Big Feels Today

 It's 8:30 a.m. and I'm already having a rough day. 

I'm so tired of people rolling their eyes at me, and so many others, wanting a better world. I'm tired of people being against goodness. I'm sick of all the infighting and the blame and the hate we spew towards one another. I'm just tired of existing in a world like this. 

I was 8 years old when I had my first active shooter drill at school. Around that age we were told to have a code word for if anyone other than our parents picked us up from school so we wouldn't get kidnapped. I learned about how Dr. King was murdered because he wanted people to be equal. I watched a music video about a little girl who was beaten to death by abusive parents. I saw people jump from the Twin Towers as they fell. 

I was 8 years old when people started to teach me that the world is a bad place. I was a child when I learned that people would murder each other recklessly for no reason. 20 years later I still get an uneasy feeling in my stomach in movie theatres, because what if someone walks in and starts shooting? I carry my phone with me at all times because what if I need to call 9-1-1 when someone comes into my workplace with a gun? 

I worry about having a baby girl. I worry about her skipping meals to try and be skinny. I worry one day someone she trusts will try to rape her. I worry about having a son. How do I raise him to not be Brock Turner? How do I raise them to be careful of bad people while encouraging them to help strangers?

Some days I feel like the odds are stacked against people. I know there are incredible people out there who are going to change the world, but sometimes I wonder how they'll do it. People scoff when I say that having a reliable car shouldn't be a privilege. The people who run this country actively work against helping people. 

You shouldn't have to work your fingers to the bone to afford childcare, or food, or a nice place to live. Kids should all have access to well funded schools with caring teachers. Every single person who dreams of going to college should be able to, without financial ruin. No one should be homeless. No one should be denied healthcare because of a price tag. The quality of your life should have nothing to do with where you were born or the color of your skin or how much money your parents had. 

We need to stop scoffing at the people who want better. We need to stop seeing everything as an attack on our values. We have to stop thinking about ourselves only, and putting the well being of the world on the back burner. These issues aren't across the globe, though that shouldn't mean we don't care. 

Kids are getting shot up the street from your house. Families are starving in your neighborhood. People are suffering an arms length away and it feels like no one cares. If we can't have enough grace to let someone merge onto the highway in front of us, how are we supposed to help anyone? 

I don't have an inspirational message today. I don't have an uplifting story or a witty quote. I'm just tired. So many of us are tired, but so many more are uninterested, and it breaks my heart a little more every day.  

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.

 

 

Flagless Play

 2 out of 11. 

That's how many of the "warning signs of suicide" I displayed before I tried to kill myself in February of 2010. 

What's interesting is that, looking back at my journals from my sophomore and junior years of high school, my sophomore journal is full of thoughts of suicide. I mention it almost daily. In my junior year it never shows up. There's no cry for help. There's no swirly "I want to die" forever ingrained on the thin pages of paper. 

My junior year is when I attempted suicide. My junior year, a week before a choir concert, past the stress of exams, and after seeing a therapist who told me, and my mom, that I was "fine", I swallowed every pill I could find. I crawled into my bed, goodbye notes to everyone I loved neatly stacked on my nightstand, and I cried silently. 

I was incredibly lucky. I survived. But, just like with every story of suicide you hear, the warning signs I unconsciously displayed weren't noticed until after I sat in a midnight ER vomiting up pills at 16. Part of the problem, is that I was smart enough not to give away my possessions, or be vocal about wanting to die. In all honesty I didn't even have an internal, suicidal dialogue until the night I made the choice. 

I don't blame my parents. I don't blame myself. I don't blame God. At 17 I had absolutely no idea what mental illness was. I didn't know what depression was. I didn't know that when I was hyperventilating in the bathroom between rehearsal numbers for the school musical I was having a panic attack. 

I come from an educated family. I went through the teen health classes in elementary, middle, and high school. I lived in an affluent community. No one talked about mental illness. No one ever conceived that my moodiness was more than hormonal mood swings and "part of growing up".

Maybe, just maybe, if somewhere in my life, before that February night, someone had talked about mental illness, or depression, or social anxiety, things would have been different. Maybe if that therapist had asked me more than what I wanted to major in, she would have seen past my rehearsed, expected answers to the shattered, hurting teenage girl who was barely functioning. 

I will never know if my suicide attempt was preventable, but I do know that others are. Talk to your kids. Explain mental illness. Don't let them rock back and forth, silently begging God to kill them, because they don't know that they are ill, not broken. 

Awareness is free. Everyone can dispense it and everyone can access it. So please, learn. Learn so that these beautiful kids with incredible futures live to see them and to change the world. 

 

 

Prince of the Disoriented

Today I saw an article title (shameless clickbait) about how Prince Harry feels disoriented not having a job or schedule now that he's a "commoner" in California. I thought for a minute about how disorienting it must be to go from having every moment of your life scheduled, and every task aligned with a specific purpose, to suddenly having no structure to lean on.

As I pondered the Prince's predicament, I realized this sensation isn't foreign to me, or to many of us. In fact, I'd venture to guess this is how every high school senior is about to feel as graduations occur and their uncertain future looms closer.

From age 6 we wake up, Monday through Friday, and show up at school where we follow a curated routine designed to help us build the skills we need to move up each year, and tick off accomplishments that serve to propel us further forward in our education. We do this for 13 years, and then suddenly we're handed a "job well done" and expected to suddenly do it all ourselves. At 18 we're expected to plan the rest of our lives out, and plot out every step we need to take to make it happen.

Is it any wonder that high school seniors throw some serious attitude? I can't speak to your years of schooling, but my education did nothing to prepare me to plan out my entire life, much less plan for my first semester in college.

Sure, I could write one hell of an essay with beautiful MLA citations (which was a cruel joke because in college you only use APA), but I had no idea how to function as an adult and map out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I didn't even know what Watergate was! In school you just restart history at the beginning each year (because so much about the 13 colonies has changed) and then your teacher acts shocked when you only get to 1925 by June.

All jokes aside, high school did nothing to prepare me for life outside those four secure, scheduled walls. I didn't know what my passions were. I didn't even know what skills I had outside of having the ability to pass a regurgitative curriculum year after year. I didn't know how to file my taxes, find a physician, or determine if the Quick Lube was overcharging me to change my air filter (They are. Always.) All I knew was that my next step was to pick another educational institution, where I would pretty much start the same process all over again, except this time it cost me $25,000 per year to not know why I was doing what I was doing.

Sure, there are counselors, but honestly all they're trained to do is help you check off society's agreed upon list of 'necessary education'. College counselors are a bit more helpful, but only if you know what you want to do with the next 60-80 years of your life. Y'all at 18 I didn't even know there were different sizes of tires, much less what degree I wanted to spend $100,000 to earn. My career aptitude test told me I should be a taxidermist, so that was less than helpful.

Kids shouldn't be graduating high school, after 12 years of education, with no life skills and no clue what to do about their future. We need to be building a public school curriculum that educates students about every aspect of life. They should know how to craft a well-researched essay, and how to change a tire. They should have an understanding of the events that shaped our history, and how to compare car loans.

We should be engaging their brains and discovering their passions so that when they move the tassel on their graduation cap, we aren't pushing them off a cliff thinking they can fly, when we didn't teach them how.