Lately I’ve been in a funk. Not just any typical gloomy mood, but one unlike anything I’ve felt before. One with insomnia and days of sleep, with no food that tastes good and total numbness or alllllll the emotions.
So, psychically, I’ve been a dumpster fire.
Spiritually, I can’t say I’m much better. Raising an #extremechild means we have made the choice not to attend regular church service in several months due to #overstimulation from #lights, #sounds, #people, #volume, and about eleventy billion other things. That said, streaming sermons isn’t the same as worshipping with a #community of #believers.
When I have been in the pit–and sister I have spent some serious time there before–I know I am supposed to reach out to God. He has been laying some things on my heart…and by that I mean playing them on repeat like a broken record and probably shaking His head at me like I’m His #rebellious teen.
Trust. Surrender. Slow down.
Ummmmm, nah, I’m good.
I’m a full-on Type A personality, get it done, do it right (now) kind of person. So I didn’t like any of the words He was clearly saying. I assumed my rocky relationship was to blame for not having proper #discernment.
“God is funny. I mean, ‘His timing’ is more of a suggestion, right!?”
Jesus, be a fence.
That’s where some seriously amazing #women enter the scene.
I reached out to a trusted #friend who has been fiercely #courageous about her own battle with #depression. When I asked her about what I’d felt like, she never batted an eyelash. She did not judge me nor did she say backhanded comments to slight my ability to mother my kids, love my husband, or keep my house in order because of how I was feeling. She simply told me she loved me and offered wisdom.
Friends, she even checked on me the next day.
Another friend, who also parents an extreme child with the same diagnosis list as ours knew I was struggling to find work hours since my husband changed jobs. Y’all. She offered to watch my kids.
I am talking no questions asked, no #guilt trip assigned, offer to help out.
I truthfully did not even know what to do or how to respond.
Another group of women who knew I’d been going through some things have sent constant messages just to check in and #encourage me.
Two others offered a phone call. One still emailed to check in.
But these women. You guys, these women–some of whom live hundreds and hundreds of miles away–have helped to pull me out of the pit, reminded me I am not in this alone, and stepped in when I needed room to #breathe.
Women are fiercely powerful. I mean, we can grow an actual human for crying out loud!
So when we #unite, using our powers for good instead of gossip-kindness instead of #judgment, we are able to do mighty things, my friends. If we can take a step back and remove our own fears and allow ourselves to have pure #motives and #peaceful #intentions, we can make other women–#hurting women–believe they are exactly who we see them as; as #warriors, as #truthtellers, as #leaders, as #rolemodels, as #warfighters and #peacemakers.
I have seen women overcome unimaginable adversity in the wake of complete tragedy because they were held up by other women who knew and said they could.
So, friends, check on each other. Offer kindness and grace where judgment might otherwise live. Lift each other up. Step in where you see a need you can meet. Don’t ask or wait to be asked. We are mamas. We won’t likely ask for help.
But we are fighters and the pit is only temporary. We must pick each other up, dust ourselves off, and press on–together.