What am I doing here?

This blog is a risk for me.

I literally went from being the most guarded, closed off, artificial, seemingly perfect person alive to ripping myself open and spilling my guts across the internet for everyone to read.

I am a habitual exaggerator, but for once, I promise I’m not exaggerating.

I did not live as an honest person to very many people in my life. I kept most of myself locked deep inside – choosing, instead, to focus my energy on fulfilling everyone else’s expectations so I could hide in plain sight. And that gave me such terrible anxiety, fear of abandonment, and deep self-loathing I couldn’t do it anymore.

So, with this blog, I’ve done my best to embrace vulnerability for the first time ever. And, as a result: I feel like I’m going to puke for the first hour after publishing every post, I’ve shocked many people who thought they knew me, and I’ve made many family members concerned.

Naturally, I’ve gotten a lot of questions from those who know me. Questions about the content of my posts. Questions about whether or not I’m OK. Questions about whether or not it is cool to share my posts with others.

So, I thought it would be a beneficial exercise to really explain my purpose for this online space. Because the content I share in my posts is what I want people to know about me now. Because I am OK. And because I ABSOLUTELY want you to share my posts.

So here’s the deal. I want to be a writer. Like, poetry book publishing, short-story in Newsweek, get paid for doing this, kind of writer.

In order to be a writer, you have to take the kind of risks I haven’t historically been ready to take. Like sharing your guts, and your heart, and your soul, and your mind. Like sharing things other people are too scared to share. Like sharing parts of yourself others can relate to or find a connection with.

I am finally ready to take these risks. And it feels really fucking good.

Every single thing I publish in this space is something I am ready to share with the world. That does not necessarily mean I want to divulge any more details than those contained within my posts. So, if you ask me questions, please don’t be offended if I don’t want to share any further details with you. If we had the kind of relationship where I could confide in you, I would have already given you all the details and you wouldn’t be shocked or surprised from reading my posts.

And, I am not sorry about this. These are my boundaries. I’m working really hard in therapy to get to the point where I trust more people so I can confide in those who would like to support me. But this is slow work. I have to dig myself out of a ditch of low self esteem I have spent 28 years digging. It is what it is. Pushing me by asking invasive questions, and then getting upset when I don’t want to answer them, isn’t going to make me want to confide in you.

That being said, I am OK. I know I write about a lot of dark shit. That’s because I have a morbid personality. I’ve experienced trauma. I struggle with real mental health issues that are not easy to talk about, and definitely not easy to read about. But, rest assured, that by the time something is being posted on my blog or social media, I have processed through it healthily. Once my writing is ready for the world to see, it is because I am on my way out of my crisis and am ready to talk. I am not writing this blog as a cry for attention. I am not looking for anyone to notice me so they can save me. I have a powerful, dedicated, proactive and reactive support system that is a well-oiled machine ready to grind into motion the minute I call on it. What I’m trying to say here is, thank you so much for your love and concern. Thank you for reaching out to me with words of encouragement and support. Thank you for letting me know you’re there for me if I need you, and that you’re rooting me on.

Just please don’t let yourself spend too much energy worrying about me. If you’re reading my posts it means I’m OK. I am a habitual isolator in coping with my mental illnesses, so you should only really be concerned if I fall silent. If I stop posting. If I disappear from the world for long periods of time without explanation.

And that brings me back to my main point: I am trying to be a writer. If I really, honestly think about my dream career; writing is it. I’ve always loved writing and the written word. I’ve been writing creatively since elementary school. I think in syntax. I communicate best in verse and prose. I feel connected to someone when I read their writing. I am desperate for people to have that same feeling when they read mine.

So, PLEASE PLEASE SHARE. Share my writing. Share my social media posts. Share with whomever you think needs to read what I have to say. Share with whomever would feel a connection to my struggle. I am writing this blog because I’m ready to stop hiding. I am working on a poetry book I would like to publish by January 2021 because I’m ready for the world to know my guts. And my heart. And my soul. And my mind.

So please share. And thank you for sharing. And thank you for reading. And thank you for your love and support. I love you too.

My Coworkers Found Out that I Love Celine Dion Last Night, and I’m Not Even Embarrassed

How long has it been since you’ve danced?

Full on

Every limb engaged

Breathless

Dancing?

I don’t mean the kind of dancing we are told we need to do in order to attract a mate.

I mean the kind of dancing we did when we were toddlers. And the familiar song from our favorite Disney movie came on in the car on the way home from daycare.

I mean the dancing where you are nothing

but yourself

and the beat

and off-key repetition of the lyrics.

and every ounce of

your energy

your spirit

your self

is fully invested in this kinesthetic expression of the sheer euphoria achieved by being fully, totally, and inescapably present.

At what age do we stop dancing?

Not competitive, structured, dancing.

With methods, and rules, and schools, and choreography.

The kind of dancing where you move based

on instinct

on emotion

on vibe

Your limbs writhing on

(or off)

rhythm

each with a life of its own

performing movements

and making shapes

never before seen by humans.

Let’s make a promise to each other.

Let’s dance more.

And think less.

And in the Middle of the Chaos, a Love Story [pt I]

I started work again on Monday. And just like that, it feels like I never left. It was a good week, an uneventful week. Even with that being so, my feet are swollen and sore, my knees are killing me from being on my feet all day. I’m exhausted, I’m breaking out, and I’m realizing how difficult it is to take care of yourself when you are a teacher. Most of all though, I hate what it’s done to my relationships.

I’m the kind of person that will do what it takes to do my job well. Unfortunately, teaching is the kind of job with an infinite to-do list. If you’re like me, and you have to be perfect, there will be an unending list of demands to keep you busy and distant from everyone in your life but your students.

My initial concept for this blog post was a detailed assessment of the aspects of being a teacher that makes this the reality. But I quickly got bored. As shocking as the details are (or should be) to everyone else, they are the mundane reality of my day to day. Instead, I ended up daydreaming about my husband.

You see, on Sunday before I went back to work, my husband admitted to me he had anxiety over me going back to work. He was anxious because he felt like he was losing me. Since I would be going back to work. And he had gotten used to having me around.

I have to admit, this crushed me. And it’s all my fault. I started reflecting on my and my husbands relationship, and really realizing how much my mental health and my job has had an impact on it.

I realized how much I had put my husband through.

I realized how badly I needed to make changes, so my work life could no longer suck the life force out of my physical, mental, and relational health.

So on that note, I will be following up tomorrow with a poetic narration of my own reflections in this vein that ended up in a love story of epic proportions.

And as it goes for everything else, I’m kind of starting to lean into this theme of freeing myself from the mold of how I thought my life should go. So who knows…

Self Love

Self Love. This is a concept I hear about all the time. I see the memes, I’ve read the suggestions, I see the posts on Instagram by women claiming to have figured it out. But I still never “got it.”

Self Loathing. That’s a concept I’m much more comfortable with. I am a perfectionist. The only person’s expectations I have never been able to exceed are my own. Good has never been good enough. There would always be something more I could be doing to please everyone in my life, even if it destroyed me.

I’m learning that the cognitive distortions leading to these negative thought pathways are ingrained habits. And habits are hard to break. So, when I thought about Self Love as something to which I should be striving, I could never picture it. I was never able to conceptualize what it would be like to love myself, really love myself.

Until like two days ago. I captured a tiny, fleeting glimpse of what Self Love feels like and how I can define it for myself. And it changed my life.

On Sunday night, my husband went out to spend time with a friend. It is really important to us in our relationship that we have friendships and people outside of each other. Space like this is a healthy thing for us. That being said, alone time is a struggle for me. I am such a people-pleaser, I crave human connection so I can reassure myself I am worth something.

So, when my husband went out on Sunday night, my default setting was immediate loneliness. As if someone had flipped a switch on my heart and my brain, I automatically started thinking about all the people in my life who I miss. All of my friends who have moved far away from me in our adult lives, and all the things we used to do together that would fill me up.

And then I stopped myself. I told my brain no. I refused to allow myself to think those thoughts.

Instead, I asked myself, “If you had access to those friends right now, what would you choose to do and with whom would you do it?”

That’s easy, I replied to myself. My best male friend and I used to do this thing when we would hang out on chill nights in. He’s one of my best friends because he is a verbal processor too. He likes learning about and discussing interesting new things, making connections to prior knowledge, coming to new conclusions, just like I do. So what we would do when we were together was watch David Attenborough narrated nature documentaries on Netflix, on mute, while we listened to music. Phones in hand, we would rapid google any questions we had about animals, we would search up new music to sample, and we would have discussions that I swear could solve all of the world’s problems.

That’s what I wanted to do on Sunday. And, although the sadness at the distance between me and one of my best friends was still there, I had a sudden epiphany that I could do all those things by myself too. Sure, I wouldn’t really have anyone to verbally process it all with, but why does that mean I can’t listen to music and watch nature documentaries on mute? Why can’t I conduct my own solo inquiries into things I’m interested in? I can do that. So I did.

I ordered myself pizza. I put Our Planet on Netflix. I put on a Spotify playlist full of music my husband isn’t really into. I googled a bunch of random things. I drank wine. I had a whole lot of fun.

And the realization about Self Love I mentioned before? It crashed over me like the sun-warmed waves of Lake Michigan in August. What Self Love means to me is finding the thing you love to do, that you don’t need anyone else there to enjoy. It’s the space in my life I can fill, the interests I can engage in, without anyone else’s presence necessary.

Do I still miss my Colorado-stationed best friend? Obviously. Do I still wish he was around to do these activities with? Without question.

And, I found something in myself that I really loved on Sunday night. An ability to feel full, to feel good enough, to feel like I have something to offer myself, to feel like I have worth, regardless of someone else’s opinions of me.

I still don’t have all the answers. I still am not able to truly sit here and say I love myself completely. The self-criticisms are all still up there, rattling around my brain. But, I know what Self Love looks like now. I know how to access it. I know what it means to me.

I hope that anyone reading this will also take the time to figure Self Love out for themselves. Because damn, it feels good.