Cold Churches Warmed My Heart

 Ok so bear with me while I discuss religion without any references because I need to get this out of my brain more than I need to cross reference it for a large audience that won’t see it. 

I was raised in Protestant churches and consequently believed that a big issue with the Catholic Church was their expenses on ornate details. Basically, my brain construed that in the Catholic Church you tithed so they could dip something else in gold leaf. I associated the grandiosity with showing off, which went against the teachings of Christ according to my understanding of religion. 

As I’ve aged, the Catholic Church has intrigued me: the hierarchy, the Papal guidance, the quiet behind the scenes community work, the scandals, the traditions, etc. 

I have struggled with finding a church here that didn’t feel like a live concert experience. I’ve struggled finding a church that isn’t manipulating God’s word to meet the wants of the congregation. I’ve struggled to find a church that wasn’t a theme park environment. While, I’ve felt comfortable in those churches with their lights and screens and seating for 4,000, I’ve never felt at ease. 

Last week, I toured three different Catholic cathedrals in Spain, observing some of the most beautiful craftsmanship and architecture I’ve ever laid eyes on. I saw million dollar art collections carefully stored in churches. I saw gorgeous monuments of the depiction of Christ. I saw artistry that cannot be replicated in the modern world. I saw more gold/gold leaf  than anyone ever needed to see in the history of the world. 

And every time, I was freezing cold. 

After days of internal conflict, I finally realized that I rather liked the cold. While I stood in freezing cold cathedrals in Madrid, Segovia, and Toledo, I felt at ease. Even amongst all that gold/gold leaf. 

Instead of “modernizing” their cathedrals with heat, screens, concert level lighting systems, and/or coffee bars, they told their parishioners to wear a jacket to Mass. Instead of keeping their ornate artwork and architecture to themselves, they said “sure, come in, please make a donation, and don’t disturb services”. Instead of needing to keep up with the Joneses, they said “here we are, here we will always be”.

My old soul was renewed and my interest in the Catholic Church stays strong…

Honey, I Shrunk the Value of The Children’s Mental Health

For the first 9-12 years of their lives, I directly/indirectly prioritized what was best for Army over what was best for my kiddos. 

Yah, that is a harsh judgement of myself. 

But it’s how I feel nonetheless. 

As I’ve watched them come into their own, I’m grateful that they value their own mental health and prioritize it. 

I’m just now figuring out the value of mine. 

It’s easy to judge myself for the decisions I made in the middle of things. 

It’s easy to remember the times that I was angry at them for not fitting the Officer’s Kid cookie cutter expectations. 

It’s easy to remember the times I was so anxious at events that I couldn’t help them process their emotions because I was too busy hiding from mine. 

It’s easy to remember the times where I signed them up for activities that all their peers did, not necessarily the activities they were interested in doing. 

It’s easy to remember how exhausting it was trying to wrangle a toddler for hours before a public event because our lives were “hurry up and wait”. 

It’s easy to remember how desperately I wanted to fit in, and by extension, them. 

After some unpacking, I’ve realized that I was insane. 

Army is a beast. 

And I have big feels about her that I’m working through, obviously. I’m probably going to be writing more about stuff like this too.

But first, I wanted to acknowledge the work that my quirky kids put into themselves—working through their stressful beginnings and middles to become these amazing humans. 

And I also want to acknowledge that while being a military family is revered, it’s not always revered by those living it or those who have lived it. 

And that’s ok. 

Sometimes a Treatment Plan is Overwhelmingly Cute

Everyone meet Apollo. He’s Hillary Mae’s love, the light of her life, her daily serotonin booster. And while I do not feel I need to justify adding another animal to our zoo to the world, I’ve been granted permission to discuss what led us to Apollo in an effort to maybe give guidance to any other teenagers out there who are passengers on the Struggle Bus like Mae. 

Sometimes God gives you a kid that doesn’t quite fit the mold of what society dictates. Sometimes that kid is an old soul, strong-willed, impulsive, who’d rather be immersed in books than in trends in a little bitty body. Sometimes, life moves you around enough and it’s never really quite an issue that your kid doesn’t act like her peers. Sometimes though life gets you settled down in one location for more than just a year or so, just in time to add hormones. 

Sometimes that kid starts being short-fused and belligerent more often than not, but she always comes back around and apologizes. Sometimes that kid starts having missing assignments and complains about not being able to focus. Sometimes that kid asks to change up her ADHD meds because she feels like they’re not working any more. So you meet with regular doc, change things up, and continue forward, noticing minor differences but not being able to differentiate between what’s ADHD and what’s hormones. 

Sometimes that kid’s dad goes on a work trip for a couple of months and it brings back deployment fear that no one expected, so she starts seeing a therapist who notes that she’s struggling with depression. So you make sure that she’s getting enough rest, eating well, exercising, doing self-care and meet with regular doc to add a depression medication and you think things are going better: kid reports feeling a little better, no complaints from teachers, still struggling with focus a bit but you wonder how much of that is baseline ADHD, hormones, and society’s desperate need to be distracted all of the time. 

Sometimes you take that kid on a Spring Break adventure with her siblings to the ocean and you discover 20 minutes into the flight that she cannot handle the constant noise from that planes make and then while staying oceanside you discover that unless she’s toes in the water, she’s overwhelmed by the roaring of the waves as well. You also notice that the kid is sleeping a lot and generally unhappy, but you wonder how much of that is recovery from the overwhelmedness and growing teenager. 

Sometimes a global pandemic strikes and that kid is forced to stay at home, do online school and you finally actually see how much she is struggling with focus, insomnia, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes the universe creates the perfect situation and her therapist can do a full neuropsychological and academic evaluation wherein you both learn her ADHD meds are not working at all, her depression is worse than imagined, anxiety is running amuck, a sensory issue is probably in play and she meets the criteria for a Bipolar Type 2 diagnosis. 

Sometimes you bring on a well-recommended local psychiatrist to help manage medication changes. Sometimes the new psychiatrist does not take any insurance, but you are willing to pay out of pocket to get medication situated because kid is doing worse now. Sometimes the new psychiatrist only does video appointments, but kid and you are wiling to do whatever it takes to help her. Sometimes the new psychiatrist reads over records and immediately dismisses the potential Bipolar diagnosis much to the kid’s irritation. Sometimes the new psychiatrist wants to stop all ADHD meds and increase depression meds for two weeks, then add a new depression med and lower the old depression med for two weeks, then do genetic testing to see how her genes react to medications and/or produce mood altering chemicals, then stop old depression med completely and increase new depression med and add non-stimulant ADHD med for two weeks, and then 8 weeks later when the kid yells at her that nothing is working, the psychiatrist adds a mood stabilizer and kid’s shows a bit of improvement. 

Sometimes though that bit of improvement isn’t enough for you though because the kid talks about death more often than not. Because the kid cries about how much she misses reading. Because the kid who wanted to go back to school all summer to be around other humans decided to do online school because she didn’t feel her meds were working enough. Because the kid who loved school is now no longer doing any school work and failing most of her classes. Because the kid who is strong and independent to a fault is losing her ability to function. Because the kid cries that she is beyond fixing, that she’ll be stuck like this forever. 

Sometimes you sit down and decide that instead of waiting and hoping she doesn’t get any worse, you have to find a solution. Sometimes that leads you to Children’s Health in Dallas and to their Day Treatment Program for kids just like your kid: passengers on the Struggle Bus. So you pitch the idea to the kid’s psychologist who is 125% on board because she too sees kid losing ability to function and because the program is family-education orientated. And you pitch it to psychiatrist who also is on board but warns it’ll take months to get in. So you reach out to Children’s Intake Coordinator who is the most helpful human on the planet and she informs you of the responsibilities from not only the kid, from you, what your insurance will/won’t cover, how school factors into everything, and that kid can start in two weeks. So you then pitch it to kid who flips back and forth everyday between excited to finally feeling like she’s going to make progress and being terrified of discussing feelings with a group of peers.

Sometimes for 5 weeks you drive 1 hour each way, twice a day, in rush hour traffic to take kid to a life-saving Day Treatment program, wherein she learns she’s not stuck like this forever, she develops an effective coping plan for her anxiety, gets medication adjusted which allows her to function and laugh again, successfully communicates with her teachers/504 Counselor/Assistant Principal about school work and develops a return to in-person learning plan. She also learns that she is very self-aware for 15 years old, she enjoys working with med students that rotate through Children’s (a part of UT Southwestern Medical School) and asks to keep her psychiatric care with Children’s instead of local psychiatrist. She also remembers that she is incredibly strong and finds her courage again.

Sometimes, 3 days before kid is discharged from program, you have a friend who posts a picture of the cutest tiniest orange kitten that is looking for a home. So you ask kid’s team at Children’s what they think about getting her a kitten and they all agree it would be a positive force for her. And you beat down the cat-loathing husband until he finally caves. 

And sometimes when you show the kid a picture of her new tiny kitten, she promptly names him Apollo because “he looks like all the light”. 

Another One Gets in the Boat

Watching your kids learn about the realities of life is both exhausting and encouraging.

Mike and I have always been up front with kiddos about Mike’s TBI: we’ve talked at length about the repercussions of getting your brain rattled around too often and not resting afterwards. They are all keenly aware of the immediate dangers of multiple concussions.

I am not a prop

Today, for the first time in a very long time if not ever, I became a prop.

My Composition 2 professor assigned an argumentative essay and while discussing possible topics after class last week, I made reference to experiences with VA Land and she inquired about my service. I explained that The Husband was the one in the service with two destination vacations and all the fun that goes along with that. 

That was Wednesday.

In class today, we discussed a Definition Essay and that it's essentially discussing a word with a simple Webster's dictionary definition, but a very complex world definition, such as love, family, etc. 

Simple enough. The professor explained that we would be brainstorming a word at the end of the class and then doing a paper on it the next class period. 

Then she called me specifically to come up and write down phrases on the board as the class brainstormed them. 

It struck me as odd.

Until she gave the word: Freedom.

I took a breath, recognized my position as a prop and waited for the inevitable...

And the inevitable arrived about halfway through the brainstorming. 

"So how many of you would be willing to go to war for your freedom? Anyone? No? Well, Greta's husband did...where again did he serve and how has that affected you all?"

Here is where I will tell you that obviously, I don't have any problem discussing going to war, the ramifications, and whatnot. I will tell you that I gladly discuss these things because I desperately want to normalize them in conversations. I will tell you that I enjoy educating people about our military experiences because you can't create the desperately needed thorough conversations about military life without education. 

But.

I am not a prop.

"Well, so first your question about who'd be willing to fight for freedom is a moot point in this classroom because all of the individuals in this classroom are of the age to join the military barring any health issues, but here they sit while the people who are willing to fight are fighting. And I mean no disrespect, the great thing about freedom is that you have that choice. My husband joined before 9/11. We expected to live all over the world and experience a different kind of lifestyle. We did not expect war, not to say he wouldn't have joined after 9/11, but we have a different perspective on that. But yes, he served all over the world, but he deployed to Iraq for 14 months and Afghanistan for 9 months. He spent several months in Iraq kicking in doors, blowing stuff up and getting blown up, feeding his adrenaline loving body. Consequently, he aged his body faster than his actual age so while he's 40, his body thinks it's roughly 65-ish. He can't remember our kids birthdays. He has magnificent coping mechanisms in place for any and all challenges he faces. He has figured out how to be a high functioning human being who is very successful at whatever he attempts. He enjoys a challenge. He, like Louie (side note we're reading Unbroken), feels the need to keep his brain sharp. We facilitate him as a family so that we can function as a family. We have real long term concerns that shape our perception of the world. We experienced long term trauma that shaped our perception of the world. Our kids spent the first 10 years of their lives moving every 2 years. They are amazing humans who do not know what the sound of popping bubble wrap is because it sounds like small arms fire. The Husband spent roughly 2 years fighting two different wars, but those 2 years have impacts that are way more far-reaching than anyone can possibly guess at this point."

"Thank you so much for sharing that perspective and information with the class."

"and please tell your husband, thank you for his service". 

I have never really understood the issue people have had with that phrase until today.