Dear Journal

12/2/16

#keepcalmWRITEon Day 2.

Free write.  Let’s see what comes out. 

I’m challenging myself to write every single day in December.  Every.  Single.  Day.  Why? I think it will be good for me.  I think it will provide some way for me to get my mind to shut off when it’s supposed to, a way for my thoughts to find their way around each other.  I've got a big writing goal with a deadline of about a year and a half from now.  I guess that’s a good chunk of time.  I supposed the last year and half has provided so much life experience, it could be a book all on its own.  I wonder what the next year and a half will bring. 

A year and a half ago was………..June 2015.  Where was I in June of 2015?

*******

June 1, 2015

Dear Journal,

It’s been just over 4 months since the Friday night conversation that changed my life. By April, there was no more contact. I’ve lost so much weight already.  I wonder how much more I’ll lose.  I think it’s easier to focus on what I eat and not let myself eat when I feel like this. 

Today was a good day, so I thought I’d try to write a little bit about how I feel.

How do I feel?

I feel like there’s a giant hole inside my body, but I can’t even identify where I feel the hole….it just…is.  Every Wednesday, when I have to drive to Ellsworth for work, I cry.  I’ve taken on a coffee habit.  Every Wednesday on my way out of town, I pull through the North 9^th Street McDonald’s and I get a Large Hot Caramel Mocha.  I have no idea what’s in it, but I get it.  And I sip it while I drive, in between singing as loudly as I can to every Jesus song that comes on the radio.  The ones that don’t make me cry, of course.  (I try to write some of these songs down, because some of them make me feel awesome, and some of them I know are God speaking to me about all this.  Colton Dixon’s “More of You”…Third Day’s “Soul on Fire”… anyway.)  I know something’s different with me, because I survived 4 years of college as a double-major/athlete, while working random shifts at the nursing home---all without touching coffee more than three times that I can remember.  And it was just coffee from the cafeteria.  I wasn’t even one of those cool college hipsters who hung out at coffee shops, with earbuds and wifi, studying ever so intently.  I just poured it into my free mug I got from the Student Activities Board and took it with me to 7:45 am Physics Class, because it seemed like the right thing to do, after I’d had 5:00 am weightlifting. But the only thing that resulted was a huge headache and a newfound determination that coffee in its entirety must make me sick and I would have to figure out a different way to keep my eyes open.

So these days, with my Caramel Mochas…I don’t even know who I am.  At least it’s just on Wednesdays.  I still have too many kids in Ellsworth County for my liking, and work hasn't been able to take me out of that assignment…not that I don’t like the kids, but I just don’t know what’s going to happen now that things have …changed.  How am I supposed to keep setting foot there every week? It’s been so difficult.  I stopped packing hot lunch, weeks ago.  It’s too depressing and anxiety-causing to use the microwave at Kwik Shop.  There’s too many people there.  Too many people who might recognize me, too many strangers-to-me in those khaki uniforms, strangers who know probably way more about me than I know.  I just pack random snacks and eat in my car while I’m parked at the library.  On the days I’m hungry, that is. The library is my safe place.  It’s neutral.

Wednesdays kill me.  I come back to Salina, and I’m an empty shell.  Sometimes I go to the gym, but usually I just put on a happy face for church and go to youth group.  They need me there.

The second job still stands.  It’s been a whirlwind few months.  I’ve been on my schedule there since November, officially.  So, it’s been 7 months of losing sleep a couple nights a week, plus sacrificing my Saturdays.  I know I’m making progress towards my debt-free goals (goal is to pay off my car by December 31^st!), but I get tired.  My coworkers at the main job know I’m exhausted.  They know I’m drained.  I can’t count the times and ways they’ve all shown me support.  I take smoke breaks with them, even though I don’t smoke (LOL).  They let me cry and they don’t judge me.  They’ve analyzed everything with me, from every angle.  All the new, unexpected things that come up---those, too.  It’s been so weird to let them into my life.  I guess I didn’t realize I was keeping them out. 

Church has been good.  I’ve continued to stay involved with the youth group, since I returned to them last fall, about the same time I got the second job.  It’s still crazy to think about how everything got added to my life all at once: the second job, then youth group needed me back...  Sometimes I really struggle with guilt.  How maybe if I hadn’t gotten the second job and maybe if I “hadn’t given up my Saturdays", and maybe if I didn’t want to help with youth group, then maybe things would have turned out differently. 

"You need to be glad that the door is shut, things are happening like they are supposed to, the pain will teach you something..." I hear variations of this speech from those who care about me.  I’m still not convinced.  I’ve gotten sick like three times since the end of January.  I had gone 4 years without a sinus infection, but as soon as I landed in El Salvador (4 weeks Post-Conversation) -- BAM-- sinus infection and horrible fever.  Then I got one again mid-April.  I’m starting to feel not so great now, and I can’t decide if I’ve just been exercising too much (because exercise numbs my mind) or if this summer weather is messing with my sinuses. 

I’m actually really glad my Saturdays are filled with work at my second job.  I’m on a pretty good routine.  I either stay late and work til like 6 or 7, or if I actually get off at 4, I go straight to the gym.  Sometimes I see Dean there so that can be hard because I wonder what he's thinking or how much he knows about the situation... but I do my workout anyway.

I know I’ve come a long way since February, though.  I don’t cry as much.  I’m starting to socialize more with friends from church.  At least, I think it’s socializing.  Monica and Jennifer have started to force me to watch “classic” movies with them, to culture me, because they found out that I haven't seen a lot of movies.  We watched “A League of Their Own” the other day, and I had them over in my apartment! I was so nervous.  It was only the second time that I’ve had a “group” over to my house, and I’ve lived here three years! We ordered pizza.  I had never ordered pizza to my apartment before, isn’t that crazy?? Anyway the movie was good.

At the end of July, we are taking our youth group kids on a weekend mission trip to Kansas City.  I’m super excited about it! When I focus on things like mission trips and service, I really feel connected to myself and to God, and that gets me through the bad days. 

Debbie’s been so awesome too.  She’s always there when I need to take a break and get a hug! I hope I’m not bothering her when I stop by to say hi.  I try to make up for it by helping her with Salina Shares.  Speaking of which—we are going to do our Disney at Del Rey party next month too! July is going to be busy, but it will be great.  I just have to get through June first. 

Well, I’m going to get to bed, I guess.  I work both jobs tomorrow so I’ll need my energy.  Hopefully write more soon!

******

This Place Called Kansas

August 20, 2014

I’m a couple of weeks late, but earlier this month marked 8 years that I have lived in Kansas.

I’ve had those moments:
“Oh, man! I wish Facebook was a thing when I moved into my dorm!”
“I wish we had taken pictures!" (too bad my family didn’t have a digital camera yet.)
“I wonder what my freshman class’ hashtag would have been.”

Sigh.  Anyway. Then I get over it (my thoughts on technology and social media belong in a WHOLE 'nother category).

A paragraph's worth of backstory: I moved to Kansas after being recruited for the track and field and cross-country teams for Bethany College, a private college in Lindsborg, Kansas.  I left the desert Southwest of Arizona, my childhood, and everything I’d ever known behind, hopped into my mom’s minivan, opened the Road Atlas so I could follow along, and got comfortable in my seat.
(My teammate from high school was recruited after I enrolled and signed my Letter of Intent; I gave the coaches a heads-up about her, she decided she was going with me, so we stuffed our clothes and bedding into the back of the minivan.  Neither one of us owned winter clothing or coats yet; we figured we’d worry about that when we got there.)

I’ve got a LOT of feelings (surprise, surprise) about the actual move itself: facing the fear of moving to an unknown place with no friends or family waiting there to welcome me; to a place with a totally different climate and culture and food and people, and how much I’ve grown as a result.  I’ve got tons of memories of my first semester, my second year, each year for that matter, which I want to put down on paper sometime soon.  Sure, I’ve got advice for out-of-state students, words of wisdom on how to stick it out until graduation, but I’m not sure that was the purpose of my writing for today.

My point today is that, 8 years later, I’m still here.  This place called Kansas has morphed from “the place I went away to college”, from “I’m just here to go to school”, from “Yeah, I could never be here forever” to “home”.

This place called Kansas introduced me to the concept of hospitality; from the team of Resident Assistants who helped us unload the minivan (Darcy, Michelle, and others), to the family who had me under their wing that first semester (Ben Mordecai and family—if you see this, know that I am eternally grateful).  I was hospitalized for a few days with mono and pneumonia, and this family took turns sitting vigil in my hospital room.  I don’t think I was alone for more than hour at a time.  (I seriously could write a small book just on the hospitality from this family alone)

This place called Kansas gave me permission to start over.  I could be whoever I wanted to be here.  Aside from my academics, athletics and music, high school wasn’t the greatest experience for me, and it was amazing to come here and just be accepted (Okay, so basically, I’ve just
always had social difficulties, okay? Let’s reword the previous sentence to read, “People were HARD in high school.”)

This place called Kansas has taught me how to make friends.  Real friends. I’ve figured everything out about myself here, while trudging through these thunderstorm-y summers and frozen tundra winters.  These days, I sit with trusted friends and have real conversations about figuring out our futures and planning our next steps.  If I had up and left after graduation, I would have missed out on these dear friendships.

I’m still here because this is where my journey has led me.  There are things I miss about my native Arizona, yes. But do I consider going back? Hardly.  Honestly, I’m so into my life and community here that I just go day-by-day.

I’ve fallen in love with wheat fields, summer rodeos, rolling hills, and greenery!  Don’t even get me started on sunflowers or back dirt roads.  I have mastered the art of carefully watching for deer while I drive, especially in the autumn and winter evenings. I am captivated by the change of the seasons, and anticipate the differences each one has to offer.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever leave, if I’m just letting myself get comfortable and settled for fear of picking up and moving yet again to another, new place.  I wonder if I’m scared.  Yeah.  I think I am scared.

But this place called Kansas has taught me that without an initial sense of fear, there’s no adventure.

At this point, leaving Kansas would feel like leaving home all over again.  I don't know what the future holds, but for now I guess I drank the Kansas Kool-Aid.  I used to hate the thought of "being here forever"; I was convinced that the week after my college graduation, I would be moving either back to Arizona or one of the other two completely different states I applied to medical schools in.

I kind of like how my story has turned out, though.  (Thanks to the Big Man upstairs, by the way!)

So thus begins Year Nine!

Desert Diaries, Volume 2

I originally wanted to write EVERY SINGLE DAY during this trip.
Yeah, that hasn't happened.
Today, I'm thinking about all the ways I've handled different situations while on this trip.
One of my church friends/mentor ladies told me (paraphrased) "There's going to be lots of ways this week where you will be tempted to respond like the old man inside of you.  Remember that it is now Jesus Christ who lives in you, not the old man."
If you know a little bit about me, you know that my family relationships/dynamics are not the most....traditional.  But I'm really proud of myself for the way I've handled myself and interacted on this visit.  I've helped redirect and de-escalate some conversations at home, and even had some damage-control-type input, here and there.  My mom and I have had some really grown-up conversations about life things, and we've never been able to do that before. I would always let my emotions get the best of me.  Now, I know how to manage them and put them aside, in order to see clearly while I'm in the moment.
I've been able to clarify some things with mom which are huge for my future, and my sister and I have been communicating and brainstorming all week about common goals we have for my mom and younger sister, as far as what we can do to help them.
The communication between my sister and I (don't know if that's grammatically correct---judge me)  feels pretty good.  We have had to communicate about schedules and plans, dinners, breakfasts, DIY projects at my mom's house, and midnight burrito runs.  She has also let me borrow clothes a few times while I've been here, because I'm a crazy minimalist hippie who brings nothing but a carry-on suitcase, and a tote bag full of books.  She has encouraged plans with my friends, and not been overly needy when she has been off work.  And we haven't killed each other yet.
While I don't have a smartphone to snap tons of pictures and post them immediately to Facebook, I have thoughts.  And, I have the ability to write those thoughts down.  Then, I take those thoughts and I look for patterns, and I see what I'm learning, and how it's growing me.  I pay attention to how I feel about each lunch/dinner/coffee/midnight burrito run date I make (midnight burritos are important here in Yuma, AZ).  I feel my feelings; i get excited to see old friends; i smile at people, i think about people, i wonder what i can do to help.
There's this Watermelon Man who sits on the corner with his little pickup truck full of watermelons for sale.  He waves at everyone who drives by, or stops at the stoplight.  Just a friendly wave.  When I see him, I remember, and I am thankful.
I remember growing up, and seeing random produce truck-stands, and knowing this is normal. I remember stopping at many a produce stand to buy corn, watermelon, or cantaloupe with my dad when I was a child.  I remember all of the people who surrounded me while growing up in this city.  I remember how I've always loved all of them, even the strangers.
It is SO the little things in life---and on a trip back home---that make you stop, take a deep breath, and smile.

Mom-ish Friends

05-04-14

“Mom-ish friends”

I know I use this term a lot.  

I think I may have coined the term, actually.

You see, not all little girls grow up with a mommy to look to for answers to life’s questions, or to pick them up when they fall down.  Some little girls grow up meek and quiet, watching their life go by in a whirlwind around them, across two states, two schools, and two homes, with two parents who were together, yet not, and always seemed to have something to argue about.  

Some little girls grow up with all their basic needs provided - food, clothing, transportation, schooling, pets, even - and so, they never even realize that they are missing something.  They don’t even know what entitlement is, so how can they feel it?

These little girls grow up into pre-teens whose friends want to be all huggy all the time, and they realize this is the first time they remember giving and receiving hugs.  So then these little girls start building their identity around their friendships.

Then boys want to start giving and receiving hugs, and these little girls realize they don’t ever remember hugging their fathers.

But then these little girls get stuck living with their father, while the person who holds the title “mother” is in and out, back and forth, across two states, working, making whirlwind decisions at very loud volumes.

So, trust begins to build in father-daughter relationships, but then mothers get jealous and make up lies and stories and do everything in their power to rip away the relationships that they never cared enough to build themselves.

So then little girls end up confused and caught in the middle of custody battles, not understanding why they have to choose one parent over the other, upset and experiencing separation anxiety when it’s a “mom weekend”, but not sure from which person they feel anxious about separating, the mother or the father.

These little girls eat too much and don’t get enough exercise, but rely on Nickolodeon and Disney Channel for company.  (They fight too much with their sisters to ever get along peacefully for any actual amounts of time)

Dads win the custody battles and little girls continue with schooling.  When boys want to start holding hands at lunchtime, there’s no mommies to ask for advice.  There’s just daddies to hide information from.  

Little girls find their peace in books and schoolwork, spelling and arithmetic, and get a “Good job, mija” when they bring home a good grade, which by the way, is always an “A”.  

Junior high goes by with no more from Mommies than demanding questions and high expectations when they come to visit.  

By high school, little girls have found some more of their identities and escapes in sports.  Building bonds with teammates is easier than building bonds with family members.

The schoolwork gets more intense, and little girls grow more confused and feel more pressure.  By this point, they’ve mastered the “Thank you for cooking dinner, Daddy” and help with housework and take on more responsibility than they maybe should.

By age 15, little girls have seen how some of their friends interact with their mommies.  They’ve seen the hugs, and the eye-rolling, and the kisses on the cheek, and they hear the “Love you’s” and they wonder, “Why is my family so different?” But by this point, they don’t really care.

Because by this point, they’re getting hugs and kisses from boys and doing well with sports, and algebra and biology and theology at their Catholic high schools, and they’re headed toward a college scholarship.

Then Daddy dies and leaves Mommy in charge.

And there’s so much anger and hurt feelings all over the place that little girls don’t even know how to handle themselves.  But they don’t have to, because they get college scholarships to faraway places like Kansas, so they get to run away.

But every time they come for a visit, it’s fireworks, and not the good kind.  And all along, they don’t know who they are, or who they’ve been, or known guidance, or a mother’s love.  For Mommy was too busy figuring herself out to pay any attention to her Little Girls.  

It wasn’t completely her fault.  She just didn’t know how  

Thank goodness for Mom-ish friends, who step in when Little Girls are 20, 25 years old and help answer all the questions; who stand by and offer words of repair and wisdom, gestures of healing and kindness.  For it’s not the Little Girl’s fault that she wasn’t given what all Little Girls should have.

Thank goodness for Mom-ish friends.

A Letter to My Body

11-24-2013

 

Dear Body,

 

 

 

 

 

           I wanted to take a little bit of time and express some of my thoughts to you.  I feel like I’ve been suppressing them for a long time, and I think it’s really time to get them out.

            I can’t lie; I’ve never really communicated with you before.  I always just kept everything inside and thought that my thoughts meant nothing.  I thought it was all better left unsaid.

            You’ve confused me, Body. 

            I have lots of memories of moments when I wasn’t very happy with you.  Like in 4^th grade, when you decided you wanted to be 5’4” tall and weight 133 pounds.  That was awkward, but I didn’t say anything; I just went with it.  Then in sixth grade, you wanted to weigh 186 pounds! But then, you decided you wanted to run all those laps at P.E. and prove to all the other Bodies that you could do it.

            In 7^th grade, when I wanted to play basketball, you didn’t like it.  You wouldn’t get it together and figure it out, and I didn’t make the team, and I was upset.  But then, I was able to throw the shotput pretty well.  And play soccer.  So, there you went, changing your mind again.

            In 8^th grade, in modeling school, they tried to tell me that “if maybe I lost some weight” I could better fit into their hourglass figure they were describing.

            Then, freshman year of high school, I tried to control you.  I thought you were too big, and that we couldn’t achieve what I wanted if I didn’t control you.  So I starved you of carbohydrates for a little while, and I took those diet pills to make you burn fat.  I’m sorry about that.  I knew by the way you responded that this particular pattern was not going to be something permanent because it was not okay with you at all.

            I also wanted to apologize for all the times I put you down in high school.  It was really hard to not compare myself to all the other Bodies around me, and I think I was so used to everyone being smaller than us, that I automatically thought you were the biggest Body around.  I may have eaten right and treated you well with exercise and training hard in the weight room, but I did not send my Brain good messages about you.  I admit that I always had really negative conversations about you without you knowing.

            I have to say that I didn’t feel comfortable with you until college.  And thank you, by the way, for getting me into college, and for getting the majority of my tuition paid for.  Because you obeyed all the demands I put on you in my athletic training, I got that track and field scholarship, and even a partial cross-country one.  You continued to exceed my expectations, and those of everyone around us.  I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for that.

            When you decided it was time to be an adult though, in my junior year of college, I have to say you surprised me and angered me quite a bit.  You changed, Body.  You made everything more difficult.  I couldn’t run as fast as I used to, and I had to buy new clothes.  I swore I could feel everyone judging me.  I didn’t want to let go of everything you and I had shared, but you forced me into accepting the way things were going to be now.  I think I’m still kind of angry with you about that.

            After college was over, I was so relieved.  I didn’t have to push you as hard, so I stopped pushing.  I let us get lazy.  This is where I really messed up.  I fooled myself into thinking that we could get by with just getting by, and your responses showed me just how wrong I was. 

            You started attacking me more than ever; the anxiety attacks that happened, the extra weight that came around, the thyroid problems.  All the signs were you screaming at me, as loudly as you could, “Hey! Pay attention! You’re messing me up! I don’t feel good!”

            And I just ignored you. 

            It took me a year and a half, but I woke up.  I started making efforts, and talking to you more kindly, and accepting what you were going to look like.  I set different goals, and I started to come to peace with the fact that you are the only Body I will ever have, and that you can be my best friend, or my worst enemy.

            Even as I write this letter, I can see images of myself in 2^nd grade with you, feeling insecure about how tall you were, or in 3^rd grade, feeling so much bigger than anyone else.  I realize now that my slumber, my period of ignorance regarding the way I was treating you lasted much longer than a year and a half.  It lasted 18 years.  And I’m finally tired of comparing you to all the other Bodies out there.  I want us to have a good relationship, a loving, positive one.

            All these years, Body, I’ve always had some reason or another for wanting you to change.  But now I want you to know that I’m the one willing to change.  I’m willing to control my thoughts so they are positive ones, and I’m willing to nourish you and protect you with the right foods in order to keep you functioning right.  I’m willing to stop comparing you to other Bodies unfairly, and to stop having demanding expectations of you. 

            Thank you for all the healthy years you’ve given me that I’ve always been too ignorant to see.  Thank you for every mile you’ve run for me, every pound you’ve lifted in the weight room, every pushup, sit-up, and jumping jack you’ve done; thank you for your functioning arms and legs, and for the concentration you put into 10 years of coordination necessary for throwing the shotput.  Thanks for being strong and healthy, even when I didn’t treat you the best.  Thank you for always trying your best. 

            I hope you can accept my apology, and that we can move forward from here.  I hope that the next 18 years and beyond will be filled with less hateful thoughts and words.  I hope you can forgive me and trust me to treat you better from now on. 

            Thanks for listening to me and letting me get all of that out.  I’ll make sure that I communicate with you a lot more from now on.

 

            Talk soon,

                        Me

 

 

Thinking and Growing

September 3, 2012

11:30 am

Okay, so here’s the deal.  Today, I am trying to do things differently.  For the last several weeks, I’ve really been itching to write again.  Just write, but still have it have some purpose or clarity.  In the last week or so, I’ve realized that I’ve been avoiding my thoughts.  I’ve been laying in bed on days where I can sleep in, and just willing myself back to sleep because I don’t want to busy myself with all the thoughts in my head.  This sent me to a bunch of blaring alarms going off in my head, because it reminds me of my really bad depression stages, back in 2008 and 2009.  I used to just sleep days away.  I haven’t wanted to go back to that.  I haven’t wanted to have days like that again.  But now, it seems that I want everything to slow down, and I’m almost willing myself to a stop in order to accomplish this.  I’m trying to see if it’s “a desire to slow down and have more ‘me’ time” OR “avoiding everything and hoping it will eventually go away/depressed type thinking”.  There’s been lots on my mind. 

My job is pretty awesome.  I work with kids and families, and I set my own schedule throughout the day.  I make my own appointments and then just have to follow through with them.  I then document pretty much everything I do, to show the progress the kid or the family is making.  When broken down like this, it seems much simpler than it actually feels during the day, especially the day when I get so bogged down with something small, like having a deadline for a treatment plan that needs updated.  I have gotten really stressed out the last several weeks; the beginning of the school year has been really messy for me, really stressful to try and figure out the new scheduling and stuff.  We work by quota, so we are responsible for a certain amount of hours of service we need to provide every month.  After like 3 months of not making this said quota, you start getting asked questions about how well you’re doing your job.  I don’t want to lose my job.  So I worry and I stress and I try to make myself better, and learn more about the job, and tips and tricks and shortcuts to make myself more effective. 

And then, I start to get angry.  I get angry because I get competitive with myself, if that’s the right word.  I start to expect more from myself.  I start to think, “You have your business; you’re not doing anything with it; if you were, you could be one step closer to not having to worry about this damn quota thing.”  It ticks me off that I have something so valuable in front of me that I haven’t been able to do much with at all. 

That’s where Jesus comes in.  I then think, “Well, it’s not my time.  God’s gonna put me where he wants me anyway, and then it’s my job to do what he’s asking and be happy with it.”  I don’t think it’s right to say that I get angry with where God has placed me.  I don’t think that accurately describes my feelings.  I think I get impatient.  And that I’m constantly being called to a deeper level of faith and understanding and trust, and I’m just not used to that.  The truth is, I am at a whole new level in the faith game.  I have a relationship with God like I haven’t had before.  And I look at the people around me, all the people in my life, and I can tell who puts God first, and who doesn’t.  Lots of people I know thank God when things are going well and “give him the glory”, but He isn’t first in their lives.  He doesn’t run their lives; they do.  They run their own lives.  I, on the other hand, am willing to let God take the wheel.  I feel like I have no other choice.  Why would I say, “I  CHOOSE to run my own life, be my own captain, run my own show”, when I know that I’m not going to do it perfectly?  God is.  He is doing it perfectly, according to his will, what he already has determined for me, and why would I want to mess with that??  I just don’t understand why I would want to mess with that.  I have been blessed with many talents that I have the opportunity to use on a daily basis.  No, I haven’t been able to minister and translate in as many settings and countries as I want to yet, but I have my whole life ahead of me, and who knows what God wants to do?! I can’t risk all that, just because “I want this residual income to happen right now, so I’m gonnna go out blindly and do it all myself, and find these people, and train them to do the same thing, etc etc etc.”.  It’s not up to me.  It’s up to God.  So why would I force it?