it’s been a while

Hi there, remember me? I used to blog in this space. I used to write about our everyday happenings, new recipes I was loving, big things I was feeling. And then I stopped.

I found that I couldn’t really tell you everything I was feeling, or everything that was going on — I could never really be one-hundred-percent honest. So what was the point of writing? And why did I feel like that?

Because I’m a missionary; and I can’t ever share the hard things.

This is a good post by A Life Overseas that explains this feeling a little more in-depth.

There is a certain pressure that comes with being a missionary, that is unique to anything else. It is immediate, immense, and heavy. It is the pressure of having everything you do/buy/say/drink/go/post/wear being put under a microscope; the fear of being judged as frivolous, or wasteful, or somehow lacking, or even of losing support altogether.

And so like a good missionary, I hid those things from you, because I was afraid. I explained my lack of blogging depth by telling you we were busy, that life was moving quickly, and that there was a lot going on. All of those things were true, I’ve never lied to you here – they just weren’t the whole picture.

I didn’t tell you the hard things; that there were personnel issues going on that were seriously stressing us out. I didn’t tell you that we lost a friend, unexpectedly and traumatically. I didn’t tell you how hard it was to be in America, uncomfortable and out of place. I didn’t tell you about the deep struggle with the baby blues and anxiety. I didn’t tell you that you needed more than we could give. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to sound ungrateful or unfeeling, but mostly, because I was afraid that you would judge me and find me lacking.

Likewise, I didn’t tell you the good things either. Like that we won three different professional photo shoots. I didn’t tell you that we ate take out a lot, especially after Lucy Mae came along, and it was so good. I didn’t tell you that I went to Target several times a week, just to look at pretty things, drink Starbucks, wearing my baby with my mom bun and leggings, and pretend that I was a normal American mom. I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid that you would judge me and find me frivolous or wasteful.

I hope you can understand, and I hope that you can forgive me for hiding my heart from you. And I hope that you stick around to keep reading, because I’m ready to come back and share about our lives again. I want my daughter to grow up to be brave, and I can only teach her that by being brave myself. So I’m ready to share; the big and the small; the good and the bad.