Courage is contagious. That’s all there is to it. Welcome to Hope Speaks, where once monthly I’m featuring those who also fight hard battles, find hope right there in those seemingly impossible places and then take the brave step to share their story.
Introducing Chrystol, one of the most authentic people I know. This part of her journey reminds me a little of that saying God laughs when we make plans. But instead, I believe God shows up when we make plans, sometimes bringing us to an entirely different and more scary-beautiful life than we ever expected.
Here is her courageous story.
I’m going to start this post with a statement of truth about who I am. I am Chrystol; I despise making mistakes and have a fear of failure. Planning, goal setting and control tend to be my chosen methods to achieve success. As a teenager and young adult, I didn’t allow myself to relax, be at peace or get too comfortable. There was always a new goal to achieve, a new level to rise to, partially because I was a military brat and moved every few years. I learned that the only thing consistent in life is change, but I had no idea what I was in for as I entered a transition period of my life.
Almost two years after I got married, my husband and I found out I was pregnant…SURPRISE! Well, it wasn’t necessarily PLANNED like everything else in my life, and it took me a few weeks to wrap my mind around the fact this life-changing event occurred without planning. My plan was to be at my new job for a few years before this. I wanted to make the DECISION to have a child, not just have it happen, and I didn’t feel ready. I cried and cried and cried some more. After I cried, I went back to what I knew to do, research and plan. I read all I could about pregnancy and tried to plan out the next nine months. When we went to our first obstetrics appointment for an ultrasound, there was another surprise. TWINS! Interestingly, I handled the news that I was pregnant with twins much better than the news that I was pregnant. I decided I was going to be the best mother EVER! My pregnancy was really special and required much planning (my favorite). The moment I gave birth to my daughters, my life changed forever. And that was only the beginning.
Although the first few months of twin parenthood were a blur, things went pretty smoothly until one of my daughters suffered a severe injury. I know you’re probably thinking, “What happened? What changed?” but this is about my reaction and the effects on my family. I wish things happened differently, and I couldn’t help blaming myself for not trusting my own instincts.
It was completely unexpected and felt like my whole world crumbled around me. How could something happen to MY baby? I had spent so much of life devoting time, energy and love to other people’s children and MY child would be forever changed. I was taught whatever you sow, you will reap, so why did this happen? I have planted good seeds for years and this is what I get in return? It made NO SENSE AT ALL, and it felt like a sick joke. For the first month or so, I prayed I’d wake up, realizing it was all a nightmare. Nope. It was real. I woke up every single day, looked at my daughter and saw the reality. I tried to bargain with God. Eventually, all of the hope I had for her future and mine was gone. All of the faith I had in God was gone, too. It’s amazing how your outlook on life can shift with just one event.
I kept remembering when I gazed into my daughter’s big brown eyes, saying, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” And I failed her…miserably, reminding myself of that every day. No one knew how low I really was, and I suffered from depression for about a year after the incident. There were days I simply didn’t want to wake up and face my life as a failure to my family, but I believed I’d be even more of a failure if I let them know my sadness. I tried my best to give the appearance of good mental health. At the same time, I decided that I could not allow myself to be happy until I knew for certain that my daughter would be happy, despite her physical scar. How could I smile, knowing one day people might point and stare? How could I forgive myself without being sure she would forgive me? How could I simply move on when I felt so much anger and disappointment in myself? I wasn’t only mad at myself; I was so mad at God. How could He allow this? I was taught, “God won’t put more on you than you can handle” and “all things work together for good.” Well, I couldn’t handle what happened and I didn’t see any good coming from it! I was so angry! I was sad. I was disappointed. I was confused. I was lost. I was alone. My heart was broken, and I was hopeless. I didn’t think anyone knew, but that kind of despair cannot stay hidden for long.
All of those feelings came to surface at my daughters’ first birthday party. I tried my best to appear to be in a celebratory mood, but the truth was I felt like a boiling pot of water that was too full. It took one word from the wrong person, and I bubbled over. I had never lost my temper like that! I really don’t remember everything I said and did, but I am sure I’ve never reacted in that way before. When I ran to the bathroom to compose myself, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman looking back. I came out and gazed into the shocked eyes of those around me, knowing they had witnessed how broken I was. I hated I had allowed them to see my pain. I also knew I could no longer live with the weight of the emotions I was trying to hide but I had no idea what to do with them.
The next weekend, my husband and I attended a new members’ class at our church. We were asked if there was anything keeping us from a closer relationship with God and were told to write it down on a card. I struggled with whether or not to tell the truth or just give a good church answer. I heard, “Just write it, Chrystol.” And I did. “I’m angry at myself and at God….” When the leader of the group asked if anyone wanted to share, before I knew it, my hand shot in the air. That was the first time I openly shared my true, raw feelings. I couldn’t believe I was telling a room full of strangers how I felt, but I’m so glad I did. Those strangers gathered around me, praying for me. I wept as they literally surrounded me with love and petitioned God to heal my heart and mind. I will not lie and say everything was perfect after that prayer because it wasn’t. But after that experience, I had hope that my life would be happy again and that my daughter would be just fine.
In the months and years following that moment at church, God has shown me that the life I’d hoped for is still possible. My daughter is thriving. She embraces her imperfection, and is so confident. I am doing things I never thought I would, taking risks I would not have taken. I am getting closer to fulfilling my purpose. I now know that dark moments, setbacks, and failures don’t need to be avoided. They don’t have to break us. There’s beauty in the struggle. I accept what was, embrace what is and have hope for what will be. Don’t get me wrong, I still love a good plan. But now I also embrace a God plan.