My search to take care of myself and my own needs continues to be a strong theme in my life; which Caleb Wilde reminded me.  I am recognizing that I’m doing too much, giving up too much of my time to others, and not putting my needs first.  I have always thought, and still continue to do apparently, that taking care of myself is selfish and that to be a person of good repute I need to help others as much as I possibly can (I attribute this to many of the honestly good moral traits I developed growing up in the Mennonite faith).

Until I no longer can.  This part was never really covered in the life handbook until I lost Kevin.

After caring for Kevin for months during his illness, I took a lot of time doing the things I really wanted to do.  But then I begun getting involved in giving back to the communities that had helped me – widows and cancer families.  2 summers ago, after breaking my back, I realized I was pushing myself a little too hard, so I gave myself a break and for a year decided to take off from volunteering with these groups to pursue things that I love.

But instead of taking down time, I quickly filled the time that I would have spent doing those things, with other things.  Some of it included fun things, but most of it has been obligatory things for friends and family to celebrate their lives.  I like being active in my friends and families’ lives, but there also comes a point, like now, when I begin to realize, hey, I have a whole new family now – Dave and I.  Somehow making him a priority has become a back seat item for me, and I’m exhausted trying to find time to do it all.

I keep thinking about all these things I want in life:
-Explore more national parks
-Get a cool camper/pop up to get out to these national parks
-Do more camping, fishing, hiking and biking
-Restore the swinging 50s outdoor loveseat in our garage and work on our yard
-Give items to Goodwill or Hold a Garage Sale

These are some REAL goals.  While my brain can float around all these other things I can do to fill our time, ultimately these are the places where my brain can seek solace. 

It’s time to cancel some items off my list that are more out of obligation than out of my own life passion and pursuits.  It’s time to put in some time to get these things done, and if you want to join me, please do.  I’m not leaving you behind, I’m asking you to come on this journey of self care with me.

As many widow friends reminded me during my grieving, be gentle with yourself.

On April 5, I married the boy.  Big, big step.  Big, big move forward.

The month prior to the wedding, I also finalized my book proposal to send off for a non fiction writing contest (didn’t win).  Finishing the proposal helped me to feel some closure in my life before the boy, but it also raised a lot of thoughts about what it would mean to no longer be a Boitson, to enter a new life with someone else, a new forever.

I’ll admit, it was scary.  Some days, it still is.  But mostly, it’s wonderful. 

I think a lot about Kevin, and what our life was supposed to be.  Let me rephrase that: what I thought it was to be.  The reality of life is that it doesn’t happen as I expect it to.  Life happens as was planned out for me.  That’s still a tough adjustment some days.

I haven’t given much thought to long term, to future.  That sounds weird coming from a woman who just married someone, doesn’t it?  But we are happy, and we compliment each other well, and I love him so very much.  I think my love with the boy is practical, is adult.  Wow, this doesn’t sound very romantic at all does it?  But it is.  I’ve been able to move forward, to see a future.  Even if I haven’t been able to fill a dream book with all the things I want us to do together, I have those hopes and expectations of our life together.  I think that part of me is just still a bit afraid to think too far ahead.  I know what can happen, and that part still scares me.

Remarrying after widowhood isn’t just planning a wedding, writing some vows, and marrying the man that you love.  It involves a much more complicated thought process than I ever expected.  I’m not quite ready to delve into all of that yet, publicly, but it’s been scary and wonderful, and comforting, and satisfying, and joyful and tearful, and lovely, and exciting, and thrilling.  It’s been all that.  Here’s to forever, however long that will be.

Last week life threw me another curveball when my boy landed himself in the hospital.  A month before our wedding, this was not ideal timing.  As we went through the steps of figuring out what was wrong, I did a very good job of keeping my blinders on.  I would not allow my brain to go into complete psych out mode, but it was difficult considering all of the “could-happens” of being in a hospital.  It’s hard not to.  It felt too similar.

But he’s getting better every day and things seems to be smoothing out.

All these doubts run through my head about myself; what can I handle again?  If something happens to him, how will I handle it?

But I don’t want to live that way.  I fight those thoughts nearly every day; not to live in the past.

It’s difficult not taking my brain back there.  It’s difficult allowing yourself to love again while knowing it could all end at any second.  This was something I dared not believe could happen the first time.  Now, I know at some point it could very well happen.

But that’s not  healthy, it’s not vibrant, and it does neither of us any good.

This is what I have to tell myself.

I’m not the woman Kevin married.  I look for pieces of her, but ultimately, the person I am today only contains bits and pieces of that woman.  Some good, some bad, some just there.

I brought strength along to this new woman that I never thought I was capable of.  I brought along a talent to take charge while still being a bit sound-minded (although that escapes me some of the time).  I brought along a depth that I had not known in my soul.  I brought along some pain and heartbreak that causes me to leave a guard up.

Ultimately, I am a morphed version of myself.  I think all people morph and change, and yes, I do believe your core structure, moral, and beliefs can change over time.  I also believe that if you don’t allow those things to change, or allow your partner to change, you can both suffocate one another and yourself.

It’s hard for me to admit that I’m not the same woman that I was.  I no longer care about some things, yet am deeply concerned about others.  But I do believe that it is healthy, but sometimes painful, to let yourself be changed by your experiences.  I hope that these changes are mostly for the good, but sometimes I don’t know.

I am 2 weeks away from marrying the Boy.  What a journey it has been as we approach 3 years together and I approach 5 since Kevin’s death.  My life is so different, yet so wonderful and blessed.

I don’t want to lose sight of that, overall, when frustrating and scary things come my way.  In everything I know that the purpose of my life is greater than all of my combined fears.  My fears are not meant to eclipse what I need to experience and grow.

But damn, it’s tough.

For the past month or so, life has taken me down a road whether I wanted to walk it or not.  I officially moved in with my fiance, I came upon the deadline to get my book proposal to my editor and I’m finalizing the details on our wedding.  Anxiety has been a frontrunner in my emotions.

I only recently realized that I hold my breath…a lot.  My coworker heard me sigh and asked what was wrong.  Dave also mentioned that I sigh a lot.  I knew that I did, but I never realized it was because I hold my breath when I’m feeling stressed or anxious.  I wonder when this started?

From what I’ve read online, it seems this is directly correlated with anxiety.  I know I’ve been stressed and over-committed (this sound familiar to anyone) but I figured it was just my typical reaction.  That may be so, but I am finding that my unhealthy habit of anxiety instead of healthy stress, might be back.  That terrifies me.

I never realized I had anxiety until Kevin became very ill and I had a panic attack in the surgical waiting room in front of my entire family.  I went on meds to control the problem on an as needed basis. I have been proud to say that I’ve been off my anxiety and anti-depressants for a couple of years now, however, I can’t say that the problem is “solved”.  Will it ever be?

With another new chapter of my life just around the corner, I want to find healthy ways of dealing with stress and anxiety.  One seems to be completely correlated with the other.  I don’t want to hold my breath; it’s not healthy.  In fact, now that I’m putting this down, I wonder if the caffeine I cut out (coffee) was not the trigger, but moreso the holding of my breath would trigger my heart palpitations.  Or maybe, it was the combination of both things making my heartbeat go nuts.

Whenever something goes a little bit wrong, I tense my shoulders and hold my breath.  I would love your suggestions for releasing this and just rolling with the punches, something I’ve never been good with.

Anxiety has such a control in my life, and with a dominant personality, I crave control far too much.  How do you let go?

After Kevin’s death, despite numerous people telling me to go on medication, that there was nothing wrong with going on medication, I made the decision to stay off of anti-depressants while grieving.  I was already taking an anxiety medication for the attacks that had started when Kevin became ill, as well as a sleeping pill.  I knew that grief had to be felt, that I had to take myself to those deep and dark lows that were required in grieving.

Nearly a year after his death, after I had gone back to school and hit the 1-year loss mark, I was having difficulty studying and staying on top of school.  I sought out my doctor and together we made the decision to start on a low dose of anti-depressants to help me focus.

This morning, when I read Caleb Wilde’s recent blog, Should We Medicate Grief? I was appalled and saddened that the new Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders  from the American Psychiatric Association had decided to lump together grieving with depression.

I’m not disagreeing that grief feels depressing, but is it depression?  Isn’t it completely normal and sane for someone to not want to get out of bed, to put themselves in remote situations, to sob uncontrollably, to have suicidal tendencies, to feel at their lowest of low, because they lost someone they loved?

When chatting with a widow friend this evening we both agreed that we felt something is lost when a grieving person chooses to immediately medicate themselves.  That’s not to say that if you have depressive tendencies you shouldn’t be concerned and stay in close contact with a mental health professional, but if you’re just plain grieving, trying to suffocate that grief with medication can be destructive in the healing process.

I’m curious to know what your thoughts are.  Did you medicate immediately following the loss of a loved one?  Do you believe that grief should be lumped in with Psychiatrists’ diagnosis of depression?

Tonight I told my editor that I’m committing to a publishing contest and together we are going to put together a book proposal for my memoir.

I committed.

The biggest fear I have is commitment.  Not really in people, as evidenced by my recent engagement, but to things, time, goals, dreams, hopes, faith.  I have trouble committing to these items since I really have no clue what the outcome might provide (goes back to my control problem).  A contest is just as intimidating as sending it through traditional publishing channels; experts will be reviewing and critiquing my work and they may say no.  But, I tend to be good at contests, and besides having a very passionate story to share with the world, my writing has come quite a long way from the first days of my Boitsons blog in 2008.

So, fear of commitment to my writing, fear of rejection, fear of financial commitment, I’m kicking you to the curb.  We’re doing this.  Mid-March is the deadline, so this is where you, the reader, come in: make sure I’m writing, check in and ask how it’s coming along, and feel free to kick me off Facebook and Twitter when necessary.

Twas the day before Christmas, tears dripping on blouse,

Many hearts and souls breaking, yearning for their spouse;

Stockings were missing from where they hung last year,

In their place was a silence that brought on tears.

Lay down beside the empty spot in the bed,

The grief came upon them and filled up their head.

She snuggled in his sweatshirt and he in her knit,

The emptiness upon them felt like a pit.

The next morning they rose and what did they hear,

Their favorite carol which brought such endear;

The family they came and gave hugs and their cheer,

Wasn’t Christmas without them but family was near.

I went through the motions as thought was expected,

To recall the memories we had collected;

I missed them so, no celebration was wanted,

My home, my heart, and my soul all were haunted;

I pulled over twice on the way to Grandma’s,

I could not hold it together, felt so raw.

When I arrived at her house I felt no better,

Tried to hide my tears in the sleeve of my sweater.

They hugged me as if I would break into pieces,

Avoiding the mascara pooled in my eye creases.

I plastered on a smile as best as I knew how,

Not thinking of future only here and now.

Present in body but spirit gone missing,

Up with my husband eternity wishing.

I got home that evening and sunk in his chair,

Wondering why I was left of our wonderful pair.

I prayed in my soul that I would find solace,

My grief go away and he be made flawless.

I cried and I cried, no miracle happened,

Tissues thrown out with the ripped Christmas wrapping.

I drove to a place so I could feel more near him,

But felt farther away and memory dim.

The first Christmas without my dear husband was hard,

My heart felt of rubble, my dreams were all charred.

I walked and I walked and in time I grew weary,

My life seemed so empty, of toil and such dreary,

5 Christmases now and I still think upon,

But colors are back and each day a new dawn.

I miss him and cherish those times we created,

He left much too early, God could have waited.

But it is what it is, and I hate saying that,

Just this past week I tossed his favorite hat.

I make way in my life for new and for old,

Wondering what Christmases ahead will hold.

To each of you on this Christmas of empty,

Of this grief and this sorrow we will never be free.

Look one step ahead it may just be better,

You are on a journey that will cause quite a stir.

In your heart and your soul, restless now for sure,

This journey must be walked, for their is no cure.

Walk ahead as you’re able, with a friend if you can,

Kick out the demons that haunt you, entering banned.

Lets tears fall when they call and don’t be ashamed,

You’re a widow of love, for that you are named.

~B.L. Boitson 12/24/12

It’s easier not to take myself back there.  Back to the first time I saw our Nation face tragedy.  I remember sitting on the carpet in front of the old cabinet TV in my bedroom and watching Oprah as images and information streamed in about the Columbine shooting.  I remember watching the twin towers burning on the TV just minutes after the second plane hit and I had just entered my pre-calculus class in agonizing awe.  I remember sitting at work watching the news pour in about the Amish school shooting that had just happened about 40 minutes from my home.  I remember the reports of Virginia Tech.  I remember the lack of understanding.

I remember my grief at losing Kevin, but it’s easier not to take myself back there.  I remember knowing it was coming, thinking we had weeks, and then spending the night next to his hospital bed hearing his labored breathing and realizing that tomorrow would be the bitter end.  I felt like I had no time to say goodbye, but even I had more time than any of these other tragedies.  Yet, saying goodbye felt stolen from me as Kevin slipped in and out of consciousness that night.  I said goodbye and prayed over him hoping he could hear me releasing him into the unknown, what I hoped was a glorious light and a heavenly Savior welcoming him.  I hoped.

These family members probably hoped the same thing when they heard of losing their loved ones in the Sandy Hook elementary shooting.

It’s easier for me to not imagine what they felt.  That deep ache, that numb disbelief that this can’t really be happening to them.  Just as I watched Kevin’s body being taken from him by cancer, his body never really looking like himself.  But even as important as saying goodbye can be, remembering them for what they were, is more so.  At least, the longer I grieved, the easier it was for me to remember him as he was, before his illness.

It is easier for me to not remember planning a funeral for a life lost too early.  It’s just easier.

Until I read this: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/lookout/first-person-harsh-reality-reporting-young-lives-lost-161206457.html

Reading this just sort of snapped something when I, for one brief second, allowed myself to imagine their grief, like my own.  And I felt that jolt, the hysteria, the breath being taken away at that moment of loss.

It’s just easier for me not to remember.  Because that pain is still palpable.  There’s enough of those feelings going around without me feeling that too.

So I will sympathize and shake my head and continue to ask “why”, knowing I will never truly understand, just like they never will.  I will feel empathy.  But it’s just easier for me to not remember.

7 days of analyzing your day-to-day life and suddenly you start to see the unhealthy patterns highlighted in not too pleasant ways.  You’re welcome to read my lengthy journal entries below but here’s the summary of this week’s Project: Unleashed – Letting Go of Expectations and Control challenge:

Friday – Lady cut me off, had to choose not to smash into her rear bumper

Saturday – Major cooking fail, had to give up and go to the store.

Sunday – Chose to be lazy and give up control of planning every minute of my life

Monday – Dress that came in the mail was not meant to be my wedding dress, had to give up that expectation.

Tuesday – Raising the question of giving up control of my memoir and submitting it for a contest – still working on this one

Wednesday – I cannot make my dog poop on command.  Yep, let’s leave it at that.

Thursday – I do not always get what I want, and it’s a good thing.

I’ve had to learn this week that I’m not always *gasp* right.  That Kevin’s death was not the only disappointment in my life.  That bad things are still going to happen.  That life is uncontrollable.  That no matter what I plan, things can, will, and do go in a different direction.  Control is ellusive.  I’m softening, or at least, acknowledging these issues is helping me to see how I need to soften.  It’s either give this up, or people get hurt.  It’s time.  Control, our relationship is unhealthy.  Bye bye.

_ _

Week 3 Should be Fear.  This is so broad for me.  SOOOO broad.  I want to take this next week to dwell on the fear challenges I want to conquer in the next year.  The one big one that I can think of is my motorcycle.  I’m going to blog next week about my fears and what I can put in place to get over some of them, or accepting the valid ones but moving forward from them.  Check back next week to see where I’m at.

_ _

Journal Entries from the past week:

On my drive home from work I realized I hadn’t yet given up control of really anything that Friday.  Until she pulled out in front of me at a stop sign.  I hit my horn and continued on it, furious, cursing.  She knew I had the right away, but she didn’t care.  And then I dawned on me – I cannot control someone else’s actions.  So while it pained me to back off of her rear bumper, to not continue to curse, yell and honk my horn, I did.  I drove like a “normal” person the entire distance that I followed her, letting it go.

Saturday, my strive to hold onto control tested me.  We had a Christmas party to attend, and I had 2 recipes that I found on Pinterest in mind.  As I prepped the one for baking, I substituted applesauce for oil in the Pumpkin Chocolate Chip recipe.  But I didn’t read about it first.  I baked it for 2 hours and the inside of the bread was still raw.  It wasn’t until the next day that I realized the stove was not indeed broken, as Dave and I had thought, I had just screwed up the recipe.  And the Avocado Cream Cheese and Salsa pastry puffs that were burnt on the bottom?  Also my error.  When it was time to walk out the door to the party, both recipes were ruined and we were off to Darrenkamps to pick up another treat to bring.  I had to let it go.  It was hard to admit defeat the next day, and admit that maybe, just maybe, the error had been my fault and we no longer had to go oven shopping.

Sunday I did nothing.  Meaning, I didn’t walk the dog.  I didn’t help with the laundry.  Cooking consisted of Joe Corbi’s frozen pizza, a broccoli omelette, bologna sammies, and way too many pretzels and brie (reading this now, and I wonder why the scale was 5 pounds heftier today, ugh).  I wanted to go shopping, pick up that gift card to cross another present off the list, go to look at ovens before I admitted we didn’t need one, take the dog to the dog park.  The only productive thing I did all day was give Molly a bath; necessary for her mild skin infection.  I gave  up control of all the woulda, coulda, shouldas and I did nothing.  It was blissful and wonderful to lounge around in my comfies all day long, and sit by my boy on the couch watching movies and countless episodes of ‘How I Met Your Mother’.  So this is what laziness is like?  I could get used to this!

Monday I went over to Dave’s after work and found 3 packages on the front step.  A few of the things I do love about the materialist side of Christmas (I love all things religious Christmas; carols, Christ, historical significance) are 1) Having money to buy gifts for people, and 2) packages in the mail.  What was even more exciting was that one of those packages was for me!  It was what I hoped would be my wedding dress.  It was packaged away in a lovely teal box and when I opened it, my heart sank a bit.  The beaded detailing at the top was not gimmery as I had hoped, it was white and teal beading.  The nude color was darker than it looked online.  I tried it on, hoping it would spark.  It fit decently, but not beautifully.  I wanted to will it to work, to be “the dress” simply out of time, money, and not really wanting to try a million dresses on.  But it just wasn’t.  In the past, I would suck it up, use it, and make it work even if it didn’t.  But this time, I knew I had to let it go.  It was not going to be my wedding dress.  It might work for another wedding I am going to attend this year, or even on our honeymoon, but not on the big day.  I packed it back up and put it under the bed.  I’d decide later if I want to return it.

This past week I have been researching some publishing contests to see what’s available for my genre – nonfiction/memoir.  Most of the deadlines had expired and from the ones I did read, they weren’t quite what I was looking for.  When I got home from work on Tuesday night, in my inbox was a first time publishing contract contest.  For women.  For nonfiction.  For me.  I believe in signs, in timing, and this screamed out to me.  The first thing I did was shoot 2 emails out to friends who are familiar with book proposals.  My friend Andi got back to me saying she would work with me on getting it up and ready to send out to them by the March deadline.  There’s a cost involved, not for the contest, but for the book proposal.  I love contests and I’m typically good at them.  I don’t love anything involving my memoir.  It terrifies me, the commitment, the uncertainty, my vulnerability..  But ever since I listened to Ira Wagler at a writer’s breakfast, I’ve known I need to do something with it.  Maybe I just need to polish some chunks of it and see what some professional editors and bookhouses think of it from there.  So, I’m thinking about it.  This means giving up control of my baby, something I’ve worked on/off for, for 4 years, something I haven’t found the effort to return to after its first draft.  This means exposing my vulnerability.  This means investing a good chunk of money into my craft.  This means investing most of my free/spare time into making it a good product to send forth.  It means a lot.  It means I give up control and give into this.  I still need to think about it.  I’m giving myself two weeks to think about it, and decide the feasibility of this investment at this time of my life (a hectic time), then I need to make a decision.

Wednesday morning my dog would not go poo.  She’s a very regular dog.  The boy takes her out first thing in the morning; she pees and poops.  When I get up after she’s been fed, I walk her and she pees and poops.  When I come home from work and walk her again she pees, then eats, and before bed when I let her out, she pees and poops.  It’s a pretty simple routine schedule we have.  But this morning the boy was off on a business trip and it was just me and her.  We got started later than usual, she peed, pooped, ate.  Then we went for our walk and she peed but didn’t poo, so I put her out back.  She did nothing.  I Waited.  I took her back inside.  I waited 10 minutes then I took her back out.  She peed.  Then stared.  We went for a walk a second time.  Nothing.  Finally I just gave up.  If she had to poo, she had her chance.  But when I took her for the second walk of the morning, I had left her gentle leader inside, so we went for a walk with just her leash.  Molly is no small dog.  She’s about 80 pounds of solid pup and she’s stubborn.  When she wants to go, she wants to go.  The hound in her means her nose goes wherever, whenever.  This has gotten her into trouble before (escape, skunk) so the gentle leader has been the best thing to keep her reigned in.  But with just using the leash this morning, she stayed beside me the entire walk.  She barely pulled and when she did and I tugged her, she settled back down.  Normally this is the dog I find at night, when the sun is down and she feels more calm and less anxious about the world that could hurt her (we believe she was abused by her previous owners).  But the sun was out, and there she was, strutting alongside of me with no assistance but the leash.  Even though she didn’t poo like she does every morning walk, she walked like a brand new dog.  I guess giving up control is worth it.

Thursday I wanted to talk about the wedding with the boy.  About the cost.  About the honeymoon.  About the fact that I can only contribute a little here and there.  He was willing to listen, but the problem was, I wasn’t.  I had my mind set, no flexibility.  I get that way about things.  I decide what I want, and that’s just how it is.  It comes from being the youngest of 3, getting my way a lot, and widowhood.  I’ve done things MY way since Kevin died and it’s hard to make room for two again sometimes.  So by the end of the night after some frustrating moments and walking away to give ourselves a break from the intensity, we came to a fun solution.  And it felt ok to give up control.  To be spontaneous together.