When a Writer Doesn’t Write

It’s no secret to people who know me that my last year has been a hard one. And I was sincerely hoping that one year after burying my mom that, not that I wouldn’t still be grieving, but that things would at least be looking a little less bleak. But my husband lost his job earlier this year and the process of unpacking that has been painful….to put it politely.

For a writer who isn’t writing, and to now be in a situation in which I’m not at liberty to wrestle out loud, I’ve been stuck for a long time. We were lying in bed one night and I was just sobbing. I finally composed myself and said, “I just can’t decide which is worse right now: watching my mom die from ALS, sincerely thinking that Child Protective Services was going to come to our home and remove our own children after being falsely accused of some things by a birth mom, or being completely blindsided by people we previously trusted, as we were in January.

Craig looked at me and said, “Megan. You can’t rank those things. They are all bad. They are all so terribly bad. The only thing we can do right now is control our response to them.”

And I know he’s right, but honestly…when you’ve been so badly treated by people, the only initial response is anger. It’s like I’m grieving another death in my life. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. Now I have to believe it, but I don’t want to believe it, but I am believing it and I’m so hurt because the people who hurt us are people who know better.

I’ve been sporadically seeing a counselor this year. I think I’ve gone to her three or four times now. Even she said to me after a few meetings that she wasn’t sure I needed to come. She said something to the effect of, “You’re processing all of this well, it’s just that you keep getting more and more really bad things thrown at you to process.” Indeed.

So here we are, with our Oklahoma chapter coming to a close. We still have two foster boys who were supposed to go back to their parents last week but now can’t and so they are still with us and will be until we move, at which point we will have to hand them over to another family which will be another loss that we have no control over. Here we are managing yard sales and packing and cleaning and house prepping and getting ready to start one of the processes I hate more than almost any other one: showing and selling a house. #StickAForkInMyEyePlease

I’m not sure about the blog. I pretty much gave it up this year and I may still do that even now. The things I need to write…the things I need to communicate…and the people with which I want to communicate with…are all off limits.

It’s a masked life and I don’t do fluff and rainbows very well.

Instead, I bury myself in the psalms and I continue to cry and pray and put my head down and push through it. God, please bring us through to the other side in one piece.

One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple…Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me! You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart says to you, “Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Hide not your face from me. Turn not your servant away in anger, O you who have been my help. Cast me not off; forsake me not, O God of my salvation!” ~Psalm 27: 4, 7-9