The Beginning of my Story

Ya'll should be super proud of me I went 8 days into my gratitude practice...7 months ago. Thought you would. I actually went several days past that, I just didn't type them up and push Publish. :/ It's fine.

On to the next new thing!

This morning I specifically told my husband we're doing a spending freeze this week. We have the holidays coming up and all of the birthdays and it's time to buckle down and be more mindful of our spending...
That only lasted a few hours because Zamzows was having a pottery sale, it only lasts until Wednesday and I HAD to get some new pots for my suffering plants. 
They told me to...plus it doesn't count if you put it on a credit card. Promise.

But look how happy our Venus Fly Trap is it it's new home! It's been so squished in it's container since the day I bought him and I did promise it the best new glass house. Best part is, it was only $12 so duh. Winning.

Back to the REAL reason I'm here. Typing for the very first time...(Thanks Madonna. :) Just the first time here in October 2019. So I had an epiphany while putting my new Sweet Flag ornamental grasses in..or was it when I was putting up my new bird feeder? Anyways. 

We have lived in this house for over two and a half years. And really it's been great. We do like it here. But I was reminded of a time that when we looked at this house, I HATED IT! It was all beige (still is) with brown carpet (still there) and it was NOT what I wanted in a new house. Like at all. We had just fixed up our sweet charmer on Sunbird Ave. and it was just what I wanted. Mostly because we spent ten years fixing it up to my, I mean, our specifications. This house was so builder grade I wanted to puke. It had no charm, no personality and I just wanted to run away.

But we didn't. I talked myself into fixing it up within the next 5 years (now we have less than 3) since this is our 5 year plan house before our forever home. Right. So today I was fixing up my front garden, really for the very first time, (thanks Madonna voice), or maybe the seventh, I dunno? and I thought how silly is it that I'm just getting around to doing things the way I'm wanting them around here and I related that to another area of my life.

For 30+ years I was an active, faithful little mormon girl. (And pu-leeeez do not give me the shpeel "that's not what they're called any more!" PEOPLE. People. They've been Mormons for GENERATIONS. CENTURIES, even....that name ain't going nowhere just because ol' Russell said so. Take a breath and untwist your panties for a minute.)
Ahem.

I was super good. Faithful even, or at least as far as I could manage. I did my best to do all the things I was supposed to until the questions began to pile up to the point where I had an enormous mound that I could do nothing with it. The things I wanted to know where not ever brought up in class and if they were they were swept under the rug. Now, this might bode well for some people, but for years I've been on a journey of self healing and self discovery and was starting to take notice that how I thought I was or what others thought I was supposed to be, really wasn't who I was. Like at all. And none of this was sitting well with me. 

Since moving to a new ward, it was different and very hard because like I said I was with my last one for over 10 years. I just didn't jive with it.  Like at all. The people were nice, but things began to shift within me and it was harder and harder to motivate myself to go every week and to plaster that sweet lil' smile on my face. Once we got home from church I would just unload on Brent and ask him dozens of questions that either never had crossed his mind, or he didn't know. I was getting frustrated and so was he. It's a true thing that Brent does not think like me, nor I him because if we did we be as good as pair as pickles and cat hair...but wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. 

I really became anxious and depressed and could not shake the "I'm not good enough" story from my brain. I was taking care of my home, my kids, but I wasn't doing my "ministering" super faithfully. Tithing was a battle between us as a couple. And the bishop was not the warmest guy on the block. But I showed up, I did my best to keep my hooligan kids collected and as quiet as could be for at least an hour until I could scoot them to their classes after sacrament. And still I was comparing myself to other sweet, dear ladies in the ward who WERE doing ALL the things and still would voice their own disappointment in themselves EVERY SUNDAY...I was baffled. How was I ever going to get into heaven, because they are doing so much more than I and I...I'm just not enough. Not even coming close to the bar that someone else set for me.

I never intended to leave. Not ever in a million years. I once came across what I considered, anti-mormon literature once on the internet and I thought...oh well, they chose Satan instead of Jesus. 

I remember once when I was about 8 years old I threw an enormous fit over going to church. I told my mom, I wasn't going. So my family left me. The pain of guilt was so intense. I sat on my bed crying, trying to understand what was wrong with me. I felt alone at church. I didn't feel a connection with any one. Not even the kids I went to school with were enough of a reason to go. But this is what we do, we go to church, rain or shine.     

That is just what we do.   

 I finally couldn't handle the weight of all the guilt so I made my slow walk of shame to my family's bench feeling the heat of my mother's satisfactory "I told you so" look as I took my seat. And I don't blame her. That's just what she was taught and so it goes...

I never questioned anything. I was always guaranteed to agree and go along with everything. But then I was called to be a Sunday School teacher for the 10-11 year olds and we started teaching about Joseph Smith and this is were my thirst to really know truth began.