Exhausted.

I had no idea exhaustion could look like this.

It’s strange, actually, because the fatigue is from things that I would consider both good and bad. It is exhausting to feel. To allow ones self to be subject to the pangs, heartache, and draining nature of emotion.

We have recently been on this roller coaster ride that has it’s fair share of ups and downs. But not like one of those roller coasters at an amusement park that reach up to medium heights and back down to ground level. No, I am talking about a new kind of ride that soars to new heights above the heavens and back down, well below the earth.

Our lives have taken on new joys that we never thought possible. We have two absolutely stunning girls with increasing health, a miracle baby girl on the way, and an opportunity to return to the US (although, even that is just as much a joy as it is a devastation).

But we have also faced lows that, even though we prepared for, are still incredibly difficult, devastating, and draining. Daily, we deal with chronic illness in our children, we field unimaginable questions, doubts, and concerns from our girls, we live through consequences of abuse and neglect in our daily lives, and we have hit seemingly insurmountable roadblocks in bureaucratic processes.

Through the back and forth, the joy and the pain, the laughing and the weeping, the celebrating and the mourning - I am tired.

More then ever.

And this is hard for me. I have been a “go-getter”, I “get things done”, I have been called “Superwoman”. I have never let fatigue get in my way. I had the ability to push and push some more in the name of productivity.

But not anymore.

For years I have fought, tooth and nail, to be on top. To accomplish and achieve, to perform, to exceed expectations. I was never late, never slacked, and always delivered.

But now, I am tired. And my ability to keep going is dwindling.

When it comes to accepting help, I am unable. I have never been one to ask or receive a helping hand. I don’t know if it was pride or ego, or simply fear, but it never occurred to me that someone else could take on MY responsibilities.

Isn’t that cheating? Won’t that render me helpless and useless?

But now I am ready. I need help. I am ready to surrender. I am ready to let go. The emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical strain that parenting children with hard backgrounds, adoption, pregnancy, moving, and bureaucracy have had on my heart, mind, and soul have been immense. I can’t go this alone anymore.

But now, of all times, when I am finally ready and pleading and asking. Now is the time that no one is there. I know it’s tricky and messy to intertwine ones self in mess and junk, but I need that. I need a battle buddy.

And no, I am not talking about meals and clothes and babysitting (although we will GLADLY accept a babysitter so that we can have some quality time). I am not per se talking about errand running and task doing (although that would be nice too!). I am talking about an ear. A shoulder. Time and energy. I am asking for a friend. I need a place to rest my head when it is heavy, an ear to hear my cry when I can’t carry the pain alone, time to just be myself and not tend to crying and fighting or even innocent but incessant questions about life and the universe. I need a cup of tea with a friendly face that is attuned and ready to hear and be present.

Am I asking too much?

I am not asking for the sentiments that “God is in control”, “Why don’t you just trust?”, “I will pray for you”. I know that, truly, I do. But even looking to the Lord, His word says to live and be in community with one another. To BE the hands and feet of Jesus to each other, to listen and lend a hand when needed.

Am I being selfish?

Maybe I don’t even know how to ask. I have learned for too long how to put up a facade and pretend to have it all together. I have come to terms with the idea that being flawed or having weaknesses is something to be kept under wraps. Maybe this is on me.

Maybe it’s just circumstantial. Maybe quarantine is a horrible time to realize that I need someone. Maybe after adoption, people don’t know how to be there. After all, my kids are “different” and my parenting doesn’t “fit the mold”. It can’t.

At the end of the day, I don’t know. But I do know that I am exhausted.