Stephany Writes

My Junk Financial Beliefs

A few months ago, The Financial Diet published a post titled, Why You Need to Clean Out Your Junk Financial Beliefs (& How to Start), which really got the wheels churning in my head. TFD is a hit-or-miss publication for me because I find that a lot of the writers are immensely privileged and it’s hard to relate to a lot of their articles. But this one… this one really hit home for me and had me combing through my own belief systems, the way I was raised, and how it all affects the way I view my finances today.

As many of you know, I grew up poor and this was mostly due to the fact that my dad had a rather significant gambling problem. Without it, we could have lived a fairly comfortable middle-class existence, but as it was, we struggled to make ends meet on my mom’s preschool teacher salary. My dad’s paycheck (and sometimes, some of my mom’s…) was used to fund his gambling addiction. So, I grew up on free school lunches, eviction notices, and that survivor mindset. In my family, wealth was not something to strive for. Making it to the next paycheck without the lights getting turned off was. Things like 401ks, savings, and investments were not in the conversation. The biggest vacation we took as a family was when we went to Ohio. My dad drove the 1,200 miles from Clearwater to Toledo, and we stayed with relatives.

So all this to say… I have a lot of junk financial beliefs. I have had to work through a lot of shit, and I’m still working through it because it’s only been in recent years that I’ve been able to feel like I’m finally getting a good handle on my money. But I still fall prey to my junk financial beliefs, so let’s talk about them, shall we?

Deep breaths. I’m about to get real personal about these.

Junk Financial Belief #1: Working a second job is beneath me.

I’m not talking about having a side hustle, like freelance writing. I’m talking about getting a second job, usually in the retail space. Whether that’s working at the local Starbucks or the mall, I cannot bring myself to “lower myself” to get a second job, even though I know I could pay down my student loans so much faster if I did that, not to mention I could have a bit of breathing room in my budget. But there’s something about doing that that feels like defeat. I’m a college graduate! I have a full-time job! I shouldn’t have to also work a second job. (Yeah, I have a bit of that millenial entitlement going for me, I guess.)

If I did get a second job, it would solely be to pay off my student loans faster and build up my savings. Which means I would only have to work said job for a handful of years. It wouldn’t be forever, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. It would significantly eliminate my free time, and I’m not willing to give that up. I also think it would affect my mental health because part of my self-care routine involves lots of sleep and alone time. That’s partially why I haven’t tried harder to find more freelancing opportunities; it takes a lot of my mental energy – mental energy that’s already at a more limited capacity than most people.

Junk Financial Belief #2: I will always struggle with money.

I have a scarcity mindset when it comes to my finances. I never feel like I’ll ever have enough money, even though I actually do. I’m able to pay my bills, put food on the table, go on vacation. But I don’t save as much as I would like, I have credit card debt, and I always feel as if I’m working at a deficit when it comes to my budget. And it all feels very natural to me to have this unhealthy relationship to my finances. That’s the way I was raised, always fearing that one bill that could turn our world upside down, and that’s the way I live today, even though I don’t need to.

This belief about struggling with money has deep roots in my past, but also my present because most of my family also struggles with money to this day. And there’s this part of me that feels selfish when I think about not struggling – do I really deserve that feeling of peace and fulfillment when it comes to money? Have I earned it?

It’s a lot to think about. I know I deserve that peace. I know my family members also deserve that peace. And I know it ultimately comes down to getting honest about my budget, eliminating the things that are holding me back from ultimate financial freedom, and allowing myself to claim a sense of ownership over my own money situation.

Junk Financial Belief #3: Extra money is supposed to be spent, not saved.

Growing up, having extra money was like finding a unicorn on the side of the road. As in, we almost never had it. I still don’t know how my parents afforded Christmas gifts, but I suspect it was a very stressful time for my mom. Savings wasn’t part of my lexicon growing up, and it’s only been in recent years that I’ve realized that having a well-funded savings account is something I need. It’s not something that would be nice-to-have, but it’s something that would allow me to stop depending on my credit card when emergencies arise (like, say, if my tire blows out one morning on the highway).

I’m getting better at this, but I can’t lie. Sometimes when I log on to my banking account and see that I have more money sitting in my checking account than I thought… it’s hard not to immediately place an order on Thriftbooks or start perusing the Old Navy website. It’s a mindset shift, but I know that the pleasure of seeing four figures in my savings account will far outweigh the pleasure of getting that shipment notification in my email inbox.

Junk Financial Belief #4: It’s normal to use credit cards to buy the things you want.

Oy vey. This has been a belief that I’ve been working on dismantling for years now. It’s the whole “buy now, pay later” mindset, and it’s a very popular one. I know I’m not the only one who has fallen into this trap. It started when I was given my first credit card at the tender age of 18. It had a $500 limit and I used it responsibly. I paid it off every month, using it to buy new items for my dorm room. Then, during my sophomore year of college, I stood in front of an Old Navy store, thinking about how I just really wanted some new clothes for summer, but I didn’t have the money to do so. I was talked into applying for an Old Navy credit card, and my jaw about hit the floor when I was approved and told my limit was $2,500. Within a year, that card was maxed out and I had no way to pay even the minimum payment. Eventually, I worked out a payment plan and paid off that card. But I never lost the shame attached to maxing out a credit card during the first year of my twenties, effectively ruining my credit. I had always told myself I was going to be better about my finances than my parents were, and here I was, my first time out as an adult, and I fucked it up royally.

That card is when I got into this mindset of buying now, paying later. And while I have worked hard to dispel myself of this… I have to constantly fight against myself. For example, just a few weeks ago, I spent an entire evening on ThredUp, throwing shirt after shirt into my cart and telling myself I “needed” these shirts because the dress code at work had recently changed. I didn’t have the money in my checking account, so I told myself I would put it on my credit card and “next paycheck, I’ll really get serious about my budget.” (<— anyone else do this? Sigh.) Thankfully, I came to my senses before I spent any money. I had to remind myself that if I don’t have money in my checking out, I don’t have money. It’s a mantra I have to constantly repeat to myself because it’s so easy to get caught up in buying things and putting it on credit. Part of it has to do with growing up poor and spending the first half of my twenties poor. I couldn’t buy things, ever, so now that I have the ability to, it’s so much harder to resist my impulses. But I’m trying and it starts by dispelling this financial belief that I can buy whatever I want using my credit card.

Honestly, I could probably write another 1,500 words on other junk financial beliefs I have, but I think this post has gotten too long already (maybe I’ll write a Part II in the future). These are some of my bigger ones, and it’s not easy to come clean about all of this. But it’s important. It’s important to talk about money and open up about the way our past has defined our present. It doesn’t mean I still abide by these beliefs or that I’ve thrown in the towel. No – I am actively working on dismantling them, so that I can have that elusive financial freedom sometime in the future. That’s all I can ask of myself.

Your turn! Tell me one junk financial belief of your own.

I’m An Introverted HSP Who Loves Taking Cruises

I’m not really the person you’d expect to be passionate about cruising. I’m an introvert. I’m shy. I’m reserved. I like low-key activities like reading. I’m a highly sensitive person, which means loud noises and lots of people overwhelms me.

And yet… there is no better way to vacation than a cruise, in my very humble opinion. There is nothing that makes me happier or more excited or more fulfilled than being on a cruise ship.

But I’ll also be honest: it’s not easy to cruise when you have high sensitivity. These ships and the activities on board aren’t made for people like me. They’re made for those who enjoy a loud party atmosphere and meeting new people and being outside.

But the truth is, you can be a Highly Sensitive Person and take a cruise without feeling overwhelmed at all times. It takes a little work and a lot of patience, but you can make it work. Here’s how I do it:

1) Your cabin is your safe space.

I spend a lot of time in my cabin when I’m on a cruise. I know some people don’t pay much attention to their cabin because “you’re only there to sleep!” but that is not true for us introverted HSPs who crave sanctuary and alone time. I really pay attention to the cabin, and this time around, my mom and I opted to spend a little extra to have a balcony and it was well worth the money. It was nice to be able to step outside and enjoy the fresh air and views without contending with people.

As an HSP, it’s hard for me to nap anywhere but my room. (My mom has no problem falling asleep around a busy deck, but it’s not possible for me.) I like to spend the late afternoon hours napping in my cabin. Plus, hello, a bed is way more comfortable than a deck chair when it comes to napping. I enjoy being out and about and exploring the ship, but I also like to spend a good amount of time in my quiet cabin. It becomes my safe space where I can get away from all the busyness on the ship.

2) Opt for Your Time Dining.

Our first few cruises, my mom and I always did the seated dining option, where we were forced to be in the dining room at a specific time and always put at a huge table with strangers. Usually, there were 6-10 strangers that we would have to make small talk with for the entire dinner, and that just wasn’t fun for me. I started to realize that I got super grumpy right before dinnertime – solely because I knew it would take a lot out of me. I just wanted to enjoy my dinner, not have to talk to other people!

And then my mom and I got smart and decided to do Your Time dining. With this option, you can show up in the dining room at whatever time you want between 5:45PM-9:30PM and you can get seated at your own table. It gave us the freedom to choose when we wanted to eat and also allowed us to just enjoy dinner with the two of us. Since we’re both introverts and fairly shy, it suits our personalities the best.

3) Yes, the lido deck is very overwhelming. 

Here’s the truth: I hate the lido deck. Just walking through it on my way to something else makes me grumpy and overwhelmed. There is always so much going on between all of the people and the loud music, and it’s just not my scene. It means I don’t participate in the deck parties or even stick around to watch some of the events, like the hairy chest competition. Nope. Not for me. It gets too loud and chaotic.

The lido deck is where it’s at when it comes to cruising, but I had to recognize that my nervous system is too sensitive to handle being there when it’s the most crowded. Thankfully, I cruise with my mom and she’s also not keen on the lido deck. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to cruise with a partner or a group of friends who would want to spend the majority of their time on the lido deck. (It probably wouldn’t be a very satisfying cruise for me!)

And sure, I feel like a debbie downer sometimes because how much I hate the lido deck, but I’ve come to realize that my needs are way more important than trying to enjoy something that I don’t like for the sake of appearances. I know that the lido deck is too much for me, which is why I love places like the Serenity Deck that allows me to enjoy being out on the decks, but in a quieter space.

4) Choose your excursions wisely.

For me, 1-2 active excursions is my limit, but I really try to go all out on those excursions, trying new things and doing activities that I wouldn’t do in my normal, day-to-day life. On this last cruise, which was seven days and included four back-to-back stops, we did two active excursions (horseback riding and zip-lining). The other days in port were spent at an all-inclusive resort (and we were both ready to go after 4-5 hours) and just walking around.

It can be very tempting to schedule fun, exciting excursions in every port, but HSPs have to be mindful of their nervous systems. Trying new things can be overstimulating for us and being on the go with little downtime can be exhausting. I really recommend taking a good look at all the different excursions offered in each port and finding the ones that excite you the most. The rest of the time, just keep it low-key. You may not even get off the ship in one of the ports, and that’s totally fine, too!

5) Don’t be afraid to be boring.

One of the things I often tell people who are interested in cruising is that there’s really something for everyone. It’s a great vacation for extroverts who want to meet new people and stay busy, and it’s a great vacation for introverted HSPs like me who just want a low-key, relaxing time. And this is why I want to tell my fellow HSPs that it’s totally okay to be boring.

Don’t feel like checking out the nightly entertainment? You do you – play a game in the library or go back to your cabin to read.

Overwhelmed by the busyness of the lido deck? Take a seat on one of the inside benches, where you can enjoy the view of the water without the pumping music to distract you.

Too tired to deal with the thought of getting ready for dinner? Order yourself some room service and delight in being purely lazy and purely you.

You get to choose how this vacation works for you. For me, I’m not very interested in the lido deck activities or many of the onboard shows, but I love playing bingo, watching the Love & Marriage show, and seeing the PG comedy. Those are usually the only activities I make it to. Everything else… not for me. You can find me playing cards with my mom in our cabin by 9pm.

All the Jobs I’ve Had

A few weeks ago, Kate wrote this super interesting blog post detailing some of the jobs she’s had in her life. I loved it so much that I decided to steal her idea. This blog post is long, but hopefully it’s an interesting look at all of the different jobs I’ve had over the course of my life. Enjoy!

Baby-Sitter

The summer after fifth grade, my grandma decided to hire me as a baby-sitter for my twin cousins who were four and her next door neighbor’s granddaughter, who was a few years younger than me. It wasn’t baby-sitting in the real sense of the word because my grandma was always there, but she just wanted me to hang out with them and keep them out of trouble and she’d pay me. Fine by me!

Unfortunately, this arrangement didn’t last very long because, well, I kinda just wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to hang out with three kids with tons of energy every day during the summer. I wanted to read! And write silly stories! So I just stopped hanging out with them and thus, the baby-sitting money dried up.

Daycare Cleaner

When I was twelve, my brother and I helped out at the daycare where my mom worked, cleaning toys and chairs. I suspect it was my mom’s way of keeping us from spending the entire summer inside, but we got paid and it was a fun little gig! I can’t remember how long we did it, but it definitely wasn’t very long. We started washing all of the toys in the center and then moved on to washing all of the chairs with bleach. An odd little job, for sure, but I remember having the time of my life working side-by-side with my brother.

Associate at Panera Bread

I was in 10th grade when I applied for a job at Panera Bread, and I was thrilled to be hired! My brother had started working at 15 and I was feeling a little self-conscious about not having a high school job. I attended a training in Tampa and I came home bursting with all sorts of facts about Panera that I’m sure my mom was oh-so-interested to hear.

And then I started working. And it did not live up to my expectations. For one thing, I was only scheduled to work on Saturday and Sunday evenings for a couple of hours. For another, I was basically a glorified dishwasher. I simply spent my time at work cleaning off tables, washing the dishes, and making sure the coffee was always fresh. I also had to sweep and mop the entire dining room on those nights, which was not an enjoyable job in the least. Every now and then, they’d schedule me to work at the register, but I was really not good at it because I couldn’t understand their menu system. This all sounds very whiny, I know, but I was sixteen and it was essentially my first job. I am allowed to be a little whiny, ya know?

Anyway, this job didn’t last very long. Maybe only a few months, until they told me that they no longer needed me anymore. I can’t say I was upset. Nope – I was super relieved and walked out of there with a spring in my step.

Associate at Aeropostale

I worked at this short-lived job the summer after 10th grade. How short lived? One freaking day. This was such a weird situation because the store went through all this trouble to hire and train summer workers (there were around five of us in the training), but then decided they didn’t need any of us. I felt completely out of place at this job, though, so I wasn’t too mad about it.

Concessions Associate at a Movie Theater

I worked at my local movie theater the summer before I went off to college, and I loved it. I worked with a great group of young people (high schoolers and college kids) and we always had a blast, especially on Friday and Saturday nights when the movie theater was packed.

For the majority of my time at the movie theater, I worked in the concessions, which involved a lot of scooping popcorn, pouring drinks, and dealing with customers who were trying their best to earn that free movie ticket if I didn’t ask them if they wanted to try a combo. (True story.) Every now and then, I’d get to work in the box office, which was honestly my favorite because if I worked there on a slow weekday afternoon, it meant I could kick back and read a book – and get paid for it. Sounds like the perfect deal to me!

I stopped working at this job right before I left home to attend college. I thought about transferring to the movie theater near my college, but since I didn’t have a car, transportation would have been tricky. Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted!

Book Hustler at the Campus Bookstore

During my freshman year of college, I spent a few months working in the campus bookstore, in the textbooks. This was a time in my life where I was depressed and I needed something to do that wasn’t going to class or being alone in my dorm room, so I got a job working at the bookstore during their busy season (the end of fall semester/the beginning of spring semester). My first job was working in the buyback program, scanning the textbooks that students brought in and telling them how little they were going to get back. (Not the most fun job, that’s for sure.) Then, during the beginning of the spring semester, I helped students find the books they needed for their classes when they came into the bookstore, as well as packaged up books for students who placed online orders.

I really, really enjoyed this job and had a blast during the few weeks I got to work here. It got me out of my dorm room, too, which is exactly what I needed at this time. I wish it could have lasted longer, though. (I was really hoping I would be hired to work in the actual bookstore, but it wasn’t to be.)

Infant Teacher at a Daycare

The summer after my freshman year of college, I strolled into a daycare center, intent on applying to become an aftercare teacher for elementary-aged kids. At this point in my life, I was studying to become an elementary school teacher and a lot of my peers in my classes worked in these types of aftercare programs. Unfortunately, this daycare center did not have such a program, but they did have an opening for an infant teacher. I decided to apply because hey, I needed a job. I was hired.

I spent this summer working full-time with infants and it was the best birth control I could have possibly asked for. Ha. But I loved those babies so much, and still remember each of their birthdays. As an infant teacher, my days involved changing diapers, feeding them, playing with them, taking them in short strolls around the yard, and rocking them to sleep. It wasn’t a bad job, but it was also pretty boring, and I didn’t always love the teachers they placed in my room.

Once the summer was up, I needed more flexibility with my school schedule, especially once I started interning at elementary schools for my teaching degree. My boss tried to work with me, but it just became too difficult to accommodate my crazy schedule, so I had to let the job go.

Office Assistant at a Printing Company

My mom was friends with the wife of the owner of this printing company, so she got me the job as glorified office assistant for the summer after my sophomore year of college. My main job was to answer the phones, sign for packages, and do the invoices, all of which took approximately 5% of my workday. Every now and then, they would let me run a printing job, which was always fun. I wish I got to do more of that!

The printing company was tiny, as the only employees were the two owners, an older gentleman who ran the printing presses, and me. For the majority of the time, I was alone in the office. There was a TV right next to my desk, and I was told I could watch whatever I wanted, so I just tuned it so I could watch The Price is Right and sitcoms like Reba and George Lopez. They also didn’t care if I fooled around online, so honestly, I got paid to watch TV and fill out surveys on Xanga. Tough life.

“Floating” Teacher at a Daycare

Another daycare! What am I even thinking? Well, I’m thinking that I have experience in a daycare setting and I like that working in a daycare keeps my weekends free. I started this job at the beginning of 2009, which would technically be my junior year of college, but since I changed degrees, I wouldn’t end up graduating college until 2011. But anyway, I started this job and I was basically deemed a “floater,” which meant I would be placed in whatever room needed a teacher.

So, one week I might be in the infant class, the next week the two-year-old class, and the following week working with the pre-k kids. Daycare centers have a pretty crazy turnover rate with teachers (it’s a tough job!) and each class always has to maintain the proper ratio of children to teachers, so I basically just jumped into a room whenever they needed an extra pair of hands to maintain that ratio. I’d also help out with making breakfast and lunch and distributing it around to the different classrooms, and giving bathroom breaks to the teachers. (Man, once I started a “normal” job and realized I could go the bathroom whenever I wanted… my life changed.)

I worked this job all the way until I graduated college, and near the end of my schooling, I had to drop down to just working a few hours in the morning and I am so grateful that my boss was able to accommodate my schedule.

Marketing Assistant

My first post-grad job was working as a marketing assistant for a direct marketing company, a job I worked at for two years from 2011 to 2013. I was so excited to get hired so quickly out of college that I didn’t even balk at the starting salary (brace yourselves… $25,000 before taxes).

My boss managed the intense marketing campaigns for the different promotions we ran throughout the year, and she was so overwhelmed with work that she needed an assistant to help with the more mundane administrative tasks. So my job involved stuff like filing, creating promo codes for the different ads we ran, and editing ads. Gradually, I was given more and more responsibility as I grew in my position, and truly became more of a marketing data analyst than a marketing assistant. A good chunk of my workload involved data analysis.

I started looking for a new job just a year after being with this company because I wasn’t happy. One of the biggest reasons for my unhappiness was that I never really had enough work to keep me busy, so I was bored a lot. Other reasons for my unhappiness was the fact that my salary wasn’t proportional to the tasks I was doing, and I knew I’d never get the raise I deserved. But I think the biggest reason I started looking for a new job so soon after starting this one was the fact that I didn’t want to do data analysis as a full-time job. It wasn’t a passion of mine.

SEO Content Writer

And now we’ve come to the end (nearly 2,000 words later, eeks!). I started working as an SEO content writer for an Internet marketing agency in 2013 and I have loved it since day one. I spend my days writing, editing, and doing online marketing strategy. It’s everything I could want in a job, honestly. I get a few work-from-home days during the month and my weekends start at 11:30 a.m. on Fridays. I get paid a decent wage and I feel acknowledged and accepted at this company.

When I started working here, my job was simple: write SEO content. But over the past four years, the job has changed dramatically that I can barely remember a time when all I did was write all day. It’s changed because my company has developed different growth opportunities for writers and also because SEO is an ever-evolving field and we’ve had to change our practices to grow with this industry. I honestly feel that no day is ever the same, and even if the writing can sometimes be mundane, there’s something comforting about that. I welcome those mundane days because they balance out the crazy ones.

Whew! So there you have it! All of the jobs I’ve had in my life. It’s crazy to see this evolution and was really fun to put this blog post together.

Tell me some of the interesting jobs you’ve had!

Growing Up with Christian Pop Culture

We all have something embarrassing in our pasts. All. Of. Us. Even though I like to believe that everyone else around me grew up in a charmed household, it’s simply not true. There’s always something from your past that embarrasses you or causes you to feel shame or you try to keep hidden from the rest of the world. It’s just human nature.

For me, it was the fact that I wasn’t allowed to listen to anything but Christian music throughout my childhood.

Listening to Christian music is so ingrained in me that it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve felt comfortable turning on the “secular” radio station when I’m in the car with my mom.

But Christian music is what I grew up on. Michael W. Smith, Steven Curtis Chapman, Amy Grant, Carmen, Rachael Lampa, Stacie Orrico, Jaci Velasquez, Plus One, Audio Adrenaline, dc Talk, Newsboys… this is what I listened to. This is all we listened to in my house. (Well, excluding my father who didn’t believe in God and tried to get me to love classic rock as much as he did… but I just wasn’t into it.)

I mean, of course, once my brother and I grew a little older, we sneaked in our secular music. I was partial, as all 90s girls were, to NSYNC and Britney and Christina and Backstreet Boys, but I knew in my heart that was not the kind of music a “good Christian girl” listened to, so I tried to hide it and remember throwing away my Christian Aguilera self-titled album in front of my mom to show her what a good little Christian I was.

And it wasn’t just Christian music that I consumed, but I also tried to stay away from specific movies and TV shows. And most of the books I read from the time I was a teenager until my early twenties were Christian books. In fact, I remember how much I struggled with feelings of guilt and shame when I would pick up a Harlequin romance, scurrying to the back of the library where they kept all of those paperbacks with the purple spines and silly titles and surreptitiously picking out a few romances to read. And then secretly reading them, feeling guilty, and telling myself that I would only read Christian fiction from here on out. Until I found myself, once again, at the back of the library, looking at those naughty-to-me romances.

And so it was this part of my life that always felt vastly different from my peers, especially during middle school and high school. Those are the times in your life when you need to connect with your friends more than ever, and I always felt a little different. Even my church friends (who I was never especially close to anyway) seemed to have a better grasp on pop culture than I did. They could listen to secular music and go to concerts and do all the things the so-called normal kids were doing. Me? I was different. Life for me was different.

For me, Christian music is what I grew up on, Christian music is what I love and what brings me the most peace, and, honestly, Christian music is still my favorite genre. It feels super vulnerable to admit that and to tell the world that I just really want to jam out to Chris Tomlin or Matthew West or Tenth Avenue North when I’m in my car, not Taylor Swift or Demi Lovato or Bruno Mars. It’s not cool, you know? It wasn’t even cool when I was growing up and surrounded by my church friends. And I was obsessed with trying to be cool when I was in my teens, even though I always failed miserably.

Sometime last year, I looked at my main Spotify playlist and realized it was filled with Christian music and I started to feel weird about it. Not because I didn’t love the music, but because I didn’t know if I truly believed in the message behind the words. A few years ago, I would have never questioned the message of my favorite Christian songs, but here I am now, wondering what faith means to me and if it’s authentic to be listening to Christian music. Because even though it brings me great joy and immense peace, do I even deserve that if I’m not sure if I believe in religion anymore?

And then a podcast entered my life. Specifically Good Christian Fun. Honestly, I didn’t know how much I needed this podcast in my life. The premise of this show is that they discuss one piece of Christian pop culture with each episode, whether that be a Christian movie like Fireproof or a Christian artist like Rebecca St. James. Basically, it’s my childhood in a nutshell and it’s so gratifying to relate so well to a podcast. To feel heard. To feel understood. Additionally, every week they bring on a guest to discuss the subject matter with them and before any discussion happens, the guest gives them their “guestimony” (guest + testimony) to talk about their faith background and where they are at with their faith today. It is these segments that have helped me to realize that struggling to come to terms with with the religion I was raised in and what I believe in now is just a part of the growing up process.

But it’s not just the guestimonies that feel so relatable, but also learning about the guest’s relationship to Christian and mainstream pop culture. One time they had a guest one who talked about how jealous she was of her friends who got to listen to secular music and go to concerts. Yes, yes, yes. I’m not the only one. It’s not just me who felt different from my peers. There are people who had the same upbringing as me, with parents (in my case, a parent) that was super strict with the type of media their children consumed and there was no questioning it.

Look, I don’t want to make my mom out to be a bad person because she wasn’t and I don’t feel like I missed out on anything just because I never went to an NSYNC concert. I’m not that much of an entitled brat. It was more of the fact that I couldn’t relate to my friends than it was of rebelling against my mom’s rules. I never really rebelled against them because I liked Christian music and books. I really did! I still enjoy Christian music and read the odd nonfiction Christian book every now and then.

And truthfully, I was so, so lucky to have a mother who cared about me so deeply that she closely monitored what I was consuming. I remember our conversations about the songs Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera were singing, conversations that I remember scoffing at when I was a dumb 11-year-old, but now I can see the love and devotion in them. She wanted me to consume music that had the “right” message (which is subjective, I know), and she went to great lengths to help me understand the benefits of Christian music over pop music.

Good Christian Fun has truly been instrumental in helping me come to terms with my affinity for Christian pop culture, and especially my love for Christian music. It’s something that always used to embarrass me because I could never give a good answer for “who’s your favorite band?” and was always self-conscious about my “goody two-shoes Christian girl” answer. But there’s no use in being embarrassed about what we like, is there? So what if I enjoy Christian music more than mainstream pop? So what if I’m still trying to figure out what my faith means, even while singing along to a Chris Tomlin worship song? All that really matters is that we figure out what makes us feel good and at peace, no matter how other people may judge us for it.

Judge away. I’ll be over here dancing in my kitchen to Plus One’s debut album and laughing at all of the memories these songs bring up for me.

Life Lately

It’s been three weeks since Dutch passed away, and I’m slowly trying to get back to myself.

I thought about coming back to blogging last week, but I just wasn’t ready. I’m not even sure if I’m ready now, but I’m trying. I need it, even if the words don’t come as easily as they used to. I mean, I spent two days just trying to figure out how to start this post, deleting paragraph after paragraph.

But I’m here. And that’s all that matters.

In the last three weeks, I’ve tried to figure out how to live my life without my best friend and it’s so hard. Every morning is a constant reminder that he’s gone. And when I’m asleep, I dream of him. I still expect him to be waiting for me when I come home. I hear phantom noises when I’m alone in my apartment. I receive these little reminders on a near-constant basis, like when I opened up my laptop for the first time after losing him and saw a pop-up from Pinterest: “20 more pins for dog birthday party,” because I thought about planning a birthday party for his 16th birthday back in early January. It’s these little things that remind me of the significance and impact of losing him.

But I’m not going to lie: as heartbroken as I am, life has been easier for me. I was not shy about how hard it was to be the sole caretaker for a special needs dog, and my whole life basically revolved around him. I couldn’t leave him alone for more than 3-4 hours, which meant I always had to have someone check in on him in the middle of the day (usually my mom) and I had to race home after work to take care of him. If I had evening plans, I would either have to ask my mom to check on him for me or do it myself, rushing him through his evening walk so I could get to wherever I needed to go. And if I did have evening plans, I would always worry what kind of scene I might come home to because in his last year, Dutch had developed a habit of pooping and then stepping in the poop and spreading it all around. (Sorry to be TMI, but damn, I had to deal with this constantly and it sucked.) There were times when it took thirty minutes to clean it all up, between washing him, cleaning the floors, and disposing of the mess. Listen, I don’t miss that. Not one bit. There’s a sense of freedom in knowing when I come home, I won’t have a poop-splosion to worry about. And let’s not forget his sleep struggles, which were especially bad in the last year and prompted me to put him on a pill that essentially made him lethargic at night so he (and I) would sleep.

So, yes, life is easier in a way. There’s less worrying – about him and if he’s happy and thriving, about his sleep struggles, about arranging my life to suit his needs. I can say “yes” to evening plans without checking in with my mom first to make sure she can take care of his evening walk. I can go to the gym after work without first going home to check on him (which, let’s face it, when I’m home, I’m staying home). I can run errands and not worry about the logistics of what time I need to be home for Dutch.

But life is also a lot more empty, a lot more purposeless, a lot less happy. Even as hard as Dutch was to take care of, he was my buddy. My best friend. I always knew I could come home to him after every bad day, bad date, bad experience. He was there, exuberantly happy to see me and ready to slobber kisses all over my face. He was my constant companion and I really don’t know what to do with myself without him.

I’ve thought a lot about my next pet because yes, I’m pretty sure there will be another little one running around my apartment before 2018 is over. Before Dutch passed away, I didn’t think I would. I thought that I would just wait until I was in a serious relationship, so I had someone else to help me with taking care of a dog, but who knows when that will happen and I don’t think I want to wait until it does. (If it does.)

However, I’m also not making any decisions anytime soon. I’m just not the type to adopt a new pet immediately after losing one. After my beloved dog Minnie died when I was in college, it took me about six months to be ready to start looking for a new dog and suddenly, that’s when the opportunity to adopt Dutch happened, which was serendipity at its finest. And there’s also the question of whether I want to adopt a cat or a dog, which may surprise some people, as I’ve long identified as a dog person. But I like cats! I love them, even. And I’m really intrigued by how much easier they are to care for than dogs, so all my cat people: I want all of your advice in the coming months! I don’t plan on beginning to look for another pet until the summertime, which will give me time to be alone and grieve Dutch, as well as save money for a new pet and make the decision between a cat and a dog.

In the weeks after losing Dutch, I’ve leaned on my mom more than I have in a really long time. And she’s been there for me every step of the way. I slept at her place the day before we put Dutch down because I just didn’t want to wake up alone that day. She was there in the room with me when we put him down and stayed in there after I left sobbing. She’s checked on me constantly, sometimes just showing up at my apartment unannounced, which was so needed for someone like me, who has the hardest time reaching out. She’s the one I can text when I’m having a bad day and she’ll help me take my mind off my pain – or let me talk it out, if that’s what I need.

And my friends have been great, too, especially my friend M. who has checked on me almost every day, even now. And that’s what I’ve discovered from this period of grief – sometimes, I just need someone to text me “How are you?” and allow me to word-vomit about what I’m feeling. She allows me the space to do that. Other friends have taken me out to lunch and let me be a big cloud of gloom, not asking anything more than that of me. I’ve had blog friends send me emails, care packages, messages to check in, and one special friend who donated to the Florida SPCA in memory of Dutch, which made me cry big tears when I found that out. It’s times like these when I find out how loved I am, and it means the world to me. I can only hope I can pay this kindness forward.

And now I’ve talked for 1,200 words, after saying writing has been difficult for me. Obviously not. But I think it’s so helpful when people talk about grief and get real about how they’re feeling. It’s this weird taboo topic in a sense, and I can understand why because it’s so vulnerable and hard and dredges up so many emotions that we’d rather keep tucked away. But I’m trying really, really hard not to keep my emotions down. I have a tendency to do that – so much so that I have been relieved that I’ve cried a lot in these past few weeks because crying is not something I do often, not even after my grandma died – and I’m trying to allow myself the honesty of grief.

So that’s what my life has been like lately. This isn’t a fun season in my life, unfortunately, but I’m learning to live better with the grief of losing my best friend. Certain days are better than others, but I have also been surprised about how easily grief slaps me back on my knees just when I think I’m doing okay. I guess that’s just the way grief works, though. It’s not linear and I just have to accept that I will never understand it. One step forward, four steps back – that’s grief in a nutshell.

But I’m doing okay most days. I’m finding my way through this season as best I can, and that’s all I can ask of myself.

The State of My Faith Today

If you haven’t been reading my blog for very long, you might be surprised to know that this blog used to be very heavily focused on my faith. Back then, I wrote about my faith on a weekly basis, but I can’t remember the last time I wrote about it. It’s been a few years at least.

And the answer as to why I haven’t written about my faith is a simple one: I’ve been wrestling with what faith means to me, if I even believe in God, and how Christians are viewed in this culture today.

I should start from the beginning. Settle in, my friends. This is going to be a ride.

I grew up in a Pentecostal church. If you don’t know what that means, basically I grew up thinking someone interrupting a church service to “speak in tongues” was totally normal. I grew up thinking everyone danced in the aisles and front of the church during worship. I grew up thinking I wasn’t “saved” enough if I wasn’t slain in the Spirit whenever a pastor prayed over me. (“Slain in the Spirit” basically means falling to the ground because you’re so overcome by the power of the Holy Spirit; or, if you’re me, it’s because you don’t want to be seen as “unholy” so you fall down by your own power.)

My grandparents were the pastors of my children’s church, and so we faithfully attended church every Sunday morning. We also typically attended church on Sunday night and Wednesday night. That was my life throughout my entire childhood and most of my teenage years. It’s important to note here that my dad never attended church with my mom, my brother, and me. He did not believe he needed church to be a Christian, which is true, but I’m not so sure he is/was a Christian. Mostly because of the way he used to make fun of my mom for attending church. So I had that dichotomy: my mom, a strong Christian woman who took us to church, and my dad, a nonbeliever who made fun of everything that had to do with Christianity.

In retrospect, my dad’s bullying ways is probably what led me to become an even stronger Christian. And, in truth, having my faith helped me through some of my more troubling years of childhood when my dad was at his worst. There’s something comforting about faith when times are tough.

My faith was a huge part of my identity from the time I was young and throughout my early twenties. I was fully invested in everything the church preached: I didn’t curse, dressed modestly, believed sex outside of marriage was sinful, didn’t listen to secular music or read books that didn’t have Christian themes. I wore a “True Love Waits” ring on my left ring finger for years and felt pride in the fact that I had never “given up my special gift” for some random guy. I was highly judgmental of people who didn’t follow the Christian faith. I believed that the only path to happiness was by being a believer. I didn’t believe in gay rights and was staunchly pro-life.

It’s comical to write all of this out, honestly, because it reminds me of a time when I was deeply unhappy. I wasn’t stretching myself and trying to find different viewpoints. I was stuck in a white conservative Christian bubble where things were strictly black and white. Gray areas did not exist.

So, what shifted? Because it’s obvious that I don’t necessarily prescribe to this same set of beliefs anymore. I’m more liberal, for one thing, and I can honestly say that it was the actions of Christians in my circle and the way they so easily supported Donald Trump for president that pushed me over the edge.

But truthfully, I was nearing that edge way before then.

I quickly became disenchanted with the church in my mid-twenties. It started when I tried joining church groups and was ignored. It’s always my worst nightmare – to push myself outside my comfort zone and join a social group alone, only to be completely ignored the entire time I’m there. I didn’t know about my introversion and social anxiety before then, so I thought it was just me. I thought I was good enough for the church. I wasn’t holy enough or friendly enough or pretty enough or skinny enough. And when this happened over and over again, it was easy to believe it was me and not them.

That’s when the cracks in my faith started to appear.

After not finding a place in my church, I started attending church less and less and subsequently, started to read my bible and pray less and less. I was still a believer. I still yearned for God, but it was less important to me. I didn’t think I was holy enough for Him.

And that’s when I really started to examine my faith and what it meant to me. What does being a Christian mean to me, personally? Do I even really want this life?

Every time I opened my bible, my guilt jumped out at me. There was just something about being told, over and over again, that I am a sinner and the only way to make up for my sinful nature is to believe in God that started rubbing me the wrong way. I couldn’t get away from this idea that I am a sinner, I have always been a sinner, and I will always be a sinner. This is really the basic tenant of Christianity, and it seemed like every time I opened my bible, I would learn about a different way I was a sinner and needed God.

Every time I did something that went against the faith, I felt this enormous amount of guilt. It could be as simple as reading a romance novel or as massive as masturbating (yes, I’m getting really real here). The guilt followed me everywhere and I honestly believed I was the only one who wrestled with my faith like this.

I’m not, of course. It’s the simple truth of the faith journey is that we all battle against our “sinful nature,” but what if… I just didn’t have to battle anymore? What if I just let myself do the things I wanted to do – things that, mind you, aren’t hurting anyone and actually bring me great pleasure – without the guilt I always attached to them?

It’s a question that followed me for years. There wasn’t a light bulb moment where I just stopped battling against my faith. It was gradual. I stopped attending church. I stopped reading my bible. I stopped reading Christian fiction. I stopped listening to Christian music. I stopped praying.

Gradually, I stopped battling against my faith. I just began to live my life without the guilt. It was freeing in the way my faith never was.

And then the 2016 presidential election happened and I saw Christians throw their support for a man who went against everything I thought they believed in. A man who bragged about sexual assault and didn’t believe in helping those less fortunate and made misogynistic comments about his opponent and other women. A man who wasn’t faithful to his wives. A man who said terrible things about other people. That is who you want to support?

It was the beginning of the end for me. I couldn’t reconcile my faith with the way the Christian community was behaving. If that is what it meant to be a Christian, I didn’t want any part of it.

So what’s the state of my faith today? The truth is, I don’t really know.

My faith looks nothing like it did when I was growing up. Even still, I take so much comfort in faith, in bible stories, in hymns, in sermons. I believe that God exists, but that He takes different forms for everyone and it’s not my job to judge that. I miss being a part of a church family, but I’ve been burned so many times by the church that I’m not sure I have it in me to try again, even with a church that ascribes to my beliefs. There’s also the fact that I have social anxiety and joining a new church is downright terrifying for me.

But also, I don’t want my faith to be a defining part of who I am. For most of my childhood, it was my main identifier and it’s really hard when your main identifying characteristic is something you’re actually bad at. And something that makes you feel guilty nearly all the time.

At my core, I’m not a Christian. I’m just a woman who is trying her best to be a good person. And not a good person because of my Christianity, but a good person because it’s the right thing to be. A woman who tries to fight an administration that doesn’t embody any of Christ’s teachings. A woman who tries to help out those in need as much as she can, accept everyone as they are, and keep her mind open to differing viewpoints.

My faith today is less about guilt and trying to live up to the impossible standards of the perfect Christian woman. My faith today is to simply be the best me I can be. To honor my needs, to love people where they are, and to live in a way that makes me proud.

My 30th Birthday Celebration(s)

My 30th birthday was one for the record books, that’s for sure. It was a whole week of celebrating me with both my friends and my family.

It may come as a surprise with how shy and reserved I can be, but I love celebrating my birthday. I love being showered with attention by my friends and family. My birthday is probably the only time of the year that I love the attention on me, so I relish in it.

I also take my birthday very seriously. I mean, it’s the one day set aside for me, so I might as well live it up, yes? Being born around Thanksgiving means I often have the day off from work, but every now and then, my birthday falls during the week after Thanksgiving, like it did this year. It was on a Tuesday and I knew I was going to take that Tuesday off work, so I decided to treat myself by taking the Monday off work, too. Which means, as everyone was moaning and groaning about going back to work after the Thanksgiving holiday, I was sleeping in and lazing around. Yeah, I was pretty happy with my decision to give myself a super long, six-day weekend. 😉

Here’s how I celebrated my birthday this year!

Monday

On Monday evening, after a fully lazy day where I simply read my book and worked on the blog posts I published last week, I met up with one of my best friends for dinner. While she would be the one to plan my little birthday bash later on in the week, she still wanted to treat me to dinner, just the two of us. We met up at a steakhouse and it was the perfect time of catching up, after not seeing one another for a few weeks. After our dinner, we decided to round out the night with froyo, which was an A+ decision on our parts! It was the perfect kickoff to my birthday week!

Tuesday

Tuesday was my actual birthday and I had a full day of happiness planned. I started by sleeping in and waking up slowly, reading my book and snuggling with Dutch. Around noon, I headed to my favorite nail salon to get a pedicure. I haven’t had a pedicure in maybe three months and my feet were seriously needing some attention. I opted for one of their specialty pedicures that included a paraffin wax treatment that felt soooo luxurious. I read my book while getting my pedicure, and enjoyed every minute of my time in the salon.

After my pedicure, it was time for a massage! I recently discovered that I actually do like massages, but I just need to be clear with the massage therapist that I’m looking for something relaxing with light pressure. I had booked an hour-long relaxation massage for 1:30, and it was so very nice to spend an hour lost in my thoughts and the calming music and the therapeutic touch of another person. I’m really glad I took the time to get a massage on my birthday because it really felt like the ultimate treat.

Once I was finished with my pedicure, my next stop was Starbucks for a peppermint mocha. I relaxed on one of their comfortable couches, sipped my mocha, and finished the book I was reading. I also read a few pages of a new romance while I finished my drink. Perfect!

I came home after my visit to Starbucks and took Dutch on a nice, long walk before taking some time to lay on my bed and read the romance I started at Starbucks. Then it was time to get ready for the evening festivities: dinner with my family!

Unfortunately, my brother and his family couldn’t make it because my brother had to unexpectedly work late. So it was just my mom and stepdad and we met at an Italian restaurant for dinner where I ordered the most delicious peach sangria and ate my weight in bread before dinner. As you should! During dinner, my brother texted me to see about meeting up for dessert. He felt terrible about missing my birthday dinner, and I was super touched that my brother took the time to see me after he had had a long and stressful work day. It meant a lot.

 

 

Saturday

Saturday was my birthday party with my girlfriends! My best friend, B., organized the whole event without me, which I am so damn grateful for. A party planner, I am not. I get way too overwhelmed, so I’m glad she threw herself into planning the party and making it happen for me.

Originally, I planned a big shindig for my 30th birthday with a huge guest list, renting out an event space, having themed drinks… I wanted to go all out. And then I realized that isn’t me. I’m not the type to go all out like that. I don’t particularly enjoy parties like that, so why would I force myself to have a party like that for myself? Instead, I opted for a small party with five of my closest girlfriends. The menu would be light appetizers and pizza and cupcakes. The itinerary would be games and laughter and funny selfies. And that’s exactly what happened!

We started the fun around 6:30 at B.’s house where we snacked on apps before the pizza arrived. Then we gathered in the living room to eat pizza and I told the story of a hilariously bad date I had on Friday. After that, it was time to play some games! B. had bought this fun game called Jackbox, which is played on the TV and on your phone. My friend’s Jackbox purchase came with five games to play and our favorite was Quiplash, which was a twist on Cards Against Humanity. Basically, there would be two prompts that displayed on your phone (like, “Queen Elizabeth’s wrestling name”). The prompts were different from person-to-person, but each prompt would be answered by two people in the group and those answers would go head-to-head in the battle round. Once everyone had submitted their answers (I think you had 90 seconds), it was time to battle it out! The prompts and answers would be displayed one-by-one on the TV and you’d select the answer you liked best on your phone. I hope I’m explaining this in a way that makes sense! It was just super interactive and hilarious and we didn’t even break out the other games we brought to play! Jackbox was too much fun!

After an hour or so of playing Jackbox, it was time for cupcakes and presents! The girls sang to me and then we noshed on some delicious Publix cupcakes (mmm!). Then, I opened my presents and my girls outdid themselves. Between the poem my friend made me of my name, the “30 Reasons We Love Stephany” print, all of the bath bombs, the cute bag of Sephora goodies that my friend got me because she loves how I reveal my Sephora PLAY box every month (I was commissioned to reveal the goodies in the same kind of Instagram Stories video soon, haha), tons of books, dachshund socks, an anchor Tervis, and more stuff that I know I am forgetting… I don’t know how I got so lucky to have thoughtful friends like them! Everything was so perfect.

Once the presents had been unwrapped, we played Jackbox for a few more hours before calling it quits around 10:45. (And yes, we were all very pleased with ourselves for staying up so late. We’re all grandmas at heart, haha.)

I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday celebration. Honestly. I don’t think I would have had near as much fun if I had done a big shindig. This small get-together was perfect and I will be forever grateful to my friends for showering me with so much love and affection.

I think my thirties are off to a wonderful start. But let me tell you, my next decade of birthdays have a lot to live up to.

A Year-by-Year Review of My Twenties

For the past two years, I’ve documented my year month-by-month, assigning the emotion I was feeling most strongly to each month. I thought it might be fun to document my twenties in the same way, which meant I had to dig through my blog’s archives and my own memories to figure out exactly what happened each year and how I was feeling. It was an interesting experience, helping me to see just how damn far I’ve come in ten years. I can’t believe that ten years ago, I was a scared college student who thought she was meant to be an elementary school teacher. How times have changed, eh?

When I was 20, I was stressed out.

I was studying to be an elementary school teacher, which involved three different internships in elementary classrooms. During my last internship, in the fall of 2008, my internship coordinator met with me in the middle of the day to tell me I wouldn’t pass. I needed to get my things and leave. It was heartbreaking and scary and I didn’t know what to do. I was the good student! I had always made Honor Roll or Principal’s List. I wasn’t the kind of person who failed things, and yet here I was, tearfully calling my mom to tell her I had failed at something and I didn’t know what to do next.

When I was 20, I became an aunt for the first time when my nephew J was born. This was also the last time I saw my dad face-to-face, when he came to my small 20th birthday celebration.

When I was 21, I was at peace.

After some soul searching and spending time by myself, I decided to change my major from elementary education to journalism. My heart wasn’t in teaching; it was in writing. I started over from scratch, taking pre-requisite courses on the art of journalism before being accepted into the College of Journalism and Media Studies at USF in the spring.

I adopted a dog this year, a nearly seven-year-old miniature dachshund named Dutch. I didn’t know he would become my entire world, but he did.

My mom and I ended up downsizing to a much smaller apartment. We were living above our means and needed something more affordable. We found a one-bedroom with a den and it was probably half the size of our old apartment.

When I was 22, I was focused.

My whole world was taken up by my journalism schooling and my part-time job at a daycare. When I wasn’t working, I was either in class, studying, writing papers, or publishing posts to my new-ish blog. (This one!)

This was the year I wrote a letter to my father, effectively ending our relationship. And it was the year my mom was hit by a car while running – truly the scariest moment of my life.

When I was 23, I was anxious.

I graduated from college this year, but the last semester of college was so anxiety inducing that I probably should have been on meds (in fact, I was so anxious that I got shingles purely from stress.)

As a graduation present, my mom and I went on a five-day cruise and it forever changed my life.

A few months after graduating, I accepted a position as a marketing assistant at a direct marketing company. The pay wasn’t great, but it would get my foot in the door (and get me out of the daycare I was working at!)

A few weeks after starting the job, one of my coworkers was fired. We were a small company of just 10 people, so the aftereffects were felt by everyone. After that, I was so anxious and scared about being fired myself. Every time my boss had a closed door meeting with the marketing director, I was convinced they were talking about firing me. I started having panic attacks about this, which prompted me to go to therapy.

When I was 24, I was lost.

Gradually, the persistent fear of being fired from this job dissipated and I grew in my role as a marketing assistant. But I was still unhappy because I did not love my job. It did not challenge me, I never had enough work to do, and my time was highly micromanaged. There were days where I cried in my car at the end of the day. I wanted more from my work life, and I fell into a quarterlife crisis of not having any sort of idea of what I really wanted from my career.

In the fall, my mom and I moved from our tiny one-bedroom apartment into a spacious two-bedroom and we were both all the more happy for it.

I went on two cruises, spent a long weekend in Georgia with my family, and started attending a new book club.

When I was 25, I was driven.

I made a promise to myself to leave the job where I was so enormously unhappy, so I threw myself into job searching. At the end of the summer, I accepted a position as a copywriter at a growing online marketing firm. It was one of the best decisions I made in my twenties. I received a significant income boost and got to do what I always wanted to do – write for a living.

It wasn’t until I started my new job that I realized I have debilitating social anxiety. I didn’t speak to anyone at my new company aside from my boss for the first three months I was there, and it took me a few days to even have the courage to walk into the break room.

At 25, I had my first kiss, bought my first car, and had my first vacation with friends.

When I was 26, I was happy.

There’s not much to say about this year of my life. I grew as a copywriter (and gradually even made friends with my coworkers), and learned that loving your job is a possibility. I developed deeper relationships with my friends. I dated from time to time. And I continued to live with my mom, which allowed me to pay down debts and save money. It was a good year for me.

When I was 27, I was engaged with my life.

This is the year where everything happened. It was the year I traveled to Savannah twice and fell head over heels for that charming city. It was the year I met a guy who changed my world for a few months and caused me to get super clear on what I need from my romantic relationships. It was the year my nephew, D., was born. It was the year I moved to Tampa to live with my best friend. It was the year my mom remarried. And it was the year I lost my grandma. Losing grandma was the most massive, soul-crushing loss I have ever experienced in my life, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

When I was 28, I was lonely.

At 28, I was lonely. And then I was busy. And then I was lonely. And then I was busy. Rinse and repeat, that was my year. I was either overwhelmed with social plans and keeping myself so busy that I couldn’t see straight, or I was sitting alone in my apartment that was too expensive in a city I did not love. This was a hard year.

In the fall, I left Tampa and moved back to the city I loved, into an apartment of my own. It was my first time living alone, and I was terrified because transitions are notoriously difficult for me. But the transition was perfect and easy and stress-free. This is where I was meant to be – in this tiny apartment near my friends and my family and my comforts. This transition sparked a change in me, a feeling of being home and happy and whole.

When I was 29, I was content.

This was my best year yet! I started off 29 with a fun relationship with someone I met in Jamaica that never evolved past anything because, well, we live in entirely separate countries. But he was cute and fun to talk to and made me feel good, and who knows what will happen in the future. I participated in the Women’s March in my city and it got me fired up about politics for the first time ever. I settled into myself, my singleness, and my happiness. I traveled to Puerto Rico with my mom and Asheville with my girlfriends. I got a tattoo. I survived a hurricane. I read more than 100 books. I found out my old pup has dementia and taking care of him has become my utmost priority. I opened myself up to dating in a way I never have before. And I just enjoyed my life as much as I possibly could. Yeah, 29 was a fantastic year and it was the perfect way to say goodbye to my twenties and welcome in my thirties.

On My 30th Birthday

Today, I’m 30.

I’m celebrating by taking a day off work. My plans for today include sleeping in and lazing around in the morning, reading my book. In the afternoon, I’m going to take myself out to lunch and then pamper myself with a massage and pedicure. After that, I’ll probably stop at Starbucks for a peppermint mocha and some reading time in one of their cozy chairs. And this evening, my family is taking me out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. All in all, it’s a day of treating myself and I couldn’t be happier about it.

I have a lot to say about turning thirty. First, I want to talk about how excited I am to be in my thirties. Everyone I know tells me that their thirties have been so much better than their twenties, and I believe it. For me, my twenties were a period of intense soul searching and anxiety. There’s college and that first post-college job and making friends and trying to decide what exactly you want from life while still feeling like a kid.

At thirty, I don’t feel like a kid anymore. I don’t feel like a complete mess. I feel like a grown woman who has her shit together and knows exactly what she wants from her life. There is something so empowering and freeing in that statement. It means I have this incredible opportunity to shape my life into exactly the way I want it to look.

My twenties were a turbulent period. I spent a lot of time being ashamed of myself. Ashamed of my shyness and introversion and inability to live on my own and codependency on my mom and financial instability and chronically single status and weight and sensitivity. But over the years, as I have grown into myself, I have accepted that these are simply parts of my story. My shyness, introversion, and high sensitivity are not character flaws, but some of my biggest strengths and they allow me to relate to people on a much deeper level. My inability to live on my own and codependency on my mom are things I grew out of, as I now live alone very successfully and find my mom leaning on me as much as I lean on her. I’ve become financially stable over the years, though I’m still not exactly where I want to be, but that’s okay. I’ll get there. And being chronically single? There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being alone if you are happy being alone. And I am. I go on dates and I put myself out there as much as I want to, but it’s a very low-pressure side of my life. I go on dates because I want to, not because I need to or because I feel like something is missing from my life.

Thirty doesn’t exactly look the way I thought it would look, especially as society told me over and over again that I was supposed to be married in my twenties and at least have a kid by now. This message is especially told to you when you grow up in church, where it felt like every sermon given in youth group was about saving yourself for marriage and waiting for your future spouse. But I honestly cannot imagine being married or having kids right now. I don’t think I was ready for either of those things in my twenties. And so I can’t be upset that I’m turning thirty, single and childless. Those things aren’t meant for me right now, and that’s okay.

If my twenties were my decade of self-discovery and coming into my own, then I want my thirties to be about settling into myself and not letting fear dictate my decisions. I want to put myself out there in fuller, richer, deeper ways. I want to ask for what I want in my romantic relationships. I want to finish that novel and publish it… and maybe publish a handful more after that one. I want to deepen my friendships, travel more, feel more financially stable. I want to have retirement savings and emergency savings and no debt. I want to read as much as I possibly can because reading is my happy place. I want more massages and pedicures and long walks in the sunshine by myself. I want solo travel and solo adventures. I want to find real, true, lasting love with someone who understands me and makes me laugh and can handle all of my anxieties and quirks. I want to have a baby, a little person who is a part of me. I want to get more tattoos, adopt more dogs, fill up my house with books.

And I want to never forget how I felt on this day – November 28, 2017 – when I turned thirty.

Today, I feel happy and whole and satisfied. I feel confident in who I am and what I want. I feel content with my life and the way it looks right now. This is exactly where I’m meant to be.

I believe in the Law of Attraction and that if I put good out into the world, good will come back to me. I believe that no is a full sentence. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe in the power of a good belly laugh. I believe that I am a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister. I believe that I am the best dog-mom for my old, blind, dementia dog. I believe that I have a gift for writing and I want to use that gift to the best of my ability. I believe in naps, in reading romance novels, in retail therapy. I believe in me and my power.

I want to be clear – I’m not head over heels about everything in my life. There is a lot I need to improve on. I’m overweight and really unhappy when I look in the mirror. I have generalized anxiety, which means that every few months I go into a tailspin where I think everyone hates me and I need to delete my blog and never come out of my home again. I have trouble believing in my worth as a romantic partner, especially the hangups I have regarding sex. I spend too much money on things I don’t really need and I’m terrible at saving. I can be too sarcastic and too competitive and too sensitive at times.

We’re all works in progress, though. That’s the beauty of living. It’s messy and complicated, but even in the midst of it, we can find the beauty in it. And maybe that’s the lesson I learned most from my twenties: we’re never completely finished, but we can find peace in who we are, even when there’s more we want to do.

So, here’s to my thirties. I have a feeling they are going to be one amazing ride.

One Year of Living Alone

It’s been a little over a year since I moved into my apartment, my first place living completely on my own.

I was both nervous and excited about living alone. I was grateful that I was able to find an apartment within my budget because the last thing I wanted to do was find a roommate. I worried about getting lonely, feeling unsafe, and paying all the bills on my own. But I was thrilled about having a space entirely my own, not having to worry about working around another roommate’s quirks, and walking around my apartment sans pants whenever I wanted.

I didn’t realize how unhappy I had been living in Tampa until I moved into this little apartment in St. Petersburg, where I’m closer to my mom and my friends. Don’t get me wrong – I loved living with Roomie and I am so thankful that I got to spend a year being her roommate, but Tampa is not where I’m meant to be. I have a lot of friends who live in Tampa and love it, but it’s not for me. I’m glad I tried it out, but I’m even more glad to be a St. Petersburg resident once again.

I’m a homebody and a bit of a hermit, so I really enjoy having a space I don’t have to share. I actually enjoy coming home to a quiet and empty apartment; it brings me so much pleasure. I know most people hate that, but it’s soothing to me. After a day at work where I’ve been bombarded by bright lights and people and conversations and emails, it’s so comforting to come home to my apartment where I don’t have to talk to anyone. I can simply take a bubble bath, make dinner, and snuggle into bed early – alone with my thoughts, my books, and my dog. Those nights are so precious to me and I cherish them.

It helps that when I come home to my quiet apartment at the end of the day, I’m enthusiastically greeted by my dog. So, I’m not coming home to a literal empty apartment – there’s still a living being here that I have to take care of. But, thankfully, a living being that doesn’t expect more from me than walks, food, and snuggles. He’s A-OK in the silence, not needing to fill it with inane conversation or a jabbering TV in the background. It’s honestly the best of both worlds and I know it helps me to feel less alone.

I like that I can be as messy or as clean as I want to be without worrying about making a roommate annoyed at me. I’m not a naturally messy person, but sometimes the dishes stay in the sink for longer than a day or a countertop becomes a dumping ground for junk before I take the time to sort through it. It also means that I don’t have to contend with anyone else’s mess. I wouldn’t be able to handle a messy roommate, nor one who loved clutter, because both of those things give me anxiety. For the most part, my countertops are clear and my sink is free of dishes and my floors are swept and mopped frequently. One of the best parts of living alone: my mess is my mess alone and nobody else’s.

There are downsides to living alone. All the household bills are up to me, which scared me at first, but hasn’t been a problem in this last year. I’m the one responsible for killing the bugs and batting down the spider webs (thankfully, I’ve been bug-free and only have had to deal with one spider web). It can be lonely, especially if I have an entire weekend without plans. As much as I love plan-free weekends, there is such a thing as too much alone time. But the loneliness hasn’t been too difficult to deal with. I’ve managed to fill up my life with dinner dates with friends, time spent with my mom, and group classes at the gym. And I know if I am feeling lonely and craving human interaction, I can reach out to my friends and they’ll be there for me. As a single lady nearing thirty, I am oh-so-grateful for that.

Living alone isn’t everyone’s cuppa tea, but man, it has been a completely wonderful experience for me. It truly makes me happy and while I do hope this isn’t it for me – I’d like to be married and I’d like to have a family – I feel utterly thankful that I get to live alone and that I enjoy it as much as I do.

Image credit:
Patrick Perkins