Doubt is a Powerful Inner Voice

Listening to the Maybes

We have lived in our new home almost two months now. In the quiet moments, my mind often wanders to memories of how we got here. The weight of past sadness and fear is heavy, even now. It never seems to go away completely. But an even greater burden for me, recently, was that of doubt. Doubt is a powerful inner voice. It crept up to rival the feelings of thankfulness and appreciation that I tried to keep in focus.

Doubt, in my mind, went something like this:

• “Maybe you weren’t really that sick.”
• “You didn’t really need to get rid of everything.”
• “Maybe you’re just crazy. I mean, toxic mold. Really?”

The maybes went on and on until some new friends laid them to rest. To lead you through this story with me, I’ll begin with the weight of the past.

Heavy Memories

On Easter Sunday, two years ago, we packed a suitcase and left the house we called home for five years. Luke was three, almost four. He had two hours’ notice, and never returned. David and I only returned a few times. One afternoon in late April, we stopped by to shove that suitcase and its items back through the front door. And then for five days in June, we went back to pick through our contents. Wearing hazmat suits, goggles, and masks, we bagged all of our clothes, toys, blankets, pillows, books, and memories. Destination dumpster.

From Frustration and Sadness

While much of this feels like a fuzzy nightmare that I, mercifully, can’t quite remember, some memories are so strong, they feel like they happened yesterday. David and I read that CDs and DVDs could be saved if the cases were discarded and the discs were dunked in ammonia before being set out to dry in the sun. We started with our DVDs. We spent hours meticulously dunking discs and setting them out on trash bags that covered the driveway.

After about four hours of work, we sat down to inspect the drying process. Little moisture bubbles had penetrated the inner ring of probably half our DVDs. We started to fight about this. Doubt is a powerful inner voice. We accused, complained, and yelled. And then a giant gust of wind swept across the driveway lifting all of the trash bags into the air. DVDs went flying, scooting, scratching across the pavement. We stopped fighting and stood speechless. After checking a few to confirm the damage, we silently picked them up, dumped all of them into a single trash bag, and took a break for lunch.

Having accomplished nothing that morning, we did gain the sense that we were in it together. Grace and forgiveness were quickly spoken. We would need that for each other again and again throughout the remainder of the week. Lesson learned, despite the frustration and sadness.

From Heartache and Fear

Another crystal clear memory is that of telling our three year old that we had to get rid of all our contents. He had already been abruptly evacuated from his home. He had lived in a hotel and then with friends and then in another hotel. In that second hotel, before transitioning to a furnished apartment, we told him the results of our mold test. We told him that it was dangerous to keep even the things we had brought with us in our suitcase. That day, our three year old had to say goodbye to his “Blankie Bear” and his stuffed dog, “Zoomy.” He cried. We all did. Doubt is a powerful inner voice. But when we said, “Family is the most important thing. We will always be together, no matter where we are and what we have,” he listened. He trusted.

Later that night, I stopped by my best friend’s house. I was wearing a set of new clothes; one of two sets that I owned at that point. My friend had a few things she’d bought for our family. She also gave me a stuffed dog that belonged to her daughter.Luke always played with it when we went to visit. Her daughter meant for Luke to have it forever. Because he lost all of the things he loved, she wanted him to love something of hers. I will never forget this kindness. I don’t think Luke will either. Eventually, I was able to replace “Zoomy.” I never could find another “Blankie Bear.” He sometimes asks for one, even now. But more often than that, he says, “Mommy, do you remember when Lily gave me the thing she loved so much?” What a beautiful memory, despite the heartache and fear.

Finding Community

Looking back, there’s a blur of motion, of research and reading, of decision making. Then there are a few memories, like those above, that are frozen in time, crystal clear. And mixed into it all, underneath it, inside it, around it, I developed doubt.

About two weeks after we moved into our new home, we had some friends over. They were new friends from out of town. We connected through our church. While our children played, I spoke with the wife. I felt this odd need to explain why half of our home was unfurnished and empty. I began my story: “So when we lived in Michigan, I was really sick. For three years, it only got worse. No one could figure it out.” She interrupted me right there. “It was toxic mold, right?” I immediately wondered if she’d run across my website somehow, but no. She knew. She knew because they’d lived it too.

Remembering Healing

Around a decade ago, they lived in a rental house. Their oldest child was only an infant at the time. As he grew, the child developed eczema and food sensitivities. The eczema covered his entire body. Their pediatrician had never seen anything like the raw, red little body the parents presented to him. Everyone was at a loss, until the family went on an extended vacation. Their child began to recover! It seemed like a miracle. Then they returned home only to watch him deteriorate again.

When this family uncovered the root of their child’s health problems, they too moved. They too got rid of everything. They too started over, and he recovered. As we spoke that evening, my doubts began to recede. I too have recovered in so many ways. My blurred vision has gone away, as have the muscle aches and tingling nerves. Many of my food sensitivities have reversed. I no longer wake each night drenched in sweat. My hands and feet have not broken out in a blistering rash since I left the house. I had somehow forgotten the oozing, itching pain that plagued me on and off for YEARS. I think because I am still not entirely well, I allowed myself to doubt the necessity of the journey we’ve taken.

Silencing the Maybes

Doubt is a powerful inner voice. It taunts and accuses. In the end, for me, it was community that brought me back to confidence. I’ve met other families like ours by phone and online, but having a living, breathing, family in our home who truly understood our story…there is no greater blessing. I needed that sense of understanding at the exact moment they passed through our lives. I will always be grateful for their sudden appearance and the way they shared so openly.

With doubt suppressed, I’m able to rest in thankfulness and appreciation. So many people have helped us through this journey. So much has been given. I know that the choices we made were at the advice of doctors and experts. I know that we weighed every option. We acted with heavy hearts, and not in rash panic. I know that. But still, knowing that we are not alone seems to be the greatest comfort. For me, it was community that ultimately stopped the powerful inner voice in my head from saying, “Maybe you’re just crazy.”