Help for Choosing Joy

For those of us who struggle with depression or who have been through trials understand that just choosing joy is not as easy as it sounds. We are told that the way to have joy is just to choose it. Quit thinking about the negative and focus on the positive: "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things" (Philippians 4:8 NLT). I can tell you that in the early days of each trial or on days when my depression is at a high level, just choosing joy is an impossibility. Thinking about things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and/or praiseworthy is not possible when depression or sadness rears their ugly heads.

I wish that choosing joy was as easy as thinking about good things. How I wish it with every fiber of my being.

The truth is that there much more to choosing joy than just anything.

There is clear psychological evidence that we can re-train our brains to move from pessimistic thinking to optimistic, but that re-training does not happen over-night or even with the very first optimistic thought. We must work hard, with great intentionality to be able to re-focus our thinking from the negative to the positive. 

Even doing the work, being intentional does not mean always having success in re-training our thinking. There will be set-backs throughout the process. There will be many difficult periods of time. There will be moments when allowing the sadness to consume us feels safer than taking even one more step towards choosing joy becomes as natural as breathing.

If we want to have true joy, though, if we want to be able to choose joy regardless, then we must intentionally re-train our brains. We can only that in, through, and with God and the power of His Holy Spirit in our lives. We must make Him a priority, the priority. 

We make the Lord our priority by:

1. Reading His Word. But not just reading it, studying it, living it, making it as much a part of our daily lives as eating. It does not really matter when we read the Bible (although many Bible scholars like to argue that the best time is first thing/early in the morning); what matters the most is that we spend time in the Word every single day.

2. Being grateful. One source after another that I have read over the past many years discusses the truth that gratitude is the gateway to joy. It is not an easy thing to find something to be grateful for in the midst of our severest trials in life. I know that I was not even thankful that I was alive during the first several months (and long after) we lost our James Isaac. And again with each subsequent loss over the years. Little by little, one item at a time, I began finding very real things to be grateful for: my parents, my sister, my brother, my in-laws, other family members including my extended family, my doctors and nurses and other medical staff, a soft blanket to wrap up in, a beautiful sunset, snow. . . .Eventually my ability to find anything to be grateful for outgrew my ability to keep track. I continue to be grateful.

3. Worshiping the Lord. One of the greatest ways we can re-train our brains to focus on the Lord rather than our circumstances is to worship the Lord. It has been called a "sacrifice" of praise for a reason; if you have been where I have been, you know exactly how much of a sacrifice it is to praise the Lord--to choose joy. But with every note, with every word, we move forward into God's truth.

4. Praying. Pray without ceasing. Tell God everything. Leave out nothing--not one single thought or feeling even if we are ashamed of it. God can take it. If we are angry; we admit it. Tell Him. Shout it from the rooftops if we must. Be honest with the Lord when we have come to the end of our rope and we simply cannot take even one more tragedy. (Yes, we can have more in our lives than we can handle. Study the scripture carefully, 1 Corinthians 10:13.) Tell Him exactly what is going on; tell Him exactly how you feel; tell Him when you want to end it all; call out to Him. Just pray.

5. Not being alone. Until you are able to re-train your brain, I recommend that you are rarely, if ever, alone. Surround yourself with other Believers especially those who pray with you, support you, and love you unconditionally. Avoid those who seem to want to spout platitudes, including Bible verses, in a vain attempt to help you feel better. Spend time with those who will allow you to grieve, to feel whatever you feel with zero judgment. Tell these friends what you need; they have no idea how to help, so they need you to tell them what you need and how they can help.

6. Keep waking up. Keep getting up. Keep doing something even if it is just one something every single day. Every one thing to help re-train your brain to choose joy rather than focus on the negative does help. When we just can't do even that one more thing, say His name--say the name of Jesus. There is power in the name of Jesus.

So much of what I write in my book Joy Actions speaks to specific actions we can take to help us choose joy--to help us find joy. Other authors, worship leaders, pastors, counselors, and the list goes on are available to help you be intentional regarding choosing joy. Use the resources you have. God has given them to us for a reason. Don't be like the person in the old story about the one who is trapped in a flood and, in spite of someone coming in a car, then a boat, and even a helicopter, keeps saying that God will save him. Open your eyes to see that God wants to save you; He is sending you everything you need.

"And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha." (2 Kings 6:17 NLT)

Anna Rose

In 2005, when Samuel was about four years old, James finally agreed that we should (could) start trying to have another baby. I was ecstatic, to say the least!! Early in the new fall semester, we learned that we were pregnant, and I was over the moon! 

I got an appointment with Dr. Merta as soon as possible since I knew that I was already considered high risk. Even though we'd had one successful live birth four years earlier, there had been the two previous losses prior to Samuel. I was still very nervous, needless to say.

Things were looking good. I was throwing up every single day, which many women may see as a bother, but I saw it as a blessing. As long as I was throwing up, I knew my baby was fine. As long as I was getting sick, I was still pregnant. I was happy to throw up every single day.

The morning I didn't throw up, I knew. I just didn't want to believe it. I still hoped. But deep down, where my knower knows, I knew.

I didn't say anything to anyone. I went to school. I acted as normal as possible. It was two days before Thanksgiving. It was an easy week at school; I had made sure that my classes were workdays, so my students didn't have to worry if they chose to take the time to be with family rather than come to class. There were only two students in the classroom with me that morning. We chatted throughout the hour, mostly. I tried to get some work done, as did they, but it is difficult to focus when there are so few people in the room and it's a holiday week.

At one point during the hour, I felt an odd POP in my vaginal region. Yes, like a balloon had popped inside my vagina. I knew that was very strange, but I just thought I had peed a little and that I would go straight to the bathroom as soon as the hour was up--which was in just a few minutes. I could hold on for just a few more minutes.

As the three of us were saying goodbye and walking out of the classroom, the gentleman had stepped off to the side to allow me to go ahead of him. I walked by him and he said, "Where's all this blood coming from?"

With barely a glance behind me, I knew exactly where it was coming from.

I screamed and raced from the room. 

I spent the next hour in the bathroom sitting on the toilet, screaming and crying. Crying and screaming. There were several ladies with me. A few on-campus EMTs came to check on me. An ambulance was called because I refused to allow anyone to drive me to the hospital; I would not ride in anyone's car because of how badly I was bleeding. I was scared to get off the toilet, too, because it was one of those auto-flush ones and I did not know if, well, if I had already passed the baby. We made sure one of the EMTs looked quickly as I moved off onto the stretcher.

I was taken out of the bathroom on a stretcher, in front of everyone. That was when I remembered that the bathroom didn't have a ceiling, so everyone in the building had been listening to me scream and cry for the past hour or so and everyone knew what was going on. I pulled the sheet up over my head and wept.

The next several hours can only be described as more horror. James met me at the emergency room at the hospital. We spent many hours just waiting in a room. A doctor came in and examined me, pulling out one blood clot after another. He was very callous and cold. At one point, he even held one up and said, "This could be it." 

What an idiot. I think James and I both disliked that doctor with a passion.

In spite of the fact that someone had called Dr. Merta, because I had ridden in the ambulance, he could not see me until the ER doctor released me. It was a huge relief to be finally in his very capable and comforting and understanding hands. He prepped me for a D&C.

I don't know if having a D&C is the right thing to do when having a miscarriage, my friends. Please don't judge me. The horror of these experiences cannot truly be described in words on a page like this. I had to do what my doctor recommended and felt was best for me. I was scared and I trusted Dr. Merta. 

As with my first miscarriage after surgery, I woke up in recovery, sobbing. 

I honestly do not remember much after that. 

I do not remember Thanksgiving or Christmas. I think my family came here that year because I was not up for traveling. 

My depression worsened. 

I withdrew from everyone and everything, especially my husband. In fact, he withdrew from me. We withdrew from each other. We both put all our focus on Samuel and only talked to each other when it came to Samuel or anything absolutely necessary.

It was during this time that if I could have taken my life, I would have. But I was not going anywhere without Samuel, so if I did it, it was going to be with him. I wrote stories about it. I imagined it in full detail. I knew exactly how I would do it. 

But then I would look at Samuel playing and his zest and love for life and how absolutely cute and adorable he was and there was no way I was going to ever take that away from this world. The world needed that gorgeous boy and his laughter, whether it needed me or not.

Samuel saved my life.

It took a long time, but I finally named this baby, too. Again, we have no idea whether this baby was a boy or girl. I was only 11 weeks along, again. I decided to use a girl's name: Anna Rose. It is a twist on my mother's name, Rosanne, as well as my middle name, Anna. And it comes from my family member's real name, Rosella. Appropriate, don't you think?

I imagine my Anna Rose would have been my shy one. Quiet. Reserved. The mothering-type from the womb. Girlie, loving all things pink, and everything the stereo-typical girl loves. Panya Ruth, I think, would have been my mini-me--joyous, rambunctious, full of life, difficult to reign in, always going full tilt! My two girls would have been best friends, despite their age difference. 

You would think that after all these years (I miscarried Anna Rose on November 10, 2005) it gets easier. 

It doesn't. 

It just gets different.

Adrift

It is not easy when life hits you out of nowhere and you crash. I mean, here you are, going along, minding your own business, living your life, things are going just fine, and BAM! A monsoon hits and your boat sinks. You're left in a tiny raft in the middle of the big blue ocean, fighting for your life, wondering if it's worth it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OiLC9vSQGY

(I honestly haven't watched the video that goes with this image. I just really loved the picture.)

Being adrift in the ocean has exacerbated my depression. I don't want to go anywhere or do anything. I have spent a LOT of time over the past two months in tears. I am alone--if not in reality, then metaphorically. Even the people who say they understand don't REALLY understand. (Friends and family, please don't be offended; hear my heart.) 

I've been lost. Just so very lost. Emotionally. Physically. Personally. Spiritually. Sharks have circled. As have other dangerous creatures seeking to devour me at their first opportunity. And trust me, they have all tried to knock me out of my raft. I have almost been eaten more times than I care to count.

I've seen such beauty, too, though. The sights of dolphins, whales, the moon, sunrises, sunsets, and so much more--I've been awestruck. How could anyone not believe in God? I've clung to those images and to Him and in those moments, He spoke to me.

My God spoke to me in His still small voice today as I was reading His Word, words of reassurance that I desperately needed. I pray that it is ok with Him that I share these words with you. If not, then I pray that no one reads this post.

In my drifting, I have lost my way. I have been stuck. I have no idea what to do next. I believe I'm supposed to write, to finish my Memoir, but I have not been working on it at all. I have avoided it. Why? 

Fear? Because I'm stuck? Because I'm adrift? 

I have no idea.

But today, the Lord spoke to me and I hope and pray that these words are all the motivation I need to be rescued from my raft:

"Take heart and finish the task, Polly! (Zechariah 8:9, NLT) (Be strong.) I AM HERE! Get on with it, Polly. You're stuck because you haven't finished the Work. I can't move until you finish the product. You keep waiting for Me to do something miraculous. And I will. But My hands are tied until YOU finish your part. So FINISH it. Quit stalling. Quit moping. Quit waiting on Me. I'm here. I AM! I AM WITH YOU, POLLY, My Precious Joy Song (Haggai 1:13, NLT)! I am going to fulfill the promise I gave you. But you have to complete your part. Now do it!!! Just do it! Don't be afraid or discouraged (Zechariah 8:13, NLT). All that has happened has happened so I may use you for My glory, Polly. Will you be obedient to My calling? To My purpose? All you have to do is finish it!"

Lord, I will be obedient. I accept. Here I am. Use me. I am getting out of my raft and finishing the task You gave me. I love You, Lord.

Friends, family, loved ones who have read this far: will you pray with and for me that I will finish the task that the Lord has given me and that I will stay the course??? That I will be obedient? That I will not let depression keep me from doing what I know God has called me to do?

Thank you. I love you all!

I am Defined by...Part 2

I am Defined by...Part 1

I am Polly Anna. My parents named me perfectly. According to Eleanor H. Porter's Pollyanna, a Pollyanna is someone who looks for the good in life--someone who finds something to be Glad about even when it is difficult, if not impossible, to find something to be Glad about. Pollyanna is known for playing "The Glad Game." Yes, it is very high on my list of favorite book of all time.

According to the "Word Origin and History for Pollyanna": "n.

one who finds cause for gladness in the most difficult situations," 1921, a reference to Pollyanna Whittier, child heroine of U.S. novelist Eleanor Hodgman Porter's "Pollyanna" (1913) and "Pollyanna Grows Up" (1915), who was noted for keeping her chin up during disasters.
http://www.dictionary.com/browse/pollyanna?s=t

A few synonyms for a Pollyanna are: dreamer, hoper, positive thinker.

The American definition of Pollyanna is actually very offensive: "an excessively or blindly optimistic person." I do not identify with the American definition of Pollyanna in the slightest, but I will say that this is why I believe that so many people are so easily put off by me. Having the anointing oil of joy more than anyone else is a heavy responsibility. One of the most difficult reasons why it is a heavy responsibility is because it means that many are easily offended by my "excessive or blind optimism." But I can't answer for anyone but myself. I am who I am. I am who God made me, not just the name my parents gave me.

I am not only Polly Anna in name--on my birth certificate and in my signature, but I am a Polly Anna in every fiber of my being. I am one who finds cause for gladness in difficult situations. I am a dreamer, hoper, positive thinker. I do play the Glad Game. I do look for the good in people and situations. I live life enthusiastically and with JOY. I love to laugh. I love to make others laugh. I love to smile. I smile for no reason whatsoever. I love to sing just to sing because I'm happy!

"I sing because I'm happy! I sing because I'm free!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QbNh6C7ijU

I tend to be the one who gets a tad overly-excited about the little things--who squeals like a stuffed pig when I'm excited. A sweet friend took me with her to Washington, DC several years ago and, of course, we went to the National Zoo where we got to see my very favorite animal in the whole wide world: pandas! Yes, I screamed, squealed, cried, and screamed some more! My friend finally walked away and went to find a seat where she waited--patiently, I think--for me. She still teases me about it. When my husband took me to Zoo Atlanta a few years later, my reaction was similar. I think my screaming and crying for joy actually scared a few people. I honestly started screaming and hyperventilating before we even got to the Panda-paddock. My husband wasn't sure I'd even make it to see the pandas!

I try to go see movies in the theater during slower movie times because when I watch a movie, I WATCH a movie. I laugh loud. I cry--loud. If it's a musical, I sing--loud. (I even whisper loud.) Some people laugh along with me and get a kick out of my enjoyment of the film--and we all have a very good time. Others get really upset and tell me that I am ruining the movie for them and ask me to be quiet. I honestly don't mean to be rude or ruin their experience. I simply enjoy can't help it. Honest!

Yes, I am loud. That, too, is very much a part of Polly Anna. I do try. I really do. I respect those around me so very much who are able to speak quietly yet metaphorically carry a big stick. I think that is awesome. What an incredible power to wield! I speak very loudly and carry a toothpick. Seriously. And it's a blunt toothpick, not one of those sharp ones. Even my whispering is loud. When I was little, my Grandpa Keefer was always telling me, "Not so loud, Polly." Every so often, as an adult teacher, I've had teachers from the classroom next door come over and say, "Not so loud, Mrs. Watson." 

It does hurt my feelings, a lot, to be told over and over that I am too loud, especially when I do try not to be so loud. But even when I try to speak in a softer, quieter voice, it comes out loud and strong and clear. It simply bursts forth out of me--almost of its own volition.

And I talk a lot. A lot a lot. Throughout my school days, I always did very well and had very good reports to bring home to my parents. The only comment that was ever on my reports was, "Polly talks too much." The only reason I ever got in trouble in school was for talking. Teachers would try to move me across the room away from my friends, never realizing that I would just make friends with the new people--if I wasn't already friends with them. I talked to everyone: boys, girls, teachers, myself, my hairbrush. And I still do.

I am also a touchie-feelie kind of person. I like to stand close enough to be touching the person I am talking to, or sitting close. I will typically touch the person--on the hand, arm, shoulder, face, or head. If I am close to the person (a family member or very close friend, I may rub the underside of her upper arm or her back). And I hug--any and everyone who will let me hug him/her. I love hugs. My Grandpa Keefer was a hugger; everyone loved his hugs. When we were all sitting around after his death, everyone talked about how wonderful his hugs were. I want to be remembered for my hugs, too.

As I have gotten older, all of the previous characteristics have continued to define me. No matter how hard I have tried to dampen the ones that have gotten me into trouble, they continue to get me into trouble. Yet, I am Polly Anna and I love that part of who I am. It is my favorite part of myself. I truly wish that part of myself could and would always manifest itself--be manifested on a day-to-day basis.

But like Pollyanna in the story, my life has not been perfect. I almost wish that the worst thing that has ever happened to me would be to fall out of a tree and not be able to walk. (I don't mean that. I'm speaking metaphorically here.) Like Pollyanna Harrington, I have had many times in my life when it has been beyond difficult to play "The Glad Game"--to be Polly Anna. 

    In my twenties while my husband and I were living in Springfield, MO, I fell into a deep depression that I found it very difficult to come out of even after we had moved back to NC. I think I stayed in at least a state of mild depression until I got pregnant with our first son.
    During my pregnancy when we had the first ultrasound, it revealed a large mass on my left ovary. After a few weeks, they did another ultrasound and discovered that the mass had grown a centimeter for every week that had passed since the first ultrasound. The doctor decided that he needed to do a surgery right away--I was at 20 weeks--to remove the mass as well as my ovary and part of the fallopian tube. All was well with our baby boy.
    On March 16, 1999, I went to the OB for my regular weekly appointment, excited about the final weeks of my pregnancy. I was at 38 weeks. They couldn't find a heartbeat. James Isaac Watson was stillborn on March 17, 1999.
    Then on November 10, 1999, I miscarried: Panya Ruth Watson.
    Anna Rose Watson was miscarried while I was on campus at the college where I teach on November 22, 2005.
    I think depression is a given.
    My marriage went down the tubes.
    In November 2009, at death's door, I had to have an ostomy bag

for three months. In April 2010, it was reversed and the doctor removed eight inches of my colon.
    Then, in November of 2010, I had a uterine ablasion because of vaginal bleeding due to a polyp.
    I don't remember the year, but somewhere in there, I had a meltdown where I might have killed James if he hadn't left the house. 
    During that same time period, I had a boss who had it in for me and was determined to have me fired. 
    I began seeing a chiropractor and a massage therapist.
    I had my first official anxiety attack and began taking medicine specifically for anxiety.
    I also began taking medicine for depression--eventually going up to 100 mg.
    Migraines have been a consistent problem throughout all this time. I have been able to keep them managed--mostly--with Excedrine Migraine.
    In December of 2016, I had my gall bladder removed.
    Summer of 2017, I was officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia.
    I was written up at work in October 2017 and the very next day, I yelled at my boss.
    In December 2017, I was diagnosed with:
            Bipolar 2
            PTSD
            Adjustment Disorder

All of these things make Polly Anna who Polly Anna is. Do you have any idea what it's like to be a super social person but yet full of anxiety when you even think about social situations, so you more often than not cancel social functions? Most of the time, if I somehow or another get to the social event, I have a wonderful time; I enjoy myself very much and I think that the people who socialize are glad that I was there. 

But then there are the very few times when being amongst others is so overwhelming that I have literally run from the party, jumped in my car, and screamed the whole way home. 

There have been times when the negative comments about my exuberance or my loudness or my enthusiasm have hurt my feelings so badly that I have gone home, sat in my spot on the couch, and not moved for days, weeks, and even months except to go to work or church. And I did those with little to no enthusiasm or desire to be there. 

I have become so angry because of the hurtful comments that I took to saying things like "I'd like to punch [...] in the throat." I wrote several stories about serial killing. (Granted, I honestly they're actually pretty good stories about serial killing, but I used myself as the model for the serial killer in each story.) I was holding a baby once and when he grabbed my glasses off my face after slapping me, I was so close to hurting him, I put him down and ran away. 

I have terrible "temper tantrums." I have recently learned that these are part of the Bipolar diagnosis and are called "manic rages." They can come as quickly as they go and there is rarely a rhyme or a reason for them. I have mostly been able to keep them under control in public, especially at my work, but that has not been easy. If I am successful there, then the rage has to be released somewhere and that, sadly, tends to be at home on my husband and/or son.

Yet, through it all, I continue to seek JOY. I know that I still have the anointing oil of JOY on me more than anyone else. I still live life with enthusiasm. I still smile a lot, laugh a lot, sing a lot, hug a lot. Some of it is because it's still me--Polly Anna--underneath all the "stuff" that has happened over the past 30 years, but some of it is the mask I have created for when it is simply too difficult to BE me, but yet I need to be Polly Anna. Several years ago, around 2009, in fact, God gave me Psalm 45:7: 

I knew as soon as I read that verse that He meant it for me, as a special Word from Him to me, that His Holy Spirit was speaking directly to my very soul. In that moment, God anointed me, pouring out the oil of Joy on me more than on anyone else. It is a heavy responsibility that I do NOT take lightly or for granted.

Every single detail I have mentioned throughout here makes me who I am today--makes me the Polly Anna I am today, December 21, 2017, at 47 years old. A part of me wishes that none of the bad stuff had ever happened. But then I am reminded that God more often than not uses those who have struggled greatly. 1 Peter 1 says: "⁶ So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you must endure many trials for a little while. ⁷ These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world." Almost every single Hero of the Faith whether in the Bible or someone we know historically experienced great trials, tribulations, and suffering. Paul talks about how he asked God three separate times to take the thorn of suffering from his side, but God refuses. Paul accepts the inevitable saying that he is glad, thankful for his weakness because it is in his weakness that he is made strong in Christ (2 Corinthians 12). 

Maybe, just maybe, like Paul, I have these thorns so that in my

weakness, I am only made strong through Jesus Christ my Savior.


And then we go back to 2 Corinthians which reminds us that: "God

is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. ⁴ He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.⁵ For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ. ⁶ Even when we are weighed down with troubles, it is for your comfort and salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things we suffer. ⁷ We are confident that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in the comfort God gives us." In other words, not only do all my trials help define me, but they are also meant to be used to help comfort others. God HAS comforted me through all my trials; He continues to comfort me through them. My "job" (if you will allow me to use that term) is to comfort others who have experienced similar trials. 

Maybe, just maybe, others will see me--hear my story or ready my story and find comfort in it because, in spite of it all, because of it all, in it all, through it all, IT IS WELL.

It is well with my soul. I may have mental illnesses and physical disabilities and character traits that drive others crazy. I may be different from the vast majority of the people I know and come into contact with. You may not understand why I smile. You may not understand why I smile at you. 

That's ok.

Because I am Polly Anna. When I die, I hope it can and will be said of me: 

Polly Anna: She sure was!

Polly Anna

Smile

Do you smile? A lot?
Never?
When you see someone looking at you? Even a stranger?
All the time?
Only when you're in public? 
Only when there is something worth smiling about?

Growing up, my mom was always telling me to Smile. I'd get up to do a performance of some sort (piano recitals, VBS presentations of what we'd learned throughout the week, church choir, church plays, various school activities, the list is endless) and mom would be in the audience smiling her huge smile. If I wasn't smiling, she'd make a smile motion with her finger to her mouth and I'd automatically smile.

Whether I want to smile or not, smiling is officially a huge part of who I am. I smile ALL the time. I almost got in a fight once when I was in high school because I was smiling. We were practicing for our band competition and the band director had us lined up across from one another. I was smiling at everyone on the opposite side of me when this one girl who I didn't know angrily asked me, "What are you smiling at?!" I grinned even wider and told her that I was just smiling! She took a step out of line towards me, but a friend standing close to me told the girl that I always smiled [like a goofball--I can't remember if he added that part or if I've added it to my memory ;)]. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure he saved my life. I have NO fighting skills, so she'd have beaten me to a pulp if she had decided to follow through!!

That experience didn't stop me from smiling one bit. It was too deeply ingrained in me by then. 

I might have smiled early on because my mom "made" me, but as the years went by, I smiled because I wanted to. I loved to smile and I certainly loved to laugh....a lot.

There have even been times when I've walked into my classroom and my students have said, "Toldja!" When I've asked what was up, I was told that they had bet one another on whether or not I would walk in with a smile on my face. I had no idea at the time that others noticed my smile--whether I smiled or not or even how often I smiled--or not. It was reassuring, I admit, to learn that when I was in public, I was always smiling.

Smiling has been one of my greatest blessings; I am truly thankful to my wonderful mom for making it so much a vital part of who I am.

I am sad to say, though, that smiling has also been my greatest curse. Since the first onset of my depression while my husband and I were living in Missouri, I have used my smile to hide behind--as a mask to cover up my sadness and deepest sorrows and anxieties. I have pretended that all is well when in reality I was not only battling depression, but I was also battling a desire to just die. I had come to hate my life in such a huge way. I had NO real friends while we lived in Missouri and I was simply miserable. I was so excited when we finally moved home; I just knew that my depression would end and I could quit pretending that all was well. I was out of "Misery" (my mom and I had started calling Missouri that) and I was back home with family and friends.

Then we learned that I was going to have a baby and my smile grew bigger, wider, and much more pronounced. I had thought that I smiled huge before that, but being pregnant was the greatest desire of my life and I was more JOYFUL than I'd ever thought it was possible to be. You couldn't wipe the smile off my face even while I was throwing up! And I threw up every single day of that pregnancy--until it was abruptly over.

James Isaac was stillborn on March 17, 1999. That is the day my smile died, as well. 

It is the day when the mask came back up and was permanently glued to my face. My smile was for the benefit of others. They grieved for me and hurt for me and I wanted to reassure them that I was ok--or that I would be ok--even though I wanted to be in the ground with my baby. 

I smiled because I didn't know what else to do. I smiled to reassure others. I smiled because it was too deeply a part of me not to. I smiled because I wanted to prove that I was strong--not only in body, but especially in my faith. I smiled. But I smiled only with my mouth. I have no idea if others noticed that I didn't smile with my whole being as I had done before. I've never asked because I hoped with every fiber of my being that my smile was good enough to make them feel better so they wouldn't worry about me...even though they should have been worried.

Over the next ten years, at least, my smile was plastered on, but it was fake--a mask--hiding severe depression, anxiety, and grief. I have recently learned that PTSD doesn't apply just to those in the military. I clearly was suffering from PTSD, but I pretended that I was the PollyAnna everyone expected me to be. I smiled because I was determined to be happy in spite of my pain and suffering, in spite of my grief. I smiled because I had read somewhere that some things we must do as a way of "faking it 'til we make it." Deep down, I hoped that if I kept smiling even though I didn't feel the smile that one day the mask would come unglued and my smile would be genuine--it would be the real me.

In a way, that was true. I smiled until my cheeks and my neck hurt. And one day, I realized that in order for my mask to be removed--for my smile to be real again, I would have to make A CHOICE to change. I would not become happy again just because I smiled until it happened. I would only become happy again when I CHOSE to make it happen. 

It was during that time that I discovered that I didn't want to just be happy, I wanted to be JOYFUL, full of the JOY of the Lord. That was when the Lord gave me the verse, "You love justice and hate

evil. Therefore God, your God, has anointed you, pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else" (Psalm 45:7 & Hebrews 1:9, NLT). I wept as I understood that God wanted to restore my JOY. But not only did He want to restore my Joy, but He wanted to anoint me with the oil of joy--more than anyone else.

I began studying everything I could about JOY, starting with every single verse in the Bible that mentions JOY--in every translation and in every definition of JOY. I began memorizing JOY verses and looking for JOY in everything around me.

My mask--my fake smile--did not come off quickly or easily. As I said, it was glued on. It came off in small pieces--slowly--one at a time. I would argue that there are still small pieces that refuse to come unstuck, but the wonderfulness of God is that my smile is real again--genuine. When I smile now, it's because I have the JOY of the Lord deep down in my heart and soul. He truly has anointed me with the oil of joy more than anyone else I know.

I do not take His gift lightly. So when I smile at you, know that I smile from a place of JOY. My smile is just one way I have of demonstrating that God has removed my depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and the painful mask I wore for so long.

And all I can do now is Praise Him with my Smile!

I AM Defined by.....

Every so often, I hear about or read a story of someone who has overcome insurmountable obstacles to achieve his/her dream in life. Quite often, these folks say, very explicitly, that they do not want to be defined by the difficulties in their lives or the obstacles they have had to overcome. This one has cancer but doesn’t want her cancer to define who she is. That one has a skin disease and loudly proclaims that her skin disease does not define her.

I get where these folks are coming from. I really do. No one thing ever defines anyone. We are all defined by so much more than one event, or one physical aspect, or one outburst, or one moment, and so on and so forth. These things become very much a part of who we are, though, and to many people around us, make us THAT person.

For example, many of you have watched the wonderful video with Candace Payne putting on the Chewbacca mask and expressing her sheer joy. As we continue to hear about Candace, more often than not, she is referred to as the “Chewbacca Mom.” While it is her video that has made her famous, I am sure that Ms. Payne will agree with the fact that she is so much more than the “Chewbacca Mom.” I see from her website that she is a musician—the worship leader at her church. She is a teacher. Mom. Wife. And the list goes on.

I have often found myself agreeing with the statements of how

such-and-such does not and will not define me. But as I have lain here, desperately trying to fall asleep, I have been praying. And the Holy Spirit has revealed to me that I AM defined by the such-and-suches in my life. I am who I am—who I am becoming—because of everything I have been through, everything I love, everything I don’t like, those I associate with, and so on.

Without the specifics of my life, I would not be the Polly Anna I am. I AM defined by my child losses. I AM defined by the health issues I have struggled with. I am defined by these things and so much more…..

I am Polly Anna [Kinsey] Watson…..

            Mommy to James Isaac (stillborn March 17, 1999)

            Mommy to Panya Ruth (miscarried November 10, 1999)

            Mommy to Samuel Josiah (born May 1, 2001)

            Mommy to Anna Rose (miscarried November 22, 2005)

            Wife of James Allen

            Sister of Katie Kinsey Walston

            Sister of Kenneth E. Kinsey, Jr.

            Daughter of Ken and Posy Kinsey

            Aunt

            Niece

            Cousin

            Sister-in-law

            Teacher

            Writer

            Reader

            Hugger

            Lover

            Pink

            Purple

            Lover of pandas

            Lover of movies

            Sorrow

            Joy

            Joy-full

            Short

            Lover of pandas

            Overweight

            Sunday School teacher

            Extrovert

            Introvert

            Christian

            Pastor’s Wife

            Peachy

            Enthusiastic

            Friend

            Simple

            Complex

            One who is loud

            One who laughs

            One who cries

            One who has been at death’s door

            One who has watched angels battle demons of death for my very life

And so much more…….

Everything I do, everything I have done, everything I have experienced/been through in my life, all my loves, all my likes, everyone I come into contact with…..they all work together to make me ME. No one thing defines Polly Anna. They ALL define Polly Anna. As much as I believe that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that what you see is what you get, there are many people in my life who have no idea some of the things I have been through or many of the things I have felt or experienced over the years. It’s not that I keep these things secret; it’s simply that there isn’t anything for you to SEE when you look at me that shows all the things that define me.

I know that many people see a woman who [almost] always has a smile on her face and who always responds to “How are you?” with a loud, joyful, “Peachy!” Many people who look at me see a woman who has become quite large. (OK. I’m fat.) Many people see someone who is often overly enthusiastic.

But not everyone sees or knows that I battle depression—that I’ve battled it most of my adult life. I’ve only been on medication for it in recent years, though.

Not everyone sees that in spite of my attempts to CHOOSE JOY on a daily basis, I still grieve the loss of 3 babies. I always will. Pieces of my heart were buried with each baby.

Not everyone sees or knows that quite often when I get silly, I am fighting a sadness that is attempting to wash over me like a comfortable blanket.

You may be my friend on Facebook and read my daily Joy posts (The PollyAnna JOY Plan), but you may not know that I do them in a desperate attempt to find the positives in my life rather than focusing on and feeling the sadness and pain.

So no, I am not defined by JUST my child losses or JUST my health issues or JUST the fact that I am a teacher…. ALL work together to make me ME. I am not perfect. But in my imperfections, I am the perfect Polly Anna I can possibly be. Love me or hate me, I am so much more than……and so are you.