It’s
funny how we seem to be able to spot the improvements or happiness or growth of
others and can be so blind to it in ourselves.
For
me maybe it’s because I tend to get “trucking along", caught up in the immediate
tasks at hand; cleaning up spit up, changing a diaper, putting away toys,
reading books, doing dishes, picking up food my toddler threw, again. Often the
busyness of the “everyday” keeps my thoughts singled to the very moment I find myself
in. Maybe it’s because my “progress of
the soul” seems to happen at such a slow rate that it’s easy to miss.
Whatever
the reason, I was startled when my aunt Janet told me yesterday how good it was
to see me so content with my life. I
hadn’t realized, not really anyway, how true that statement was. I found myself thinking about what she’d said
over and over that evening. Why hadn’t I
seen it? What changed?
My
struggle with contentment started over four years ago, soon after I got married. At the time I didn’t know that my weight gain
and struggle to loose it were affected in part by a condition I didn’t know I
had, Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. This would also be the cause of my inability
to have children for three years. I
remember telling my sister how I felt like I was “past my prime” and I’d never
feel beautiful again. I struggled with my self-image as I continued to battle with weight loss and infertility, I even lost all the natural curl I’d had in my hair
during infertility treatment. I remember day after day getting ready and not
really looking at myself, disappointed with what I saw. A quote from a favorite movie would often pop
into my head; “as usual this is as good as it’s going to get” and I felt
that. Add to that the struggle and sadness I felt,
waiting for my life to really begin and be meaningful because I wanted desperately to be a mom. (more on that here and here)
I
was blessed with my first miracle baby in April 2012 and I thought my struggles
would end. I loved my baby with my whole
heart but I found that I still did not love myself. My body felt awkward and foreign, my new life
did too. I struggled through each day
and each night with a baby that wouldn’t eat or sleep. I wondered hopelessly
how to overcome so many “struggles of self”.
I could barely make it out the door, let alone exercise or eat well (if
at all) or have good, helpful scripture study or meaningful prayers, though I
desperately needed them. If I had a
quiet moment, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
I felt a lot of despair and awful guilt.
I was finally a mom and all I could do was complain and lament about how
awful I felt as an individual. Five months later I was miraculously pregnant again. And yet I struggled with feelings of fear, despair and guilt. Fear that I wouldn't be able to be a good enough mom to two, despair that I would never be in control of my body and guilt that I wasn't being a good enough mom to the son I had.
I realized all I could do was try, so I did. I tried to
read from the scriptures or the words of living prophets’ whenever I had the
chance; even it was in bite-size increments. I tried to exercise as many days
as possible, even if it meant walking around the house or up and down the stairs
during a nap. I tried to eat well; I rid our house of foods that were bad for me. I tried to be aware of food
quantities. I tried to ask for help when I needed it, especially from Kevin. I tried not to be so hard on myself. I tried to count each step in
the right direction as a victory. I
tried to see each day as a new chance to be a little better; I tried not to
look back and focus on failures. I tried to see myself as the sum of my victories and blessings and
not as what I didn’t do or what I physically wasn’t. I prayed throughout the
day for help, help to overcome the weaknesses I had, help to be happy, help to
be a better and kinder wife and mother. I prayed to see God’s hand in my life
that day, every day.
And without hardly any detection of my own,
I was learning to
love myself “in transit”, but I
couldn’t see it.
Sure, I could tell I felt better than at my lowest points. But until my aunt pointed it out last night, I had somehow
missed how much more content I’d become with who I am.
I’m
still learning to love myself (of course), still trying to do those things that help me
feel content with myself while I push through and try to be better and happier.
I have bad days. Good gravy! I have "epic fail" days. But I have good days too and every day I've looked for it, I’ve
found God’s hand in it.
Once
again I’ve been reminded that God is good, He teaches us lessons through
others. He knows what we need, He has a plan that is perfect for each of us. He hears our prayers of grief, pain, distress, joy, gratitude, fear and
love. He wants us to overcome our weakness; He wants us to be content while we
travel through our life’s journey and not just when we finally find ourselves
at our destination.
So,
from one who needed it, tell someone/everyone the good you see in them. You never know what it will do for them.
Happy
Monday!
