I wrote the date today … It’s been 2 months

I wrote the date today. It is 4/2/14. 2 months after your heart stopped beating and your lungs quit drawing breath.

When I wrote the date I took a deep breath and remembered when I picked up the phone early on that February morning. I knew when I saw Michaels name on the caller id I would be receiving bad news. Why would he call at 6 am? 6:03 to be exact. I heard sobbing and his scared little voice tell me that you died as he burst back in to tears. I don’t recall much in the next few minutes except a sinking ache on my stomach.

An ache that reminded me how I wanted to call you. How I wanted you to be ok. How I wanted to know that you were at your apartment on Vindicator Dr breathing. But you weren’t. You had left us.

Your beautiful soul was too great for this world to contain any longer so you had to leave. And you did.

And I miss you. 2 months and I wish you could come back and see me. See the kids running and playing. India, trying to eat worms. You would like her. And she would like you.

The little moments

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These moments. The ones where you are still. And peaceful. When I can smell the top of your head. I can smell the mixture of adventure, passion, sweat and love as you sink in to me and fall asleep.

It doesn’t happen as often now that you’re getting older. But I enjoy it just as much. It reminds me why I’m making the hard choices to live a life of integrity now.

You. You were the spark in that fire. For you to be the best Print I had to be the best me.

It is in those moments that I am reminded of at. As I smell your sweet scent and feel your soft skin and listen to your breathing. I soak it in as a reminder and a recharge to say that I am doing the right thing. That I’m on the right path.

Permission

An exercise for Story 101 with The Story Unfolding on giving yourself permission…

You have permission to process in the public. You have the permission to air all of the dirty laundry, the flaws, the hurts and every thing you hid for years. You have permission to be in the light. As the sun rises and softly lights each thing in the world you have the permission to let your voice rise and share all of the dark and hidden things that have been in hiding. It is time for you to open the dark spaces and let light in. You have permission to take the messy out and try and make some sense of order within it.

You have permission to hurt and to bleed on the pages of this blog. You have permission to say fuck off to anyone that is aggressive or is scared of your process. You have permission to hurt and to share your side of the story knowing that everyone has their own side but you are not responsible for it. You are only responsible for having integrity and owning your experience, your life and your voice.

Your experience was real. It is real. You have the permission to embrace the beauty, messy and every little thing that can come with all of that.

For so long you operated under someone elses voice. You became a poster child for a church, for a faith, for a religion that you didn’t always agree with. There were basic parts that you attached to, and still do, but for a big portion of your time in fundamentalism you took on the voice you knew you needed to. You had influence. You were a leader and you let yourself say what needed to be said, and not what should have been said.

You have permission to accept all that is within you. Your voice. Not the voice of christians. Not the voice of the LGBTQ community. Not the voice of your employer. Not the voice of a young mom. None of those titles are on you. You are Lynse Leanne. Simple and raw. Whatever muse or whatever side of you that comes out is valid. Listen to that voice. Hear it out and run with it.

You have permission for this space to be for you. For what you need to share.

 

 

 

The things I wish I could tell you…

My mom passed away February 2nd, 2014. It was somewhat sudden. This is a list of things I wish I could tell her now that almost 2 months has passed by.

India learned to walk the day you passed. I like to think that you helped her.

She is a lot like you. She looks like you. Especially when she smiles. And that makes me smile.

I’m mad at you for not taking care of you.

I’m mad at you for not sharing how bad things really were.

I’m sad that you never loved yourself.

I’m sad that you never saw all of the beautiful and wonderful people around who love(d) you and would move mountains to see you again.

I’m sad you will never get to see your grand kids do amazing things.

I’m sad I’ll never get to send you first day of school pictures, graduation announcements, wedding invitations and birth announcements. You’ll miss it all.

I’m sad you’ll never get to see Mike (my brother) well. One day he will be ok and get married and have kids. You’ll miss that too.

I’m sorry I wasn’t around more.

I’m sorry I didn’t see how bad it was.

I’m sorry you felt like, at times, that I cut you out of my life.

I’m sorry I didn’t grow up sooner and realize how amazing, wise and beautiful you are.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the sacred moment that your spirit left your body and became free. I wish I was.

I’m sorry you were scared at that moment.

I hope you found the peace you could never find here.

I hope your mom sees you and see how many people really loved you.

I hope she sees you. The radiant you. The smile that India has that lights up a room.

I hope she sees the you that enjoyed driving until you were lost so you could learn how to find your way out. The you that loved every person you encountered so you could learn how you could help them.

I hope she sees how you are loved and how madly you were, and are loved.

I miss you.

I miss getting to call you and chatting.

I miss you asking about the kids and what Print was up to and if India had learned more words.

I miss you. I love you.

The post in which I come out

I am a LGBTQ Christian. Yes, those exist. I am in my late 20′s and since my teens I “served God.” I went to the big youth group, I memorized scripture, I even did the intense after high school internship for two years so I could be deemed a leader. Something I was already, but hadn’t realized it yet.

I had been told all of those years that I was wrong. That my same sex attraction “issues” were just that. I tried to pray the gay away for over 10 years. Each January it would be my focus for a 21 day fast and every morning I would beg God to take the struggle from me. Leaders would pray over me and anoint me with oil. They would break generational curses and cast demons out. And each day I would still have those feelings and desires. I did the “right thing” by being in therapy. Working on my past abuse. Renewing my mind with memorized scripture. But nothing changed.

I got married thinking it would make it better, or change me. I loved Chad and still love him a lot. He is a fun person with a great sense of humor and we make damn adorable kids. He knew early on that I struggled with same gender attraction, but I was getting the help we saw fit.

Once I had Print, my first little, I struggled even deeper with my sexuality. In the mix of postpartum hormones and the new life of a new baby I questioned more and more. I wanted to live a genuine life so my kids could do the same. I knew that if I was unhappy or being fake my kids would know. I struggled a lot with what it meant for my family, Chad, my kids and me. Around the time I found out I was pregnant with India, my second, I had come to the conclusion that I was a lesbian.

My daily life was hard. I had felt fake. No matter what I did to try and feel genuine I could never fully feel like me. I got to the point that I didn’t want to be around any more. I wondered if my sexuality was because I had some pretty severe sexual trauma in my childhood/teenage years or if I was really just gay.

I remember the moment vividly. I was in my therapists office and I asked that question. The point of me seeking out therapy and my sole goal was “to figure out if I was gay”. We were chatting and I said “I just need to figure out if I’m gay because of my abuse or because I’m gay.” Her response was one that flipped a switch for me. She simply responded with “Why does it matter? If you’re wanting to live an authentic life full of integrity they why doesn’t matter as much as just being true to you.”

It was the moment that gave me the confidence to no longer question who I was. I could accept myself and love myself for me and not question my reasons. It was powerful. It was empowering. It was raw. It was hard.

So here I am, on the other side of a journey that has taken years. A journey that I believe started the second I walked in to a church with the attempt of being accepted for who I am. A journey that started with the goal of living a life of integrity. It may not look like most evangelical lives, but I am living with more integrity, honesty and vulnerability then I have ever imagined.

 

 

 

 

The note she left

 

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The note she left amidst all of the things she had kept simply said:

I love you guys. Love mom.

The “I” was not fully written. It was simply scratched in. I speculate that maybe she knew that with each breath she was taking through that cold February night she was moving closer to her last. I wonder, if for her the etched “I” was enough to get her point across. Maybe she knew that if she fumbled for too long to get that one simple letter out she would run out of time to share the message.

Her last and lasting statement for us to hold. Even though she was never confident that she was actually ever loved by anyone that she loved us enough to give us a tangible reminder that she loved us. That she loves us.