"Unstable"

“I hate when people refer to marriage as ‘stabilizing yourself’. There’s nothing ‘unstable’ about being single.”

--Me, today, on Twitter     (this Tweet inspired by a comment that my godmother made on the phone to me last night)

 

The thing with me is, I try not to talk down about anything.  I’ve come to this point in life where I become frustrated when someone tries to impose their beliefs on someone else. 

 

It frustrates me when we judge other people because they don’t make the same choices we do. 


It is infuriating that we always have to be at a constant war of telling each other how we’re right and wrong. 

 

I don’t hate marriage, or feel resentment toward, envy of, or anything else negative about my friends who are already married.  Good for them.  My plea is for the judgment to stop. 

 

I basically just stick with telling people how I feel about a subject; what I’ve learned about that subject while on my journey, and how those experiences have shaped me.  I share my thoughts because I think that there is always someone out there feeling pressured by society to think a certain way, and I just wish we could all accept that we are all different, and that maybe, if they read my thoughts, that person will feel a little less alone.  Each person has their own unique path to walk. 

 

I don’t have a smartphone; I tweet from my basic phone (my tweets go directly to my Facebook page as well).  So, I couldn’t monitor all of the comments being thrown at me for my above statement.  But, I could feel them building up, or rather, the anxiety building up about what people were going to argue with me for. 

 

When, in reality, I wasn’t trying to argue about anything.  I wasn’t trying to say “I’m right, you’re wrong, this is how it should be.” 

 

I was saying, “Hey, let’s all stop calling unmarried people ‘unstable’.  It’s rude.”

 

Anyone can make bad choices, married or unmarried.  Anyone can make a really messy bed for themselves and then have to lie in it.  Being married won’t save you from making bad choices.  Discernment will.  Wisdom will.  And these skills can come, even to an unmarried, single person.

 

I wasn’t even trying to argue about anybody’s financial status (which, by the way, money is such a small part of life; get over it already).  But here’s my thoughts on that: there are plenty of single people out there (myself included) who have stable jobs, with stable income, and pay all their own bills, have their own house and car, and/or maintain whatever lifestyle is pleasing to them.  Thus, stability. 

 

(If they find that their current lifestyle is not pleasing to them, then they take actions to change it.)

 

So before you judge someone as “unstable”, examine yourself first.  Your story is not theirs.  Theirs is not yours.  Look up “stable” in the dictionary, and then ask yourself what your personal definition of the word is.  Chances are, we all have a different definition.  

Rewind. Take Two. (Happy 2014)

I feel like I am failing 2014.  Yes, already.

I feel like the end of 2013 took a little more out of me than I expected.  But, I am frustrated because I know that I am meant to achieve greatness.  I feel like I have been forced to slow down, but maybe like my body isn't fully caught up with my brain yet.  Or like my hand isn't caught up with my arm, which isn't caught up with my brain. 

Does anyone else feel like they took the entire month of January to get back on track, back to a "normal" schedule after the holidays?

I almost feel like I spent months blowing up this giant hot-air balloon, getting ready for take-off, got myself all situated inside it, and then when I finally untethered it, it not only did not start moving upwards, but all of the air automatically gushed out of the balloon.

Disappointing.

I feel like my heart is in the right place, and I have the right idea of things (setting goals, being very organized, keeping myself accountable).  But then why does it feel like I'm dragging sacks of concrete with each step?  Through quicksand, that is? While wearing a couple of those weighted vests that they put on you whenever you get any sort of x-rays done?

So, then the anxiety tries to come in.  You may recall that I have spent the last several years battling pretty serious anxiety and depression.  In September of 2013, I was finally able to go off medication for it, which was a victory.  It's been nearly 5 months, and I continue to function without the medication. 

However, this doesn't mean "I'm cured".  This doesn't mean that all of the anxiety magically disappears, and that I have a grand ol' time every day, always feeling happy.  I know that for myself, and for any of us, anxiety is always lurking around the corner, threatening to steal our moments.  I see it in the way I stress about how this year is going to go, in the way I feverishly try to control each and every moment of my day.

I started with right intentions, but if I'm not careful, I can let myself try to dictate everything.  Because I'm a Christian, this means I'm not trusting my God.  If I weren't a Christian, this would mean that I am completely unaccepting of what the universe has in store for me.

Either way, I'm wrong, and either way, I'm missing out on a potentially beautiful adventure.

Peace is going to come from a mix of sweet surrender and enthusiastic planning.  Key word: "enthusiastic" not "obsessive".  And once I have the peaceful feeling again, then maybe I will allow room for everything to shuffle around and line up in it's proper place.  But I've got to quit trying to force it. 

January was such a blur.  But I know that I've probably attracted that to myself by my stress.  So as I delve into February, I will give myself a "Take Two".  This time, I'll loosen the reins and be more present in each moment.  Maybe now, it will actually feel like I've finally hit "Play" on 2014.

Choose, Seek, Embrace

I've learned this year that it's all about choices.

I get to choose what I devote my time to.

I get to choose how I feel.

I get to choose what I write about.

I get to choose what I give importance to.

It's surprising how often I choose to feel panicked, when I have peace just at my fingertips.  Peace is available to all of us, all the time.

At the beginning of the year, I took a class that altered the way I wanted to view the world.  The "One Thousand Gifts" author encouraged us all to not go through life like it's an emergency, but to slow down, count each moment for what it is, and be thankful.

This year has given plenty of opportunities for grumbling and complaining, but even more for thanksgiving.

As the new year takes over, I want to step up my "Thankful Game".

To turn over a new leaf, I must train my brain and eyes to think differently.  

I will love, laugh, connect, play, and dream.

I will cry, think too hard, and give myself headaches.

But through it all, I will continue to choose energy, seek joy, and embrace the grace.

I hope you will, too.

Excited for the journey,

Gilda

Why I Don't Want to Get Married

I wasn’t the little girl who grew up dreaming of her one-day wedding.  And now, I’m not the mid-20’s gal dreaming of a wedding, or beating myself up because I haven’t had one.

I grew up in Southwestern Arizona.  As far as I can recall, my high school classmates and teammates did not spend their time talking about engagements, weddings, or babies.  Maybe I just didn’t pay enough attention.

I moved to Central Kansas for college.  CULTURE SHOCK, big time.  Life suddenly revolved to a different degree around who was dating whom, who was together or not together.  Then it became, “Who was getting engaged”.

Don’t get me wrong, at some point during my sophomore year of college, I made the decision that I would get married at 22 years of age.  It seemed like what was expected and accepted, and almost demanded.  Like something was wrong with you if this wasn’t how your life unfolded.

Then the guy I pictured this wedding with went and broke my heart.  He was only the second “real” dating relationship I had been in (I “dated” three boys in high school), but I was dead-set on us getting married.  And then it didn’t happen.

Now, hold on, because I think I’m too strong to let one person make my mind up for me about love and relationships, so I don’t just blame this situation.

It was at this point that I began a new phase in my personal growth.  First came the shattering of my heart, spirit, and any and all love for life that I had.  Seriously, borderline manic-suicidal.  

Then the real growth took place.  

I’ve spent the last 5 and a half years rebuilding my broken faith and crushed dreams; mending my broken heart and nurturing my broken spirit.  I’ve forced myself to face the fact that I had the definition of “relationship” completely wrong.  I’ve done hard work of realizing that I had spent 21 years looking for validation from other people, seeking to plant roots inside someone else’s mind and heart, because I didn’t have my own solid roots to derive life from.

I didn’t have a picture of love in the family I grew up in.  My parents were not married.  Actually, they signed a piece of paper on my father’s deathbed in front of a priest.  I was seventeen, and I was asked to interpret the pathetic “ceremony”.  I was overcome by waves of nausea and thrust the little booklet back at the priest.

Over the last seven years in Kansas, I’ve spent time with different families, observing the marriage relationships of the mother and father, learning about how children (my college classmates and teammates) who grew up in a two-parent home create their ideals about life and marriage.

I wouldn’t say I blame the pain or loss of my upbringing for any anger or resentment I have towards marriage.  Rather, I think I’m too scared to mess it up.  I also think I’ve become too independent and secure in myself and happy with my own company to want to even think about sharing my every day with someone.  I’ve reached the point where I can have dreams for myself and goals for myself, and plans for my own future, without including a husband.  

I can see how having someone to share everyday moments with might be nice, but I no longer need it to complete me.  

Yes, I’m a Christian, and I can honestly say that I do not feel “God calling me to marriage” or “God telling me to be a mother” or “God having plans for me to have a common ministry with someone”.  

I just don’t feel that.

I don’t want to get married.  I don’t know when that will change.  I’m okay with it, if it never changes.  

I want to encourage others out there feeling pressure from society--to get married, to date, to have sex, to have a partner, someone by your side at all times---don’t fall for it.  Independent life is pretty awesome.

(For those wondering, I have been in a committed, heterosexual relationship for 4 and a half years--no we don't live together. We live in different towns, actually.)

Shamrock Born, Shamrock Bred

12-27-2013

This week, I learned that I lost one of my high school teammates.  

My coach “didn’t have details”...but he hinted at the cause of death.  The teammates I talked to also “didn’t have details”...but had received hints at the cause of death.

She died suddenly on December 20th, 2013.  The day before my birthday.

Regardless of the cause or time of death, the pain came for those of us who learned of the loss.

As I allowed myself to reflect on the situation, I realized that this girl was my teammate year-round; three sports; for four years.  Cross-country, basketball, and track and field.  I tried in vain to calculate the hours I spent in training with her, the miles I ran by her side; the hours I spent in 12-passenger vans and busses with her, the post-game meals I shared with her; the tears we shed in locker rooms after heartwrenching losses, the laughs and jokes we shared on long runs.  

I replayed the silly costumes for Halloween Spirit Weeks at school, the picture-perfect moments in different states for all of our competitions--the Grand Canyon, Southern California.  I recalled our week-long cross-country camp in the summer of 2005, in the mountains of Utah, just two months after my dad died. She was one of many supportive teammates.  I replayed every lap I watched her run in the 3200m run every spring.  I re-cheered her on.  I recalled the way she carried her body while she ran, saw the twinkle in her eyes when she laughed.

I tried to count the days, the hours, the minutes I spent by her side.

And I realized I was too late.

I realized that I started counting the moments too late in the game.  I realized that I didn’t do a good enough job of keeping in touch, of asking her how her life was, of offering support, or even acknowledging and offering thanks for the four years during which she was such an integral part of my inner circle.

In high school, every team I was on was so loyal to each other.  We were the first to respond to each other’s needs, the first to notice if something had gone amiss.  We were study buddies, pushers, encouragers, and distracters when need be.  We refused to listen to each other talk badly about ourselves; we always had a positive word to cancel out any negative thoughts.

How does someone go from being an immediate part of your daily life, to being just a face you see once in a while, while mindlessly scrolling down your Facebook Newsfeed?

It doesn’t matter that 7 and a half years have gone by since high school graduation.  That’s just time.  When I spoke with some of my teammates on the phone regarding the news, we expressed our love for one another--girls I hadn’t spoken to on the phone in years. Time is just an illusion.  These girls are forever a part of my soul.

The life lessons I learned from my hours, days, weeks, and months of training and competition alongside these ladies shaped me for the rest of my life.  I didn’t have much of a traditional “social circle” in high school; my life revolved around these girls.  They colored my days and brightened the few nights we were allowed to stay out later than normal when we didn’t have to worry about an early morning practice or bus ride to a competition.  They shared in birthday parties and attended my father’s funeral.

How can I give so little attention to the girls who stood by me when the rest of the world wanted nothing to do with me?  How can I not offer thanks for the human spirits who encouraged me and looked the other way when I did make mistakes--maybe caused a turnover in our basketball game, or dropped the shot-put at a bad angle and didn’t win us as many points as I should have?

This moment in time is both an offering of thanks, and one of profound guilt and apology. It is both a goodbye and renewal of dedication.

The beautiful bonds I formed with all my high school teammates are ones I truly cannot separate myself from, ever.

Thank you, ladies, for never letting me down.  Thank you for sharing your courage with me.  Thank you for your beautiful, generous spirits. I promise to give each and every one of you more time and attention, and I vow to stand by you in times of need. I cherish each and every one of you.

To Sarah--see ya again soon, and then maybe we can make up for lost time.

Shamrock born, Shamrock bred.

My First Thanksgiving

11-27-2013

Today is Thanksgiving, a major American holiday.

I was thinking earlier that I don't seem to make as big a deal out of holidays as everyone around me.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think holidays are bad. 

But, in processing my thoughts and feelings about holidays, I realize that I really had no family structure growing up to show me the "American Way" or "how holidays are supposed to be done".  That's just a fact.  I am a first-generation Hispanic-American.

 A.K.A. --- my family is from Mexico, and my parents had no idea how to do things "the American Way."

I realize that this has made my experience a bit different from that of my friends and other loved ones in my life.

The first Thanksgiving we celebrated as a family was when I was in 5th grade.  It consisted of my sister, my father, and myself.

Basically, what happened was that my sister and I had spent enough years in elementary school, surrounded by children whose family structure was more traditional than ours.  We saw them and heard them every year talking about all the holidays, so of course, after a while we started asking questions---and telling our dad how it was "supposed to be".

So, in 5th grade, I told my dad, "We need to buy a turkey.  We need to cook a Thanksgiving dinner.  We are supposed to make something called stuffing.  And mashed potatoes."

My dad wanted to do anything that would make his girls happy, so went to the store and bought a turkey, a box of stuffing (don't know how I figured out what it looked like), and a box of instant mashed potatoes.

My dad helped me soak the turkey overnight in Sunny Delight orange juice.  Yes, really.
I cooked the rest of the meal.  Yup, as a 5th grader.  Not because my dad couldn't cook, and he did help a little, but because I watched lots of Food Network cooking shows at this point and also could read the English directions on the boxes.  :)

We have Polaroid pictures of the meal. 

I knew we were supposed to dress up, so I put on my favorite dress.  I knew we were supposed to pray, and I knew how to say the Our Father because I was taking Catholic CCD classes (a story all on its own--another instance of me saying, "Daddy, we are supposed to be doing this by now..."), so I made us all hold hands and I said the prayer.

I don't remember any other specific Thanksgivings in our household growing up.  I'm sure there were one or two more until I graduated from high school.  Maybe it's because Mexican families are bigger on Christmas, and this was when my grandmother would visit and we would do all of our big cooking (read: TAMALES!).

Seven of the eight Thanksgivings in my early adulthood have been celebrated with a meal and with a group of people.  I have spent time with different friends, seeing how different people celebrate the same holiday.  It's been a learning experience.  The family unit always amazes me.  It's astounding to show up as a guest to a dinner and have my friend tell me, "I'm related to every single person in this room."  I have never known anything like that.

I didn't grow up with a big family--just my mom, dad, sister, and I.  My maternal grandmother, aunt, uncle, and younger cousin lived in Mexicali, Baja California, Mexico--an hour away from my hometown in Arizona.  We visited them often, but that's as big as my family got.  I have never met any of my dad's side of the family.  They are deep down in Mexico, and I've never been.  (Yes, this is a project on my Near Future List)

I guess in telling my story, I hope to encourage people to remember that there are individuals out there who truly don't know what a family or a family gathering is "supposed to look like", and for different reasons.  I want people to remember that we're all different.  I want people to remember that not everyone has experienced everything we think they have experienced, or everything we think they "should have experienced by now".  I want us to stop putting each other in boxes.  I want us to start embracing other people's stories and backgrounds, not just pretend to understand.  I want us to not feel sorry for people like me: "Oh, poor her! She never had pumpkin pie as a child!"  It's not the end of the world.  Not everyone grows up the same way. 

We all end up on the same journey.

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