Winter break of my junior year my best friend flew out to spend Christmas and my birthday with me. I had missed her like crazy and it was nice to be somewhat normal again since my cousins funeral. The day after my birthday I woke up to my parents fighting, I'm not even sure what about but I later went upstairs to check on my dad. He retreats into himself when he gets sad and lately mom and dad had been fighting more and more. Walking in his room he wasn't responding to my questions and making eye contact. On further inspection I realized he had taken a large amount of medication. Pills were scattered all over the countertop in his bathroom. Running downstairs to tell mom felt oddly familiar. I remember the ambulance coming and directing them to my parents bedroom. My siblings crying and my best friend in shock. She had never experienced this kind of trauma and was lost on how to help. At one point I sat on the stairs holding my brother, sister and best friend. I remember thinking I wish my arms were bigger so I could hold the three of them the right way. I was 16 holding the people I love most, trying not to cry and hold it all together. We arranged a flight for Megan to go back home early and my Dad would be in a mental hospital for a few days. Break was quickly over and it was back to school to get ready for my ACTs.
Mom called the principal and he pulled me out of class to talk. He asked if I was ok and I lied to him, he apologized for everything at home and apologized for the hug he was about to give me. Pulling me into his chest he told me it was ok to let go and I finally broke down. Some afternoons while everyone was at lunch I'd go to the library to be by myself. This man always found me and would sit down and have small talk. He enjoyed making me laugh and told me I would get through it.That the world wouldn't always feel so heavy and to lean into my faith. The day Dad got home from the hospital we argued. I refused to forgive him and stood there defiant and accusatory. Him yelling "your'e a christian you're supposed to forgive me!" Wanting to yell back "well your my dad , your all I have and supposed to stay alive." The next day was my ACT testing, a day most students had prepared and studied for. The night before I cried myself to sleep. I slept during most of the math portion and in and out of the language arts. Still managing an average score but started spiraling again.
This time I pulled away for good from my family and poured myself into life at church. I don't know why, but I think I blamed my family for all my pain. It wasn't true or fair but I was a dumb teenager feeling way too much at once. So volunteering and working started to take up most of my time. I barely graduated my senior year and never applied to college-thinking who the fuck cares. I was done with the chaos of home and inside myself. (And if I'm honest home life was doing well, I just didn't care to notice) I dedicated my time to serving others. Thinking I'm too lost for anyone to fix but Jesus anyway, so why invest in myself. I thought about moving to become a missionary and continued to please others inside my church. I used my religion as a healing patch rather than digging out all the lies I believed. It took years to repair the damage I helped create in my family and for my Dad and I to bond again. I resented them and the fact that they were all so messed up. Thinking I was better and knew better, they were the ones that were wrong; not me! Replacing my own family with church family made sense at the time; but has left it's own scars. My brother especially in that time felt abandoned by me when he needed me most. And my younger sister went on to live through her own trauma without me. Today my sister and I are close and our relationship is much better; but my brother and I are still working through stuff.
High school for me was a cyclone of trauma and pain. Looking back I wish I had an advocate. Someone who was there to sort through our family pain and tell us what to do. My parents were dealing with so much of there own crap, we needed more help. My mom was caring for all of us at once while pursuing a commanding career. They both had a huge amount of weight placed on them, that probably led to the stress of fighting and my dads depression. We needed help to succeed and I never cared enough to push myself and admit that I caused a lot of the drama too. I wish I had the high school story where I was bullied or had a exceptionally challenging class or bad acne. I think maybe if I had a life coach or therapist to walk me through each day; I may have graduated differently. Maybe even attending college right out the gate.
This pain was awful but has made me the woman I am today. I've learned empathy and grace through it. I know the love of my Father God and cling to the relationships I have in my family. My parents mean the world to me and I'm beyond grateful for all they've done for me. I'm no longer afraid of being vulnerable or sharing my thoughts even if they conflict my environment. It's still a challenge at 28 to want to please others, but pleasing God is worth way more to me.
Today I am a stay at home mom. Trying to provide a steady, healthy environment for my children and give them every opportunity to go further in life. I don't have a degree or my own source of income but I'm strong. And who says it's too late for me to go to college? Recently there has been an opportunity to move to the east coast. As a family were going on a huge adventure with new possibilities. And wouldn't you know, there are great community colleges and art programs. I love how God redeems things. I've assumed the time for college was lost and just the way life goes. But maybe this is a time God shows me more of his redeemer heart. Whatever is ahead I'm excited about the future :)
Maybe your story is chaotic and you feel lost in the pain. But I promise you it's only a chapter. The great creator is writing it with you in mind. You are deeply loved and known, so keep going it's worth it.
Romans 8:18 ESV
18For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.
Friday, August 17, 2018
Back to School Part 1
I listen to NPR pretty regularly on my morning drive to my daughters school and the gym. This week there was a whole series on high school experiences and what were doing as a society to make school as successful as possible. Not just for the students but for the teachers as well. All of this made me think back on my high school experience.
In 2001 I got accepted to one of the best art high schools in the U.S. Students who got excepted often went on to attend exclusive art colleges. Julliard as one of the top acceptance; which at the time was my dream university. While going through my high school interview and getting my art portfolio ready, the country was in mourning and left confused about where to go from there. September 11th was a few weeks before I was to start my freshman year. I loved the school, for the first time I was challenged and with people who loved creating as much as I did. It was a challenging work load and I quickly began to learn I couldn't just skate by. Three months in on winter break I traveled to my cousins house to celebrate my birthday. She was my best friend and confidant in everything. Patricia taught me about God and loved me with every ounce of herself. She died the morning of December 30th while taking a shower. It was three days after my birthday.
The night before we were cuddled up in bed talking into the night. I don't remember much about the day but in snapshots. I remember the feeling of the cold dirt outside while I ran to the neighbors and waited to direct the ambulance from the country road. I remember waiting by the door after they took her body. Sitting by the family dogs waiting for her to come back. I didn't cry, didn't move, I don't even think I spoke. I remember my mom coming and at one point telling me I needed to come home. Looking back I know she was trying to care for me but it was one of the times I yelled no at my mother. I was so angry I'm surprised I didn't get violent. I needed to stay for when she came back. It was a lie, I knew she was alive. She was 19 , how does your heart stop that young? As a child she was diagnosed with lupus but had been doing pretty well. It all didn't make sense. It still doesn't make much sense to me.
That evening my mom crawled into my bed and wrapped her arms around me, pressing into my back. I guess I had been crying so hard you could hear me across the house. I was never the same after that. My best friend Megan sat with me as I got ready for the funeral, kissing and wipping my silent tears away. I don't know if she told me anything but not much helped. My family did what they could but part of me died that day too. I started spiraling and dreamed about killing myself. At least if I was dead I could be with her. I didn't last 6 months into my school and had to drop out my freshman year. Eventually I got counseling but I knew the therapist was crap so I played her like a fiddle. Learning quickly to put on a mask to make others happy and make it look like I was surviving. I didn't want to put my family through more pain and if I killed myself my siblings wouldn't have their big sister. So I learned to lie and I got pretty good at it.
Because I started school a year early as a child I was able to repeat my freshman year without much change to my age group. 2003 I moved to Wyoming to live with an aunt who lived in the country. Diving head first into manual labor, structure and back to the catholic church. Secretly I had grown to hate God or anything to do with him. Because he killed my best friend. But knowing how much my cousin loved Jesus I thought it would probably make her proud if I pressed forward. And what if she saw me yelling at the God she prayed so fervently too? I did everything I was told and got better. Structure helped and as long as I didn't stop, I didn't break apart. Pleasing others became easier, but inside I cut myself off from everyone. Family, friends it didn't matter. I felt alone and would survive alone. Over Christmas break that year my parents moved to Colorado, I would be attending my sophomore year in Colorado Springs. I hated my parents all over again for taking me home and refused to talk to my father most of the drive to Colorado. Again they were loving me and if I stayed there I probably never would have become the woman I am now. I think eventually if I stayed in Wyoming I would have run away; after-all if I was actually alone I wouldn't have to work so hard to please others.
2004 I started Falcon High School as a sophomore. My grades didn't really suffer as I've always been good at school. But instead of my normal straight A's I didn't care. B's and C's were just fine. I didn't want to make friends so I often sat alone and ate lunch alone. Who cares anyway? My mom had started attending a protestant church that spring and I told her she would go to hell for leaving the Roman Catholic church. I hated everything she told me about Jesus and the new structure she made for me. My mom knew I wasn't ok even if I could lie to myself and believe she didn't know me. My mother has always known me ( I'm just like her and I'm so glad she didn't let me go). She would say I needed healing and that Jesus was the only one that could change me. She prayed every day of my sophomore year for me to come to know him as she did. I was so mad. The rule was do well in school or I'd be grounded and on the weekends I had to go to service with her if I wanted to go to mass Sunday evenings. Fine! She's going to hell anyway, I'll listen to these stupid rules.
So I started going to church and listening to the sermons about Jesus. I did what was required at school and started engaging my family at meals. Wouldn't you know it my mom was right! Jesus did save my life. More than just a spiritual reformation, but I cared again. I wanted to heal and grow and get back to creating. I wanted to learn how to love God and others well. I became a regular Jesus Freak, completely head over heels in love with Jesus. I didn't care if that made me weird or gave me no friends. No one could know how dead I felt inside before. How daily; I would think how many of these pills should I take until I don't feel anymore or how deep would I have to cut this vain before I bled out. I still was suffering with depression but it felt like God sat down in the pit with me and wrapped his arms around me and cleaned me up.
During study hall I would sit and read my bible which is how I made my first friend. An extremely cute boy who loved Jesus too. We started a bible study together with other students and I didn't eat alone anymore. I slowly met people and continued to try and be social like I once was. But I was weird, I was the christian girl who wore undershirts in order to stay modest. I didn't date or have sex or party. I didn't engage in sports or advanced classes to challenge myself. (inside I still barely cared-just was no longer wanting to off myself daily) Even the cute christian boy didn't really like me like I liked him. Granted I followed him around like a lost puppy and everyone could probably tell I had a crush. I was heart broken my junior year when he didn't return the love I had for him. Confused why I wasn't wanted as more than a friend. If maybe, even though now I had Jesus , maybe I was still meant to be alone.
I learned a lot those first couple of years, mostly about myself and what I am capable of. I think during this season of life students are just trying to make it through. There is so much change socially, emotionally, sexually and mentally it's a lot for a 16 year old to cope with. But if we can instill in our children confidence in who they are, and provide vulnerability as parents, I think they could be more well rounded and healthy adults. I remember telling my mom during this time how confusing boys are and no one seemed truly interested in who I am. More on if I party, drink, have sex or play sports. It all felt shallow and like no one saw my substance. She told me to keep going and so much changes from the time you're 16 to 25, so hold on and pursue my own growth and health. I think that carried me a long way and is something I will probably advise to my own children. So thanks Mom for always being right and seeing more in me than I ever saw in myself.
In 2001 I got accepted to one of the best art high schools in the U.S. Students who got excepted often went on to attend exclusive art colleges. Julliard as one of the top acceptance; which at the time was my dream university. While going through my high school interview and getting my art portfolio ready, the country was in mourning and left confused about where to go from there. September 11th was a few weeks before I was to start my freshman year. I loved the school, for the first time I was challenged and with people who loved creating as much as I did. It was a challenging work load and I quickly began to learn I couldn't just skate by. Three months in on winter break I traveled to my cousins house to celebrate my birthday. She was my best friend and confidant in everything. Patricia taught me about God and loved me with every ounce of herself. She died the morning of December 30th while taking a shower. It was three days after my birthday.
The night before we were cuddled up in bed talking into the night. I don't remember much about the day but in snapshots. I remember the feeling of the cold dirt outside while I ran to the neighbors and waited to direct the ambulance from the country road. I remember waiting by the door after they took her body. Sitting by the family dogs waiting for her to come back. I didn't cry, didn't move, I don't even think I spoke. I remember my mom coming and at one point telling me I needed to come home. Looking back I know she was trying to care for me but it was one of the times I yelled no at my mother. I was so angry I'm surprised I didn't get violent. I needed to stay for when she came back. It was a lie, I knew she was alive. She was 19 , how does your heart stop that young? As a child she was diagnosed with lupus but had been doing pretty well. It all didn't make sense. It still doesn't make much sense to me.
That evening my mom crawled into my bed and wrapped her arms around me, pressing into my back. I guess I had been crying so hard you could hear me across the house. I was never the same after that. My best friend Megan sat with me as I got ready for the funeral, kissing and wipping my silent tears away. I don't know if she told me anything but not much helped. My family did what they could but part of me died that day too. I started spiraling and dreamed about killing myself. At least if I was dead I could be with her. I didn't last 6 months into my school and had to drop out my freshman year. Eventually I got counseling but I knew the therapist was crap so I played her like a fiddle. Learning quickly to put on a mask to make others happy and make it look like I was surviving. I didn't want to put my family through more pain and if I killed myself my siblings wouldn't have their big sister. So I learned to lie and I got pretty good at it.
Because I started school a year early as a child I was able to repeat my freshman year without much change to my age group. 2003 I moved to Wyoming to live with an aunt who lived in the country. Diving head first into manual labor, structure and back to the catholic church. Secretly I had grown to hate God or anything to do with him. Because he killed my best friend. But knowing how much my cousin loved Jesus I thought it would probably make her proud if I pressed forward. And what if she saw me yelling at the God she prayed so fervently too? I did everything I was told and got better. Structure helped and as long as I didn't stop, I didn't break apart. Pleasing others became easier, but inside I cut myself off from everyone. Family, friends it didn't matter. I felt alone and would survive alone. Over Christmas break that year my parents moved to Colorado, I would be attending my sophomore year in Colorado Springs. I hated my parents all over again for taking me home and refused to talk to my father most of the drive to Colorado. Again they were loving me and if I stayed there I probably never would have become the woman I am now. I think eventually if I stayed in Wyoming I would have run away; after-all if I was actually alone I wouldn't have to work so hard to please others.
2004 I started Falcon High School as a sophomore. My grades didn't really suffer as I've always been good at school. But instead of my normal straight A's I didn't care. B's and C's were just fine. I didn't want to make friends so I often sat alone and ate lunch alone. Who cares anyway? My mom had started attending a protestant church that spring and I told her she would go to hell for leaving the Roman Catholic church. I hated everything she told me about Jesus and the new structure she made for me. My mom knew I wasn't ok even if I could lie to myself and believe she didn't know me. My mother has always known me ( I'm just like her and I'm so glad she didn't let me go). She would say I needed healing and that Jesus was the only one that could change me. She prayed every day of my sophomore year for me to come to know him as she did. I was so mad. The rule was do well in school or I'd be grounded and on the weekends I had to go to service with her if I wanted to go to mass Sunday evenings. Fine! She's going to hell anyway, I'll listen to these stupid rules.
So I started going to church and listening to the sermons about Jesus. I did what was required at school and started engaging my family at meals. Wouldn't you know it my mom was right! Jesus did save my life. More than just a spiritual reformation, but I cared again. I wanted to heal and grow and get back to creating. I wanted to learn how to love God and others well. I became a regular Jesus Freak, completely head over heels in love with Jesus. I didn't care if that made me weird or gave me no friends. No one could know how dead I felt inside before. How daily; I would think how many of these pills should I take until I don't feel anymore or how deep would I have to cut this vain before I bled out. I still was suffering with depression but it felt like God sat down in the pit with me and wrapped his arms around me and cleaned me up.
During study hall I would sit and read my bible which is how I made my first friend. An extremely cute boy who loved Jesus too. We started a bible study together with other students and I didn't eat alone anymore. I slowly met people and continued to try and be social like I once was. But I was weird, I was the christian girl who wore undershirts in order to stay modest. I didn't date or have sex or party. I didn't engage in sports or advanced classes to challenge myself. (inside I still barely cared-just was no longer wanting to off myself daily) Even the cute christian boy didn't really like me like I liked him. Granted I followed him around like a lost puppy and everyone could probably tell I had a crush. I was heart broken my junior year when he didn't return the love I had for him. Confused why I wasn't wanted as more than a friend. If maybe, even though now I had Jesus , maybe I was still meant to be alone.
I learned a lot those first couple of years, mostly about myself and what I am capable of. I think during this season of life students are just trying to make it through. There is so much change socially, emotionally, sexually and mentally it's a lot for a 16 year old to cope with. But if we can instill in our children confidence in who they are, and provide vulnerability as parents, I think they could be more well rounded and healthy adults. I remember telling my mom during this time how confusing boys are and no one seemed truly interested in who I am. More on if I party, drink, have sex or play sports. It all felt shallow and like no one saw my substance. She told me to keep going and so much changes from the time you're 16 to 25, so hold on and pursue my own growth and health. I think that carried me a long way and is something I will probably advise to my own children. So thanks Mom for always being right and seeing more in me than I ever saw in myself.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Bookclub Heartache
Recently I started going to a bookclub. It's been my dream to attend one since I turned 18. I'm not even sure why, just the idea of enjoying literature with other book lovers and drinking wine seemed so elegant. So adult- like I arrived somehow. It sounded profound and a great gift. In some ways it has been exactly that but some nights I drive home crying. I have been attending once a month for about a year and I'm learning a lot. But what's surprising is I'm learning more about myself and my relationships with women.
I have always been a friend that was needed. To give comfort, advice or just be there. I was and am still the mama hen. The one that cares deeply, that cries with you and hugs tight. And I'm loyal (possibly even to a fault because of abandonment issues-but thats a different story) . I'm always needed and feel valued by those friendships. We still have issues and arguments and don't always get it right. I've hurt friends beyond repair and don't know if I will ever get the chance to try and fix that. But in the end I know who I am and have learned. My dearest friendships are my tribe, the ones who encourage and hold me up, the ones that call out my crap and I love them for it. They have seen me at my ugliest and been there for the most joyous seasons of my life. They mean so much to me and always well.
Anyway, all that to say I know who I am and who I am not. And I embrace it and work every day to try and become better than yesterday. So I can love more, heal more and keep reaching out towards wholeness. But what I'm learning is not everyone wants to be my friend.
I get that, duh; thats simple. That's something I teach to my daughters and I should know. Not everyone will like you and be your friend. But it still sucks and sometimes hurts more than I can properly communicate. I've started asking myself why it bother me so much, and the answer is pretty disgusting in my opinion. It's because if I'm not needed, if I'm not important enough to be another dear friend, then who am I? What value do I have? Being the one that cares has been so deeply rooted into my identity, I'm scared to not have that all the time.
I started attending this book club excited about being with women who value the things I do. Who love to read and discuss and grow. Who may want to talk about more books they love, who recommend and just say oh yah me too. Maybe even find a new dear friend I can share life with. But I haven't found that, I've found that sometimes women are guarded, confusing, judge-mental and maybe I make some uncomfortable. I feel like maybe I talk to much (which happens more when I'm nervous) and maybe feel too much. Maybe I expect too much in myself and in others. But I bet I mostly annoy them. But isn't the best love and friendship when someone just meets you where you're at? When they accept how you are and embrace that? When there like yeah she's weird but whatever so are all of us. We're all messed up and looking to be loved and known.
One of the deep lessons in all of this is my own pride. It's not all about me or how I feel or who I make connections with. It's about growing and learning. That's one of the joys of reading. You're able to wrap yourself up into a story unlike your own. To wonder and think deeply, you get to ask tough questions and look into another point of view. (You also just get to enjoy and maybe even laugh.) And it's not about the possible friendships either or the pressure, it's just about enjoying the moment. So I go every month. I eat desserts and drink hot coffee and enjoy the wonderful hospitality I'm given. (The woman who leads it probably will never know the comfort she brings just by serving and inviting me). I don't know if the women attending like me, but I like them. And who the hell cares if I'm liked anyway! I enjoy their differences and watching commune with one another. I like watching them laugh and seeing there story through how they discuss and carry themselves. It's wrong of me to get so caught up in myself and what I should or should not do when it's about being present.
I want to give more and be less. Not in a self depreciating way; just love more and be okay with who I am. I am loved and I am known. Not everyone will love me or even want to be around me. Nothing is wrong with that either. I'd rather just be and maybe every-once in a while some kindred spirit will come along and say me too. But in the meantime I'm just going to try and let go and be. To not think so much, stay humble, keep reading and being. Loving deeply and pressing into those that love me best.
Colossians 3:12-14 ESV
Therefore, as Gods chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourself with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.
Romans 12:18 NLT
If it is possible on your part, live at peace with everyone.
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