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The Not-So-Christmas Spirit
"I feel like I'm out of control. I have no way of channeling my emotions," I said.
"I was hoping your blog would help you do that," replied my mother.
"I can't write about this. Not really. I have called myself The Realistic Optimist, but I am anything but optimistic right now. I'm drowning in darkness."
I know that my mother is wise, but she caught me by surprise when she looked at me and asked this simple question. "Who are you to withhold your words from those who might need to hear them the most?"
She's right. I was wrong. And for that I'm very sorry.
I am The Realistic Optimist. Sometimes I'm heavy on the optimism. Other times the scale tips deep into the real. I'm always seeking balance, but sometimes I fall short.
The reality of my situation hit me while sitting in Sunday school right before Christmas. The rest of my family had already left for vacation and I was left in an empty house. Our Sunday school class had been covering various individuals in the Christmas story. This final week was spent talking about Herod. The pastor leading our group asked us which of the characters we identified with the most in the story of Christ's birth. We talk about Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, and the wise men. Even the little drummer boy. But rarely do we consider the role that King Herod plays in the greatest story on earth.
As we talked more and more about Herod, I came to the startling realization that there was no one in the entire Christmas story that I identified with more than King Herod. It was everything I could do to contain my tears in that moment of revelation.
Every year after Thanksgiving, people refer to something called the Christmas Spirit. It usually involves a joy of decorating, singing, and baking. This year I experienced none of it. I did not want to decorate. I avoided Christmas carols at all costs. And as for baking...and here's the "real" part folks...that just wasn't happening. I'm knee-deep in eating disorder treatment and festive food is the last thing on my mind.
(That's right. You read correctly. Eating disorder treatment. Today it may seem like I'm glossing over this radical life event, but I promise to address the issue in the near future. For this story, however, you only need to know the nature of my struggle.)
Back to Herod.
While everyone else in the Christmas story joyously celebrated the birth of our Lord and Savior, Herod saw the event as a threat to his kingship--his power and control--everything he had worked for--his life. The presence of Jesus in this world was a direct challenge to everything that Herod valued.
This year the Christmas spirit haunted me. It burdened my soul. It was not until that day in Sunday school that I realized the truth. That the coming of Jesus threatens the control I've tricked myself into believing that I have. My ability to control my food intake and body is an all-consuming illusion. An illusion that brings me nothing but complete and utter misery. An illusion that extinguished the true meaning of the birth of the King. It robbed me of joy, left me in a perpetual state of exhaustion, and slowly drained the warmth from my skin and the sparkle from my eyes. Yet I clung to my illusion and avoided anything that threatened its existence. The thing I feared was the very thing I needed--the only thing that could save me--Jesus.
I'd like to say that this realization changed my heart and allowed me to joyfully celebrate Christmas with my family.
It did not.
Revelation does not always breed immediate change, but it does aerate the heart. Which is exactly what I needed.
People often confuse the Christmas spirit with Advent. They become blended together; a single entity. But Advent is a season of preparation and anticipation. It involves the heart and the soul, which means it might not always be cheerful or involve and upbeat melody. For me, Advent meant observing my role in the story and realizing my devastation at what had become my reality. In it's own way, the Advent season prepared my heart to realize the magnitude of what was to come: an all-powerful King who destroyed my very need for an illusion of any sort.
I know I'm a little late in sharing this story. Most people have already begun taking down their Christmas lights. We're going back to work and school. Walmart is already filling their empty shelves with Valentine's Day candy. But I thought it was a story that deserved to be shared. Because I have a feeling I'm not the only person who found Christmas difficult this year. Perhaps you don't have a heart like Herod. Maybe illness has shaken your world or a valued relationship has been destroyed. There are many forms of pain that can keep us from experiencing joy. Often our knowledge of this fact can be more devestating than the pain itself. And that's ok.
It's ok to admit a hurt. It's ok to feel sad. It's ok to cry while everyone else appears to be laughing.
Because a King has come and the story has a happy ending. The pain will not last forever. This is not the end.
So cry. Mourn. Scream.
As long as you are breathing, there is room for a revelation. One that will aerate your heart and provide a breeding ground for hope and renewal.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Wait. He will meet you here.
One of Those People
Today I realized something about myself. You know the people who don't respond to emails, texts, messages, voicemails, tweets, and comments right away? Those people drive me crazy. Especially if you know they received and read your message, but fail to respond in a "timely" manner. Gosh darn it, even as I write about them it gets my blood boiling. Especially because...I am now one of those people.
These last few weeks have been completely and utterly exhausting. I wake up at 5 am and don't pull in the driveway until 8:30 at night. While I glance at my phone and read messages from time to time, I rarely reply right away. Sometimes I don't reply at all. By the time I get home, I usually only have enough energy to eat a quick snack and pack my lunch for the next day. Then it's an early bedtime so I'm prepared to get up and do it all over again the next day.
So I've convinced myself that it's ok. It's ok that I fail to reply to texts, return phone calls, and comment and pictures and posts. During the week, that is. I'm a busy working woman. But I should be making up for it on the weekends, right?
Wrong. You see, there's been a sense of freedom that has come from being too busy as a result of this semi-out-of-control life. It's taught me that it's ok to leave the phone in another room. Not every text needs to be answered (at least not right away). It's not necessary to read every post in your newsfeed. You don't need to send a personal message to every person who follows you on Twitter. The sun sets at night and it rises the next morning. Your friends are still there and most of your readers haven't lost interest in what you have to say.
Right now I'm a slave to my schedule more than a slave to my phone. Things should be letting up soon schedule wise. These marathon days are catching up with me, but I'm hopeful that things will be returning to "normal" within the next few weeks. But--in a way--I'm hesitant to return to normal. I don't want to return to the way things were. I want to take the lessons I've learned while running this marathon and live my life in a better way.
The truth is this: I don't have to be a slave to anything. Not my schedule. Not my phone. And I'm ok with being one of those people. While my response time will most likely improve once my schedule lets up, I intend to maintain my identity apart from my phone. I think we confuse relationship with texting. Friends with follows. Fellowship with an lol. While technology can enhance relationships, it can also deceive us into thinking we have something that we're missing.
I have a new appreciation for those people. The ones who can separate the important from the mundane. Who can have a fun time without checking Facebook every 5 minutes. Who are confident that their relationships don't hinge on how quickly they respond to texts. Who are free from the anxiety that an unreturned phone call can sometimes bring.
In all honesty, I hope to become more like one of those people. And I'm thankful for the circumstances that brought me to a place of clarity; a place where I can finally see this characteristic as a virtue rather than a flaw.
What are you unintentionally slave to?
P.S. None of this changes the fact that I love my phone. Technology is not evil and neither are iPhones. Life is a balancing act, folks.
Just Keep Showing Up
About a month ago, I was on the phone with a friend who I admire a great deal. Actually, I must say that I admire all of my friends in one way or another. Whether it's for their strength, character, vulnerability, or sense of humor, each of my friends has at least one quality that I personally desire to possess and grow in. But I digress.
This particular friend lives far away (I can say this without revealing their identity because, unfortunately, many of my friends live far away). We don't talk frequently, but that doesn't mean our few conversations don't run deep. We typically don't waste much time discussing the superficialities of life, rather we dig beneath the surface and address the core issues that we are experiencing on a day-to-day basis. I believe this is want makes a true friendship.
It's no secret that I've faced some serious trails in my life. I think everyone has. Mine just happened to occur in the spotlight rather than the shadows. I've been told that this makes me one of the lucky ones, but that's a story for another day. During our conversation, this friend shared with me her recent struggle and her decision to work through the issue with a therapist. She said to me, "Brittany, some days I don't want to go and I don't know why I even bother. But I just keep showing up."
I laughed a little, not because it was funny, but because I thought she might finally understand a piece of my own journey. The kind of piece you can only understand having gone through a similar experience yourself. Our conversation didn't solve any problems or reveal the mysteries of the universe, but I think we both hung up the phone feeling a little less alone.
Her words have clung to me even now...more than a month later. I think we all seek healing of some kind. There are times we want to give up the fight; times we don't even know why we bother engaging at all. But whether it's to a therapy session or life in general, we just keep showing up. Sometimes we're fully clothed in armor and other times we hang our heads in rejection and exhaustion. But we're there.
5 Reasons Why I Keep Showing Up
It never leaves me any worse off. Sometimes showing up to life or to an appointment doesn't seem to make much of a difference. The things that cause us pain are rarely resolved in the short-term. But I'm never any worse off as a result of showing up. So I do.
It gives me something to do. Having something on your mind is annoying, but not being able to do anything about it is even worse. It can drive you crazy. Showing up means you're taking action. You might not be sure what the action is or what the result will be, but at least you're doing something. It makes me feel better about myself.
I'm hopeful. Not everyone has this reason; I've lacked it a few dozen times myself. Today I'm here to attest to the fact that hope can be restored. Lives can be transformed. I've seen it and I've experienced it. So even when I don't see hope in a situation, I am hopeful.
It's all I've ever known. It's hard to break a habit, and showing up is one that's been etched into my character since youth. If I felt unprepared, I took the test anyway. If I was exhausted, I ran the race anyway. If I was nervous, I recited my lines anyway. If I was scared, I woke up anyway. If I was weak, I asked for help anyway. If I failed, I tried again anyway. You might not see it in yourself, but I'd challenge you to search for it anyway. If you're reading this, I'm certain you've had every reason not to do something...but done it anyway. You keep showing up because it's all you've ever done.
I'm not ready to give up. I've felt like a failure many times over the years. Just when I think I've defeated a stronghold, I find myself under yet another attack. It's discouraging. I've had many opportunities to give up. Some would say I've even had good reason to do so. But you know what? I'm not ready. I still have fight in me. Each time I admit my weakness, I find a little bit more strength in Christ and suddenly I'm back in the ring. I'm not ready to give up because I know that the battle has already been won. Victory is mine. Who gives up a battle they've already won? While I may have been called crazy a time or two, I'm not foolish. So I keep showing up.
Before I close, I want to make one thing clear. "Showing up" is not equivalent to "fighting". You can still show up, even if you don't have much fight left into. Showing up just means walking through the door. Being present. Engaging in the process. Sometimes you're conquering dragons and other times you're crawling out of bed in the morning. Either way you're showing up. See, you're already doing it :)
Why do you keep showing up?
Creating An Eternal Moment
I've been a bit delinquent in my blogging over the last week, so I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I usually compose my blog posts the weekend before you see them. I write one post on Saturday and one on Sunday, then schedule them to go live during the week. It decreases my stress level and allows me to follow my heart while writing. Plus it provides my readers with a bit of reliability and routine. My hope is that you grow to anticipate my Monday and Thursday evening posts.
So scheduling blog posts seems to be a mutually beneficial practice. Except when my weekend gets crazy and I don't have time to write. I'm usually able to squeeze in the time, but last weekend was my sister's wedding. My family was in town, our schedule was packed, and your little sister only gets married once, right? Besides experiencing the joy of my beautiful sister marrying her soulmate, I figured the weekend was also bound to provide me with some sort of blogging inspiration. I knew my readers would understand.
The weekend was magical and I was caught up in a whirlwind of excitement. Before I knew it, I was colliding with reality Monday morning as I woke up at 5 am and downed 2 shots of espresso. When my coworkers arrived at work, I found myself bombarded with questions about the wedding. They wanted pictures. Pictures of the flowers, my sister, my daughter, the dresses, the groom, the church, the food. And you know what? Besides a few snapshots of the girls getting their hair and makeup done, I had none.
What kind of maid of honor spends an entire weekend with her sister on the most important day of her life and walks away without a single picture to capture the epic event???
I've realized a few things about pictures and cameras over the years and I've come to believe there are 2 kinds of people: the ones who make memories and the ones who capture them.
There's really no right or wrong way to go, but the fact still stands. Some people find joy in living in the moment; fully throwing themselves into the present and become a part of whatever is going on in their environment. Other people are happiest when they're capturing the moment; experiencing the present by stepping outside of their environment and observantly photographing the people and surroundings that currently comprise their life.
Both kinds of people make life richer. Without those living in the moment, the capturers would have nothing to capture. Without the capturers, the doers would have no memories of their experiences. Both kinds of people are important. Both contribute to a joyful and memorable life.
Me? I enjoy having photographs that capture the moment, but I enjoy the moment more. I believe life is a balance. I've seen people so obsessed with capturing the perfect shot that they miss the moment itself and find themselves miserable over it. I think we have to work together to combine our joys into something greater than ourselves. The result is something beautiful: an eternal moment.
In search of an eternal moment last weekend, I surrendered to delayed gratification. I fully immersed myself in the experience and let the paid photographers do the capturing. I might not have had photographs to share at work on Monday morning, but I got to have fun and have documentation of the experience at the same time. Even though I was a little bit sad not to have pictures to immediately post to social media.So what kind of person are you?
Are you a person who makes memories or one who captures them?
(remember, there is no wrong answer!!!)
Why Crutches Still Stand By My Mirror
It's been 2 months since I've needed them, but my crutches still stand by the full-length mirror in my bedroom. My daughter pointed them out to me the other day and asked why they were still there. I didn't have a very good answer for that one. It wasn't until later that I discovered there are actually...
5 Reasons Why I Still Keep My Crutches Handy
I'm lazy. Part of the reason the crutches still reside in the corner of my room is that I've been too lazy to move them elsewhere. It's just that simple.
I'm scared. I'll be the first to admit that there is a sense of fear involved. I've experienced enough to know that pain does not discriminate between days or seasons. My hip can feel just fine one day, then cause me excruciating pain the next. When experience mixes with the unknown, a degree of fear is not a surprising development. So it doesn't hurt to be prepared.
They're a part of me. There have been long periods of my life during which my crutches were just another accessory that I wore daily. Just as I clipped on my watch or slid on my Mercy ring, so did a grab 1 or 2 crutches to get me through the day. All of my most necessary accessories are within arms reach of my mirror. It's natural.
They inspire gratitude. When I look at my crutches, I'm reminded that there is much to be thankful for. There were lots of things I wasn't able to do while using crutches. Most things that I could do took a lot longer to do. One of the most devastating realities of being stuck on crutches was my inability to carry a cup of coffee. Now that's a rough life, folks. So when I see my crutches at the start or end of the day, I'm encouraged to think of life's simple pleasures that I am free to enjoy.
They remind me. It's true. Those crutches remind me that anything is possible. Both the good and the bad. The world will try to knock you down, but there's always someone who will carry you. Setbacks are practically guaranteed and nearly always unexpected. But they don't last forever. In a way, my crutches symbolize Jesus. I don't put them away because I don't put Him away. I always need Him and I always look to Him. Some days I lean on Him more than others and that isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's okay to need some help guys. Jesus would rather me lean on Him in painful circumstances than try to tough it out myself. He's strong enough to bear the burden that weighs me down.
I know it's a mixture of simple, silly, and serious, but it's all true. You probably won't see or hear of me stowing away my crutches in the near future. They're an important part of my story and I can't say for certain that their role is finished in the plot that is my life.
What random item have you been reluctant to place in storage?
“Someone Should Have Warned Her”
It was my first day of training and there I sat in our team meeting. The meeting had started late because I was late. I was in a car accident the day before and had to rent a car that morning. Not at all the way I had planned on starting my brand new job.
The meeting was unlike any other I'd been to work-wise. We started off in prayer, then went around the room sharing how our weekends had gone. The women listened attentively as I shared the story my accident on Monday. They shook their heads and said, "Someone should have warned her."
Warned me of what?
Well that requires me sharing a bit of the backstory. One that very few people have yet to hear.
I recently began looking for a full-time job. There were many factors contributing to this decision and maybe I'll address them in a future post, but it is not today's mission to defend my decision. I wasn't desperate for work--I had a great part-time job--so I didn't want to settle for the first job that I came across. I trusted that the right job would present itself, even though I continued to be impatient.
Meanwhile, it turns out that my blogging has served as a vehicle for reconnecting with distant friends. After reading one of my posts, a friend reached out and we got together. We live less than 20 minutes apart, but rarely see each other. I let life get in the way of that. After spending an afternoon together, she invited me to her church that weekend. My family had flirted with the idea of visiting some other churches, so we embraced the invitation and gave it a whirl.
I'm so glad I was vulnerable and wrote that post. I'm so glad my friend read it and texted me. I'm so glad we got together. And I'm so glad she invited me to her church because it just felt like home.
We found ourselves there for a second Sunday and my dad leaned over to me and pointed to the bulletin: there was an advertisement for an accounting position at the church. I composed a cover letter and submitted my resume that afternoon. I didn't have the experience, but I had some skills and figured there was nothing to lose.
Later that week I had an interview, then there was a second interview, and before I knew it I was on the phone accepting an offer for a staff accountant position at the church. There are a few other pieces to the story that make things even more interesting, but I'll just say this: only God could have brought things together in this way. I would have been a fool to refuse.
So with a story like that, what should I have been warned of? What did they forget to tell me during the interview process?
Well it turns out that even though I'm working in the business office, my career is still rooted in ministry. We're working for the kingdom of God, which makes us prime targets for the enemy. In accepting employment with the church, I was accepting a degree of spiritual warfare. Although devastating, apparently my car accident the night before my first day was really no surprise to my coworkers. It simply comes with the territory. Someone should have warned me.
But I don't think a warning would have changed my decision very much. And the accident certainly didn't cause me any regret. I know no job is perfect, but this one is about as close as you can get. I thought I would have to compromise. I loved my job at the college and thought leaving to seek full-time work would mean I'd have to settle. There would be no way I could find the kind of nurturing, challenging, and fulfilling environment that I experienced at CCC. But I was wrong.
God has blown my mind yet again. He does so much more than merely provide for me. He blesses me beyond measure and I'm continually astounded. And he does it in these beautifully intricate ways that let me know how deeply He cares for me as His child. I don't want to come across as noble and important, but the price is one that is worth paying. I've been desperately praying for purpose and meaning. He answered my prayers. I'd rather be doing work to further His kingdom and paying a small price than piddling away my time and energy settling for whatever comes along.
The people I'm working with are incredible and the environment is rich with passion. I know there will be tough times, but I also know it's worth it. I'll remember how blessed I've been and lean into Jesus for the strength to pull me through. The hard days are made a little bit easier when you know your work has purpose.
There has been a lot of anxiety throughout the last 2 weeks. The stress of the unknown combined with limited amounts of sleep will do that to a person, I'm told. But I believe things will settle out as I move forward. God has brought too much together to let anxiety rip things apart.
If there's anything I should have been warned of, it's the overwhelming love and support I've felt this week. My last day at CCC was emotional. My boss, coworker, and former professors all surprised me with a farewell lunch. It was so sweet and thoughtful. A bittersweet day for sure. My new boss brought me a beautiful flower on my first day of work. The support and encouragement have been amazing. I couldn't have asked for a more loving transition; once again reassuring me of the fact that this step was the right one to take.
My life felt like it was falling apart in August. I decided to take a break from school and I actually feared I had refracted my hip. Life hasn't been all roses since then, I'm still struggling in many ways, and I really didn't see how things were inching towards this gorgeous season. Someone should have warned me.
How have you been unexpectedly blessed in the midst of waiting patiently?
What I Miss Most About Jasper
You don't know how much something means to you until you lose it. Jasper was more than just a car to me. He was my friend. He literally carried me through life. We've only been together for a year, but it's felt like eternity. I can't imagine my life without Jasper. He's been there without fail; for the good times and the bad. Never wavering. Never asking me for anything but a sip of gasoline. He let me live.
Until last week when he was tragically injured in a ruthless car accident. It could have been a lot worse, but that doesn't mean it wasn't traumatic. I was obeying traffic circle rules (a concept foreign to most Americans), when an SUV cut me off and clipped Jasper on the front end. I let him down. I just couldn't slam on the breaks quickly enough to spare his precious front bumper. The sound that poor Jasper made as I drove down the street to park at a curb was disturbing. My jaw dropped when I got out of my car and looked at the damage.
If Jasper could cry, I'm sure he would have been shedding tears of pain and sorrow. His entire front bumper was torn off, dragging, and attached to his body by only a few small pieces of plastic. His lights were busted and his insides were revealed for all the world to see. The police man quickly assessed the damage, then sealed the deal and separated the injured bumper from Jasper's body and shoved it in the back seat. I drove him to the safety of a parking lot where he spent the night until a tow truck could take him to the hospital.
Poor Jasper. I can certainly empathize with an injury that takes you by surprise and wrecks your former glory. But he's a tough cookie and receiving excellent care. He'll be back in no time, they tell me. Well their definition of "no time" fails to take into account the unique relationship that I have with my car. We've been separated for nearly 2 weeks and this rental doesn't cut it. I'm sure it's trying hard, but it just doesn't measure up to...
The 5 Things I Miss Most About Jasper
His backup camera. What did I ever do without a backup camera?
His fabulous bluetooth. I miss being able to make phone calls and listen to my music while driving.
His size. I knew exactly where his front and end were. I could park easily and maneuver between lanes on the beltway.
His supportive nature. He was a pillar in my support system and he carried a substantial piece of my life. I left many things in his care that I'm currently missing: sunglasses, my favorite black sweater, my parking tag for work (which means I have to park forever away), sneakers, an umbrella, my rain boots, and the half-consumed tall unsweetened iced green tea from Starbucks. Sigh.
The way he waved goodbye and hello. His side mirrors fold up when I lock the car and back down when I unlock it. It's like he's waving at me every time. I love it.
When Jasper and I are reunited, I will truly appreciate him for who he is. He plays a special role in my life and I have a new appreciation for him. I won't say he completed me, but he definitely lets me be who I am and do what I do. It's rare to find such a fast and loyal friend.
What makes your car special to you?
Stripped Away
Raw. Naked. Vulnerable. This is how I feel.
Stretched to the max. Out of my comfort zone. At the breaking point. This is where I am.
Crying. Laughing. Straining. This is what I do.
In the past, I've written posts that draw the parallels between the lives of humans and rose bushes; I strongly believe that we must be pruned before we can grow. I know that our lives have seasons, but what I'm experiencing is more.
Right now I feel like a tree. I am stripped of all that flourishes. The things that made me beautiful, that rustled in the wind, that provided a place of refuge for others, that protected me...my leaves have fallen. I can hear them crinkle beneath boots. While they no longer clothe me in brilliance, they provide joy for others as they jump into colorful piles of my former radiance with both feet.
I stand bare before the world. Vulnerable to nature and the storms that threaten to overwhelm me, but strong nonetheless. For my roots go deep and are nurtured in rich soil. My vulnerability reveals the strength of the solid ground on which I stand. It is good.
This feeling, place, and process is not without meaning. With my leaves stripped away, I am free to see myself as I am. Not as who I've imagined myself to be and not who I aspire to be in the future. I see myself in the present. Whole. I make no judgement, but accept myself for who and where I am. Now.
And that's when God begins to work. Just as a tree must shed its leaves to give way to new life, so must I let go of defining characteristics to embrace my future. God cannot bless us with newness until we have let go of the old. We must be willing to sacrifice the beautiful in faith; trusting that the best is yet to come.
I am bursting. While there are losses to mourn, the brightness of the future overwhelms me. I am astonished at the blessings that are being bestowed upon me in my present condition. In the past, this "raw" feeling would have destroyed me. I would have been imprisoned by fear.
This week I've had several people ask me what has changed. What allows me to function in these simultaneously joyful and sorrowful times? That's simple: I've been set free. I am no longer a captive of hopelessness. The veil of darkness has been torn. I've broken through the lies and I've seen the truth. I still struggle. I'm human, imperfect, and flawed. But I struggle well.
The leaves on the trees turn lovely shades of red, orange, and yellow. They fall to the ground. And I'm reminded that we exist in a state of constant change. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way. It's painful at times, but I have no desire to stay as I am. And the future is brilliant. Transitions are scary and unsettling to say the least, but the tree doesn't die when it looses its leaves. It lets the leaves fall because it knows there's newness in store.
God continues to strip away the comfortable to lead me into a greater story.
What does fall mean to you?
What To Do With A Set Of Wings
We recently watched the new Captain America and I was enthralled. I mean that movie held my attention like none other. I tend to be a multi-tasker while watching movies, so the fact that I spent the entire 136 minutes glued to the TV is really saying something.
I'm not going to bust the plot for those of you who haven't seen the movie (a problem that you should probably consider fixing in the very near future), but I am going to introduce you to a character named Falcon. At first you think he's just an ordinary pilot, but then you find out that he doesn't fly planes, he actually flies. Like himself. The moment they reveal his wings is one of those wide-eyed childhood moments of disbelief and awe in which you whisper "I have GOT to get me one of those." And just like a kid, the wheels started turning as I began to come up with...
5 Things I Would Do With a Set of Those Awesome Wings
Fly to visit friends and family who live far away. Many of the people I love live far outside a day-trip visit. These people are dear to me and I miss them a great deal. A set of wings would allow me to visit them more often. Bear hugs, laughter, and comfort would be only a short (and fun) flight away.
Fly to Disney World whenever I want. Because Disney World is awesome, but it currently requires 4 days of travel just to get there. Flying means I would need to take less time off of work and would give me more time to play. Once again, you're getting a glimpse of my childlike nature.
Set up a business and charge a fee for personal flights. People pay mad money to go skydiving and ride hot air balloons. I know I could make a living by offering premium flying packages. Perfect for birthdays, graduations, retirements, anniversaries, or any other special celebration :)
Meet Iron Man. Because he's the bomb. I think having wings would make me intriguing enough to peak his interest. I'd warrant a visit from my favorite super hero: Tony Stark.
Save the world. Because wings would make me a super hero and that's just what super heroes do.
This list is just the tip of the iceberg. Think about it, guys!
What would you do with a set of wings?
When Frustration Gives In to Blessings
I've been frustrated. Beyond frustrated at times. In the middle of the summer I decided to start taking my blog more seriously and switch to self-hosted WordPress. At the time I was using Squarespace for design and hosting; I had even purchased a custom domain name. I put a lot of time and energy into my decision of when and how to switch to Wordpress. When I was finally ready to go live with my new website, I discovered that there was a waiting period before I could officially transfer my domain name. While www.realisticallyoptimistic.com would get a visitor to my blog, the URL would change to something funky was they navigated away from the landing page.
I (not so) patiently waited 23 more days until I could transfer the domain name, only to find out that I had to reassign administrative rights. Which took another 7 days. Only to find out that they "give me" another 7 days to "change my mind" before processing my request for a change. I was frustrated. Beyond frustrated at times.
I was pretty discouraged and wasn't going to post to any of my usual blog hops that week. One day I decided to check in on one of my favorite blog hops and discovered that I was a featured blogger. The next day I saw my post featured on another blog hop and the next week posts were featured on 2 more parties. I was elated.
First of all, I never expected these posts to reach so many people. Even though I hope my writing will touch at least one person, I never expect it to make an impact within a community. I always considered that hope to be on nearly the same level of my childhood dream to be president.
Second of all, I suddenly realized that there was a purpose to my frustration. Had I been able to transfer my domain name in a timely fashion, all of the links to my featured posts would be broken. No additional people would be able to access my posts. The very thing that nearly caused me to pull out my hair had suddenly become a massive blessing.
I've realized that this is not an isolated situation. God has used frustrating or painful circumstances to bless me more than once. He strips away the things I cling to the most in order to draw me closer to Him. This usually involves Him causing me to look at myself in the mirror; to see the positive and negative aspects of myself and allow Him to heal the broken pieces and make something beautiful out of my mess. People call it "beauty for ashes", but I'm coming to understand that life doesn't always have to turn to ash before it can be turned over to the Lord and made beautiful.
The simplest things can cause us the most frustration, yet they can also be used to bring us a greater joy. It's easy for me to see my blogging as frivolous at times. A waste of time, money, and that priceless thing called energy. But then I see the amazing ways God is using it to teach me lessons, bring richness to my life, and touch others in a broad way. To do something I could never do in isolation. Never do on my own.
I'd like to thank my friends, family, readers, and fellow bloggers for making this hobby a truly rewarding experience. For giving purpose to something I love. For being a part of God's plan and the lessons He's teaching me on a daily basis. We all have something to learn and we all have something to teach. Thank you for being faithful. Even those of you who don't realize that's what you're doing.
What frustrating experience has ultimately left you with a blessing?
What life lessons have you been taught through frustration?
The Written Word: An Art Form
Last week I wrote a post called A Mother & Her Uppercase R. I received stories and encouragement from various readers, but one request caught me off guard. A fellow blogger asked me to post a sample of how I write my daughter's name. Why didn't I think of that?!?! So I decided to focus my next post on handwriting.
I'm a writer. Long before I began blogging I was an avid journaler (And yes, I believe I just made up a word. Writers get to do that, you know.). I rarely go anywhere without my notebook and planner in hand. There's something about a pen and paper that speaks to my soul.
I remember things better when I write them down by hand. The handwritten word is art to me. Each letter is an expression of my life and energy. I've written posts on the power of words, but I believe that a word written by hand carries even greater power. I love blogging, but my handwriting allows me to express myself on an even deeper level. It's an extension of my personality.
So here are a few samples of my favorite art form. As requested, I'm including a sample of daughter's name and (and yes, I used a capital R). It's adorable because right after I made it, she erased my version and drew her own. So I posted her's too and saved the best for last. It just goes to show that our children really do mimic us in nearly every way.
5 Examples of My Favorite Art Form
No. 1
No. 2
No. 3
No. 4
No. 5
What is your favorite form of art and self-expression? What about it speaks to your soul?
Why I Didn’t Attend My High School Reunion
Last weekend was my 10 Year High School Reunion. If the Liberty class of 2004 had a 5 year reunion, I was either uninformed or oblivious. This was the first reunion I'd ever heard about.
I've had people ask me if I was going. This post will be pretty straightforward. The answer is no. No, this former high school valedictorian would not be attending her alma mater's reunion. 10 year or otherwise.
I think many people are surprised with the directness of this response, so I decided the topic was worthy of a blog post.
5 Reasons Why I Didn't Attend My High School Reunion
I am not friends with anyone from high school. I seriously don't talk to a single person that I attended high school with. Why would I pay to go to an event full of people I haven't talked to in 10 years. That is awkward.
All of my friends went to different schools. From the above statement you might assume that I have no friends. This is not the case. Most of my friends attended other schools in the region (or were in a different grade), so they would not be attending this event. I'd rather spend my money traveling to see these actual friends.
I have no fond memories to reminisce about with my fellow graduates. High school was not a pleasant experience for me. I was not popular, I was not a star athlete, I was not stylish, I did not have a boyfriend, and I did not have a car. I had my academics and my future. All of my energy and attention went into these 2 things. I viewed fun as a roadblock to success. This doesn't make for a humorous recollection of my foolish youthfulness with my rebellious comrades.
I do not have anyone to bring with me. The only thing worse than going to a party full of people you don't know is doing so alone. I'm not one to sulk in singleness. I even enjoy going out to eat by myself at times. But voluntarily walking in to an uncomfortable and awkward environment all alone is just straight up unnecessary.
I am not who I once was. Or who I once thought I'd be. I think this goes without saying. I was class valedictorian with a full scholarship to an out-of-state university and a bright and shiny future career as a naval officer. Ten years later I'm a college drop-out and single mother living with my parents. I'm not embarrassed by my life because that sentence is not how I see myself. I am a miracle whose life is full of undeserved blessings. But you can't deny the blatant difference between my aspirations and my reality. I know that our lives rarely turn out as we imagine at age 18, but I think it's safe to say that mine took an unusually drastic detour in the grand scheme of things.
I am not embarrassed by my present reality, but neither do I deny it. Why would I place myself in a position of having to justify my life to a room full of faces I can't remember and people I don't know? Why would I pay money for that kind of torture?
I'm not bashing the idea of a high school reunion because, for most people, they are truly something special. A time to reunite with long-lost friends and laugh at countless memories. But I don't have friends and I don't have memories. I probably would have come home from the reunion drenched in tears.
I feel a little bit guilty because there are people who can't attend their high school reunions. They'd love to meet up with old friends, but live too far away or believe the venue to be inconvenient. I could go if I wanted to, so it saddens me that there are those who can't. But to them I'd say this: treasure your memories, for they are far more precious than you know them to be.
We each have different life experiences, so we each tend to treasure different aspects of life. It doesn't mean that one of us is wrong, it means we're unique. Life would be boring if we all loved high school and the potential for a reunion. So whether high school memories bring you laughter or tears, know that you are not alone.
What is your BEST or WORST high school memory?
A Mother & Her Uppercase R
I knew there would be moments that I'd feel like the worst parent in the world. That there would be times I'd look back and wish there was something I had or hadn't done. That I would say something and instantaneously feel like a complete idiot. I knew it, but that doesn't mean I was prepared it. I'd like to say this was the first time, but it wasn't. And I know it won't be the last.
Skylar's preschool has a pretty structured morning drop-off routine. I hand the teacher Skylar's lunchbox, hang up her coat in her cubby, then she goes and washes her hands. Next, she goes over to the dry-erase board and writes her name to sign in. Then we walk over to the easel containing the "Question of the Day", which is usually a simple yes or no question. I read the question, then Skylar takes the magnet with her name on it and puts it under the answer she thinks is correct. Then it's time for goodbye hugs and we're off for the day.
As I was hanging up Skylar's jacket on Friday, one of her teachers walked me over to the dry-erase board. She said, "We're going to start working with Skylar on writing her name in lowercase letters. She's really good at writing her name, but she usually uses all caps. Especially her 'R'."
To most parents, this would probably be exciting. Me? I was mortified.
See, while I wouldn't consider myself an artist per say, I am slightly obsessed with typography, calligraphy, and the written English language as a whole. My handwriting changes every few months. I like to play with letters and create new styles. I enjoy addressing envelopes and I still journal by hand most nights.
My current "thing" is to make every letter "R" in uppercase. It doesn't matter if it starts a sentence or makes an appearance in the middle of a word. It is R. Never r. I think I've always written Skylar's name as: SkylAR. It looks much cooler when I write it by hand. I assure you.
So imagine my utter devastation upon learning that my one and only form of artistic expression may be the downfall of my child's preschool career. Okay, okay. I might be overreacting just a little bit.
I think we each have things that hit us with some force. We know that children imitate their parents, but we each have a brutal "aha moment" when the matter becomes real to us. I guess I'm lucky that mine came in the form of an uppercase R at the end of a word rather than my daughter repeating unkind words in the middle of the grocery store.
My daughter is amazing and I'm betting your kid is pretty awesome too. They soak in everything, man. Kids are always on. Skylar's memory astounds me daily. She observes the way I cross my legs, the way I say certain phrases, and--apparently--how I write each carefully crafted "R".
We always tell our kids, "Hey, I'm watching you!" Then we make that motion with our fingers from our eyes to theirs. You know what I'm talking about. Well I think we've got it wrong. The truth is, our children watch us more intently than we will ever watch them. It's time we noticed.
What is the strangest thing a child has done to imitate you?
Therapeutic Blogging
Our culture revolves around the idea of self-sufficiency and independence. We don't want our survival to be dependent on anyone besides ourselves. But I'm pretty sure our culture has it wrong. Community is important. It always has ben and it always will be. We're born into families, we play on teams, and we're assigned to work in groups. We're designed and engineered to function not in isolation, but in relationship with other humans. Even us introverts.
After writing my most recent post on physical, emotional, and spiritual therapy, I realized that something was missing. I threw out a whole lot of information about the various forms of therapy and I neglected to talk about one of the best forms of therapy I have ever found: BLOGGING! I realize that some of you might not believe this fact, so I decided to make a list of the...
5 Reasons Blogging Counts As Therapy
Blogging is a team sport. It is impossible to blog in a bubble. Blogging forces you to engage with the world and make new friends. It's exciting!
Blogging is synonymous with being vulnerable. When people think about therapy, they usually think of a hopeless case sitting on a sofa confessing their deepest darkest secrets. Well, while you might not share the depths of your soul with the world, you will be sharing a small piece of yourself with cyberspace while engaged with the blogging community. Even if you refuse to share a single personal detail, you are being vulnerable simply by putting your words out into the world. It's brave.
Blogging makes you process your thoughts. In order to compose a blog post, you have to organize your thoughts. Whether you do it before or during your writing process, you must slow your mind down long enough to process some piece of the world around you. It's important.
Blogging requires commitment & maintenance. If you want loyal readers, you have to post to your blog consistency. This requires a certain degree of commitment to yourself, your blog, and your fans. It forces you outside of yourself and outside of your "issues." It also requires investment and passion. It's hard work.
Blogging is a form of self-expression. You get to design every aspect of your blog. The theme, name, color scheme, logo, topics, layout, and writing style are all little extensions of your personality. Your sense of humor permeates your writing. Creating a blog guides you in a journey of discovering who you are. The bonus is that other people get to become part of that journey and become awestruck by your creation. It's beautiful.
Blogging is exciting, brave, important, hard, and beautiful. You get to discover new parts of yourself and share your gifts with the world. A blog is a collaborative effort that requires diligence and love. In my previous post I claimed that the goal of therapy is restoration. So how does blogging therapy contribute to this pursuit of restoration?
Blogging forces us back into community. To value relationships. To engage with other humans. My generation is easily condemned for its reliance on technology. I've had people say to me, "You guys don't even know how to hold a real conversation." My blog is my ammunition against such statements. I use technology to pursue engagement, not flee from it. To create relationships, not destroy them. Blogging is therapy because it restores relationships in what could easily become a disconnected world.
If you're a blogger: Is blogging therapeutic for you? How so?
If you're not a blogger: Do you see technology as a positive or negative component of relationships?
We All Need Therapy
I spend a lot of time in my car these days and most of that time is spent driving to and from therapy. If you've read any of my previous blog posts, you've probably realized that I'm in desperate need of therapy. "What kind?" you may be asking. Well, there's the obvious physical therapy for my hip injury. Then there's the emotional therapy to help work through the day-to-day journey of this thing called life. And finally there's the spiritual therapy that helps to heal the wounds of the past so that I can enjoy my future.
Physical Therapy
Physical therapy is essentially the use of physical methods (rather than medication or surgery) to heal an injury. It's physical rehabilitation. My physical therapist wants to help eliminate my hip pain and he works wholeheartedly to do so. It's a lot of work for both him and I. He has to think of methods that will solve the problem and I have to commit to the process. It takes a lot of time and energy. There is pain and there are tears. We both shake our heads in frustration at times. But we share and believe in a common goal: to restore my body to its pre-injury functionality. Or at least get as close as we can
Emotional Therapy
Emotional therapy means something different to every person. I use emotional therapy to help me work with through present circumstances. It's mostly talk therapy. My therapist listens while I talk. She offers suggestions here and there, but mostly she just provides direction. As I talk and reflect, I usually come up with some sort of resolution or epiphany. We figure out alternatives and action plans, then she holds me accountable to my commitments. We don't seek to eliminate the highs and lows that life brings, but we work together as a team to restore balance in my life.
Spiritual Therapy
Spiritual therapy is not really a common term. In fact, I might have just invented it myself. But I think spiritual therapy is something we're all seeking, whether we know it or not. Physical and emotional therapy are things that enable us to better function in the present and future. Spiritual therapy takes things to a new level; it allows for the healing of our hearts, which frees us from our past. It's the most elusive but the most valuable. My time at Mercy Ministries was a period of intense spiritual therapy for me, but it is something that must remain an important part of my daily routine. Currently, my spiritual therapy includes Bible study, prayer, journaling, and involvement in our local Celebrate Recovery ministry. I surrender my life to Jesus and together we work towards freedom.
...On the Road...
On one of my therapy road trips I got to thinking. There really isn't much difference between the different kinds of therapy that we find ourselves needing throughout our life journey. And I only listed a few. As I reflected on my experience, I came up with some therapy criteria:
Therapy involves more than one person. Whether you need a physical therapist, a "licensed clinical professional counselor," or Jesus...you can't give yourself therapy.
The goal of therapy is restoration. Whether you're seeking physical healing, emotional balance, or healing from a past experience...we're hoping to restore something that we lost along the way.
Therapy requires commitment. You have to carve time out of your life and dedicate it to seeking healing and freedom from past damage. It's going to require time and energy. Make it a priority.
Therapy is something that must be maintained. Keep doing your exercises. Keep talking through your struggles to implement solutions. Keep studying God's Word, praying, and journaling. If we don't actively engage in these therapeutic practices, our healing will not be complete and lasting.
I've gotten to the point that I don't see these road trips as an inconvenience to my everyday life. They enhance my life. My life is better when I am engaging in the therapeutic process. Participating in therapy means that you are an active participant in life itself. You're not sitting on the sidelines; you're playing the game. You're fighting. And that's a good thing.
What is your "go-to" form of therapy? Yoga? Running? Chocolate? A phone date with your BFF?
My Secret Weapons
Several weeks ago I published a post about my Influenster Vitality VoxBox. Influenster is a community of people who test, review, and promote products as they see fit. If you qualify for one of their campaigns, they mail you a box containing the product(s) you will be trying. Thanks to all my friends and followers, I received my first VoxBox rather quickly and it was full of wonderful goodies. Once you receive your box, you are given a task list: write reviews, promote via social media, take pictures, etc. The best way to qualify for future Influenster product campaigns is to complete the tasks and earn more badges.
I've completed 9 out of the 10 tasks required to earn the Vitality VoxBox badge and for awhile I was just going to throw in the towel on the whole "Influenster thing." You see, the last task is to "Share the secret weapon to your #BikiniReadyLifestyle." One of the products in the Vitality VoxBox was a sample of Bikini Ready Energy Gummies. The name is pretty much self-explanatory: the gummies claim to boost metabolism and increase energy to make your body bikini ready.
I've fought hard to walk in recovery from an eating disorder and I know that several of my readers are fighting similar battles. Life and death battles. It seemed irresponsible of me to write a blog post on a product that plays into the struggle of so many men and women. So I wasn't going to do it.
But as I completed more and more tasks, this one task was all that stood between me and my badge (I know this sounds a little bit dramatic, but go with it). So I read the task over again: "Share the secret weapon to your #BikiniReadyLifestyle." As is commonly the case, I was making something simple into something quite complicated. The task wasn't asking me to endorse a product I didn't believe in; it was asking me to share my secret. What a great opportunity to share a piece of my journey with the blogging community in an unexpected way!
To most people, being "bikini ready" usually means being thin and tan. Not to me. To me, being "bikini ready" means being comfortable in my own skin; confident and strong. Plus, the whole tan thing...I don't get it. Everybody knows that if you already have a tan on day one of pool season, you did not get it naturally. I go to the pool to get a tan. If you already have a tan, why are you at the pool? But I digress. Today's mission is to reverse your concept of what "bikini ready" really means with...
My 5 Secret Weapons to a #BikiniReadyLifestyle
Prayer. I believe in the power of prayer. No journey toward self-improvement will be successful without God's intimate involvement in the details of each and every step. Prayer covers a multitude of weapons needed to conquer a battle. Whether your struggle is to gain, lose, or maintain weight, you will not experience victory without the healing power of God. Ephesians 6:10-16 talks about putting on the armor of God. When you're fighting a battle, you're going to need some armor. And God's armor is the best you'll ever find.
Positive Affirmations/Truth Statements. We feed ourselves lies day in and day out. It's habit. "I'm stupid." "I'm ugly." "I can't do anything right." "I'm worthless." NO, NO, NO! It's time we start speaking positive truth into our lives! "I am smart." "I am beautiful." "I am enough." "I am worthy." My personal favorite is this: "I am a daughter of the King." I simply can't say the words without smiling in my soul.
A Support System. We like to pretend that we can do this on our own. We want to be independent and prove ourselves. But the truth is that we're wired to need each other. When we're fighting a battle, we need people who will keep us accountable, yet encourage us when we need it. We need people who believe in us and who are willing to fight with us from time to time.
Balance. At first this number read "A Balanced Diet." But as I started writing, I realized that the real concept that I was trying to communicate was the importance of balance. We need some balance in our lives, people. When our lives are out of balance we start to grasp desperately at things that give us a feeling of control. Food and exercise are 2 of the most common things we latch onto and it can manifest itself in a variety of ways. We should always strive for balance in life, food, exercise, sleep, work, and play.
Vigilance. This is so important, yet frequently overlooked. We tend to celebrate once we've achieved our goals and we should! But the work does not end after the celebration; we need to be vigilant in all we do. We cannot become complacent or content. We must keep a watchful eye out for anything that threatens to steal away our freedom, for the battle is even harder the second or third time we fight it.
So these are the things I focus on in my attempt to feel comfortable in my own skin. I want to be confident and strong, not thin and tan. I don't care so much whether I'm bikini ready, so much as I'm ready. Ready for whatever life brings; the good and the bad, the daunting and the serene, the laughter and the tears.
Dear Lord,
Make me strong, courageous, confident, and ready for all that you have in store for me.
Amen.
What is your secret weapon for a #BikiniReadyLifestyle?
Let's talk real life today, guys. I'm hungry for a conversation!
“Summer Suits You”
For most people, writer's block comes when they can't think of anything to say. I am not most people. I experience writer's block most frequently when I have a lot to say. There are so many ideas. There is so much emotion. The passion is overwhelming. I don't even know where or how to start.
I'm not going to tip-toe around the point of this post because I have a lot to say and I don't want to risk losing your attention: I am taking this semester off from school.
The official term is "taking a hiatus". I like this term; "I'm taking a hiatus" sounds and feels a lot better than "yeah, I decided to drop out." Hey, I'm a writer; words are important to me like that.
My hip injury has plagued me for nearly 10 years now. I first fractured my femur in January of 2005 and I've always told people that not coming home to take care of myself was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. I didn't want to miss out or lose momentum, so I kept on pushing through and I've been doing it ever since.
As luck would have it, I somehow re-injured my hip last week. It's not going to require surgery, but the recovery process is going to be long. Most of my surgeries have occurred mid-semester. It's easy to push through when you're halfway there, thoroughly invested in your coursework, and have a reliable reputation as a decent student. But I don't have any of that right now. I'm a week in and it feels like it's mile 21 of a marathon. None of my professors know me. And I have the luxury of looking behind at the past for a glimpse of what my future would hold should I decide to push through just one more time.
The truth is I didn't have to withdraw. If you were to look at the history of my injury, you'd probably ask, "Why now? The one time you DON'T need surgery is the one time you DO withdraw? What's up with that?" Good question. I could have done it. I know I could have. But at what cost?
One of my greatest concerns about deciding to withdraw was what people were going to think and say. I felt like I needed a really good reason to do it. I think a lot of us fall into that trap. We think that we should stay in school until we literally can't do it anymore; until we're checked into the hospital for some physical, mental, or emotional diagnoses or threatened within an inch of our lives. Who made up that rule? It's backwards. The whole thing is backwards.
We think we need a really good reason to take a semester off. And we do. But we need to change our definition of what a good reason really is.
Traditionally, it is in my nature to continue pushing through until my life, body, and sanity shatter into a million pieces. That takes awhile to clean up and I'm usually practically useless for the first several months of the process. It's horrible. It's scary. It's messy. But for some reason I believed that it was the only permissible way.
Today, I'm doing things a little bit differently. I'm in tune with my body, my mind, and my environment. I can sense danger and make choices that will protect and preserve me. I let myself look at the broken pieces and pick them up rather than waiting until things shatter into dust.
I've decided to take the semester off because it's what's best for me. I need to let my body heal. I've been at war with my body for nearly a decade now. It drains me of my energy, enthusiasm, patience, and capacity to love. I'm tired of that. My body is pleading with me for care and attention and it's pulled my soul on board as well.
My "free time" will be well spent. I plan on investing in my blog, working on my freelance career, reading fiction and non-fiction books, learning to cook, and dedicating myself wholeheartedly to rehabilitating my hip. I plan on being a mom to my daughter. I plan on filling my lungs with air and breathing again.
The title of this post is "Summer Suits You". I know that summer is nearly over, but the title really has nothing to do with summertime and everything to do with 3 words spoken to me by my marketing professor several months ago. It was a few weeks after graduation and I ran into her in Target. We were chatting for a good 20 minutes when she looked at me and said, "Gosh Brittany, summer suits you." She wasn't talking about my tan or my cute sundress. She was talking about my affect. I laughed at the time, but I was also a little bit sad. I was sad that the difference between the "School Brittany" and the "Summer Brittany" was so drastic. I wanted to spend the summer getting to a place in my mind where I could maintain the summer affect in the midst of a semester at college.
I didn't quite meet the mark on that one, but I've bought myself some extra time. I want to find that place in my mind where summer and winter combine and form something glorious. I know it exists. I know it's possible. And I believe this hiatus is my opportunity to press in rather than push through.
What steps do you take to engage in self-care?
5 Things You Never Want to Hear From Your ER Staff
Last Friday I spent the evening in the emergency room. Always a pleasant experience.
As many of you already know, I recently had my 6th hip surgery. They removed all of my hardware (except that stray screw if you recall) and I've been off of crutches for about 3 weeks. Well last Friday I woke up and started walking around--just like any other day--when suddenly I found myself doubled over in pain. Every step that I took literally took my breath away.
The first thought that came to mind was: "I have never felt anything like this before."
One problem: I have. Twice actually. Both times the pain was determined to be the result of a stress fracture. Both times the result was life-changing. Needless to say, this kind of pain stirs a fear within me. Apparently it also stirred a fear in my physical therapist, my physical therapist assistant, and my orthopedic surgeon. By the end of the day, all 3 sent me straight to the ER for testing.
The ER is not a happy place to be. No one wants to be there and anyone who is there is either sick or injured. Basically, everyone in the ER usually has an excellent reason to be miserable, so they are. Plus--even though I know it's not true--it usually feels like the ER staff does everything they can to extend the length of your misery.
We left the house at 5:00 pm and got home around 1:30 Saturday morning. By the time I got discharged, I had come up with a new list of the...
5 Things You Never Want to Hear From Your ER Staff
"Just Google it." Seriously. The PA told me that she can never remember where potassium comes from; she usually has to Google it. From that moment forward I had complete confidence in her medical competence.
"I'm here to take you for your CT scan." This one might seem innocent at first, except...I'd already been taken for a CT scan. And the fact that this happened twice? Totally reassuring.
"You should have just called you doctor." I did. He sent me to you. I know, what was he thinking?!?!
"Remember to hop when you use your crutches." This goes against EVERY lesson on using crutches known to man. You NEVER hop. Even when you're non-weightbearing, you are still supposed to go through the stepping motion. Hopping while using crutches is a beginner's error and can further complicate any injury. This is the worst advice ever.
"Just try not to fall." Oh. My. Gosh. First of all, I can't even begin to count the number of time I've been told this one. Second of all...really, who actually TRIES to fall. The statement "try not to fall" implies that, for some reason, I was previously trying TO fall. What a pointless, insulting statement that makes me want to trip you with my crutch so that, when you get up, I can tell you, "Oh, please, just try not to fall again, ok?"
I'm not a heartless person. I know that pain and illness makes people irritable and impatient. My mom was an ER nurse for years, so I appreciate the drama that the ER staff endures on a nightly basis. My CT scan and ultrasound came back clean; no stress fracture and no blood clot. I'm really no worse for the wear. But seriously..."just Google it"?!?!
What is the strangest thing that has ever been said to you by a medical professional?
Few But Faithful
This one's for the few but faithful folks that visit my blog and wait expectantly for posts and tweets. The last week or so has been rather crazy. And from what I hear, I don't seem to be in the minority when making that statement. It was the first week of school for most people, which naturally carries with it an unusually high level of stress. But this post isn't going to be about ways to manage stress or cope with crazy (although those are topics on my blog post "to-do" list). This one's going to be a little more personal. It might not be one that reaches a broader audience, but it's something insightful nonetheless and my hope is that you might be able to see a piece of yourself in my story.
I've been going through a rough patch. Some people like to debate whether or not "overwhelmed" is a feeling. I say it is. It's one that can practically smother you if you're not careful. The thing that makes feeling overwhelmed so dangerous is that it's not always foreshadowed with gloom and doom. Your life can be filled with excitement, joy, anticipation, goals, and prospects. Couple these healthy stressors with a few negative relationships or burdensome commitments, however, and you'll soon find yourself knee-deep in trouble.
I have a lot going for me: I'm establishing an online presence, I have a steady and well-paying job, I'm starting at a "real" university, I've started on some freelance work, and I finally feel like I have a vision for the future.
That's a lot on my plate. I work 18 hours a week at one college and travel to another university for my 15 credits worth of classes four days a week. I'm also raising a 4 year-old daughter, serving on the Celebrate Recovery leadership team at my church, and going to physical therapy multiple times per week. I'm running a blog, promoting myself through social media, and writing freelance articles too. All while trying to maintain my sanity. It's a lot.
I tend to downplay it: "Other people do all of this and more. Why can't I do it?"
The answer? I can.
I've been told it multiple times; usually by the people I swore would be the most unlikely to utter the words. Never in my wildest dreams did I picture the people who saw me in my darkest moments to tell me, "No Brittany. You've lost your right to say you can't. You've done the impossible. After everything you've survived, this will certainly not be the end of you. You are a miracle."
We never ask for hardship, desperation, or the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed by what life has brought upon us. But it's usually in these moments that I'm most able to witness and experience an outpouring of love. You'd think after all this time I would realize this fact and come to expect it, yet it still sweeps me off my feet. The way God uses hardship to draw us into relationship with both Him and others while refining us, making us stronger, and revealing our inherent worth as human beings continually astounds me.
The people who saw me at my worst refuse to let me be anything less than my best. Those who have believed in me through it all still encourage me through my doubts. And there are always new people joining me on my journey; bringing hope and meaning to my life, always telling me that I've done the same for them.
I know that I can do it. What it really comes down to is how I do it. That's a choice I get to make. This period of my life is stressful, yet it's full of potential. I get to decide whether or not I make it glorious. So I think I'll knock my course load down to 12 credits instead of 15. I'll take a few steps to manage my temperance. I'll eat.
To most people these decisions come naturally; they're common sense. You might not understand it, but for me it's more difficult. They're things I have to mull over and do with great intention.
Some days we feel like we don't really have a choice in the matter; all we feel is utter exhaustion. On other days we're filled with frantic excitement. But, while life is full of ups and downs, most of our days are spent in the middle and it's on those days that we get to make a choice. We get to decide which side of the spectrum will shape and define our thoughts and actions. It's that daily decision that colors and flavors our lives for years to come.
What daily decision is most difficult for you?
The Messages Worth Saving
I was out to lunch with a friend recently and we were having a great conversation. We were laughing and talking about both the healthy and toxic relationships in our lives. At some point, she looked at me and said, "You know, I really need to clean out the text messages on my phone. I'd hate so-and-so to find them."
One moment. Everything changed.
Think about it for a minute. What if you forgot to lock your phone and someone picked it up. Is there something you would be ashamed of? Is there something you would fear? Is the thought of such a scenario enough to make you anxious, suspicious, or afraid?
I know I'm taking a chance in saying this, but I'm thinking the answer is yes. I'm not talking songs with explicit lyrics or dirty pictures on your photo stream. I'm talking about words. And not even the "naughty" ones.
You know that one time you were sitting in a room with someone and they were aggravating you so much and the only way you had of expressing your frustration was to text your best friend? They texted back some smart aleck remark that undoubtedly made you crack up and took the edge off your aggravation. You felt better and there was no harm done.
Well what if that person picked up your phone and saw the text the next day. Was the temporary relief of your frustration worth the hurt of such a revelation? You've been caught red-handed and the price might be a friendship. We don't think about what we're sacrificing when we hit send.
We all know what gossip is and what it does and that it hurts. Mostly because, at some point in our lives, we've been gossiped about. We've heard about it through the grapevine or caught our bff betraying us in the hallway between classes. I've been both the instigator and the victim of some fierce gossip. It's painful. It's shameful. And I think that most of us avoid it these days. At least we think we do. But gossip manifests itself in many ways. And today I think it often rears its ugly head in the form of a text.
My first instinct is to do the obvious thing and lock my phone. But lets face it. The people I'm afraid of finding these gossip texts are actually some of the people who know my password. Or would be able to figure it out. Which makes it even worse, if you think about it. What a betrayal.
My second thought is to delete my text history with certain people and erase the evidence. Which isn't a bad idea, honestly. My motive isn't to eradicate my guilt; my actions are there whether or not the texts are accessible. My motive is to keep my loved one from experiencing hurt. So I really don't see anything wrong with deleting the history.
But.
The question is what comes next. What happens after the evidence is erased and I have my fresh start? Personally, I like to keep my text history to refer back to from time to time. I like to create memories that are worth saving. Not erasing. So I make a choice and a commitment. To myself and my friendships.
I commit to sending only messages worth saving. Anything I'll want to delete shouldn't be said in the first place. Why risk the hurt, the damage, and the loss that could result from careless gossip.
It's a lesson we don't seem to learn easily. We learned it in kindergarten and again in high school. It reared it's ugly head in the break room at work and again during the kids' soccer practice. I don't care what the old rhyme says about stick and stones. Words hurt. I can't even count the number of times that I've been hurt by words. I'd like to prevent myself from doing that same damage to others.