On Monday, Dave and I had a 'disagreement'. It was one of those moments when one person says something and it shoots straight into the other's brain and triggers all the hidden buttons of insecurity, identity and fear. On the face of it, we were merely discussing my lack of enthusiasm for a planned outing for Dave and his friends (right through crazy hour), but the undercurrents of the moment went much deeper. Or so at least I thought.

We celebrated our eleventh anniversary on Sunday.

When I write that down I feel strange. How on earth could that amount of time have already passed us by? It feels like yesterday that we were perched in the boot of my yellow Cruze, strumming the guitar and hanging out in The Den at our university. Dave still mocks me about my overconfidence in my squash skills as I challenged him to a match in our early days of hanging out. I lost. Though, I believe I might have been playing in heels.... (there is a slight chance I could have inserted that part into the memory to make myself feel better).

We were young, passionate, driven by urgency to make our lives 'count', moved by compassion and hope. Dave poured his energy into running events to bring people together for a common cause- hurting souls.

My journalling at the time reveals a heart desperate to make the right choice, to align my future with someone who would cherish and appreciate me, encourage me and spur me on. His letters touch on the need to make his life count and to have someone who would walk alongside him into the unknown.

Dave and I look back at the youthful 'us' and shake our heads sometimes. Really, did we have any idea what we were doing? Him, barely 22 and me, 20?! It sounds so crazy now, and I have no doubt our family and friends would have worked hard not to express doubts or fears at the time.

And yet, it has somehow worked....

We have lived in seven different dwellings throughout our marriage, even back with my parents for a period while we saved to travel to Europe for my sister's wedding. We lived in tiny apartments as budget conscious students, church housing while Dave was employed as a Youth and Young Adults worker, on campus at a college sharing meals in a big dining hall, shared a house with Alex and Monica with our young toddlers (each of us with another on the way). We've travelled through South-East Asia, New Zealand, Italy and Poland. We've been research assistants, sandwich artists, store managers, church workers, volunteers, students, articled clerks, lawyers, teachers, pastors, church planters and parents.

It is a whirlwind of memories, locations and shared experiences.

There have been difficult moments- car crashes, surgeries, a miscarriage, extended hospital visits for two of our newborns, extended and complicated labours, sleepless nights, fights, disagreements, tears, a moment where our house dreams almost collapsed (until our very generous housemates lent us a significant amount of money), we've been victims of cyclo scammers in Vietnam, come close to hitting zero in our bank account, experienced crises of faith, lost almost eleven years of memories stored on a broken hard drive (I still get teary when I think of that one), we've been burnt out in positions of leadership... but we have survived.

Marriage is a bit of an enigma. You can think you have it all figured out, and then suddenly one comment can make you think as if you were completely mistaken. So much in our communication is tied up in our previous experiences together and what those words might have meant in the past. The care that we would take in our conversations with others can be discarded and we show our grumpy and exhausted faces to each other instead. Expressing excitement at the other's gain, when we know it means our immediate loss, can be difficult, even if you grudgingly admit it is what they need to hear. As a parent, outings and spare time can become transactional, and a chalkboard ledger hovers ominously in the background for either to wield against the other.

And yet... true freedom in marriage only comes when someone takes a step first. To lay down their 'rights' to privileges or expectations. To say sorry even if the words catch coming out. To be willing not to rehash past wrongs, and accept an apology. Realising that your partner will disappoint you and hurt you, often without meaning to. Dave is a lot better at this abdication than I. He is quick to forgive, slow to anger, and does not hold onto past wrongs. (He may lack the memory capacity for that last one, I suspect!)

After our Monday disagreement, many words were used to work out why it was such a big deal to both of us. I have a little more understanding about my own identity struggles and the need to be affirmed as a good 'supporter' and 'helper' to Dave. Also, to be seen as the laid back, easy going wife who lets her husband do anything. It isn't really the whole picture.

Marriage. It certainly isn't easy, and the pressures of parenthood press down to reveal the weak points you never suspected existed. Eleven years in and I feel as if I have only uncovered a small fraction of this puzzle, but I am so thankful and grateful to have someone so incredible to learn alongside.

David Colin Edwin Hughes, you are an amazing, inspiring, visionary, passionate man. A father to our kids beyond what I could have hoped for. I love doing life with you. Thank you for encouraging me, cherishing me, pushing me and contradicting me when I try to hang onto misconceptions. Despite the sheer number of ideas and visions you  have conceived, I am excited to see which seeds blossom into vivid realities and I know you will continue to make your significant mark on this world into the future. You have made a inconceivable mark on us already.

Sitting alone on a park bench, shivering in the middle of an unseasonally freezing shower, I came to some realisations yesterday.

I should have seen the signs. The glasses of wine getting gradually more full, the reaching for some form of edible distraction when the dinnertime meltdowns started, the adding of more elements to my beauty routine, the seeking of affirmation and admiration from external sources, the anger simmering only slightly below the surface...

It has come to this point. A creature built upon affirmation with zero outlets anymore. Motherhood offers up far too many challenges and roadblocks for me to feel as if I've 'made it' as a capable mother. I gave up my career in law just before the craziness with Hudson began. Open House, while such a valuable and worthwhile idea (and experience), has become very difficult with the weekly emotional and practical burden it levies upon our family. With the constant giving and service for a community, the majority of whom are in a life stage of 'flexible priorities' in terms of showing up at all, let alone being in a position to lend assistance. My eldest child tells me passionately how 'mean' I am and that he 'hates' me whenever the slightest thing falls wayward from his plan of how it was supposed to happen. If I had any emotional energy left I don't even know how I would choose to spend it!

I guess I'm saying I'm 'burnt out', stripped back to nothing.... the layers of my onion now down to the tiny core.

After being told for the 20th time yesterday how hateful I was and being hit by my son yet again, I snapped at him and yelled, (childishly) throwing aside the figurine he had placed on the bench for emphasis. I had been so patient and calm the whole freaking day, redirecting his near explosions and scrambling for ways to rescue the situation and help him find words to express his volatile emotions. Dave had come home early, but his focus was on Open House work and the bulk of the drama completely washed over him, despite (what I had felt were) very obvious hints that I was nearing my breaking point. Then when he witnessed my anger, he did the unthinkable, choosing to scorn my outburst rather than lend assistance. Shaking with barely controlled emotion, I ceased chopping carrots and grabbed my things, my exit thwarted by being parked in, so I hit the pavement instead.

The wind cut through my thin cardigan with its icy tendrils, but I kept going, eventually landing at the deserted playground. I huddled beneath the open shelter, feeling the ice creep into my bones. But I didn't care. At that point the wintery conditions felt more welcoming than my home.

Motherhood at the moment is brutal. It seems like anything can trigger a meltdown from Eli and I'm getting used to Ivy being on the move and therefore a 'threat' to the boys' activities. Hudson is constantly climbing on things, reaching, spilling, falling, disagreeing, invading and it is impossible to keep a step ahead of any of them. In the midst of this there are, of course, so many beautiful and heartwarming moments- Eli teaching Hudson about colours and excitedly celebrating any answer that he got right, Ivy watching her brothers with delight and clapping at their entertaining dance moves. Shrieks of delight emanating from the trampoline as brothers come up with games, Ivy's excitement at being able to get from Point A to Point B for the first time, overheard conversations between brothers, offers of 'help' with household tasks, focused faces creating colourful worlds in their imaginations to moving Spotify soundtracks... But when your emotional energy is hovering above zero, often it can feel like getting to the end of the day is an achievement, let alone then releasing Dave to attend additional meetings, events and catch ups that often crop up in the evenings.

Dave and I had a meaningful chat last night with many tears spilled by me. Sometimes it is hard to recognise the signs until it is too late, and all we can do is move forward together. He apologised for siding against me in the parenting battle and has now outlined to Eli his zero tolerance for his hateful language and behaviour towards our family anymore. It has been a difficult and busy period, with reports, marking, neighbourhood meetings, letter box drops, medical appointments, Open House commitments, interstate weddings and road trips. I guess it makes sense that the tipping point has been reached.

My name for myself is 'Supporter'. Any clash of others needs with my own will automatically result in mine being pushed aside (I'm an ISFJ on the Myers-Briggs scale). This sounds noble, but in reality it just ends up at the place I am now. Emptied. If Dave even hints at being tired I just figure I have to step up more, rejecting his offer of letting me get out for an hour to recharge. Really the only activity I have for myself is this blog, and the words point weekly to my efforts for others rather than my own passions (whatever they are). I feel like a one-dimensional cut out of myself, shunning any paths that lead anywhere that doesn't also benefit my family. The realisation hit me when talking with a friend from the past this week and the only stories I could muster were ones about what Dave was doing... it felt like I had absolutely nothing to share of my own. Realistically this is also just part of the life stage we are in, though Dave seems to find a multitude of opportunities to further his passions in philosophy and education because he looks for these options. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

So I guess I'm going to look for some counselling as a first step. I've always said that this blog was my rescue point from that, but maybe an external source that will have some objective advice and encouragement can also be helpful. I feel like a bit of a mess, like the corner of the blemished rug, but in having nothing left to hide I also feel a bit of freedom too. I really don't know how to go about getting my identity from God, but I'm more than open to exploring that. Guess it can only be up from here?

Last night I made the decision to fish out my old journals and peruse them. Wow. It is hard enough reconciling who you think you are from the limited memories that haven't been swept from your mind in the tired haze of parenthood, but reading the words that 'younger you' wrote more than 10 years ago... that's pretty hard to ignore.

Some of it is hilarious in its naivety but also sobering in what it reveals about the former 'me'. I was pretty much the world's worst flirt it would seem, as page after page is dedicated to the interactions I pursued with the males in my life. Elation at being noticed, complimented, pursued... then the flip side of being devastated, frustrated, depressed when those interactions didn't go to plan, or when teenage relationships couldn't stand up to the lofty ideals I had levied upon them.

As I progressed through high school to university, it didn't get any rosier.... my insatiable need to be noticed and adored broke out at every opportunity. Even when in the midst of a (fairly taxing) committed relationship, the pages of my journal spoke excitedly of (platonic) liaisons with other guys and of the self-worth I gleaned from these experiences. Damningly, I wasn't completely unaware of my flaws, even to the point that I embraced the descriptor of 'flirt' and feigned puzzlement when the other parties attempted to bring things to the next level. Unfortunately, I would have left a trail of confused hearts in my flippant wake, failing to appreciate the depth of character beyond the flirtatious reception I enjoyed. Should any of those (assumedly now whole) hearts be reading this, I am unreservedly sorry for my glib behaviour.

When the aforementioned relationship ceased amidst a web of mismatched expectations, values and callings, the resulting fall-out moved me to passionately declare the next six months to be a 'guy free zone'. What I really meant by that was that I wanted to be free to be single again, and not to feel the pressure of having to consider marriage at my tender age of 18. But then I met Dave.

It couldn't have been better timing for his entry... and my reform. Three days after we first began to hang out (as friends) he 'laid his cards on the table' and declared I matched his ideal woman list. Due to my self-imposed guy fast, however, we were forced to pursue friendship instead. This arrangement delivered on all the 'thrill of the chase' moments without the pressure of escalating relational pressure. It was four months of freedom to flirt and figure out whether we were indeed an ideal match. At 1am on December 1, 2003, we made it official and have never looked back since.

Looking back at the shallow mess that I was, and the change in my journalling after we started hanging out, it is clear to me that I was able to leave behind a lot of the traits that had been crafted to mask insecurity and fear of rejection. I felt perpetually unable to delve deeper past the initial coy discovery stage, and would become paralysed with fear that someone would see the 'real' me, and walk away. Thankfully, with Dave I found the safe place to break out of that mentality, and be brave enough to let him in to witness all the mess and chaos that writhed inches below the polished exterior.

It's been over 10 years that we have been married now, and I still feel pretty lucky to have scored Dave. His drive to continually push himself to create new things and improve struggling ones jolts me out of my pull to maintain routine and bury my head in the day to day tasks. His 'hobbies' are reading philosophy texts and wrapping his head around the intricacies of virtue ethics and the power of communities in shaping values. In some ways, though, my own vision and passion for music and creativity that was poured onto the pages has dimmed, and I'm convicted by that. I've allowed myself to settle into a one-dimensional support role, part of which is necessary to the season in which we are in, but also because it is safer and less scary than facing my own battles. In other ways, perhaps the passion has morphed into other areas, such as cooking and hospitality, which energises and inspires me and plays an important role in our community.

I still have a lot of processing to do, but I'm enjoying the prospect of figuring out the 'narrative identity' - the story that I tell myself about my own life - that will be so powerful in shaping my future thoughts and actions. Perhaps there might even be a book or two in it... I guess only 'future me' knows...

It should have been a bad day. Ivy had a pretty unsettled night and I was up and down with her between 2:30 to 4:30am. Then just as I was finally drifting off into a peaceful slumber, footsteps pattered up the hallway and Eli came to tell us there was snot on his pillow. 

We have all contracted a flu-like virus and noses are running like taps (when they aren't completely blocked). Eli looked like the walking dead all day and even tucked himself into bed after lunch and took a nap. Dave and I fluctuated between achy, fuzzy and dizzy and gravitated towards any horizontal surface as often as the situation would allow it.

It was Brace Day. We stumbled our way through breakfast and barely got the kids ready in time for Grandma to pick them up. Ivy fell asleep just before we were due out the door and both of our phones' data mysteriously ceased working. Then we were on the road. 

The hospital was almost comforting this time. I pushed the pram with purpose towards the Outpatient clinic but paused to notice the inspirational quotes painted on walls and carved into stained glass windows. Dave joined me after securing a park, then we were called in. No two hour wait this time! As the physio spoke the words "she will need a brace", I experienced none of the panic and shock of last time. Ivy didn't even utter a cry as the brace was fitted and we must have been doing OK too because the physio labelled us the 'most relaxed brace parents' she had ever dealt with. 

We made our way to the café and ordered long macchiatos and a brownie to share in the hospital cafe courtyard. I fumbled my way through feeding Ivy, getting used to the rigid feel of the brace again. We exhaled and took it all in- the pain, the break, the beauty. Without the constant interruption of preschooler demands and questions we were able to chat meaningfully about the things that inspired us- the books, the podcasts, the experiences. When the last drop and crumb were consumed, we reflected it had been one of our best 'dates' in a long time... at a rickety metal table amongst pigeons, with takeaway coffee from a hospital cafe.

I've been listening to a lot of Rob Bell podcasts (aka 'Robcasts') lately. I joked to Dave that often in our marriage it will go like this: 

Dave: "Hey Emma, you should read this book/try this idea/listen to this podcast!"

Emma: "Ummm, no thanks, not interested- that doesn't sound like my thing."

-Months Later-

Emma: "Wow, this book/idea/podcast is amazing! Why haven't I been into this before!?"

Dave: "..."

He takes the constant rejection really well, considering! And I am, believe it or not, beginning to learn from my mistakes and the period of time between completely dismissing the idea and adopting it as my own has shortened considerably. Anyway, I've come from thinking Rob Bell was a complete sell-out and a airy fairy New Age guru to thinking he has some pretty profound thoughts about life and the 'ordinary' things that we completely take for granted. Didn't hurt that my 'old man crush' Richard Rohr is kind of like Bell's mentor and was touring with him earlier this year. Bell takes things as simple as a supermarket receipt and makes the idea of grocery shopping sound meaningful rather than mundane. His outlook has been helping me a lot, changing my perspective towards the more ordinary things in life as a mother.

I've also been reading Shauna Niequist's book "Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table with Recipes". The introduction of the book was right up my alley with her vividly painted picture of how food connects, entwines and nourishes people, and sets the stage for so many meaningful interactions in community. It encouraged me that my passion for food can be something I continue to pursue and prioritise right now, in the midst of our crazy 'three kids under four' life- with more 'crazy hour' dinners and neighbourhood barbeques like the one we had last Sunday. It made me appreciate again how crucial Tribe's lunch gatherings are to connecting people and convicted me that perhaps we should be trying to do mealtimes for House Church as well (despite how chaotic, messy and insane that will be with no less than 19 kids in that mix!). 

It is quite probable, with my 'task and details oriented' nature, that I am at risk of failing to pursue my passions and dreams by focusing purely on the day to day activities and keeping the family cogs turning. Being a mother is one of the most meaningful things in the world, but I think it would actually be detrimental to my kids if I allowed it alone to completely consume me. At the moment I'm cautiously dipping a toe into the water and testing out what my passions and dreams might be. At this stage, all I know is that I feel alive when dealing with food, planning parties, reading and writing this blog. Quite ordinary things on the surface, but who knows where they might lead? I'm heading down the Rabbit Hole!