In The Year of Our Lord

Two Thousand and Fourteen

Let me start off by saying it's not all roses. There will be highlights and there will be carefully selected details displayed but it's not all amazing. 

2014 was a really hard year for our family. For so many reasons. And now that 4 years has passed it's hard to remember all the details- but the overarching theme of the hellacious year remains strong in my memory. 

Relationships are hard. We all come to them with our own ideas and issues and baggage that we think is important and precious so we can't possibly get rid of it. Sean and I were going through a rough patch in 2013-2014. There was a lack of trust on both sides. We said things. We reacted. We cried. A lot. We smiled. We kissed. We did counseling. A lot. Rinse and repeat ad Infinitum. It was really helpful. Our first marriage counselor was awful. We gave her a second chance, just in case it was our bias that was clouding our judgment. Nope. She was a fresh outta the box therapist and we needed someone with more experience. So we found a better one. I firmly believe we are still together- and now stronger- because of the shit we worked through that year. 

In the midst of this emotional turmoil, we got bedbugs. And boy did we ever! It was an infestation that was humiliating and awful. I still cringe thinking about it. The damn bugs were everywhere and I wanted so badly just to torch the house and run away. Luckily we only had carpet in one room. Mind you we lived miles and miles from anyone that had the ability to "tent" the house. Not to mention we had very little money to dedicate to the cause. The bugs were mostly contained to the boys' room but it was unfinished and they like the screw heads of the drywall to hide in. Steamed everything a million times over. Got rid of the bad piece of furniture. Washed everything ten thousand times. And just when it felt like we were making headway a kid would inadvertently scratch at their arm or their neck and I'd find more bites.

"Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite." 

I can't say that anymore without still wanting to cry. It was seriously traumatizing. Might have been less so if our marriage was super solid and I wasn't dealing with personal battles with depression. My anxiety started to get bad around this time, too. Fun stuff.  

On social media, I showed pictures of the projects we were working on but left out the awful truth behind them. 

Painting this secondhand bunkbed was essential in the battle against the bugs. There were too many hidey-holes and raw wood (for some reason they like raw wood- probably for laying eggs on). So we steamed the hell out of this thing. Wiped it down with bottles of rubbing alcohol (thanks google) and then painted it to seal it. That thing took 3 coats of primer in order for the color to be vibrant (and I think another 2-3 coats of the COLOR). So. Much. Paint. I loved how it turned out and I'm proud that in a moment of desperation I could come up with a solution that was both practical and looked great. It was a fun project. But whenever I showed the picture I didn't dare mention the bed bugs. There was such shame that I was a bad housekeeper (which I am- but I'm learning is actually kinda normal) (also- the bedbugs were a fluke- not related to my keeping of house- poorly or otherwise). There was a weird association that because we were poor and lived in a crappy house (that we were working hard to make better) we somehow deserved it (not true BTW). Also, it felt a little like the universe thought that with 3 small children, mental health teetering, marital stress, a project house, a few bedbugs (hundreds) would just do the trick. I very nearly lost my mind. But thanks to social media, I kept my image of being "crafty" and most people would never know the stress associated. 

In the end, we moved up finishing the room in order to seal it well and make it easier to clean/sanitize. We included the kids and they thought it was fun. 

The actual doing of it was, but the stress associated was not. That stress was heightened by hiding the truth of the struggle in social media (I'm still working on that). Getting that room done was a big goal. But we did it (except the window trim/sills). This is part of why it was so hard to sell the house when we later decided to move. Literal blood, sweat, tears, and hours and hours and HOURS of work had been put in by ALL of us.  We were building and mudding and painting a dream. Letting go of that dream still brings deep grief. 

In February of that year, we went hiking with a few friends and had the most glorious time. They knew about some of the real-life struggles. They had their own. It was great to be with them and let our kids run wild together. Our kids got nicknamed "the crazy boys" and that seems about accurate. It was a lovely respite from everyday life and is still a treasured memory.

I started taking more time for myself in order to find some peace and balance amidst the chaos. In March I went to "Camp Scabs" which was really a bunch of us 20-40-year-old women, up in a cabin in Midway. We did yoga. We wore sweatpants and no makeup. We crammed too many people into a hot tub because we didn't want anyone to be left out. We ate beautifully crafted food, lovingly prepared. We talked about the brutal realities of our lives that we didn't share with many others. We loved one another. We healed little bits by showing up and being real. It was amazing. I bought this hat at a gas station on the way home. Inhale love. Exhale peace. 4 years later it is faded and paint splotched from projects but remains a favorite. (If you happen to see one at a gas station-let me know...)

I also did an epic road trip that summer with my mom that was beutiful and healing and came at a critical time. She bought us temporary tattoos, and funky sunglasses. We spent time at the beach listening to our hearts and the waves and spent hours in the car talking. 

Around this time I discovered Glennon. (She is like Cher in my mind and can totally pull off the one-name-thing: also she got divorced and remarried along the way and I'm not sure what she goes by now...) 

Women speaking truth about trauma and real life have always been my guides. It began years ago with Maya Angelou and Jean Little and Zlata Filipovic and continues now with Glennon and Shonda Rhimes, Roxane Gay and Anne Lamott, Rupi Kaur and Rebecca Solnit and many, many others. 

There was also the silencing of women in my church that I was hurt/angry/confused by. In June of that year, Kate Kelly was excommunicated (kicked out and shunned) from the church for asking the prophet to ask god if women could share in the priesthood. As I began to see the many ways women are silenced in society, including church, things began to unravel for me. 

There were incidents with nail polish and freshly tiled floors: 

And family drives to local treasures like "Goosenecks" and "Moki Dugway":

Life is both Brutal AND Beautiful. Glennon calls this "Brutiful". Seems just about right. 

And in the end there is Hope. Painted on your bedroom wall so you don't forget. 

We survived. That's the whole point of telling you so.