Anxiety and depression are buzzwords. I don’t like to say them. Especially not of myself. However both have been strong demons in my life.

Today my son puked the minute we got home. One or more children cried from that second until this one. It took less than 2 minutes to make a bottle, but in that time my infant let out a blood-curdling scream and I found him with a crayon sticking out of his throat that my 3 year old had shoved in his mouth.

It’s terrifying knowing that I didn’t and couldn’t protect this helpless baby and that I don’t know if I am doing what I need to do for my seemingly out of control preschooler.

Yesterday he poured a bottle of lotion out on the carpet. The day before that he found honey to dump out. He runs out of the house if the doors are unlocked and can not be unsupervised for a minute.

My husband. He skipped lunch at work today trying to come home as early as he could. He wanted chicken fajitas for dinner, and picked up ingredients for it. Instead, he had PBJ with the kids. I couldn’t even help him make himself dinner.

I’m sitting on my bathroom floor right now. It’s filthy. My whole house is. I’m dazed and traumatized, trying to will myself into motion to prepare for tomorrow’s 5am alarm. The cold wall on my back is grounding and calms the panic.

I know. I hear the well-meaning words of “Motherhood is hard. That’s just how it is for moms. We understand. You’ll treasure this time later on…” I can’t believe that this is how God intended it. That’s not helpful. This isn’t normal.

Usually this is where we say something like “But it’s just amazing because I felt God close through it all. It’s all worth it when your kids wrap their little arms around your neck. It’s so good to feel God with me even on crazy days.” This is where the bow to wrap it up belongs.

I don’t have a bow for it. I don’t have a warm, fuzzy, spiritual analogy or sweet motherly conclusion.

Don’t misunderstand. God is here. He’s here on this dirty floor with me, whether I feel him or not. He doesn’t owe me anything. He is real and he is good. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a bow, or maybe never until I see His beautiful face.

My eyes catch the ellipse inked permanently on my wrist. Never-ending, new every morning – his mercies. His loving kindness never fails and he is faithful. I don’t feel it. It’s hard to believe it. Nevertheless, I’m clawing at that truth. Truth is truth whether you believe it or not. 

So maybe I have a bow after all? Just tattered and ugly, not the kind you expect or want.

This is where I am. I’m in the trenches of it and maybe you are too. Mental and emotional illness is a fight. Some days I don’t care if I lose. But I’m going to write about it, because maybe someone else is in the trenches and needs to see someone else fighting, not yet on the other side.