I’ve blogged for the better part of seven years. In the ever-changing cyberworld that’s like 100 years. For the most part when I communicate with a reader two things stand out when they summarize me.
I love chocolate.
That’s success to me because it’s the brand I’ve quietly built over the years. You might not remember my name but you recall that author that loves chocolate. The one who writes about surrender. And those things circle back to me.
Lately I’ve been going through a growth spurt with the Lord, a season and as I feel I’m supposed to, I share certain aspects of the journey. Today is a hard one because it is transparent. Not only are men not encouraged to admit their feelings,
And I am.
But there are times I cry myself to sleep.
Most of the time because I’m bone tired.
This particular season my husband is on a project that has him on call every weekend and many evenings. If he gets home at a reasonable time he’s tethered to the laptop. I don’t say it often because it comes across harsh and I believe it looks like an appeal for pity.
But for those that really know me, it’s no secret. I’m married but often a single mom. It’s not what either of us want but it’s our reality. Our oldest drives now so that helps with a lot of the shuttling that falls on my shoulders. Yet I still get tired. Juggling school schedules, all of our times in ministry and the logistics involved, medical appointments and the aftermath, keeping up with the house. I recently had to take our two senior dogs to the vet to put them down. Cry? That was a day I spelled it out. I needed my family to be present and encouraging. And they were. But lately I’ve been so tired the only way to let that out has been through tears.
I also cry out of anger. There are times, rare, but moments when I’m at such a loss for words I can only cry. Most of the time it’s out of love for someone else and desire to protect them. The hardest lately has been people demanding things from my husband he doesn’t have. If he had time, I’d like some of it yet many hands are grabbing for him wanting their (in my tired opinion) minor needs yet. Without knowing our full story they offer their commentary and it wounds to the point of hot tears I save for night. I cry for my kids. When they are frustrated and they have to do the right thing knowing they will probably be the only one that will. When they are picked on. And another biggie for me—when I want justice and I don’t see it. Oh, I cry and shake my fist on that!
And then there’s the loneliness. I’m an introvert’s introvert with a call to write. That alone is a life of solitude. Add the above and sometimes the isolation threatens to choke the very life out of me. It’s complex because it’s a time God uses to train me. But I hate it. It’s so hard. And it seems with each growing season my circle is pruned. There are fewer people I’m able to relate to and trust. And the cycle is vicious.
Why do I share such a vulnerable place? Because I vowed I would always write what God asked when He did.
. I’m confident I’m not the only person crying themselves to sleep. My hope is that by sharing that person or people feel less alone and reach out to their Heavenly Father so that they can learn and prosper from the experience.
And may your sleep be full of His peace.
Ah, Saturday confession.
The day where I share something I’m learning about myself, or recently mastered, and feel it’s time to share.
So if that’s your issue, you don’t feel so alone.
What’s new is that you’re welcome to link up.
If you have a confession, share it.
Let’s kick isolation to the curb once and for all.
While I have you, I have some slots left for next month’s thankful submissions.
I hand my blog over to you and you share why you are thankful. As always, the posts are amazing.
Send your thoughts. As little as a few sentences and as much as 750 words to email@example.com
with a bio and optional picture, signing off as you want to be known (first name, full, anonymous.)
First come, first serve, and I reserve the right to edit, but rarely do.
When I feel healthy, I’m a dynamo. I can maintain many schedules and logistics. Pay bills. Laundry.
Make meals, shuttle children. Write. Minister. Encourage. Laugh. Chat. Rest. Start over.
It took decades to realize and have doctors diagnose that until I’m healed or otherwise with the Lord, I need medicine to feel that way.
It’s hormonal imbalance with menopause. For years it was also PCOS, but a hysterectomy took care of that.
My insurance now has us ordering from mail express, and I refilled late.
The medicine hasn’t arrived.
I did what I years ago didn’t dare to do.
I warned everyone.
I’ve pictured myself clinging to Jesus, just wrapped around His neck, sitting on His lap, wanting nothing but His safety and comfort.
Because for me, I have radical temperature changes. Forget surges.
Anxiety with irrational thoughts.
And then the tears.
The tears started Wednesday, and I used to have such shame, because there wasn’t a real reason for them.
This time I tried to look at my schedule one event at a time, dig deep, and move forward.
When the tears came, I wiped them with my sleeve and kept going.
I’ve longed for it not to be busy, but it is what it is. The kids are off until Monday.
It’s a full schedule.
The youngest had so many medical appointments. The last including needing 4 vials of blood and a sample taken. She was done. Me too. Usually I can have my strong face on for her. But as soon as we were done, I was blinking tears away.
Hours later I couldn’t remember the name of the heat box in the family room. Yeah, the thermostat.
Then I started to get teary when my husband let me know what he thinks of Pepperjack Cheez It’s. I bought the wrong cheese. I wanted to lash out and justify my attempt. But I knew insecurity would have been talking, and that’s best left until better days.
But I’m getting through.
Thriving? No. But compared to other times, it’s not horrible.
I’ve talked about this kind of thing before, but I promised to be real, surrendered or surrendering,
and I felt like someone out there is going to feel less alone with me sharing.
If hormonal imbalance is your issue, chuck the shame. You’re too amazing to wear such a dud.
Be open, within reason, and stay in touch with your doctor. It might take tweaking. It has for me.
Don’t let a religious person bring you down. I am a straight up Jesus girl with faith in Him big enough to believe for a resurrection if God asked me to pray for one.
It’s okay to take medicine if that is where God directs you.
And it’s okay to keep believing for a supernatural healing while you wait.
But doing nothing, or letting the emotions control you, don’t.
Wife. Mom. Author. Reader. Blogger. Amateur nature photographer. Chocolate eater. Encouraging you to surrender the good, the bad, and---maybe one day---the chocolate.
Find me across social media @JulieArduini, and follow me on my Amazon Author Page.
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