i'm not alright.

I’m raising the white flag here, folks. I’m going to just put all my thoughts out there and I’m not even gonna try to give you a perfectly packaged little lesson out of it. I’m gonna do what I’ve been harping on doing for months now while simultaneously not doing myself.

I’m going to be honest.

It occurred to me as I sat in church Sunday morning, unable to even pay attention from the second row due to the overwhelming flood of emotion that caused me to cry buckets of tears in front of God and everybody, that I’ve entered this incredibly vicious cycle of loneliness. The worst part – the part that hit me like a ton of bricks and hurt worse than a paper cut on your eyeball (you're welcome for that imagery) – is that I realized it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

Being married to a minister is hard.

Ok, let me clarify. Being a minister’s wife is hard. (Being married to Brian isn’t so bad…he’s easy on the eyes.)

I write these obscenely long statuses (statii?) about how irritating it is that moms will play off their parenting skills as if they are the Cinderella of motherhood. And you know what? I’m pretty good about being wittily honest about my own parenting skills or my kids’ behavior. But past parenting – down to the nitty gritty of who I am? A social media façade. All of it.

I’m an actor, ladies and gentlemen. Maybe not the world’s greatest but darn good enough to carry it over into my real life.

Enter LL stage right. Dressed in outfit she doesn’t particularly care for but is popular among locals. Smiles long enough to get to pew as onlookers take note of said smile. Makes witty comment to neighbor laced with just enough sarcasm to emphasize humor without being a jerk. Waves at acquaintances. Sings songs with forged fervor. Rinse and repeat.

Sundays/Wednesdays (I single these two days out because they are when I see the most people) have become a song and dance of me pretending like life is just glorious but inwardly longing for genuine companionship with anyone who is willing to return the favor.

My best friend, Lindsay, is my best friend because she knows me. She knows all the worst parts about me and still loves me and vice versa. So it’s not that I don’t realize that there are people out there who are willing to look past the flaws of another and invite them in to share life together. I totally get that. I have that.

Somewhere along the line, though, I stopped letting it happen. And the fact that she's over 700 miles away doesn't help me on the whole "needing to socialize" thing...

I can’t remember the last time I’ve shown anyone but my parents and my husband the real me. Don’t get me wrong, I like the real me. I’m not saying I’m so terrible that I don’t want anyone to know it. A lot of what I portray is exactly who I am: witty, sarcastic, outgoing, fun loving, etc. But I’ve built a wall just high enough to make sure no one can see the hurts and heartaches and flaws.

I stubbed my toe this morning on our dog’s crate and I said a curse word. Now, hear me out. That doesn’t negate my salvation or tarnish my reputation by any means, I get that. But in my mind, I seem to think that every other female on the potential friends list would absolutely be horrified at my choice of words because of who I am.

THIS is the kind of woman we trust to help lead our students?

Stupid, I know. It’s just a word. You might be laughing at how petty that seems, but these type scenarios have turned from petty, irrational, fleeting worries to gripping, overwhelming fears.

Sunday morning before going to church, I lost my temper and yelled at both my kids. They’re 2 and 8 months old. And yes, I’m crying as I write this because of how much I regret my outburst. That’s postpartum depression for you.

Oh yeah. PPD. There’s that… a monster in and of itself that I have only now just admitted to being held captive by. I’ve been in denial about it for so long that I haven’t even shared any of it with my own husband for months. (Fear not, I'm working through it, but this is the first time I've been vulnerable enough to admit it publicly.)

These are the things that make me feel like I’m too much of a mess for a friend. Or to be a friend.

These are the thoughts that the enemy uses to cripple me and keep me from growing in accountability with others. These are the ways he allows me to suffer by not truly being a part of community.

There’s a very dear student who often texts me with advice because she seems to think I have my life together. I do my best to guide her in the best way possible (scripturally). I sometimes find myself getting so incredibly frustrated with her inability to show the world who she really is and not always try to be so perfect and held together. I tell her all the time to let Jesus handle the mess.

Pot, meet kettle.

I know she reads my blog. So this is my attempt to apologize for my own hypocrisy and promise her to be the best example of my own advice. Love you, kid. “S’much.” :)

So here I am: white flag waving high in the air. I’m a mess. I’m broken.

I’m lonely.

...But 1 Peter 5:7 says to “cast all your cares upon Him for He cares for you”. So, I’m not hiding my struggles any longer because something tells me, He isn’t the only one.

The cycle ends here. Community starts now.