The Ugliness of Shame

In 2019, I went up against and unfamiliar opponent and was taught a lesson in shame. I came face to face with the ugliness of it. The deceit it operates from is like a well-oiled machine with one goal and that is to bury you underneath its pile of lies. Shame does not focus on our actions. That would be guilt’s M. O. It says, “I’ve done something wrong”. Although the two can very well deliver the same blow to any solid security level you may have built up, they are different. Shame at its root plants the seed of, “I am something wrong”. Therefore, you hide. Hide from everyone, even those who love you. Those who support you, those who need you. However, most importantly you hide from yourself.

Hiding because of the thoughts and opinions of others, you now believe to be truth. You listen and absorb what someone said to hurt you. I absorbed a lot that in the past I would not have. I was stronger and overcame these types of attacks on my person a lot quicker then. Funny how becoming a mother gave me more strength to persevere but at the same time took me back to my most vulnerable and insecure state because of course….shame. With shame, your intentions are determined to be malicious, your intelligence mocked; your entire substance is under attack. Therefore, you sink slowly back into the hiding place. You cannot defend yourself because of course….shame. How dare you? You are what is wrong and you do not deserve to rejoice from the depths of your soul in the midst of accusation and whispers. Shame takes you on a rollercoaster ride that has a slow creep towards the heights of security, confidence and happiness, just to reach the top and then drop you to its depths. Shame is torture. Moreover, it is a lonely ride and you do not reach out for help because of course everyone has the same opinion. Everyone agrees that you should be ashamed. At least that is what you now tell yourself. You believe the lies. You no longer can replace the lie with truth because you are hiding from yourself.

It feels like I spent most of 2019 peeking out from the hiding place, only to find myself back into the darkness. I found myself on the ride of my life, hands up ready to experience the heights of joy. Until the drop. I was struggling at times to be my best for my daughter because I honestly did not believe I could be. Shame was unfamiliar territory. Unlike guilt. I am well acquainted with guilt due to my many years of terrible actions. I can deal with guilt. With guilt, you embrace the conviction of the wrong you have done, endure the consequence and move on vowing to do better. How do you overcome thoughts of you are what is wrong in your life’s circumstances?

I say this all the time because it is the truth. My daughter saved my life. Literally. I was spiraling out of control losing my grip on reality and just tripping for a lack of better words. Her first breath came at a time when my heart had been shattered by the sudden passing of my father and the disappointing circumstances, which now surrounded her father and my relationship. She was here! Living and breathing! A real life child of my own. A child that was now very real after so many disappointing months prior. She was not some happenstance, she was not an “oops”. Both her parents loved her, both our families embraced her, so why was I struggling with so many emotions I could not explain that were overpowering my desire to just rejoice and be glad. Motherhood alone comes with a lot emotionally, psychologically and physically but it was none of the common assumptions. Despite the events that took place prior to her conception, I never felt the need to justify it. I never associated guilt with my decision. I am an over-thinker by nature. It is so bad that some days I feel like I am going to over-think myself crazy. Nevertheless, this decision was not one I needed to be over analytic about and for me that was a great feeling. Yet here I was out of nowhere, wrestling with it after the fact. When I needed to be present, the most I was failing, or so I thought.

*Insert the vicious cycle of shame’s torture*

Here I was ashamed and never would I be or could I be ashamed of her but I was of me. I felt like once again I had made a decision out of weakness and lack of confidence in myself. Because of course why would I choose to remain in probably the most, and dare I say toxic relationship I have ever been involved. Two unhealed people is never a recipe for relationship success. Lesson learned. Why would I do that and of all things bring a child into the equation? All those insecurities I had worked so hard to overcome seemed to come about me like a revolt of suppressed inhabitants. It was overwhelming to say the least. That was just from my own perspective not even considering others. I guess that is the motive behind shame. It is to make you sink and hide so that you forget whom you are and just how strong you are. You forget all about your victories of overcoming what should have killed you. I missed my dad a lot for this reason. Before he passed, he would make conversation with my daughter’s dad and me about a grandchild. I know he thought it would never happen. Foolishly, I did as well. He always held me at a higher standard than I did myself. He always saw the good in me. He believed in me and I desperately needed to hear him say that he was proud of me and happy to be a grandpa. I did not realize how much I depended on his affirmation until it was no longer my reality.

Shame does not operate on its own. Like any other deceitful presence, it has its own methods of attack. They come in many forms. I experienced a few: Unkind words, lies the enemy whispers, social media’s overzealous opinion of similar scenarios, most importantly the expectations set by yourself and family/friends to name a few. I do not have a problem admitting that I was disappointed in myself. I was very much so. Disappointment is natural shame is not. The disappointment was not that things were not going as I thought they would. It is what it is. I was disappointed in my lack of faith. The point is when you are wrestling with shame you are absorbing all this outside noise but without a defense strategy. It can feel as if you may never find a way to break this cycle. Oh but you will. I did.

Fast forward to the breakthrough.

What is on the other side of shame is sanctuary. A safe place. A place where healthy thoughts exist. Even thoughts that may have you reevaluating some of your decisions, but without the torment. A safe place where you may experience highs and lows but without the fear of falling to your death, figuratively speaking. A safe place where you may have to endure some criticism but without feelings of defeat. A safe place where you can be open and honest with those closest to you. On the other side of shame is a safe place where you can look yourself in the mirror holding your precious daughter knowing that she could never be ashamed of your decision to bring life into this world! Her life! I have the privilege of teaching my daughter that, regardless of circumstances, obstacles or sacrifices we will face in the future, I realize that on the other side of shame there is victory, promise and the truth. 

Raegan, the lesson is this my sweet girl. I came out from that dark place by faith and kept pressing, kept living, kept rejoicing because of you. I learned that I could not hide from Love.

L O V E

XoXo,

Mama

Me vs the Clock: Mommy Edition

  • Just a couple of “Dream-girls”

I’m typing these words on a Wednesday at 9:05 pm after having all of two and a half hours with my daughter after work. Typical weekday for me. A semi-stressful workday only to get off , fight rush hour traffic to pick her up by 6:15 from the sitter. 

Once I get us inside along with all 3 of the bags : work bag, diaper bag and breast pump bag the clock starts. I must feed the dog now or she’ll get forgotten about, turn the air down, put away the milk I pumped at work, and any unused milk from the sitter. Check her bag for any missing items. If I don’t do it now I’ll forget. 

Rae is probably still in her car seat , either sleep or fussing at me because she wants to nurse. Regardless if she may have had a bottle within the last hour or so. Mommy’s been away all day and she wants what she wants. As do I. That specific bond must be nurtured. It’s a necessity for us both. 

Back to the clock. 

After I set the pump up, change her pamper and/or her clothes. Stripped down to her pamper only, because she’s home and drooling like it’s going out of style, I finally embrace my girl like I’ve been needing to since I dropped her off in the morning. 

Her smile says “Finally!! Took you long enough” 

My reply is a simple “I missed you too baby” 

Can’t stare at each other for too  long because again, it’s nursing-pumping time. Baby on one side pump on the other. 

By the the time that’s done we’ve been home about forty-five minutes. 

She’s satisfied. I’m thinking about what else I need to do that will have to wait a little longer because after she eats it’s playtime! She demands playtime every day and I gladly oblige.

The breast milk is still in the pumped bottle on the table. Thank God it can stay out a little while. Some days I’ve completely forgotten about it. 

Playtime (includes bath time) is short and the most precious time I have with my daughter. She tells me about her day. I say I Love you 100 times. Some days we FaceTime dad , or family. Even though her sitter is great with her it’s my responsibility to teach her. We read a book and I’ll sing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. Her favorite part is “Eyes and ears and mouth and nose” *insert baby giggles*. And of course there are pictures taken! We have tummy time and work on crawling when she feels like it LOL! She is my child and is stubborn in that way. If time permits we watch a quick baby learning show on Youtube and the basketball game!. But the best times are when we just sit on the couch and stare at one another. She grabs at my face and I give her 100 kisses.

Bliss.

Perhaps she’s thinking what I’m thinking “I can’t believe she’s mine”!! I would like to think it’s close to that wonderful feeling of being blessed with your very own dream-girl!

I may get 15-20 mins to do something else. Maybe eat while she is in her playpen. 5 minutes in she’s fussing , definitely not crying…..yet. Fussing because she can’t see me. Fussing because the toy won’t go in her mouth or she can’t quite figure out this crawling situation. Again, she’s my child!! Finally when the fussing escalates to crying I know it’s time. 

The clock has run out. It’s time for bed. 

I stop whatever I’m doing to hold my girl until she falls asleep in my arms. Tucked so tight by her own efforts like she’s been doing since day one. She’s good and sleep when the pacifier falls out of her mouth. It’s sad. There’s never enough time. She won’t wake up until the next morning with the biggest most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen …….and we do it all over again. 

I think about how I need more time with her and how I can make it happen more than I think about anything else. Even more than my struggles with my postpartum body, finances, work life and personal life. The thought of having to sacrifice any time I have with her is depressing. Sure the weekends are great but still they go by so fast. Right now she’s growing rapidly. With each day I notice some type of improvement in her development. Her smile gets bigger, her kicks get harder, her eyes get brighter. I know there will come a time when I may have to work longer or be away from her for whatever necessary reason and I dread it. I cry about it.

Right now I cannot fathom it. I don’t think either of us can afford to lose any of the precious time we have to be with one another.

It’s very hard to explain. I realize  that every aspect of this journey thus far feels that way and I’m of the opinion that it should. The privilege is so great for me that I have moments  when I am so overwhelmed it seems unreal. It’s hard most days. The will is there but so are the obstacles. And yet the time we are together makes me feel like a super-hero! 

I need her.

I’ve always needed her.

I’ll always need her. 

It’s now 9:53 pm. I’m watching her sleep. 

More than a bond. We are two lives with one heartbeat. 

XOXO

B

Healing Out Loud

On 12/16/2018 at 11:27pm I delivered my daughter 5 ½ weeks early. Raegan was born weighing an even 6lbs, healthy and strong. My miracle was here taking her first breath, crying her first cry, looking me in the eyes. Life as hard as it had been the previous months was proving it could also be generous. That last part; life is generous is a statement I heard before but hadn’t come to the realization of what it could mean.

It’s still hard to process the last year of my life. This time last year began my journey of what would become by far my most difficult to overcome. If you were a Bubbling Brooke reader you know I had to overcome some heartbreak and disappointment that took me to some places. Both high and low. My last post  Finding My Heartbeat After A Breakdown was 8 months ago! It was what I thought to be my victory lap. In some ways it was. I had fought to get back to a place of peace with all I had endured. Feelings of resentment, disappointment and even some guilt had been consuming me to the point that I couldn’t even recognize myself. But what I thought was a war won was only a battle. A necessary battle, nevertheless. It would prepare me for what I would face next.

There are some dreams and fears you truly can’t fathom until they become reality. There are some joys and pains that must be experienced before they can be understood.

Not long after my victory I found out I was expecting my first child and that my father was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Life was once again proving to be hard and generous at the same time. The next few months would require of me something I didn’t know I had. I would have my greatest joy and deepest fear run parallel through my heart and I would have to survive what I couldn’t fully understand. There is no comfort when you are living in constant fear of losing someone you never thought you would so soon. There is nothing joyous about a reality when it involves a nightmare. Yet, I had moments where I could embrace my pregnancy but the cloud hovering over my head was constant. Even with the idea of me becoming a mother now being a reality I struggled with it. Even though it was my dream. Along with the normal anxieties every expecting mother may experience to some degree, I was losing my parent. Overwhelmed is an understatement.  I was watching him daily battle something that was getting progressively worse. While my baby was developing my heart was breaking. Feelings of guilt buried me often because her miracle wasn’t enough to silence my fears. I know now that it was her life that ultimately gave me the strength to get up each day and face that fear. It was her that enabled me to cherish what would only be two short months that we had with our dad. My sister and I both endured and overcame what should have killed us. And if we can do that, we can survive anything.

What I learned about healing this past year is that it is not done in secret. It is not subtle no matter how hard you try. It will show. Sometimes it is ugly and hard full of tears and breakdowns. Other times it looks like a good selfcare Sunday consisting of a bubble bath and a good book to read. Either way it should be embraced.  From the moment I acknowledged the heartbreak I experienced to facing the fear of losing my parent and the anxiety associated with expecting my first child, I chose to heal out loud. It did not always feel as though I was healing, it often felt like more pain was being endured. My personal life suffered, blogging no longer was something I could focus on. I couldn’t be transparent about something so difficult. I could not share something so private at the time.  There were days I could barely function at work and days I was like a robot without feelings when it came to my relationships. The phases I went through all were crucial to me being able to share these words.

There was nothing subtle about this journey. Family and friends, co-workers and even strangers all experienced it with me. I couldn’t silence it even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t have made it through if I had tried. The support I received was just as important to me as the courage it took to keep living when there was a part of me dying. As difficult as healing may be there is always something to look to. Hope. Hope is a sure thing and for me that was my faith knowing that God is able to heal and Raegan. I had to be reassured that apart from mercy there is no grace.

February 16 my daughter will be 2 months old. On the same date last year, I journaled these words

I caught a certain wave
I rode it with confidence
It has buried me
I have fought my way to the top gasping for air
I have roared with victory
I have been silenced by overwhelming sorrow
Still I do not know which was more felt
Could it be that I have been engulfed in my intent to endure?
Now all my emotions are rolled up into one
Moment by moment and no one is more apparent than the next
I have confessed from my soul
I have prayed in the spirit
I have asked for forgiveness out of my brokenness
I have given praise from the tops of my lungs
Hallelujah and Lord have mercy have both been my song

Since then my sister and I have buried our father and we’ve both given birth to real-life miracles.

I’ve been healing out loud through this platform, my journal and every tear I have cried both in secret and on the willing shoulders of others.

As I continue to do so I am most grateful for the realization of knowing that even when life is hard it is also generous.

I’ve missed this. It feels good to be back!!

Xoxo
B

Finding My Heartbeat After a Breakdown

I cannot believe that it is already May!!! I don’t know where the time is going but it is clearly not waiting for me to catch up. Every now and then I have to remind myself to pick my head up and look around to take inventory of my life. Life has been quite the rollercoaster as you all know from my posts this year, so I feel compelled to bring you all up to date.

Still here!!

Still choosing joy but it has not been easy. I’d be less than truthful if I painted that superwoman picture. I have been getting my butt kicked yet in the end I’m winning the war. So then again, maybe I do have an S on my chest. But that S is for SUPERNATURAL. That’s the only way I can process these victories against the attack on my life and the peace that I’ve gained.

Coping mechanisms vary from person to person. Specifically, as women I think we do our very best to cope with our heartaches and internal wrestling matches as best we can. We may never reveal them but we are fully engaged. We’re born into this world as predetermined super women but sometimes there isn’t enough in us alone to do so. We need help. We try all kinds of things to help us keep up face and push through. I think this is why Solange’s “Cranes in the Sky” resonates so well with us. We try everything. I tried everything to get me through this year. It wasn’t until I finally broke and had my eyes opened that I realized I was doing exactly what the enemy of my soul wanted me to do. Lose my whole mind but not realize it because I was trying any and everything I could to suppress my true feelings: to drink it away, shop it away, cry it away, and even love it away. I forgot that flowers need both the sun and the rain to grow and most importantly they need a little dirt!!!

I started this blog to be transparent and ask the hard questions in hopes that I would encourage women to do the same no matter how different we may be. At the end of the day we all will experience some pain and we have to realize that if we aren’t careful we can do ourselves a disservice by trying to be so strong. So strong that we become oblivious to just how weak we are. For me the mental strains of it all was too much. I will always empathize with those whose mental state is at risk for whatever the reason may be. I do not take for granted my ability to recognize when I am losing  my grip. The most fragile flower has strength in it to grow and endure simply because that is the way it was designed. We are fragile flowers who were designed to endure hard times, nurture by nature and rebuild what has been broken. It is not always a walk in the park.

It was not that I was not being honest or my life was a lie based on what I displayed. It was very accurate. I was still living. I still had to function at a high level despite my emotions. That was the deception. The calm before the actual storm until things got progressively worse. I had nights of endless crying, longer party and drunken nights of not even remembering how I got home and days of utter confusion. Nothing was making sense and as a result I held so much resentment towards myself. If you think getting over resentment towards someone else is difficult let me tell you!! This all occurred before I came to my senses literally. I had been holding my breath in a battle for my life in every capacity. It’s not easy for me to acknowledge that I let this go this far because I had been trying my best to keep things in perspective and keep my expectations as realistic as possible but I failed. I failed big time. It’s like when you have a good idea but poor execution. It just won’t work.

The butterfly could never accurately describe the cocoon experience. Therefore, no matter how much of my circumstance were known or I could’ve shared, what I was experiencing was warfare to say the least. There is nothing pretty about war of any kind. I didn’t just let my guard down, I took it off. I forgot that I have three enemies: the world, the devil and the flesh. You may be reading this and will disagree and that’s fine. I respect everyone’s position on these matters of spirituality. But as for me, I forgot about this old flesh. I was prepared for the world and its devices, and the devil and his attempts to steal my joy, but my very own flesh (this includes the heart and mind) was getting the best of me on the battlefield. I had lost all control.  I forgot just how strong it is. I forgot that pride comes before destruction. Sometimes we have to break. Sometimes we have to go too far.

In early March I booked a trip to Seattle to visit one of my girlfriends mid-April. I had no idea the timing would be perfect. A few days before the trip I got real honest with myself. I had some time of reflection that showed how much of the truth I’d distorted, how much pride had lifted up in me and how I had forgotten that everything I receive in this life, even my suffering is mercy. Some people leave battles better and some leave the battle worse than they were before. We all leave seeing things differently.

During my time in Seattle I visited a Tulip Festival. Tulips are my absolute favorite flower. I walked an entire field and beheld rows and rows of red, purple, white, yellow, orange and some multicolored. It was the skittles of Tulips and the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time. This was no small thing. It was a reminder to never forget what joy truly is. What makes me happy and how much of this life I live is so good. I had won the war. It came at a cost as they all do but the reward far outweighs any casualty. I found my heartbeat in a field of flowers and finally took a deep breath.

Rejoice in the victory today!

Be Blessed

B

 

 

 

35th Birthday Edition: The Difference|Brokenness vs Bitterness

I always celebrate my birthday in one way or another but a whole birthday party is usually not the move.

The last birthday party I had was when I turned twenty-five. Can we say LIT!!!! So I guess it’s safe to say that every ten years I throw myself a real live party! Thirty-five has come and gone but let me say that my last minute party was right on time. True it was a distraction from life and its troubles but isn’t that what most celebrations are in some form or fashion. I welcomed the distraction. But now that the dust has settled and I am back to living my real life apart from the dancing for three hours straight in Giuseppe heels and fitted sequenced dress I have to deal with my emotions and what not. Story of my life, huh?! You will not master something by neglecting it though.

I am thirty five years old and every time I say it out loud it goes one or two ways; I rejoice in that I have made it this far (Lord knows I could’ve been somewhere altogether different) or I start focusing on my disappointments and pains, naturally so.

Most of the time my heart is on my sleeve either beating strong or bleeding but sometimes I put a little wall around it. Wall or no wall it still feels so deeply every single thing. Always have and I gather it always will. Since this is my state I’ve had to learn to be intentional about how I respond to certain situations. Physical muscles won’t form themselves and neither will spiritual and emotional muscles. As fragile as the heart is and mine especially, I still would rather have a broken heart over a bitter one any day. To most that doesn’t sound like much of a choice but trust me there is a difference. My initials may be BB but I don’t want them to stand for “Bitter Brooke”! Been there, not going back.

The heart that is broken has the promise of healing to see it through the process of each broken piece coming back together to form an even stronger heart than before. It will beat again.

The bitter heart has yet to realize its need to be broken and healed. It forsakes the power of rejuvenation and its own ability to overcome all that is trying to destroy it from within.

What separates the broken and the bitter heart from one another is forgiveness and forgiveness alone. Although the journey to get there is uncomfortable and must be taken again and again it’s necessary. At first glance the broken heart and bitter heart appear to be identical because the pain feels the same. Be that as it may, healing will only come after forgiveness and what is not broken has no realization of its true state of infirmity.

Love comes slowly, then we fall so hard and yet when tried it goes so fast. Why? Because we are not willing to allow our brokenness to show us ourselves. Yes, even when someone has hurt you, there is something to see in yourself if you are to grow from the situation. Mary J Blige said it best in one of her songs

“You gotta love like you’ve never been hurt to find the love that you deserve. Be indestructible”

Unfortunately, we’d rather hold onto the pain slowly suffocating the life out of us and then wonder how we’ve become so cold.

I refuse.

Instead I choose to prosper through my pain and live! That’s my gift to myself every year. A promise to continue to embrace my brokenness regardless how it came about. Whether it came as a result of my self-inflicted pain or someone else’s treatment of me. The power is still in my response. I cannot afford to relinquish it to circumstances. I like expensive things but not if it costs me my joy.

There is no merit for me in choosing this path for my life, I am not super woman, and I am not striving to be perfect. I do realize the mercies of God enables the steps I take over each stepping stone of insecurity, anger, disappointment, rejection and all other less attractive experiences I’ve had in these thirty-five years. I am fragile and after the celebratory highs fade and that old bitterness tries to take root in the foundation of my heart, I am getting better with recognizing it and taking action. Better with age or nah?!!

Let me be clear, I am not bitter heart proof, none of us are but what I know for sure at thirty-five that maybe I wasn’t totally convinced of at twenty-five, is that hope is a sure thing and as the broken heart relies on the promise of healing, it in return willingly forgives.

Be Blessed

B