No More Bits and Pieces: My Entire Journey to Find Who I am in Christ

The Journey of Crystal Fulmer

I am on the precipice of something exponential. I am about to cross over from suffering, self-condemnation and grief into accepting my gifts and positioning myself in a way in which all of them will be utilized and God will get the glory. The enemy isn’t happy and he’s using all his usual tricks to keep me from crossing the bridge. I write my story in the hopes that not only venting and laying it all out will “unmush “my brain, but also because I feel like I will need the encouragement, support, and validation of others and I hope that my story can help others. So… here it is:

My Home Life

I was born to an amazing mom. I was an emergency C section because of the placenta’s position. After birth, my mom’s milk didn’t come in and so she formula fed me as her mother had done with her. When my brother was born, he was c Sectioned and formula fed right away. I never once equated nursing, formula feeding, mom staying home, etc. with love. What I DO remember is a mother who would hold me all night long when I had ear infections and was always willing to listen to what I had to say even after a long day of work. I was not deprived in any way of love from my mother as far as I was concerned. Even though we didn’t say , “I love you”, it was seen.

Now, my mom and dad were both Christians but my dad was new to the faith and had had a pretty rough home life as a child. He, as well as my grandpa on my mom’s side, suffered anxiety and depression, but my father’s was much more visible and effected our family much more directly and deeply. I grew up believing a lot of things that weren’t really true in real life, and I still struggle with coming out of those false paradigms. I have never doubted my father’s love for me; he did the best he could and is doing the best he can.  That doesn’t, however, mean that I don’t carry the scars of the generations before me. I am a product, in many ways, of how I was raised. We can walk away from that to some degree, but generally, it’s always there  in some small way until our last breath. 

College

I had a great time in college, despite one bad break up, and the breaking free from my family and the decisions they wanted me to make.. no matter how well-intentioned. I made lots of wonderful friends and even traveled the world a little bit! Sometimes, some anxiety and paranoia would pop up for a few hours… but it didn’t consume me. I always saw myself as a normal college age girl.

Marriage and College

I literally married my best friend. We were still in school when we married, however, so we built our first year of marriage in a trailer on campus learning that I was a screamer when I communicate and he was a hider. Whew! Those first few years were rocky, but we learned so much about each other and it brought us closer.

Kansas

After college, Ryan did a year long sports and recreation ministry internship in the middle of Kansas. I taught in an extremely small school in Topeka. It was fun.. I didn’t develop any super close relationships, but we enjoyed the people at the church and I got to participate in some great Bible Studies. When the year was up, we left.

Ohio

We lived in Ohio for 3ish years. I worked at a preschool in a daycare and did some subbing in public schools while Ryan was a student pastor. We made the mistake of buying a home right before the market crashed, so our life in Ohio was a bit stressful. I had a miscarriage that triggered some really tough mental health issues. I was convinced I was dying since I couldn’t carry my child and WEBMD became my best friend. It was hard.

A year or so later, I was carrying a healthy pregnancy with a baby boy. My only “birth plan” was to deliver him in the healthiest, safest, smoothest, controlled way possible WITH my mom there.  The way this played out was that I was induced on his due date because it was on a weekend my parents could come from VA and stay with me the whole week. Because of the back pain of the induction, I needed narcotics. The narcotics did nothing but keep me from breathing and causing mine and my son’s oxygen levels to drop. When it was time for the epidural option, I was more than excited to have something that would actually bring relief so I could focus on what I need to do to birth that child! Cohen was born vaginally, happy and healthy and though I struggled to nurse that first day or so, and he was given some formula, I felt that the nursing thing was going great by the time I left the hospital. Unfortunately, I didn’t  know all the ends and outs of supply and demand, and no matter how hard I pumped and what I did, I just was unable to find a way to exclusively breastfeed. Going back to work was extremely stressful. I found all I was doing was going to work, coming home, pumping all night, and trying to get him to nurse from my breast to no avail. I threw the towel in at about 6 weeks and got back on the antidepressants I had used after my miscarriage because I was still having fears of death and harm for myself and family.

Virginia

When Cohen was 5 months old, we left Ohio because Ryan felt he needed a break. We moved in with my parents. I substitute taught all day, Ryan worked nights at Wal-mart that first year, and my Dad quit his job to stay home with Cohen.

After that year, we found a group home in the area where we could be houseparents. I saw this is perfect because I desperately wanted to stay home with Cohen. We ultimately ended up in a boys’ group home for a year and a half with boys ranging in age from 9 to 18. We had horrible experiences and wonderful experiences, but ultimately had to leave several months after my daughter was born.

Her birth was easier in that she came on her own at 39 weeks.. by the time I got to the hospital, I was 7 cm dilated and begging for that epidural! Really hadn’t made any close friendships in the area and my goal was not a natural birth, but a safe pleasant one, and I got it. She nursed beautifully and I wanted her with me at all times. She was gaining weight and doing wonderful until I realized that my diet was causing her great distress. When you’re housemama at a group home, being on a special diet isn’t easy. Just like my son, I pumped for her as long as I could.. she was a little more calm being bottle fed my milk but did not desire the breast. After I pumped for a bit; using time I didn’t really have as a housemom, I eventually had to throw in the towel with her as well at 2 1/2 months.

West Virginia

And here’s where it all really begins. My first thought about Ryan taking the youth pastor position at such a large church was relief.. I finally can just stay home with my babies and be mom.. that’s it! Unfortunately, we quickly learned that I would have to supplement our income by subbing, that on my days home with the kids, I would be left with 0 cars in a neighborhood and a state where I knew no one.  I remember having beautiful strolls in that neighborhood with the kids... lovely days…  but terrible nights and naps with my daughter as she hardly ever had the desire to sleep. I was grateful at that point that she was formula fed so that my husband could take some burden off at night.

When we moved into our house closer to the church where Ryan was ministering, it was a blessing. The kids were able to spend time on a daily basis with children their own age and I was able to develop relationships with a few moms.

Things really started to settle down in our lives. I actually found that I enjoyed subbing a few days a week and actually, felt healthier than I had in years. 

We decided we wanted one more child, so in October of 2013, we found out we were pregnant. In December, we found out it was TWINS! At the beginning of January, we found that the twins were very high risk, but that there was a surgery at children’s hospital that could fix all that, and then after our first visit, we were told there was little to no hope for our boys. They could not perform the surgery because of how intertwined their cords were. We were told that our options would at best be 1-2 severely disabled children for life and at worst.. two dead children…. But God had other plans.

Micah (the smaller baby) passed away in utero at 22 weeks. Elijah, the bigger baby, recovered from his heart issues and his last MRI revealed he had not stroked. He was going to be healthy. Now this might sound like a too good to be true story, but I was now facing weeks of knowing that I was carrying a dead child in my womb. I had to zone out. I watched tv, read magazines, distracted myself however I could. It was hell. Even so, I was hoping to make it to 40 weeks, but my high risk specialist nixed that. I was induced at 35 weeks and was told previously that there would be nothing left of our Micah.. to begin the grieving process while still pregnant because there would be only a small ball of tissue where he was. Well, guess what? Wrong. 

While in my induced labor.. again…they pulled him out first. He was nearly perfect and I never held him. I was too focused on my living boy whose heart stopped beating after his brother left the womb. At that point, doctors and nurses started swarming in from who knows where to save my living child.. I pushed at 8cm and delivered him with the cord wrapped around his neck 3 times. I could hear the “whoosh”, “whoosh”, “whoosh” of the resident unwinding it and then a loud beautiful scream! The nurse looked at me and said “You saved his life, Mama.” We were in the NICU with him for 9 days. I got colostrum and milk to him immediately and started pumping around the clock. I got to nurse him some and some went in his little tube. The last few nights, I got to sleep in the room with him and feed him throughout the night and when we were leaving, the residents and nurses went on and on about how blessed they were to have served a family that was doing things right.

Flash forward to a week later.. my brain was a mess. Everything that I had gone through that passed year just washed over me all at once.. and I started pulling out my old OCD crap.. I was on the internet all the time.. in the back of my mind, I think I was trying to blame myself for my son’s death. But while on that path, I found a million things to be guilty about that I never knew were an "issue" before; BPA, parabens, bleach, Clorox wipes, circumcision (?!), how “poisonous” formula feeding is (weird, because neither of my older children had any allergies, asthma, they both were good healthy eaters, hmmm), how I should have never ever had an epidural or worn certain cosmetics or eaten those sausage biscuits that are the only things I can keep down the first months of pregnancy… my world was just unraveling… I had decided that I was terrible, terrible mother. Well, between Elijah nursing like a super star for a few weeks and then slacking off and me

having to pump constantly and my husband having to go out of town,  I finally gave up. I got some organic formula  and I got my tubes tied and then I went to my parents for a few weeks.  While there, I had real thoughts of taking the valium in the medicine cabinet.. all of it.. and ending it. I honestly believed that my children and husband would be so much better off without me. I needed to escape so badly. I thought I had given my kids a death sentence and I couldn’t even look them in the face.

I was in the psych ward in Lynchburg, VA for almost a full week. It was wonderful. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. I was able to meet people who were hurting like I was, and the first thing the nurse said to me when I walked in the door was, “I just read your file.. and the 3 months that it took you to get here is proof of how brave and strong you are.” I felt like I was home, and it was a good stay.

Now that I was on meds, I came home and had an okay month, but tragically, one morning at the end of July, I had no desire to get out of bed. I just wanted the dark to swallow me. So Ryan took me to another hospital here in WV.

It was the most horrendous experience of my life. My roommate suffered from multiple personality and it was clear also that she was demon possessed. She ripped my sink out of the wall, and I finally got a new roommate.

They didn’t let me out for a week.

That was almost 4 years ago, and so much has happened. No more psych ward visits, but I meet with a stellar counselor every week.  My husband has gone from a youth pastor at a Christian church to a senior pastor at a Presbyterian church. I’m homeschooling. I’ve had weeks where I’ve forced my kids to eat kale and avocado and to get the exact right amount of exercise, and I’ve had weeks where I cared much less and you couldn’t find an organic thing in this house if you tried. My kids are so ridiculously and unbelievably healthy. My premie, jaundiced son who lived in my womb with a dead brother for over 10 weeks not once has been on an antibiotic.. except as a precaution in NICU. He’s healthier than the other two who have only had two ear infections between the two of them. It’s unbelieveable.  The doctor could’ve sworn last year that Ella had an asthmatic viral reaction, but it has NEVER come back! I don’t take credit for this, only God can, but I am constantly being told how wonderful and well-adjusted my babies are! Still, that voice comes in the middle of the night… “They would be so much smarter if you had breastfed and so much more athletic and perfect if you had used attachment parenting.. if you had enjoyed it all just a little bit more… their lives and yours could’ve been so much better.. but you failed. You are a failure.”

I dropped meds for awhile but I’m back on them. Good days are really, really good and bad days are really, really bad.

I’m moving forward, but small things like an article that pops up on FB about how evil formula is  or how important it is to bed your kids in bed with you still trigger. We’re past that. Way past.. but my mental illness causes me to still want to control it.

I want to be a foster mom. I want to be an adoptive mom. But how? I’ve proved…. I and Ryan have proved… that we are good at raising good, fun, joy-filled, Jesus-lovin’, compassionate kids and it is where my gifts lie. So why do I keep hearing, “A good mom would’ve breastfed, a good mom would’ve had natural births, a good mom would’ve never fed her baby store bought food.”

I love the Lord and my babies and my husband.. never perfectly, but with every ounce of my being… why is this other jargon so loud?

 

How do I move forward and become a foster mom and a mental health advocate if I can’t accept that all he has allowed has been purposed and intentional to show me the gifts that lay inside?

There are days, more and more that I do accept that I am His child and all I have been through has been laid out and purposed.. but on days I drop that.. shew.

So, if you’re gracious enough to read all of this, share your thoughts with me.. share this with someone who will benefit and maybe be blessed. I greatly desire to help others, but selfishly.. I need to know I’m not alone. I’ve been alone for a very. Long. Time. <3

How about you?