Ever feel so defeated? And then have guilt because YOUR story of defeat is just NOTHING compared to somebody else’s?
Welcome to parenthood. Hello, my name is Morgan and I’m currently experiencing guilt.
Guilt for handing the screaming baby off, just so I can poop.
For just. Not. Caring that my older kids are whimpering in their bed because they can kinda hear a thunderstorm miles away.
For the laundry that is in various, maddening stages of NOT DONE in various locations around the house. I need to consolidate it just so that it doesn’t bother me in 3 different rooms in the house.
Guilt for feeling so tired, so wrung out that personal connection feels like a HUGE stretch.
Guilt for the financial records that haven’t been caught up for the month.
Guilt that I can’t do more, so that my husband can do less to free him up for his graduate studies.
Guilt that I don’t have much emotional reserves for anyone.
Guilt, guilt, guilty guilt. Now, I’m rational enough (at this moment) to fully realize that this isn’t healthy, but it is what I feel. I know I need to ask and accept help. I know I can’t expect perfectionism. I know nobody is expecting perfectionism from me. But dang if so much of my self-worth isn’t tied up in the capacity to get stuff done.
I’m one-half of a pair of working parents. We have 4 kids, two of whom have special needs, and one a newborn, who wakes up 2 to 187 times a night. There’s not much getting done!
And then I can look at a hundred other stories, a hundred other lives, and feel guilt that my sad little story is just kinda pathetic compared to the weights that others carry.
But, God. God with me. God’s grace over me. God’s Spirit in me. Jesus’s redemption on me.
My story is valid. God doesn’t compare. God’s capacity for love and grace and mercy is limitless. He created this universe, He could’ve created it in an infinite number of ways, but He created it with me in it, too. In all the order He made from all the nothing, He didn’t forget to make me. He didn’t forget to make you. And He didn’t forget to make a way for us to be with Him.
He is weaving my story, just as he is weaving yours. He feels my pain, my frustration, my joys, He understands. He’s aware. He’s longing for me to walk this road holding His hand.
I did a brave thing last week. I went, all by myself, to a spin class. Never done a spin class before. First workout in 2 months, and I choose to nearly kill myself on a stationary bike while a man with a headset is yelling at me. That type of class plays up the competition, the comparison. But although I was tempted to compare myself to all the other people whose legs continued to work for the whole the class (freaks!), I reminded myself that I was only competing with myself. And that what I was doing was healthy and brave.
I struggle on occasion with feeling good about what I write. Satan’s game is to play on insecurities and doubts. Compared to so many, what is my story. What do I really have to say?
But God weaves my story. I am called to simply obey. Obey in my home, obey in my thoughts and feelings, obey in my writing. To obey is to allow God to work in me and through me. To deny myself. To hold fast to His truth. To be transformed by Him, not conformed to this world. To live free of the guilt and to turn toward abundant living.
To accept this free gift of grace and peace and hope. And to tell my story, which is His story.