and I can’t afford to start over with a new line of work. I love my job… but it’s taking its toll on me… I just need peace. Peace of mind.

There is a kind of chaos that doesn’t just interrupt your life
it becomes your life. It’s waking up already tired. It’s carrying invisible weight.

It’s surviving day after day while quietly wondering when it will finally be your turn to breathe.

And somewhere in that chaos, many of us begin to believe a lie:
that our worth is tied to how well we’re coping. But worth was never meant to be proven by perfection.

“I learned how to survive before I learned how to live,
how to stay quiet in storms I didn’t create.”

When Chaos Becomes Your Normal For many of us, chaos isn’t new. It’s familiar. It’s what we adapted to as children, what we endured in relationships, what trauma taught us to expect. When chaos becomes your normal, peace feels uncomfortable. Stillness feels unsafe.

Healing feels like something you’re not quite allowed to have. So you keep moving. You keep showing up. You minimize your pain and tell yourself you’re “fine.”

“I wore strength like armor,
even when it was cutting into my skin.”

But survival, no matter how impressive, was never meant to be your final destination.

The Lie Chaos Tells You About Your Worth

Chaos has a voice. And it’s cruel.
It tells you that because your life is messy, you must be broken. That because you struggle, you are weak. That because you’ve fallen before, you will always fall again.

But struggle is not a flaw — it’s a response to pain.

You didn’t lose your worth when you became overwhelmed.

You didn’t give it up when addiction, trauma, or heartbreak entered your story.

You didn’t fail because healing isn’t linear.

“I thought being strong meant never breaking, but breaking was how the light finally got in.”

Your worth doesn’t disappear in chaos — it reveals itself there.

You Are Worthy Even Here
Even if:

1.You’re rebuilding your life again

2.You’re in recovery and some

days are heavier than others

3.You’re parenting while healing wounds no one ever tended

4.You look put together on the outside but feel fractured within

You are still worthy.
Worthy of rest.
Worthy of gentleness.

And if you need to hear this today, let me tell you:

You are worthy of help without guilt.

“I am learning that rest is not weakness, and asking for help is not failure.”

Healing doesn’t ask you to be perfect. It asks you to be honest.

Finding Your Worth in the Middle of the Storm.

Finding your worth in chaos doesn’t mean waiting until life settles down.

It means choosing to see yourself clearly while the storm is still raging.

It looks like:

1.Setting boundaries instead of explaining your pain

2.Choosing self-compassion over self-punishment

3.Letting go of the version of you that only knew how to survive

4.Believing peace isn’t something you have to earn

“I stopped waiting to be worthy,
and started believing I already was.” Your worth is not the reward for healing. It is the foundation healing stands on.

Rising Above Your Norm

There was a time I believed chaos was all I deserved.
That peace was reserved for other people — stronger people, better people.

But rising above your norm doesn’t mean erasing your past.
It means refusing to let it define your future.

You can honor the part of you that survived without forcing yourself to stay in survival mode forever.

“I am no longer just surviving
I am becoming.”

And if you need to hear this today, let me tell you:

You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are not failing.
You are finding your worth —
right in the middle of the chaos you live in.

Choose Yourself, Even Here

If you are living in chaos, let this be the moment you stop believing that pain is the price of your existence.

Stop waiting to be healed before you believe you are worthy.

Stop shrinking your needs to make others more comfortable.

Stop convincing yourself that survival is all you’re allowed.

Choose yourself — even here.
Even tired.
Even unsure.
Even in the middle of the mess.

Speak up.
Ask for help.
Set the boundary.
Take the first step toward support, recovery, or rest.

You do not have to do everything alone to prove your strength.

You do not need to earn compassion — you deserve it.
And you are not weak for wanting more than survival.

If this piece spoke to you, let it move you. Share it. Save it. Sit with it.

But most of all — act on it.
Because healing doesn’t begin when life becomes quiet.
It begins when you decide that your life matters — now.

BigmommaJ
#Selflove #selfImprovement #Selfworth
#MentalHealth