Inside Bell's Brain

  I had a conversation with someone a good while back in which we were celebrating someone else’s victory. The person we were discussing had recently received what appeared to be answered prayers!    My friend was so proud of and inspired by this person’s journey and how all this person has been through was always used to glorify God. We discussed how this person never lost faith and gave God glory throughout the entire ordeal. I thought a lot about that. About how publicly, this person has done and said all the right things. That’s genuinely admirable and certainly a trait to cultivate. I do not think for one second that this friend meant anything toward me by the statement - that wasn’t the purpose of the comment at all - , but as an introspective person, I was quickly convicted that the same compliment probably wasn’t being said about me somewhere. Instead, I have publicly and transparently struggled throughout my nervous breakdown, and now I am struggling through this...

I am exceptionally grateful to have gotten a good report today. I pray I am on the mend to a full and complete recovery, but there are so many things about this experience that I never want to forget. One of those things happened today before I ever got in the doctor’s office.   We arrived at the clinic, and the parking garage was an absolute nightmare. They have a designated drop-off spot for patients, but it was very confusing, so we just proceeded to the first available spot on the next level up. My husband carried all our accoutrements with us, so all I had to transport was myself and my walker (including all my pee bag tubes).   My walker. At 35. This has given me a glimpse into what it is like to need adaptive technologies. It has shown me what our elderly must go through daily, and I don’t ever want to forget that.  My husband tried to slow his long-legged pace and still stay far enough ahead of me to open doors and not let elevators close up before I could in...

I could sugar coat it. I could “doctor” the images and go on and on about how fabulous my husband is for helping create this little garden nook for me. I could position the lens so you can’t see all the “extra” stuff, but that’s not my reality.  My reality? 52 abdominal staples. A walker (see featured photo). A nephrostomy tube running out of my left kidney through my back. A catheter that hangs from said walker just to give it that extra glamorous touch. A stint that’s supporting my bladder while it fashions a brand new ureter for me out of my existing tissues. Hospital gowns.  My reality? Friends tell me it’s more intensive than their C-sections, and from what I understand it was/is. I could’ve lost my kidney completely. I almost went septic in the hosptial.   My reality? Today is the first day of no pain medicine (not no pain, but no pain meds) and even remotely being able to do anything for myself. I still cannot enjoy the basic pleasures of showering and going to the...

Earlier this week, an acquaintance posted a provoking quote on Facebook that I'd never considered.  It resonated with me so much.  It hit on those memories of praying for so many years for a godly husband with whom to share my life.  But it also made me realize that there were SO many things I didn't even pray for during that time.  Because I just didn't even know I needed to!   Obviously, marriage is hard.  Transforming two souls into one flesh is beautiful, but at times it's raw and painful too.  I think it's harder the longer you wait, the older you are too... primarily because independence (read: stubbornness) and autonomy have to give way to mutual submission as brother and sister in Christ.   I distinctly remember the night (or really early A.M.) of January 13, 2018.  I had been to a hockey game with one of my gal pals, and we'd had such an amazing night!  I knew my *date* was the next day after morning worship service, and I ...

  We use the phrase more flippantly than we should... "nervous breakdown".  And while it may be a contextually appropriate expression when we feel overwhelmed or stressed, it's not always a truthful statement - by definition - of the person using it.  (It's certainly not the most politically correct terminology in 2021, but I'm more into being kind and considerate as a practice than being PC.)  I've reflected A LOT on my mental health in my healing months, and I've come to the conclusion that that's what I'm going to call it.  My nervous breakdown.  It's my truth.  By definition, it includes the following symptoms ... If that doesn't describe my life over the 2019-2020 season, I don't know what will.  So I'm owning my truth and moving forward in it.  But in my recovery and reflection, I have a lot of things to say that need to be said to continue fighting against the stigma of mental health issues. You see, people throw the expressi...

This post has been a long time coming.  Maybe four or five weeks now?  I don't know because I've truly lost track.  The hopes that 2021 would be kinder to us all were rather quickly shattered with the start of yet another chaotic and stressful January.  This appears to be the "new normal" of nearly everyone I know... But I digress... every year I've *tried* to declare a word.  A word to define the hopes, dreams, motivation, and purpose of the new twelve months before me.  Each year since probably somewhere circa 2015 or so, I've chosen a word... and I've done absolutely nothing with it.  I mean, very little, if anything.  So I was skeptical to choose another word for myself and have another failed year tick by.   I had already been thinking that *if* I were to select a word for this new year, it likely needed to be something related to an issue I struggle with tremendously: trust.  As I waged that inner "will I or won't I?" struggle...

I feel defeated. It seems like every time I try to make progress (or actually make progress) that something derails me lately. I started eating better and walking again in November... then COVID hit our family. I started again on the workout track after my mom’s intense battle with COVID, only to be crushed again... this time with a kidney stone.  I’m nervous about the procedure and the anesthesia and what comes afterward as I try to pass the fragments. And I’m scared long term of not rediscovering this motivation again once the pain passes. But I’m so tired of spending my life hating what stares back at me in the mirror. I’m so exhausted with the obsession over my appearance and the guilt, shame, and depression it brings me.  I recently polled on Facebook whether an overweight/chubby woman could still be attractive.  Sixty-two women commented in the affirmative. But it still makes me wonder if it’s true or if we just tell ourselves that. If we can tell other women that b...