That's Not What I Said

 Recently the topic of sexual harassment came up, and I shared a story about a time I was sexually harassed in the workplace. In one of my early jobs after college I worked for a large company. One day, a male coworker walked up behind me and began massaging my shoulders. 

At the time I didn't fully understand that what that manager did was sexual harassment, and my coworkers said "Oh he does that to all the girls". So I said nothing, and made sure to have my back against a wall whenever he came around. 

When I told this story recently, one of the people in the room said, "So you're not touchy-feely. Okay."

Nope. Incorrect. I am a huge fan of hugs, fist bumps, and high fives. Some of my male friends give me a kiss on the cheek when they see me, and I think that's incredibly sweet. So no, my issue is not that I don't like to be touched. My issue is that I do not want anyone I don't know well, especially men, to put their hands on me in an intimate way without my consent. 

I think way too often victims of sexual harassment, regardless of gender, are made to feel that their preferences are to blame, rather than the person who harassed them, and folks that's kind of bullshit.    

I will literally hug a stranger on the street if they need it. I'm a huge supporter of physical contact and all the psychological benefits that come with it. So let me spell it out to be extra clear,

Consensual Physical Touch = Good                Nonconsensual Physical Touch = Bad

It is really that simple. So next time someone opens up about harassment, or any experience where they felt their personal space was violated, remember that it doesn't matter what they like and don't like. Touching someone without consent is wrong, and the victim isn't to blame. 

Happy Girl

 Recently, multiple coworkers have commented on my peppy attitude, and how I'm always so upbeat. This is easily one of my favorite compliments to receive (not that I'm not thrilled to get literally any kind of compliment). 

I spent so much of my life being unhappy. I faked smiles and hid tears. I'd play the role of social butterfly and little miss sunshine all day long, then spend my nights sobbing in the dark, begging God for help, and trying to hold onto my will to live. 

From the time I was 15 or so, until my mid-20s, suicide was an almost daily thought. It was like a highway billboard that I would pass over and over while I tried to ignore it. I tried to take my life at 17, and I struggled with suicide for years after that. Even with therapists, and medications, and great friends. Even with a support system. Even as things in my life went really, really well. 

I remember one night, my sophomore year of college, when I walked out to my car in the middle of winter and just sat in for hours in the middle of the night because I truly did not think I could sit in my dorm room, next to bottles of pills, and not swallow them all. I don't even know if they would have killed them, but I was so depressed that I was ready to try anything. 

Back then I hated the idea that I would need pills for the rest of my life to be happy. I wanted to just be able to be happy on my own. I didn't fully understand yet that my depression wasn't just in my head. I hadn't learned enough to know that it was a chemical imbalance in my body, and not just a weakness. 

I wanted nothing more then than to be able to be happy and smile and not be lying. I didn't want to go through my days afraid of the night, and all the things that crawled out of my head when there weren't people around to put up a front for. 

So when people look at me today, and they're in awe of how I can always be so peppy, or why I come in everyday with a smile, I tell hem. I say that I spent too many years of my life unhappy, and now I want to relish in every single moment of glee. I want to bask in the joy of not hiding dread. 

Being able to simply be happy, is my everyday miracle, and even if I'm not the walking example of perky every day, I will relish every day that I get to be happy. 

Millennial Mini Meltdown

 A couple weeks ago I had  rough week. I felt overwhelmed by a lot of stuff, I wasn't getting sleep, and making it through each day felt like climbing a mountain in flip flops. On one extra crappy day I had to go to physical therapy (b/c excruciating back pain doesn't care about how close you are to a complete psychotic break). 

I walked in, greeted the sweet receptionist, smiled at my physical therapist and popped into the bathroom to change from dress pants to yoga pants. The door closed, and as I changed clothes I had a 60 second breakdown. 

For those of you who aren't a mentally ill millennial, this is probably a foreign concept, but sometimes you don't have time to actually deal with life. So you let out a few silent sobs, feel like dying, then wipe your eyes, do some makeup magic to hide the evidence, and bounce out to do an hour of therapy exercises. 

That week I had two or three mini breakdowns, all under two minutes, squeezed into my schedule and on a couple occasions, scheduled. Yep, I literally scheduled a 90 second breakdown. 

I'm not alone. Way too many of us have had stress piled onto us until we couldn't take it anymore. And lately, I think more and more people are feeling like they literally don't have time to deal with their mental health, but y'all we have got to stop doing that. 

My stress week ended with me having a  complete mental and emotional breakdown at 2 a.m. I cried for hours and was so destroyed that the next day I could barely move. 

It wasn't the first time I denied my stress and hurt and anxiety until it bubbled over and exploded in a late night breakdown in the dark, and honestly, it probably won't be the last. Sometimes we aren't ready to deal with our shit until it's boiling over and all we can do is clear the carnage. 

While I do applaud our fucked up ability to breakdown and get back to life in less time than it takes to make popcorn, maybe we like deal with our shit in a healthy way?

I know, I'm talking crazy. We don't have time for that. We have to work our fingers to the bone trying to get validation from bosses, or figure out how we're ever going to be able to buy a house in this market, or wonder if we should start selling our extra organs to boost our 401k since social security is going bankrupt and we're supposed to have like a $1 million or more saved for when we retire at 90. 

I'm guilty too. There are plenty of days where I skip my self-care for an extra 10 minutes of sleep, or take a Xanax at bedtime because for the love of God my mind will not shut up and I can't deal with insomnia and anxiety and ADHD at 11 at night especially when I had promised myself I'd be in bed by 10 so I could get 8 hours of sleep and get up and run a 5K before work because if I lose some weight then most of my problems will be solved except for the ones that would be solved with a raise at work which I'm sure I'll get if I keep pushing myself to work 10 hour days and live up to the gifted student label they gave me in middle school.

Yeah. Now I'm definitely stressed. Perfect time for a deep breath! I know, I know. Breathing isn't going to fix your problems, but it just might help you unclench your jaw just a bit, and slow your heart rate, and let you sit at your desk without feeling like a horse running the derby. 

We're all different, so what works for me may not work for you, but maybe it will. Or maybe it'll help you figure out what is right for you. If we can fit an emotional breakdown into the length of commercial break on Hulu, we can squeeze a couple minutes of self-care in between emails. 

How I Deal:

1. Deep breaths. I close my eyes, take a deep breath in through my nose, until I feel my chest lift or feel my lungs top off. Then I let it out like I'm blowing out birthday candles, until every bit of air is released. For me, doing that 3 times will help reset my brain, and give me a bit of clarity. 

2. Lists. I love to make a list of things to do, and to plan out when to do them. Sometimes I even add things to my list that I already did just so I can cross them off. One of the top ways I deal with my anxiety is by taking control and making a plan. So make a to do list. Put brushing your teeth on it if that's something you feel like you need to plan out. I know it's part of my "what time do I need to get up" equation.

3. Journal. Now, I have a prayer journal where I list or write out everything that's on my mind or that I'm worried about. You don't have to have a prayer journal or believe in a God or anything like that if that's not your thing, but listing everything that's stressing you out and weighing you down can still help you. First, you're going to be acknowledging it, which is seriously half the battle. Second, putting it out there on paper may help you get it off your chest. 

4. Perspective. This is easily one of the hardest things I've had to learn in my life. There is some shit you cannot control. I know, I know. Take a minute if you need it. There are just some things we have no power over, and stressing over them doesn't give us any power. I absolutely understand how hard it is, but try to let go of some of those things you don't get to control. 

5. Perk Up. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell you to just "be happy" or to "get over it" because that's some ignorant crap that we super don't need to put up with. No, this tip is just about finding something that helps you feel a little better. I personally like to jam out to music. I have a playlist called "Perk Up Buttercup" with my fave songs and my happy tunes and my upbeat jams. It doesn't fix the problems, but it does help me feel a little better. 

So what have we learned? What are we taking away from this? Take a fucking breath, let go of some shit, and find a non-alcoholic vice to help pull you out of a slump.    

You can handle this. You're a badass and you know it. So start treating yourself to some mental health self-care.  

Divorce is a Beautiful Thing

 

Divorce is kind of a beautiful thing. I’m sure that’s an odd thing to hear anyone say, especially a woman who has only been married three years, but its true to me.

Too often when the word “divorce” comes up we think of messy fights and failed marriages, and we politely turn our heads away to let the couple bask in the shame of their inability to tough it out.

Why is it that divorce is the only time we shame people and deem them a failure for leaving something that doesn’t work?

If someone’s car breaks down and they get a new one, we congratulate them.

When someone leaves a crappy job to live out their dream, we praise them.

We swarm to support people who break up with a boyfriend or girlfriend that wasn’t the right fit.

So why is it that when two people choose to end a marriage that no longer works, they’re labeled as failures?

There are so many reasons for divorce, and they are all valid. How often in life are you asked to make a decision that you can never change or adjust until you die? How many of us are completely different people than we were 5, 10, or 30 years ago?

Why can’t we celebrate the courage it takes to make the choice to get divorced, and boldly and loudly pledge our support as both people set out on a new journey?

I adore both of my parents. They are loving and caring and absolutely fantastic human beings, but they sucked at being married together. At some point they stopped being in love. They stopped being what the other needed. They stopped being the people they were when they got married and the people that they became weren’t soulmates.

Family dinners were tense. Family photos were hellacious. Vacations were a delicate balance of laughter and arguments. None of us were happy in that marriage, and as the years went past, the happy times become more and more overshadowed by tension, stress, and anger.

So, they got divorced.

Ten years ago they separated, split their lives, and ended their marriage. And it was possibly the best thing that ever happened to them, and to my brother and me. My dad had the chance to take an incredible job and completely change his life. My mom met her soul mate and started a new adventure that was all laughter and joy. My parents were happier apart than they were together, and there is not a single thing wrong with that. 

They’re both still good friends. We all gather joyfully for weddings and holidays and important moments in our family. Their relationship with their kids is better. As I’ve grown, I’ve gotten to see my parents become entirely new people, and that blossoming has never had to be dimmed by forced smiles or hushed arguments. We all got to build new relationships after their divorce as they each got to become their true selves, rather than the unhappy spouse, the unfulfilled partner, or the emotionally tormented parent. 

My brother and I got a fantastic stepdad who we love and who loves us like we’re his own. Our family grew through marriage, through friendships that were only forged thanks to my dad moving to Indiana. Everything from my dog to my career has been a result, in some big or small way, of my parents deciding that they wanted to happy and divorced instead of unhappy and together.

My parents’ divorce, which so many would call a failure, or a tragedy, or disgraceful, has become the steppingstone to all of us being happier, all of us experiencing more love, and joy.  

Divorce isn’t a failure. It’s a chapter. People grow and evolve, and lives change, and dreams shift, and everyone deserves to pursue those branching paths. And while I hope every marriage can be as beautiful and perfect and flawless as the moment the two people fell in love, I understand that that’s just not how life always works. Divorce is a next step, a first step even, to people finding their destiny. It’s the first chapter in a story of happier families.