Giving Up, Throwing in the towel, whatever...

Last week was a doozy.

In a week and a half I gained six pounds.

I started passing out around 8:00 pm every night.

(to Tom's annoyance)

I groggily awoke at 7:00 every morning.

My jeans barely buttoned.

My head started to hurt.

So I went to the endocrinologist.

He ultrasounded my neck, checking out the old thyroid.

Then he shared his fun findings.

Now he wants to do a biopsy to check for cancer.

And that's when I quit.

I quit being me, being a mother, being a wife.

I listened to him drone on about my low thyroid levels, causing all my fun side effects, I thought about all the things I needed to do that day as he continued talking about how it's only a 20% chance my thyroid nodules are cancerous.

And then I decided I was done.

I quit again.

I stopped caring about the crusty floor in the kitchen, I half heartily went about preparing Caleb's food. I didn't try to stay awake in the afternoon when Caleb napped. I stopped doing the dishes. I stopped making dinner. I stopped caring if my children's homework was done, or if they watched too much tv. I stopped weighing myself and caring about eating a zinger for breakfast.

It was a difficult week.

For my family.

No, I don't think I have cancer, and that's not why I quit. I just got so tired of being tired.

Then I dragged myself out of bed on Sunday and cried that I couldn't go to church. I couldn't face people, listen to testimonies and act like a normal functioning human.

Tom caught me off guard; he agreed.

So of course I went.

And something happened. Something unexpected.

All my insecurities and exhaustion started to wash away and I listened and I felt the old familiar burning and I knew that I couldn't quit.
So today I'm me.

It feels good to not be conquered.

My floor is mopped, the laundry is going, and I feel like I can do this again.