We will adapt.

And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

“Fools” said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence.” The Sound of Silence- Simon and Garfunkle

I learned that sometimes the most powerful light we can shine is our own story.

So it’s been a while. I apologize. I’ve been going through a rough period of mixed ups and downs which pretty much means I’m very unhappy and should just go hide in my Twenty One Pilots lair till it passes. (I don’t really have a Twenty One Pilots lair, though that would be AMAZING.) I havent had an episode like this for years but I knew it was coming. You know how I knew? The Holy Spirit warned me and about five Spirit led men and women said: “Put your armor on Chelsea. You allow God to heal you and give purpose to your sorrow, the enemy’s going to throw EVERYTHING hes got at you. And I put my game face on.

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I want everyone that reads this to take at least one lesson away from it all:

I MESSED UP. I LIED.

Something I haven’t mentioned is that on the fateful day that I went and saw the evil lactation consultant, my midwife just happened to walk by my door. She was walking to another room but she didn’t have to take that path. She didn’t stop she didn’t stick her head in but she did hear me crying. The next day was a Saturday and I got a phone call and it was “Rachel.” “Rachel” had called me from her home on a weekend because she had seen the signs and was worried about me. She asked me miraculously, “Can I please help you?”

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This was my chance. I was sitting in front of a psychiatrist and he was asking me about my symptoms.

“Im just am so anxious I cant even talk or breathe! I’ve murdered my marraige!” I ranted.

“Are you having any strange, repetitive thoughts? Are you seeing things, hearing things or feeling things that aren’t there? Are you having suicidal or homicidal thoughts?

Constantly…

“N-No.” I lied immediately.

The tired Psychiatrist scribbled on his pad of paper.

“What exactly does “murder your marriage”mean?” his eyes narrowed.

I started to cry. “I destroyed us… He’ll never forgive me….”

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The Psychiatrist diagnosed me with postpartum anxiety and sent me home with an antipsychotic medication which seemed a little extreme given the category of med except that it wasn’t and it wasn’t nearly enough. See, because I didn’t tell him, he didn’t know that I needed to check in to the hospital right then and be put on lithium, antidepressants and high doses of antipsychotics until I was well again. And I would’ve gotten well again if I had just told the truth. It probably would have taken a few weeks. But I didn’t and because of my dishonesty multiple doctors (NOT THE RIGHT KIND) attempted to play God with the newest meds on the market and used off label treatment options though they were unsure of what was truly wrong with me and overloaded me with meds that never should be taken together. Now I have two movement disorders and my arms, my hands, my neck, my jaw and my legs, don’t work right.

I will admit –It makes me sad/mad…but I’m partially to blame…because I trusted in my street smarts over honesty. I didn’t give up control to my Creator…but He had his hands on the wheel the whole time. This is God’s will for my life. if I wake up and have to spend the rest of my days in a wheelchair, I am so blessed; TWO beautiful children and a wonderful husband not to mention all the other blessings that I can’t begin to list… So please stop telling me to stop telling my story because you’re tired of it, or because it makes you uncomfortable. I’m trying to accept it with Grace. I used to climb mountains and explore caves but now I have to ride in a wheelchair to go to an amusement Park and it’s hard. It’s painful, embarrassing and humiliating to feel like a burden but still, I feel this was my destiny.

Please stop telling me to stop telling my story. Please stop telling me it’s all about me or that I just want attention. I want to help you. You know who you are. If you and me were brought together and all that could be heard was the sound of silence, what a tragedy that would be.