breakdown

This one was different.
At noon today, I knew that it would come.

I sobbed for almost an hour. My best friend held me and told me that it was okay to feel these ridiculous things because I feel them and that's enough for them to be important.

Then.

Stared at the mirror.
Washed my face.
Put gym clothes on.

And then went to a Zumba class.

It was different.
Different because I spoke aloud the words I had tucked away.
And I let myself feel them.

So I walked into the gym and let my heart race.
(Sometimes that's okay.)


And I don't know if I'm running to or running from

but I need to keep running.







xo.pa

pretending stops. reality begins.

If someone were to come up to me and say, you have to do this year again, I'd side-eye them, back away as slowly and carefully as possible, and then take off sprinting in the opposite direction.

I wouldn't do it.  No way.

And this is of note because there are like whole entire years of my life that I can't even remember--that's how bad they were.

It's also of note because there are, in fact, specific moments from this last year, that I'd absolutely do differently, if given the opportunity--and I'd like to. I'd give a yes instead of a no. More easily extended invitations. Cherished time and the close ones. Stay a little longer. Refuse to go unnnoticed. Use my time more efficiently.

But I think, that as awful as this year has been (because I kind of feel like a lightning rod of unfortunate events), it had to happen just as it did.

I had to land in the companionships from hell. I had to have seizures. Had to leave Mesa unexpectedly, which made me fall into the "missionaries who return home early" category. Had to have test after test and hospital stays and various drugs to get a non-conclusive result. Had to have that knock-down-drag-out-fight. Had to stand there with a glass of water in my hand and very rationally talk myself out of throwing it. Had to feel utterly alone. Had to say the terrible words and feel what it was to say them--to be the person who said them, and who is okay with saying them. Had to witness as very many people sidestepped the truth because it was uncomfortable. Had to see cruelty up close.

This year has been steep learning curve after steep learning curve after steep learning curve.

But it had to happen just as it did.

So I could learn to trust myself more, protect myself more, defend myself more.
So I could speak what was true with a bit less fear and a bit more volume.
So I could  understand that healing and hope are real and available.

I may not understand the will of God, or the logic of the universe, but I've given over to it. Or in to it.

Because in the face of very many bad things, there are many very good things too. And the good things are sweeter. And clearer.

And small (or very large) kindnesses have made a difference.
Have made all the difference.

I moved back to Mesa three months ago.  In with a family that has been kind and welcoming and hold true to the same values. Namely, honesty, faith, and the pursuit of pleasure. I've gone to doctors for my anxiety. And I've begun regularly seeing a counselor to help me wade through the murky water on my pursuit of pleasure.

In my last session, in expelling a particular sort of insecurity-based-heartache--and the particular moment of breaking--I came to the realization that the pretending is over, now. 

Such brutal words, acknowledged with much care and understanding, which makes them--I think--breathtaking.

The pretending is over now. The pretending is over now.

This year has been brutal. Sometimes miserable. Awful. But the pretending is over, now. And that has been the point.

Because the thing about breaking, being broken, breaking open--well, it's not such a bad thing. It feels like hell (even when you're leaning on God it feels like hell), but it reveals us. Distills us. Makes us more ourselves. But in order for that to happen, we have to turn and face ourselves, experience the full weight of who we are, and that--well that, is just not an easy thing to do.

But that's our job. We have to accept and recognize the reality that faces us. Because empathy is our human charge. But we need empathy and understanding to be grounded, and to not be grounded in the face of strong winds is incredibly dangerous and hands down ludicrous.

And so,  the pretending is over, now.

It has to be.

And I'll give thanks for that, If nothing else, I will give thanks for that.

xo.pa

Confessions Friday--a day early

1. I think I've worn jeans only 4 times this year. For the first five months I wore skirts because I was a missionary, and since I've been back I've grown a fond connection to leggings.  (I can fit way more pairs of leggings in a drawer than jeans anyway. )

2. Every time I go shopping I say at least once, "I would buy that if it were black."

3. I'm was in a predicament as to what color converse I should buy for nearly a year. The colors in the running for this purchase were: classic black because I literally wear black every day. White because it'd be a once contrast to the black that I wear every day. Or maroon because I've had my eyes set on maroon since my sophomore year in high school.

4. I bought white converse because I bought a pink watch.

5. Over half my wardrobe is black and white striped. It's becoming a problem.






xo.pa

wholly & completely

It's been a recent realization that I need fall in love with myself. Wholly and completely.

I've officially decided (after a conversation with one of my most favorite humans) to do just that--fall in love with every part of me--my body. my mind. my spirit.
You know, the works.

Confession: I'm not good at being a girl. Or rather, I'm the worst at all things female. All that stuff that guys attribute to girls--the things that drive men nuts about women--I embody them. Wholly and completely.

I think way too much. I over analyze everything. I worry. I stress over the least stressing things. I gravitate towards nuttiness. I am unsure of myself. I get lost in my head. I feel fat in my own clothes. I disappear inward. Have unknowable, unworkable thoughts. I cannot say what most needs to be said when it most need to be heard.

And at one time or another (or both) because of these insecurities,
I've felt personally victimized by Regina George.
Many women have felt personally victimized by Regina George.
But how many of us have victimized ourselves?


This all is to say that girls are full of girl-hate. Including myself.


It's a big part of our reality, body image. Whether we openly acknowledge that or not, physical appearance is important. But not just for appearance--not only for the concoction of attributes we piece together to form us, in order to have us represent others. It's important for health and being wholly healthy. For looking, yes, but more importantly feeling, our best.

That's what I've decided to do. To not only love myself, but love me because I feel my best.

This for me means:
Working out. It doesn't matter how--a zumba class or a late night walk. Whatever.
Passing on the soda at dinner and the cookies in the teacher lounge.
Actually eating vegetables because they will make me feel good.
Taking the time to get ready in the morning.

I think this will allow me to find my peace and forgive myself for all of things I never did and the person I will never be..

Because I wasn't made to like like an airbrushed 5'10' paper-thin model.






xo.pa

quotes from the tinies.

"I'm never gonna pee in my pants again. Okay, Miss Peri?"
"Okay."
"And I keep a promise."


"Where did you're work go?"
"I threw it away."
"Why did you that?"
"Well I sneezded and my nose was just too close to my paper so germs got blown all over it. I had to throw it away."


"I can't really see it. Maybe I can ask my grandma to borrow her glasses."


"[Insert boy name], if you keep being mean to us you're not going to be allowed to come back to our school!"


"That wasn't me that farted. It was just my fat rubbing the chair."









xo.pa

My sagacity is skewed.

I'm feeling a little sad today.
But in a way that's mostly sweet.
And struggling with self-confidence.
But in a way that is only self-inflicted.

It's like I'm just about to turn a corner and my body already knows that. And that path is obviously unknown and full of hills and rivets and unexpected sharp turns. Not to take away from the beauty of that path, but the disposition of it all is scary and ripe with loss but still very good.

I react to this with taunts. Instead of letting them bounce right off my body, which I know I'm capable of, I let them become self-destructive. Because the path is sort of scary. And once that corner is turned, it cannot be unturned.

And I don't know what that loss will be.

It's like I'm running toward something really, really important but I don't know what it is yet.

And I don't know if it'll be enough. And that makes me a little sad.
But a good sad. Because part of me also thinks that it might be.

So I lick my lips and taste my own sadness and give thanks for it's unfamiliar flavor.






xo.pa