"I Am the Tree", The Beginning of My Faith Crisis

I have missed writing! I have so many things to say and no idea how to say it all or where to begin. My thoughts the last couple of years have felt like a tornado of sorts. How does one process so many emotions and keep them all straight? The fear of not being able to sort out all of my feelings and be understood has kept me from writing. I have NOT felt, "stronger, braver, fearless". I have longed to be able to write and make sense of how I feel. For me writing is therapeutic and empowering. Through the power of the written word I am liberated from all of the feelings that weigh so heavily on me. In addition, I desire my words to have meaning and possess a beauty that can only exist when hearts are touched. I long to be seen, to be validated, to change lives. The only way to do that is to be vulnerable. Vulnerability for me is a means in which to take what my heart feels, all of the pain and joy this life has given me and do something more with it. Connect with others because of it, help others to also feel seen, feel validated and change their lives. Human connection, vulnerability, and love are the only true and real things I know. The constant threads that weave my life together. So here I am being vulnerable once again. Exposing my heart and soul for someone to read someday. Whether it's my children after I'm gone or whether I publish this on the internet for the world to read. Whomever reads this, I hope they can see my heart and I hope by seeing into my heart, that their hearts will be touched as if my words are enveloping them in love.

I'm back to the question of, where to begin? I guess the best place to begin is not necessarily at the beginning but what I've been thinking about most recently, where my thoughts currently linger which is the start of my faith crisis.

Back in I believe September 2018, my husband confided in me that he was having doubts about whether or not the LDS church is true. I recall feeling concerned but thinking they were only doubts and he would be okay. As time went on, however, I discovered that these doubts had grown to become more serious. They had apparently begun for him when he came across some historical essays the LDS church had published on their website. Many of the things he read didn't match the narrative he had been taught his whole life and they stirred up even more questions for him. His story is much more complex than that but ultimately his doubts grew to a point where he could no longer ignore them. Our marriage had already been rocky (due to baggage we each brought to the table from our previous marriages) so when I realized that these were no longer just questions I was overcome with despair. McClane wept as he relayed to me where his heart was at in regards to the church. He told me he was so afraid I would leave him and how painful his faith crisis was for him. Burned into my mind and etched in my heart is an image of him sitting on the side of our bed just sobbing into his hands, completely broken down, exclaiming over and over again, "I didn't go looking for this, I didn't want this and I wish I could go back to not knowing".

Having lost both of my parents I would relate the grief I saw in him at that moment, comparable to the grief I saw in my siblings at each of my parents deaths. I could see how much pain he was in and how broken he was sitting there sobbing "I wish I could go back, I wish I never read those essays". There was no way I could be angry with him in that moment. I believe when your heart experiences deep loss it then gains the ability to recognize that same loss in others. Looking at McClane in that moment all I could do was hold him and let him cry in my arms. I didn't understand what he was going through and frankly I was terrified of it but my heart could feel the heaviness of his loss. I wanted to take his pain away.

After that night we came to an agreement, McClane would still come to church with me and the kids to support us. I still completely believed in the LDS church. I didn't ask him to come, but because he didn't wanted to be a burden or disrupt our lives he wanted to go to support us. I respected him even more for his loyalty to us and his desire to support us. There was a small part of me at first, that thought maybe if I prayed faithfully for him, over time the Lord would heal his heart and he would find his way back. I mentally committed myself to respecting his boundaries and privately praying for him. That didn't last very long as it became evident to me that he truly no longer believed the LDS church to be true and was never coming back as a "true blue mormon". One Sunday in particular comes to mind as the tipping point in this realization.

We were sitting in Sunday school and the topic that was being discussed was the Plan of Salvation and the three degrees of glory. A woman made a comment about how we will be at peace and content with where we end up because we will be the most comfortable there even if our families aren't in the same degree of glory. McClane said under his breath "that's bull crap".

The Plan of Salvation for me was an area where I had a very solid testimony. After losing both of my parents I put all of my trust in the Plan of Salvation that I would see them again. So to hear McClane say that openly in church felt very unsupportive. I felt betrayed. Uncontrollable tears seared my cheeks. I wept quietly, furious and heartbroken that he would say that. I felt completely gutted and disrespected in that moment. Due to my emotional state we skipped Relief Society and Priesthood and went to talk in the car. Talking with McClane in the car is another poignant memory for me. I cried and told him how I had been nothing but supportive of him, never uttering a negative word about his new beliefs. I told him how alone I felt, how it would be easier if he didn't come to church to support me if he was going to make comments like that. I told him how offensive and disrespectful I thought it was to the other people sitting in Sunday school. I cried and said so many things to McClane that finally he blurted out, "I don't think Joseph Smith was a prophet!" 

Bang! My ears started ringing and time stood still as if a gunshot had been fired. Every detail of that moment still comes so vividly back to my mind: the way I felt sitting in the passenger seat of our suburban, the way my makeup was smearing down my face, the way my nylons were bunching up on my waste, the way the sky seemed so much grayer than it had ever been. I remember feeling like the cold of winter was seeping in through the doors of our car and penetrating my skin. I fixated my gaze on a tree in front of our car, the tree was bare with no leaves and appeared so gloomy, so lonely like it would never know the company of the sun or see the color of leaves again.  I remember thinking, "I am that tree". I felt numb. Everything I had prayed for, everything I had ever hoped or wished for, everything I thought I finally had was officially gone. It was hopeless, McClane was 100% out and never coming back.

 "When did you know you didn't believe in Joseph Smith as a prophet?" I asked. "I thought we agreed we'd communicate about any new beliefs as they evolved so I wouldn't be left in the dark".

"I just recently came to that conclusion, I'm sorry", he replied. The air around us felt stale and tears streamed down both of our cheeks now. McClane apologized for not being more respectful and promised he would always respect my beliefs moving forward. To be honest his apology didn't mean much to me then because I felt completely and utterly hopeless.

"This is it", I thought, "stay and never know the fullness of joy that being married to a worthy priesthood holder brings or leave and break everyone's heart, mine included".

I felt pretty bleak for a while. There are other things that come to mind that solidified my knowledge that McClane was out of the church forever,  like the time I saw him wearing underwear and not garments for the first time, but none of those moments felt quite as soul crushing as that moment in the car did after Sunday school. And now here I am, nearly a year later, feeling just as certain that I am that tree in the church parking lot. But the crazy thing is that spring came and that tree bloomed. Just as surely as that tree knows winter it also knows the sun. Winters have been long and hard for me and when I am in winter I feel like it will never end. I am here to say that I also know the glory of the sun and the vivid colors of summer. For the first time in my life I feel the innate goodness in myself, the sunshine, and I am learning to access the sun in the middle of winter. I no longer need life circumstances to reflect summer in order to feel the sun on my back. Nor do I need outside praise or approval to be worthy of feeling the sun kiss my cheeks.

There is so much more to my story, to our story. It's been a long, hard year and healing doesn't happen overnight. I have spent countless nights confused and afraid, grappling with my feelings about religion and what life looks like for me and our family moving forward. There have been months on end where I have operated on autopilot because I could not allow myself to feel one more negative emotion or it would destroy me. I have teetered too close for comfort on the thin line between sanity and a true psychotic breakdown. Mormonism is not something you ever just walk away from without any repercussions. It's a way of life, an entire belief system that shapes your world view about everything and everyone. It has been a truly soul searching, gut wrenching, mind boggling year for us. Y'all it has been winter up in here.

And the truth is I AM that tree. I have known winter but now; now I choose to bloom in the sun.

Cold, Hard, Ugly Truth

So here it is, the cold, hard, ugly truth; the real reason I haven't felt like keeping up on my blog is I am afraid of being vulnerable. Somewhere along the way I distorted things in my head and began to feel like I could only write when I was feeling strong or when I had answers or insights that might help others. I had to be inspiring and I wasn't feeling inspired. The truth is I haven't felt strong in a very long time. I think I am more like my mom than I even realized. She was notorious for responding with, "I'm okay" when she really wasn't. In fact, if she said those words we knew she really wasn't. The truth is I'm not always okay and that is okay. The truth is I don't have all the answers or even a handful of them. The truth is my faith is being tested. The truth is I have good days and bad days. The truth is I still have breakdowns once in a while.

Today we sold my mom's house. I went to the title company and picked up a pen and signed my name in all the right places. Except, they weren't really the right places because I shouldn't have had to sign my name at all. Those documents shouldn't have even existed. A sign should never have been stuck in her yard. She should never have gotten sick. She should still be alive! I have had so many conflicting feelings as I process all of the changes that have taken place. I am still having trouble accepting her death. This is grief. These are the emotions people deal with after the funeral is over and everyone has gone home. Life goes on and we're expected to move on with it. I'm trying. Some days it's literally putting one foot in front of the other.

As quickly as negative thoughts come, they are replaced with thoughts of gratitude. "Thank you God for letting me care for her! Thank you God for letting her be my mother! Thank you God for her life and the impact it has had on mine." In the end the gratitude always wins out. I would go through all of the pain a thousand times over for the opportunity to serve her again! For me, love and gratitude will always conquer hate and pain. 

That being said, in the months following her death I have started 17 different blog posts attempting to express my feelings only to stop a few sentences in. Grief is complicated and I've been ashamed that I don't have it all together. "Where is my faith?", "Do I or do I not believe I'll see her again?", "How could God do this to our family?" "I have been doing all the right things, I am a good person and this is how God repays me?", "Haven't we suffered enough?", "Forget about me, how could God do this to my kids?" Even now knowing that these thoughts are a normal part of grief I still feel guilty for having thought them. I have screamed and cursed God's name more times than I care to admit as I wept in a blind rage that my mom, my best friend in the entire world was taken from me too soon. Then came the shame... I KNOW the truth! I have seen miracles firsthand in my life. I CANNOT deny God's existence nor His love for me and yet when my mom passed away I wondered why He didn't care about me. I wondered where He was when I needed Him. After all we had already lost this didn't feel like love. If He was real and could really see me than why did I continue to hurt so much? Why couldn't He throw me a bone and give me a break? I found myself feeling certain I could not write about these thoughts because they were too dark, too moody and who would they help? No, I would have to process the feelings of anger and abandonment silently and privately.

So why am I writing about those feelings now? I'm still not on the other side of this trial. I guess the answer is the same reason I started this blog in the very first place. I want to help someone, even if it's just one person. Hiding my true feelings and brushing them under the rug so that I appear like I'm doing okay doesn't help anybody. Life isn't a perfect package and grief isn't something we can orchestrate. I am making gains with my happiness. I feel myself slowly healing and progressing towards the happiness I know will be mine. Despite the sadness, I have never stopped laughing even when my heart feels heaviest. Most people around me probably had no idea how much I was hurting. I wasn't faking laughter or forcing happiness it just wasn't lasting joy. The moment I was alone with my thoughts I would feel depressed again. I know based on previous experience with losing my dad that one day I'll find that my heart feels light again and laughter fills my soul, not just the moment I'm in. I think I'm over the darkest part of it now, for the first time in a while I feel hope. I want to share that hope with others. I want those that are grieving and possibly thinking some of the same thoughts that I have felt so ashamed of to know that they are not alone! God hasn't abandoned us no matter how much it feels that way (more to come on this later). Today is an important step for me because I'm choosing to be open again, I'm choosing to be vulnerable. Today I choose to be honest and admit I still have fears and doubts. Ironically admitting those fears and doubts is precisely what makes me grow stronger and feel braver. Remembering that I have a Savior who atoned for my pain, my fear, and my shame is the first step to becoming fearless!

The Hospital

Yesterday afternoon I went back to the hospital I spent so much time at with my mom. Towards the end of her life she had a procedure done where they inserted a catheter into her left lung so we could drain the fluid more frequently at home which is called a thoracentesis. In order to do a thoracentesis you have to use a special lung drainage kit that is packaged so that each kit is completely sterile. The drainage bottles and kits are quite expensive. We had about ten of them left when she passed away and the company that manufactures them wouldn't refund them. I decided to take them to the hospital to donate them for other patients who couldn't afford them. I had been putting it off for days, knowing that returning to the hospital was going to be difficult for me emotionally.

As I pulled up to the hospital I turned down the music in my car and took some deep breaths. "It's okay, you're okay right now just get out of the car and go inside. You'll be fine."

 I forced myself to open the car door and cautiously got out as if I was expecting the grief to hit me with sudden force."Okay, so far so good." 

I opened the back of the mini van, grabbed the big box, and made my way towards the Cancer Center with the wind whipping my hair. As I approached the door I noticed a sweet looking older woman and we made small chat and then exchanged smiles when we parted from the elevator on the 2nd floor. "This is not bad. I can do this. No biggie."

 I made my way to the familiar oncologist's office hoping to leave the kits with the P.A. that had taken a particular interest in my mom and been so kind to us. I noticed a few nurses that I recognized and felt a small twinge of pain. The receptionist smiled in recognition when she saw me. It was a pity smile. I explained to her that I was hoping to see Heather and donate the drainage kits.

 "I'm sorry Heather is with a patient right now. I suggest you take the kits directly to the Heart and Lung Center. I'll tell her you said hello." 

I knew the Heart and Lung Center was where I logically should have gone in the first place but I wanted to thank the P.A. for her sweet card and face my fear of the Cancer Center. It felt like it was some right of passage in my grief process. 

Over the past nine months I had gotten to know the entire hospital fairly well so I took a short cut to the Heart and Lung Center. Again I made my way through the wind and as I passed people coming and going I wondered if they were curious what was in the box I was carrying. They couldn't possibly know how difficult carrying that box was or that every time I looked at one of the kits inside it my mind flashed to images of myself trying to calm and console my mom as I drained the fluid from her lung. They couldn't possibly know that the first time I saw blood in the fluid from her lung I silently panicked and had a meltdown when the home health nurse was not concerned. She knew what I was trying to deny. My mom was dying and she was dying soon; there was nothing to be done about the blood.

 I forced those memories and images from my mind and turned on the "numb switch". I decended the stairs into the Heart and Lung Center and approached the front desk. In one breath I spat out the following like a rehearsed line,  "my mom passed away and we had all of these lung drainage kits they're brand new and still completely sealed I know how expensive they are and thought some of your patients might be able to use them." The two receptionists just looked at me trying to process what I had just said then their faces softened and with great compassion one of them asked, "What was your mom's name?" Ouch! In my mind I was thinking, "her name IS Kathleen Ewell, not was". I knew she meant well, most people do, so I blew it off and told them her name. They exchanged a quick glance with each other and then looked back at me with tears in their eyes. "Yes, we remember her. We're so very sorry for your loss. Thank you for donating these kits. Somebody is going to be very grateful." I quietly responded, "It's what she would've wanted. She received some free samples from other patients as well. It's come full circle now." 

I don't remember saying bye to them, I hope I did. The next thing I remember I was practically running up the stairs trying to get out of there as fast as I could. "I shouldn't be here right now. This can't be real". When I got outside, memories of times spent with her in that very hospital came in a continuous stream. Her stroke, PET scans, CT scans, MRI's, when she was diagnosed, a class I took about chemotherapy, weekly appointments to check her INR, an endoscopy, radiation and chemotherapy treatments, a blood transfusion, and the final time she was admitted for severe confusion and hallucinations before they sent her home with home health, all came rushing back.

 I could see us sitting in the chemo room while she received an infusion of poison into her veins, my mom talking to everyone she sat by and wishing them luck. I could see myself rubbing her back, as we waited to be called back for her endoscopy. My mom was nauseous that day and curled up in a ball on the waiting room chairs. I could see my mom lying in her hospital bed telling us that she was forced to marry Osama Bin Ladin with terror in her eyes, fully convinced it was real. I could see my siblings and I eating together in the cafeteria discussing what should happen when she dies. I could see all of this and so much more as if I were out of my body, standing there watching it. 

My eyes began to fill with tears and depsite my best efforts to keep them in, they began to trickle down my cheeks. Finally I made it to my car, opened the door, sat down and promptly laid my forehead on the steering wheel and sobbed. I sat there in the hospital parking lot crying in my mini van for a few minutes before I felt her. 

Suddenly an indescribable peace came over me and I felt my mom's presence in the front passenger seat next to me. I didn't audibly hear her with my ears, nor did I see her with my physical eyes but I knew she was there and somehow she spoke these words to my heart, "It's okay baby, it's okay". Such a simple message but it was exactly the kind of thing she always said to comfort me in her physical body. Moms have a gift to calm our hearts without saying very much, at least mine does. She just lets me cry and allows me to feel how I feel, silently validating her unconditonal love for me. 

With that I sat up, dried my eyes, and turned the key in the ignition. Upon leaving the parking lot a contentment washed over me and the distinct thought came to me that I needed to share some more of my experiences caring for my mom on my blog. I don't know why. Perhaps, like with the experiences I shared about the abuse of my daughter and my divorce that followed, it is for me to heal more fully. Perhaps it can help someone, somewhere who has lost a loved one to cancer or is facing the ugly monster in the face right at this very moment. My hope is that they feel a little less alone and a little more understood. I don't fully understand the whole reason and maybe I never will. All I know is that the nine months I cared for my mom was life altering. It was simultaneously the hardest, most difficult thing I have ever done and the sweetest, most tender, and sacred thing I have ever experienced. It was nine months of my life that I look back on with no regrets. I learned all about a different, deeper kind of love. An eternal love that I could never have comprehended before. I thank you all in advance for allowing me to be vulnerable and share a very special piece of my heart; caring for my mom. 

Kathleen Abrams Ewell, A Believer

I'm not sure this post will make any sense. It is most likely going to be a jumbled mess of my thoughts and feelings. I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head and I know I just need to get them out somehow. I don't know how to write about such tender things while it is still so fresh but feel it is important to do so. I have written quite a bit in my journal but feel the need to share some of these thoughts with others. My mom was one of my biggest supporters of this blog and I know she would want me to share some of these things if it might benefit someone. I still feel so amazed and humbled that what I have to say makes a difference in the lives of others. I feel so normal, so ordinary, but perhaps that is where my power is. I can help others because I'm normal and ordinary and I have been blessed with the courage to share. So with a little apprehension I am once again going to be vulnerable and share with y'all another piece of my heart. I'm going to share some of my grief with you. I'm going to share one of the most valuable things to me with you, my mama.

On July 13th at 3:01 a.m. my dad came to take my sweet mama home and end her mortal suffering. It was a beautiful and tender blessing to hold her hand and feel her heart beat its last few beats. The love that was in that room with my siblings and I surrounding her bed as she left this life is something that cannot ever be described by words we have here in this life. Her nine month battle with stage 4 lung cancer tested and tried her to her limits in every way. Emotionally, spiritually, and physically she fought EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Some would say the cancer won, I have even said she lost her battle but as I look back now I realize I was wrong. Despite extreme pain and moments of doubt and fear she never lost her faith. She never lost who she was as a mother, a sister, a cousin, a grandma, a daughter of God. Her love and faith remained strong the whole way through. I call that a victory! Those who know my mama know she has always had a fierce determination to rise up and be counted as a believer. And that she did!

A week ago we held her funeral and put her body to rest next to my dads. The last week or so has been surreal. None of this feels like it really happened. Occasionally a memory will rush back to me and with it comes emotion, shock. This is reality. With that reality comes the impression that I need to share who my mom was and is. I need to share my testimony that she lives, that death is not the end! I need to share experiences that I've had that have taught me that although awful, bad things happen sometimes to good people, God is real. I have had so many special, sacred experiences these last nine months while caring for my mom. I know I need to write about some of them but I'm still trying to process and decipher what to share. Some things are too special to my siblings and I to ever share publicly.

Despite the pain I feel at the loss of her physical presence I feel a deep, intense peace inside my heart. Nearly every day of my life I have talked to my mom. She was my confidant, my counselor, my best friend. We would talk about a variety of things ranging from things as mundane as what we did that day to our deepest pains and heartfelt desires. Losing her is odd because the person who always helped me the most with this kind of thing was her. I would call her and cry and vent and cry some more. She always validated my feelings and knew exactly what to say to motivate and empower me. In fact, it was she who gave me the words: stronger, braver, fearless as my mantra! I find myself now in a position where I am once again at a crossroads. My whole life was about caring for my mom these last nine months and of course my kids as well. Now I have to create a new life for my kids and I. I don't know exactly what that looks like and that can be terrifying but I have an idea and hope for the future. I don't regret the decision to drop everything and care for her in the least. Besides my decision to become a mother, choosing to care for her was the best thing I have ever done!!! I have now experienced a different, deeper kind of love than I ever thought possible. I am grateful to have experienced that kind of sacred, selfless, eternal love! Every pain I feel at her loss is matched with an equal amount of gratitude. Gratitude for that time. I never in my wildest dreams envisioned myself being an "orphan" before I was thirty but I don't feel that way. I feel so grateful for the parents I have, for the time I had with each of them before they were called home. I have been blessed to have had noble and loving parents. With that gratitude comes peace, I feel their love every day of my life. They are still here with me, in all that I do. I read my moms journal this week and I realized that she also lives on in me. She gave me the best qualities about her. Because of her example I have her strength, her ability to love, her sense of humor, and an unwavering dedication to family and Heavenly Father. I don't necessarily think I'm amazing but she was and through her constant example she has given me the ability to develop those same qualities. They are in me and because of her I will rise up and be counted as she lives on through me. So even though I want to call her and ask for her advice, "What do I do next?", I know what she would say. "you can do hard things", "gird up your loins and fresh courage take", "the gospel isn't for wimps", "put one foot in front of the other", "move forward with faith", "I believe in you and you will rise up to meet what life has handed you", "just do this day", and most importantly, "I love you, you can do this!". Sometimes the grief and fear is debilitating but then I think about her life and the things she overcame and the words of advice she would have for me and I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that although the road will be challenging and overwhelming at times, I will succeed!!! I will know true joy and happiness can be found even in the most difficult times. I choose light, I choose happy, I choose to believe, and I will rise!

Kathleen Abrams Ewell was a lot of things in this life: a daughter, a sister, an actress, a nurturer, a granddaughter, a cousin, a poetess, a teacher, a "ding-a-ling", a friend, a comedian, a devoted wife, a superb mother, and most importantly, she was a believer!

Walls

 

    Humor me and allow me to turn into a therapist for this post. This topic has been on my mind lately.
    Back in July I wrote about how excited I was to fall in love again. It is now nearly December and in just a brief window of single life I had started to become jaded. I started an online dating profile a while back, because honestly as a single mom of little kids how else am I going to gain any dating experience let alone find someone? (Side note: if you're going to lecture me about the dangers of online dating save your breath. I have a protective older brother that has already given me a LENGTHY and DETAILED education of what to look out for and he is prepared to do multiple background checks. Literally.) Anyway, it didn't take very long for reality to hit me square in the face. People are hurt and broken and walls are up. Different people put their walls up differently. Some people put up their walls by wanting only "hookups" with the mentality of, "if I don't really know you to care about you then I won't get hurt, right?" Others put up their walls by only talking about vague and non-personal things. They won't make any small chat about their lives. Some do really well and appear to be pretty open and then they freeze and retract again in fear. And then there are those that will only make small chat never going any deeper. When the walls are up even basic conversation is difficult. Everyone aches to be loved and find that special someone but few are truly open to the possibility of love. How does anyone expect to find love without even having a real conversation? I'm not even talking the complicated, deep stuff but simply a real conversation about their life, likes, and interests. Very few people are willing to carry on a dialogue. It's fairly simple; you ask a question, they answer, then they ask you a question, and so on and so forth. Every one is so afraid of getting hurt again that they even lose the ability to communicate effectively.
      Luckily for me, I'm not in a big hurry and I definitely don't feel any pressure to find someone right away.  I'm actually enjoying my time getting more comfortable and confident with who I am and I'm tapping even deeper into my unique identity as a daughter of God. I'm trying to get more comfortable with talking to men again and if a connection happens, it happens. Hurry or not, I find it so disheartening and depressing that so many people are afraid to be vulnerable. Their fear of vulnerability leaves things feeling a little one sided and then in turn I feel like I have to pull back a little. I don't want to be open if they're not going to be, otherwise I'm the one that gets hurt because I have more to lose. So then nobody is open, it's a vicious cycle. Everyone turns inward. Let me be clear, I'm not saying that we have to tell everyone everything, in fact we shouldn't! We should be selective with who we tell and what we tell (says the woman whose life is an open book because she blogs about it *cough cough* hypocrite*). What I'm saying is that if there is some mutual interest there and you feel good about the person don't hold back because of fear. I found myself doing that very thing. Even my mentality changed, instead of being more optimistic and kind I found myself feeling bitter and resentful. I hated feeling that way! I had an experience that woke me up to what I was doing and I realized that's not who I want to be. I don't care how many times my ego gets bruised, or I am left feeling disappointed, I refuse to be this closed off bitter person. I refuse to withdraw from relationships before I even give them a fair shot. I refuse to live my life in fear in any aspect, including my love life. Am I afraid? ABSOLUTELY!!! I have been burned and I have spent many nights crying myself to sleep. I am choosing to face my fears. Nothing worthwhile comes without a little risk and a little pain.
      It's okay to be afraid. It's a normal response after getting hurt. If you trip and fall on the stairs you're going to be a little more cautious and afraid next time you use the stairs (ask me I know). Fear is our body's way of protecting itself. What's not okay is to dwell in that fear. It would be ridiculous for me to never take a flight of stairs again because I stumbled once or twice. Fear can be a good thing but it can also hinder us if we're not careful. It's especially detrimental to us when we choose fear over faith. We must listen to promptings Heavenly Father gives us no matter how afraid we are or we might lose out on a wonderful blessing. It will be hard to choose faith, I guarantee it! Be patient with yourself and keep praying for help to overcome your fear. It might take a while to get there but allow the atonement to do its job and eventually you will get there.
      When we have been severely hurt in relationships, it can make it really scary for us to be vulnerable again. We may even feel emotionally paralyzed, completely incapable of being vulnerable. What I've realized is that the atonement is critical for me, even in my love life. I can get over my fears, I can heal, I can trust again because of the atonement. Although beneficial, no amount of therapy or self help books will do for me what the atonement of our Savior can. There is no pain in this life that the atonement doesn't cover!
      My life is crazy right now with everything going on with my mom and all of the things I have to do for my kiddos as a single parent. I'm okay with being single, in fact I actually kind or prefer it right now because my practical and limited mortal mind can't comprehend how a relationship would work at the moment. I'm also okay if Heavenly Father places someone in my life and tells me to pursue it. Again I am in no rush to get into a relationship but I will not push away something Heavenly Father wants for me because I don't think the timing is right or because I don't want to get hurt. I'm doing my best to live my life in general with the guidance of the spirit and trust in His plan for me. I try to listen to the promptings I get even if I think Heavenly Father has a screw loose once in a while. Sometimes He prompts me to do things and I think He must be crazy, there's no way I can do what He's asking of me. Doesn't He get that I'm done getting hurt? He does know. He knows my heart. He knows how broken I feel. He knows how much I doubt. He knows I ache. He knows I don't want to get hurt or hurt anyone else. He knows what I need and what my kids need better than I do. I believe in His love and plan for me so strongly that I force myself to swallow my fear and be vulnerable when it feels right. I'm not perfect at everything I've written about but I keep striving to be open to the His plan for me. When something happens and my tender feelings get hurt I turn it over to Him in prayer and "move forward with faith".