You know the little girl on the playground that keeps innocently lifting up her dress to show all the other little kids on the playground her under things? We've all seen her. Her mom is blushing in the background saying, "Sweetie! Put your dress down. We don't show everyone our private parts!"

That little girl is me. Except it's not my dress I lift to expose my outer body. It's my chest I crack open to expose my inner soul.

I'm the little girl running around showing her most private parts to everyone. Splitting my body open for people who don't really want to see all of that. Opening and exposing myself to people who have no place seeing those pieces of me.

My heart lives out in the open.

I love this about myself, and I also hate it. But the fact is, I have a heart that is worn. It's fragile. It's been bruised and broken for a long time.

It's healing and getting stronger, but I'm learning that in order to really let something heal, sometimes you have to cover it up.

When you break a limb, they immobilize it. They cast it. You don't use it. It gets put out of commission and covered up until it becomes strong enough to be exposed again. Typically, even after the cast is ready to come off, the broken limb is still weak.

It requires rehab and strength training to get it back to what it was before.

You can't break your leg and then immediately start trying to run right after you get the cast taken off.

You're just going to break it again.

I'm slowly learning to sit in the space of healing. But I'll be honest with you. I don't like it.

But with matters of the heart, I've started to question how heroic it really is to just shove a wounded heart right back out into the open. I'm beginning to think that maybe it's just a little bit braver to keep it covered a while.

When you have a heart that's most comfortable outside the body, the discomfort comes from keeping it hidden. The growing pains are in learning to protect it better.

For people who are naturally guarded, their growing pains are in trying to learn vulnerability.

We're all different, and that's good.

Lately, I've had some experiences that put me in a weird emotional space. I started to fall into old patterns a little bit.

Or I thought I was.

I woke up the other morning feeling a little bit broken and bruised again. A little bit foolish and insignificant. A little bit like that same stupid little girl, figuratively running around the playground with her dress up, wondering why people keep looking away.

As I got ready for the day that morning, I looked in the mirror and had the thought, "Put your heart away. People don't want to see all that."

But then something sort of miraculous happened.

In the midst of beginning to question everything about myself and wondering if the problem really is just that who I am is a problem, I figured out that I am exactly how I'm supposed to be.

The problem isn't my heart or the fact that it feels comfortable being exposed. The problem is who I trust with those valuable pieces of myself.

The thing is there are appropriate places to expose yourself and there are places where it's a bit less appropriate. Learning the difference is challenging sometimes, but it's necessary for protection.

Just as the broken limb needs covering and time to heal, so does the heart.

But that doesn't mean it has to stay covered forever.

As time goes on, it will get stronger. As it gets stronger, you will learn who is worthy of seeing what's under your dress and inside your chest. And as you discover your safe places and people, you'll learn to be yourself.

Unashamed and uncovered, but at the right times.

The mom encouraging her daughter to put her dress down on the playground isn't doing that to shame her or keep her hidden forever. She's just teaching her appropriate boundaries and how to keep herself safe.

Same thing for this heart.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been modified and republished here with permission.

The post How covering up my heart helped me heal appeared first on FamilyToday.

He was her first kiss.

Her first love - before she even knew what love was.

Their youth and innocence was fresh. Untouched. Unashamed. And despite their age, he was the only boy who ever really knew her and still loved her more than anything.

Their love was a quiet fire. A deep, steady, lasting flame that burned bright even in the face of life as they grew older and grew apart.

In their younger years, there was a sweetness about them. They laughed. They played. They loved.

As they grew up and life changed, her innocence faded. Her path got dark and twisty. Her edges got hard. Her pieces became broken.

They lost touch and hadn't really seen each other or spoken in what felt like forever, but years later she discovered that despite all the missing time, all the mistakes, and all the pain, he was still there.

Soft.

Innocent.

Quiet.

In the background.

Loving her.

Their adult years approached and they had both met other lovers. She was fighting her way through herself, living a tornadic life of turmoil. Yet through it all, somehow the stars seemed to align and there, patiently waiting in the wings, was her first love.

Without hesitation, he loved her. Without question, he wanted her. They spent the next few months wrapped up in each other. Like a childhood dream come true, there he was.

He always felt too good for her. She didn't know what to do with that much purity of heart. That much beauty and devotion.

She was ragged. Busted. A heavy load.

He was flawless. Whole. Full of grace.

She didn't deserve him.

She told him that and each time, he looked into her eyes and said, "Hush." He would tell her he felt like he didn't deserve her and that he was the luckiest man in the world. He saw her soul. He knew her ugly parts. And yet when he looked at her, she saw love in his eyes. Unconditional, unyielding love.

He loved her with a painful intensity she couldn't accept.

Despite her brokenness, he wrote her a song.

It didn't have words. Just a tune. He said, "It's named after you and I used only the best notes."

He played it for her sitting up in her room and she was speechless. Truly speechless.

His fingers strummed that guitar like his breath strummed her flesh. She couldn't process it.

She thought, "How could a song so beautiful have been written for me? How could he sit here with me and play this song with such a strength of love that even the movies couldn't capture? How could he think I deserved all the best notes?"

Their time as a couple was short. She destroyed it just like she destroyed everything in those years. She couldn't handle someone loving her like that back then because she believed she was unlovable. Unworthy. She couldn't fathom how when he looked at her, it didn't burn his eyes like it did hers when she looked in a mirror. It didn't make sense that when he wrapped his arms around her, he couldn't feel how gross she was. How gross she believed she was.

He knew her from the inside out though.

He knew her before her world shattered. He knew her in the good days.

He knew all about the bad days too, and he loved her anyway.

But it was too much.

It crushed her broken soul because she knew he deserved better. So she destroyed it.

She ran back to what was familiar. The cold, distant, sick kind of love she felt comfortable with. She ran straight for the dying blue flame she knew she could handle and away from the red hot fire she couldn't take.

But he had written her a song. And that song played in her heart forever after she heard it.

Decades of life and that song still plays in her heart.

Their lives split in separate directions and time moved on, but it is in part because of him that she finally understood what kind of love she does deserve.

Maybe she hasn't found it yet. Maybe she's still learning to trust even herself. But years ago, he wrote her a song; and now that's the kind of love she will wait for.

A love that shatters the dark. A love that knows her ugly insides and still calls her beautiful. A love that lasts through time, distance, pain and heartache. A love she and he both feel they don't deserve.

A love worthy of a song, created from all the best notes.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post A love worthy of a song appeared first on FamilyToday.

It has been nearly 2 years since my husband and I separated. At one point of this journey, I believed that it would always be painful. That on some level it would always feel like I'd been shot through the heart and the shrapnel of our years together would always stab the inside of my chest.

There are moments of occasional days that I still feel that tug of angst. But not the way I used to, and not the way I imagined I always would.

The heart is a strong muscle. Much stronger than I think we can possibly understand. When you really work at it, you can teach the heart to do all kinds of wild and unexpected things. You can even teach it to heal.

That process for me required a great deal of time, effort, prayer, surrender, faith, and tears. There were periods it felt like I was in a literal war and I was the casualty every time. Today, I want you to know it doesn't have to stay that way.

You really can take your heart back. You really can stop loading the gun with emotional bullets and handing it to someone else hoping they don't blast you one more time. You really can be in charge of who you allow to break your heart again and again. And you really can stop bleeding for someone who will never do the same for you.

I have found a place I never thought I'd find.

Today, instead of it feeling like I am staring at a fresh, gaping, nerve-exposed wound that may never heal, I have a scar. A reminder. A fleshly stain of healing. A souvenir of survival and experience. A mark of love, of loss, of birth, of death, and ultimately, of personal freedom.

The feelings that come when we look at scars are much different than the feelings that flood when we see a fresh wound. There are feelings connected to both. Both invoke emotion and thought, but the reaction to them are quite different.

One feels desperate and frantic. The other feels tranquil and composed.

One feels dangerous and reckless. The other feels safe and protected.

One is throbbing and raw in its gaping exposure. The other is restored and settled in its process of healing.

The wound holds the pain, the scar holds the healing. Both tell a story

There will always be feelings wrapped up in that memoir even long after the blood has dried and the wound has closed. The memory of what caused the scar will always have power. It may always invoke thought. Yet those thoughts and feelings do not have to be shrouded in heartache and pain as they once were; and we don't have to chase those feelings down like a bloodhound just because we smell their presence.

As is the case in any kind of healing, time and space away from it help us to gain perspective. We find strength. We rebuild. We heal. We learn. We grow. We change.

I have learned that the way the wound heals is up to the injured to some extent. Usually, there are things we need to do in order to help it heal properly. We can choose to do those things or ignore them. One way or the other, the wound will close and there will likely be a scar.

Sometimes the appearance of the scar is not indicative of the trauma from such an injury. Nevertheless, the scar is what you're left with.

You can choose to view that scar as a constant reminder of your grievance. A token with which you purchase your pain over and over again. Or, you can choose to view that scar as a victory stripe. An indication of progress and the gift you've been given to begin again.

When you trust the process and continue putting one foot in front of the other, moving through your life-the grief as much as the joy-you will find that one day, the active hurt stops.

There will come a day that you touch the scar and rather than feeling like a sharp puncture to your flesh, it will just feel like every other stroke of your skin. There will come a day that you will look at your scar and while you may acknowledge feelings of sadness and loss, sitting right next to them will be feelings of acceptance.

You will find a way to hold those memories in a place of honor and value, but without strings. Without weights. You will forgive yourself. You will forgive your ex. And you will forgive the outsiders who don't understand it all.

There will be peace. There will be autonomy. You will no longer feel like everything you do starts and ends in that wound. You'll begin to feel solid on your own feet. You'll find that where you were once weak with hurt, you have now built up new layers of strength. The scar will remind you of your vitality. Of your survival.

Nobody gets married thinking it will end in divorce. Even when it's the healthier choice for everyone, it's never the ideal decision. With that reality comes an obvious pile of emotions, and the process of digging oneself out from underneath that pile can be long and tedious. There is no right or wrong to how it looks or how long it takes; but I want you to know that if you do the work and allow yourself the space to heal, you will get there.

You will wake up one day and realize you can breathe again. You will realize your wound has become a scar and those holes you once thought would never close have been filled in with hope.

Editors note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post Why your scars from divorce are a good thing appeared first on FamilyToday.

Healing after the death of an unhealthy relationship or marriage (or a couple of them in my case), I have discovered, is much harder than it looks. There is a reason why people say it takes about two years post divorce before you're really in a position to entertain the thought of a new relationship.

I am learning that for me, this past year and a half of healing has been a lot like training for a marathon. Lots of work, lots of conditioning, lots of progress. But it really isn't until you start running the marathon that you can determine whether or not your training was enough.

As you start to run, the areas you may have overlooked begin to reveal themselves.

You start to feel the effects of both the training you did, and the training you may have missed. Maybe you focused really hard on building your stamina, but you forgot to work certain muscle groups necessary to carry you through the whole race successfully.

In the same way, dating after divorce reveals the areas you still need to work on. Putting yourself out there and taking the risk to try again after such a traumatic failure is brave; but it opens you up, not only to another person, but to yourself.

The damage of the past 11 years of unhealthy relationships in my life has once again been unveiled for me and quite frankly, it's been pretty difficult to watch.

At the same time, it's been pretty enlightening.

We go through the things we go through and even if we acknowledge the difficulty in it, I think sometimes we don't really get it. Sometimes we don't really appreciate the gravity of what we've actually endured and the inevitable effects some of those experiences have on our lives until something forces us to really see it.

People always say, "The first few relationships you have post-divorce don't usually work out." I agreed with that and understood it to a degree, but as I have tested the waters a bit more, I've come to really understand that statement in a new light.

Those first relationships don't fail because the people are necessarily bad or wrong for you. Maybe that's true too; but ultimately I think they tend to fail for a few different reasons than what I initially thought.

1. You have no idea who you are after having experienced the years of trauma and damage you just came out of.

2. You've been training but you haven't actually run any marathons yet. Your body, though stronger, isn't marathon ready until you've run at least a few halves. You have to run in order to discover where you still need training.

3. The healing process simply takes longer than we may think it does; and even after lots of healing, it's not until we place those wounds in the heat that we can see what's still left.

I'm an "all in" kind of human. Everything I do, I do it to the fullest. As a result, I succeed big, but I also fail big.

I can honestly say I am grateful for my big failures because they truly do shed light on the dark places that still need work.

Navigating the waters of a broken spirit and a damaged heart is painful. Not just because of what you went through, but because of what those experiences did to you below the surface.

It's little things that reveal those hidden wounds, but no matter how much healing you've done post traumatic relationship failure, you really can't see the full effect of it all until you start "running" again. I've realized that while I am an all in person, particularly with my heart, the wounds of the past have left me a bit more scarred than I wanted to admit.

The symptoms of that come out in various, unexpected ways; but it has become so clear that it is because I gave myself no time to heal after the first round that I ended up in an even worse situation for round two.

So I refuse to do that to myself or anyone else again.

Walking through that pain and having to fully feel the weight of those wounds is difficult to say the least. It's easier to just not do it. Some people "don't do it" by actually not doing it and swearing off new relationships. Others, like me, throw caution to the wind and "don't do it" by just blindly jumping into something else hoping it all works out.

It's why I just went ahead and dove head first into another relationship after my first failed marriage hoping that if I gave enough of myself to this one, he would give that much back and somehow that love would heal me. Rather than doing a little training before trying to run a marathon, I went from couch to 25k and destroyed every muscle in my body.

That round was enough to wake me up. That ravishing on my body, heart and soul were really simply too much to even consider diving back into anything for a long time. I couldn't even stand up for a while, much less try to run again.

A year and a half of emotional rehab and training later, I'm jogging. But even jogging has revealed my weak spots and it hasn't been as smooth as I wanted it to be.

The thing is, if you never get back out there and you never try again, you'll never know if you can do it and you'll never give yourself the opportunity to get stronger in those areas. For some things, the only way to do it"¦is to do it.

Sure it's hard. Yeah it's messy and a little embarrassing. It's painful to watch for the ones who love you, and it's even more painful to be the one enduring it. But I have come to realize that if you want to find a healthy love, you have to both take the time for yourself to heal, and then get back out there and exercise those muscles a bit.

You don't know until you try.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post How to cope with the wounds of a failed relationship appeared first on FamilyToday.

Sometimes I walk past a window or a mirror, and I don't recognize the image I see.

For a long time I hated myself. Not just the reflection. The actual person staring back; I hated me.

It took me a lot of years and a lot of therapy to get to a place of self-love and acceptance. The journey there was long and painful and shrouded in hard, ugly things.

Early on in my life, the seeds of self-hatred were planted. They grew and shaped not just the image of myself that I saw, but also the image I believed to be true in my mind. I didn't have to look in a mirror to know I hated myself. In fact, I preferred not to look at all.

There was a period of my life where I literally couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I would walk into a bathroom and turn my eyes from the glass because my own reflection was too painful.

I was filled with so much shame and personal disgust that I couldn't even face myself. But, it wasn't only the image that confirmed the filth I thought I saw. It was my thoughts. The things I believed about myself deep in my heart and mind.

I believed I was worthless. I was too much to be handled and not enough to be held. I was a failure and a disappointment. I was a disgrace to my family. I wasn't valuable. I was ugly, fat, and unlovable. I would forever be an inconvenience and not worth anyone else's time or effort.

I was endlessly disposable.

All these lies became my truth and they shaped everything I did.

So I destroyed myself from the inside out.

I presented an image of togetherness and strength; meanwhile, I was suffering a sick, slow suicide.

I continued behaviors and formed relationships with people who confirmed the lies I believed about myself; therefore, cementing me into those patterns of destruction.

I was trapped.

Trapped inside this body I hated, with a brain filled with lies and a heart constantly bleeding. The life was draining from my body before my eyes and though I could feel it, I couldn't face it.

After pouring out all I had into other people and trying to somehow patch up my holes by seeking their acceptance, I realized one thing; it was killing me. And slowly, I was killing myself.

Motherhood saved my life. It gave me the gift of life - both my babies and my own. When I gave birth to them, I was reborn as well.

I began to realize what I was doing to myself. I began to see truth. I began to recognize the lies I once believed and I stopped accepting them. I began to understand my purpose on this earth and why God didn't take me home many years before.

It was because of my babies and my unhealthy marriage that I finally learned who I was and what I deserved.

Since separating from my husband almost a year and half ago, I've traveled the road to rebuilding myself.

Not every day is awesome, but I am finally in a place of freedom, acceptance and self-love. I feel strong. I feel brave and confident. I feel worthy. I feel like I have a purpose and I'm living each day for that purpose. I feel like I have broken the chains of my past and am living truly free for the first time, ever.

Most of the time now, the image I see in the mirror is one that I admire.

Not because I don't still see my flaws or find things I'd like to change. Not because every day is a picnic underneath a sky full of rainbows and dancing unicorns. And definitely not because I've figured it all out.

I like what I see today because it's the real me. The me that got buried in lies. The me that was suffocated and choked out by self-destruction. The me that got lost living for everyone else. The me that God created and intended me to be. The me I want to be.

I still have "off" days and struggle like everyone else with insecurity and self-doubt and fear. But now it doesn't consume me and swallow me whole.

Today, when I walk past a window or mirror and see my reflection, I see all the things about myself that I now feel and believe to be true. I see strength and confidence. I see resilience and perseverance. I see a person of value and worth. I see a woman.

I see me.

It shocks me a little bit momentarily. Those old lies die hard, and some days for no reason at all, they come to life. They sit dormant for a while and then something, anything, will awaken them and I fight back to the truth again. It doesn't take long anymore, but some days there is a fight. With God's help, I have finally learned to win that fight.

Seeing my reflection - that image which matches exactly none of the lies I used to believe, is liberating. Lies are exactly that. Lies. Even the ones we tell ourselves.

It has been like stepping out into the sun after years of a dark winter or diving into a pool after hours in the hot sun.

These years have been painful. But they've helped me find myself. They've helped me love myself. Believe in myself. Value myself. Respect myself. Trust myself.

The reflection in the mirror and the image in my head finally match.

That's what freedom feels like.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been modified and republished here with permission.

The post What do you see when you look in the mirror? appeared first on FamilyToday.

I've always felt a strong connection to the broken. It's why I became a social worker. For as long as I can remember I have felt a pull toward helping and encouraging others.

As a broken, messy warrior myself, I often question my ability to do that. I doubt my capacity to reach anyone or be an encouragement to anyone else when I am such a grunge myself. But what God has shown me is that I don't have to be the light. I simply need to be a vessel for the light to shine through.

My heart stays heavy for the millions of broken and hurting people. People going through similar pains as me, and people going through a thousand other kinds of grief. The truth is, we are all going through something. We are all broken-hearted. And we all need encouragement and prayer.

I lay awake at night thinking about so many of you who have reached out to me and shared your stories and your pain, your wisdom and encouragement. We are all in this life journey together, no matter what brought us here.

So this is my prayer for everyone with a broken, hurting heart; whatever may be causing it.

"Lord, I don't know what burden each person is carrying. But you do. I pray that in their weakness, you show up, valiant and strong. I pray that in their pain, you provide peace. I pray that you wrap your loving arms around each and every soul, pull them close into your chest and let them know that they are loved. Let them know that they are safe and covered in your grace. I pray that in times of doubt, you show them the way. That you carry them when their legs are too unsteady to keep moving. That you lead when they feel lost.

I pray Lord that over every broken heart, you place your healing hand. That you breathe life into their tired bones and remind them who they are in you. I pray you help people rest. That you quiet their minds and allow them to stop striving and just be. That you speak life over every person questioning themselves. I pray that you would show up in a mighty and undeniable way, and that wherever there is fear, you provide courage.

I trust that you are healing our hearts even when it feels like they are shattering into a million pieces. I believe that you are catching and counting each piece. That you will mend them back together, even more beautiful than before. I pray that you help people to stand firm in their convictions and your promises, and that you release people from the heavy bondage they continue to carry. I pray you remind us that your yolk is easy and your burden is light. That we don't have to continue walking around in heavy chains.

I ask you to give peace that passes all understanding. I pray for the broken families and the hurting children. For sick babies and tired mamas. For hard-working daddy's and over-extended schedules. I pray that you shed light in dark places and help us to fix our eyes on you when chaos swirls around us.

I pray you quiet the noise of the world so we can hear you. That you help us to believe the things we say about you, not just for others but for ourselves. I pray that you help us to forgive ourselves for our mistakes, as you forgive us. That we can learn to walk in your truth and freedom, no matter what life circumstance surrounds us. I pray that when we feel lost, you hold us close so we feel your heart. And that when we lose sight of our path, you remind us we can never be lost from you.

Lord, your people are hurting. We are struggling. We are suffering. And you see it all. You've gone before us and you'll go after us, and we know that there is nothing too far for your hand to reach. Thank you for your grace and your redemption. Thank you that no matter what, your love never fails. Help us to live in these truths and to stand firm against the enemy. Thank you that you are always fighting for us and interceding on our behalf.

I lift each and every person reading this up to you. Cover them. Wrap them up. Heal them. Comfort them. Strengthen them. Radiate your love in and through them.

In your holy and mighty name, Amen."

You are loved, you are lifted in prayer, and you are covered by grace.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post A prayer for when your heart is broken appeared first on FamilyToday.

The other day, walking back to my van after the sad goodbyes at daycare, I flashed my distraught boys the "I love you" sign as I do each morning before I leave. I blew them kisses and said, "I love you!" for the 57th time that morning and got ready to pull away.

My twins had their sweet faces pressed against the glass with tears streaming down their cheeks and they flashed the sign back to me. In between sad snivels and breathless blubbers, they mouthed, "I love you too" through the glass.

And just as it does every morning, my heart broke. No matter how chaotic and painful the morning was, that moment is always a tough one.

This particular morning, another mom was walking her son in as she watched this sad exchange between me and my boys. She gave me that empathetic smile every parent knows. The one that says, "I feel your pain. Me too." She looked at my sons in the window who resembled dejected puppies and then back at me and she said, "It's so hard, isn't it?"

And that was the moment.

The moment I hope to create through many of the words I say in my posts. The moment I think we all need at least once a day from one another. The moment where you know that someone else gets it and understands that what we are doing, no matter what it is, is hard.

Because she was right.

It's so hard, isn't it!

Not just the sad goodbyes at daycare, but life. Life is just hard sometimes. Actually, it's hard all the time. Sometimes we are a little stronger so it feels less difficult; but it's always hard.

It's hard for all of us.

I looked at my sons this morning just before I walked out the door, and just as I do every morning, I saw bravery.

Each day the routine looks the same. I bring Luke to his classroom and kiss him goodbye. Then I walk Connor and Ethan to their room. I crouch down and hug them both so tight - like it's the last hug they'll ever get. I look into their eyes and I say, "I love you so much! Have a great day. I'll see you in just a little while. I love you." Then I kiss their sweet cheeks, squeeze them again and tell them to go over to the window so I can tell them "I love you" again with our sign.

They stiffen up and take some breaths. Sometimes they both dissolve into tears. But lately, they seem to try to hold it together better just before I leave.

They walk toward the window and I walk away. They turn their heads back to watch me as I wave and blow more kisses just before opening the door. Their lower lips quiver and they wave the bravest waves I've ever seen.

And then, even though they're falling apart, they turn to the window to give me the "I love you" sign before I leave.

Lately, when I look at them just before pulling away I think, "They are so brave."

Now it may not look like they're being all that brave as they melt into puddles of tears on the floor. In the beginning, when they screamed like a tiger was running toward them every day, "brave" probably wasn't the word most people would have chosen for that display.

But when I look at them and realize what it is that's happening inside of them and how they're handling themselves now, I see brave. And I realize they are doing the exact same thing at age 3 that we all have to do throughout our whole lives.

We have to do things we don't want to do. We have to do things we think we can't do. We have to stand there facing all our greatest fears, and we have to do it anyway.

And it's so hard, isn't it?

Life isn't easy.

From the moment we take our first breath until we take our very last, we are fighting hard battles.

As we grow and mature, we gain perspective. We realize some of the things we thought were so hard really weren't so bad after all.

Sometimes we look back and realize it was every bit as hard as we thought it was and we're just grateful we made it out alive.

Some things never get easy.

But whether you are 3, 30 or 93, sometimes all you need is someone else to look at you and say, "It's so hard, isn't it?"

Someone to pause with you. Someone to see you. Someone to acknowledge your effort, your pain, your struggle and say, "Me too."

We're all fighting hard battles.

Our 3 year olds are fighting battles every day that to them, feel all encompassing; just as our adult battles feel all encompassing to us.

Sometimes we forget to see each other because we're so focused on our own stuff. Sometimes we forget to acknowledge our children's battles because we are too busy fighting our own. Sometimes, we don't even recognize our own stuff because we are too consumed by everything else.

So just take a deep breath. Look around. Make eye contact with each other.

Life is happening for all of us. And it's so hard, isn't it?

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post Why is life so hard? appeared first on FamilyToday.

Over this past year as I have navigated the scary territory of co-parenting with a difficult at best, impossible at worst ex, I have learned a few things. It never gets easy because wrapped up in the dysfunction of the current situation is the love that lead us here. It may not ever be easy, but there are ways to make it more tolerable for everyone. Sometimes we nail it. Many times we struggle. But it's getting better.

No situation is the same and there are many unknown variables in every relationship; but generally, I believe these things can help make a difficult situation slightly more manageable. When I do these things, life is smoother.

1. Remember that love does not and cannot always equal marriage

I loved my husband, and I believe to the best of his ability, he loved me too. There is still love between us. But as much as I wanted love to be enough, it simply isn't. Accompanying love, there must be trust, mutual respect, and partnership. There must be shared values and mutual goals. And there must be two people, endlessly committed to each other above themselves.

When there are still feelings of love involved, the water can get muddied and it becomes harder to be sure you're doing the right thing. But simply loving someone does not mean you can sustain a life together. There's a reason it didn't work. Trust it.

2. They're not your friend

Over the course of my relationship with my husband, I realized that he was not the friend I hoped he'd be for me. A friend is someone you can confide in and trust with your heart. With your whole self. Although I wanted it to be him, that person for me was not my husband unfortunately.

Nonetheless, after so many years with someone, creating a family and a life; even if the relationship is less than healthy, your spouse is your person. When you go through a divorce, you lose all of that. Not only is your spouse no longer your person, but in many cases they are the exact opposite.

It can be easy, especially with things surrounding your children, to think you can be friends and partners again. Don't take the bait. While you can and should be friendly to each other whenever possible, your ex should not be your go to person when you need to talk, are feeling lonely, or want some advice. Maybe they were that person before, but it's time to find a new one (and I don't mean a new relationship).

3. Don't use them as a punching bag

While it's easy to fall into the friend trap, it's even easier to fall into the enemy trap. After all, there's a reason the divorce is happening and most likely, there are some ill feelings. Even if you've been able to forgive the past, there may be behaviors happening in the present that make it difficult to treat your ex with dignity and respect.

But they are not yours to punch. It's not useful, productive or appropriate to use your ex as your own personal stress reliever. While they may deserve whatever hostility you're holding, it's not fair, or smart, to unleash on them. (In fact, if you did this before, it may have contributed to where you are now, just sayin'.)

Your main goal is to be as healthy together as you can for your children, if at all possible. In some cases, it's not possible. But if it is, using each other as personal punching bags is not going to help anyone. So put down your dukes and hit the gym instead.

4. Apologize when necessary

Inevitably, there will be times where you will take things out on your spouse. Maybe rightfully so. When this happens, simply apologize. It can be very hard to swallow your pride and apologize to the one person who likely has hurt you most in life, and who probably owes you a lot of apologies you'll never get. But, this is an opportunity to take the high road and be the bigger person. Rise above your circumstances, your stress and your pain, and apologize if you make a mistake. Your children are watching.

5. Keep the conversations strictly about the kids

As referenced in number 2, you're really not friends anymore. If you and your ex get along, it can be tempting to talk about other things and enjoy each other's company if you're bored or lonely. But is that smart? It's definitely not in my case. If it is in yours, more power to you, but think before you travel that road. In my experience, it always ends in smoke.

6. Stay focused on reality, not the dream

This one has been a hard one for me. Because I so desperately wanted to believe my husband could be the man I always wanted him to be, I held onto the dream and chased after it every time he showed signs of it being possible. Inevitably, I am always slapped across the face by reality a few days later. So to avoid that sting, just stay focused on reality. Reality may be painful, but it's much less painful than the dream whiplash.

7. Always keep the best interest of the kids your priority, whatever that may mean

Each situation has different details, but the one thing that is the same no matter what, is that what's best for the children should always take precedence. Put your guns down, your pride away, and your hurt aside and do what's best for them. But also, fight if need be. Do whatever is best for your babies, even if that means going against what other people think you should be doing.

8. Focus on yourself and what you're doing, not them and what they're doing "¦ unless it affects your kids.

With an alcoholic ex, it's very hard to not get wrapped up in his behaviors. But I have learned that unless he is with my sons or his behavior is directly affecting them, not only is there nothing I can do about it, legally or otherwise; it's none of my business. He's no longer mine to worry about. So I have to let go of him and focus on myself. It's the only way to survive. (It's hard though!)

9. Release your need for total control

Remember the little ditty "sharing is caring?" It applies here. It's the hardest thing in the world to share your kids, the most valuable thing you love, with the one person in the world who likely shattered your heart the most. But you might not get any other options. So when your children are with your spouse, release the reigns. You can't control it anyway, so don't frustrate yourself by trying. They'll survive and so will you, and when you get them back, you can do things your way.

10. Don't allow the edges of your broken heart to stab others, especially your children

Divorce is painful all around. But don't allow your hurt, anger and pain to begin affecting the way you treat others, especially your kids. They need you most now. They need you fully present and whole. So do the work on yourself to give that, both to them and yourself. The more you heal, the better you'll be for everyone.

What has helped you deal with the difficult relationships in your life?

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been republished here with permission.

The post 10 ways to better deal with a difficult ex appeared first on FamilyToday.

I've seen my mom cry twice in my whole life. Once when I was in 6th grade and I hugged my best friend goodbye for the last time before we moved away. And once at my brother's funeral six years ago.

That's it.

It always confused me. I'm a really emotional person and I used to cry All. The. Time. I could not wrap my brain around how my mom never shed even one tear. Especially given the infinite number of reasons she had to cry over the years. I always joke that she's allergic to tears. And I still think it's true to some degree.

But life as a mom, although it's only been 3 years of it, has shown me a different perspective. Since becoming a member of the mom tribe, I've begun to learn and understand the inside scoop of how it all works.

Several days ago, I cried in front of my sons for the first time. They didn't really see it though. I was driving and they were in the back seat.

I've never consciously tried to not let my sons see me cry. I don't feel the need to always be brave and strong and tear-free in front of them. In fact, quite the opposite. It's important to me that my boys see crying and feelings are OK and that there's nothing weak about tears.

Why then, have they never seen me cry? Why don't moms, at least in my experience of moms, cry in front of their babies much?

I think part of it is that if we really allowed ourselves to give into all the emotion we feel and experience on a constant basis, we might not ever stop crying.

Motherhood is a continuous pouring out of all that we are and all that we have to give. We feel everything. Much more than I ever thought possible.

We carry our babies in our bodies, literally, and then after we give birth to them, we carry them in our hearts forever. We know every mark on them. Every facial expression and quirky behavior. We've kissed every boo boo and caught every tear. We've watched them grow, day by day. We've cheered and encouraged and loved with everything in us.

All their successes, all their failures. It's all wrapped up in us. And we carry it all.

My tears have changed since becoming a mom. I still cry. A lot. I ugly cry during Minute Maid commercials, and I come completely unglued with all the mom sentiments that tell us we are the best thing that ever happened to our babies and we are doing a better job than we think.

But I don't cry like I used to. I've really become much tougher than I ever imagined I'd be. But I do cry when my heart is so overloaded that it can't possibly hold anything else and the tears have nowhere else to go.

I think that must be what all moms do.

We have to be strong for our babies, so when we are in front of them, our tears are tucked away. Not because crying is weak, but because they need us to be their strong force. And we are.

For many years I thought my mom just didn't have tear ducts or something. Or maybe she was stronger than me. That last part is probably true. But I've decided, moms do cry.

We cry real tears in the quiet of the night after we've put everyone in bed and the exhaustion of the day hits us all at once. We cry in our cars after we leave our babies with someone else so we can go to work. We cry in the bathroom at our jobs when we get a phone call about one of our children struggling throughout the day without us. We get teary eyed when our babies talk about getting bigger. When they get hurt, we are braver than we've ever been; but then, once we know they're OK and no one is looking, we cry.

Even though our kids may not see us cry all the time, and even though we remain strong and tear-free in front of them most of the time, we cry with them through our hugs. We cry for them through our supportive words and encouraging speeches. We cry happy tears for them through our cheers at the stadium and our celebrations over even the smallest accomplishments.

Our tears are in our effort. Our tears are in our kiss. Our embrace. Our "Goodnights" and "I love you's." They're in our bedtime stories and our night time routines. They're in the clean up and the organizing. They're in the phone calls and schedules and appointments. Our tears are in every dinner, every packed lunch and every school meeting. They're in every "How was your day?" and "I'm right here baby." They're in every celebration and every defeat. They're in every enforced rule and uncrossed boundary. Every thought throughout the day and every carefully planned move we make.

Our tears surround our children and are carried in the strength of our love. They're carried in our prayers and our moments of weakness and self doubt.

Moms don't have time to cry very often. But out of the overflow of our hearts, our tears are everywhere.

And they never stop.

I may have only seen my mom's tears twice, but I know they've been present through everything. Because her love for her children spills out from her heart and into everything she does. Just like all moms.

My mom's tears have covered me my whole life, and they always will. And now, my tears cover my boys, just as yours cover your children. They may not see it because there's not much time for tears; but oh, they feel it.

And now I know, moms do cry.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Three Boys and a Mom. It has been modified and republished here with permission.

The post Why many moms don’t cry appeared first on FamilyToday.

"Are you coming with us to church?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I can't stand you. Who wants to live like this?!?"

Just as I'd done the many weekends before, I gathered my three boys and without another word drove to my safe haven.

I strapped my newborn onto my chest so I had free arms for the other two; side straddled the diaper bag and shoved my Bible into the front of it. Like a warrior preparing for battle, I dug down into the depths of my guts and pulled out the bravest smile I could find.

And He held me

I wrapped my arms around my babies like my life depended on it knowing that pretty soon, we'd really be on our own.

I'd had that realization before, but this time there was an unexplainable sense of peace that entered my shaky bones.

With each step as I approached the nursery, I felt stronger. I knew that the end was coming soon and God was paving the way for me to get out.

I walked into the cool stillness of that room and God's arms wrapped around me just as mine had been wrapped around my sons minutes earlier.

I stood in that church - the literal sanctuary of my heart. Alone. Riddled with fear. Searching for answers.

And He held me

The knowledge that there was a plan for my life was so strong I could taste it. I knew my marriage was ending, but in that moment, I also knew life was about to really begin.

The band started to play and with each beat of the drum I felt another ounce of fear drain from my body.

Tears welled up in my eyes and as I sang, my heart poured out. I lifted my arms with complete abandon. Unafraid, unashamed, unreserved.

Unbroken.

I had always been reserved in my praise. I worshipped with my whole heart and soul, but not so much my arms. That night, with my eyes closed and my arms opened, I didn't even feel like it was me lifting my limbs. Like a child reaches for his mother, I reached for God.

And He held me

With hopeful energy I sang. Heart aching, but held. Fear-stricken, but at peace.

Each song we sang felt like it had been hand selected just for me. As I sang to the heavens, He echoed back to me.

I was safe.

I gave my heart to God.

I trusted him without reservation.

I asked him to guide my every step because I had no idea what I was doing.

And He held me

I continued to sing, wrapped in the arms of my Father, assured that although I felt like an exposed nerve walking around in the world, God would cover me. He would heal my wounds and ease my burden. He would pave the way and direct my steps.

The next year was one of the hardest of my life. But the one thing I knew for sure all along was that I was walking the right path and that I wasn't doing it alone.

When I couldn't see, He was my eyes. When I couldn't sleep, He was my rest. When I couldn't breathe, He was my air. When I felt alone, He was my comfort. When I felt afraid, He was my peace. When I felt angry, He was my forgiveness. When I couldn't take another step, He was my legs. When I was weak, He was my strength.

I kept my eyes fixed on the things above.

I looked ahead with hope.

No matter what, He held me.

And He's holding you too.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Rachael Boley's blog, Three Boys and a Mom. It has been modified and republished here with permission.

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