I want to be writing about giant joy bubbles that burst with mushy gushy infatuation.

I want to be writing about lazy days filled with quiet cuddles and precious new coos.

I want to be writing about dreamy moments of simple motherhood.

While there very much have been bubbles, coos, and moments, most of the string of days post partum have been littered with panic and dread.

I feel guilty for even writing that.

However, I need to speak my truth to give a voice to those that cannot form the words to describe the terror inside.

So. This is for you new mom.

To the new moms who carry guilt for not savoring each morsel of motherhood, or even more, fearfully dislike the doldrums of this new life – I pray for you.

To the new moms who are plagued with irrational fears – fears that you will somehow lose control and harm the children that you love more intensely than you knew possible – I pray for you.

To the new moms whose minds become foggy and melancholy courses through your veins – I pray for you.

To the new moms that frantically search the internet, certain that something is intensely wrong, and you are going insane – I pray for you.

To the new mom who weeps – ashamed, lonely, and isolated – I pray for you.

To the new mom who questions her value and her worthiness of motherhood – I pray for you.

I storm the heavens for you because I intimately know the torment you are experiencing.

I am so sorry.

I love you.

I pray for you.

I’m struggling to know what else to write or say that wouldn’t be somewhat hypocritical. While you are in the throws of postpartum depression, anxiety, or OCD, it’s difficult to encourage someone to hang on and assure them that this indeed will get better because truth be told in most moments I cannot even fathom a world where this torture relents.

So this is an open letter both to myself, and the new moms.

Hang on tight. It’s a wild ride, but YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I’m here, even if no one else is.

You are not a bad mother – your brain and body are just struggling to interpret these raging hormones and emotions.

You will not harm anyone. It doesn’t matter how gripping, petrifying, and real the intrusive, irrational fears may seem. Feelings aren’t facts. Thoughts aren’t truths.

It’s ok to not enjoy each moment of motherhood. No one enjoys each aspect of any job, and motherhood is one giant job – so giant in fact it often knocks us to our knees and makes us question everything.

You are not crazy – you are just tired and need a snack. And maybe someone to hold your hand and scratch your back.

Those who have never experienced any form of mental illness or distress can’t understand simply because their brains work and interpret things differently. When reaching out to others – keep this in mind and pile all the grace you can on top of yourself.

Go out and get help. Shout it from the rooftops if you have to. If you don’t know where to start – message me.

If this reads melodramatic – you have not experienced this agony. Take a moment to pause and praise God .

I love you sister. I pray for you.

God provides every time – even in the darkness.

 
10 years ago, the heartache and tears following a break up was the hardest thing I had ever been through. I felt and mourned deep loss of romance and friendship. I cried and rarely felt like leaving my apartment. I became quite literally sick with grief.

5 years ago, social and relational anxiety was the hardest thing I had ever been through. I was a newlywed navigating unknown territory of what it meant to be a wife, as well as what it meant to have and love a husband. I had just moved across the country and I was completely immersed in a new culture, climate, and circle of friends. My deep southern roots slowly adjusted to the fast paced diversity of the Silicon Valley. I cried nearly every single day for an entire year. I wasn’t sad and I wasn’t miserable. Rather, I was deeply unsure of myself, and my new role in this drastically differently life.

3 years ago, new motherhood, breastfeeding, and Post Partum Anxiety were the hardest things I had ever been through. They brought me to my knees and threatened my stability. I had entered motherhood expecting my transition to be natural and effortless. However, in the first year, I gulped equal amounts water and air, as I struggled to keep my head just above the surface. Intrusive thoughts petrified and immobilized me. In the first 3 months, my daughter screamed from 30 minutes to 5 hours every single time I attempted to feed her. I was guilt ridden, scared, and exhausted.

1 year ago, giving birth to my stillborn son, Keller NormanBartlett, was the hardest thing I had ever been through. My husband and I shattered as we labored to bring his lifeless body into this world. Words are insufficient to describe this type of pain and sudden, shocking loss. The days, weeks, and months to follow have often been battlefields – ridden with pain attacks, depression, and anger.

Comparison is an evil and deceptive enemy. It lies and tells us that our joy is insufficient and our pain is inconsequential. Even worse, it deceives us into thinking our friends and family’s joys are mediocre and their pain minute in comparison to whatever battle you yourself may be facing.

As mothers, I think we are especially susceptible to falling into the pit of comparison. We are bombarded with pictures, videos, and stories detailing the “highlight reel” of other family’s lives. Without much thought, we can trip into the darkness of believing we need more (clothing, housing, activities, romance, holiness) in order to achieve the “same level” of happiness, contentment, and joy. We rob ourselves of the abundance and goodness surrounding us. Comparison literally blinds us. We become incapable of realizing and accepting our own joy.

Equally, we are very often met with the darkest and most painful moments in other’s lives. Newsfeeds are filled with “case of the Mondays” hardships, personal confessions of struggle and depression, prayer requests for heartache, and the deep groaning’s of death. The corruption of comparison reaches to pain as well.

10 years ago, the hardest thing I had ever faced was – simply – a break up. The trials and hardships I have faced since, can and have caused me to scoff and mock my 20 year old self. I had “no idea what true pain was”. This is false and caustic comparison. 10 years ago – the heartache of that lost friendship brought me to my knees. I wept to God that He would mend that relationship. He didn’t. He knew the pain and growth were far more beneficial than a temporary patching of my heart. Many who had known far greater pain, could have grinned and said “there, there”. They didn’t. They hunkered down by my side, saw my pain for what it was – the hardest thing I had ever been through – and prayed, and loyally and patiently kept by my side.

As mothers, it is difficult to meet the pain of other mothers and not compare it to your own.

“At least their baby doesn’t have colic!”

“At least they have parents near to help out.” 

“At least their husband is home!”

“It’s just a stomach bug…”

“I wish my kid only woke up twice a night.”

We see the pain of others and almost instinctively compare it to our own struggle (or at least I do). We minimize the pain of others because poisonous comparison has entered into our hearts.

Conversely, we can see the pain of others and minimize our own pain and hardships.

“I only have one kid – this shouldn’t be so hard.”

“I know my baby only wakes up once – why am I so tired? Why is this so hard?”

“None of my kids are chronically ill – I shouldn’t be struggling so much just because they’ve had a cold for 2 weeks.”

“A miscarriage is common – so many women have had them – why do I feel so sad for so long?”

“My family is close by and so many people don’t have thatkind of help – I shouldn’t be having to fight depression so hard.”

Your battles are hard simply because they are the hardest thing you are going through.

God sees your pain and reaches out with perfect love and compassion. He isn’t sitting on high telling you to “get over it” because He’s seen and experienced “much worse”. He just sees brokenness and pain and meets it with love. He effortlessly understands that this trial is the hardest battle you have faced, and He is ready to carry you through the waves of any storm you may face. ANY STORM. He doesn’t see a small difficulty and think, “That’s nothing. Seriously, handle it yourself.” He just offers his hand. Every single time.

I pray that time, wisdom, experience and God’s mercy can scrub the stains of constant comparison from my heart. I want to see the heartache of others and meet it with compassion – not comparison. There is such power joining joy to joy and heartache to heartache. Seeing other’s battles as the hardest thing they are facing is empowering. It validates each other’s struggles and creates a network of love and trust that can move mountains.

Theodore Roosevelt famously said, “Comparison is the thief of joy”. Amen, right? Rather than defaulting to the thievery of comparison, let’s work towards the compassion of God.

“He’s the one who comforts us in all our trouble so that we can comfort other people who are in every kind of trouble. We offer the same comfort that we ourselves received from God.” –II Corinthians 1:4

So much of Keller’s story happens in the everyday. His story is learning to cope with strangers unknowingly saying “Is she your only child?”, “It is just SO MUCH harder when you have to juggle two.”, and “Do you have any other kids?”.

So much of Keller’s story is simply accepting the quiet simple days. My heart aches to have two children screaming in my ears. I would much rather cry with my hands full, than weep with empty arms. 

I am constantly convicted by Keller and the lessons the Lord has revealed through his death. My heart needs to share these lessons. 

I am ready to share the next part of our journey. 

God is creating new life for our family. Our third child is due June 6, 2017. 

Praise our ALMIGHTY GOD. 

We covet prayers. We are humbled and thankful by the incredible goodness God has given us. 

Mary is excited. She kisses baby often. She is PINING for a baby sister. 

“God will say ‘I gave them a brother already. Now I will give them a sister!'”

We wanted to take a moment to rejoice with all of you – a moment of unrestrained joy and happiness. 

I am ready to write again. I think I need to share the struggles and joys of creation following death. Thank you for blessing me with this platform. Thank you for your overflowing compassion and love. Thank you for your eager ears and tender hearts. You are doing a mighty work. 

Hey new baby – Mommy, Daddy, Mary, and Keller welcome you to our family. We love you a lot. Jesus loves you a lot. I hope you like hugs and kisses. 

Wow. I feel a bit ashamed to say that I have been SHOCKED at the mighty work God has done through Keller’s story. Only the Lord can use a story of death and waves of agony and pain to spread love and hope. I am seriously on my knees astounded at God. Glory to God in the highest.

When we set out to write this love song, this was our goal:

“Our story isn’t exceptional. We aren’t unique because we have met death. Loss fills the lives of most we meet. But if we can point those in the pit,  those in the darkness with no touchstone, to the Light – Praise the Lord -Hosanna.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.  If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort. 

(2 Cor. 1:3-7 ESV)

Each day we will share a piece of Keller’s life. We want to mourn, laugh, worship, and celebrate with you – our dearest friends – and with you – the ones whom the Spirit led to this space because you needed to know you aren’t alone and there is indeed Good News.”

The Lord answered every part of this prayer, and then in true Creator-style, went above and beyond all we could ask or imagine.

Thank you. Thank you for sharing in our journey in such an intimate way. You have made yourselves vulnerable to our suffering and reached out with love. This is such a gift. We continue to be encouraged and strengthened by our community. You all have such a talent for active, compassion-filled love.

The Spirit has used this space and led me to amazing souls that I had not known before sitting down to write our Keller story. I am so thankful for each person I have been connected to and each opportunity that has been afforded. Again, it BLOWS me away.

I love you. You, the one reading this page right now, I love you. I love you a LOT. I wish I could hug and kiss you at this very moment and thank you for all you have meant in our lives. Thank you for keeping Keller “real” and giving him the ability to still be a mover and a shaker in so many ways.

There is a lot more I want and need to say. This is only Part 1 of our story. So much of losing a loved one is the daily and constant struggle to live with and adjust to that reality. In the coming months, I want to share moments and lessons this first year without Keller has taught us. There is a lot my heart still needs to put out there.

For now, I need a break. My heart is tired. My brain is tired. My body is pretty tired too. Writing has been good, important, and therapeutic, but not easy. I have always said I am a better writer than I am a speaker, so writing helps me sort out things my brain has all jumbled up inside. It’s quite draining essentially taking your heart and splattering it all over a computer screen. It has been a good, but difficult work. I still struggle many (most) days. Keller’s death is constantly in my line of vision. Sometimes I can function, and other times it clouds my view so much that I want to curl up into a ball and hide underneath the bed. A lot of days I want to curl up into a ball and hide underneath the bed.

Which leads into another message I need to share. Everyone grieves differently. I grieve through writing and reflection. However, I have only just now begun to grieve in this way. For the bulk of the first year, Keller’s death was still too raw and tender to approach in such a head on manner. If you are grieving, I pray you can grieve in just the way you need to grieve without any pressure to mourn in any sort of “right way”. I often put this pressure on myself whenever I experience emotions I believe are too unpleasant and unfit to experience. This kind of frustrates the process. Ride the waves and keep trusting. The Lord provides.

Nathan and I thank you all with every ounce of strength we can muster up. You are the hands and feet of Jesus and you are doing a good work. Thank you for loving Keller Feller. He’s a really awesome kid, and it brings us giant joy knowing so many people know his name. It brings us even more joy knowing that Keller’s life proclaims the name of Jesus.

Let them see Jesus today.

In the days following Keller’s death, Exodus 14 painted the perfect picture of the protection we felt from the Lord. In front and behind, the Isrealites saw only certain death. Threat of death was pressing in from every side, but Moses saw God. “Fear not. Stand firm…the Lord will fight for you. You need only be still.” The Lord made their pathway dry. Ominous waters towered above them on each side, but the Lord, He was in the dry ground. The Lord provided a light on an unknown and untraveled trail. The Lord created a barrier between His children and their enemies. The Lord surrounded His people on every side. They only needed to be still.

It is only by the power of the Almighty Creator that we were and are being carried through on dry ground. Any perceived strength is 1000% the Lord’s strength. The Lord rallied His troops and carried us through the storm. You are His troops. YOU were and are the hands and feet of Jesus in our lives.

Countless cards flooded our mailbox. Cards from people across the entire country. Cards from people we had never and maybe will never meet. 2 dozen bouquets of flowers were delivered to our door. Packages filled with tender and thoughtful gifts, as well as toys and stickers for Mary were received. I cannot capture the magnitude of love we recieved. It astounds me even now. I am left speechless.

I need to reinforce just how blessed I know my family to be. I am not writing a tragedy. I am not writing because our sorrow was unique or exceptional. I am writing because we love Keller and our God is bigger. I need to tell the world just how much bigger He is.

Love was piled and heaped on top of us. We were fed every single meal for 2 months. (As orchestrated by my incredible and forever friend Megan. Megan gets things done. You need a Megan.) When the meals stopped, (only after asking that they stop – as Megan put it, “This gravy train is only going to stop when you say stop.”) we had dozens of gift cards to provide easy, mess-free dinners out. Every single meal for two months. I am certain that is the actual definition of lavish.

I feared being alone. Alone meant being slammed back into a “new normal” that terrified me. The Lord heard this cry and provided. Nathan had 4 weeks of paternity leave. Nathan’s mom flew in and spent two weeks at my side. Next my bosom friends Kelly, Katie, and Stephanie stepped in to just sit and be with me. I will never be able to convey the fullness of my thanks. I was in the pit. I was riddled with anguish and panic. These friends flew across the country to simply sit and be everything I needed. My mom flew out last minute to hold me tight when panic gripped me.  If it is ever within your power to jump on a plane and be with a friend in the midst of grief – do it. This has profoundly and forever impacted me, and the way I will choose to give and receive love.

Word had circulated that my first full sentence after seeing Keller’s still heart was, “We are going to Hawaii.” We had every intention of happily financing the trip. It was a time we needed and we knew the benefits would far outweigh any costs. We began planning our trip. It was a welcomed and necessary mental break. Not long after the planning began, over-the-top insanely generous friends started a Gofund.me in order to finance our trip. We were and are so undeserving of this generosity. We wanted to say no. We wanted to kindly, but firmly refuse. However, right at the outset we had vowed to accept all the love. Our entire trip was funded in a matter of days.

I have trouble talking about this. I completely understand that people in our community  were searching for a way to express their love and sorrow. I fully process that this trip was a means to let our friends express the love and compassion tied up in their hearts. We are forever thankful for the almost absurd amount of loved ones we have in our life. We cannot begin to imagine facing the death of Keller without our Lord and His army. It is heartbreaking to imagine someone in the throes of the death of a loved one without the Lord to light the path.  I look at my life and see nearly literal mountains of blessings. So many others need copious and absurd amounts of lavish love as well.  So many do not have an army surrounding them  ready to answer their every need and desire. This twists up my heart in a really complicated and convicting way. We should freely give and receive love to all. I know that I am a part of that all, and I need the active love of God as much as anyone. I just long to freely and abundantly pour the love of Jesus to those huddled in a dark corner utterly alone. I struggle to know how this will play out in my life, but I’m ready. I want a love that showers blessings on everyone in my community and then goes out seeks to love those without community. It’s such a radical and big love. It’s an intimidating love. It’s God-sized love and I want it. I have been shown God-sized love over and over and over and over. Lord – lead us down a path delivers heaps of Your love to those without.

I have yet to send out a thank you card to everyone who showered life-giving love on us. (I hate myself for this. There is no excuse. I so desperately want to convey the full extent of my love and thanks to each person that has touched our lives, that I am often painfully slow in acknowledging and expressing thankfulness to our loved ones. From the very bottom of my heart, please forgive me.) I want to (and will) acknowledge each and every act of love offered up on our behalf. Not a single card was “lost amongst the shuffle”. Love and empathy was felt in each and every card. We will forever cherish your kind words and thoughtfulness. Your gift has shown a light on a period when only chaotic darkness surrounded me. If you have reached out and not yet recieved a thank you – Thank You. Thank you for surrounding us on every side with the mighty love of Jesus. Thank you for being Jesus.

I am very humbled writing this post. I have no words to express the thankfullness in our hearts. This is an incredibly feeble attempt to thank our people for loving us with a God-sized love in our darkest hour. I wish you all could use a telescope, peep inside my heart, and whatever picture you saw would some how accurately convey everything we are feeling. Until such a telescope is invented, please accept our feeble attempt at, “Thank you”. And now – let’s bring that Love to everyone.