My Christmas Letter, the real one

I didn't end up writing a family Christmas letter this year, because writing the glossed over Christmas letter felt fake. In reality, this year was very difficult for me emotionally, spiritually, and socially.

I faced the most difficult depressive episode I have ever faced in my life. It was longer, more intense, and lower than I've ever had before. In addition to depression, I had to deal with a social situation that both exacerbated the depression and created a learning experience all its own. I experienced social anxiety and panic attacks for the first time. Dealing with healing and letting go of relationships, all the while having my actions or inactions, words or lack thereof being looked at, judged, and then retold to me through the microscope of my small town added another layer of confusion, guilt, and difficulty in navigating my mental health/social/spiritual recovery.

The year was hard. It pushed me in directions I didn't naturally move in. It made me miss sunshine and faraway friends and family more than ever. Having these mental health challenges also helped me grow. I was either going to get better or worse, and I really, really wanted to get better. I put a lot of thought into the things I do and the way they make me feel. I have had to challenge a lot of ideas I've adopted in order to be able to go to work full time, and spend less time at home. Relationships, conversations, activities, and goals have all changed and it has been exhausting, and also great. I feel like I am more myself than I have ever been. I don't fear a challenge, because I have already faced the most frightening reality possible. 

So, if I was writing my Christmas letter, the one that only says the highlights, it would sound like this:

The Hornbargers 2015

Ian has transitioned from accounting into a new part of corporate Cabela's that allows him to make spread sheets and develop project management skills. His division is called Ideation, and he loves his job. Ian is the ward choir director, and works with 11 year old scouts. He is also the world's best dad. 

Evelyn has had her hand at various paying jobs: writing for the local newspaper, after school program tutor and community liaison. However, her big career move was beginning her first year of teaching middle school in Potter, NE. It is a very small school, and she teaches math, English, and Civics. She also started a job at the radio, and is still writing her middle grade fantasy book. She also exercises in various ways, and she is a big time actress, having starred in her first community theater play this fall.

Our 4th and 2nd graders recently switched schools from Sidney to Potter to alleviate the after-school child care stress, and keep them closer and on the same schedule as mom. So far, so good. They are able to have increased time with art and music, which are big ones for these little artists. They are still in the process of making friends, but we have high hopes.

Our 9 year old had dreams of the spelling bee, but the switch of schools threw her off her spelling game, and she didn't make it out of the classroom. She was in a couple of plays, and loves the stage. Storytelling paired with an insanely good memory creates hours of laughter for her family. We never know who she is going to tell what. 

Turning 8 was a big deal for our second born. She was baptised on Halloween, and we all came dressed up as various church authorities to her baptism. Not really, but that is what her mom wanted. Instead we had a lovely day with family and friends in support of a beautiful girl making her special promises to God. 2nd grade has turned out to be good for theatrical opportunities for this girl as well, and she had fun with her sister, as well as her own special part in Missoula Children's Theater "The Wizard of Oz."

The 4 year old is attending full time preschool in Sidney, so she gets to ride to school with dad every day, and they practice counting. She is still our spunky girl who prefers wearing swimming suits (or nothing at all), and says the darndest things. 

Sweet little two year old boy, is losing his sweetness. He tries really hard not to hit or push in child care while mom is working, but that is a hard rule. He has a very stubborn personality, and prefers not to wear shoes, and he really only wants to drink milk. Being especially tall for his age, he easily dominates his playmates, and he likes to be physical. While he is still mommy's baby boy, he is also many other things.

But, this letter, the one up there, that letter fails to acknowledge the heartbreak I have had. How the Evelyn who had a lot of different jobs, spent days in bed, wishing she could fall asleep and never wake up. How she reached out for help and was met with judgement. It didn't tell about how my children brought me food in bed while they watched Netflix for days on end because I didn't have the energy to get out of bed. It didn't tell about how I distanced myself from most of the people who cared about me in an effort to protect myself. It doesn't tell about the friendships that have died, or how I have had to say goodbye to being a stay at home mom. The letter doesn't tell about the consequences of depression: financially, physically, and how it effected my children and their expectations of their mother. The lack of positive emotion, has caused me to reassess my relationship with God, and my church family, and it isn't the same. I don't think it ever will be. I have had to put a lot of thought into my responsibility for my own happiness and the consequences my words and actions have on myself and others. I have had to acknowledge, over, and over, and over again with new groups of coworkers and friends, that not everyone is going to like or agree with me. And, I am not going to like or agree with everyone else. 

The generic letter also fails to acknowledge the growth I have experienced individually. I love working, and even more importantly, I love teaching. My love of people and enthusiasm for learning translates naturally into a classroom setting. I get more excited than my students about the content of our classes. I care deeply about each of the people sitting in my classrooms. I care about their education, about their talents, friendships, and the difficulties they are facing in their families. We grow and learn together. I sing songs to them on my guitar. I draw pictures for them, and tell them funny stories about my children. 

Counseling was also great for me. As much as depression is hard, my recovery was text-book. I responded so well to treatment (through cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, and self-reflection) and I learned about how my thoughts and patterns were making me unhappy. Recognizing what made me unhappy was awesome, because then I could do what made me happy. I like singing, being outside, spending one-on-one time with my children, investing in relationships in genuine ways, laughing, being with creative people, challenging myself physically (yoga, running, and crossfit currently), writing, and meeting new people. I value my religious community, and my own spiritual journey. I am not willing to leave either religious/spiritual aspect of what makes me who I am behind, and even though I will experience tension in this setting, I will also experience peace, opportunities for forgiveness, repentance, and humility, unity, and I can know God here. My friend gave a beautiful talk last Sunday on spending time with the Savior through reading the scriptures and learning compassion, and I felt truth. 

And during this Christmas season, celebrating the birth of a little baby boy whose journey was to take upon him the pain and sins of the world, I have hope. I have hope in the change I have felt in myself. I have hope in the repentance I have partaken of this year. I have cried so many tears. I have felt utterly alone, helpless, inadequate and without hope of a better world. And as there is opposition in all things, I have felt recovery and healing. I have felt compassion and hope. And I have felt buoyed up by angels around me. Sometimes, the angels were even singing. I hear them better when they sing.