I don't even know how to describe the state I'm in right now. I want to cry and/or throw stuff and/or scream and/or burrow beneath my blankets and hide for awhile. I want people around me and/or I want to be alone. It's dizzying and completely nonsensical. I find myself labeling this state as "possibly bipolar" or "inching on borderline". When really, there's only one label that fits:
Grief.
I hate grief. It is unpredictable and isolating. It is nauseating with all of its ups and downs. It makes you push people away when you really want to hold on for dear life. It makes you rethink the world and life and all that existential crap you try so hard not to ever think about because, oh yeah, it's freaking DEPRESSING. It makes me scared, no, terrified to get closer to people, because what if I lose them, too? I couldn't bear it.
Then I hear God's voice, "Do you really trust me so little?"
You see God, it's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't trust me. I'm the weak link in this equation. I'm the one not strong enough, brave enough, holy enough, to handle all this you gave me. You tossed one too many balls into my already shaky juggling act, and I'm just one blink away from screwing up and dropping everything.
And the panic-grief spins again.
It really makes me long for numbness, for the emotional wasteland I curl into when I'm all emotioned-out. It's a place that once held so much emotion, that it sucked all the color from the sky, all the water from the ground, and all the warmth from the sun and became a numb, empty place. Sometimes it feels good to be here, not feeling anything. But I don't feel God here, and that scares me.
I'd rather riding the crazy train of grief, yet feel God with me, than meander in the empty place all alone.
Really, I'd prefer to not have either of those states, but that's the thing with life - it was never meant to be easy. If it is easy, you're doing something wrong. You're not loving enough. You're not living enough.
And while my love for those close to me is what puts me in grief, its that same love that saves me from being a miserable wretch. Love renews and strengthens, even as the grief takes you for a ride. Love refreshes the soul, and brings light to the darkness. Because love is God.
I just need to hold onto Him until this revolving door of crazy-grief can simmer down. Actually scratch that - I need to hold onto Him always and forever.
Never let me go.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Thursday, May 2, 2013
The Therapized Therapist, Part 2: Panic Station
Healing from PTSD is full of hills and valleys, but lately it's been all valleys. Whether it's stress, adjusting to new medication, a combination, or whatever, my anxiety/panic is on an high alert. When this happens, my brain releases the Thought Police. And since my amygdala (aka Thought Police Headquarters) probably takes up most of my brain, I have an entire brigade of police, trolling for any thoughts that dare step out of line. Any thought that doesn't follow the norm, any thought that is the remotely bit errant, will get caught. Once caught, the lights flash on, the sirens go blaring, and the Thought Police tackle the thought with enough force to be blamed (accurately) for committing police brutality.
Scary thoughts, overly emotional thoughts, repetitive thoughts... none of these are allowed. Can you imagine having a brain that wasn't allowed to have these thoughts? A brain that was only allowed to have peaceful, gentle and loving thoughts 24/7? Yeah, it's impossible. Our brains have thoughts more times than we are even conscious of - there are background programs running constantly. We have thoughts we can't control sometimes. That's part of having a functioning brain. It's normal and healthy.
My anxious brain doesn't buy it.
Now when I'm anxious it's difficult to let those errant thoughts go. It's difficult to slow down the fear and panic that sets in because of the thoughts and memories. I make these illogical assumptions that if I have these thoughts I must be broken/bad/no good/never gonna get better. It's torment, thinking that my brain will always be this way. That thought just fuels the fire.
I hate being in this place, but I know it's only temporary. With each second I have to practice letting go of my thoughts, giving the Thought Police a leave of absence, let them go holiday in Hawaii, drink some tequila and tan on the beach. Then maybe my brain could do its thing and heal a little more.
Sigh. Healing is now, I recognize that. But I just wish it wouldn't take so long. Luckily, I've been blessed with friends and a boyfriend who hold me up when I can't go any further. I just gotta keep holdin' on, practicing hope and waiting for the day when I don't feel like the world is ending.
Scary thoughts, overly emotional thoughts, repetitive thoughts... none of these are allowed. Can you imagine having a brain that wasn't allowed to have these thoughts? A brain that was only allowed to have peaceful, gentle and loving thoughts 24/7? Yeah, it's impossible. Our brains have thoughts more times than we are even conscious of - there are background programs running constantly. We have thoughts we can't control sometimes. That's part of having a functioning brain. It's normal and healthy.
My anxious brain doesn't buy it.
Now when I'm anxious it's difficult to let those errant thoughts go. It's difficult to slow down the fear and panic that sets in because of the thoughts and memories. I make these illogical assumptions that if I have these thoughts I must be broken/bad/no good/never gonna get better. It's torment, thinking that my brain will always be this way. That thought just fuels the fire.
I hate being in this place, but I know it's only temporary. With each second I have to practice letting go of my thoughts, giving the Thought Police a leave of absence, let them go holiday in Hawaii, drink some tequila and tan on the beach. Then maybe my brain could do its thing and heal a little more.
Sigh. Healing is now, I recognize that. But I just wish it wouldn't take so long. Luckily, I've been blessed with friends and a boyfriend who hold me up when I can't go any further. I just gotta keep holdin' on, practicing hope and waiting for the day when I don't feel like the world is ending.
"You've arrived at panic station -
Doubts will try to break you
Unleash your heart and soul
Trouble will surround you
Start taking some control."
- Muse, 'Panic Station'
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Spark.
I started writing this when thinking about PTSD, then realized about halfway through that I was really writing it for someone close to me who is fighting an on-going battle with illness of a different sort. This is for them, with much love.
Spark
The terror hits you,
sinks into your bones, icy and harsh,
turning your blood to fire and ice.
You freeze as the fear consumes you,
your vision fills with vestiges
of horrors, catastrophes
and terrors, large and small.
Your eyes squeeze shut against them,
your body tenses against the barrage of potential pain,
and your thoughts race for a way out.
They find none.
Death seems inevitable, and not so much an earthly death,
but a spiritual one,
a death born of not loving others,
of becoming so lost in this pain
you can't see beyond yourself.
It's all you can do to hold onto hope.
But my dear one,
you must keep your eyes open to see it.
Hope is in Him, in His light!
Even in this blackness, it shines.
You must look past the shattered images,
breathe through the panic,
stand up against the deadweight of despair.
Can you see?
His light works through the cracks,
through the walls that seem to reach the sky.
His love consumes the fear that consumed you;
Nothing can contain His fire.
Look for His light,
even if all you see in the moment is a spark,
for that spark is part of an unending source
of light, of love, of salvation.
See the light, hold onto it with all your might,
even as the anxieties and lies assail you,
luring you to sink back
into their hopelessness.
Hold on!
They cannot consume or defeat you,
You, who are bright and beautiful,
a creature of the Divine.
Hold onto the spark.
watch it as it grows with your awareness,
glowing brighter and bigger,
until it becomes the Sun itself.
It will shut out all that scares you,
all that makes you cower.
It will burn so lovingly, so fiercely,
that in time it will be all you see, all you are.
And my darling,
if the darkness comes back,
never fear.
The light will save you.
Again, and again, and again.
A spark is all it takes.
Spark
The terror hits you,
sinks into your bones, icy and harsh,
turning your blood to fire and ice.
You freeze as the fear consumes you,
your vision fills with vestiges
of horrors, catastrophes
and terrors, large and small.
Your eyes squeeze shut against them,
your body tenses against the barrage of potential pain,
and your thoughts race for a way out.
They find none.
Death seems inevitable, and not so much an earthly death,
but a spiritual one,
a death born of not loving others,
of becoming so lost in this pain
you can't see beyond yourself.
It's all you can do to hold onto hope.
But my dear one,
you must keep your eyes open to see it.
Hope is in Him, in His light!
Even in this blackness, it shines.
You must look past the shattered images,
breathe through the panic,
stand up against the deadweight of despair.
Can you see?
His light works through the cracks,
through the walls that seem to reach the sky.
His love consumes the fear that consumed you;
Nothing can contain His fire.
Look for His light,
even if all you see in the moment is a spark,
for that spark is part of an unending source
of light, of love, of salvation.
See the light, hold onto it with all your might,
even as the anxieties and lies assail you,
luring you to sink back
into their hopelessness.
Hold on!
They cannot consume or defeat you,
You, who are bright and beautiful,
a creature of the Divine.
Hold onto the spark.
watch it as it grows with your awareness,
glowing brighter and bigger,
until it becomes the Sun itself.
It will shut out all that scares you,
all that makes you cower.
It will burn so lovingly, so fiercely,
that in time it will be all you see, all you are.
And my darling,
if the darkness comes back,
never fear.
The light will save you.
Again, and again, and again.
A spark is all it takes.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Superheroes don't always wear pants.
It's true. Superheroes don't always suit up in cape and spandex. They aren't always noticeable when they spring to action, saving the bystander from certain danger. And from my experience this weekend, they can come in the most interesting of outfits.
Last night I found myself struggling - against my will as always - with PTSD symptoms out of nowhere (seemingly). They like to do that, attack you when you least expect it. What was supposed to be an awesome night downtown, turned into me crying in a parking lot with panic and all the fun that goes with that. Now before you pause here to get all sorry for me, please hold on for a second - this story is actually not about that at all. But I digress.
Not wanting to ruin everyone elses night, I called the person I knew would come to my rescue. I stood on Cesar Chavez feeling silly and sorry, when suddenly my hero comes pulling up, whisking me to the safety of a warm car and an empathetic ear. They listened to me, asked all the right questions, and took me straight to Whataburger for fries.
Before we went inside, they exclaimed, "Oh, I'm not wearing any pants!" I looked down and bursted out laughing at the leggings + reindeer t-shirt + fuzzy boot ensemble my rescuer was wearing. In their haste to come help me, they ran out of the house with their nighttime clothes on, not bothering to change into something more befitting of public viewing. "I just knew you needed me, so I ran out the door in this!" they said.
I laughed until I cried, thanking God for blessing me with such a beautiful, caring, and goofy sister.
My sister has always been there for me, saving me with her witty humor, strong will, and love as fierce as anything I've ever seen. I know that no matter what happens, no matter if she's dressed like Wonder Woman or a cat lady, she'll always be a hero to me. Though it would be easier if she wore pants next time.
Last night I found myself struggling - against my will as always - with PTSD symptoms out of nowhere (seemingly). They like to do that, attack you when you least expect it. What was supposed to be an awesome night downtown, turned into me crying in a parking lot with panic and all the fun that goes with that. Now before you pause here to get all sorry for me, please hold on for a second - this story is actually not about that at all. But I digress.
Not wanting to ruin everyone elses night, I called the person I knew would come to my rescue. I stood on Cesar Chavez feeling silly and sorry, when suddenly my hero comes pulling up, whisking me to the safety of a warm car and an empathetic ear. They listened to me, asked all the right questions, and took me straight to Whataburger for fries.
Before we went inside, they exclaimed, "Oh, I'm not wearing any pants!" I looked down and bursted out laughing at the leggings + reindeer t-shirt + fuzzy boot ensemble my rescuer was wearing. In their haste to come help me, they ran out of the house with their nighttime clothes on, not bothering to change into something more befitting of public viewing. "I just knew you needed me, so I ran out the door in this!" they said.
I laughed until I cried, thanking God for blessing me with such a beautiful, caring, and goofy sister.
My sister has always been there for me, saving me with her witty humor, strong will, and love as fierce as anything I've ever seen. I know that no matter what happens, no matter if she's dressed like Wonder Woman or a cat lady, she'll always be a hero to me. Though it would be easier if she wore pants next time.
"You be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground, I'll be the wings that keep your heart in the clouds." - Mayday Parade
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Give me hope in the darkness.
"Are you kidding me?!"
That was the first thing out of my mouth today when I read about the shooting in San Antonio.
"What is this world coming to???"
That was the second thing I muttered right before I fell melodramatically onto my bed. My mind raced as it flipped through all of the messy, tragic and confusing things that have happened in this world in 2012. I felt heavy with grief, but worse, I felt the cold tendrils of despair begin to wind their way across my heart.
The world is full of evil; the world is full of pain and horror. There's nothing we can do to predict it or stop it. It's a reality that not only feeds despair, but also the mentality that people are bad and we must live closed and guarded if we are to survive. And maybe it's true. Maybe we do need to live cautiously, but to what extent?
My fear is that if you open the door to despair, hopelessness will soon follow. Those two go hand-in-hand it seems, and they can easily tie themselves to your feet, the cement blocks that they are, and bring you to the very bottom. That is not a good place to be. Darkness and fear thrive down there, and pretty soon those convincing four will become so loud that's all you hear. Then what? You become frozen, closed, bitter or harsh. Or maybe you become numb to it all, and lose yourself in the various forms of modern day distraction.
It's easy to go there, at least for this catastrophisizer (yeah, I just made up that word). It's much easier to sink than to shake off the despair and hopelessness, and choose hope instead. It's so hard to carry hope when all of this horrible stuff is happening. But we must.
I remember someone telling me that faith is believing the unbelievable. I think that having hope and faith feels like that - believing in the impossible. It feels counterintuitive sometimes. But I have to look at these negative news stories and believe that people are still good, that love still exists in this world.
Luckily, examples of this are not hard to find. Spend time at a park or playground, and you'll see kids laughing. Go to a restaurant and see families sharing food together (just don't go to Chuck-E Cheese's... not the best place to find peaceful joy). Go to a corner downtown around sundown in Austin, and you'll see people feeding the homeless. Watch the "Free Hugs" video from Sick Puppies and laugh at all the love. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4)
These are the reminders that make hope not so hard to have. It reminds me that despite the darkness of the world, there is much more joy and love to be found. No matter what we do in this life, we're all called to carry this joy around and be hope for those around us. Love cannot stop just because there is suffering. Because there is suffering, we must love more.
That's the beautiful thing about love - no amount of pain or suffering can squelch it. Love is immune to death; it is immune to darkness. Where love exists, so does hope.
As I go to sleep tonight, I mourn the suffering of the world, but I rejoice in the blessings all around me: my family, my friends, my sweet boyfriend, my job, my life. They give me love, and they give me hope.
That was the first thing out of my mouth today when I read about the shooting in San Antonio.
"What is this world coming to???"
That was the second thing I muttered right before I fell melodramatically onto my bed. My mind raced as it flipped through all of the messy, tragic and confusing things that have happened in this world in 2012. I felt heavy with grief, but worse, I felt the cold tendrils of despair begin to wind their way across my heart.
The world is full of evil; the world is full of pain and horror. There's nothing we can do to predict it or stop it. It's a reality that not only feeds despair, but also the mentality that people are bad and we must live closed and guarded if we are to survive. And maybe it's true. Maybe we do need to live cautiously, but to what extent?
My fear is that if you open the door to despair, hopelessness will soon follow. Those two go hand-in-hand it seems, and they can easily tie themselves to your feet, the cement blocks that they are, and bring you to the very bottom. That is not a good place to be. Darkness and fear thrive down there, and pretty soon those convincing four will become so loud that's all you hear. Then what? You become frozen, closed, bitter or harsh. Or maybe you become numb to it all, and lose yourself in the various forms of modern day distraction.
It's easy to go there, at least for this catastrophisizer (yeah, I just made up that word). It's much easier to sink than to shake off the despair and hopelessness, and choose hope instead. It's so hard to carry hope when all of this horrible stuff is happening. But we must.
I remember someone telling me that faith is believing the unbelievable. I think that having hope and faith feels like that - believing in the impossible. It feels counterintuitive sometimes. But I have to look at these negative news stories and believe that people are still good, that love still exists in this world.
Luckily, examples of this are not hard to find. Spend time at a park or playground, and you'll see kids laughing. Go to a restaurant and see families sharing food together (just don't go to Chuck-E Cheese's... not the best place to find peaceful joy). Go to a corner downtown around sundown in Austin, and you'll see people feeding the homeless. Watch the "Free Hugs" video from Sick Puppies and laugh at all the love. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4)
These are the reminders that make hope not so hard to have. It reminds me that despite the darkness of the world, there is much more joy and love to be found. No matter what we do in this life, we're all called to carry this joy around and be hope for those around us. Love cannot stop just because there is suffering. Because there is suffering, we must love more.
That's the beautiful thing about love - no amount of pain or suffering can squelch it. Love is immune to death; it is immune to darkness. Where love exists, so does hope.
As I go to sleep tonight, I mourn the suffering of the world, but I rejoice in the blessings all around me: my family, my friends, my sweet boyfriend, my job, my life. They give me love, and they give me hope.
"So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
And I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me that we'll be alright."
- Mumford & Sons 'Ghosts That We Knew'
Saturday, December 22, 2012
The Therapized Therapist: Part 1
I've been debating about when or if I would blog about this. I usually blog about love or stupid things I see that I find amusing. Sometimes I blog about faith. This topic probably encompasses all of the above, plus some.
I've been putting it off because it's sensitive and sometimes difficult and blah blah blah. Excuses really. It's not something that is talked about often, but I really feel like it should be.
Unfortunately, trauma effects more than just a few of us. It's a sad reality, one that would be super depressing if it wasn't balanced by faith and hope. It's something we should know to watch for and learn how to guard against and heal ourselves and each other from. Even as a therapist, I missed it.
And I'm still stalling.
Sigh. Here's the truth: I was diagnosed last May with "Acute Stress Disorder", which is the baby version of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or what I like to call (thanks to Pomeranian Catholic for this one), "Hunger Games Readiness". Basically, it's the label they give people who have been traumatized, but haven't been traumatized long enough to get the oh-so-coveted PTSD label. They save that for later (like now).
Long story short - I worked in a drug rehab facility with unstable, potentially dangerous people. Some really scary shit ensued. I was caught in the middle of it for about 6 months, until I cracked and changed jobs. That's when I met my Australian psychologist friend who pulled me from the trenches and has been healing my brain ever since. He first encountered me 4 days after my last violent encounter at work; 4 days after I finally broke down and told people what I had been going through. He was the first person to tell me, "Hey, what you went through is NOT NORMAL. You're not crazy. You just feel crazy. It'll get better." He then proceeded to teach me more cognitive behavioral tricks than I've ever cared to know.
It's fun stuff, really.
And still the battle wages. I sit here watching my thoughts whirl and spin in the oh-so-familiar dance of anxiety. This happens when I get tired, sooo like every night. My thoughts go running, like wild horses penned up all day suddenly bursting forth, kicking and chomping, so eager to be free from the confines of my ever-vigilant thought police.
But it's better than it was, thankfully. I actually feel like there is hope (yes, even Emo's have hope). I feel like I can actually beat this beast of trauma and panic. I praise God for even small moments where I think that. The hope is that 5 minutes of belief will stretch to 10 moments the next time, and 15 the next, and so on.
Hmm... that should do it for now I suppose. Next up will be all the fun PTSD symptoms. Or perhaps how God literally dropped help into my life. Both? We'll see.
I've been putting it off because it's sensitive and sometimes difficult and blah blah blah. Excuses really. It's not something that is talked about often, but I really feel like it should be.
Unfortunately, trauma effects more than just a few of us. It's a sad reality, one that would be super depressing if it wasn't balanced by faith and hope. It's something we should know to watch for and learn how to guard against and heal ourselves and each other from. Even as a therapist, I missed it.
And I'm still stalling.
Sigh. Here's the truth: I was diagnosed last May with "Acute Stress Disorder", which is the baby version of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or what I like to call (thanks to Pomeranian Catholic for this one), "Hunger Games Readiness". Basically, it's the label they give people who have been traumatized, but haven't been traumatized long enough to get the oh-so-coveted PTSD label. They save that for later (like now).
Long story short - I worked in a drug rehab facility with unstable, potentially dangerous people. Some really scary shit ensued. I was caught in the middle of it for about 6 months, until I cracked and changed jobs. That's when I met my Australian psychologist friend who pulled me from the trenches and has been healing my brain ever since. He first encountered me 4 days after my last violent encounter at work; 4 days after I finally broke down and told people what I had been going through. He was the first person to tell me, "Hey, what you went through is NOT NORMAL. You're not crazy. You just feel crazy. It'll get better." He then proceeded to teach me more cognitive behavioral tricks than I've ever cared to know.
It's fun stuff, really.
And still the battle wages. I sit here watching my thoughts whirl and spin in the oh-so-familiar dance of anxiety. This happens when I get tired, sooo like every night. My thoughts go running, like wild horses penned up all day suddenly bursting forth, kicking and chomping, so eager to be free from the confines of my ever-vigilant thought police.
But it's better than it was, thankfully. I actually feel like there is hope (yes, even Emo's have hope). I feel like I can actually beat this beast of trauma and panic. I praise God for even small moments where I think that. The hope is that 5 minutes of belief will stretch to 10 moments the next time, and 15 the next, and so on.
Hmm... that should do it for now I suppose. Next up will be all the fun PTSD symptoms. Or perhaps how God literally dropped help into my life. Both? We'll see.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Love as easy as breathing.
We've all seen them, those people who are so in love that depending on your emotional state will either elicit feelings of awe, jealousy, nonchalance or mild disgust. Regardless of your internal reaction, (or sometimes external, for those of you brave enough to say aloud "Aww" or "Get a room!"), you have to admit that these lovebirds have some things in common:
1. They gaze at each other as if they were the only two people on Earth.
2. They do things like buy each other trinkets, write them poetry, hold open the door, greet them with flowers, shower them with compliments, and generally act more hospitable and giving.
3. They probably spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of their significant other, often getting lost in daydreams or spending time planning the next date or sweet thing to do.
4. They are filled with good will, good intentions, positive energy, motivation and charity.
5. They try to make a good impression, often displaying the best version of themselves.
6. They smile with ease and they smile a lot (unless you're super emo, then you might just smirk more often).
7. They overlook the bad and are quicker to forgive each others' flaws.
Now maybe some couples embody these traits, others don't. We vary in love as much as anything else perhaps, but these are commonalities I have seen and felt. The love, the happiness, the energy, the brightness, the giving... It's beautiful, really.
And it makes me wonder, what if we all acted this way regardless if we were in love or not? What would the world look like?
Now I'm not saying we should all walk around wooing each other. That would get weird, complicated and all kinds of inappropriate real fast. But what if those traits that come so easily when we first fall in love - charity, generosity, excitement, motivation to serve, easy smiles, forgiveness and warmth - what if we practiced those traits every day to those around us? What if love wasn't something you fall into once, but something you choose to fall into every day?
I like the idea of this but already realize how difficult it would be. There are people on this earth that I love as easily as I breathe. Being charitable to them is second nature. But then there are those that I struggle to love. Maybe they pester me, maybe they ask too much, maybe they treat me poorly and maybe they drain me of precious energy I work hard to save. I haven't thought about loving them as much as I love my best friends or my sister, but maybe I should. Then maybe those loving traits would become second nature, would become like breathing.
To love as easily as I breathe... now that sounds like a worthy goal.
1. They gaze at each other as if they were the only two people on Earth.
2. They do things like buy each other trinkets, write them poetry, hold open the door, greet them with flowers, shower them with compliments, and generally act more hospitable and giving.
3. They probably spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of their significant other, often getting lost in daydreams or spending time planning the next date or sweet thing to do.
4. They are filled with good will, good intentions, positive energy, motivation and charity.
5. They try to make a good impression, often displaying the best version of themselves.
6. They smile with ease and they smile a lot (unless you're super emo, then you might just smirk more often).
7. They overlook the bad and are quicker to forgive each others' flaws.
Now maybe some couples embody these traits, others don't. We vary in love as much as anything else perhaps, but these are commonalities I have seen and felt. The love, the happiness, the energy, the brightness, the giving... It's beautiful, really.
And it makes me wonder, what if we all acted this way regardless if we were in love or not? What would the world look like?
Now I'm not saying we should all walk around wooing each other. That would get weird, complicated and all kinds of inappropriate real fast. But what if those traits that come so easily when we first fall in love - charity, generosity, excitement, motivation to serve, easy smiles, forgiveness and warmth - what if we practiced those traits every day to those around us? What if love wasn't something you fall into once, but something you choose to fall into every day?
I like the idea of this but already realize how difficult it would be. There are people on this earth that I love as easily as I breathe. Being charitable to them is second nature. But then there are those that I struggle to love. Maybe they pester me, maybe they ask too much, maybe they treat me poorly and maybe they drain me of precious energy I work hard to save. I haven't thought about loving them as much as I love my best friends or my sister, but maybe I should. Then maybe those loving traits would become second nature, would become like breathing.
To love as easily as I breathe... now that sounds like a worthy goal.
"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." - Anton Chekhov
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Feels like quiet.
Today I was stressed, and as a result, was furiously thinking and analyzing and worrying. Before I knew it, I picked up the cat and was petting it against its will. Pets can be so soothing when they want to be, yes? Unfortunately, this cat was not in the mood to sooth or even be looked at. He scrambled out of my arms and high tailed it to his scratching post, as if he'd been separated from it for years. I laughed because he was acting like I was before - anxiously grabbing onto the closest soothing thing.
We do that, seek comfort when stress gets high. I'm pretty sure that's why chocolate and alcohol manufacturers will never go out of business. It's natural to seek comfort. We seek it in things, we seek it in all kinds of ways and places. But for me, and I'm sure for many of you, the best comfort I have found is in other people.
There are people and things in this world that add to the dizzying spiral of thoughts that concern me. It makes my head feel full and tight, overflowing with questions, what ifs, possible solutions, and a myriad of other emotions. This isn't good or bad. It just is. I imagine it causes my brain to look like a tangled mess, with thoughts careening in and out of the webs in a pinball-esque fashion. It's exhausting, if not useful.
But sometimes, I need to be quiet. I need to be still. I struggle with this because there's so much around to keep me occupied and engaged. Add the fact that I love people, and that makes for tiny amounts of quiet time. It's something I'm working on, this whole meditation, rest idea. Turns out I suck pretty hardcore at resting. A good friend asked me recently, "Do you feel you're worth taking care of? Do you love yourself enough to rest?" Wow, just punch me in the heart, why don't ya? The effect would have been the same (ah, tough love).
After I added "practice resting" to my ever-growing list of "Things You Suck At and Should Work On Instead of Pinning Pictures of Cute Animals All Night", I realized that I do rest. Just not on my own.
I am blessed with the presence of precious people who, when I'm around them, have this amazing ability to relax me without me even trying. Being around them causes my thoughts to settle softly, the tension to ease out of my shoulders, and my lungs to breathe deeper than ever. They are peace and meditation in human form, the human equivalent of a Xanax or 60-minute hot yoga session. They allow me a place to rest, to feel happy and carefree, to believe in life and love again. Even when they are going through crisis, or having conflict with me, we always come back to that place of peace.
And in this I am truly, deeply blessed.
So while I work on taking better care of myself (what? Eating chocolate everyday isn't good self-care?), I am so thankful for the people who quiet the crazy in my life.
We do that, seek comfort when stress gets high. I'm pretty sure that's why chocolate and alcohol manufacturers will never go out of business. It's natural to seek comfort. We seek it in things, we seek it in all kinds of ways and places. But for me, and I'm sure for many of you, the best comfort I have found is in other people.
There are people and things in this world that add to the dizzying spiral of thoughts that concern me. It makes my head feel full and tight, overflowing with questions, what ifs, possible solutions, and a myriad of other emotions. This isn't good or bad. It just is. I imagine it causes my brain to look like a tangled mess, with thoughts careening in and out of the webs in a pinball-esque fashion. It's exhausting, if not useful.
But sometimes, I need to be quiet. I need to be still. I struggle with this because there's so much around to keep me occupied and engaged. Add the fact that I love people, and that makes for tiny amounts of quiet time. It's something I'm working on, this whole meditation, rest idea. Turns out I suck pretty hardcore at resting. A good friend asked me recently, "Do you feel you're worth taking care of? Do you love yourself enough to rest?" Wow, just punch me in the heart, why don't ya? The effect would have been the same (ah, tough love).
After I added "practice resting" to my ever-growing list of "Things You Suck At and Should Work On Instead of Pinning Pictures of Cute Animals All Night", I realized that I do rest. Just not on my own.
I am blessed with the presence of precious people who, when I'm around them, have this amazing ability to relax me without me even trying. Being around them causes my thoughts to settle softly, the tension to ease out of my shoulders, and my lungs to breathe deeper than ever. They are peace and meditation in human form, the human equivalent of a Xanax or 60-minute hot yoga session. They allow me a place to rest, to feel happy and carefree, to believe in life and love again. Even when they are going through crisis, or having conflict with me, we always come back to that place of peace.
And in this I am truly, deeply blessed.
So while I work on taking better care of myself (what? Eating chocolate everyday isn't good self-care?), I am so thankful for the people who quiet the crazy in my life.
"So much noise,
Always so much noise inside.
Some people,
Some rare
and absolutely
vital people,
Will always
feel
like quiet."
- Tyler Knott Gregson
Friday, November 16, 2012
Fifty years and counting.
I have the honor of calling Irene Holan my Nana and Thomas Holan my Papa. They are my dad's parents, and I grew up in Nana's daycare, learning everything from how to play Duck Hunter like a pro to why it's never a good idea to fake being sick to get out of eating something you don't like (because then you'll sit at the window watching all of the other kids play outside, while your bowl of soup congeals on the table).
Something else my grandparents taught me was how precious and real true love can be.
My grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary this year on October 20th. They didn't have a grand party or posh trip. They simply went to dinner, like they have thousands of times. You would think that after 50 years, having dinner with the same person would get old, but just the contrary. When I asked Nana if dinner was romantic, she exclaimed, "Yes! Of course it was!", as if there couldn't possibly be any other answer. When I asked her how it felt to be married for 50 years, she responded, "Like it's our 25th anniversary. I love him even more than before, it just gets better with age. The more you know someone, the better it gets."
This answer was so beautiful and stood out to me, since I work and live in a society that often looks at marriage as something so easily thrown away. Marriage should be something permanent, uniting two people committed to a life of mutual self-giving love and sacrifice. Instead, marriage has become something that people begin with one foot in and one foot out (confusing it with the hokey pokey?). Lifelong commitment is a scary thing, no doubt about it. It's not easy or always pretty. But I have to believe that lifelong marriage is possible and worth every second. I've seen it.
When asking my Nana about how she's stayed in a marriage this long, despite our society's trends, she said, "Well, you have to have the three things: faith, trust and love. Without faith, you have nothing to stand on, you have nothing to go by."
I asked her about trust, saying it seems that might be the toughest part. She sighed and said, "Yes, it seems it's hard to trust in relationships these days." Oh so true. Trust is not an easy thing, but nothing worth it in this world usually comes easy, does it? Sigh, if only...
That brings us to Nana's third thing: love. Love is that anomaly that we all want, but none of us really understands. It's the topic of so many songs and movies and books, and yet we still don't really know what it means. But we know it when we feel it. And sometimes, it comes out of nowhere.
As Nana explained, she never intended to fall in love. She was discerning another life calling, and my Papa thought he was going to be the eternal bachelor. But that all changed on the night she saw him at a dance in Minnesota, "and it was all over". My Papa, fresh out of the Navy, danced with my Nana, then asked if he could give her a ride home. She declined because she was with her girlfriends, but that didn't stop her - Nana called Papa a little later, and the rest is history. She explained, "God had a plan for us, and had three kids waiting to be loved by us." She told me that it wasn't always easy, that there were times when they thought it was over, but they held on through it all. And now 50 years later, she laughs as she tells me, "You kinda get to start all over, just like you're dating again!"
My Nana and Papa have a beautiful relationship. He teases her mercilessly, but adores and dotes on her more. She pretends to get offended at his flirting, but giggles and adores him right back as if no time had passed since the day they were married. She once told me that he asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and she replied back confused, "I already have you - what more could I possibly want?"
I hope and pray that I can one day be as blessed as my grandparents are in love. And I hope that those of us called to this amazing commitment, will embrace it with courage, and a love that sets the world on fire.
Something else my grandparents taught me was how precious and real true love can be.
My grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary this year on October 20th. They didn't have a grand party or posh trip. They simply went to dinner, like they have thousands of times. You would think that after 50 years, having dinner with the same person would get old, but just the contrary. When I asked Nana if dinner was romantic, she exclaimed, "Yes! Of course it was!", as if there couldn't possibly be any other answer. When I asked her how it felt to be married for 50 years, she responded, "Like it's our 25th anniversary. I love him even more than before, it just gets better with age. The more you know someone, the better it gets."
This answer was so beautiful and stood out to me, since I work and live in a society that often looks at marriage as something so easily thrown away. Marriage should be something permanent, uniting two people committed to a life of mutual self-giving love and sacrifice. Instead, marriage has become something that people begin with one foot in and one foot out (confusing it with the hokey pokey?). Lifelong commitment is a scary thing, no doubt about it. It's not easy or always pretty. But I have to believe that lifelong marriage is possible and worth every second. I've seen it.
When asking my Nana about how she's stayed in a marriage this long, despite our society's trends, she said, "Well, you have to have the three things: faith, trust and love. Without faith, you have nothing to stand on, you have nothing to go by."
I asked her about trust, saying it seems that might be the toughest part. She sighed and said, "Yes, it seems it's hard to trust in relationships these days." Oh so true. Trust is not an easy thing, but nothing worth it in this world usually comes easy, does it? Sigh, if only...
That brings us to Nana's third thing: love. Love is that anomaly that we all want, but none of us really understands. It's the topic of so many songs and movies and books, and yet we still don't really know what it means. But we know it when we feel it. And sometimes, it comes out of nowhere.
As Nana explained, she never intended to fall in love. She was discerning another life calling, and my Papa thought he was going to be the eternal bachelor. But that all changed on the night she saw him at a dance in Minnesota, "and it was all over". My Papa, fresh out of the Navy, danced with my Nana, then asked if he could give her a ride home. She declined because she was with her girlfriends, but that didn't stop her - Nana called Papa a little later, and the rest is history. She explained, "God had a plan for us, and had three kids waiting to be loved by us." She told me that it wasn't always easy, that there were times when they thought it was over, but they held on through it all. And now 50 years later, she laughs as she tells me, "You kinda get to start all over, just like you're dating again!"
My Nana and Papa have a beautiful relationship. He teases her mercilessly, but adores and dotes on her more. She pretends to get offended at his flirting, but giggles and adores him right back as if no time had passed since the day they were married. She once told me that he asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and she replied back confused, "I already have you - what more could I possibly want?"
I hope and pray that I can one day be as blessed as my grandparents are in love. And I hope that those of us called to this amazing commitment, will embrace it with courage, and a love that sets the world on fire.
Monday, October 22, 2012
All the time in the world.
I used to be good at waiting. I enjoyed sitting in traffic on the way to work, because that meant I could listen to music longer. I didn't mind waiting in line at the grocery store, because I had more time to look at magazines or people watch (admit it - you enjoy that too). Waiting didn't bother me. Life came at its own pace, and I went along merrily, content to go with the flow. Or at least my laziness was so pervasive it appeared as patience. Either way.
Yet somehow within the past year, I have become very bad at waiting. Not bad as in, like I'll hit slow pokes with my shopping cart or flip the bird to the race car driver wannabes in Austin. I'm bad when I get in a long line at HEB, then hop lines, only to get stuck in the next one, and OH EM GEE, why does that lady have to have all produce that has to be manually typed in and then pay with all correct change that keeps falling ON THE FLOOR?! That's just an example. Insert other stores/characters/long waits/anything keeping me from my next activity, and you get the idea. Granted, my impatient thoughts stay safely in my head, and I just smile politely as if I have all the time in the world.
But I don't have all the time in the world. I'd like to think I have the future, since that's what I spend so much time worrying about and planning for. But the funny thing is, the future never comes, at least not in the way we expect or plan. The truth is, the only time we have is right now. This very moment. The one you're spending reading this sentence is the only time you currently possess (sorry, I can't give you a time refund on reading that sentence. Hope it was worth it!). We live minute to minute, or even second to second, but I'm finding that I'm so focused forward (or dwelling on what's behind me), that I don't even appreciate the moment that's in front of me. What's up with that?
I feel this impatience is more pronounced when I'm experiencing something unpleasant, and I'd venture to say that perhaps you experience this too. Most people don't enjoy pain or fear or anxiety or sadness - we run from it, avoid it, and try to soothe ourselves ASAP. I'm no different. Anxiety bothers me like no other. (Uh, so I'm supposed to just accept that there's this whole universe of unknown, not to mention a future of endless possibilities, most of which I can't prepare for, and not freak out? For serious? Because that does not sit well with me.) I like to know what's coming. I will read the last chapter of a book if I have to, and I've been known to ask people to tell me how a movie ends before I see it. Call me crazy (just not to my face), but I see nothing wrong with wanting the reassurance that comes from knowing what's going to happen.
Except there is a lot wrong with that attitude.
First of all, waiting for reassurance is like waiting for it to rain in central Texas. Most of the time it doesn't, and even when it does, it's unexpected and either too much or too little. Secondly, wanting to know the ending first, implies a basic lack of trust in people, in God, in our own abilities to cope, and so on. Trust is kind of important, it being the building block to any decent human relationship, and also the reason we can stand to leave our houses everyday. Thirdly, wanting to know the future causes me to waste a helluva lot of energy worrying about things I can't change (seriously, if worrying burned calories, I'd have to eat cheeseburgers for every meal just to stay supermodel size).
I would like to live for today without worrying about what may or may not bother me/scare me/hurt me tomorrow. I would like to embrace each moment as the gift it is, and recognize that each moment is precious and not necessarily guaranteed. Maybe if I could learn to live mindfully, to use each moment of my day to love in every way I can, then maybe I wouldn't be so worried about the future. Maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get to the next thing.
And if I wasn't always in a hurry, maybe I could use my time in line to help the lady pick up her change off the floor, smiling as if to say, "Take your time. In this moment, I've got all the time in the world."
...This is gonna take some serious practice.
"Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today." - John Dryden
Yet somehow within the past year, I have become very bad at waiting. Not bad as in, like I'll hit slow pokes with my shopping cart or flip the bird to the race car driver wannabes in Austin. I'm bad when I get in a long line at HEB, then hop lines, only to get stuck in the next one, and OH EM GEE, why does that lady have to have all produce that has to be manually typed in and then pay with all correct change that keeps falling ON THE FLOOR?! That's just an example. Insert other stores/characters/long waits/anything keeping me from my next activity, and you get the idea. Granted, my impatient thoughts stay safely in my head, and I just smile politely as if I have all the time in the world.
But I don't have all the time in the world. I'd like to think I have the future, since that's what I spend so much time worrying about and planning for. But the funny thing is, the future never comes, at least not in the way we expect or plan. The truth is, the only time we have is right now. This very moment. The one you're spending reading this sentence is the only time you currently possess (sorry, I can't give you a time refund on reading that sentence. Hope it was worth it!). We live minute to minute, or even second to second, but I'm finding that I'm so focused forward (or dwelling on what's behind me), that I don't even appreciate the moment that's in front of me. What's up with that?
I feel this impatience is more pronounced when I'm experiencing something unpleasant, and I'd venture to say that perhaps you experience this too. Most people don't enjoy pain or fear or anxiety or sadness - we run from it, avoid it, and try to soothe ourselves ASAP. I'm no different. Anxiety bothers me like no other. (Uh, so I'm supposed to just accept that there's this whole universe of unknown, not to mention a future of endless possibilities, most of which I can't prepare for, and not freak out? For serious? Because that does not sit well with me.) I like to know what's coming. I will read the last chapter of a book if I have to, and I've been known to ask people to tell me how a movie ends before I see it. Call me crazy (just not to my face), but I see nothing wrong with wanting the reassurance that comes from knowing what's going to happen.
Except there is a lot wrong with that attitude.
First of all, waiting for reassurance is like waiting for it to rain in central Texas. Most of the time it doesn't, and even when it does, it's unexpected and either too much or too little. Secondly, wanting to know the ending first, implies a basic lack of trust in people, in God, in our own abilities to cope, and so on. Trust is kind of important, it being the building block to any decent human relationship, and also the reason we can stand to leave our houses everyday. Thirdly, wanting to know the future causes me to waste a helluva lot of energy worrying about things I can't change (seriously, if worrying burned calories, I'd have to eat cheeseburgers for every meal just to stay supermodel size).
I would like to live for today without worrying about what may or may not bother me/scare me/hurt me tomorrow. I would like to embrace each moment as the gift it is, and recognize that each moment is precious and not necessarily guaranteed. Maybe if I could learn to live mindfully, to use each moment of my day to love in every way I can, then maybe I wouldn't be so worried about the future. Maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get to the next thing.
And if I wasn't always in a hurry, maybe I could use my time in line to help the lady pick up her change off the floor, smiling as if to say, "Take your time. In this moment, I've got all the time in the world."
...This is gonna take some serious practice.
"Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today." - John Dryden
Monday, October 15, 2012
Love without haste.
I love music. It's true, and maybe even just using "love" is not saying enough. Music has been a passion of mine ever since I first listened to Metallica's "Black" album on the way home from a flute competition when I was in 9th grade. I had been jamming out to N'Sync or something else equally embarrassing, when my friend tapped me on the shoulder, handed me Metallica, and said simply, "Here." One word, one CD, and my little teenage life was forever changed. Since then, I've grown to love all music (with a few exceptions, cough cough Britney Spears, cough gag). Music is something I share with my family and friends, swapping songs back and forth, quoting lyrics to each other, and spamming each others email with subject lines reading "YOU MUST YOUTUBE THIS IMMEDIATELY. FOR REAL." Or something to that effect. Going to concerts is almost a religious experience, and in the case of hearing Mozart's 'Requiem' performed live, it actually was.
This is my long way of saying, I am a music nerd. I love everything about it - the chords, the changing tempos, the screaming voices or soft cries, the upbeat dance remixes or heart-crushing love songs, and the lyrics... Oh the lyrics! They are my favorite part of any song; they can make or break a song (again, with a few exceptions... I mean, "Sexy and I Know It" is not exactly the epitome of lyrical genius, but entertaining nonetheless).
Which brings me - FINALLY - to the point of this post. I've been listening to Mumford & Sons nonstop (well, in between other awesome music people have blessed me with). There is one bit of lyric from their latest album that goes:
"I will love with urgency, but not with haste."
I've been turning that over and over in my mind, and even asking other people what they think about it. After some deliberation, I have interpreted it as this:
Love as if it is the most important thing you will ever do on this earth (because it is).
The word "urgency" implies importance, seriousness and immediacy; doing something with urgency means that whatever task you're attending to requires all of your attention, no distractions and no hesitation. In contrast, the word "haste" implies disregard, sloppiness, desire without intent or seriousness. Something pursued in haste may not be as important or worthy of attention and care as something pursued with urgency.
If this is true, then how perfect it is to love with urgency, and not with haste. We must love like our lives, and this world, depend on it. We should love with attention and intention. We should love with our whole selves, as if loving the other was our first and only task.
Hmm... sounds difficult, but not unworthy. Now I really want to love and be loved with urgency. Thanks M&S for raising the bar.
This is my long way of saying, I am a music nerd. I love everything about it - the chords, the changing tempos, the screaming voices or soft cries, the upbeat dance remixes or heart-crushing love songs, and the lyrics... Oh the lyrics! They are my favorite part of any song; they can make or break a song (again, with a few exceptions... I mean, "Sexy and I Know It" is not exactly the epitome of lyrical genius, but entertaining nonetheless).
Which brings me - FINALLY - to the point of this post. I've been listening to Mumford & Sons nonstop (well, in between other awesome music people have blessed me with). There is one bit of lyric from their latest album that goes:
"I will love with urgency, but not with haste."
I've been turning that over and over in my mind, and even asking other people what they think about it. After some deliberation, I have interpreted it as this:
Love as if it is the most important thing you will ever do on this earth (because it is).
The word "urgency" implies importance, seriousness and immediacy; doing something with urgency means that whatever task you're attending to requires all of your attention, no distractions and no hesitation. In contrast, the word "haste" implies disregard, sloppiness, desire without intent or seriousness. Something pursued in haste may not be as important or worthy of attention and care as something pursued with urgency.
If this is true, then how perfect it is to love with urgency, and not with haste. We must love like our lives, and this world, depend on it. We should love with attention and intention. We should love with our whole selves, as if loving the other was our first and only task.
Hmm... sounds difficult, but not unworthy. Now I really want to love and be loved with urgency. Thanks M&S for raising the bar.
"Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in it's place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste."
- Mumford & Sons
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
F(alse) E(vents) A(ppearing) R(eal)
It irks me a little when people tell me "stop worrying!". As if I worry for fun or wake up every morning and willfully choose to spend my time fretting. Because I don't. Granted, I realize most people tell me that with all the love in their heart, but it's hard to listen to because I'm what you would call a "worrier". I'm also an over-analyzer, and sometimes a worst-case-scenario type of person. For the most part, these traits are what helped me become a therapist. But they really suck when I'm trying to not let fear get the best of me.
Speaking of which, I had an interesting text argument with an old friend recently about this. Because it was a text argument, I took something out of context (crazy how important body language and voice inflection can be). I don't even remember what it was exactly, but my friend responded with, "You need to stop worrying." Which of course made me even angrier, 1. because I hardly ever get angry, so when I do it doesn't take much to stoke the fire, 2. because I knew this person was right, and 3. I WAS WRONG. And that pissed me off. So what did I do? Well, I did what any mature adult in my situation would have done: I stopped texting them back. So then my friend flooded my phone with a speech that went something like this:
"You struggle with anxiety of worldly things. But it needs transformation to be a concern only for the eternal. Then you will be set free of the binding that causes you to fear what has no power over you."
Ugh... I stomped my feet and rolled my eyes at that. WHAT-ever. Like my friend knows me...
Sigh. Okay. Okay.
It wasn't until the next day that I'd calmed down enough to accept how right they were. I do fear worldly things, things that in the grand scheme of life, don't matter as much as I'm allowing them to matter. And even if they did matter, I focus so much time and energy on worrying about them, that it takes away from my most important task: to love God with all my soul and strength.
Now I know what you're thinking: "There she goes, climbing on top of her God soap box again". And/or, "Will this blog ever end?"
Bear with me, I'm almost there - I'm only climbing on this soap box because it's the only truth I have. God is everything. God is love. Love is everything. And if these things are true, who am I to fear anything? Who am I to doubt or worry or complain? If I believed in these things like I claim to believe, why do I waste so much time running or hiding or worrying about things I can't change?
Why do I believe that fear is more powerful than Love?
Fear is so loud sometimes. It's energetic and alluring and so easy to listen to, whereas Love is soft and quiet and tranquil. It's much easier to notice the crashing wave over the serene pond, because the wave causes a ruckus and the pond stays ever-still. I'm much more likely to be pulled and pushed by the wave, trying to fight against it, getting dragged under, only to be spit out on the beach, sputtering and spent.
And it makes me wonder: what if I were to let the fear wash over me, knowing with my whole heart that it was just a feeling, something transient, that is sometimes protective but oftentimes misleading? What if I didn't fight it, but trusted that if I held onto Love with all my might, when the wave passed, I would still be standing, soaked but safe?
What if I believed that Love truly conquers fear?
Fear is a powerful thing, but I'm tired of believing that its power is greater than the Love that has saved me, and will continue to save me, every day from now until forever.
Speaking of which, I had an interesting text argument with an old friend recently about this. Because it was a text argument, I took something out of context (crazy how important body language and voice inflection can be). I don't even remember what it was exactly, but my friend responded with, "You need to stop worrying." Which of course made me even angrier, 1. because I hardly ever get angry, so when I do it doesn't take much to stoke the fire, 2. because I knew this person was right, and 3. I WAS WRONG. And that pissed me off. So what did I do? Well, I did what any mature adult in my situation would have done: I stopped texting them back. So then my friend flooded my phone with a speech that went something like this:
"You struggle with anxiety of worldly things. But it needs transformation to be a concern only for the eternal. Then you will be set free of the binding that causes you to fear what has no power over you."
Ugh... I stomped my feet and rolled my eyes at that. WHAT-ever. Like my friend knows me...
Sigh. Okay. Okay.
It wasn't until the next day that I'd calmed down enough to accept how right they were. I do fear worldly things, things that in the grand scheme of life, don't matter as much as I'm allowing them to matter. And even if they did matter, I focus so much time and energy on worrying about them, that it takes away from my most important task: to love God with all my soul and strength.
Now I know what you're thinking: "There she goes, climbing on top of her God soap box again". And/or, "Will this blog ever end?"
Bear with me, I'm almost there - I'm only climbing on this soap box because it's the only truth I have. God is everything. God is love. Love is everything. And if these things are true, who am I to fear anything? Who am I to doubt or worry or complain? If I believed in these things like I claim to believe, why do I waste so much time running or hiding or worrying about things I can't change?
Why do I believe that fear is more powerful than Love?
Fear is so loud sometimes. It's energetic and alluring and so easy to listen to, whereas Love is soft and quiet and tranquil. It's much easier to notice the crashing wave over the serene pond, because the wave causes a ruckus and the pond stays ever-still. I'm much more likely to be pulled and pushed by the wave, trying to fight against it, getting dragged under, only to be spit out on the beach, sputtering and spent.
And it makes me wonder: what if I were to let the fear wash over me, knowing with my whole heart that it was just a feeling, something transient, that is sometimes protective but oftentimes misleading? What if I didn't fight it, but trusted that if I held onto Love with all my might, when the wave passed, I would still be standing, soaked but safe?
What if I believed that Love truly conquers fear?
Fear is a powerful thing, but I'm tired of believing that its power is greater than the Love that has saved me, and will continue to save me, every day from now until forever.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Love > fear
On my way to work today, I saw a bumper sticker that said simply, "Love > fear". I smiled at that, and then immediately yelped as a car cut me off (thank youuu Austin drivers). My safety assured, I went back to contemplating that sticker. Love is greater than fear. Ah, but fear is so good at getting in the way of things, making otherwise strong dispositions wither with doubt and insecurity. When it comes to loving anyone, be it family or friends or strangers, fear so easily dilutes the strength of our most basic call: to love one another.
Why do we have fear with love? I feel like that answer can take up an entire blog series: the unknown, the possibility of pain, unrequited feelings, helplessness, anxiety... it goes on and on. Our brains are pretty good at searching for fear and threats; we do it automatically. Sometimes this is good because it means you jump out of the way of a speeding car or run from a hungry lion. Sometimes this response is bad, because in less obvious forms of danger (aka vulnerability), we run away from something that we should be running towards. I'm finding in my life right now, that the more you run from something the more you train yourself that it's dangerous, and therefore worth running from. If we run from love because we fear it's too hard/anxiety provoking/whatever, it just increases the likelihood that we'll keep running. But if we do the opposite, and approach the fear instead, we find that what we thought was a big scary monster, is really nothing but a shadow.
And even if the fear doesn't decrease right away, then maybe we can hope that eventually the love will shine light into those dark corners filled with our worries and doubts.
Love > fear... If only we could truly love each other freely and fully, accepting fear as it is, and loving beyond its lies and limitations. After all, fear is just a feeling, stagnant and transient. But love... love is a choice, an action, something that moves and lives and breathes. So maybe the answer is not to love without fear, but to love despite it.
Seems so easy to write about. Putting it into action seems about as easy as getting over my fear of squirrels (you can't tell me they don't purposely stop in front of speeding cars... crazy demon rodents) and the ocean (um, endless dark abyss filled with flesh-eating sea creatures? Scary!). So yeah, not easy, but probably worth it.
Here's some C.S. Lewis awesomeness to close:
Why do we have fear with love? I feel like that answer can take up an entire blog series: the unknown, the possibility of pain, unrequited feelings, helplessness, anxiety... it goes on and on. Our brains are pretty good at searching for fear and threats; we do it automatically. Sometimes this is good because it means you jump out of the way of a speeding car or run from a hungry lion. Sometimes this response is bad, because in less obvious forms of danger (aka vulnerability), we run away from something that we should be running towards. I'm finding in my life right now, that the more you run from something the more you train yourself that it's dangerous, and therefore worth running from. If we run from love because we fear it's too hard/anxiety provoking/whatever, it just increases the likelihood that we'll keep running. But if we do the opposite, and approach the fear instead, we find that what we thought was a big scary monster, is really nothing but a shadow.
And even if the fear doesn't decrease right away, then maybe we can hope that eventually the love will shine light into those dark corners filled with our worries and doubts.
Love > fear... If only we could truly love each other freely and fully, accepting fear as it is, and loving beyond its lies and limitations. After all, fear is just a feeling, stagnant and transient. But love... love is a choice, an action, something that moves and lives and breathes. So maybe the answer is not to love without fear, but to love despite it.
Seems so easy to write about. Putting it into action seems about as easy as getting over my fear of squirrels (you can't tell me they don't purposely stop in front of speeding cars... crazy demon rodents) and the ocean (um, endless dark abyss filled with flesh-eating sea creatures? Scary!). So yeah, not easy, but probably worth it.
Here's some C.S. Lewis awesomeness to close:
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." - C.S. Lewis
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The things that stay behind.
[Originally written in 2007... felt like busting out more old emo pieces to match the weather and my new blue-ish hair.]
The things that stay behind are not real things. They’re not tokens, photos, or old concert tickets. They’re not forgotten shirts or crumpled notes. They’re nothing that you can hold in your hands or put away in a box.
The things that stay behind were born of him and the feelings and happenings that came with him. He left them to me when he walked away. They trailed behind him and stopped at the door. He shook his head and they dropped off, discarded as if he were merely shaking the rain out of his black hair.
He is gone, and so are the tangible things. The things I could roll between my fingers (the cool metal of his cross necklace), the things I could smell (the comforting scent of his favorite t-shirt), the things I could see (the look of his hand in mine), and the things I could hear (the ringing of his laugh against the walls).
In their place are things that I can’t see, touch, smell or hear. But I can feel them. The memories and emotions float about my head, softly now. Back when the door clicked shut for the first time, they assaulted me until I was blind to them. Now they’ve lessened and so have I.
Sometimes I think that we never really existed. Maybe we didn’t. The memories feel more like dreams: vague tendrils of words and images that swirl in a complicated mess of grief, leaving me in confusion as I wake in the cloudy haze of morning.
He's gone, and it's time for me to go, too. Move back to where I came from. When I leave, letting go of him, of us, I will not lock the memories away. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. They can’t be contained. But they have such strong roots here, I don’t believe they will follow me far either. That is the hope.
Still, I can’t control them; I know they will be back. Like long lost relatives, they will spring to me out of nowhere. They will be accommodated, but I will be uncomfortable. I will wait patiently and eventually they will leave, only to visit less and less as time wears on.
This is letting go.
The things that stay behind are not real things. They’re not tokens, photos, or old concert tickets. They’re not forgotten shirts or crumpled notes. They’re nothing that you can hold in your hands or put away in a box.
The things that stay behind were born of him and the feelings and happenings that came with him. He left them to me when he walked away. They trailed behind him and stopped at the door. He shook his head and they dropped off, discarded as if he were merely shaking the rain out of his black hair.
He is gone, and so are the tangible things. The things I could roll between my fingers (the cool metal of his cross necklace), the things I could smell (the comforting scent of his favorite t-shirt), the things I could see (the look of his hand in mine), and the things I could hear (the ringing of his laugh against the walls).
In their place are things that I can’t see, touch, smell or hear. But I can feel them. The memories and emotions float about my head, softly now. Back when the door clicked shut for the first time, they assaulted me until I was blind to them. Now they’ve lessened and so have I.
Sometimes I think that we never really existed. Maybe we didn’t. The memories feel more like dreams: vague tendrils of words and images that swirl in a complicated mess of grief, leaving me in confusion as I wake in the cloudy haze of morning.
He's gone, and it's time for me to go, too. Move back to where I came from. When I leave, letting go of him, of us, I will not lock the memories away. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. They can’t be contained. But they have such strong roots here, I don’t believe they will follow me far either. That is the hope.
Still, I can’t control them; I know they will be back. Like long lost relatives, they will spring to me out of nowhere. They will be accommodated, but I will be uncomfortable. I will wait patiently and eventually they will leave, only to visit less and less as time wears on.
This is letting go.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Running Away: Part 3
So I have officially registered for the Austin half-marathon. It's far enough away that it seems like it will never get here, which means it will get here before I know it and I'll find myself freaking out, wondering why I ever agreed to do this to myself. But then I remember how it all began...
Let's go back about a month-
Me (IMing Bri): Too bad we don't live closer together. I've been wanting to get back into running.
Bri: I know! That would be awesome.
Me: Maybe we could meet up every once in awhile and run together.
Bri: I would love that.
Me: We should definitely do that.
Bri: We could also have a goal to work towards...
Me (thinking along the lines of a 5k): Yeah! I'd be up for that.
Bri: We could train for a half marathon!
Me: ... That sounds like many miles.
Bri: Yeah, 13.1
Me (thinking !!!!!!!): Oh, okay.
Bri: Wanna train for it?!
Me (not wanting to look like a wimp): Sure! Let's do it!
Bri: Awesome. I'll send you the link.
Me (whimpering inside): Yay, sounds great.
Aaand that's how I got involved in this half-marathon. Since then I've gotten seriously excited about it. Every time I run, half of me feels amazing, like this was the best idea in the world, and the other half of me takes note of my weak knee and is like, "Are you sure about this?"
Yes, I am sure. Like I've told Bri, I'm doing this whether I have to walk the whole thing, whether I come in dead last, or whether I have to cross the finish line on my knees (or on a stretcher). We're doing this together, and every mile will be dedicated to something we've had to overcome this past year. It's a testament to the fact that we don't give up, and we won't give up. We may cry, I may complain, but we won't quit.
Besides, this is turning into quite the family affair. My sister just decided to train with us, and I found out I have some other relatives running, too. Now if I just convince my dad (who runs religiously and even has one of those crazy winter running masks that makes you look like a burglar) to join... Dad, if you're reading this - join the race!
Anyway, I'll end this blog with my last running trip. I got up at dawn and ran with the sunrise yesterday, and it was one of the most beautiful mornings I've ever experienced. If I could always run in that condition, I'd be a happy camper. Well, a happy runner. Now if I can just get my knee to keep cooperating...
Let's go back about a month-
Me (IMing Bri): Too bad we don't live closer together. I've been wanting to get back into running.
Bri: I know! That would be awesome.
Me: Maybe we could meet up every once in awhile and run together.
Bri: I would love that.
Me: We should definitely do that.
Bri: We could also have a goal to work towards...
Me (thinking along the lines of a 5k): Yeah! I'd be up for that.
Bri: We could train for a half marathon!
Me: ... That sounds like many miles.
Bri: Yeah, 13.1
Me (thinking !!!!!!!): Oh, okay.
Bri: Wanna train for it?!
Me (not wanting to look like a wimp): Sure! Let's do it!
Bri: Awesome. I'll send you the link.
Me (whimpering inside): Yay, sounds great.
Aaand that's how I got involved in this half-marathon. Since then I've gotten seriously excited about it. Every time I run, half of me feels amazing, like this was the best idea in the world, and the other half of me takes note of my weak knee and is like, "Are you sure about this?"
Yes, I am sure. Like I've told Bri, I'm doing this whether I have to walk the whole thing, whether I come in dead last, or whether I have to cross the finish line on my knees (or on a stretcher). We're doing this together, and every mile will be dedicated to something we've had to overcome this past year. It's a testament to the fact that we don't give up, and we won't give up. We may cry, I may complain, but we won't quit.
Besides, this is turning into quite the family affair. My sister just decided to train with us, and I found out I have some other relatives running, too. Now if I just convince my dad (who runs religiously and even has one of those crazy winter running masks that makes you look like a burglar) to join... Dad, if you're reading this - join the race!
Anyway, I'll end this blog with my last running trip. I got up at dawn and ran with the sunrise yesterday, and it was one of the most beautiful mornings I've ever experienced. If I could always run in that condition, I'd be a happy camper. Well, a happy runner. Now if I can just get my knee to keep cooperating...
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Running Away: Part Two
My alarm went off at 5:45am, and my first words went something like, "Uuuhhhhnnnnn.... Nooo..." And I went back to sleep for 5 more blissfull minutes. Then I dragged out of bed, got ready and walked outside to see a sky still full of stars. I said, "Oooh!" and then immediately registered that I felt queasy and my side hurt, like my body was already anticipating the imminent pain that was to come. I told my body to suck it up and went running anyway. As with most of my runs so far, it started out painful, but got better with each stride. It helped that I was running with a good friend who can amazingly keep up funny banter while she runs, whereas I'm still at the stage where I wheeze-breathe my way through the whole thing. But by the end of the run, I felt like I could have kept going which is a good sign. My left knee was unhappy with me, but the rest of me felt strong and energized. Not bad.
So now, my running enthusiast readers, can you give me any pointers for protecting/strengthening a weak knee during training? I hurt it 6 years ago (dislocated the knee cap), so it occassionally likes to complain when I run too long. I've gotten some tips already, like using a wrap, icing it if it swells, etc, but I'm open to more advice. My bum knee can't be the reason I don't do this race!
So now, my running enthusiast readers, can you give me any pointers for protecting/strengthening a weak knee during training? I hurt it 6 years ago (dislocated the knee cap), so it occassionally likes to complain when I run too long. I've gotten some tips already, like using a wrap, icing it if it swells, etc, but I'm open to more advice. My bum knee can't be the reason I don't do this race!
"My body tells me no, but I won't quit 'cause I want more." - Young the Giant
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Nestle, don't wrestle.
So, I think a lot. Now these thoughts aren't necessarily brilliant or even coherent, but they're there nonetheless, spinning about and making a ruckus at times. For someone with such a liberal arts, anti-math/logic type brain, I tend to analyze and re-analyze things. It's hard to turn off.
Most of the time, this thinking is good for the type of work I do. Other times it is tiresome and I wish I could venture into that foreign place that my guy friends call "the nothing box". You know, the place you go where your thoughts stop and you just zone out for awhile? Yeah, I've never experienced it either, but it sure sounds nice.
Awhile ago, I was talking with a good friend about my thought processes, and she said, "Well, you certainly know how to wrestle. Maybe it's time you nestle." I blinked a few times, "Do what now?" My genius friend went on to explain that I wrestle with problems, curiosities, and the like, going over them again and again hoping to make sense of them. Sometimes it works, but sometimes it just gives me a headache. "That's when you nestle," she said. "Quit wrestling with yourself."
Huh. She had a great point, a point that reminded me of some other advice given to me by a fellow counselor. He told me, "Brittany, you can't be in the problem and the solution at the same time. Stop thinking so much."
Now the first part of that advice was useful, whereas the second half seemed as absurd as telling me, "stop listening to music" or "hey, you know that breathing thing you do? Cut it out". That absurdity aside, the advice was quite good. I needed to let go of the swirling thoughts, step away from the stress and nestle...
...Which is how I found myself spending this weekend alternating laying in the sun and playing in the rain. When life amped up again this afternoon, I got swept up in the wrestling, and had to remind myself, "Hey! Go nestle." So after finishing my latest wrestling match, I threw on my running shoes and ran in the peaceful quiet of my dark neighborhood. I ran past deer, saw the 5 stars that are visible in the city sky, and let my thoughts slow down. And guess what happened after that? I actually found some clarity. Yay!
Balancing wrestling and nestling is an art that I'm still working on, but it is oh-so necessary. I'm very thankful for all the ways God gives us to nestle - prayer, fellowship, meditation, nature, reading - and hope to strike that balance between work and rest.
"Nestle, don't wrestle." Hmm... maybe I should get that stitched on a pillow. Or tattooed somewhere. Or put on a t-shirt? Bumper sticker? Oh, dangit. I'm doing it again. I think I'm going to go nestle in that great unconscious gift known as sleep. Buenas noches.
Most of the time, this thinking is good for the type of work I do. Other times it is tiresome and I wish I could venture into that foreign place that my guy friends call "the nothing box". You know, the place you go where your thoughts stop and you just zone out for awhile? Yeah, I've never experienced it either, but it sure sounds nice.
Awhile ago, I was talking with a good friend about my thought processes, and she said, "Well, you certainly know how to wrestle. Maybe it's time you nestle." I blinked a few times, "Do what now?" My genius friend went on to explain that I wrestle with problems, curiosities, and the like, going over them again and again hoping to make sense of them. Sometimes it works, but sometimes it just gives me a headache. "That's when you nestle," she said. "Quit wrestling with yourself."
Huh. She had a great point, a point that reminded me of some other advice given to me by a fellow counselor. He told me, "Brittany, you can't be in the problem and the solution at the same time. Stop thinking so much."
Now the first part of that advice was useful, whereas the second half seemed as absurd as telling me, "stop listening to music" or "hey, you know that breathing thing you do? Cut it out". That absurdity aside, the advice was quite good. I needed to let go of the swirling thoughts, step away from the stress and nestle...
...Which is how I found myself spending this weekend alternating laying in the sun and playing in the rain. When life amped up again this afternoon, I got swept up in the wrestling, and had to remind myself, "Hey! Go nestle." So after finishing my latest wrestling match, I threw on my running shoes and ran in the peaceful quiet of my dark neighborhood. I ran past deer, saw the 5 stars that are visible in the city sky, and let my thoughts slow down. And guess what happened after that? I actually found some clarity. Yay!
Balancing wrestling and nestling is an art that I'm still working on, but it is oh-so necessary. I'm very thankful for all the ways God gives us to nestle - prayer, fellowship, meditation, nature, reading - and hope to strike that balance between work and rest.
"Nestle, don't wrestle." Hmm... maybe I should get that stitched on a pillow. Or tattooed somewhere. Or put on a t-shirt? Bumper sticker? Oh, dangit. I'm doing it again. I think I'm going to go nestle in that great unconscious gift known as sleep. Buenas noches.
No one can get inner peace by pouncing on it. ~Harry Emerson
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Running Away: Part One
Today marks Day 1 of my half-marathon training. Yes, you read that correctly. Half-marathon training. Me, the girl who hasn't run more than a couple miles since track in 8th grade, is doing a half-marathon. I mean, I've worked out since 8th grade. I once boxed so long I almost fainted. And once I even hiked 11 miles (5.5 of which I wouldn't have hiked had I had another way of getting back to my car, but whatevs). But running 13.1 miles? Yeah freaking right.
Top Three Reasons Why I Shouldn't Do This:
1. My knees are weak. I once dislocated my knee cap three times. That was fun.
2. I'll have to train in the winter, a time when I walk around the house wrapped in an electric blanket and 3 layers of clothing. If they made footie pajamas for adults, I'd have several sets. But for this marathon, I'll be running outside sans electric blanket. Brrr....
3. It's going to hurt. And I might get sick running for 2 hours. And I might come in dead last and no one will be there to cheer me on and I'll look like a loser and then I'll have to get carted away in an ambulance because my heart implodes. Okay, that's really like 1 real reason and 5 irrational fears. Yikes.
Top Three Reasons Why I Should Do This:
1. Running encourages good brain chemistry. I need my serotonin.
2. Running clears my head and strengthens my heart. Since I need both of those organs in top shape, this is a good thing indeed.
3. Accomplishing this goal after the stuff I've gone through this year with one of my good friends will feel AWESOME. Like "hey, look I've climbed to the top of a mountain" awesome or even "I've defeated my worst fears and came out smiling" awesome.
So, I'm going to do it. I started my training today and ran for 15 minutes without stopping. I just have to do that 10 times over and I'll be set. It didn't suck as bad as I thought it would, and I actually feel pretty good right now.
We'll see where I am in a few months when my coach amps up the workouts... Bring it on!
Top Three Reasons Why I Shouldn't Do This:
1. My knees are weak. I once dislocated my knee cap three times. That was fun.
2. I'll have to train in the winter, a time when I walk around the house wrapped in an electric blanket and 3 layers of clothing. If they made footie pajamas for adults, I'd have several sets. But for this marathon, I'll be running outside sans electric blanket. Brrr....
3. It's going to hurt. And I might get sick running for 2 hours. And I might come in dead last and no one will be there to cheer me on and I'll look like a loser and then I'll have to get carted away in an ambulance because my heart implodes. Okay, that's really like 1 real reason and 5 irrational fears. Yikes.
Top Three Reasons Why I Should Do This:
1. Running encourages good brain chemistry. I need my serotonin.
2. Running clears my head and strengthens my heart. Since I need both of those organs in top shape, this is a good thing indeed.
3. Accomplishing this goal after the stuff I've gone through this year with one of my good friends will feel AWESOME. Like "hey, look I've climbed to the top of a mountain" awesome or even "I've defeated my worst fears and came out smiling" awesome.
So, I'm going to do it. I started my training today and ran for 15 minutes without stopping. I just have to do that 10 times over and I'll be set. It didn't suck as bad as I thought it would, and I actually feel pretty good right now.
We'll see where I am in a few months when my coach amps up the workouts... Bring it on!
Monday, August 13, 2012
Love is free.
Sometimes we walk away from love, be it romantic, platonic, or familial. We walk from it because the pain is too great, or because we feel enslaved by the other. Somehow by giving our heart to another person, we give them the power to hurt us, and this is dangerous because they so often do. So, we run.
This is no small reality; it can break connections that never should be broken, or it can break connections that should never have occurred in the first place. My question is, how do we love freely despite this?
I believe that true love is free. It is a gift freely given, with no expectation. No expectations! This seems to me a difficult, if not impossible, task. We spend our whole lives collecting expectations, consciously or not, and when they are not met, we get angry, hurt, disappointed, et cetera. I'm still trying to figure out how to love without expectation, and so far what I've discovered is that 1. it's hard, 2. it takes daily recommitment, and 3. it involves the oh-so-fun process of letting go. (Ah, letting go. Yet another task that we're supposed to know how to do without any specific instructions.)
Anyway, I also think that free love is given with the idea that the one being loved should have the freedom to be themselves, to make their own choices and mistakes, and to pursue their own heart's desire... Even if their heart's desire is not you or what you want for them.
Ouch, right? This is the fuel that makes people run from relationships because it just freaking hurts. If those we love don't meet our expectations, causing pain or disappointment, we may walk away to protect our hearts. I'm not saying this is always a bad thing to do. Sometimes the best way to love someone is to walk away from them. Sometimes we do have to force separation to save ourselves. I've done this myself.
But sometimes I wonder, what if we're not supposed to run every time? What if we let go of our expectations long enough to see that true love thrives without them? Who would still be in our lives?
If love is truly free, we must love without the expectation to be loved the same way in return. The point of love is not to receive, although that is the hope. The point of love is to love, even if we have to love from afar. Distance doesn't dilute its existence or purpose. Love has only the boundaries we place on it.
... Of course I could be totally wrong about this whole notion. I've got a lot of loving and learning to do.
This is no small reality; it can break connections that never should be broken, or it can break connections that should never have occurred in the first place. My question is, how do we love freely despite this?
I believe that true love is free. It is a gift freely given, with no expectation. No expectations! This seems to me a difficult, if not impossible, task. We spend our whole lives collecting expectations, consciously or not, and when they are not met, we get angry, hurt, disappointed, et cetera. I'm still trying to figure out how to love without expectation, and so far what I've discovered is that 1. it's hard, 2. it takes daily recommitment, and 3. it involves the oh-so-fun process of letting go. (Ah, letting go. Yet another task that we're supposed to know how to do without any specific instructions.)
Anyway, I also think that free love is given with the idea that the one being loved should have the freedom to be themselves, to make their own choices and mistakes, and to pursue their own heart's desire... Even if their heart's desire is not you or what you want for them.
Ouch, right? This is the fuel that makes people run from relationships because it just freaking hurts. If those we love don't meet our expectations, causing pain or disappointment, we may walk away to protect our hearts. I'm not saying this is always a bad thing to do. Sometimes the best way to love someone is to walk away from them. Sometimes we do have to force separation to save ourselves. I've done this myself.
But sometimes I wonder, what if we're not supposed to run every time? What if we let go of our expectations long enough to see that true love thrives without them? Who would still be in our lives?
If love is truly free, we must love without the expectation to be loved the same way in return. The point of love is not to receive, although that is the hope. The point of love is to love, even if we have to love from afar. Distance doesn't dilute its existence or purpose. Love has only the boundaries we place on it.
... Of course I could be totally wrong about this whole notion. I've got a lot of loving and learning to do.
"The success of love is in the loving - it is not in the result of loving.
Of course it is natural in love to want the best for the other person, but whether it turns out that way or not does not determine the value of what we have done." - Mother Teresa
"And the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free." - Paulo Coehlo
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
You save me.
About three months ago, everything I thought I knew fell away. All of the things I counted on disappeared, seemingly at once, and I was left depleted and broken. I fell to the bottom of the bottom. I fell further than I thought possible, so far in fact, that I thought I would never get back up.
Sounds melodramatic, I'm sure, but it is how I felt at the time. As proof, here's an excerpt from that first week of falling:
"My heart is shattered. Once again I find myself alone and in utter disbelief. I can’t sleep for the life of me since it happened. My thoughts swirl and clutter my mind: pain, shock, anger, sadness, confusion, guilt... The pain ebbs and flows and I can’t bare it. It chokes me. Another wave comes, I see it cresting, and it washes over me, pulling me under the current, helpless and hopeless, not even fighting it. I give in to the weight of the pain, I let it drag me along, knowing I’m powerless to stop it. It swallows me. I want nothing more than to be free from this. To have my old life come back, to have someone pull me from this dark water and back onto dry, steady ground. How could this be happening?"
Again, I know it sounds melodramatic and this post is not meant to solicit pity or consolation. I write this post as a testimony to the miracle that the love of God and community can be. I write this in praise and thanksgiving for the incredible support I received by those around me. I prayed for God to save me, to send me help, and He sent it abundantly.
Sometimes when we're in the thick of trauma, it's hard to see grace. But looking back over these past 3 months, I see that God loved and healed me through every kind glance, friendly hug, funny text, late night phone call, and late night hang out that my community gave me. Even those who didn't know what was happening in my life, but were still a part of my life, be it on Facebook or church or my new (blessedly trauma-free) job, supported me without even trying to. And even people I thought were lost to me forever came back in amazing, powerful ways to support me.
Community is powerful and immensely healing. In three months I have been to hell and back again, steadily healing from the chaos that was my life in April. I still have some healing to do, but I can finally see hope again. It would not have been possible without the communities I take part in: my family, my friends, my church, my work, and even my internet community (I even got support from Australian pen pals! Now that's cool).
Moral of this blog? Trauma can lead to desperation. Desperation can bring you to your knees. From your knees, the depths of your pleas are heard, and if you look closely, are answered through God's love, in the form of community.
Thanks to all of you who saved me, and who keep saving me, a day at a time.
I am truly blessed.
P.S. This song seems appropriate. Music is good that way. Gotye "Save Me":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdIvFxu9jJQ
Sounds melodramatic, I'm sure, but it is how I felt at the time. As proof, here's an excerpt from that first week of falling:
"My heart is shattered. Once again I find myself alone and in utter disbelief. I can’t sleep for the life of me since it happened. My thoughts swirl and clutter my mind: pain, shock, anger, sadness, confusion, guilt... The pain ebbs and flows and I can’t bare it. It chokes me. Another wave comes, I see it cresting, and it washes over me, pulling me under the current, helpless and hopeless, not even fighting it. I give in to the weight of the pain, I let it drag me along, knowing I’m powerless to stop it. It swallows me. I want nothing more than to be free from this. To have my old life come back, to have someone pull me from this dark water and back onto dry, steady ground. How could this be happening?"
Again, I know it sounds melodramatic and this post is not meant to solicit pity or consolation. I write this post as a testimony to the miracle that the love of God and community can be. I write this in praise and thanksgiving for the incredible support I received by those around me. I prayed for God to save me, to send me help, and He sent it abundantly.
Sometimes when we're in the thick of trauma, it's hard to see grace. But looking back over these past 3 months, I see that God loved and healed me through every kind glance, friendly hug, funny text, late night phone call, and late night hang out that my community gave me. Even those who didn't know what was happening in my life, but were still a part of my life, be it on Facebook or church or my new (blessedly trauma-free) job, supported me without even trying to. And even people I thought were lost to me forever came back in amazing, powerful ways to support me.
Community is powerful and immensely healing. In three months I have been to hell and back again, steadily healing from the chaos that was my life in April. I still have some healing to do, but I can finally see hope again. It would not have been possible without the communities I take part in: my family, my friends, my church, my work, and even my internet community (I even got support from Australian pen pals! Now that's cool).
Moral of this blog? Trauma can lead to desperation. Desperation can bring you to your knees. From your knees, the depths of your pleas are heard, and if you look closely, are answered through God's love, in the form of community.
Thanks to all of you who saved me, and who keep saving me, a day at a time.
I am truly blessed.
P.S. This song seems appropriate. Music is good that way. Gotye "Save Me":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdIvFxu9jJQ
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