About Me – Page 28

Categories: About Me

Four Days

November is my favorite month for many reasons. It’s my birthday month and holds my very favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. It also feels like the kick-off to the holiday season, which is the best time of year. And November is the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). Last year, I “won” by writing 50,000 words in less than 30 days and I’m aiming to do the same this year.

I’ve been doing a lot of things differently this time around. Last year, I had a minor freak out the day before NaNoWriMo started and decided to completely change my story. I really wasn’t feeling motivated or inspired by the novel I had been planning on writing, so on October 31st, I hurriedly wrote a short blurb for a story I’d been planning in my head for many years. I didn’t have my characters nailed down and I didn’t have any sort of plot written out. I didn’t really know what I wanted my main character to learn. I didn’t know what her goals were, her motivations, or what was standing in her way. I didn’t know why I was writing this book.

But still, I wrote. I wrote over 2,000 words every day and managed to turn in a messy first draft of the book. I finished the book, and I got it all down, but it wasn’t very good.

And more than that, I didn’t enjoy that process. It felt very chaotic. I let things happen to my character that messed up the flow of my plot. I let my character do things that weren’t authentic or real. But it was a good experience. It helped me to understand the plot better and what writing a book is like. It helped me to see that I love the writing process, that these stories are in my head for a reason and I need to bring them to life.

So I am entering NaNoWriMo 2013 in a completely different state. The story I am writing is one that I am hoping to turn into a four-book series if all goes according to plan. I wrote the overview of the books over the summer and spent the past few months writing detailed character analyses on my two main characters, reading up on how to write plot, and then this whole weekend I spent hours crafting the perfect plot. I learned about the fateful GMC (goals, motivation, conflict), something my other book didn’t have, and I spent two hours working through prompts to figure them out and how to work my plot around them. And then I spent hours writing down the plot. Scene by scene, making sure it moved along at the right pace and that it led up, authentically, to the climax and resulting resolution.

It was hard work. I had a few minor freakouts that my plot was horrible and I couldn’t go anywhere with this book but, usually, if I stepped away from it for a little while, I could come back with a fresh mind and a new idea of how to make it work. And there were times it felt overwhelming, but mostly? Mostly, it was really, really fun. It was fun to write this plot down, to figure out how to get my character out of the messes she created for herself, and how to make things happen for her.

And now I’m here. Four days until NaNoWriMo begins and I get to write this story. While I could get started early (since my finished product will be around 70,000 words, give or take), I’m going to wait until Friday to start writing.

My whole being has been consumed by this story for the past three days. I want this to be The Book, the one I revise and edit and pursue for publishing. And I really believe in this book. I believe it can be a publishable book. It’s a contemporary romance novel, but there’s an element to it that elevates it to another level and adds depth to the plot. It’s one of those feel-good romances that I hope people will finish and feel all gooey and swoony and in love with love. I want people to finish my book and be sad that they finished it because the characters meant that much to them.

So the journey begins in four days. And I am so ready for it.

Categories: About Me

Anxiety, Honesty, and Learning to Ask for Help

Almost a year ago, I set out on a mission to find a way to control my anxiety. I wanted to start therapy and learn how to move past all the things that were holding me back, like my father leaving me, my shaky faith, and my social anxiety. I went into therapy full throttle, expecting it to be this grand time of gabbing and opening my heart and crying and feeling so great about letting it all hang out.

The truth is, letting it all hang out is hard. So hard that I… really didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to open up to someone I had just met. I think this is partly where my self-esteem issues lie, where I’m worried that I’m wasting this therapist’s time with my little woe-is-me problems. I’m not depressed or suicidal or dealing with the death of a loved one or anything like that. I’m just… anxious a lot. Feeling abandoned. Feeling confused. Feeling hurt.

During my first therapy session, I had to fill out a questionnaire about myself, mainly to give the therapist an idea of where I was at mentally and how she could help me. The questionnaire scared me to death. I felt my hands growing cold and clammy and my mind racing as my eyes scanned the page. I don’t remember exactly the questions that were asked, but I remember this crippling feeling of fear as I thought about what I was doing. I was admitting I had a problem. I couldn’t handle this problem on my own. I needed help. But reaching out and asking for help isn’t in my nature, it isn’t something I do naturally. I would rather spend 30 minutes trying to figure out a work problem on my own than take 1 minute to ask a coworker because I don’t want to inconvenience them and I want to do it on my own. So admitting this? Admitting that I needed therapy to solve a problem? That was hard. It’s still hard to come to terms with. I know, logically, it’s not weak to ask for help. I know it takes intense courage and bravery and strength to ask for help, to go to therapy. But I felt weak. I felt broken and used and discouraged and even a little hopeless. I filled out that questionnaire with a shaky hand, knowing I wasn’t completely truthful in my answers, and that I marked some things as “never” or “once in a while” that should have been marked as “often.” I didn’t want her to automatically think I was a basket case. Even though I most likely was. (Am?)

I couldn’t be honest with myself, because I was so scared of what someone – this stranger, this person who deals with people like me for a living, who wants to help me – might think. I was terrified of really putting a name on this mental battle I was waging every day.

And then there were my therapy appointments. My therapist was a woman, a Christian, someone who seemed like the perfect fit for me. And while the sessions were enlightening, I couldn’t open up to her. I didn’t know how to really go about telling her how I felt about some things. And maybe part of that is that I’ve been so good at hiding what I’m feeling, of tucking away these little pieces of my anxiety into their safe place, that I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling. I couldn’t be honest with her because I didn’t know how to be honest with myself.

I felt lost in therapy. I felt as if I was floundering and I was wasting her time and wasting my time and it all felt pointless. I didn’t know what to say. I guess I just thought therapy would be a little bit easier. Not in the way where it would feel as if I were at Disney World for an hour, but easy in the way where I would have a place where I could talk openly and freely. As if she would ask the questions and I would answer them. But she didn’t ask the questions.

Perhaps we just weren’t a good match, and perhaps I wasn’t ready then.

But then my job change happened and my anxiety was at its all-time worst. I was anxious about leaving a decent job for a new one. (What if I was fired?) I was anxious about telling my boss I was leaving. (What if she gets upset?) I was anxious about starting a new job. (What if I’m expected to know everything there is to know about SEO copywriting on the first day?) I was anxious about where I would sit and the people I would work with. (What if they were mean?) I was anxious about a new commute, a new building, a new lunch room. (What if I hate this new job?)

Obviously, these are probably the same fears most people have when leaving the comfortable for the unfamiliar, when going through a big change, but it all felt magnified. I couldn’t sleep and I felt as if I was in a constant state of panic and fear and doubt and played the “What If” game like a pro. While everyone around me was telling me how excited they were for me, I was just trying to keep my head above water. I was just trying to not fall apart.

It was then I decided I needed to be honest with myself. While I am a generally happy person, can find the silver lining in most situations, and know how blessed I am with the life I have, I struggle with anxiety and it holds me back from so many things. Coupled with my anxiety is my low self-esteem which, at 25 years old, I had hoped to have had a handle on. I had hoped I could look past everything I’m not to see everything I am. But I can’t and I struggle with it and when you struggle with low self-esteem, it’s hard to get ahead in life. You second-guess everything, from building strong friendships to finding love to taking leaps of faith to even understanding your place in therapy. My self-esteem held me back from fully diving into all therapy could bring me because I was too worried that my therapist had better things to do than listen to little ole me blabber about the silly things that brought her pain.

I don’t have a neat way to wrap up this post. I didn’t come to any major epiphanies about how to control my anxiety or help my self-esteem. And I’m still struggling with learning how to be honest with myself. I know I need to be in therapy, so if you’re going to give me advice about that, I know I need it. And maybe the major epiphany is that I realize how much I still struggle with my self-worth and self-esteem. Maybe it’s understanding that I need to learn to be honest with myself. And that opening up to a stranger doesn’t have to be scary. And that my problems are important, even if they feel small in the grand scheme of things. If it’s affecting my life and causing me to miss out on experiences and relationships, then these small-to-me problems are big problems.

So maybe my first try at therapy didn’t work out. Maybe I didn’t connect with the right therapist and maybe it wasn’t the right time and maybe I didn’t magically learn how to be open about my feelings and what I’m going through. I still believe in therapy, I still want to find the right person. But if it taught me one thing, it taught me that I have to believe I am worthy enough for therapy. I have to be truthful with myself and with my therapist about my emotions and thoughts and feelings and stop downgrading how I feel because it makes me nervous or feel bad about myself. I have to trust that giving a voice to my anxiety, it will be the catalyst to change.

Categories: About Me

Five Lessons Learned from Nine Days of Living Alone

If there is one thing in my life that makes me feel as if I haven’t quite gotten rights to my Adulthood Card, it is the fact I still live with my mother. At 25, it feels as if I am a little stunted. This doesn’t come from any place but inside me, the part of me that worries too much about what other people think and how they perceive me. My mom would be happy for me to stay living with her for a long time, but I know I need to move out on my own. It just won’t be happening for another year, since we recently signed on to stay for one more year at this apartment.

(And I love this apartment. I am going to be super sad to leave it. But I could never afford to live here on my own. Sad. Face.)

The truth is, I know I am ready to move out on my own. I am more independent than I give myself credit for and sometimes, the thought of having my own apartment that is mine alone fills me with such excitement and glee.

Last week was my first taste of living on my own since my mom was gone for 9 days, first picking up her boyfriend in Georgia (long story) and then traveling down to Ft. Lauderdale to take a 6-day cruise. (This is a Big Deal because it’s the most we’ve ever been away from one another, aside from when I was living at the dorm – but even then, I came home almost every weekend.)

Those nine days gave me a few lessons learned:

Lesson #1: Living on my own will help me to be more social.

Being social is not something that comes easily to me. It can be stressful and anxiety-inducing, and sometimes, it’s just easier to stay at home. And living at home with my mom gives me a built-in friend to do things with. It becomes easier for me to say no when friends ask me to go out than yes because I have my mom. We do a ton of stuff together and that is the reason why I went for so long without having many friends. I didn’t need them, right? I had my mom. The truth is, this isn’t good for either of us. We’ve both basically wrapped our lives around one another, which is why her having a boyfriend was a really hard adjustment for me. I wasn’t used to sharing my mom, of us having different experiences from one another.

While I wasn’t as social as I wanted to be this week (being phoneless didn’t help!), I can tell I was more apt to be and I think the longer I live alone, the more natural it will become for me to say yes when friends ask me to hang out. (And make plans with friends myself!)

Lesson #2: I really, really enjoy my alone time. Like. Really, really.

Alone time is precious. I used to be scared to be alone for too long and I think it takes some practice to get used to being alone, used to silence and the ticking of the clock. But once you do get used to it, it becomes this intoxicating thing that you start to crave. At least I do. I enjoy my alone time so much. It recharges me, I look forward to it, and I don’t mind the silence. The silence is healing. I used to worry that living on my own would be lonely, and I imagine it could be at times, but I think, most of all, I will really enjoy my alone time and hanging out with myself. Because I am a seriously cool (albeit a bit boring!) person.

Lesson #3: Nighttime is really scary when you’re all alone and all you have for protection is an 11-lb dachshund whose bark is really worse than his bite.

So can we talk about how frightening it is to walk around a dark apartment at midnight and just hope there’s not a murderer lurking in the shadows ready to kill you? This can’t just be me, right? I don’t typically get nervous at night when my mom is home, but man, nighttime was a little creepy this week. I could usually calm myself down and I didn’t get seriously freaked, but yeah, I wasn’t a huge fan of the nighttime.

Lesson #4: Having a dog helps with feelings of loneliness.

Dogs are the best little buddies. I really think Dutch helped me with any feelings of loneliness I may have had. He greeted me every time I walked in the door with happy barks, snuggled with me whenever I needed the cuddles, and followed me everywhere. It’s hard to feel lonely when you have a dog! They just really make everything better. I am sure I may not have been as okay, if not for Dutch. It was like having another person around! A very tiny person who needs to be walked constantly and licks your face when it’s time to get up.

Lesson #5: I like having time to do whatever I want, whenever I want.

My mom and I do a lot of stuff together. We eat dinner together, we watch TV together, we run errands together, we go to get-togethers together… and I love it. I love being around my mom and I love how close we are. But, I have to say, it was really, really nice to be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want. It was nice to be able to set the pace for my day and only have to worry about attending to my needs and wants. I am definitely someone who loves low-key weekends at home, where I tackle a big to-do list and get a lot of writing done, while my mom is someone who constantly wants to be on the go. So we have to compromise a lot. This week, it was nice to set the pace of my weekends and not have to worry about what she wanted to do… just what I wanted to do. It felt great!

I was very happy to welcome my mom back on Sunday afternoon because I missed her way more than I thought I would. She’s one of my favorite people and I just missed being around her! But these nine days were good for both of us. We need to be okay with doing things with other people, and being more independent of each other. It showed me that I am really going to enjoy living on my own, that I am absolutely ready to take this next step into adulthood, and that, no matter what happens, my mom and I will always be close.

I realize I am going to have to get used to doing things on my own, as my dating life is very sad and I don’t see marriage (or even a serious relationship) in my near future. And I want to embrace this time. I want to enjoy this time in my life when I am single and able to do whatever I want. I’m not saying my life will end when I get married, but this is the one time when I can be completely selfish with my time and do what I want. I hear so many people who say that they wish they had gotten a chance to live on their own before settling down and I want that, too. I want to experience life on my own, finding out who I am and what I want through that before my life becomes wrapped up in a husband and a family. This week was just a tiny dip into what life on my own will be like, and it fills me with a lot of confidence and excitement for when I can take the leap and move out.

Categories: About Me

This is Good Enough

Warning: I am about to get transparent about my faith and the struggles I’ve been having lately. Totally stripped, totally vulnerable. If it’s not your thing, carry on. I’ll be back on Friday with a less intense post. But I had a breakthrough with my faith and I felt the need to share.

It’s easy to believe in the lie that we are the only ones going through whatever trial we are going through. We believe nobody else has ever felt this way, or thought that thought, or felt that whisper of anxiety rush through our body. We are the only ones. We are alone. There is nobody that will understand us and fear of judgmental words and snarky feedback keeps us from fully expressing how we feel.

For a long time, I believed in the lie that I was the only Christian who ever messed up. Who ever back slid. Who ever stopped going to church or reading her Bible or praying.

I just wasn’t good at this Christian thing! I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t cut out for traveling the narrow path and denying the self and taking up my cross and all other sorts of Christianese phrases.

I mentioned before that I haven’t been regularly attending church for well over a year now. It’s probably even been more than that. (And yes, I understand that going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than parking your car in a garage makes you a car… or however the analogy goes.) I can’t remember the last time I had dedicated, consistent quiet time – time alone with my Bible, my journal, my prayers, and my God. I only send out prayers when I need something or I’m praying for a friend and they’re these quick chats that barely last a minute or two. And let’s not even get into all the messy part of not following Jesus… things of the sinful nature, of the flesh, of doing things I know are morally not what I want or believe in but I continue to do because the world is shouting at me that it’s cool, or okay, or marking something as sinful is stupid. YOLO, right?

So I started believing this lie that I’m the only Christian who has ever stumbled. I mean, there are Bible verses that state if you have truly given your heart to God and trust in Him, sin shouldn’t even be a part of your vocabulary. I think. I’m actually terrible at Bible verse recall. (I mean, if I’m going to be laying it all out there, I might as well admit that as a girl who grew up in church, I know startlingly little about the Bible.) (Obviously, I get the Big Parts, like Abraham and Noah and Moses and David and the disciples and all that jazz.)

What I’m trying to say is that I’ve had this belief that if you’re saved, you shouldn’t ever doubt. Or sin. Or even think about living for the world. You should be YAY JESUS all the time and nothing can ever come between you and Him. Even though I read blog posts of Christians being completely transparent about how tough the Christian life is, read books about it, listen to songs about it. It’s everywhere! Yet I’ve been struggling with this image of being the Perfect Christian and the Perfect Christian does not stumble or doubt, she never struggles with sin. Now that she’s following Jesus, she isn’t even tempted by what the world wants. It’s Jesus 24/7 for her!

It’s just not that easy. Life is messy and chaotic and wonderful and beautiful. It’s full of ups and downs and twisty turns and complete stops. It’s heartache and happyache, tragedy and celebration. Lately, my faith has felt incredibly brittle. It’s felt like this part of me that was once there and now isn’t and I’m not even sure what I want from it anymore. Definitely not the faith I’ve had for the majority of my life.

Maybe it’s the theory of not feeling good enough. Not understanding this love Christ gives to me and it’s so foreign to me, so ridiculous, that I do everything in my power to prove to Him that His grace is wasted on me. I need too much grace. There’s got to be a limit on this stuff, right? I have to be running low on grace. I come back to Him and it still feels way too good to be true so I start testing this grace stuff out, waiting for the moment when He decides I’m a lost cause and to try and save some other girl. A girl who is more worthy of His love, who tries harder and does better and is probably prettier and skinnier, too.

I don’t want to be the messed-up Christian. I don’t want to be the girl who can never seem to get it right, who doubts, who cusses like a sailor, who is more concerned about living in a way that will make the world happy than a way that will make her God happy.

Because the thing about God is that He sees our potential. He knows where we can go. He understands our imperfections and our faults and why we backslide. He is perfect love. He places no conditions on us, no limits. It’s just there. Full, beating, bursting. For us. When we’re ready. When we need our hundredth helping of grace. When we realize the only way to make it through another day is to grasp tightly to Him and trust He will carry us through.

And all He asks of us? Love. Love yourself, love your neighbor, love your enemies. Love your friends, love your family. Love the broken, the hurting, the helpless, the weak. Love the ones who we think don’t deserve it, love that person who wronged you, love that person you wronged.

It’s not about doing things perfectly. It’s not about perfect church attendance or sending out the perfect prayers five times a day. Just because I’m struggling doesn’t mean I’m a bad Christian, or that I’m an impostor of my faith. It just means I am human. It means I’m normal.

And when I stop placing limits on my faith and what it means to be a Christian… when I take God out of the box I self-righteously put Him in, thinking there is no way He could really be who He says He is… magic happens. I realize what faith is all about. It’s not about works. It’s about love. It’s not about perfection, it’s about imperfect, messy, beautiful love for Jesus. Following Jesus was never meant to be easy. Read any book of the Bible and it’s easy to see that faith is hard and it’s complicated. There is no done, there is no finished, until we meet Him. Stumbling is all part of the journey. Stumbling is an incredible opportunity for growth.

I’m not a bad Christian. I’m not a good Christian. I am just someone who loves Jesus and wants to show that love. I want to learn more about God and I want to be better at attending church and reading my Bible and praying, but I also understand that’s just one part of this faith. There’s also a bigger part and that’s trusting God and loving His people. That’s the part we get tripped up on. We get so caught up in the legalities of religion and forget the whole relationship part. We forget that God is love. He isn’t harsh words, or judgments, or picket signs outside of abortion centers. He’s the one listening to that girl who is scared to death about the thought of having a baby alone, He’s the one holding her, He’s the one showing her she is so much more than she imagines. He’s not the one yelling at her that she’s a murderer. He’s the one giving her love and grace and compassion and kindness. That’s the image of God we need to have.

This faith… it’s not about works. Or perfection. As one of my favorite authors, Mike Yaconelli writes: faith “is complex, complicated, and perplexing – the disorderly, sloppy, chaotic look of authentic faith in the real world.” My faith is sloppy. It is chaotic and disorderly and complex and perplexing and complicated. It is ALL OF THE ABOVE. And yet. And yet God still wants this girl. God still has major plans for this girl. And I want to be holding His hand throughout my journey, trusting His voice to guide me.

I’ll probably always stumble and struggle and sin and falter. It’s human nature. It’s what we do. Nobody is perfect. But just as God is intent on giving me helping after helping of grace, I’m going to extend it to myself. Grace. To be imperfect. To be messy. And to know this journey will be bumpy, but so well worth the ride.

Categories: About Me

Project 333: Six Weeks In

I am currently halfway through Project 333 and the challenge has been going so well for me so far. I’ve really loved having a more minimalistic wardrobe and what this challenge is helping me with is defining my individual style. Fashion has never been something I’ve had much interest in. I love and loathe shopping and to be completely honest, shopping isn’t fun when you’re overweight and unhappy with what you look like. Most times I go shopping, I leave the fitting room with my stomach in knots and feeling upset because everything I tried on didn’t feel good on me.

I want to feel good in what I’m wearing and I know I have a ways to go before I can look in the mirror and be proud of my body. This post isn’t about body image, though. It’s about Project 333 and how I feel halfway into the challenge. The truth is, I need to begin to hone my style and find clothes that make me feel good now. Not thirty or forty or fifty pounds later. So this challenge is two-fold: to first, start minimalizing my wardrobe and getting rid of clothes I have no need for and don’t make me feel great; and secondly, to begin to cultivate my own personal style.

While I wouldn’t say I’m unfashionable, I also rely on comfort over style most of the time. And since my work is super casual (like, wear-yoga-pants-to-work casual), developing my own personal style hasn’t been something I’ve made a priority. I get overwhelmed at the prospect of buying more clothes when my closet was already full, and again, it’s hard to find clothes shopping fun when you’re uncomfortable with your body and feel anxiety every time you step into a fitting room.

So how has Project 333 been for me so far? Have I begun honing my personal style through this process? I thought it would be easiest to do this in Q&A form, with questions I think some people might have…

Are you bored with your options?

Yes and no. There are some days when I look at my tiny selection of clothes and I feel so bored with what I have. I can usually go about 3 weeks before I have to repeat clothes. Usually, I love the simpler selections and the fact that I don’t have a lot of options so deciding what to wear is a breeze.

Do you miss shopping for clothes?

Not really. I never enjoyed shopping that much before and it doesn’t bother me much now. I’ve been to Target numerous times and I’ve never even ventured into the clothing section, and twice I’ve gone to Ross with coworkers and walked out with nothing in my hands. When I need to be strict about spending, I can be strict with myself. I’m sure I’ll want to buy a few new things once the challenge is over, but right now, I’m doing just fine without buying clothes.

Will you continue with a 33-item wardrobe after the challenge?

I don’t think so. I think I will continue to have a minimalist wardrobe and adopt the “one-in-one-out” rule of giving away an item of clothing when I buy something new but sticking to just 33 items total for all clothing, accessories, and shoes is very strict so I will probably allow myself a bigger selection, but no more than 50 total items.

As far as developing my personal style goes, I am slowly figuring out what that is. I know I will always choose comfort over fashion, discount stores over the mall. I like dark colors and stripes and shirts that fit loosely (but not too loosely). Empire waist is not my friend, and dresses should be fitted (but not too fitted). I need a great pair of dark-washed jeans and a pair of black slacks that fit me comfortably (I have yet to find these, as being short and chubby makes everything difficult). If I can get away with never wearing high heels again, I am going to do so. I love t-shirts, hate tank tops, and will avoid wearing shorts as much as I can. I’m more preppy than bold, more casual than chic.

I’m eating up Jess Lively’s “How to Build an Intentional Wardrobe” posts like candy and have begun the (slow) process of creating a vision of the type of wardrobe I love. (On Pinterest, no less. Here’s my board. It’s pitiful right now.)

What Project 333 has taught me is that I’m ready to start developing my style and that I don’t need a huge wardrobe to do so. I can have a minimalist wardrobe but still have a style that is completely me and feels good. I know how I dress has a direct effect on how I feel. I think it’s important not to get too caught up in our looks, but I also think it’s perfectly fine to take pride in our appearance and care about how we dress.

So the first six weeks of Project 333 have gone extremely well, and I look forward to what else I learn about my wardrobe and personal style in these next six weeks!

How important is your personal style to you?