Take a break from the ones you love, so you can love ‘em better.
If you’re here, then you’re probably a Mom. Which means you’re exhausted. Yeah? – me too.
The Science of Sabbatical
Being a Mom is awesome.
Who else knows just how velvety-smooth and decadently-sweet your baby’s cheek is at 3:27 in the morning? Delicious, right?
Being a Mom also stinks.
Seriously! No matter the age or stage, poopy diapers & spit up, icky-little-boy socks to teenage B.O. – Momville can be a stinky place to live.
And I bet you need a break.
Honestly, when is the last time you slept through the night? Without nursing a baby, taking a toddler potty, being awakened by a temporarily nocturnal kiddo, or waiting up for your teenager to get home?
It’s time for a Mommy Sabbatical.
Take a break from the ones you love, so you can love them better.
C’mon…you know you need it! The thing you might not know is…you deserve it.
Come away. Rest. Rejuvenate.
Your kids will thank you later.
Mommy Sabbatical, LLC offers a variety of restful, rejuvenating retreats, designed to encourage, educate, & empower women to love the Mommy they are.
That happy, sappy, summertime bliss post back in June?
It was total crap.
I needed a way out. An excuse to quit posting, disappear from FB and email, so I could crawl into my cave and curl up there all alone, trembling in fear and darkness.
You might remember I was in a car wreck last April. Wellllll, the real crash happened about 6 weeks later.
It was kinda like when you have a baby – and everyone hovers around you, pampering you, bringing meals, telling you to rest. For about 6 weeks. Then the unspoken expectation is, “buck up, girl! you’re all recovered now – it’s time to get on with real life!”
And we all know what a load of poo that is. I mean, really? Six weeks postpartum I was sleepy, lumpy, droopy, cranky, sweaty, spituppy, and my nipples were raw. Like a late-night, R-rated, horror flick version of the 7 dwarfs, all wrapped up in stretchy pants and dolly-parton-sized nursing bras. You know I’m not remotely exaggerating. Seriously, by my fifth baby, I started asking friends to hold all their loving meals & gifts till 6 weeks AFTER the baby was born. Cause that’s when I try to go back to work & parenting & wifing, and I’m channeling the 7 scary-dwarfs, and all the poo hits the fan.
Annnnyway…I think you get the gist.
Six weeks post-car-wreck I went back to work & parenting & wifing, and that’s when the big crash happened.
It wasn’t all at once, but more of a slow, outta control, spinning, swerving, catapulting of my soul. The fear that has always plagued me, hovering just outta sight behind my back, gradually and fiercely dug talons into my shoulders. Worry became anxiety, anxiety morphed into terror, and terror erupted into paralyzing, debilitating panic attacks. Like, on the highway, my friends. It was not a pretty sight. If you live around Woodland Park and you kept seeing my great big van pulled over on the side of the road back in June?… Yes, that was me, hyperventilating, dry-heaving, and sobbing hysterically because someone simply changed lanes in front of me.
Four months ago I sat across the table from my doctor, bawling my eyes out about chronic pain and paralyzing fear and how hopeless my life was. “You can’t blame it all on the wreck,” he said. “The wreck was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
Hmph! Well, who does he think he is??? I was cameling along just fine before getting slammed into at 55 mph on an icy highway! I was managing my load-o-straw perfectly well, thank-you-very-much, and woulda been cameling along still, if not for….
Umm, so yeah. That happened.
Maybe my camel legs were a little wearier than I thought. Maybe that pile of straw I’ve been lugging around was too much, too heavy, too fear-fueled. And the thing is – when that final straw breaks the camel’s back – every last bit of the burden comes crashing down. Whether you want it to or not.
In the last few weeks, by God’s total grace (and with a little help from my doc, my friends, & massage therapy) the fear-fueled anxiety-demon has been declawed.
It was a long, dark, cold winter of a summer.
But things are finally starting to thaw.
You won’t find glossy words of wisdom here. No happily-ever-after, tied-up-with-a-bow kinda ending.
I don’t wanna be that plodding, weary, thirsty camel anymore.
And if I know one thing about my God, it’s that He is in the business of restoration, reformation, resurrection.
He heals my wounds, He forgives my sins, He redeems my life from the pit. His mercy endures forever.
Even if sometimes it feels like a Severe Mercy.
With a little time and space and retrospection…
I see His mercy everywhere.
Mercy that protected me in a potentially devastating car wreck.
Mercy in loving friends to care for my broken soul.
Mercy to bring my cameling days crashing down.
Mercy of relief from the fear-fueled burdens breaking my back.
I’ve started hiking these mountains again, one baby step at a time.
But instead of weary camel-legs, I’m stepping lightly on deer’s feet,
panting and thirsty and refreshed by the Lord.
Didja ever feel like a camel too? What’s the straw that broke your back?
And how did you manage to find your deer’s feet?