Stephany Writes

Categories: Life

Where I’ve Come From

My post last week prompted a few commenters to tell me to stop being so hard on myself and give myself some credit. And while I think it’s natural to be harder on yourself than you are on other people, I also want to take a moment and think back on where I’ve been and how much I’ve accomplished in spite of my circumstances.

You see, my life has never been an easy one. I grew up in what many would think was a normal home. My parents were married. I had an older brother. We lived in an apartment where I got dirty daily, playing outside with friends from the neighborhood. My mom was a preschool teacher. My dad worked nights at a paper company. I attended public school, had sleepovers with girlfriends, and bickered with my brother over the smallest issues. My dad woke us up in the morning, every single morning, with “It’s that time of the day again!” We would grumble, high-tail to the kitchen, eat cereal with our eyes glued to the back of the cereal box, and then get ready for school. My dad would walk us to the bus stop and be there when it returned to walk us back home. I always had a group of friends at school, never the popular girls but girls who totally understood me, even if it was only for the second grade. The next year, I’d have a brand-new set of friends. We had family dinners, Little Debbies snacks for dessert, and those joyous occasions of going out to eat. (My favorite being Pizza Hut.) My brother was into Power Rangers and action figures. I was into Barbies and baby dolls.

But things weren’t perfect. We had a secret. It was a secret that was tearing apart my parents’ marriage and causing my brother and me to always have that feeling of fear in the pit of our bellies. The secret started with my dad and Derby Lane. My dad was a gambler. (And not a very good one.) He would use his entire paycheck to go to the dog track, waste all his money, and end up with maybe ten bucks to his name. Once he had blown all his money, he would go to my mom and force her to give her money. I was all of six when I saw him pull a knife to her throat. I was maybe seven when I came home from church with my mom and brother to see my dad had punched a hole in the wall in anger. I cannot even tell you how many nights I sat in the farthest corner of my room, or sometimes under my bed, with a pillow over my ears to drown out the sounds of my parents fighting. The sounds of my dad threatening my mom. The sounds of him hitting her. The sounds of her fighting back. I was scared to death for my mom because my dad not only had a gambling addiction, but he also had an anger problem. He wasted no time turning his anger on me or my brother. I will say that he never lifted a hand to us, but the emotional beatings we received sometimes felt worse when you’re eight years old. We were evicted from apartments when my dad failed to pay the rent. We struggled financially, even though that should never have been the case because we were surviving on my mom’s piddly daycare teacher’s pay.

When I was eleven years old, my mom sat me down one night and told me that she was leaving my father and we were going to move in with my grandparents for the time being. The elation and exuberance I felt from this announcement were unmatched. I was never one who thought my parents should stay together or stick it out. She tried. Man, did she try. She wasted thirteen years with him before enough was enough. We moved into my grandma’s house. We lived in their office and it was cramped surroundings before my mom found a condo a few weeks before I started sixth grade.

From then on, it was hard. It was just as hard when my parents were together. My brother still thought my dad was the best thing since sliced bread and didn’t enjoy rooming with two females. He had a bit of an attitude problem, taunted my mother with curse-filled rock and rap music, and fought with me more than ever. My mom slipped into depression as she envisioned life as a single parent to two teenagers and tried to support us on barely anything. I suffered from horrible insomnia in sixth grade, the same year my mom was suffering from depression, which meant I didn’t have her to lean on. It pains me to say that because she has been a rock star mama for most of my life but that was one year where she just wasn’t there for me.

My first three months of eighth grade, my dad was sent to jail for stealing money from his mom. To gamble. It wasn’t the first time he’s done that, but it was the first time his mom finally pressed charges. My last two years of high school, my dad was sent to prison for grand theft auto, attempted battery, and stealing money from his brother. I didn’t speak to him for the first of those two years until he sent me a letter, which seemed to make everything better.

My life wasn’t perfect. I’m probably the poster child for daddy issues. But yet, somehow, I’ve managed to come out of it all on top. Sure, I have some major trust issues and I think it’s going to take a very special man to break through the walls of my heart, but things could be a lot worse. There are two people I know of who are dealing with some tough times and are doing things that I could totally have imagined myself doing to make the pain feel better.

How is it possible that my brother is in a loving, committed relationship with his girlfriend of almost 8 years? How is it possible that he’s never touched a cigarette or a drug? How is it possible that the first drink he had was on his 21st birthday, and he’s had maybe 2 or 3 since then? How is it possible that he is an amazing, amazing father to his son? How is it possible that he’s held down a job since he was 15? How is it possible that he’s so responsible with his money that he has a brand-new truck and has never missed a payment? He was 16 when he started buying his own clothes and paying for cable for our house. He bought his own TV with his own money. He bought his own car with his own money. He didn’t have any sort of father figure in his life to teach him the right way to do things. He’s been shown the wrong way. By all intents and purposes, he should be a gambler, beating on Jenny, and a distant father. But he’s not. He’s so far from those things that it makes me laugh. He’s the biggest male role model in my life and I always think to myself, if only I could find a man who is half as good as him, I’ll be happy.

Then there’s me. At 22, I’m still a virgin and looking to remain so until my wedding night. It shouldn’t be this way. Shouldn’t I be looking for other guys to satisfy this craving for a father figure? That’s the way it works, right? At 22, I’ve never been drunk one night in my life. Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that, as long as you do it responsibly, but there were many chances in high school to wind up on the wrong side of the tracks. At 22, I’ve never had a cigarette touch my lips or a drug touch my fingers. I’ve been asked and propositioned, but in the end, it’s always a big, fat no. At 22, I’m still in college and will keep fighting until I graduate. And I’m going to make something of my life. Something big. Something amazing. Something wonderful.

I’m living proof that you can come from pretty awful circumstances and make something better of your life. You can’t control circumstances and bad things happening sometimes, but you can always control your reaction to them. You can always stand up for what’s right. My brother and I have come a long way. Our past is something we’ll never forget but it’s the present and future that our eyes are fully aware of. It helps that we have a mother who loves us with every fiber of her being. Who would give up anything to make us happy. Who has supported us every step of the way.

We’ve turned into two people who take responsibility for their actions. We’ve never even thought to use our past or lack of a father figure to make excuses to do bad things. My past is a huge part of me. Would I have enjoyed an easier life, with two parents who loved each other and me? A father who held down a full-time job, went to all my sporting events, and supported me the way a father should? Heck yes! I’m not going to sit here and say that I don’t long for that kind of past. But that’s not the past I was given. The past I was given has given me trust issues and heartbreak. It has given me strength, passion, and purpose. It has formed me into the woman I am today. A woman who knows what she believes in and stands up for what’s right. A woman who can’t wear her heart on her sleeve for fear of what people will think. A woman who has risen above her circumstances and is ready to make something amazing of her life.

Categories: Life

A Plan

Yesterday’s blog post was about something I just had to get off my chest. I’ve been a little blue for a while now and I sat down on Tuesday night and just wrote and wrote and wrote. It was basically a stream-of-consciousness post, with no apparent theme in mind. I just wanted to figure out what was getting me down. And now I know.

I was up in the air about allowing comments or not. It was a very personal post and I didn’t want to come off as a “Woe is me, leave me ‘Stephany, you are so awesome comments, please.” But, in the end, I did allow comments and received some great advice from some great friends. (And some awesome e-mails!) If I could have, I would have given you a great big hug. Just know I consider you gals some very special people in my life and I think about you daily.

With that said, I need a plan. Now that I know what’s bugging me, I need to begin taking steps to fix it. I need to be more aggressive in my approach to life. There have been special moments in my life where I have faced my fears and seen amazing success. But it wasn’t easy, it was an uphill battle, and most times I just felt like quitting. But there was something in me that kept me going, a fire in my belly.

It’s there, it’s burning. Now I just have to do my best to keep it burning and growing. Here’s how I’m going to do that:

Say no to naps!
I mentioned yesterday about taking naps and lots of them. In this past month, I’ve probably taken close to 4-5 naps a week. While I have nothing against naps and I think they are an awesome addition to any life, there comes a point in time when you stop living life. I mean, is that all my life has become? Just one big, giant ball of sleep? I’m happier on the days when I know I’m coming home and taking a nap, and that’s a little sad. My goal is to save my naps for the weekend. I need to at least try to be more productive with my time Mondays-Thursdays and make these naps more special to me.

Get to bed at 9:30 PM every night.
My alarm goes off at 4:30 AM on weekdays and I’m definitely not getting enough sleep. While my mom can survive perfectly fine on 5 hours of sleep, I need at least 6 to be able to make it through the day, 7-8 if you want me to be happy. As has been the habit for many, many months, I haven’t even started preparing for bed until 10:30 PM, and not turning off my light until after 11. Combine that with my 3-hour daily naps and I’m not getting very good sleep. On Tuesday, I made myself stay up, worked out earlier in the day, and finished eating by 8:30 PM. I went to bed at 9:30, not waking up once until my alarm went off at 4:30. A full, good night’s sleep. It was marvelous. Imagine how much more energetic and alive I would feel if I did that every night?! My goal is to stop eating by 8:00 and start preparing for bed around 9. I think it’ll do wonders for my sleep habits.

Make a list.
A few months ago, Kathleen wrote a post about how she stays productive on her days off, and one of her tips especially stuck out to me: making a list. I get off work anywhere from 10:30 AM – 1 PM, which gives me a whole lot of time to be productive. Yet I waste it napping, being lazy, and spending too many hours reading blogs. I want to begin making a list of what I want to accomplish during that particular day, so as to be more productive. I think it’ll help me out a lot to be more structured with my time.

Start back interning.
I took quite a long vacation from my internship, due to destressing from school and my summer semester. Next week, I hope to begin working for a few hours a day, two days a week. I love my internship. I love how challenged I am, how busy it is, and the atmosphere. It really makes me crave a desk job! (Trust me – spend a day working at a preschool and you’ll long for your desk job back!) I’m excited to get back in there, get some new projects, and feel challenged again.

Get involved.
A rather vague goal, I guess. But I want to get out more! Sometimes, it seems like I am so attached to my mom, it’s just unhealthy. I want to go places without her, take on challenges that interest me but not her, and just get out! The only way to find friends is to be social, right? There are spinning and yoga classes offered at local rec centers. On Wednesdays, I attend a Zumba class with girls from my work. (Although, last night was only my second time going. I’m hoping to make it more of a weekly thing!) I also found Spanish classes that are offered at these centers. Maybe I won’t find my next group of great girlfriends, but at least I’ll be making more out of my life. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even get brave and attend a meet-up!

I’m not a fan of whining and complaining. I don’t enjoy writing posts like I wrote yesterday, but sometimes, you have to figure out what’s got you down in the dumps and how to remedy the situation. This is my plan. It’s done wonders for my emotions over the past two days, knowing I’m doing something about my life.

Categories: Life

A Jumble of Thoughts

I’ve never been one of those bloggers who’s been afraid to write about how I really feel, in fear I’ll lose followers or not receive comments. I’m not someone who likes to sugarcoat the truth, even when it means other people will have tons to say about it. I like reading blogs where people really get personal about their feelings and let it all hang loose. Life is not one big, giant pile of happiness. It’s messy, tough, and hard. This is a post that I’m writing more for me than anyone else. Because, quite honestly, I feel like my life is in shambles right now.

I don’t know when I started to realize that I’m not living my life to its fullest potential. Maybe it happened a few months ago, maybe it happened during last semester but I was too busy keeping my head above water to notice, maybe it’s been an ongoing process for years. The truth is, it fills me with deep regret and bitterness. I want so much out of life, but I feel like I’m so unwilling to do what I need to do to reach it.

My relationship with God is basically non-existent. I go to church on Sundays and I cannot help but feel completely at home there. I could listen to praise and worship music for hours. I love the atmosphere, the preaching, and the people. I leave there determined to get serious about my faith, even if it means leaving behind life as I know it. Yet I come home and fall back into the same old patterns of laziness. I haven’t had a consistent quiet time period since I spent a year on campus in 2006-2007. Back then, I felt so lost and alone. It was the first time I realized that I needed Jesus and I clung to Him. It was such a horrible time in my life, but such an awesome time in my faith. Since then, I’ve been a lazy believer.

I cannot even tell you the number of times I doubt my faith. It’s really scary because I know the truth. I know what I believe in. Yet the world is throwing all these different ideas and morals my way and it causes me to wonder what’s right and what’s wrong. I know what’s right, but I want to do what’s wrong, even when all it does is fill me with guilt.

I thought that once I was done with my semester, I would be happier. My stress levels would be so much lower, I would have more time for work and exercise. I would be more well-rested. And I would have more time for myself. That has been the case. I have had so much me time, it’s insane. But I find myself going to work, going through the motions of the day, coming home, and napping for three hours. I’ll wake up so disorientated I won’t even know what day it is, or even if it’s daytime or nighttime. I’ll lay around for about an hour, then hit the gym. Throw in a few hours to read blogs and watch TV, then crawl back into bed at 11 PM, only to do it all over the next day. It’s such a boring way to live. There’s no excitement, no challenges. Life is seemingly passing me by and I’m just watching it with wistfulness in my gaze.

When I get home from work, I have hours with which to do amazing things. I can write more, connect with the online community, take a class at a local rec center, volunteer, take my dog on long walks, help out more around the house, cook complicated recipes, and learn more about the area in which I live. Yet I choose to take a nap. I choose to be lazy and non-committal. I choose a mundane life.

I feel like my family unit is falling apart. Things are great between my mother and my brother and me. My nephew is a delight. But then there are other issues looming between other family members that just tear at my soul. I’m not going to dive into them because it’s not fair to them for me to do that but suffice it to say that we are entering a time where we need to pull together even more, and it seems like we’re all dividing. Am I to blame for some of the dividing? You bet! I’ll be the first to admit. But it eats at me that everything has come to this. I want to do something to change it, but I’m scared to take the first step. I’m so damn scared to hold out my hand and offer to help because all I think I’ll get is a dirty look.

I’ve never been one who has wanted to live the life of a normal twentysomething. On most days, I’m happy with the fact that I live a fairly homebody lifestyle where my mom is my best friend. Yet there are times when I wish I were different. I wish I had a close-knit of girlfriends with whom to spend weekend nights, have hilarious jokes with, and go on crazy adventures with. I don’t have that. I’ve never had that. I barely know anybody personally that’s my age (and doesn’t want to spend weekend nights at the bars). Yet again, I’m scared to take the first step. I’m scared to ask someone to hang with me, even if we’re not the best of friends. How does a fairly shy and quiet 22-year-old go about making a brand-new circle of friends? Is that even possible?!

And let’s not forget about my dad. Let’s not forget about the fact that the one man who is supposed to love and support me, unconditionally, does not. Throughout my entire life, I’ve lived in fear of him. I’ve never been able to tell him how I feel, truly feel. He has a terrible temper on him and it’s scary when it’s unleashed on you. When I was five, he yelled at me and reduced me to tears because I couldn’t tie my shoes. When I was ten, he yelled at me when I was sick with the flu and he had to clean up my mess. It’s been so hard for me to truly believe people could like me for me. I haven’t even been able to have a successful relationship with a guy because fear has taken hold of my heart. If my own father couldn’t love me, what makes me think some random guy could? has been a constant thought circulating throughout my head. It took me 22 years to be able to finally tell him how I feel. And I had to tell him this through e-mail. I’m still not sure I could tell him this to his face. His return e-mail was mean and nasty, full of hatred. I didn’t read it, although my mom and brother did. I need a clean break from him. I need to move on. I need to learn how to forgive him. Right now, I’m so caught up in bitterness and hatred that it’s hard to see past that. And it’s been doing a number on my emotions, as of late.

I need a plan. Writing this blog post has helped me see areas in my life that I want to work on. And now I need to figure out how to change my life to reflect the person I want to become.

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On a completely unrelated note, I’m guest-posting over at Krysten’s blog today with her “Where I Live Wednesdays” feature. Check it out!

Categories: Life

Fast

When I was in 7th grade, my entire church went on a fast. I was only thirteen, but I decided to take on the challenge. I’m going to be totally honest, I didn’t go into the fast in the right frame of mind. I didn’t go into it to grow closer to God and become a stronger Christian. I was a chubby middle schooler! I went into it to lose some weight.

By 5 p.m., with only a carton of orange juice in my belly, I crashed. I was not the type to nap but that’s what I was doing when my mom got home from work. I was weak, shaky, and just totally out of it. My mom talked to me about it and mentioned giving something else up. I ended up giving up on the fast but it’s never been very far from my mind.

Media fasting is an idea that I heard about probably a year or so ago. I don’t remember where I first heard about it but it really appealed to me. I am so attached to technology. I check Twitter multiple times an hour. I love the blogging community so much that I feel an expressed need to catch up on blogs daily. And writing blogs is something that brings me so much joy and happiness. I love TV. While I don’t watch too many hours of TV a day, I still have a lot of shows I do watch. (And love.) And, honestly, who could deny loving Facebook drama? My attention is pulled in so many different directions. My focus shifts constantly. It cuts into my quiet time with God, my prayer life, and quality time with my family.

I’ve been feeling so stagnant and dull in my life lately. While I’m taking on challenges, achieving some great things, and being totally honest with my feelings, I still feel like I’m not doing enough with my life. I feel like I could do so much more, but I’m so scared to take a leap of faith and do it.

So I took a week off from the media world. It wasn’t a true media fast since I still did watch TV (although no more than I usually did) and did spend some time on the computer. I stayed away from all social media and blogging. When I was on the computer, it was mostly for school.

At first, it was weird. When I woke up on Monday morning, I immediately reached for my phone to check what happened on Twitter while I was sleeping. And then I remembered. Media fast, media fast, media fast. And honestly, being off Twitter/Facebook/blogs/etc. wasn’t as awful as I first thought. I missed it at certain times but not as much as I thought it would. I felt so much more focused. There was a certain peace that came from being away from it all. I didn’t feel a need to check Twitter just in case I missed something important. I didn’t care what drama was going down on Facebook. And while I began to severely miss my blogging friends and reading about your lives, it felt good not to have a need to read every single word you wrote and analyze whatever lame comment I happened to leave.

During my fast, I finally established some quiet time with God. I sat down and wrote out a five-year plan, as well as smaller yearly goals to accomplish. I figured out our finances and why we still seem to be struggling, even after downsizing. I worked out a lot. I napped a lot. I was calm, peaceful, and happy. (But not so happy that I didn’t miss YOU guys!)

I loved doing this. I loved it so much that I want to start doing monthly weekend fasts. And I want these to be true fasts where I completely step away from the Internet and TV. I want to use the time to be engrossed in the Word, pray, and strengthen my relationship with God.

Even if you don’t have the same goals as me, I still encourage taking a break from the Internet, even if it’s just for a few hours or a day. Just to get away from it all and refocus your attention. It doesn’t have to be about faith. In the end, this fast was good for me as an individual. I really feel like it brought me from stagnation to hope. I have goals for the future. I have plans on how to achieve those goals.

Categories: Life

REPOST: Bittersweet Relief

Recently, I found my first blog (where I was actually serious about blogging, and not just writing lame updates once a month) and I’ve been reading through my posts. I wrote for no audience and sporadically. I’ve been reading through the days I was in my final internship and I’ve been struck at how awful that time truly was.

So I decided to repost a post from October 30, 2008. It was exactly one day after I was told I wouldn’t pass my internship. It holds emotions ranging from bitterness to sadness to confusion. It’s heart-wrenching and real. I really don’t hold back with this blog posting and thought I would share it with you.

On Sunday, I promised a super-long blog about how my internship is going. And I can tell you today that it is over. When I first met my teachers and started my internship, I was deliriously happy. I wrote blog entries on how this internship would be so much better. Well, not really. Everything seemed to go downhill after my first evaluation in late September. My teachers had a tendency to wait until they saw my university supervisor to tell me everything I was doing wrong. She even said something to me a week ago where she feels she has to be there in order for my teachers to communicate anything to me! They never once told me that they had serious concerns about me. They told my UP and she set up a meeting between us where my P.M. teacher didn’t say much of anything (Oh, except for telling me I should’ve done more at their PLC that morning – like him? Watching ESPN and looking up stats for baseball?!) and my A.M. teacher expressed her concerns. OK. I was a little distraught (fine, fine. I was a blubbering idiot!) but I resolved to take their suggestions and do better.

My P.M. teacher gave me the reins of teaching in Week 4 or 5. It was up to me to find out where he keeps his pacing guide (and he never showed me one for science or social studies). He never asked me for lesson plans. Except for 1 or 2 times, he never told me what I was doing wrong. Obviously, when you get no feedback, you think you’re doing an A-OK job! I had given and graded 2 separate math tests before he told me how he graded them. His communication skills sucked. And I knew he didn’t like me. I could just tell. And he said something to the effect that people know when he doesn’t like them. Yeah, I knew.

As for my A.M. teacher, she came to me about three Mondays ago and asked to see all my lesson plans for the week. So, OK. I give her a sheet where I had written out in shorthand what I would be doing that week. “No,” she says to me. “I need the lesson plans that tell me exactly what you’re doing.” Oh, OK. I had seen her make 2 different types of lesson plans. The first was a shorthand, teaching points for the week and the second was more of a format of “Teaching Point/Modeled/Active Engagement/Link”. So I worked on that that night and showed it to her the next day. Do you think that’s what she wanted? Nooo. Her communication skills are JUST AS BAD as my P.M. teacher! So I wrote out 4 lesson plans of EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY, a script. She never told me, nor did she show me hers. She assumed I should know it. Um, does she also assume that all of her students know when to put an exclamation point or question mark at the end of a sentence? I didn’t think so.

Every single time I went in for my internship, I cringed as I thought about what thing she could criticize me on today. She never gave positive feedback. It was always negative. I started calling her Ms. Negativity. She totally was.

When I told her I was feeling very overwhelmed with the writing, she told me that concerns her a lot. Wow. Thanks! Way to boost my confidence in teaching, Ms. Negativity! How about, “Well, then let’s do something to help you feel more confident. What can I do to help?”

It was such a bad situation that I feel a sense of relief. I felt so alone there, my teachers weren’t there to support or help me. They were there to get a few hours of peace from teaching. They didn’t help me out and expected me to do things they had been doing for the past 10 years. My teachers had a conference with my UP during the kids’ PE time where they told her they wouldn’t be able to pass me and were not “impressed” with me. Well, honeys, I wasn’t very “impressed” with either of you! (And, on a side note, my UP agreed with me on this one) I keep debating whether I should send them an e-mail. They were so sneaky about everything. Except for once (which was the week she kept wanting the long lesson plans), they never sat me down and told me what I was doing right or wrong. They never conferenced with me alone. It always had to include my UP. I felt like they were tattling on me! Every time we sat down with her, it was as if I had been hit by a Mack truck because they were telling her things they never told me. They had a meeting about me during the kids’ PE time yesterday and that was when they told her they wouldn’t be able to pass me. Again, being sneaky and underhanded. They never told me this. They never said, “We’re getting concerned that we won’t be able to pass you.” They talked to my UP and then she came with me to the classroom where I got my stuff and left. They said absolutely nothing to me. I had left some things in my P.M. teacher’s room and he had the kids give them to me.

Luckily, my UP was able to get me a spring internship where I am already formulating a list of everything I want to say to my new cooperating teacher. I’m really thinking I’d like to try out 2nd grade. I definitely don’t want 3rd or 4th. Maybe 5th. Because of Florida Writes and FCAT, 3rd and 4th grade will be so busy with that for the first 2 months of my internship. I don’t think it’ll be SUCH a big deal with 5th. I always said I wanted to teach intermediate but I did just fine in my primary internship. Maybe that’s where I’m supposed to be. I don’t know. I don’t even know if teaching is what God wants for my life. Scratch that. I know teaching isn’t the Big Plan God has for me. I know it’s writing. I know God wants me to use my ability to write for His good. So maybe I should just take some writing classes next semester? Maybe I should change majors? I. AM. SO. CONFUSED! I honestly don’t know what to do.

I really need to pray about it and see what God wants. I always said, “God, close doors in the places you don’t want me to be and open doors where you do want me to be.” Is this a closed door? Have I been fooling myself for the past 2 years? I just don’t know.