Hello lovely reader. I'm kind of proud of myself right now. I've blogged on here for the second time in a year. Ha! Twice in the same year! I haven't done that in awhile! This has become kind of an annual thing.
Why do I break this annual streak? I'm trying to podcast. I'm currently writing at a coffee shop for future podcast episodes. I have 9 books and 1 latte with me. I am working, but I feel like I've bumped against a wall. I wouldn't call it writers block, but more like I've-been-doing-this-for-two-days-straight-with-barely-a-break-my-brain-hurts block. I planned to work yesterday through tomorrow straight. I still will probably, though I probably won't get as much done as I had originally planned and that's probably okay. If somehow you've missed that I've started a podcast, check out www.facebook.com/apologeticssimplified or www.apologeticssimplified.com. Scrolling the posts or webpage should bring you up to date.
Doing this podcast has been harder than I expected. It's not the research, learning to audio edit, constructing the episodes, creating the websites, or learning how to show up on places like Spotify. That's just learning stuff. I've been in school nonstop since I was 5. I can learn.
The hardest part has been self-doubt.
I recently read Fierce Faith by Alli Worthington. It's a book about fear and how to overcome it. I highly recommend it. As I read it I realized how much of my own life is consumed by or at least touched by fear. I won't go into right now. Read the book and you'll see! But I have found fear to be so prevalent as I start this podcast.
My mind is bombarded with questions. Can I really do this? Can I handle the workload? Will people hate it? Or worse, will anyone care? Will it help anyone? Why am I bothering to create another apologetics podcast? Why me? There's much better apologists than me out there, surely? Am I just full of myself? Every time I go to do something big the self-doubt comes out from my heart and attacks me. I went to hit "publish" on my website and I froze. What am I doing? I can't do this. I pushed publish anyway. I published the welcome episode. Who do I think I am? I created the advent episode (releasing Dec 18... be excited) today. Who am I to talk about this?
Why do I share all this with you? I'm a millennial and we tend overshare on social media. It's more than that, though. I have a feeling I'm not the only person who struggles with self-doubt or some other form of fear. You might be reading this and relate on a personal level. I don't have an answer to make it all better. I do want you to know you're not alone and just because you're having self-doubt, doesn't mean that you have to listen to those voices.
I recently was watching the Netflix show Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee which is a show by Jerry Seinfeld and it's exactly what the title suggests. One episode he had Jimmy Fallon on the show. Jimmy Fallon is one of my favorite TV personalities. He's hilarious and lighthearted and I love his show. While they were talking, Jerry asked Jimmy (and I'm paraphrasing here) if he wondered why people come to and watch his show. Jimmy strongly affirmed that sometimes he thinks to himself and wonders what all these people are here for and why they give a flying flip what he had to say. I found this both shocking and comforting. Jimmy Fallon has self-doubt. JIMMY FALLON. If he has he these feelings, I feel pretty secure in saying that self-doubt is just part of the human experience.
Do you have self-doubt too? Welcome to the club. Whatever your self-doubt is saying, push on. If you're comfortable sharing, I'd love to hear any stories you have about how you've overcome self-doubt in your own life. Thanks for reading my ramblings. If you're a person of faith, please pray for me as I embark on this podcasting journey.
Friday, December 14, 2018
Monday, May 21, 2018
Heart Surgery Update: Wife Edition
It's been over a year since I've blogged. To some degree I can't believe I put it off so long, but mainly I can't believe January 2017 was already over a year ago! Last time I wrote around the issue of my battle with uterine fibroids. It lead to a full abdominal myomectomy to remove a large fibroid just a couple months after writing. Now I write from a hospital room for my husband who just had open vascular surgery a few days ago. I think my husband and I need a pact: let's leave the organs in our core alone for awhile! :)
I joke, but frankly this is different. It's open vascular surgery which automatically makes it intense. On top of that though, we've had a pretty serious role reversal. Phill doesn't seem to know it, but he's a natural caretaker and nurturer when someone he loves is suffering. I've been through several surgeries as a kid, at least one in college, two since we've been married, and I'm a general klutz so I run into things a lot. He's good at nurturing; I'm good at suffering. It's the perfect relationship. Things are different now. Now I am figuring out what it means to care for my normally very independent husband.
People have been asking me how I'm doing with all this. If you asked me this and I ignored your question, it's because I haven't had an answer. Truthfully, I'm still trying to put into words how I am doing. Hence why I'm writing this blog post. Waiting the many hours between when they took him to the operating room and when they let me see him in recovery was heart wrenching. When I learned I could see him, I thought it would be a huge sigh of relief. Though he was asleep when I got in, it was comforting seeing his chest rising and falling as well as seeing his solid numbers they were monitoring (pulse, blood pressure, oxygen, etc). What wasn't comforting was everything else. My lively husband had gray lips. His skin was white. He was hooked up to a million things. When he woke up he was in pain, though he fell asleep promptly so it didn't last long. His color returned the very next day and he's made incredible progress, but that image hung with me. How could someone so lively look so... dead?
Since then I've been trying to discover my role in all this: how do I take care of him? How do I take care of me? I've discovered some ways to do this since Thursday: going on walks by myself, sleeping when I can, holding his hand as they pull long tubes out of his chest, providing emotional support for him, and learning how I will assist him when it's time to come home. I don't think I realized how emotionally and physically draining it is taking care of another person - especially a person I love so dearly.
So how am I doing? Most of the time I'm drained. I'm ready to have him home and ready to watch his progress. But I'm also grateful. I'm grateful that we've received so much love and support from our closest loved ones. I'm grateful that we are at one of the best heart hospitals in the country. I'm grateful that Phill refuses to let anything stop him from pushing forward and recovering. Sure, I'm tired and worn, but I'm also secure. I'm secure in our incredible support system and most importantly in the hands of God. My prayer time is mostly me sitting in quiet saying, "Father, I'm so tired. I need help." Right now that's enough.
I joke, but frankly this is different. It's open vascular surgery which automatically makes it intense. On top of that though, we've had a pretty serious role reversal. Phill doesn't seem to know it, but he's a natural caretaker and nurturer when someone he loves is suffering. I've been through several surgeries as a kid, at least one in college, two since we've been married, and I'm a general klutz so I run into things a lot. He's good at nurturing; I'm good at suffering. It's the perfect relationship. Things are different now. Now I am figuring out what it means to care for my normally very independent husband.
People have been asking me how I'm doing with all this. If you asked me this and I ignored your question, it's because I haven't had an answer. Truthfully, I'm still trying to put into words how I am doing. Hence why I'm writing this blog post. Waiting the many hours between when they took him to the operating room and when they let me see him in recovery was heart wrenching. When I learned I could see him, I thought it would be a huge sigh of relief. Though he was asleep when I got in, it was comforting seeing his chest rising and falling as well as seeing his solid numbers they were monitoring (pulse, blood pressure, oxygen, etc). What wasn't comforting was everything else. My lively husband had gray lips. His skin was white. He was hooked up to a million things. When he woke up he was in pain, though he fell asleep promptly so it didn't last long. His color returned the very next day and he's made incredible progress, but that image hung with me. How could someone so lively look so... dead?
Since then I've been trying to discover my role in all this: how do I take care of him? How do I take care of me? I've discovered some ways to do this since Thursday: going on walks by myself, sleeping when I can, holding his hand as they pull long tubes out of his chest, providing emotional support for him, and learning how I will assist him when it's time to come home. I don't think I realized how emotionally and physically draining it is taking care of another person - especially a person I love so dearly.
So how am I doing? Most of the time I'm drained. I'm ready to have him home and ready to watch his progress. But I'm also grateful. I'm grateful that we've received so much love and support from our closest loved ones. I'm grateful that we are at one of the best heart hospitals in the country. I'm grateful that Phill refuses to let anything stop him from pushing forward and recovering. Sure, I'm tired and worn, but I'm also secure. I'm secure in our incredible support system and most importantly in the hands of God. My prayer time is mostly me sitting in quiet saying, "Father, I'm so tired. I need help." Right now that's enough.
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