Resolutions

Right now is a very particular time of year. All around the World we are finding time to pause, to breathe, and to reflect. Maybe we've put it off because this has been a difficult year and we simply weren't ready for these feelings. Maybe we got so caught up in running, running, running, that we forgot to step back and see where exactly we were going. Maybe life got away from us this year or maybe we are trying to hold on tightly to the last days of the best year of our lives. No matter what the situation is, we owe it to ourselves to stop and to remember.

For me, 2013 came and left in a flurry. Everything about this year was hectic and wild and despite the mess, it was beautiful. To be totally honest, I don't remember what we did last year for New Year's Eve. My husband swears we made jungle juice and partied right through to daybreak. I remember the party but not the day, so I'm just going to go along with that story. Early in the year we found out my husband was going to be honorably discharged from the Army. The only words that come to mind when I think about the first four months of the year are busy, stressful, and bittersweet. We were constantly in a state of rushing. The peace and calm we had expected when we came back home turned out to be a fantasy. Spring and most of Summer were spent in a perpetual state of imbalance. It felt like we were scrambling. Scrambling for jobs, for money, for a house, for time together. July brought the first moments of true comfort all year. In fact, July turned our lives stagnant faster than we could adjust. It's been five months of routine. Five months of day in and day out. Five months of too much of nothing. 

I really came here to say the same thing everyone else is saying. I am ready for the new year. I also came to say that I am fucking terrified. Am I ready to change things up and see where it goes? Yeah. But guys, I am so scared of what 2014 is going to bring. When I look around I see an awful lot of maybes, could haves, and we'll sees. Everything is floating up in the air and I'm just standing down here, feeling small and worried and trying to plan for the complete and total uncertainty that is my life. I don't even know which scenarios I'm rooting for at this point. In six months I could be looking back at this moment and celebrate the fact that I ended up on a totally different route. I could really feel freed from all the things that bind me. Or I could be memorizing all the good I had and all the joy I kept. I could look back on this moment with so much regret. Life is so amazingly scary in that way. 

I want to be able to write out all these goals I have. I want to tell you all about the places I want to go and the things I want to learn in 2014. I want to build a giant mountain for myself to climb and then laugh when I tumble down because, hell, we'll all be tumbling down soon. I'm not going to do that this time. I'm not going to turn this next year into some unconquerable feat. I'm not going to run around pretending I'll be a different person this year. For once I feel like everything is outside of my control. I just feel so small and so unsure. Something about this year feels different to me. I'm not trying to sound so negative here. I'm not saying that I expect this year to be awful or sad or heartbreaking. All I'm trying to say is that it feels like 2014 is going to bring a lot of changes. I feel like the universe has an awful lot of plans for me and my gut is sorted of twisted up about it. The tides are changing and I don't know if I have my sea legs yet. I'm going to paddle out with hope and with curiosity. 

I suppose we all face about a 50/50 chance when the new year comes. This is the time when we are most vulnerable. Maybe we are just more open and willing to experience this connection with the universe. We are so reflective and hopeful and scared that we have the ability to realize just how monumental each day is. As the year goes on, we forget, but for now we are so aware. We are able to sit back right now and relive the emotions of 2013. All the best and worst stick out like sore thumbs and we're free to dive back in for just a little bit. We want to get in touch with those emotions while they're still a little raw and fresh and pure. We need to dwell on them before they get altered by time and memories. I think we should write them down, sing them out, paint them. 

Being human is such a fragile thing. We think we're big and strong. We think we could probably handle anything but the truth is that life is so much bigger. Life is so much more powerful and mystical and so far out of your control. We try to make it small. We try to gather up the big parts and compact them and make them small so we can hide them away close to our hearts where no one can touch them. We try to turn mountains into molehills so we can smash them in with our boots and we can feel powerful and strong and forget that we are scared. We want the power of life to fit into our palms so then we can feel like we have control. If it is in my hand then it is at the mercy of my fingers and my forearm and my biceps. If I so wanted, I could hurl it into space and I could be safe from the turmoil of life. I could also wrap it up. I could swaddle it and secure it and pin it up someplace very high and dry and safe. If I could fit it in my palm, I could hold onto the good forever. I could bathe in its warmth and its safety. I could really live a life that is good, if I could hold it in my hand. The truth though, is that we can't. We couldn't even grab onto the smaller parts of life if we tried. All the good and all the bad would seep through your fingers and be gone. We have control over the smallest fractions of the small stuff. We have maybe 75% control over how we feel, and that's only if our brains are perfectly healthy and balanced. Some of us have even less control. We have about the same amount of control over things like our jobs and our diets. Things that we think we are in control of like our relationships are really some of the biggest variables of all. Everything is so small and fragile. 

So as we come upon the dawn of 2014, let's just agree to take a deep breath. Know that we handled everything in 2013 with as much grace and strength as we could. Know that the mistakes we made are over and done and we have learned our lessons. Know that burned bridges can always be repaired and broken hearts always find a way to beat again. Know that we have learned and loved and grown and hoped and swore exactly enough for one year. No more. No less. This year we have been exactly enough, we have had exactly enough, and we have done exactly enough. 

For 2014 I hope and I pray that life takes me someplace exciting. I'd love to see some adventure, meet new people, go new places. I hope my marriage grows ever stronger. I hope I stay true to myself as often as possible and that I remember to love myself despite my mistakes. I hope for big and bold and beautiful things, but all I really ask for is the right amount of everything. I'll take some pain and some loss to balance out the joy and the bounty. I hope that in this new year I can continue to be happy. If my life goes up or down, through the woods or over the river, my only goal is to be happy. I promise to eat what sounds good, by try not to over indulge. I promise to do activities that make me feel good and avoid ones that hurt my knees and hips. I promise to do at least one thing that really scares me and at least one thing that makes me really happy. I promise to continue living my life with my heart first and my brain seconds because, well, that's just who I am. I promise to keep planning every little thing, but I also promise to chill the fuck out when things change. I promise to get my fill of the beach, the sun, the changing leaves, the smell of rain on hot asphalt, and the sound of people's hearts beating. I promise to cry when I'm too mad or happy or lonely. I promise to count my blessings when the sun is shining...and to try and count them when the clouds come out. My only resolution this year is to do my best.

Mountains

You know, I think the truth behind my words is that I am a quitter. I've always found a way to rationalize it. I've always told myself that I didn't reach my goal because I either had a big obstacle, a legitimate excuse, or I decided that goal did not matter to me anymore. I have always babied myself into thinking that I run around conquering all of life's issues. I have stopped telling people my plans and you know why? Because I don't finish them. Ever. I dream big and I talk big but I have accomplished very little.

I remember being dead set on going to college for psychology. I took classes in high school and I wrote about all these ideas. I was set on a specific college. I even went as far as to look into the apartments in that city and scope out available jobs. But I don't think I did very well on my SAT, to tell you the truth. I spent the last 2 years of high school desperately trying to make up for the first two years. I let my financial issues, my past grades, and my educational hang-ups stop me. I let all the bad make a big mountain and I knelt at the base crying out "I just can't!" Then I tried to move on and find another dream.

After I gave up, people still asked me about it. They looked at me with those big hopeful eyes because they had believed in me. They wanted to know if I was doing online school or anything and I didn't know how to tell them "no". Instead I told them about my wedding. Instead I told them about all the phone calls I was making to move to Germany. I had already admitted the stupidity and cowardice to myself. I had already had a heart-to-heart with myself about how I should have done it and how I could still do it. I did all that and I still didn't try and climb that mountain. I couldn't go back through that with someone else, so I hid.

This has happened off and on throughout my life. I build this happy alternate reality where I've done something to improve. I tell everyone about it because the magazines say that vocalizing your goals will make you more likely to succeed. When I first start out, I go all out. I do my research, I do my planning, I get my gear, and I started up the mountain. Sometimes I get three-quarters of the way up and sometimes I can't even make it that far before I just...stop. I don't know if I am going at it all wrong or what. Maybe it's like a marathon and I just go too fast for the first half so I am sluggish and beaten down in the end. Maybe I use up all of my excitement and passion by focusing all of my energy on my goal in the beginning. Maybe I just don't know how to commit.

For whatever reason, I probably cannot count every thing I gave up on or quit. I've made such a habit out of it that I fear it is part of who I am. I'm the girl with a million laughs. I'm the girl who makes the best faces. I'm the girl who makes really bad jokes. But I lay awake at night wondering if I'm the girl who never completes anything. Am I the kind of person that is all bark and no bite? Am I just addicted to the rush of a new journey without being determined enough to chase the dream?

I feel like it is really important that I find something big, something wild, and maybe even something a little crazy and then I go after it. I need to do something from start to finish. Maybe it will be even better if I don't tell anyone that I am doing it. Just this big, secret journey with me, myself, and I. I think I need to take something by the reigns and really conquer a mountain because I'm starting to think I'll never see the peak. I'm starting to worry that I will forever be bad at succeeding. I couldn't stand it if I spent the rest of my life getting in my own way. It's bad enough to wonder where I might be now if I never stopped myself back then.

I wouldn't say I have regrets, but I would say I've made mistakes and now is my time to learn from them. I've recently taken on a few new obligations and I think that's a good start. I think it is important that I have a job that I am proud of and a volunteer commitment that I find fulfilling. Is it greedy of me to think that on top of that I also need something I find challenging? Is it wrong of me to seek out enrichment in so many areas of life? I want to think of myself as someone who really goes after what she wants. In order to do that, I need to take this leap.

As of today, I will be working towards a new goal. I don't know when I'll finish and I don't know what I'll accomplish when I'm done, but I am going to see this out to the end. There's a chance that I will fail. I am only human and I have no control over life's obstacles. The important thing is that I go all the way to the finish line and I see what is waiting for me there. If I decide to try and lose 50 pound sin a year, and I get to the one year mark with only 20 pounds lost, that is still a victory. If I decide to learn how to swim and dive by the end of the year, and next December I am still mastering dives, that is still a success. I promise that I will commit to a new journey today. I promise that I will not get in my own way. I promise that I will not get other people excited about it because it is not for them. I promise that I will take all the good with the bad because that is what commitment is all about. I promise to give my very best to this challenge. Here's to conquering our fears.

My Adventures in Bra Shopping.

I haven't written in a really long time and my absence has not been intentional. I have some good thought provoking posts coming up! I have a few things in my head that I want to turn into words so I can share with you. Currently all of that is being overrun by the fact that I am finally, for the first time in 11 years, am wearing the correct size bra!

If you recall, I had a nice long rant back in September about bras. What I left out was the fact that even with all this knowledge, I still left the store with a 40DD bra. That bra was so bad. The band stretched out like crazy, the cups and under wire dug into me, and my chest was not being flattered by wearing the wrong size. I know that finding a store with higher quality bras that cater to large busted ladies is hard. I know the price tags make me want to cry and the sizes are overwhelming. I was too much of a wimp to go and face all these issues back then, so I suffered. 

My stepmother bought me my first bras in the wrong size. She bought every single bra from age 11 to age 16 in the wrong size. I distinctly remember when I was 13 we went bra shopping. I put on a DD and I was so comfortable. I showed it off to her with my big smile and she just frowned. She said there was no way we were getting it. There was no way I needed a DD because her "mom was a true DD and her breasts were the size of watermelons". We left the store with a C cup bra. I started to think all bras were awful. I thought I was going to deal with the pinching bands, the broken under wires, the deep cut shoulder straps, and the "quadra boob" for the rest of my life. I thought this was normal because I had never been in the right size bra. When I was 15 I had a "bra expert" at Victoria's Secret size me. I rubbed it in my stepmother's face that the professional put me in a DD cup bra. 

In the big scary World of adulthood, I didn't know bras went above a DD. I never even once heard a woman talk about her bra being anything bigger than a DD. When my bras continued to be uncomfortable and my breasts continued to grow, I became frustrated. No one else seemed to struggle so much with bras. The other women weren't constantly tugging at their bras and rubbing out the red marks. When I first had this revelation, I looked online for what I thought would be my proper size. I was willing to assume I could fit into maybe a DDD or, dare I admit it, an E cup. I felt kind of silly. I felt like the only woman who believed in the power of bras above a DD cup. After 30 minutes of searching, I felt defeated! Suddenly my $20 bras were upwards of $75 or even $100! Living in Germany, my only option was to buy online and I just couldn't do it. 

When we got to America, I went into JC Penney and looked around. There was only one brand that made bras that looked nicer than a bullet proof vest and their 36E made me look ridiculous! It was their biggest size so I went down from there. I bit the bullet on a 38DDD bra and a strapless in a 38DD since those fit a little more snug. I was so proud of myself for accepting a size above a DD cup. I was confident in my purchase. It didn't take long to feel like this bra was just like every other bra. When it broke, it came as no surprise to me. I had been snapping the under wire out of bras for as long as I could remember. Fast forward to the hasty purchase in October, bought a 40DD to appease the "bra expert", and left. 

Fast forward one more time to Wednesday night when that crappy bra snapped its under wire. I told my husband that I was sorry but I had to buy a bra in the right size. I couldn't stand wearing these DD bras anymore. I told him they would be more expensive, but I would only buy one so it didn't suck so much. I measured and re-measured and I went in there with a game plan. I tore a handful of 36F bras off the racks and marched in the fitting room. I was floored when they didn't fit me correctly. I tried on one more and one more after that just to make sure. I slunk back to the sales floor and picked two 36Gs off the racks. They looked so big! I gave them the stinkeye all the way back to the fitting room. I loosened the straps, adjusted, hooked, and stood up. 

HOLY COW! Was that my chest in there? Were these glorious beasts really mine? There was no way in the World that I was very comfortably filling out a 36G...right? I turned to the side. I adjusted again. I bent over. I squished them together. I just couldn't believe my eyes. They looked so much bigger and fuller! My posture seemed to be better instantly. They were spilling out a little on top and to be honest, I think I may need a 36H in the future. I sort of like the way it looks, so I was very happy to parade the bra back to the checkout line and purchase it. 

Last night I put on my old bra under a tank top and stared. There were my weird, squished, disproportionate boobs. The ones I had been toting for 10 years. I switched into my new bra, put the tank top back on, and smiled. There was a grown woman with a pretty good rack. For once in my life I saw the same thing with a bra on that I did when my bra was off. I believed in all the times my husband had to re-convince me that my chest was just fine. I finally saw the body he has seen all these years. I feel 100% more confident! I am still adjusting to the bra touching in places it never did before, but I know it will get easier. 

I am so happy I took the plunge and I strongly encourage all women to do it. Use the measuring guide on my old post. Go into Dillard's or any other store that sells high quality lingerie. Walk through the racks and pick out a few in the size suggested by the guide. It may seem scary to try on a DD when you have been in a C your whole life. You may feel like a complete nut carrying around bras that could fit on your head. Just try to be brave and try them on. Maybe you're happier in your current size. Whatever it comfortable and makes you happy is the right option. I just want you to try this other size on. Step outside your comfort zone and see what happens. If you take my advice, please post a comment or message me about your experience! I'd love to hear some other ladies trying it out.


**NOTE: Tomorrow I will be adding a photo comparison of my two bras. The easiest way was to take a photo of the bras side-by-side on the bed. I thought it would really help understand the difference between department store sizing and proper lingerie sizing.**

Pondering

I know it's been really quiet in here lately and I'm sorry. I have been fighting a lot of pain lately and have chosen to spend my free time just sitting here, zoning out and taking excedrin instead of trying to write. This week, after a week off, I decided to get back into the gym. I'm going to do what I feel like is good for me on that day. If my knees are bad I will do uphill on the treadmill instead of biking. If my wrists and elbows are having issues I will lift for my lower body instead. I noticed that this is a good idea. Not only does it give me my time to relax, but it challenges me and helps me. Focusing on the soreness of my muscles makes it much easier to ignore the nerve pain so I am happy. That being said, I am sorry and I will work on posting more.

Today's post was inspired by a really rough point I had last night. 

When someone you love passes away, there are a lot of things that you think about immediately. You think back on the last few times you saw them. You're so emotional that you can't remember what the joke was that made you both laugh until your ribs hurt. You try to remember who drove on which day and what shirt they were wearing when you last told them you would see them later. If it is this hard to remember things now, how long will it be until you forget entirely?

You start searching your memory about things you said. You want to know exactly how many times you told them you loved them. You want to remember if you ever sat them down and really poured your heart out about what they mean to you. You want to know if you really were a good friend, or if you only thought you were. It is absolutely heartbreaking to re-evaluate every conversation you had because there's a sliver of a chance that they died without knowing that you loved them. Something inside of you tells you that maybe if they knew just how much they mattered, this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe you worry that they passed away without feeling completely at ease because they had a moment where they didn't know if you'd miss them. These things aren't true but when your heart is breaking, it feels like they are indisputable facts. 

There's a point in your grief where you start listing all of the things they never got to do. You remember them saying how much they loved the ocean, and all you want is for them to be back so you can go diving and snorkeling and surfing because they deserve to do those things. You think about how afraid of heights they were and you wish you could have gone sky diving with them to help them trump the fear. You break down completely when you realize they missed out on something really amazing like having a really close family or watching snow fall. Everything feels a million times worse when you think about the fact that they never got married or had kids...and you're not sure if they wanted either one. It is so overwhelming to dwell on all of the life that person will never get to experience. You are torn between feeling guilty that you'll be able to do most of those things, and feeling inspired to go out and do them all in your friend's honor. 

You go over all of these thoughts probably a million times between the moment you find out and the day of the funeral. Hearing other people recount their memories, thoughts, and wishes will take your breath away. On this day, maybe for the first time since you got the news, you will think of the beauty and love this person brought to the World. You will be able to imagine their face smiling, the sound of their voice, and the ring of their laughter. It will be bittersweet knowing these memories are all you have left now, but you will be grateful for having something. 

Then you really begin the grieving process. For some this takes days and for others it may take years. You may feel like one day you are finished grieving, but on certain days you will feel like you are all the way back to square one. You will have photos or letters or some sort of memento that you will spend a lot of time with. You will heal on your own terms because that is how it works. There is no wrong way to handle losing someone. 

As time goes on you will be on a roller coaster of emotions. At some point you will think of them and you will remember them laughing, except you can't remember what their laugh sounded like. You will close your eyes and speak to them in the middle of the night, but you won't remember if the eyes you are staring into are blue or green. You will think about advice they would have given you, but you won't remember the infliction in their voice. These things are inevitable sometimes. This is probably the hardest part for me, personally. I find that as time goes on, you start thinking about how much you are missing out on because of their absence. Things like this, where you wish you had their advice or that funny face they made that could cheer you up no matter what. You are almost always aware that life is just a little bit less sunny without them there.

You grow up, you achieve amazing things, and you still miss them. You will be sitting down, pondering life, and you will think of them. This happened to me last night and I felt like it shattered the last nearly 4 years of healing. I was thinking about when I finally get pregnant. My husband and I have agreed not to tell our family until the first trimester is done so we can be sure everything is on track and the baby is healthy. I always have to have one person to tell my secrets too, though. If I don't tell someone then I eventually mess up and tell everyone. Well in this split moment, when I was imagining whispering my secret to someone, I pictured dialing my friend RJ's number. I could see his smile, you guys. I could hear the joy in his voice when I told him and then instantly I felt like I was hit by a truck because I remembered he was gone. The number one person I would want to tell my secret to, who I would want to share all that joy with, who would do nothing by multiply the perfection of the moment is gone. I was sad when I couldn't tell RJ I was getting married. I was sad when I couldn't speak with him about Germany. But this thought, this future plan, this idea of telling RJ about my pregnancy just broke my heart. 

So after spending a night thinking about how different my life has been without these people around me, I wanted to take some time and talk about it. I am so used to being around lots of people that these past few months have been really hard on me. When I have a secret, I literally don't know who to call anymore. My friends from home are all living very exciting and busy lives. The people I would typically call either just had a baby, are moving into a new home, or are currently not speaking with me. Sometimes I want to say things that maybe my husband wouldn't understand, or maybe it's a secret so deep that I haven't brought it up to him. It isn't fair for me to rely on him as my only confidant. It's so hard having to keep these things inside of me. That's the biggest reason why I write here. This blog holds all of my deepest thoughts and feelings. This blog is a safe place where I can get anything off of my chest. 

Today I want to highlight some of my favorite memories from people who I have lost. 

The first person I remember losing was my great grandmother. I don't remember how close we were, but I remember feeling like she meant the World to me. I remember her annoying dog, peanut. He was so little and yappy and he smelled like grandma's house. I remember she was always trying to feed us something. I remember her curly hair and her sweet face. I remember that my great grandmother made me feel loved. She told me stories about growing up in a pure blooded family while she was mixed race. I think maybe I got some of my tenacity from her. Even when I was little, I think I understood that she was proud and she was strong. That was the kind of woman I wanted to be one day. If I remember correctly, she fought tooth and nail in her final years. I feel like she broke her hip and recovered, had a heart attack and recovered, and then finally succumbed to something-maybe pneumonia. That part isn't important. The point I'm making is that she was determined to go when she was ready; not when things got hard. This is going to sound odd, but her funeral is a special memory for me as well. She had a traditional Native American ceremony and I remember how beautiful it was. On that day I was surrounded by my family and that was not something I ever got to experience. I looked up and saw people who marveled at me. They were so excited to see me. They all loved me so much. I stared at my relatives because they were so beautiful to me. I was captivated by the long black and grey braids. I noticed the strong cheekbones, the dark skin, the soulful eyes of my heritage in each and every face. For the first, and maybe last time, I felt like I was really connected to where I came from. The moment that is still clear as day to me was the moment that I swear I saw my great grandmother's ghost. The smoke was settling in the graveyard and I saw her face. 

The next person we lost was my step mother's father. Grandpa Judd always amazed me. His house was full of so many things. I feel like every time we went to see him he would tell us about something he owned that he loved. I was young when we lost him, and it seemed to me like he had been all over the World. I remember always thinking that Grandpa Judd had the best stories. I remember playing Duck Hunter and Dr. Mario at his house. I remember he gave us 50 cent pieces all the time. I remember that after church we went to the Mexican restaurant in town. It was always church and Mexican food. He and Grandma Alberta always seemed so peaceful. I couldn't imagine that they had a care in the World while he was still alive. His was the first wake I ever went to. The funeral was peculiar to me because I cried like a baby, and my step brother just sat there. I replayed that in my mind so many times. I think I've always been really bad at grieving. 

When I was a teenager I volunteered with a local fire department. One year we were introduced to a very sweet little girl who dreamed of being a firefighter. Her name was Sabrina and we soon learned that she had cancer. Our fire station was filled with a bunch of older, surly, country men...with huge hearts. We did everything we could for that little girl. We did fundraisers to provide her family with gas cards to help with all their trips to Portland for treatment. We put on our gear, dressed her in gear, got her a helmet with her name on it, took a picture together, and made her an honorary firefighter. We watched her fight from afar. We saw the cancer wreak havoc on her poor little body and we shared the joy of her parents when she started to look better after steroid treatments. We all teared up when she made it to the date the doctors had given her family, and we celebrated when she went far beyond that point. Sabrina lost her fight to neuroblastoma, a violent form of brain cancer, shortly after the Winter. Her funeral was so beautiful though, you guys. Her parents had displayed all kinds of art she had made. Every person was given a packet of sunflower seeds to plant. Sabrina would have wanted us to remember there's beauty in the World. Sabrina was a beautiful flower. Seeing an eight year old give cancer a run for its money was one of the most tragically inspiring times in my life. 

While I was volunteering with the fire department, I got really close to the guys who worked there. It felt like I had a family that was all brothers and fathers. We worked together, looked out for each other, and fought like family. I looked up to Danny the most I think, and I was fairly close with his son Brian. I remember the first time I had to do with fitness test, I was terrified of the fire hose. I was convinced it would knock me back when I turned it on. Brian stood behind me and promised me he wouldn't let anything happen. It got away from me a little bit and hit the tree nearby and it sprayed down, but I didn't fall. The first time we practiced climbing the truck ladders, they wanted us to go all the way up to the roof. I was so scared of heights that I went up as far as I could and then I panicked. Some of the guys insisted that I had to go all the way. Brian and Danny stood up for me and said that I only had to go as far as I felt comfortable. They stood at the bottom and they waited for me to come down. I didn't feel embarrassed because I had them on my side. When we did a live practice and they had me sit in a closet while the house burned, I struggled to go dead weight for them to carry me out. I was so scared that I couldn't relax. Brian was right by my head telling me that nothing would happen. He told me they had me and no matter what I would be okay. I remember meeting his girlfriend, and I remember when she became his fiancee. I remember when they bought their house. Brian was at the best point of his life. His smile was so damn infectious and he was so grateful for what he had. Brian brought so much joy to the department. It was the best when his mom would cook for us and their whole family was together in the meeting. At the pancake feed every year it was Brian who made the giant pancake. That was his tradition. Imagine how happy everyone was to watch him try and flip a monster pancake. It was the highlight every single year. You can imagine how much it shocked us to lose him. I woke speak about his funeral service because I do not have good memories. It was hands down the hardest thing I have ever had to sit through. Brian dying has helped me keep my life in perspective every day. Brian was taken from us when he had everything going for him. He had just reached the best point in his life. He didn't take anything for granted, and he reminds me not to either. Because of him, I say "I love you" after every call to my husband. I don't care if he called just to say he found cheap gas or that he just ate the best sandwich ever. I will double the length of a 30 second phone call to tell him I love him. He is the reason I try not to get caught up in the things I cannot control. He is the reason I take time to be thankful for everything I have. Brian taught me so many things but the number one thing I learned was that no matter what happens, I need to be happy and i need to be thankful. Even on the worst of days I still have an amazing life. I want to make sure I face life with open arms and an open heart because I could lose everything tomorrow.

The most recent, and most devastating loss I had was my friend RJ. I spent a very short amount of time with him before I lost him. The only memories I have of him are good ones. From the first moment we met, we understood each other. I didn't know that it was possible to love and care for someone the way we did. We had this connection where we could almost feel when we needed to call the other person. To put it simply; we were soulmates. RJ taught me how to truly appreciate myself. He showed me beauty where I saw none. He showed me strength and trust that I didn't know existed. Through him I learned the true importance of support. We went through hell, but we did it together. We grew through the dark times. RJ brought so many things to my life that are irreplaceable. He is the one person who really made me feel inspired to make a difference, though. His was the first death that really sparked me into action. When I get scared of something, I think about how he doesn't have the chance to be scared any more, and I try to conquer that fear. When I am about to face something momentous in my life, I think about him missing out, and I gather up a little extra courage. RJ lived a really tough life. There was a lot of good in it, but there was also a lot of darkness. I think about him a lot when I think about things I've achieved. Even things that other people don't care about at all, I know he would have been proud of. When I do something extra at work, I know he'd tell me I did a good job. When I feel really emotional I know he would want to be there to comfort me. I see RJ in the stars, the moon, the changing leaves, and the ocean waves. I see him in all the beauty of the World because that is what he was to me. On the dreary days I always have beauty because I have him by my side. In the tough times I always have a calm voice because I have him by my side. 

I know I've written about these things before, so I thank you for taking the time to read this one. I hope you can imagine the lives of these people and that maybe they can inspire you too. 

Stages

Life sort of comes at you in stages. It's not easy to recognize when you have entered a new stage or when the one you are in is about to end. You don't get a warning sign that says "life is about to change! Make the most of this feeling right now and then hold on tight!" You just kind of stop mid-step one day and realize that something has changed. There are no breaks, no pause button, and certainly not a slow down or speed up function. Life comes the way it comes and all you can do is try not to miss any of it. 

I remember the first time I noticed that my life was changing. My first day of therapy felt like I had started all over on page one. I knew that from that point on, nothing would ever be the same. I knew I had walked away from who I was and I started to grow up. The second time was the day my father and I got in the fight that changed my life. When I stepped into Judy's car, I knew things were going to change. The day I packed up the van with my step dad was really so emotional for me. Again, I was certain that I had stepped past the boundary of no return. All there was to do was go up from there. My third transition was the day my husband left for Germany. Oddly enough, I didn't feel it when he proposed or when we got married, or even on our honeymoon. The new stage didn't begin until the first time that we separated. This was really the first time I felt like a woman, and the first time I felt like a wife. As I waved goodbye to him, I knew that things would forever be changed. There was a period of time from when he deployed to the day we decided to start trying to have a baby. Maybe this would be the period where I knew things were changing. We grew on our own as well as grew as a couple during these months. I don't know when things changed that fourth time. Perhaps it was during our trip to Rammstein, when I was laying on the doctor's table after getting my spinal tap, when he told me that I should write a book. Maybe in that point when so much bad had happened and he brought light to me was the fourth time. 

But sometime between him deploying and us moving back home, life changed. It changed into this sort of transitional phase though. It changed into this up-in-the-air lifestyle. We got jobs that were good enough, looked for a house that was good enough, and everything we did was simply good enough. We settled into our current jobs, rented a little house, and for once we didn't have to be on the move anymore. We're restless, though. We like our house, but we're already a little tired of the constant repairs. We love our jobs, but we know we won't want to stay forever. We are living pretty comfortably, but we are both itching to do more. We also, honestly, hate this city. So I can feel it. I can sense this unsettling and it irks me that this is going to be an entire stage of our lives. I sit around and daydream about when this stage will end. 

Originally, when I had my miscarriage and first realized that we were not yet in that stage, I thought I would join the Navy. I love the military, I love the ocean, I love the idea of living on a cramped old ship, I love the idea of travelling the World, and I love the idea of spending some time out on my own chasing dreams. I've studied Navy things and I've been working pretty hard to train my body and eat right. This is something I want, but now that it has been a few months, I'm wondering if it is really what I need. 

You see, like I said before, I kind of love my job. I am really good at what I do and I am head over heels at the idea that I have been non-stop learning since I got here! My boss has taken me under her wing and she really likes the spark and the passion she sees in me. I get to dress nice, I get to smile and greet people, I get to see how many things I can multitask, and I am in a heated/air conditioned building with TWO windows all day. I get paid Holidays, paid sick days, and all kinds of hoity toity networking events. Other than having to sit all day, I am really happy with what I do. The main issue I was running into was having a sense of purpose. I sort of fell into that purpose when I volunteered to be a rape counselor. The more I thought about it, the more it just made sense. Balance this amazing job with a really important and fulfilling volunteer life. I can have it all. 

My husband recently got promoted too. He has started going on about trying to work his way up to assistant manager and maybe, one day, having his own piece of the franchise. He is so happy where he is, and he finally has the passion to work on getting higher up. It might sound silly, but it just makes me so happy to see this spark in him. 

So all of this got me to thinking. I mean really, really thinking hard. If I were to join the Navy, it wouldn't be for another year. I would want at least one more set of Holidays and honestly, my body works really slowly. Losing 50 pounds may be doable for many people in one year's time but I don't think my body works that way. Plus, I really hate having a goal of a specific weight. I just want to keep doing it the way that it works for me. On top of that, I would be joining when I'm around 22 or 23. I would do at least a 3 year contract out on a ship. That's time away from my husband, my family, my friends, and my rape counseling. Those are 3 years spent outside my field of work. If I hated it then I would be out around 25 or 26. I would have some savings probably and would be ready to get back to work, hopefully at a bank. I would be rusty, though, as I wouldn't be kept up with regulations and whatnot during my Navy career. I would also want to be moving away from Mobile, but that would be difficult as I would probably come home in the middle of a lease. You can see where this is going. To choose the Navy might be choosing the opposite lifestyle from what I really want. 

If I stay here, and both of us stay in our jobs, we will be in a totally different place in 3 years. It's safe to believe my husband would have moved up one or two more times, maybe into assistant manager. I will probably be fully trained on processing and can get a year or two of experience. Financially we should be able to pay off one credit card and comfortably pay down the other two. We can get a little bit into savings and then start looking at moving away. We can take one or two day trips up to look at homes. It would be safe to estimate that if we stay, we can be moving away by the time I am 25. We can get our home, get settled into new jobs, and finally be relaxing in a year or two after that. So if we stay put, and I use my volunteering to fill that need to help, to spread joy, and to really make a name for myself, we might be ready to have a baby by the time I am 27. When I stop and I think about it, that just sounds so nice. 

When I think about all the growing and changing we'll be doing in that time, I can't help but smile. When I picture the two options, one of them just looks so much better to me. Being in this unsettled stage of life is really hard and frankly kind of scary. There are so many ways that we can alter our timeline right now. The smallest change could turn everything upside down. The biggest factor to me is that I don't want to lose my dream of being a mommy and I don't want to rush it either. I want to be financially better off and I want to be settled before we work on our little one. I want us to really know who we are and what we want out of life before we pour everything into a child. I want to make sure that we feel fulfilled and happy every day before we get those feelings from our child. I want a baby, probably more than anything else in the World, and I think right now we're in the stage where we can start planning for that reality.

I think from here on out I'm going to make that choice. When I think about work, I have to think about a 3 year or 5 year plan. When I think about moving rental homes, getting another dog, or chasing a passion, I need to think about a plan. Hell, I guess I should really make a 3 or 5 year plan. It's a little nerve wracking to realize I am at the point in my life that I finally need one of these plans. Some people make them when they are eighteen and others wait until they are thirty, but I think we're ready for a plan. I think this stage of life can last a few more years, bring us to a few more journeys, introduce us to a few more people. I am looking forward to the next stage of life when we can expand the Smith four into the Smith five. 

My Inner Heroine

A local photographer is doing a D.C. versus Marvel photo shoot. I started brainstorming immediately and then I did something unexpected. I signed up a She-Hulk...

I asked for input on my character choice. A lot of people said Poison ivy and I would be lying if I said I didn't really want to do that. Poison Ivy is the tall, lithe woman that is so good at being so bad. She oozes sex appeal. She is cunning, mysterious, and embodies the bad girl attitude. Who wouldn't want to play along as this classic heartbreaker? I started looking into some of my favorite heroines and villains. I considered Storm, but honestly I thought her outfit was too boring. Black leather isn't really my cup of tea. Cat woman wore a mask and I wasn't excited about the idea of not getting the full hair and make-up treatment. I thumbed through some more abstract options. I wanted to be someone that caught your eye and I wanted someone who would make dynamic photographs. 

When my search brought me to She-Hulk, I was sold. A brilliant lawyer turned super heroine? I was intrigued. She embraced the confidence and assertiveness of her alter ego so much that at one point she got stuck in her She-Hulk form? Kick ass! She is a feminist who has a love affair with Iron Man? Say what?! I think I'm in love. This intelligent, strong, sexy as hell heroine is right up my alley! 

What is going to feel more empowering than dressing up as the She-Hulk? I get to be a super-heroine that is known for her strength and her intelligence more than her body. She hardly ever fights in heels, falls in love, or lets the "big boys" run the show when she's around. I get to pose in all kinds of ugly-pretty photos. I'll get to snarl, flex, and break things. I love the idea of not worrying about keeping this perfect, photo ready face while I'm kicking booty.

This role seemed to be tailored to my body type, too. I felt like I wouldn't do justice to the statuesque form of Wonder Woman or the never ending hips of Cat Woman. I don't have the height of a Amazonian beast, but I have the curvy, muscular form the She-Hulk needs. The only thing I need to do is try and push myself more on my training. I'm already wanting to tone up and what's a better motivation than green make-up and a day full of pummeling?

In preparation for the shoot, instead of watching what I eat because I'll be squeezed into latex, I am going to be lifting heavier so I can show off some stellar definition. Instead of sucking in and sticking out my chest, I'll be working on holding a flex while throwing my punches and kicks.

 I don't think I've ever felt so inspired to get in front of a camera. I've done budoir photographs and wedding photographs, but those were such different atmospheres. This idea gives me so much more pride in my body. I feel like most women wouldn't touch this idea with a ten foot pole. Most women want the sexiest super-heroine. They want to be the fantasy girl that every man dreams of. All I want is to make a huge mess and spend all day being a total bad-ass. 

The "F" word

I was sitting down last night, thinking to myself, and I realized I am different. 

Recently I have heard ground shaking spoken word on the subject of growing up in the shadow of skinny. These women pour out all of their shame and anger. They draw up a picture of mothers who are thinner by the day. They speak of diets and exercise routines and an outpouring of love they received for each pound gone. It seems this may be the "typical household" and if that's the case, I guess I grew up atypical. 

My mother, as far as I'm concerned, is as tall as the sky is wide. Since I was a kid I marveled at the way she reach up, up, up, almost as if she could touch the stars and bring them down for me. I told myself that one day, I would be tall like her. I can't remember one instance where I looked at the shape or size of my mother's body and really had an opinion on it. I never compared her to her friends or to other people's mothers. To me it was always apples and oranges. There was no way to compare the beauty of one woman against another. 

I know that at one point my mother had a gastric bypass. I remember vaguely when she went in for the surgery. Surgery was for when you are sick. My mother was sick; her body was not feeling good and so she fixed it. I don't ever remember my mother sharing any negative body talk with me. I remember eating rolls of cookie dough on the couch with probably the millionth viewing of Mrs. Doubtfire. I remember getting our favorite chips, eating them, and then me styling (read: knotting the hell out of) her hair. My mother never made me feel bad about her body or my own. My mother never taught me to hate food. My mother never uttered the words diet, fat, or shame around me. She never projected her negativity on me or tried to tell me I should be some way that I wasn't. After her surgery, she had to eat a certain way. She told me it was painful otherwise. Somehow she never made it about being skinny. To be honest, I haven't sat down and had a conversation with her on why she did it. 

I grew up with a lot of girlfriends. We went through our hormonal mood swings together, got each other sick, and were together at least 75% of our teenage lives. I'm sure at one point or another, someone decided they were on a diet. Hell, truth be told it was probably me. I do know for sure that it wasn't very often that someone claimed that they "looked like a whale" in an outfit or "needed to lose some weight". Like I said, I know it came up but it was never the center of a discussion. We didn't sit around the cafeteria drooling over rail thin models. We are all very different, which I think helped this dynamic. We had all heights and shapes. We would joke about trading boobs for hips or long legs for a rounder tush but it never felt like we were picking on ourselves. It was really just a backwards way of giving a compliment. I know that my friends never ever made me feel fat. They never made me feel like there was something I couldn't wear or couldn't do because of my size. They never encouraged me to joint them on a fad diet or insist that we needed to run together. We encouraged each other to chase our own lifestyles. If one of us was in a sport, we would go to her games and cheer them on. If one of us did a play, we would go to her shows. We did dance class together because it was fun and challenging and it was another hour we could spend together. 

The only place I clearly remember body shame growing up was in my own household. I have a million different memories of my step mother focusing on fat. She felt fat, so she took diet pills. She felt fat so she only drank water and ate salads. She felt fat so she couldn't wear certain things. I remember that at some point, these ideas carried over to me. She saw me as being fat and she wanted me to fix it. She didn't put me on a diet or make me run laps, but she was never without a comment. Certain clothes "showed my belly" so I shouldn't wear them. Dresses "weren't flattering". Snacks and treats "weren't necessary". These sorts of comments even carried through to my own father. She would pat his stomach and say something about him having a baby, or being round. She would tell him that it was no surprise, when she saw him eating something unhealthy. Her fat shame seemed to spread to everyone in the house. She made me second guess myself when I got dressed in the morning. She made me re-consider the food I enjoyed. She never let me forget that I was fat. I was fat and fat was limiting. Fat should be hidden and, when you get older, fat should be shed by any means necessary. 

I didn't know how these conflicting ideas had affected me until I got older. I knew I was beautiful. I knew that all shapes and sizes were beautiful. But I also knew that I was fat. I knew that I had to make sure I looked flattering all of the time because "other people don't want to see that." I was 75% confidence and 25% shame. I don't think most young women today can claim such high statistics. I feel almost like I am not entitled to feel fat because I was raised so positively. I feel like I shouldn't write about body shame because I never experienced it to the degree that so many do. I worry that maybe I am not qualified to teach you to love your body. But you know what? I'm going to keep doing it. 

I like the way I grew up, if we're being real here. I grew up eating strawberries out of the field and tomatoes off the vine. I grew up eating vegetables by the handful because they were so good. I also knew the sweet torture of waiting for brownies to cool, ice cream to thaw, and bacon to fry. I grew up running and climbing and playing like all the other kids. I worked hard on the farm and in school. I took a lot of pride in everything I did. I loved the sunshine and the animals...and my Gameboy and my N64. My perfect Friday was spent at the  movie theater or at the drive-in with a bucket of KFC. I was told, every day, that I was beautiful. I was loved by so many people that it was almost greedy to keep all of the love. I learned that some people thought being fat was bad. I learned that other people thought that dating, piercings, and trick or treating was bad too. I learned that it was important to have my own ideas on good and bad, and to live accordingly. I was called mean names and I was rumored about. This helped me figure out that words could not, in fact, kill me. I saw a lot of good things and a lot of bad things. I was blessed, but not sheltered. 

I continue to grow every single day. I reflect back on the things that brought me here. I remember all the things I learned, laughed about, and loved. I try to remember all the lessons but there were so many. If there's one thing I was fully equipped with when I graduated, it was a good head on my shoulders. 

Haunted

You guys, today I want to talk about something that is very scary for me. Last year I started to get really sick and it haunts me every day.

I remember when it first happened, but I am not sure what month. Maybe around October 2012 I woke up with blurry vision. My right eye was bothering me-it was as if I had just opened my eyes for the day and I couldn't quite focus properly. That night it still had not gone away and I decided to make a doctor appointment. A sudden change in vision is one of the symptoms that you need to report immediately. I was sent to an optometrist to get the issue looked at. After some testing they noticed my field of vision was decreased significantly in my right eye compared to my left eye. They wrote me an additional referral to a neurologist. I had an inflammation in my optic nerve known as optic neuritis. This vision loss was accompanied by severe migraines and lasted for about 2 months. Typically it subsides within a few weeks. 

This was just the first sign that my health was going downhill fast. I had been battling fatigue in relation to my hypoglycemia but it seemed to get worse. The fact that I could not sleep no matter how hard I tried probably wasn't helping. I took 2 sleeping pills every single night just to get 6 hours of sleep before work. I noticed aches and shooting pains all over my body. Little by little it got to the point where my whole body hurt almost all of the time. I was tired, I had headaches, and I was miserable. 

I was in and out of the doctor non-stop. I had MRIs, CAT scans, and so many blood tests. Every day seemed to come with a new symptom and I was so damn tired of feeling this way. I tried not to complain but I know I was whining my husband to death. When I got off work, all I wanted to do was take some sleep medicine and go to sleep because that was the only way to stop hurting. My doctors all kept saying multiple sclerosis and it chilled me to the bone. 

All I could think about was that I was too young. I am too good and too ambitious and too happy to get this sick. I'm not ready to be diagnosed. I'm not ready to watch myself decline until I am dependent on a wheelchair. I am not ready to hear those words that feel like a death sentence. I'm just not ready. 

With a lot of determination and luck, we made it up to Rammstein about a week or two before we PCS'd from Germany. I needed to be evaluated. They had to check my breathing because I had been short of breath with a rapid heartbeat for weeks at that point. They had to do another MRI and they had to do a spinal tap. I don't have words for the terror that filled me when I went in for the procedure. All I could think about was the chance that they did it wrong and I became paralyzed. I knew it was going to be painful and I was so scared I thought I would cry. I took a deep breath and they numbed me, and it burned. It burned, it burned, it burned, and the needle wasn't even in my spine yet. I took a very shaky breath and the needle went in. There was so much pressure. He had to wiggle it and still, it was wrong. He would have to try. There was nothing more I wanted to do then give up and walk away, but I knew I had to stay, so I did. The second time was a success and they showed me my cerebral fluid afterwards. My back still hurt pretty bad but I felt really strong laying on that table after they were done. 

The crappy part really starts here. My episode lasted from about October 2012 to March 2013. Five months of the most absurd collection of symptoms I had ever experienced, and they all stopped without warning. All of my medical records were sent to me and I never received a verbal explanation of my test results. I could tell that the records showed abnormalities. There were red flags on the page but I have no idea what any of it means. 

Now I have no health care. I cannot afford a $750 a month plan, so I go without. I have a huge stack of papers that suggests I might be int he very early stages of a very scary disease, but no solid diagnosis. The DSM-IV states that a patient must experience at least 2 episodes, at least 6 months apart, for a real diagnosis. This is a disease that goes into remittance and comes back without warning. This stays with you forever and only gets worse with age. There are few drugs out there and most of the healing is done through therapy. 

So now I wait. I focus on my vision and assess it for changes. I take note of every shooting pain, every muscle twitch, every migraine. I try to eat well and go to the gym in hopes that I can somehow combat it. Maybe if I love myself enough, maybe if I do everything my body needs, then it can get better. Maybe I will never ever have to hear someone diagnose me. Maybe I can get lucky. But in the back of my mind, I have this aching feeling. I know the tests for every similar illness and disease came up negative. I know my mother has fibromyalgia which puts me at an increased likelihood of having a similar nerve-related issue. 

I think the reason I am searching so hard for my "purpose" in the World, is because I have this nagging me. I feel like I have had to face the very real possibility that in a few months I could be very sick again. In a few years I could be physically disabled. What if I don't go out and do something tremendous right now? What if I stay in my acceptable job with my acceptable rental home until it is too late to chase my dreams? I don't want to know the answers. I want to go out there and chase my white whale while I can. I want to make sure I am really fulfilled before this starts taking away from me again.

And you know what? When this disease comes for me again, I'm going to fight it. If it tries to say I can't do something, you be your ass I am going to try. People come back from illnesses all the time. People make the best of their lives even with cystic fibrosis or missing limbs or cancer. Count my words; I will not lose my spirit to some disease. 

Fashion Passion

You want to know a secret about me? I am a closet fashion FREAK! I mean it, you guys. I will spend hours staring at all the pretty things I can't have. I fall in love with window displays. I pet all the pretty fabrics. If I went to the mall with some extra time, I would probably try on all the things!

The truth is, this is probably my most embarrassing secret. I started falling in love with fashion when I was in my early teens. I thumbed through magazines at doctor's offices and I was so lost in all the beautiful clothing. I dreamt about jewelry, fantasized about purses, and drooled over shoes. 

I grew up in a Mormon household. There really weren't any rules about not dressing nice, but it sort of felt that way to me. My step mom told me I looked fat, or maybe she would try to lighten the mood with the term chubby, if I ever wore something in my actual size. Everything in my closet was about a size too big. Without a big budget, I stuck to tee shirts and jeans. I could get more that way and plus, I was fat, so what did I care, right? Shopping felt like torture. My step mom was so conservative that anything I liked was shot down. I felt like I looked like a sausage in everything. Clothes were pretty on the hanger but "they didn't make clothes like that for girls like me". I had a huge closet of sarcastic tee shirts and baggy jeans. 

My friends tried to teach me about make-up and hair when I entered high school. I loved to let them make me up. I felt so damn pretty when they would paint my lips and straighten my hair. For once I looked like a normal, pretty teenage girl. I didn't feel poor or fat when I was all dressed up. I started to pretend I didn't like this though, because I could never afford my own make-up. My step mom didn't think I needed any and even a simple tube of mascara was $9! There was no point in finding yet another thing that I couldn't have. I was so tired of lusting over things. I was over the feeling of being less than because I didn't have the money. I remember when my friends started to give me some of their old make-up. I had about 4 eye shadows and I put them on every morning with my finger tip and I felt so pretty. My little pile of make-up was maybe up to 3 tubes of lip gloss and an equal number of brown eye shadows by the time I graduated. 

I watched all of the fashion trends come and go. I stood on the side lines and I would ache to wear just one. I would trade in all of my crappy jeans for just one outfit that made people say "Wow, you look really good today." When I went shopping with my friends, I would get an item from a nice store like Maurices. When i wore that one thing, I felt like a million dollars. People noticed me. People complimented me and it felt so damn good. I would try to pair that item with as many different things as I could so that no one would notice how often I wore it. Hell, I probably would have worn it every single day if I thought I could. 

I worked at a thrift store and went a little crazy with the shopping. I was so excited to have my hands on sweat pants from Victoria's Secret and sweaters from American Eagle. I nearly had a heart attack when I bought my Coach purse. I wasn't even ashamed to admit I had bought it all second hand because I finally looked like a normal woman. I started getting so excited to pick an outfit for the day. Everything was so cute that I had a hard time making up my mind! I still felt a little tug at my heart though, because even if the tags said the clothes were expensive, they were simple pieces. I didn't have anything to wow. I didn't have anything that was on trend. I had switched out my graphic tees for plan scoop neck tops. My old jeans were replaced with skinny jeans, and the fact was I had just upgraded my old wardrobe into...well, a more expensive closet full of basics. 

I wasn't surprised to see how much I gleaned out and donated when we moved back home. I had collected so many clothes that I didn't even know what to do with them anymore. The worst part was how few of them I really loved. My make-up collection got pumped up a little bit. Half of it is stuff to conceal my under eye circles and the other half is 5 year old MAC eye shadow I got as a birthday gift. I'll admit that my shoes got the biggest overhaul, though. I own about 20 or so pairs of shoes and 90% of them are name brand. They are all cute and perfectly in-style. I could always use more, but I know that at the very least, someone will stop to compliment my tootsies. 

The more I grow, the more I yearn to change my wardrobe. I use my t-shirts for working out and sleeping, which leaves very little to wear on my days off. I dread wearing another pair of ill-fitting jeans or another tank top with a thin sweater. My boss helped me really bulk up my office wardrobe, so I usually feel like a million dollars on the week days. The update really boosted my confidence and helps me get excited about going to work. Now that I've experienced the difference, it makes it even harder to like my weekend wardrobe. 

I try to think of ways to save up for just one piece. I figure I can slowly work my way up to a full closet, little by little. But when I write up our budget, there just isn't enough wiggle room. I can buy a dress if we don't spend any money hanging out with friends. I can get a statement necklace if I don't pay my cell phone bill. When i finally do look and see some freed up money, I can't rationalize the purchase of one expensive item. I am so used to shopping for quantity instead of quality. I look at the clothing for so long and I get so stressed that I never actually make the purchase. My dream is to make enough money one day to buy clothes that really reflect my personality. I get so frustrated having to buy cheap clothing that falls apart so quickly. I haven't had the money to buy the proper sized bra since I got fitted back in 2011 and I have worn holes in 80% of my underwear. 

So I am confessing all of this to you guys. I love fashion. I am dying for a plaid jacket to wow this Winter. I am lusting over black boots with studs and high waisted jeans and loud necklaces. I am watching all of these amazingly fun trends come and go and all I want to do is stop paying my bills so I can join in. I want to embrace all of the awesome clothes they make for women! I want people on the street to look at me and know what I am about. I want to get dressed every day and feel like the successful woman I am. Here's to hoping I can fulfill my dream one day. I would be okay with someone starting a fund to clothe me or taking me downtown and Pretty Womaning me, too. Just say the word!

No...This Is Not "Like The Nazis"

Okay, I have not posted here in a while and I have no good excuse. In fact, I probably wouldn't be posting now if I didn't feel like I was burning from the inside because someone compared me to a Nazi. Go ahead and let that shit sink in. You remember the Nazis, whose goal was to commit genocide. You know how that is in no way similar to anything happening currently in the U.S.? Alright then I can get on with this post. 

I am just going to come right out and say that nothing that anyone is doing in America is similar to the Nazis. Are there people in America who think that the Nazis had the right idea? Yes. Are there people in America that claim to uphold these ideals? Yep. Do you see any of them openly committing mass murder? I sure don't. Do you see anyone killing thousands upon thousands of people in America? If you said "no" then you have illustrated my point perfectly. 

Now I want you to think of something that is as bad as what the Nazis did. Maybe you thought of a few and chances are, they were also genocide. Try and think of something that happened recently that is as bad as what the Nazis did. If something like Westboro Baptist Church picketing funerals came to mind, think again. I mean honestly, compare the two. One is a protest and one is genocide. One is verbal and one is physical. One is an on and off occurrence, one spans many years. One is an isolated incident, and one was widespread. What I am coming up with here on my end is that the two are really not comparable at all. Maybe you thought of a personal attack on a gay person. This is a little warmer, I must admit. Both instances include murder of a homosexual. Still, this is a really thin and far stretched comparison. We don't often compare the murder of one black person to the many deaths that occurred as a result of poor treatment of slaves. We don't usually compare a fishing boat sinking to the tragic sinking of the Titanic.

I think it is very important that we do not compare things to the acts of Nazis. The main reason I discourage this is because I think it cheapens the history. I think if we compare smaller and smaller issues to the mass genocide cause by the Nazis, we are only making it appear as a smaller and smaller issue. The reason we struggle to listen to the classes that discuss the reign of the Nazis is because it was so horrible. The amount of people who were killed, the ways they were killed, the true hatred in the hearts of the Nazis, those are the things we can't truly comprehend. This is one of the most vital points in history and most everything else will forever be in its shadow. I hope and pray that nothing that is honestly comparable ever happens again. 

I don't know what leads people to use this comparison. I am not sure if we have some sort of need to dramatize things so much that we feel it is appropriate. I don't know if we are so upset that the much smaller issue really feels as devastating as this ethnic cleansing. I don't know if we really have so little concept of the tragedy that occurred that we honestly believe it can be compared to anything happening now. All I know is that it turns my stomach. This comparison will bring bile up into my throat and I'm not sure there's a phrase I hate more. 

From what I have seen, it is becoming less and less acceptable to compare things to rape. We know that losing a video game should not be referred to as "getting raped." We know that the way your boss treated you or the fine you occurred on a past due bill is not the same as them "raping you." Many people get embarrassed when these words leave their mouths, and they should. So why shouldn't the same be true when comparing something to the Nazis? Have we really grown so insensitive? Has it been long enough that we believe there is no reason to regard this issue with the same respect? 

Today I got compared to a Nazi. Today I stood up and said that despite the fact that the leader of the Salvation Army has said that he believes the bible preaches that homosexuals deserve death, I will still donate to them. I spoke intimately about how upsetting it is to hear such vile words be associated with an organization that does so much good. My family benefited from the Salvation Army and I am not shallow enough to believe that we were the only ones. I felt a tear in my heart when I decided that I will not let my own anger over these words dictate where my money goes. A statement was released stating that not all members feel this way and that volunteers come with their own ideals. I know from experience that the Salvation Army does much more than some other organizations. I know that every dollar I donate is going to feed the hungry. I know the cheer that the Salvation Army brings and I am not going to let one hateful comment take food away from that empty belly. I said that I will honestly be concerned that when I donate this season, I will be judged or even harassed by my community. I will be looking over my shoulder because I am scared that someone else will let their anger dictate what they do-and they will take it out on me. So there you have it folks, because I am standing up for my own moral decisions, I am in no way similar to a Nazi. But a man who made a very clear point to bring up the fact that he is a Jew and he lived in Germany, has compared me to a Nazi. 

I'd like to start a movement where we agree to stop using this comparison. Who is with me?

Rape Is Not a Feminist Issue.

This morning I said I had nothing to write about today. It didn't take long to find today's topic. As a supporter of rape victims and an advocate for justice, I feel it is important to highlight the fact that rape is EVERYONE'S issue.

*WARNING: This post has only mild content but does contain repeated mention of rape.*

The majority of the time, when the subject of rape is discussed, we focus on female victims. It only seems natural when you think about it. Most of the people who are talking about rape are women. Statistically speaking, around 90% of reported rapes have female victims. Victim blaming and slut shaming are fiercely directed at females. Trust me, I see it and I know. That being said, I would really like it if I started seeing more photos and statistics that included males.

I have seen a number of photos that are widely shared that specifically attack men with sayings like "teach your sons not to rape" and "real men don't rape." We need to step back and see what we are really saying here. When you say these things, what you are really saying is that men are to blame. When you urge people to teach their daughters how to fight off a rapist, and to teach their sons not to rape, you are sending all of the wrong messages. 

Think about how strong gender stereotypes are. Think about the idea that boys and men are still afraid to cry and still feel the need to be the bread winners, and then think about how badly these messages are hurting them. Have you ever stopped to think about why the statistics seem so outrageously heavy with female victims? If a man is assaulted by another man, how likely do you think he is to report it? Imagine all of the stigmas around his case. Think of just how heavy the shame is going to feel on the victim. Think of all the gay slurs, the emasculating insults, and just how much those things would deter him from reporting. If a man is assaulted by a woman, what are the chances that either he is going to admit that it was rape or even understand that it was rape? Men are taught from an early age that all sex is good sex. Look back on Chris Brown's interview where he brags about having sex at a very young age with a much older young lady. Men are praised for losing their virginity and celebrated for the number of sexual partners they have had. Not only that, but many times boys and men believe that they are bigger and stronger than women. When a man has a weak arm, he "throws like a girl". When a woman wins an argument, they get made fun of because "you just lost to a girl." This view of gender inequality can tie an outrageous amount of shame onto being raped by a woman. 

When I look at the ways society acts as a whole, I am not surprised to see the low reporting numbers for male victims. I am surprised at how many people believe that millions of female rape victims aren't reporting, but also believe that the measly 9% reporting rate for male victims seems accurate. I don't question for a second the fact that the majority of rapes do, in fact, have female victims. I do wonder how much the percentage would change if it was more acceptable for men to report. I think about how many men sit in silence all their lives. I think about how few male survivors are getting the help they need. Even as a rape survivor, I can't imagine the strength it must take to break through all of those gender stereotypes and admit that you were raped. My heart breaks over the idea that rape victim advocates are creating such an open and encouraging space for women to come forward and report their cases without including male victims. I stress over the idea that with all the good I am trying to do, I am successfully spread rape culture by only speaking about women getting raped. 

Rape is not a feminist issue. Rape is not a subject about equality. Rape does not consider your gender. Rape is as much my issue as it is your issue. Rape happens every few minutes. 

Millions of victims don't report, don't get counselling, don't ever heal because of rape culture. As a whole, we need to stop this. We need to support all victims. We need to punish all rapists. We need to be as open and supportive as possible. We need to keep sharing statistics, keep pushing for rape kits to be tested, keep spreading the word that rapists are getting away because of some sort of political pull. So many rape victims have been silenced, so we must speak for them. We must write, we must call, we must shout. 

I urge you to research rape centers in your area. I beg you to take a little time out of your life to go to an awareness run, go do a slut walk, go volunteer at a RAINN center, volunteer to answer calls with a rape hotline. If you have children, I know it's a scary topic, but speak to them. If they are very young make sure they know what is inappropriate touch. Teach your sons and your daughters about what is okay and not okay when people are touching their bodies. I know you want to put it off. I know you want to believe it isn't an issue because your child is very young. I was raped when I was five years old. I cannot stress this enough. If they are old enough to speak, they are old enough to learn. When they get older, teach them about consent. It is important for them to verbally give consent and it is their job to always get verbal consent before anything happens. A proper gentleman or young lady asks to kiss. Pressuring your boyfriend or girlfriend is not okay. If their boyfriend or girlfriend is not ready, make sure they know that they need to step back. No will always mean no. Your boyfriend or girlfriend will tell you when they are ready. Speak to them about alcohol and sex because this might come up. Let them know that if their girlfriend or boyfriend is drunk, they are not able to give consent. It is wrong to take advantage of drunk girls or boys. This topic is so wide and so complicated. I know it will be a hard discussion but it needs to happen. No one is teaching them this in school! Sex-ed does not include anything about this. It is your job as a parent to educate your child to the best of your ability. You cannot protect them from everything. You cannot always stop rape from happening. The best first step though, is providing them with knowledge. 

Let's keep on fighting the good fight. Try to be an ally and support for all people. Be strong and be loud for those who cannot. Together we can end rape culture.

I wrote this a while ago and since I have nothing I want to say today, here's this.

Look, life is straight up wild. There are a million things that make you worry, make you stress, make you rush, and it is so easy to forget all the things that make you happy. Consider this your reminder to go ahead and live!

The fact is we all have lives. There are bills to pay, jobs to work, and events to plan. We are surrounded by things that demand our attention. We are in a flurry of justs. Just scraping by, just taking another minute, just doing another dish. We are very caught up. Let's try to remind each other to unravel.

You're at work and you're about to dig into the third tuna salad sandwich of the week. It's cheap, it's healthy, and it's easy to pack up for the day. But there's a taco truck outside. It's taunting you with its shiny metal sign. The scent of taco meat is about to drive you mad and it feels like you are the only one eating a bagged lunch. You know what I say? Go to your car, dig through your quarters, and eat that greasy taco! The tuna salad will still be there tomorrow and those quarters weren't doing any good anyways. If you are feeling guilty about the calories, do some extra crunches or forgive yourself. If you're feeling guilty about the price, work through lunch or forgive yourself. Stop piling guilt on where it is not necessary. You follow that gut right to the taco truck and then forgive yourself when it leads you back to the bathroom for the rest of the day. 

You planned a wicked workout for your Sunday morning. You've gone over it in your head and you are so set on getting up and doing it. But it's Sunday and maybe the sunshine is so warm on your cheeks and the blanket is so soft and your pillow is so damn plush that you don't make it up until 10:00. When you wake up, your husband suggests that you go to the dog park and then get breakfast out. You're telling yourself that you should go do that workout. You're convincing yourself to give up a fun Sunday with your family for a sweat session. You know what? There's clearly a better choice here and I'll give you a hint: it doesn't involve a sweatband. You can turn this little date into a mini-workout if you want to. You can juggle fun and fitness! In fact, I highly encourage this. Instead of the stationary bike at the gym, go on a bike ride outside with your partner. Instead of doing an incline on the treadmill, go find a place to hike for a few hours in the sunshine. Instead of the row machine, hit the water with a kayak or canoe. Go out, enjoy nature, and most of all have fun! If fitness is important to you, find a way to incorporate it into the rest of your life instead of the other way around. You don't need to sacrifice all the time.

It's the end of the month and, as usual, your bank account isn't making you jump for joy. Most months you would throw the extra money on a credit card or pop it in savings. Most months you are turning down every invite between the 20th and the 30th and just this once you wish you could have fun. I say do it. Every once in a while, forget about being a responsible adult and just say yes! In the early hours of the morning when you stumble into bed, I promise you won't be regretting your choice. Memories are worth so much more than money. Try to be creative with your ideas so that you can enjoy fun and frugality a little more often. There are tons of things you could be doing for little to no money. If you have good family and friends, you won't need to break the bank for a good time. Much like exercise, I am going to remind you that nature is the best resource out there. If it's Winter, go have a snowball fight, go build snowmen, go ice skating. If it's fall go see if you can pick apples somewhere, rake some leaves and jump in them, make hot cocoa and sit on your front porch and chit chat. If it's Summer or Spring your possibilities are bottomless. 

The big point here is that life is always going to be the expensive, wild, untamed creature it is right now. You are going to feel like there aren't enough hours or enough dollars. Just remember that every single day is up to you. After the bare minimum has been met, prioritize everything else in a way that pleases you. Is it really important that you get that extra hour of sleep, or would you rather call up an old friend and catch up? Are you dead set on your diet, or could you spare time for an impromptu lunch date? 

Thanks.

Now that Halloween is over I can finally write about my favorite holiday...Thanksgiving!

My husband tells me on a nearly daily basis that I am the most particular person in the World. I guess that helps explain why my favorite season is Christmas season, but my favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. I'm not really fond of Winter all on its own. I think it's a drag to wear 10 layers to go outside...just to strip off 6 of them when you're indoors. Also, quite frankly, snow can get a little old if it lasts all Winter. There is a magic about the Christmas season that just puts it above all of the other seasons for me. I'll elaborate much more on that here in a month. For now let's focus on the glorious turkey day that is about to be here. 

First and foremost I want to say that this is not a cultural thing for me. I am Native American. I know the terrible things that have happened to my ancestors, but I choose not to dwell on such things. I have pride in my Native heritage and reading the muddied form of history that we pass onto our children sickens me. I would love to see historically accurate textbooks detailing the way the Native Peoples were treated. I personally prefer to hold these truths in my heart and mind on a much more regular basis than once a year. The fact of the matter is that the first Thanksgiving was a day of harmony. A Pawtuxet slave helped forge an alliance with the European settlers and taught them how to live off the land. A man who had already been used as a pawn to settlers was willing to share his knowledge with these strangers so that they could live and prosper alongside each other. This is a beautiful day and it should be remembered as such. 

I think part of my adoration for this holiday is the fact that it is under-represented. Since it is sandwiched in between the two noisiest holidays, people just kind of go through the motions. There's no set of carols, no costumes, no themed yard decorations. Thanksgiving has all but disappeared in a large number of households. If you ask most people what they are doing to celebrate, they will say they are going to see their family and eat. People honestly treat the holiday like it is just there so that they have to endure seeing their families and so they can eat until they bust. 

The main reason I love Thanksgiving is because it is the least self-serving holiday. It's not about having someone to kiss or buy you chocolates, it's not about being lucky, it's not about candy, and it's not about having the biggest present under the tree. Each holiday has a beautiful message behind it, but each holiday seems to be more about what you can receive than it is about what you can give. Thanksgiving is simply about giving, being, reflecting. First you focus on getting as many people in your home as possible. You want to see family, friends, neighbors. What a beautiful thing to want to fill all the empty spaces with faces of those you love. Then you prepare the food. You dig through family recipes, taking care to pack the brown sugar and sift the flour just like your mom, and her mom, and her mom did every year. How magical to take time to honor the great women and men of your family. 

The next morning you are up with the sun seasoning, massaging, perfecting the turkey for all who come. The skin is just right, the pan is just deep enough, and if you take care it will be juicy and salty just like your husband likes. Making food for snacking is always an afterthought, no matter how much you tried to remember this year. This is where your creativity really kicks in because there isn't much in your house that isn't for the great feast. The noise begins with children, with football, with the parade. Nieces and nephews circle your ankles, begging for a task to do. You try to catch every moment of the Macy's floats in between stirring, rolling, and baking. When the house has calmed and the oven dings, it's time for the best thing of all: giving thanks. Whether you each list one thing, or you compete for the most thankful, this is the true cherry on top of the holiday. Everyone is sitting, thinking, remembering all of the things that we forgot to be thankful for over the year. This is the time when we grow as individuals and as one patchwork family. We are all calm, we are all humble, we are all in awe of the lives we live and it is so perfect. 

When the feast is carefully placed around the table we are quick to add "this incredible meal" to our bottomless list of blessings. On each face is the gratitude of a person well-fed. Each eye twinkles with a knowing that it doesn't get much better than this. No one ever has words for the feeling in your heart when you're gathered around the Thanksgiving turkey. This time when everything just seems so full, so warm, and so good. It's a feeling we don't often revel in, and Thanksgiving gives us an excuse to do just that. 

I find it incredibly fitting that my husband and I wed on the day after Thanksgiving in 2010. This was the first holiday I spent with his family. It was the first time I had cooked a Thanksgiving meal. I had to learn recipes as I went and the task of making everything 'the Southern way' was just an added concern. I poured everything I had into that meal though, in hopes that it would show them. I wanted to show them that I already loved them. I wanted to say that their recipes and my recipes went perfectly together. I wanted to show trust in their advice. I wanted to scream and shout right next to them as we watch Auburn win the Iron Bowl, because I wanted it to always be just like this. 

Like all other holidays, the way people choose to celebrate can vary from home to home. Maybe you do a potluck so many family recipes are all brought together in a wonderful smorgasbord. Maybe you always go to one relative's house and eat solely your family's recipes. Maybe you watch the game instead of the parade and you drink beer instead of sparkling cider. All that matters is that we go about the holiday with the right mind set. We shouldn't feel forced into cooking. We should feel gladness in our hearts that we are able to share our hard work with those closest to us. We shouldn't feel burdened with hosting the meal. We should feel honored to bring all of the joy into our home. We shouldn't feel like we are boasting when we reflect and we shouldn't feel gluttonous when we feast. 

For one day, let us enjoy a little too much of something good. Let us take the time to interact with each and every person at the celebration because you are grateful for them. Let us remember that this only comes once a year and maybe this is the last time your aunt will pinch your cheeks, your nephew will draw on the walls, or your father will carve the bird. For once let us not take our company for granted. Let us not focus on the flaws of our family and instead focus on all of the things they bring into our lives. Gather around, get in too close, bump elbows with your left-handed neighbors, and soak it in. Spend all day and all night in good company and hold this in your heart. 

P.S. Please respect Thanksgiving by not playing Christmas carols 24/7 until the day after. I know it's painful. Trust me, I listen to Christmas carols all year but only when I am alone and cleaning my house. Just wait one more month to kill everyone with your Christmas cheer. Everyone will like you a little bit more if you follow this rule, too. 

After.

I want to take some time and reflect on something that I think about often. This is something I can't always vocalize, but I am going to try today. Be patient with me. 

*WARNING: This post has mild-moderate language and contains mention of rape/abuse/etc. Please read with caution*

We all live rollercoaster lives. We have all, at one point or another, gone through something awful. Then slowly we all had to learn how to keep on living after. I have been thrown back to this point over and over during my life. I seem to have constantly woken up only to realize that I had to keep going. Each dip in the rollercoaster delayed my progress in one way or another. I forgot how to breathe, how to smile, how to love. I was suddenly a blank slate and I couldn't remember how to live after.

My rape and molestation occurred at a very young age. As such, I can't provide insight on how I got through it initially. I don't know how I slipped my tights back on and greeted my mother with a smiling face when she picked me up. I don't know how I made it through doctor's appointments and classes with male teachers. I don't know when I remembered how to play, or color, or run, but I would say it was something of a miracle. I remember being very angry when I was young. I was so angry at my step father. Maybe I was scared of him, too. I remember the ugly inside of me before the first time he hit me. I swear I could feel it growing with every outburst. He would tell me just how awful I was and I would believe it. I cried so hard I hiccuped and gasped for air. I think I grew worse, harder, uglier, with every time he would hit me or yell at me. I think I internalized all of his hatred and held it inside of me until I finally broke.  I remember the day my therapist finally coaxed it out of me that I had been raped. I learned that I may never recover years of my memory because that was how my mind dealt with it. My body had become my own savior. My mind had decided it hurt too much. My mind knew I was too scared. So my mind took all of those days and locked them away. It threw darkness over them and it built walls so strong and tall that years of therapy never broke them down. So after the first fall, my body operated on pure instinct. I trudged forward like every other young lady because my body was already to strong that it was able to pretend like nothing was wrong. 

The first time I harmed myself, I remember clearly. I guess we could call this the rise to my second fall. I'm not sure I recall what lead me to it. Maybe I had read about it, maybe I had seen the scars on someone else. I just grabbed a knife from the kitchen and took it to my room. I sat on my bed, lights off, and I stared at the stars. I was so scared that I flipped the knife over to the dull side and dug into my wrist. The deep wound I caused would welt up and now, even 10 years later, those are the scars that remain. Not long after, I was plagued with mental illness. The easiest to diagnose was depression, though later they would change it to manic-depressive disorder. This stretch of 3 years could be its very own rollercoaster, as far as I am concerned. The dance I did with the illnesses, the medicinal side effects, and the therapy was dizzying at best. Each day I had to re-learn something I had forgotten. I remember each and every day I would hit a wall. I would just be consumed with paralyzing fear. I would cry, I would shake, and I would forget how to breathe or think clearly. I remember fighting with myself just to stand up, take a step, and get dressed. It was a constant struggle to remember how to live. One day it was "but how do I live after I relapsed again?" The next it was "but how do I live after hours of flashbacks and nightmares?" Every single day was full of re-learning. It was the most exhausting time of my life. 

It crested and it fell the night I laid awake in the E.R. with a stomach full of charcoal and a heart filled with fear. I believe, fully, without a doubt, that I am only here today because of some twist of fate. The poison control lady told me I waited too long and would have irreparable damage. The doctors made a point to tell me almost the same thing. I probably damaged myself permanently and it's surprising that I lived. I don't like to remember that night. I can still tell you how I felt when I swallowed the pills. I can tell you all about the black hole that swallowed me up. I can tell you how even in my time of despair I took the time to count the pills and swallow them in pairs until I was being eaten alive by 72. I can tell you the exact moment that the fear smacked me in the face. The moment when I looked at the bottle, looked at the clock, and panicked. I called the only person in the World that I thought would help me and would not judge me. From across the country he called poison control and he called my stepmom and he helped save my life. I remember how angry he was, how angry she was, how angry everyone was at me. And in that moment I remember that all of their anger just felt an awful lot like love. As we sped through town, running red lights, I cried and I shook. I couldn't believe how scared I was to die. I couldn't believe how sure I was that I was, in fact, going to die. I remember thinking that I would be laying in a cold E.R. when I died. I can tell you in great detail all of the emotions and thoughts that I went through that day. What I can't tell you is why nothing happened. I have no damage to my liver or kidneys. I have no holes in the lining of my stomach. My heart functions fine and I have had multiple MRIs and CAT scans that verify it. For some reason that I am still not sure of, I came out of that night unscathed. 

In my immediate stint in the psychiatric ward, I took baby steps. I had to remember how to speak to people. I had to learn to swallow the pills. I had to learn to roll over and get out of bed each day. I literally felt like I was all the way back to square one. I am not sure if those days in the hospital made anything better. I drew a sense of security from that place. I felt like I was around people who understood what it was like. I was so happy knowing people were watching me, taking care of me, and I wasn't ready to go when they released me. I was scared of living again. I didn't think I could do it without the hospital. I struggled and I fell so many times after this. I failed at so many things. You guys, I honestly didn't know if I was going to make it out of the place I was back then. Then one day it changed. One day instead of feeling ashamed, I felt angry. Instead of feeling helpless I felt determined. Instead of feeling like going through the motions, I felt like I wanted to fight. I don't remember this day but this was the day that sparked my fire. Something inside me had finally grown. Something beautiful inside me decided that it was better to take the hard road. As huge as this was, it was another time when I had to re-learn everything I knew. I weaned off of my medication slowly. I replaced all of those chemicals with love and strength that I had somehow managed to scrounge up. I did stupid things just to get out of the house. I let the beauty of the World heal me. I let the wide openness of the road soothe me. I let the sunshine chase away the darkness and it was so scary. Every step of recovery frightened me to death. I didn't know who I was without my illnesses anymore, so I had to learn. 

It might sound crazy but I spent an entire Summer figuring myself out. I took a poetry course online, I laid out in the sun, I got my first tattoo, and I spent time meeting myself. I took naps that Summer. I took a lot of photos of myself. I wrote a lot of poetry and I tried a lot of things that scared me. By the time Summer ended, I started to like myself an awful lot. I started to see that underneath all of the ugliness that I had been harboring, maybe there was someone worth being. I believe that I have been given a mind, heart, soul, and body that are unremarkable. Even when I had no idea how to move on, how to progress, how to stay afloat, they remembered. Something inside of me has been made so strong by nature that it has had the force to pull me out of the deepest whole, the darkest pits, and carried me in my weakest moments. I wish I could pinpoint this part of me. I wish I could write it down on paper and share it with people who need it. I wish I had a secret to share with everyone who is hurting but I don't. 

Every single day I am trying to remember how to live after. When I get sad and I let myself cry, I remember that this is sadness after soul swallowing depression. When I cut my apple into slices before I eat it, I remember that this is being picky after life halting OCD. When I grip the steering wheel and take a deep breath, I remember this is anxiousness after a debilitating social anxiety. I will never feel like I am normal because I have been on the other side. I go through the day exactly the way I do because this is my life after. I live each day in the shadow of the life I used to live. It's humbling. It's grounding. It's worth every single struggle.