The Backhouse
6 minute read
We have a “backhouse” of sorts attached to our detached garage. I use quotations because there’s no plumbing and the ceilings are low (says my husband - to me they’re perfectly hobbit sized), so it’s not exactly a mother-in-law suite or a rentable space constituting a true backhouse… but we still call it that.
With the help of Gup’s talented architect father and the interior design prowess of Jenny Babb, we turned this 10’ x 18’ box with a single door, a window unit, horrid old brown carpet, and fluorescent lighting into a bright home office while retaining a concealed area for storage.
Here’s how:
In April of 2019, handyman (and kind man :) Elisio began ripping up carpet, installing a wall and door to hide the storage area, revamping the electrical, painting, installing flooring, and cutting out space for two big windows next to the main door. We made a desk out of a mid-century console the previous owner left behind, put a fantastic rattan couch from Gup’s great aunt against the windows, placed two cane swivel chairs to face the desk, and bit by bit, the home office for moi began to take shape.
I. Was. Giddy.
Upon the backhouse’s completion in June 2019, this little business was called Clayside Creative. The name Clayside was a double entendre of incorporating my name and the fact that this was very much a side gig to help small businesses put their unmet marketing needs on the side. I was mostly writing other people’s blogs and running their social media platforms, but I was hungry and loving it. I spent most evenings and entire Saturdays back there, only sneaking out for potty breaks and vitamin d doses. My amazing husband fully supported me trying to grow this business, and I felt like I had truly arrived.
This was my little space, and we had a perfectly blissful month of courtship.
Until we didn’t.
I distinctly remember the week it all happened, and I’ll be honest, a year ago I couldn’t have written this without some serious PTSD, so I’m thanking God for slow and steady progress.
I was driving to pick Field up from Vacation Bible School at the beautiful Methodist church in downtown Fort Worth. I didn’t totally know where to park or where to go, so that’s mild stressor #1. I had just left a meeting with a new potential client for my side gig, and I was starting to feel the pressure of their expectations and my over-promises. Stressor #2. As I’m exiting 30 onto Summit Drive, I got a text from my current employer asking me where something was, and I knew I was letting him down by not being in office at that very moment to find it. Stressor #3.
As I pulled up to the stoplight, my vision was going in and out, and I started to blackout. My heart was racing, and I remember having the very clear thought, “This is how I’m going to die. I really hope I get to hug Field before I die.”
I know this sounds so dramatic and silly, but it was so very real. It brings tears to my eyes as I remember how scared I was.
I somehow called Crawford, and I told him all of these thoughts. I told him I couldn’t catch my breath, and I couldn’t see. If you know him, you know he’s CRAZY CALM under pressure, and he lovingly stayed on the phone with me until I was able to park at the church. With his promise to meet me there immediately, I felt a little steadier, and I got out of the car because I needed to see my baby boy.
As I walked to the church, a precious soul and dear friend to this day was the first person I saw. She had just shared her struggles with anxiety, and I knew in that moment how much God loved me. I could’ve seen anyone. This vacation bible school had 600 kids!!! And it was her. AND to top it all off, her daughter was in Field’s class! I looked her in the eyes and told her, “I think I’m having an anxiety attack.” and God did the rest through her. I honestly don’t even remember anything beyond floating through the halls, completely, completely out of body.
We got Field, and Crawford was there to meet us as we walked outside. My friend took Field with her to play, and Gup drove me to the ER. (I say ER because it’s more dramatic, but we really just went to one of the doc-in-the-box ERs).
The whole drive I was telling Crawford how much I loved him and how sorry I was that this is how I was going to die. Y’all, I know this sounds so ridiculous, but I was sure this was it. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, and my heart was beating so fast. It was like I knew it was an anxiety attack, but I also knew this was the end of the road. It had to be. I felt like I had already floated above myself and was spectating what was happening.
We got to the “ER”, and all I remember is the doctor telling me my heart was perfect. In fact all of my vitals were perfect. Then he asked me if I was under a lot of stress, and I said yes… He gently suggested speaking with my OB about some options to offset the anxiety, and he made me an appointment with her for the following Monday. He LOADED ME UP with some intravenous Ativan, and I swear I heard Sister Morphine by the Rolling Stones in the background for the rest of the evening.
It was awesome.
Side-stepping the outfit I put myself in for our dinner plans I refused to cancel that night - actually I won’t sidestep because AP for sure remembers the mess that was me. Y’all I wrapped a pool cover-up/scarf around my waist with a tank top - sounds cute - wasn’t cute. It was all too tight and see through and I don't know what the hell I was thinking except that maybe I was channelling Penny Lane with all the Rolling Stones music I was hearing in the background.
Whew.
Made it to Monday at the OB, and I’ve written more about my struggle with finally taking anti-anxiety medicine here. While I know anxiety was/is a big piece of my story, today’s devotional is titled Backhouse, so we’re gonna stick with that story line.
My go-to for all things health and wellness is the lovely Dabney Poorter. She asked some interesting questions when I told her what had happened - specifically and most pointedly, “How much time were you spending in the backhouse?”
She advised getting it tested for mold because a lot of my symptoms were suspicious of mold toxicity - anxiety, anger/edginess, dizziness, headaches, heavy feet, blurred vision, and the aforementioned panic attack. Sure I had a lot on my plate, but the stress alone wouldn’t have put my body and mind into such a tailspin without something underneath it.
Sparing a lot of boring details about how to know whether there is mold in your house - all of which I’m now happy to discuss if you’re suspicious - again though, there was a period in my life I just couldn’t even talk about this. Thankful to be past it.
Anywho. We got it tested, and sure enough, there was mold. And a lot of it. I have the convo with Walter the Mold Expert forever tattooed on my brain…
“Mam, I’m a pharmacist with multiple degrees and multiple businesses. I’m not telling you this to brag, I’m telling you this to show you how much I believe in helping people rid their homes and bodies of mold toxicity. My wife’s Alzheimer's was completely reversed when we eradicated the mold from our home, so I now do these calls as a volunteer. I’ve been doing it for the past 10 years, and I see about 100 mold tests a day. I can tell you in that time, I have never seen one of the molds in your backhouse, and I have certainly never seen it to this degree. You’ve got to be feeling pretty off. You’re not trying to have babies are you? This will mess with your hormones and thus your anxiety like nobody’s business.”
I burst into tears. Relief mixed with whatdoido immediately ran through my vains. Ol’ Walter gave me tons of good tips, and between him and Dabney I felt armed to get this mold OUT.
I became obsessed.
If you’ve gathered ANYTHING about me, you know I hardly do anything halfway (for better or for worse), and I went headfirst into any and all therapies, remedies, younameits to address the mold both in our home and in my body.
Small (psycho) example…
We bought an outdoor playhouse for Cecca on Facebook Marketplace. When I got home with it, I realized there was mold inside of the plastic siding from rain and residue. Do you know what I did? I got a knife and scissors and ax murdered my way through the plastic all around the house to pressure wash all of the mold out of it. It took me 3 hours.
See. Psycho.
Soooo a lot of prayer, a lot of therapies, a lot of supplements, a lot of experts in and out of the house, and finally testing showed the mold to be gone from both my system and the house.
Praise!
I wish this was the end of the story, but it really isn’t.
I wish I was back in my little backhouse office, but I’m not. I’ve still got some weird reactions when I go in there (PTSD I guess? I dunno. I’m a weirdo guys), but it’s now a Paw Patrol haven where the kiddos play rather than my little slice of heaven. Sidenote: Please, for the love, if you have a Paw Patrol Tower you’d like to offload after your child begged for it and then played with it for exactly 11 minutes -- come dump it.
I do feel better, but to be honest I still have the out-of-body feeling that hit me walking through the church at Vacation Bible School. Everyday. The technical term I learned for it in therapy is called disassociation. I still have it as I write this. It’s weird and it’s uncomfortable if I think about it too much, but I know there’s a reason for it all. It doesn’t make me look or seem different (I don’t think lol), I can remember things, I can still recall outfits like a champion, and I can do a crossword puzzle with the best of ‘em, so I know my brain is functioning at prime Momspeed (which we all know isn’t all that prime ;). I also know if having this sort of out-of-body feeling is the thorn in my side, so be it. It forces me. FORCES me y’all. To abide in Him.
If (when) I get going too fast or put too much on my plate, the dissociated feeling only increases, and I know I’ve gotta pump the brakes.
It sounds coo-coo. Trust me, I know it does. Please don’t go running for the hills, and please don’t think you need to tiptoe around me - I’m good!! :)
I write this for a lot of reasons, but my main reason (aside from the fact that I’ve alluded to it about 100 times, and it was time to finally get it all out there), is to hopefully give hope to anyone out there with a lingering issue. It doesn’t even have to be health-related. It could be a lingering hurt or painful relationship or really anything that just won’t quit.
You’re not alone!
I also write and share this to hopefully nudge you toward BELIEVING the promise that the God of HOPE works all things for His good AND for the good of every.single.one of His children. In light of what Christ accomplished for us at the cross, we CAN count it all joy when we endure suffering of any kind because it makes us more like Christ. Our purpose this side of heaven is to share this promise while simultaneously becoming more like Christ in the process.
Do I want this feeling to go away? Hell yes. Do I believe God can take it away? Absolutely. Is He still good even if He doesn’t? He sure is.
I don’t love the thought of it never going away, but I can cling to this truth: I’m not home yet. And neither are you. It’s hard for our little human brains to conceptualize eternity, but as scripture tells us, this life is but a breath compared to what’s coming. In paradise. With Him.
And do you know what else I know? He who began a good work in me will see it through to completion in the day of Christ Jesus.
One day, this weird feeling will go away. I will be complete when I get home. So will you.
But until then, we make the most of this life! It’s good! It’s beautiful! It’s stinking hard! But it ain’t the end of the road. Oh no. It’s but a vapor!
Leaving you with this quote by C.S. Lewis because I just can’t get enough of it:
“If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next.”
Father God, you can do anything. You are most high, omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, Lord of lords and King of kings. We praise you for who you are. In our flesh we are sinners, We want our way, and we want it yesterday. We claim and strive for self-sufficiency, completely missing the truth that your grace alone is sufficient for us. You’re all we need! Thank you for being in our corner and for being the sole being who understands our pain or struggle the most. Especially when circumstances seem out of control or out of body - you’re there steadying us. You do not allow our foot to slip! You are the shade on our right hand. Thank you Jesus. Help us remember this as we walk in and out of struggle. You’re there, and you understand! In Jesus’s Name I pray, Amen.
Shaking things up a bit this week and leaving you with some questions to ponder in addition to scripture.
Sunday/Monday
Romans 8:28
Is there a dark or heavy period of your life where you can/could still see God’s goodness?
Tuesday
Proverbs 16:9
Is there somewhere in your life you’re confused by God’s plans?
Wednesday
James 1:2-7
What does it mean to you to count suffering as joy? Does it frustrate you or encourage you?
Thursday
James 4:13-15
Does the thought of eternity in heaven scare you? (It’s ok if it does ;) Why or why not?
Friday
Matthew 6:25-27
Can you think of a time you obsessed over something and know it wasn’t God’s best for your life?
Saturday
Daniel 3:16-25
If you could ask God to change anything about your life, what would it be? Do you believe He could change it? Do you believe He’s still good if He doesn’t?