Inside Out

“Motherhood is the greatest thing and the hardest thing.” ~ Ricki Lake

Three times in the last month I have bumped into someone who has read and stopped to tell me they are a fan. Thank you. This was very encouraging, and I am grateful, because comments ranged from, “I anxiously await your story every month,” to “I follow you and Kiddo by secretly stalking you online,” and “I can’t wait to hear some more good news about ‘them’.”

All things considering, Kiddo is amazingly well: growing up so fast, making milestone improvements in less than a year and a half, and is daringly courageous and imaginative and full of bright energy.

I, on the other hand, feel like I’m a pin ball bouncing back and forth between ‘second wind city’ and ‘barely sane.’ Because the truth is, motherhood is hard. And even as I type this the spiritual side of me wants to go back and cross out the word ‘hard’ and replace it with ‘challenging’ instead because the word ‘hard’ feels like it’s too negative or too much of a downer. So at the very least I feel compelled to redo the sentence altogether and say that motherhood has its fair share of ups and downs but it’s overall rewarding. Or that motherhood isn’t for the weak but is a blessing from God-Source in disguise.

Yet the reality is that motherhood contains a lot of feelings, doesn’t it?

In fact, very recently I rewatched the movie “Inside Out,” and was reminded how every feeling is working together hand-in-hand.

So here are some of my ‘Sad’ moments:
Kiddo has a long road ahead. In addition to being in and out of doctors and hospitals for the next several years, “them” continues to ask us questions about the past, recently crying in my arms asking me “mama why did X and others do what they did?” and “why did my birthparents leave me?” and “do others kids have to go through this?”

So, yes, I feel sad because these questions are painful and because I want our life to be simple and it is not.

And here are some of my ‘Disgust’ moments:
A week or so ago I made the mistake of comparing my kiddo to a handful of others the same age. My ego had a field day with this.

Mental chatter sounded a lot like this . . . “Wow. Your kid is really behind. How embarrassing. So much for all the hard work you’ve put in. Worse yet your kid doesn’t even fit in. Just look how delayed they are compared to everyone else. And don’t even get me started on all the medical issues. What a shame. How pathetic that you really thought you could help them and you can’t. They will never catch up. You’re just setting yourself up for failure. You’re both losers.”

And then my Fear’ moments kicked in:
I began to fear everything my ego said is right. Because yes, I do have a fear Kiddo won’t be able to be independent like others kids and won’t be able to safely cross a street, ride a bike, drive a car or land a job that allows “them” to live on their own.

And the biggest fear of all is that no matter how hard I try to help, it won’t ever be enough.

And then I have my ‘Anger’ moments:
I feel angry that I can’t fix “them” and I can’t erase this kiddo’s past, and I can’t mend this child’s broken heart.

And most of all I feel angry that I cannot stretch my patience when I have no more patience to give, and so I lock myself in the bedroom and cry for a few minutes, or I scream into the toilet with the fan on high.

Because the truth is I feel angry that “them” is behind due to a very abusive past, and am angry for even thinking about being angry because I know anger is just a cover up for all of the other feelings that I feel that want to be expressed but cannot because it is taking center stage.

And so I focus on my ’Joy’ moments by returning myself to gratitude:
I am joyful that my husband and I have a child in our life who is indeed an answer to our prayers and gives us a deeper reason for existence.

I am joyful that Kiddo is beating the odds and is speaking in a way that can be understood, openly shares feelings, is bonding with toys and us, and every now and again gives us sassy talk which is a healthy indicator that our child feels safe enough to test boundaries and is gaining a safe sense of independence.

And most of all I feel joyful that I can express myself in this way. I feel joyful knowing I have friends and family out there who really care. I feel joy that even though not many people understand what I’m truly going through, they still take the time to let me know they are cheering us on, sending us their prayers, and encourage us to remember the most important feeling of all – Love.

Love is what exists when we get out of our own way
Love is what this journey is all about
Love is warm kisses and a gentle embrace
Love is hearing “mama I love you” every day
Love is watching my child struggle and then succeed
Love is losing my patience and then admitting my mistake
Love is trusting that life happens as it should
Love is accepting all there is
Love is surrendering to the moment
Love is now, now is love





(Note: For confidentiality reasons, “Kiddo” and “them” refers to the child in our foster care at the time of this post.)



Sabotaging Self – Conclusion

“Self-sabotage is the smartest thing you can do if you’re sabotaging a self that is not really you.” ~ Armand DiMele

Recently my husband, Steven, nicknamed our Kiddo “Giggles” because there is so much smiling and laughing and love in our family.

We knew from some trainings that Kiddo’s self-sabotage was due to shame and a false belief that “them” was unworthy of love and belonging. With time and consistency, Steve and I have continued to teach our child how to give and receive love openly, yet little did we know it was also a work-on for ourselves . . .

There we were, just my husband and me, on a late Tuesday morning, hooking up our trailer to our truck and heading up the mountain to do a little snowmobiling. In tow were our two new used sleds that Steve had picked up a few days before. In fact, this photo was taken just as we fired them up to head off the grid.

I was a little hesitant to go, mainly because I had been sick in bed with walking pneumonia for a week and I was just getting back into routine.

After traveling up the mountain for a couple of miles though, I started to find my groove.

Other than having to pull over to put on a warmer face mask, things were looking good — the snowy road narrowed and the sleds throttled on, and I turned back every few minutes to be sure my husband was still on his own sled behind.

Twenty or so minutes later our sleds crossed our main bridge that connects to the driveway of our bungalow home. A short time later we were dismounting our snowmobiles and waist deep in loose powder that hadn’t been packed down before.

Steve and I were so grateful we had just a few steps to crawl before we made it to the house. So much snow had fallen since we had been there last fall – – more than we ever remember seeing since we moved to the mountains in 2006.

After checking the roof and seeing the house was still okay, we both got back on our sleds to head back out the same way we came in. A few feet from the main road I began to cross the bridge and started losing speed. My tracks sank deep into the loose powder and I was rolled off the sled into the snow.

“I’m sorry,” Steve yelled from behind as I hit my kill switch. “I should have told you to go faster up the hill.” I shrugged it off and waited for him to crawl through the hip high snow toward me to help. After a few minutes of unsuccessful coaching, Steve had me walk back to his sled so he could do his best to rock mine out.

Clumsily I fought my way through the cold powder and toward his sled which was about 20 feet below. Every step was up to my waist so I was grateful when I could finally reach the handle bars to hoist myself up. But as I sat down, my arm hit the power button and I turned the sled off.

“Ahhh,” Steve yelled. “What did you do that for?” I tried explaining it was an accident, but he wasn’t having it. He was already cold and tired from wrestling with my sled.

Frustrated, he struggled through the snow. A few minutes later he was finally pulling himself up beside me so he could yank on his sled’s starter cord. But as he pulled, the cable snapped.

Fear and panic quickly shot through him as he looked down at his hand and saw just a plastic handle and broken cord dangling there.

I was so shocked I laughed. “Really?” I said. “Is this a cosmic joke?” But Steve found nothing funny about it. In fact, when I looked into his eyes, I could see he was doing all he could not to cry.

Panic then took over. “Can you fix it?” I said.

Steve sadly shook his head. “I don’t have the tools.” And even though we were less than a mile to our bungalow, the snow was too loose and too deep for us to walk.

“All we can do now is to try to ride your sled out of here,” Steve explained. And so for over an hour, we pushed and we pulled on my snowmobile, and, sadly, I chose to also guilt my husband for not remembering to bring a shovel.

Finally we got my sled to budge, and no sooner than we started to rejoice, the belt began to burn up and my sled clonked out. Yep. No joke. It was fried.

Steve and I were beside ourselves. We had no way to repair it, no tools. We cussed and we cursed and we yelled at the sleds, at each other and at ourselves, but that didn’t change the fact that we would have to walk down that mountain if we had any chance at getting out of there alive.

No cell service for at least seven miles. No skiis, no snow shoes, and the winter gear we were wearing was all we had.

Our first thought was to head to a neighbors just 2 miles up the road. Less than 1/16 mile in though we realized the snow was not compact enough to walk. If we attempted to keep moving we would be buried for sure.

“Are you bleeding?” I yelled to Steve who was just a few feet ahead. I could see red globules in the snow. “Yes,” he called back. “I’m getting dehydrated so my nose is bleeding. It’s probably the elevation. I have a couple of water bottles in my backpack. Just wait there.”

A few minutes later he joined my side. We shared a water and began our trek, grateful that even though the snow was deep, it was packed down just enough from our sleds that we could begin walking out on foot.

Fifty minutes later I was cold sweating and my legs were cramped. We had only made it a mile and from our calculations we had at least six more miles to go before our cells would pick up a signal. “We need to move faster,” Steve said, “Kiddo will be back home in less than 3 hours and at this rate it will take us five hours to make it to the truck.”

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t walk any faster. My body was slowing shutting down.

“Keep going,” Steve urged. He could see I was losing momentum and was doing his best to urge me on.

An hour later, even his leg muscles were shot. It was like walking on jelly. “You need to go on without me,” I said. “You are our only hope of getting out of here alive.”

Steve began to shake his head. “I am so sorry,” he said with tears in his eyes. “I should have never taken us up here. I should have never bought those sleds.”

“Please,” I begged. “You need to keep going.” And he knew I was right.

For the next few minutes he held my gaze as he walked on up ahead.

Just before losing sight of him, I shouted. “I love you and always will.”

Rather than answer, he trudged on ahead. (later he told me he couldn’t say it back because it would have made it too real.)

Then just like that he was gone. It was now just me, my thoughts, and the mountain. The same mountain that I have escaped to every summer. The same mountain that has held me during my hardest hours. The same mountain that midwifed my four books as I brought them into creation.

Would I die on this same mountain today?

As I walked, I began to think about all the things my husband and I have endured. From our motorcycle trip to Alaska to finally writing my first novel based on that experience so many years ago. The addictions, the darkness, and the drama.

Life as we knew it was still a struggle. Why did we still bicker and fight? Why couldn’t I allow myself to love him as deeply as I knew I could?

The more I walked, the more I understood. We were finally at a point in our marriage where life is good. Two homes, two dogs, financial stability, and a child who really needs us, yet the more real it had become, the more I had pushed the joy away.

All truth be told, I was afraid. Releasing that book meant having to accept my past…from my drama and rage to Steve’s addiction to drugs, to admitting our marriage was filled with darkness for so many years.

Just thinking about it caused me to cough. And the more I coughed, the more my lungs began filling with fluid. After awhile I became too weak to move, and so I removed my backpack and used it to prop myself back in the cold snow, knowing full well my chances of freezing to death were increasing, but a part of me didn’t care.

I closed my eyes against the setting sun and began to face my own mortality. Was I ready to die?

“Get up,” I heard. It was the voice of God-source. “If you don’t keep moving, you will freeze to death.”

As I managed to pull myself up, I caught a glimpse of my husband’s footprints in the snow. These prints became my lifeline for awhile.

An hour or so later I was very weak. I could hardly feel my feet and my gloved fingertips were wet and starting to freeze.

“He just got a cell signal,” I was told. It was God-Source speaking to me again.

I was grateful to know Steve had made it closer to the truck. From what I could tell I still had over three miles to walk before I would catch up to him.

As I began wheezing and coughing up phlegm, I began to wonder who would raise my child if I was gone? Steve and I had just been informed the adoption was approved and that it is just a matter of paperwork now. Yet would I make it off that mountain to see that day come?

I removed my backpack (my shoulders were in so much pain), and fell back into the snow.

“Get up,” I heard a minute or so later. This time God-Source’s voice was really loud. “You MUST keep moving or you WILL freeze to death.”

I somehow managed to pull myself up, glancing several times at the disappearing sun knowing from my cell phone clock that I had less than an hour of daylight left.

After several more minutes I saw that I had a “1X” bar on my phone. It gave me hope. I tried dialing 911 again and again but the cell signal wasn’t strong enough to hold.

Despite this, I got a second wind. I managed to walk another 1/2 mile even with my coughing and liquid filled lungs. My cell had a stronger signal and so I attempted to send a text. “Is Kiddo safe?” I wrote to Steve, but the bars were too weak for it to send.

Ahhhh! I felt defeated. I fell back in the snow hoping and praying help would come, but at that moment it wasn’t meant to be.

I had no choice but to lie there or pull myself up. “Get up,” God urged me, and so I did.

My legs were heavy and my lungs were weak. The sun was now set and the freezing temps and shadows had moved in. I was so cold I could see my breath and my mind was starting to become delirious. I began sway walking, barely making ground, yet I moved just enough to get a 3G on my cell.

Yes! My text went through and before I knew it Steve was texting back. Kiddo was safe and help was on the way.

I managed to hike 6.5 miles that day. Steve hiked just shy of 8 and still has blisters on his feet. Our lives will never be the same.

After help came, I was reunited with my husband. The first thing he did was pull me into his arms and say, “I don’t ever want to fight with you again. Life is too short and I love you so much.”

I now hug him tighter, love him longer, and cherish what we have. Though, yes we did have times in our life that caused me to question my worth and I held back in loving him as deeply as I knew I could because I still feared being hurt, that part of me died on that mountain that day, along with the me that fears what others think and the me that kept holding back, and the me who wondered if she would ever be “good enough” as a wife or as a mother. I now know better because I am better.

Yes, self sabotage can be good when it allows the old you to die so a new you can fully rebirth. Our experience this week has made me a stronger woman who knows why she is here . . . not only to be a great mother to my child and a wonderful wife to my husband, but also to live my life’s purpose and to bring more love, unity, and miracles into this world! God is good!


Dog- Tired Part 2

“It’s a great feeling when your work is appreciated.” ~ Jacqueline Fernandez

For the most part, Kiddo’s been progressing really well. On some days, doing much better than hubby or me. Because at this point in the story the honeymoon stage of fostering was at its end, and my inner Snapperhead snapped because I was dog-tired.

Steve agreed to let me sleep in the next day, which was the first time in a few months.

I awoke to the sounds of Kiddo having a meltdown. From what I could tell, Steve was handling it well, yet I wondered if I should still get up.

My intuition said to stay in bed.

Moments later, I heard Steve start to move down the hall. “Get dressed while I get going on breakfast,” he said.

Kiddo replied with a lot of sassy talk.

Steve’s footsteps returned.

“You may not speak to me that way,” I heard him say. “Now get dressed like I asked.”

More whining . . .
More crying . . .

I pulled back the covers to get up. My intuition prompted me to sit still and listen in.

Steve then asked Kiddo, “Do you need a hug?”

I didn’t hear anymore crying, so I laid back down.

“You better?” I heard Steve ask.

Kiddo giggled with a yes.

“Good. Now please get dressed.”

Steve’s footsteps passed the bedroom and into the kitchen. The refrigerator peeled open followed by the sounds of coffee brewing and cupboards closing

I shut my eyes, feeling grateful I had a little more time to rest.

Half awake and half asleep, I was later jolted by something banging.

Steve was crying out in pain. “Ow! Open the door.”

I scrambled to my feet and peered across the hall. Steve was bent over, holding Kiddo’s door with one hand while cradling his leg with the other.

Kiddo was pushing against the door with all “them’s” might.

Being bigger, my husband could open the door, but as he moved toward the bedroom, Kiddo swung at his face and began kicking him hard.

Though Steve handled it well and we all talked as a family to address the behaviors and feelings, when it was all over, my husband was exhausted both emotionally and physically.

“I am sorry,” he said to me a little later, when we had some time to ourselves. “I didn’t know how bad it could be until I walked a mile in your moccasins.”

I hugged him and accepted his apology.

The next morning Steve kissed my forehead and told me what an amazing mom I am. Then just as I sat up so I could go tend to Kiddo, he lovingly encouraged me to continue sleeping in.

After my hubby left the room and closed the door, I seriously considered his offer.

Although catching more zzz’s was most tempting, deep down I knew what I had to do.

Dog-tired or not, we are a team.

So I joined him and shared in the morning routine.



Dog-Tired Part 1

“If you’re completely exhausted and don’t know how you’re going to keep giving this much of yourself day after day, you’re probably a good parent.” ~ Bunmi Laditan

So it happened. My patience gave out and I yelled hard.

Hubby and kiddo were gone. I  had a small window of free time and was so grateful for the silence I almost cried.

Though deep down I had known I’ve been grieving solitude, I had been far too busy to process it all.

Head’s up: My pent up feeling were about to have a field day!

“You’re becoming a snapper head,” my husband Steve had said the night before. It’s the name I’ve asked him to call me when I’m acting like a “B.”

“I know it” I admitted, “and I’m sorry, but all these responsibilities are starting to take a toll.”

Steve laughed. “Whatever. Just please stop making me walk on eggshells, okay? Besides, how hard can staying home be?”

I did my best to explain but he didn’t get it. For 10 straight months I’ve been knee deep in playtime, bath time, bed time, and meal time day after day plus running Kiddo to at least 3-4 doctor, counselor, therapist and specialist appointments per week.

For anyone who has every been the primary caregiver of a child with special needs, I understand how exhausting it can be.

And now, with a moment to myself,  I was determined to relax no matter what.

I moved to my office downstairs. My desk was covered in receipts. It had been months since I was able to reconcile the books or file the bills.

Tension moved through my shoulders and tight neck.

Staring at the futon, I sighed. Should I take a nap? When was the last time I had gotten at least 8 hours of sleep?

My head turned toward the laundry. I winced. Wet clothes were in the washer, another pile on the dryer, and when I opened the hamper it too was full.

Stress stacked up inside me with no escape.

Then the dogs started barking from the back yard- the kind of bark that goes right through you – the kind that makes you cringe because you cannot help but wonder what your neighbors might think.

I took a deep breath, hoping it might calm me down, but the dogs kept yelping so loud it pierced my ears.

“Ahhh!” I loudly shouted, running to the window on the lower floor. I spotted some turkeys near the front of the house.

The barking persisted and would’t let up.

I took a flight of stairs so I could let both pets inside. As I opened the door, one of the dogs ran past me and left a long trail of mud on all the floors.

I screamed. I yelled. I lost my sh*t.  I was aware of my volume and didn’t care.



Part 2 coming soon . . .