Change of Plans...

I just want to start out by saying, my mouse died while writing this, and using a touch pad is a lot more difficult then I remember. 

I’m at a moment in my life where the choices are finally mine to make, and I keep searching for someone else to make them for me. I’ve never held reigns with this much responsibility before, and moving is a huge jump to take that can have major consequences. I’m trying to keep myself busy, trying to find excuses to stay, looking around at the people I know and silently pleading for one of them to love me enough to beg me to stay.

Nope.

Today is a perfect example of my ridiculous reality. I’m one of those people that is never late, I have a calendar on my phone that is gospel, and I will always arrive at least two minutes early to ensure I don’t have to deal with the tension of feeling late. I make plans, I keep them. I don’t remember ever canceling plans, especially the day of.

Today, I had two wonderful things I was going to be able to do: go to Coulon and talk to Andrew about something (I still have no idea what,) where I was going to arrive early and take pictures on my 35mm film Minolta, and the second thing was to hang out with my friend, let’s call him A2, who was my boyfriend for a week in January before he dumped me for no apparent reason. But it’s okay, I’ve gotten two self-help books since then that I read religiously.

Basically, they both canceled on me, TODAY, THE DAY OF. I understand that not everyone cares about schedules, or they leave things up to their current mood (which is BS) but I mean, am I not even worth the respect of either more notice, or perhaps keeping the plans despite your mood because hey, they might actually matter to me? I’ve been looking forward to my hang out with A2 all week, because I still really, really like him! I took him out to dinner on Monday and he was the one to ask me to hang out later in the week, and I was stupid enough to get all excited thinking, “Oh my goodness, A2 himself actually wants to be with little, inadequate, me.” Lol, NOT.

So, in my misery, I started looking at jobs at a Kroger company store called Fry’s in Arizona; turns out they’re hiring. So, now that it looks like I’ll easily have a job lined up, moving should be pretty simple; I’ll just live with Jen for a bit until I’m settled into my new reality and then I’ll be off, alone, but being solely me. And it shouldn’t bother people up here too much, it’s not like they want to be with me when I’m a 3 minute drive away, so what’s another 1,113.81 miles? 

Rebirth

Look how big he's getting!

Arizona is UH-MAZING. Every single time I come here, I throw up my hands and tell everyone that I’m staying, no one can drag me back to the monotony of Renton. Basically, that’s where I am again in my life. Should I stay or should I go?

On leap day, I left on a beautiful airplane to fly to Mesa so that I could photograph the live birth of my sister’s little girl coming into this world. We arrived a whopping 6 hours before heading to the hospital. It was perfect timing. Pictures are here. It’s only been a year since I had Ben, so being up close and personal to the hospital experience so soon was a recipe for disaster. Natural birth is the most difficult thing I’ve had to experience in my life, and watching my usually strong sister fall apart during her labor broke me; I was sobbing, I could not handle seeing her in so much pain, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to alleviate her agony. Realizing this made me think: how could Andrew, the man who supposedly loved me, just watch me give birth to his child, screaming in pain, begging to keep my baby, falling apart in every way. He slept, he ate, he neglected helping me through it all. If I’m sobbing for my sister’s pain, what does that mean for him when he basically didn’t even care about my labor and birth experience? HUGE RED FLAG, BECCA.

Let’s do some more comparisons, because that bitterness solves everything… when Kensleigh was born vs. when Ben was born

1: K: the mother had a loving, devoted husband who stayed by her side and helped her through her pain and encouraged her to press on.
B: “Hey boyfriend who got me pregnant and is now making me give up my child, where are you? Yes, I do need your help. No, I want to keep my baby.”

2: K: there was full family support; a love for the mother and her unborn baby.
B: the family fully and unconditionally supported… making the mother give up her baby. Said baby will be forevermore referred to as “the mistake” or “big-head” because using his name would be too respectful of his existence. 

3: K: the nurses fully supported the mother and kept her focused on the birth, reminding her that it will all be worth it in the end when she had her baby.
B: The nurses fully supported the mother on a healthy birth. Just the birth. Because let’s be honest, with all the family support, it’s not like she’ll get more than her 27 allotted hours.

4: K: people praising the mother, for her attitude and strength (despite saying that she wanted to give up); and of course for her perfect baby.
B: No one talks of her birth experience; hell, not everyone even showed up to meet the baby or congratulate a NATURAL FREAKING BIRTH that not once did the mother say she wanted to give up. (I would be in labor forever if it meant I got to keep Ben.)

5: K: hope and excitement for the future.
B: Anxiety, hopelessness, disappointment, love. There was nothing to be happy about after that 27^th hour.

I know I’m being dramatic, but it’s brutally honest. Family sucks. I mean no ill towards my sister or her experience; it’s not fully her fault. But really?! Both my child and hers were conjured up before marriage, but only hers is legitimate? Is a quick cover up wedding the cure-all for getting pregnant? Would my dad still think my child and I are a mistake if I married Andrew? Oh my gosh guys, he actually had the balls to tell me this, “I didn’t come meet your kid because I wanted you to see it was a mistake and move on. You shouldn’t be depressed and have to distract yourself from the pain, you should just get over your mistake, never do it again and move on. You needed to give him away to the people that actually love him.” Are. You. Serious.

The amount of absolute agony of what I continue to go through is unfathomable to those ignorant, arrogant fools.  It’s not only that they don’t care how I feel, it’s also that they think what I’m feeling is wrong.

Beside all that, though, is a different type of rebirth, a huge change. Ever since I put my faith and total trust in God when I approached him with my pregnancy, and his answer broke me, I started to shy away from Him, from His gospel. How could I stay faithful when it was His answer to my prayer that has devastated me? My faith in His plan for me has almost killed me (by my own hand.) How can I continue to respect his “timing” when he has me give up my child, but allows my sister to keep hers? I even asked a missionary in my sister’s ward “Why does God pick and choose who to bless?” and he wrote back to me since we were in the middle of testimony meeting; his answer was predictable, true but predictable, “God has a plan for us, trust in his timing.”

I’ve started reading self-help books, cynical ones at first that basically tell me to get my head out of my butt, then some C. S. Lewis for a more philosophical, religious approach. Well, the bad days still hit, and they hit hard. So I stepped out of my misery, and found a different book. It’s called “Beautiful Uncertainty” by Mandy Hale. The synopsis hit me hard (I do judge books by the cover, but the synopsis is KEY.) “Whether you’re idling in stubborn sinfulness or walking in seeming never-ending singleness or living with any sort of waiting: Waiting for love, waiting for babies, waiting for marriage, waiting for a cure, or a miracle, or a sign, or for GOD . . . I hope my journey will make the wait a little easier and the uncertainty a little bit more beautiful.”

So I started reading it on my little vacation, and I tried out some different, less formal ways of communicating with Heavenly Father. In the LDS church, we are taught to pray a formal, but non-repetitive prayer. But the other night, I sat on my bed and stared at the other side of the bed like Heavenly Father was sitting there with me, and I just talked to Him. Actually, I was kind of mean to Him for breaking my heart, and I cried a lot. But it was nice, it was a change. I don't know if I can ever get back to being the shining example, or being full of faith and love that I once was, but at least I'm giving it another chance; a rebirth into belief that maybe he can hear formal and informal prayer, out loud or in my heart.