healing

Seasons of Change

/ Nicole Bartell / Leave a comment

(Trigger warning: mentions of suicide)

This morning, the thermometer said 67 degrees. That was a call I could not ignore. I made my coffee, threw on a long-sleeved tee (not quite cold enough for a sweater yet, unfortunately), and made my way outside to my Adirondack rocker. The squirrels seemed even busier than usual, scurrying in the trees. I imagined them frantically preparing for this sudden change of weather. The birds were singing, my chimes were ringing in the breeze, and I sat and rocked thinking about the change of seasons.

Change used to terrify me. In January of 2011, I was looking back at a year that had shifted my life drastically. I had lost a group of people I had considered “family” for over ten years, and everything I thought I knew and believed was torn down to the foundation of Jesus. I did not yet see that as the perfect place to be. I just felt insecure, unsteady, and lost. That January was the first year I asked Dad for a word to represent what was ahead. His answer: “Change.” I was not happy with that response. I didn’t like change to begin with, but I truly felt I had just gone through enough to last me a lifetime. I begged Him for another word, but “Change” was the one on repeat.

That year, my mom’s house burned down, causing her to move away from me for almost two years. Now I can see that I felt abandoned by her again but at the time, I just felt lost. I started counseling that summer, and a whole flood of emotions I had been burying for decades overwhelmed me, and my counselor moved away before I could even begin to process all I was feeling. Feeling abandoned by a second person, I shut down rather than pursue getting more help. I felt tossed around by life, and I made an agreement that I did NOT like change.

As I pondered all that this morning, I thought about all the seasons that have come since. That year, as difficult as it was, brought the very first steps I ever took toward recovery. I wouldn’t actually pursue “recovery” for another seven years, but I took that first step. Every journey begins with one step. The years after 2011 brought even more change:

  • My sister-in-law taking her life in 2013 led me to go on antidepressants because I didn’t want to do the same thing to my son.
  • A severe car accident in 2014 irrevocably changed my son’s life, health, and personality as well as the dynamics of our family.

  • I started Celebrate Recovery in 2018, thinking I was going to get help with a pornography addiction I had struggled with since I was twelve only to find it was just a coping mechanism to avoid all the pain I had suppressed for most of my life.
  • I found a new family at CR, one that taught me that I was enough just as I am, that I didn’t have to perform to be accepted or loved.
  • I lost my mom in 2021 from a massive stroke.
  • I participated in starting a CR in our home church only to have the internal pressure to perform perfectly, along with the cracks it revealed in my marriage, cause us to close a year and a half later. I felt like a failure.
  • My precious aunt, whom I had cared for after my mom died, died only three years later.
  • My only child moved out on his own, shifting my role again. Who was I supposed to be now?
  • Before I could even begin to process that question, I was shot, and my whole life turned upside down.

Seeing it all written down here, I realize why I was so resistant to change in the past. Change meant I was out of control. I felt insecure when things happened that I wasn’t expecting or situations that altered the trajectory of my life. I had spent my entire life, from a very young age, just trying to feel safe in a world that offered less and less of it. Then, when I was shot, I realized I will never be truly safe in this life. That was probably the most unsettling realization of all. If there is no safety, what is the point? I went through a month or so where I just really wanted to go home … to go be with Jesus, where I would be safe forever. But it wasn’t time for that, so what should I do now that I know there is no true safety in this world? I find it in the only place there is to find it. I find safety in knowing who I am and WHOSE I am because that can never be taken away.

Hindsight allows me to see that those drastic seasons of change in my life, as difficult and painful as they were, also brought greater and greater freedom, love, assurance, and hope I could not have imagined at the time. Now, I renounce that agreement I made about hating change and remind myself of what it has brought into my life. I can see the faithfulness of my Dad who promised that He would work everything out for my good in His time. I am recording these things in my Book of Remembrance so that I have it at my fingertips. I don’t have to struggle to remember when the next wind of change blows and I feel tossed. I can pick up my book and look through my personal “stones” of remembrance that remind me that Dad is the same as He has always been. He is unchanging. And He is the same God who was there for me in the past, is still with me in the present, and will be there in the future.

“The LORD is my light and my salvation – whom should I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life – whom should I dread? When evildoers came against me to devour my flesh, my foes and my enemies stumbled and fell. Though an army deploys against me, my heart will not be afraid; though a war breaks out against me, I will still be confident. I have asked one thing from the LORD; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the LORD and seeking Him in His temple. For He will conceal me in His shelter in the day of adversity; He will hide me under the cover of His tent; He will set me high on a rock. Then my head will be high above my enemies around me; I will offer sacrifices in His tent with shouts of joy. I will sing and make music to the LORD. LORD, hear my voice when I call; be gracious to me and answer me. My heart says this about You: “Seek His face.” LORD, I will seek Your face. Do not hide Your face from me; do not turn Your servant away in anger. You have been my helper; do not leave me or abandon me, God of my salvation. Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD cares for me. Because of my adversaries, show me Your way, LORD, and lead me on a level path. Do not give me over to the will of my foes, for false witnesses rise up against me, breathing violence. I am certain that I will see the LORD’s goodness in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart be courageous. Wait for the LORD.” (Psalm 27 CSB)

Growing Pains

/ Nicole Bartell / Leave a comment

When children are little, the days seem consumed by cooking, cleaning, playing, snuggling, managing, redirecting attention, and discipline. They are exhausting, and the parent wonders if they will ever end. But, the joy of watching that little person grow and mature, try new things, embrace new hobbies and passions, even test the waters and limits of what they are allowed to do…though it was hard to see in the midst of it, those were great times. I missed some of it because of deep depression. I contributed to some of the angst and pain because I was too harsh in his early years. But Father was so very faithful. He showed me the mistakes I was making and gave me the courage and the determination to do whatever it took to change, even face the pain of my own past. We’ve weathered some pretty hard storms, my boy and me. And we have come out the other side with a relationship that is priceless, and that I would not trade all the money in the world for.

When my son was 16, Father laid on my heart that I needed to start letting him go, needed to start letting him make some of his own important decisions, so he could learn to do so while still under our care and support. As hard as it was as a control-freak who was not yet in recovery, I began to slowly loosen my hold and let him go. To be a Hannah and let her Samuel go (there’s a story behind that reference that is for another time). He made some mistakes, but for the most part, he was incredibly mature. It is hard to not be mature having gone through all he had at such a young age. He has made so many wise decisions. And I have rejoiced as he learned the very hard lessons of being consistent to take his anti-seizure medication without reminders, especially as the day came this year for him to finally be able to drive, three years after his peers. We were overjoyed in his success.

Then came the inevitable. The term “empty nest” is such a trite thing to me. I mean, birds have such a short time, and they push their children out of the nest. I know that what is best for him is to encourage him to take those hard steps, to risk pursuing those big dreams, to strike out on his own adventure, and I am trying to do that consistently while also grieving the fact that those choices are taking him further and further away from me. I know that is a good thing. I know it is important, necessary even. But knowing those things to be true does not make my sadness at his absence any easier. I stayed home with him. I homeschooled him. I have spent the majority of every day of his almost 20 years with him. His absence now leaves a big hole. I am thankful that when Father led me to start giving him some independence when he was 16, He also led me to start pursuing my own interests outside of him. I am so glad He did. I don’t know how I would be now if I hadn’t started recovery, if my entire world still revolved solely around my boy. Thankfully, it doesn’t. I have grown, just as he has. I am embracing new challenges and experiences. I have grown and matured and healed in so many ways. I have discovered new hobbies and passions. I am growing. And this is just another part of that. It is GOOD! And it hurts.

So, I am allowing myself to grieve the changes. I am allowing myself to feel sad as my husband and I eat dinner without our son sitting there at the table with us. I am allowing myself to feel the loss as I am in the house alone working on the new things I am learning to do as he heads off to learn new things. And I am also being intentional about being grateful. Grateful for the time I’ve had with him. Grateful for the man he is becoming who is chasing hard after God’s heart. Grateful that he is still walking this earth, even with a disability because he has a medicine that works well. Grateful that he has been able to overcome SO MUCH and is finding healing at such a young age. Grateful that I get to watch this beautiful young man stretch and grow and become everything I’ve always known he could be. Grateful that I got chosen to be his mom, and I always will be. Grateful that we are both growing, even as we grow in different directions.