In 2016, I had the hardest year of my life, to this point. It was our 5th year of farming, in a largely hands-in-the-dirt, non-mechanized, farm start-up-in-a-fallow-field kind of environment. We had experienced meteoric growth in our farm business, and had said yes, yes, yes to every new opportunity and sacrificed sleep and self-care in spades to keep growing. We were literally ALL in. 

We reached the point where we bought our own (distressed, fallow, broken-infrastructure, unlivable) farm in January, 2016, and embarked on a season of rebuilding the farmhouse, moving our family, our perennials, farm equipment and animals while still operating and expanding our farm business. It was, to put it mildly, a LOT. Throw in two separate failed business partner relationships that summer, homeschooling, trying to insulate our kids from the relocation stress, increasing health issues for me (because, duh! I was falling apart from all the stress!), and my crushing, unhealthy #type3 compulsion to project/pretend to everyone that it was ALL OK, and you have the perfect ingredients for a major implosion. And that’s exactly what happened. 

Have you ever gotten sick on a well-deserved and long-awaited vacation, or reached a milestone you sacrificed and worked desperately hard for only to “fall apart” physically? When we were finally all moved away to the new farm, and the first frost came, and the busy pace of the season turned to the calmer pace of fall clean up, when we were still camping beside our in-progress remodel but at least we were all in one spot, and we had established new markets and had an awesome plan for the next season, when everything started to feel handle-able again… I fell apart. I had no ability to control my racing thoughts. Daily I could. not. breathe. and would find myself curled into a corner trying to pull myself together. I developed a rash on my torso and did all kinds of allergy skin testing with a dermatologist, had heart arrhythmias so bad that I went to a cardiologist and wore a monitor for weeks while they tried to figure out what was wrong. 

I could not sleep because of the itching. I couldn’t work hard because of my heart feeling like it would burst out of my chest. I spent more and more of each day in bed (when I wasn’t homeschooling), and even when we moved into our fresh, new home I couldn’t make myself “nest” or unpack. Everything looked impossible and bleak and I was at the end of myself. I even began to question my faith in God, which had always been a very significant part of my life.
Have you been there, friend? At the end of yourself? I’ve read enough now, and talked with enough blessedly transparent women that I know I’m not unique. But in those moments, I felt so entirely alone. Today, before I even share how I by grace walked out of that pit, I just want to tell you: you are not alone. Others have walked a similarly dark road. I have walked it, and maybe my story can encourage you.

Psalm 40:1-3 “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit… He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord.”

{Photo by @kianalindsey}