You have a choice

 I don’t remember ever not hearing the voices in my head. When I was 10, 11, 12, I would sit up in the middle of the night, in the middle of my mattress with my knees pulled up tightly against my chest, rocking with sobs as I saw the hands coming up over my mattress trying to pull me down, down to the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth. When I was a teenager those voices changed, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t worthy, I was unlovable. I was the reason my parents were screaming and fighting all the time. I would never have a boyfriend because I was too fat and angry. I wasn’t smart enough so there was no point in trying to get into college. A couple years after my husband Damon was killed, I found myself driving cross country in an RV with my three small children in the back. One day in the middle of nowhere I was driving across a high steeply curved bridge and I heard a voice in my head tell me to just turn the wheel and go over the edge of that bridge, that it wouldn’t matter anymore, that it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I argued with that voice in my head, “what about my children,” “Doesn’t matter, they’ll be dead too.” “But what if my children survive, what if they just get hurt, what if they become orphans.” That word “orphans” kept my hands on that steering wheel, driving straight across that bridge. A few months later I recognized that something was wrong with me. I felt like I was going crazy. I was sure I had schizophrenia or some other mental health issue and I needed to get help. I went through grief counseling, I even started a prescription of an anti-depressant, something to help me. But I couldn’t stand the way it made me feel, nothing, like a zombie. So, I went back to my trusted coping mechanism of getting lost in a book. I don’t know how I came across the book series, The Great and Terrible. The only thing I knew about the author Chris Stewart was that he was LDS, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, like me. The book is about the war in heaven, our relationships with our brothers and sisters, with Jehovah and Lucifer. The book continues to our relationships here on earth, those continued relationships and those fallen angels who chose to follow Lucifer and how they are now on earth, here with us, whispering in our ears lies, deceit, manipulations, to get us to choose to do something to make us fall, down like them. Something resonated deep in my soul. I knew it was true and it took me back behind that steering wheel in that RV, driving across the bridge, and I recognized that voice in my head, that insistent, whiny, manipulative voice was not my voice. I did not want to kill myself. I did not want to kill my children. And I was not crazy. I recognized that I had a choice, a choice to listen or a choice to not listen to those voices. I recognized that that choice, that agency, was taking the power back from Satan. My children have grown up. I’ve been able to teach them how to recognize those voices, how to recognize those lies. Those voices haven’t stopped. My 16-year-old daughter struggles with hearing those voices. And I’ve recognized that I am her mother for a reason. I’m here to teach her, and to help you know that you have a choice. And that you can choose to live.

Why do I need to write a memoir?

My thought process on my book has evolved over the years. It went from being about Damon, then my loss of Damon, then our love story. I felt called to write about him so I wouldn't forget, so my children would know him, so others would know him and somehow also feel his loss. I didn't want him to be a stagnant photograph, stuck in time. I wanted to feel his presence and picture him there next to me as I wrote it and read it again over the years. I got stuck writing that story because it hurt so much. I would sit down to write and become overwhelmed by my sorrow, guilt, and grief. The book sat unfinished, untouched, unread.

I realized that my story continued. I was still living, making memories, learning important lessons.

My story included Damon, my loss of Damon, our love story, but also learning how to be on my own, learning to love again, and new beginnings. I couldn't write about Damon without writing about how he lead me to Chris. I couldn't write about Chris without including Damon, learning to love another while still holding onto his memory. I don't feel as though Chris and I had a beginning, we just kind of jumped in where we left off. We were always in each other's existence, always meant to be together. It just took a lot of pain to get us back to each other. Kind of like Damon. Something was there pulling us towards each other, keeping us in the back of each other's minds as we continued living, until we couldn't resist the pull any longer. I knew we were supposed to be together, just like he knew it, even though it took us so long to finally get our act together, get over our fears, and be together. 

As Chris and I continued our lives together, I realized there was more to my story involving Chris's past and our present, Chris's ex-wife, our blended family, and homeschooling. I recognized that having a blended family was much harder than losing Damon. The lack of control when it comes to someone interfering with my family, lying and manipulating, and hurting my husband. It was horrible. I was consumed by hatred for her. The hatred ate me from the inside and almost destroyed my family. At the same time I started to resent my new marriage and blamed Damon. I blamed him for leaving me, again. The grief cycle reared it's ugly head forcing me to make some changes, throwing my family off kilter, not that we had found a kilter yet. Along the way. we began homeschooling which took us down a rabbit hole of learning. It was amazing! I can't tell my story without including the journey of homeschooling. 

My story became our story. Damon, Chris, and me.

While my story has evolved my fears have had the opportunity to grow. I've fought telling my story for fear of being judged, fear of being recognized or remembered from when I wasn't at my best, fear of being called out for remembering differently than someone else, fear of hurting someone's feelings, fear of being required to do more, be more, and experience more hurt and loss. 

My purpose has evolved from needing to tell my story so Damon is remembered, to needing to remind people that we are not alone, we are loved by our Savior, and we can always count on Him to get us through our trials. My purpose is to share what I have experienced, because others go through it too, and maybe they need the reminder I could have used along the way. 

Here we go again...

 If anything, I'm consistent about being inconsistent.

My plan, and when I say MY plan I really mean Heavenly Father's plan for me, that I fight tooth and nail, become resigned, and then fall off the band wagon again and again. My plan has been to write a book, a memoir, about my journey, my grief, my healing, my progress. 

I've been working on my book for, what? ten years or so now. I've made little progress but have plenty of excuses. 

A week before Christmas I was down in the valley with my daughter for doctors appointments. While there we stopped at a used book store. I got a bug, an intense drive and bought a basket full of books about writing, how to be a writer, even a memoir that would be a good example to learn how to write memoir. I've had this bug jump up and bite me a few times over the past ten years, but never this intense. I was excited! I felt like something had shifted, within me, and without. I don't know what that shift was, but I knew that I could do it.

Right before Christmas I found myself doing some self-reflection. I hated my job. I dreaded going to work. I wanted to be a dispatcher but the agency I was working for was making it difficult. I went from being a stay-at-home mom during the pandemic, to working as a courtroom clerk, to working from home for the VA, to training as an emergency dispatcher. Hating my job was not part of my plan. I quit the VA because it made me so angry. I quit the court because I wasn't willing to work for someone who was willing to throw good employees away for one who cried racism, or someone who was more interested in being a friend than a supervisor. I quit jobs for lesser things than hating the job, so what was holding me back now? As things got progressively worse I realized that my fear was keeping me there. I was afraid of my finances, disappointing my husband, being a bad example to my children, not achieving my goal of becoming a dispatcher, not being able to make as much money at another job. 

During my self-reflection I remembered that I had prayed about this job, as I had the previous jobs. I did not have a good feeling about it, or any of them, but I rationalized that I needed it and it would be good for my family. I realized that while I had prayed about each job, even the need to go back to work in the first place, that I hadn't followed the answer, because it wasn't the answer I wanted. I wanted the adventure. I wanted the new experiences and the chance to learn something new. I didn't want to be a boring stay-at-home mom who was pissed every evening when my husband got home from work. It wasn't that I was sick of my kids, but I was sick of myself, of who I'd become. I needed a change. Instead of making that change within myself I made a change in my circumstance, a change that would not end up making a real difference.

I realized that I needed to have faith to follow the direction Heavenly Father was giving me.

Why couldn't I have that much faith? Why couldn't I just do it already?

The excuses were there, as they always are. They all came down to fear.

If I can't put my faith above my fear than what is the point of it all? All of these lessons I've learned would be for nothing. All of the heartache I've been through would be for nothing. All of the growth I've experienced would be for nothing. Every lesson I've ever taught my children would be for nothing. 

So I made a plan. Something that involved me quitting, finishing my degree, writing my book, getting my house in order. 

And then I got sick. My brain fog was so intense that I couldn't hold a single thought in my head. All of my plans and intentions were gone. I couldn't find them. I couldn't remember them. They were just gone. Once I came out of the fog I found the stack of books I purchased right before Christmas. I found a book I'd bought and marked up years ago called Handling the Truth on the Writing of Memoir by Beth Kephart. I went online and found writing prompt apps and help for beginning writers. 

My biggest excuse over the past ten years has been that I don't know how to be a writer. I don't know where to start. I don't know what it requires of me. Being a writer seems so solitary and self-driven. I wouldn't have a trainer or a supervisor or a list of tasks to complete by the end of the day. How could I make sure I was doing it right or that I'd be successful when there was no measure of success or immediate gratification or praise? 

Over and over again I read from writers of all different genres, the way to become a writer is to write. Just sit down every day and write. Set a goal of 15 minutes, or 25 words. It doesn't matter how much or how long as long as words get onto the page. 

So that's what I did. I wrote. I opened up a blank Word document and wrote out a silly prompt from an app and went for it. And you know what happened? Something resonated inside of me that this is what I'm supposed to be doing. It doesn't matter if anyone reads it. It doesn't matter if it's good or has problems. It matters that I write, that I take that leap of faith and do what Heavenly Father's been telling me to do all along. It matters that I let go of the fear and just jump in and do it. 

I can work out the kinks along the way. I can go back and edit. I can learn as I go from the books I've collected, from the memoirs I read, from the classes I'm taking, from life going on around me.

What matters is that I let go of the fear.

I'm looking for a job, and while I'm waiting to hear back, I'm writing. While I'm budgeting, putting my house in order, and living off food storage, I'm writing. I'm taking the last of my credits to finish my degree, and I'm writing.