I woke up to an empty(ish) house for the second morning today. My five-month-old son and two pups are here, all three sleeping peacefully while a light rain hits the roof.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

I exhale air from the base of my lungs that likely entered my body many months ago. The realization of its exit is both refreshing and torturing. Only now, in this stillness, can I feel how wound up my body has been.

I keep glancing outside to take in the scenery. An even thin layer of clouds covers the sky, filtering the harsh sunlight of the last few days. It provides a gentle grey backdrop contrasted with bright green grass, fresh from the rain. It’s an atmosphere my soul resonates with.

My favorite “chill” album plays in the background while I sip my bougie single-origin cup of Ethiopian coffee. The last time I played it on repeat like this was a few years ago when I escaped to Maine on a solo trip. I had needed a brief getaway from day-to-day life that had become nearly unmanageable.

The trip came a little over a year after our first son joined our home. Becoming a mom for the first time to a kid with seven years of life already under his belt wasn’t as glorious as Instagram made it look. My heart was fully swooned by him – yet that didn’t erase the trauma of his past or present circumstances – trauma that would soon bring unexplored traumas to the surface for my husband and me.

Disclaimer: This blog is not a dramatic cry for help for myself personally – I’m okay. This is written on behalf of all adoptive moms going through tough seasons. It certainly does not apply to every adopted child and adopted mom or every season. My only goal is to help other adoptive mothers in the thick of it not feel so alone, and moreso, to help their friends get one step closer to caring for them. I have many friends who have adopted and need support from those closest to them, and we don’t know how to tell you that. This blog is my attempt to raise their voices (not just mine). This is OUR cry for help.

We know the reasons they hate us.

They were abandoned. They were abused. They were lied to. They weren’t fed. They weren’t loved.

They were thrown away like a piece of trash. Over and over again.

They have EVERY. FRICKIN. REASON to hate us – to not trust us.

Life. Can. Suck.

Sure, it can be great too. But there’s no denying its suckiness at times.

Last year, Brandon and I started planning the kid-free, work-free trip of our dreams to Hawaii for our 5th anniversary and my 30th. We were already exhausted with the business and the whole becoming-parents-overnight thing.

Real talk: while you wouldn’t have seen it on Instagram, I truly felt like I was hanging on by a thread most days.

Lately, I’ve been longing to go back to place I haven’t been in a long time. I don’t remember the town, I don’t remember the name of the camp, and I don’t even really remember my age at the time. I was young – probably early high school, on some sort of church retreat. It was a weekend full of rest in the Lord and sitting face to face with His truth. I woke up early one morning, before the rest of the campers and I went and sat on a concrete stair outside of my cabin with my Bible. The sun was dawning, the grass was dewy, birds were chirping and the fog was settled around the camp.

And Jesus. Just Jesus. So clearly.

Jesus was there other days. But this morning was special. The position of my heart was ready to receive, and everything else was quiet – which made Him loud.

My dog, Izzy, sure is cute, but she isn’t the brightest pup in the land.

So when she saw a skunk at 11 p.m. last night, she decided it wanted to play.

Three peroxide, Dawn and baking soda bath’s later I’m pretty sure she regrets that decision.

Well, I’d like to think that, but let’s be honest- if given the chance, she’d probably go back for round two.

Want to know what is even better about my dog getting skunked? I didn’t realize she was sprayed until she had been in the house 10 minutes. When the putrid smell filled my nostrils after letting her in, I instead spent my time trying to figure out if the tenants upstairs were using Nair on their hairy man legs.

That gave Izzy plenty of time to lay on two couches, two rugs and the carpet in the guest room.

Thanks, Izzy.

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