Another New Year

     I started this blog last December. When I look back on the things I wrote in the first couple of months on this blog, I tend to cringe and shake my head at myself for posting such silly things.  There are some that I am okay with. One such was about my New Year's resolution. I decided to make it more of a theme, which was to live every day more fearlessly. I'm a worrier, and I tend to overthink too much, so I wanted to be a bit more spontaneous and to take every opportunity that came. I failed at that a lot this past year, but I also succeeded a lot too. I applied it to small things, such as deciding that, what the heck, I'll come sledding even though its cold outside and warm in here. I ended up having a ton of fun because of decisions like that. I also applied it to big things, too. I was afraid to get attached to just one person again, and didn't want to date a single guy, but eventually I let go of my fears and changed my mind about Nakai. Dating him has been an amazing decision. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. 

     Some of the decisions I've made haven't turned out so great, but the good far outweigh the bad. I'm far more apt to wish I had done something than to wish I hadn't. Living  a year more fearlessly has been wonderful and has made me better. 2014 has been a whirlwind ride and SO much has changed between when it started and when it ended. I was a bit prophetic in my New Year's post last year when I wrote:
I don’t know if I have ever lived a year that has ended so differently than it began. I’m sure 2014 will be just as transforming. I will need to be much more fearless this year than I was last year.
     The New Year's theme idea was successful for me, so I plan to do it again. I'm going to keep working on the fearless thing, because it's still a work in progress, and probably always will be, but I'm going to add a bit more. The theme of this year is to be kind and classy. 

     Kind as in the sense of Christ-like love for everyone, saying only nice things about others and looking for the good in everyone, being the sort of person that people like to be around because I'm nice, and showing love to those around me, especially to my companions and investigators. 

     Classy as in showing respect to everyone, acting in a way that earns respect, being always honest in all I do, being the bigger person in a disagreement by returning hate for love, listening carefully so that I can learn, and not being quick to anger. 

     I'm going to tack on an abbreviated version of last year's resolution as well, and promise to myself that I will continue to work on being brave and on taking every good opportunity that comes. 

     Happy 2015, everyone! 

Long Time Coming

December 17, 2014

     On multiple occasions on this blog, I have related the woes of my efforts to serve a mission. I've talked about how my plans sometimes go completely awry, and about how some ordinary days are a bit surreal because of what they might have been. I began this journey over a year ago. In November of last year, I began slowly working on my mission papers. Slowly, because I didn't plan on turning them in for a few months, but I was excited to start anyway. On February 25th, I turned in my mission papers with my availability date set as June 25th. 

     I waited and waited for my call, and it wasn't until mid-May that I finally got the news. Because I had just begun to take an anti-depressant, I would have to wait 6 months so that the medication would be stabilized, and it could be determined from there whether or not I was fit to serve. I was heartbroken to learn the news, but I knew it was the right thing. Before beginning the anti-depressant, I knew, deep down, that I wasn't in any shape to serve a mission. I was hardly in any shape to do anything. 

     The next six months were wonderful and difficult at the same time. Wonderful because of the people I met and the things I experienced and the lessons I learned. Waiting six months was absolutely what I needed to be doing. Difficult because every day I thought about what I would do when the six months were up. I wasn't really sure anymore that I actually wanted to serve a mission. I looked into doing a semester abroad or taking an extended humanitarian trip as an alternative. I prayed and studied and worried, and finally decided that yes, I still wanted to go on a mission. The next question I had to decide was when. I didn't know if I should go as soon as the six months were up, and fall semester had ended, or wait another few months until I had finished winter semester as well. I prayed and studied and worried about that question, too. A very spiritual experience while in the temple one day became my answer, and I decided that I would go as soon as possible.

     When I relate my story to others, a common response is for them to tell me how strong I am, and to tell me how impressed they are that I kept at it and pushed through and decided to work toward a mission despite my setbacks. But the truth is that I don't feel strong because of it. This journey and struggle has been long and hard and I almost gave up many times. I all but decided not to go over and over again. It has been very very hard. 

      However, after so many long months of waiting and wondering and deciding, the day has finally come that I have received my mission call. When I opened the mailbox, I didn't think it was real. It had been so long that I almost didn't think it would ever actually come. I wasn't overly excited to see it, either. I was nervous beyond belief. Seeing the call in the mail suddenly made going on a mission real. I couldn't believe I was actually going to leave my friends, family, boyfriend, school, and entire life behind for 18 months. It was terrifying. When I opened the envelope and read my assignment, though, all of the fear and nervousness went away and I only felt excitement and joy. 

     I have been called to serve in the Washington D.C. South mission and I leave February 4, 2015. I couldn't be happier. 

True Story

December 14, 2014

      It was late Thursday night, or early Friday morning. The first time I left, my boyfriend Nakai walked me home just like always. He came with me the hundred or less yards between his apartment and mine to make sure I got home safe. I hate walking in the dark by myself, so I appreciate that he always does it. Soon after getting home, I realized that I had left my phone at his apartment. I knew he had work in the morning, so I wasn't likely to be able to retrieve it until later the next afternoon, so I decided to run back to get it. For a split second before walking out the door, my hand hovered over my pepper spray and my roommate considered trying to convince me to wait until tomorrow. But both of us must have rationalized that his apartment wasn't that far away, and that I would be fine.

     I literally ran over to his building, because the weight of the 2 AM darkness was pressing around me and sending every fiber of my being into a cross between panic and full alertness. When I got over to his apartment, his roommate let me in. Nakai (an amputee), had already taken off his prosthetic leg and looked nearly asleep, so after finding my phone under his couch, I decided I would be fine this one time if he didn't walk me home. I left his building and began running back to mine.

     There are two buildings between the one Nakai lives in and the one I live in. I was almost to the first of these two when I heard footsteps pounding behind me. I ran faster, but whoever the footsteps belonged to caught up and tackled me to the ground from behind. A voice in my head kept saying, "Get up get up get up get up. That's the most important thing. Get up!" I managed to scramble up from the ground and face the man who had attacked me. I stood frozen for a moment, for some reason unable to react, until the same voice in my head said to me, "Slap him!" So I did. I hit him as hard as I could across the face. The whole time, completely on autopilot, I yelled, "Get away from me! Let me go! What's wrong with you!" over and over and over. After I slapped him, he looked at me and said, "You bitch."

     That look he gave me has been haunting me for days. It comes back to me in the vivid flashbacks that sending me into a shaking, sobbing mess on the floor. It was not a look of hatred or pain or anger. That look was one of pure entitlement. He looked at me with eyes that said, "How dare you slap me? You are nothing. You are not human. I have every right to do whatever I want to you, because you are not a person."

     After I slapped him, I turned to run to the nearest building, but found that the door was locked. I pounded on it and kept screaming at him to leave me alone, and he came and grabbed me around my arms and chest from behind. The voice returned, telling me, "Elbow him. Now grab him." I did as the voice instructed, driving my elbow into his stomach, and reaching down to grab, pull, and twist his nuts. At that moment, I began to have the sinking feeling that if I didn't get away soon, it was over for me. My screams at him turned into loud pleas for help, and he suddenly let me go and ran away.

     I took off like the devil was after me, dry sobs wracking my body as I ran, terrified that he would change his mind and come after me again. I made it to my apartment and attempted to punch in the code to unlock the door, but was too shaken. I pounded on the door until my roommate let me in, and collapsed into her arms. She called a friend of ours to come over and give me a blessing as I called 911. Our friend, who only lives down the hall, arrived about a minute before an officer came over to get a description form me.

     I'm shaken up, covered in scrapes and a few bruises, but otherwise alright. I've been having vivid flashbacks that make me think of what could have happened, and that make me stop functioning for a few minutes as I sob into Nakai's arms. He has been constantly with me, making me feel safe again. I hate to be alone, and for some reason crowds make me just as uneasy. Everyday I feel a little better. When I talk to people about my experience, I feel strong and proud of myself. All alone, I think about how it could have ended, and afraid of it happening again.

     Despite being a terrifying and traumatic experience, I feel so so blessed. That voice in my head during the attack was most definitely the Holy Ghost guiding me and reminding me of the things that I learned in my self defense class last semester. As scary as what happened to me was, it could have been so much worse, and I thank my Heavenly Father every day that it wasn't. I have been surrounded my the love of my family, my friends, my roommates, my ward, and my boyfriend, Nakai. They have all helped me to feel safe again, and also to feel more like myself. There are bad people in the world, but there are also so many good people too.
   

Biggest Fear

December 10, 2014

     I have a big, deep, consuming fear. Sometimes I manage to talk myself out of it and insist it doesn't bother me, but that's just a lie I tell myself to prove I'm strong. 

     My biggest fear is not spiders or snakes or the dark. It isn't men who might take advantage of innocent girls. It isn't that I won't graduate from college or that I'll run out of money to do so. It isn't that I will be told no a second time in regards to serving a mission. All those things illicit some level of fear in me, but none quite break me like this one does. 

     What I am afraid of most is not being taken seriously. 

     I know it sounds stupid. And I know your going to say, "suck it up, because that's the way the world works." And I know you're right. I face it every day and it hurts me still. I am looked at and degraded to nothing more than a face, or angry eyes, or someone too young to really know much, or as just someone who's only significance is her relationship to someone else. I am stripped of my person-hood over and over and over again. It doesn't matter how much I am intelligent, or a good conversationalist, or nice, or honest, or spiritual, or anything. 

     Recently, when asked to come up with things to describe me, some people close to me could only come up with, "you have a boyfriend." That cut me to the core. What about me? Haven't I been your friend? Can't you see me as anything else? Can't you take me seriously? 

    I know that I make mistakes and that I'm not perfect. Sometimes I need someone to tell me that I'm wrong, even if I argue back. But there is a difference between just calling me out individually, and talking about me behind my back for months before giving me a full blown lecture and making me feel like dirt. I don't need to be judged for my choices, and I don't need anyone to think they know what I should be doing with my life better than I do, because they don't walk in my shoes. I try so hard to tell myself that I don't care what other people think about me and what they are saying to each other about me, but that is the biggest lie I've ever told myself. And that's because of my fear. 

     If people are judging me behind my back or even to my face, they're not taking me seriously, and I feel like little more than an empty shell of a human, devoid of anything worth contributing. 

     I am so utterly terrified of being seen as stupid or incompetent or worthless. So scared that any contribution I make will be ignored and set aside. I am so worried that I won't ever be taken seriously, and that I will never be seen for who I really am and what I can really give. 

     When people look at me, I want them to see an individual with a personality and quirks and things to contribute. I don't need people to think I'm perfect, because no one is. But even imperfect people have things to offer. Even imperfect people are people. Even I can be taken seriously. 

Time Machine

      In the past few months, I've missed quite a few opportunities to post something here. I had one post that was in its draft form and had every intention of publishing here, and then suddenly the subject matter became pretty insignificant. And then I could have written about what made it insignificant. But I didn't. And then time passed and more exciting things happened and I have too much to write about, but I don't like really long posts about five different things. So I'm going to back up a little and write a few posts about a few different things over the next few days and try to catch up.  My blog is now a time machine and we're going back a few weeks. Stay tuned. 

Homework at 4

Because I don't want to bog down Facebook with my complaints, the blog gets my random post.

I have been doing homework for hours. I started at 10 PM, fell asleep at 10:45, woke up at 12:30, and continued until about 10 minutes ago.

It is 4:23 AM.

I have two midterms tomorrow.

I think I'm going to cry.

*sobs*

Catching Up

     I haven't posted in almost two months. Oops. I decided around the time of my last post that once I reached a total of 1,000 all-time page views to my blog, I would post it on Facebook. I probably would be already there if I hadn't stopped writing. 

     Most of my posts have some kind of point to them. I try to explain the way I feel about something, or I argue my opinion. I do that because a) I feel like I have valid things to say; and b) this isn't a journal. No one wants to read a recap of my day unless it is funny/gives background info/makes sense in the context of the point that my post is trying to make. This post is going to be just a little different,though. I'm just going to bring you up to speed on my life without adding a life lesson or moral or anything like that. The reason for this is just so that my future posts will make sense. This post is just for the sake of context. 

     This is what my life is right now:

• I'm currently at BYU again as a psychology major
• I'm a TA for a beginning level psych class and I love it. 
• I'm resubmitting my mission papers next month and hope to leave in January or February.
• I LOVE my roommates. We get along so well that I don't think its actually real. Its like having 5 extra sisters.
• My real sister is turning 17 in two days. WHAT?! I can't believe my baby sister is that old. 
• I'm in the BYU marching band again this year and can't get over how awesome it is. I have so many friends that are easily some of my best friends. 
• One of my oldest friends is leaving on a mission in a week and a half. Her farewell is a week from today and I don't know how to handle it. I'm so excited and happy for her, but I'm going to miss her SO MUCH. 
• I love going to the temple. I went yesterday with my roommates and it was such a beautiful and spiritual experience. I absolutely love the Gospel and I can't wait to serve a mission. 
• I have a cactus. His name is Carl. 
• My best friend lives in Cedar City. I. MISS. HER. 
• I am dating an amazing guy who treats me like a queen and makes me feel like one too. In an hour I'm bringing him home for dinner with my family. 

Life is pretty good right now. It still has its issues, and I'm sure I'll have posts coming to discuss said issues. For now, though, at least I have a new post. 

The Tragedy of the Trapped

     I would like to express my sadness over the passing of Robbin Williams. He was a great man and will be missed. My thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends. I feel a bit disrespectful using Robbin Williams' recent passing as a sort of segue into my post today, but I feel as though I should say a few things regarding the topic of suicide. 

     Let me begin by emphasizing that suicide is a terribly tragic thing. It should never ever be romanticized or glorified and anything that can be done to prevent it should be done. 

     There seems to be this idea that suicide equals selfishness and giving up. That it means someone decided that just because life got hard, they were done. This is not true at all. While suicide is a choice, it is not made just because someone is too lazy to fight their problems. 

     Imagine you are extremely claustrophobic, and you are in a small room with no windows or doors. As time goes on, the walls start getting closer together, and the ceiling starts moving closer to your head and to the floor. At first you were able to stand up, but eventually you have to crouch, and then kneel, and finally you are forced to ball yourself up into the fetal position. This would be scary for anyone, but someone who is claustrophobic would be panicking before they even had to crouch. This person would be desperate to escape, and by the time they were forced to curl up, they would be willing to use any means necessary to get out. 

     This is what depression feels like. The best word I have ever heard used to describe depression is "trapped." That's exactly what it is. You are trapped in your own head with your own thoughts and with oceans of despair that you struggle to swim through. Suicide is not what happens when you get tired of swimming, or tired of treading water, or even tired of floating on your back. It is what happens when you have reached a point that you literally cannot see a way to keep swimming. The only possible solution for escape that a person who has reached this low point can see is to drown. (I would like to note that different people experience depression and other struggles in different ways. Not everyone becomes suicidal, like not everyone inflicts self harm, or stops going to work or school, or gets angry at God, or stops eating, etc. Point being, even if you have faced serious struggles and have not felt like ending your life is the only option, that doesn't mean others have not felt that way.)

     What makes suicide so tragic is that the person who committed or attempted it had completely lost hope, and not because they weren't trying to find it. To them, all they were able to see was a life of never-ending despair. A person dealing with this is not someone who should be blamed for being selfish or weak or unwilling. This is a person who desperately needs love and help. 

     This being said, even a suicidal person who has dealt with depression or some other struggle that leaches them of all hope and purpose and who can see no light at the end of the tunnel retains enough will power to ask for help. I asked for help when I started to feel like I hurt so much that living was a burden, and it has made all the difference. However, asking for help was very very hard for me to do. Being the oldest kid in my family, I feel like I have to be this perfect golden child. To admit that I was not okay was not easy. I fought the tears and tried to appear strong even as I told my mom how much I was struggling. As hard as that was, it was worth it. 

     Unfortunately, not everyone seeks help. Perhaps they don't know who to ask or how. I don't pretend to know all of the reasons why people don't ask, but judging them for that is not my place. This is the point I most want to emphasize: It is not our place to judge someone, especially for things we know nothing about. It isn't anyone's place other than God's. Our job is to love sincerely, be sensitive, provide support, and always be kind. 

     If you or someone you know has had suicidal thoughts, or has even just mentioned it in passing (ALWAYS take that seriously, by the way), please take advantage of these resources. Even if you don't think you will need them, I encourage you to put the numbers in your phone anyway and keep these resources close. 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: In the U.S., call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Crisis Text Line: text "listen" to 741-741. They invite you to "text us about anything that's on your mind." They also offer additional resources on this page. These resources include numbers to call and text for help regarding anything from depression and suicide to eating disorders to human trafficking to abuse.

Friends. Family. Teachers. Leaders. Bishops. Ministers. Rabbis. There is no shame in admitting you need help. Even if one of the people you talk to doesn't take you seriously, understand it is their ignorance and not your failure. Try someone else, because you deserve better.

Pray. God will help you. He may give you the courage to ask for help, or direct someone to you who will listen, or provide some opportunity for you to find your way out. It hardly ever happens that He takes away your pain completely, because our trials are for us to learn and become like Him. But I promise God loves you, and if you let Him, he will guide you to and through help and healing. 

For answers to frequently asked questions about suicide and depression, visit this page on the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention website. 

Start to a New Life

     My bedroom is currently a disaster zone. Why? Because I'm moving out and returning to Provo and BYU. Today. So, of course, instead of packing and cleaning and doing ALL THE THINGS, I'm bumming around on the internet and blogging. Because that makes sense. 

     I don't do well with transitions. Facing change feels like jumping into a black hole for me. Even if the change is exciting, I really struggle to handle it. At transition times, my depression hurts me the most. Thanks to modern medicine, I'm doing alright currently. However, it feels like I'm walking across a glass floor and I can see the dark churning waves of depression and anxiety right below my feet, and I'm afraid the glass could shatter at any moment and I'll fall in. Its rather terrifying. 

     Change is inevitable. Its a part of life. No matter how much we want to stay where we are and where its comfortable, we can't. We have to grow up and take on all the challenges that come with it. Maybe that's the hardest thing--that we have no control. Yes, we can choose some things, like what we will do in the next stage of life, but we can never choose to stay behind in the old stage. Part of me wishes I could remain a kid or a teenager forever and live comfortably in my parents' house. Its a great place. I don't have to worry about money and I have 5 other people here and two pets that love me. Its a lot less scary here than in the real world. 

     I feel like I've lived many different lives. A life as a very small child. A few lives during elementary school. A life in junior high. Two or three in high school. And at least three since then. Sometimes these new lives start all at once, and sometimes so slowly that I wake up one day and realize that I'm not the same, and my life isn't the same, but don't know how it happened. 

     Today is a scary start to a new life--the kind of start where I just have to jump in, like jumping off a cliff, and hope that I land on my feet. I can't just say, "this jump is too scary. I think I'll just stay here." I'm being pushed by a wall of my parent's expectations and my own desire to succeed. Its good to be pushed a little, though. 

     This post really doesn't have a conclusion or a life lesson. Basically, I'm stressed and scared, and writing is therapeutic for me. And I've just got to suck it up and jump. 

     Wish me luck. 
    

"Can I Put On Some Real Clothes, Now?"

     This music video just about made my whole life. And I usually don't even like country music. It really applies to all genres of music, not just country, though. I am so sick of women being portrayed as ornaments and sex toys for men in music; both in the lyrics and the accompanying music videos. Women are people, not accessories.
     As well as making a great point, this video is totally hilarious, too. :)

Hurt

Hurt happens when things fall out of control 

Too fast and too far to catch 

Not that it stops me from reaching

I always reach. 

Even when I'm grasping at straws

Defining Feminism

         There seem to be a lot of misconceptions about what it means to be a feminist. Some people think it means we hate all men, or are making up excuses to wear skimpy clothing, or that we are entitled whiners. There has been some disturbing buzz lately about "anti-feminism." I think these so-called "anti-feminists" are actually "anti-feminazis." What they don't understand is that feminism means something different to all of us, and all that they see are the extremists (who are loud, but few) I think if I were to sit down and talk to any of these anti-feminists, we would find that we agree on a lot of things, but only call it something different. Truthfully, being a feminist means something different to every person who is a feminist. For technicality’s sake, I have provided a definition of feminism from merriam-webster.com. This is about as official as it gets.  

     fem·i·nism noun \ˈfe-mə-ˌni-zəm\

: the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities 

: organized activity in support of women's rights and interests

To me, being a feminist means that I, and every other women, should be treated with respect and dignity, and should be given the same rights and opportunities as men. It means women are human beings, and that is how we should be treated. According to that definition, this is why I am a feminist:  

1. I am not my appearance

In society, women are constantly told that we have to look a certain way. Our makeup must cover up any scars or freckles or spots. Our hair must be straightened or curled or bobby-pinned into perfection. Our waists must be thin, our boobs must be big, our hips must be just curvy enough to make us hour-glass shaped, but no more. Our clothing must be revealing to prove our confidence or to get attention. Et cetera, et cetera. The media teaches me to micromanage every visible aspect of my body, as if its only function is to be looked at and judged based on what it looks like. As if I am a hollow shell without a personality or a brain or talent or quirky characteristics.

There is nothing wrong with wearing makeup, or doing your hair nicely, or carefully picking an outfit. Those things can even be fun and fulfilling. The danger is when you let these things define you, or when you care so much about them that more important things fall by the wayside. Likewise, the purpose of diet and exercise should be our health, not our figure. People come in a shapes and sizes, and that is OKAY.

Colbie Caillat's song, Try is absolutely amazing, and goes right along with what I'm saying.

2. I am not an object

     Have you ever noticed that in movies, television, books, magazines, and other media, being surrounded by beautiful (often scantily clad) women is a sign of success for a man? You never see a successful woman surrounded by sexy looking men. (In fact, a picture like that would bring to mind the word “slutty,” not “successful.” Do you see how ridiculous this is?!) How did women (aka human beings) become ornaments for men? 

    Again and again in the media, women are used to sell things. How many commercials have you seen where a woman is eating a cheeseburger or drinking a beer? She isn't there because she is a charismatic and persuasive salesperson. She has been objectified and cast as the part of a sex toy useful only to sell a product. 

Pornography is a pervading issue in our culture. Whether the pictures are of women, men, or children, they all degrade individuals to something less than human. People are seen as objects and images meant only to create a certain response in the viewers. That response has nothing to do with that “object” being a human with a personality.

I am not a thing to be ogled, regardless of what I wear. I personally believe in dressing modestly. I do it because of religious reasons. My body is a gift from God and I should guard it and treat it respectfully. I DO NOT do it so men can keep their thoughts pure. Whatever I wear, or whatever any woman wears, has no bearing on what goes on in a man’s head. He has his agency, and he can decide what thoughts to entertain. This does not mean I think it is okay to flaunt your cleavage in a guy’s (or anyone's) face if you know it will make him uncomfortable. He deserves respect, too.

3. No means no 

Rape and sexual assault are very serious problems. To be clear, I understand that these things are not something that only women deal with. However, it is a more prevalent issue for us. I fear for my safety every time I have to run to my car or walk home in the dark. I took a self defense class in college last semester. Most of my friends and family thought it was a smart move. A few of my male friends thought I was paranoid. This isn’t because they are bad guys. It’s just because they have the luxury of not knowing the fear I feel, because they have never felt it.  

One of the saddest things about rape and sexual assault is that women are afraid to report it, and when they do, they run the risk of unfair judgment. People will ask what she was wearing, or if she was flirting with him, and draw the conclusion that she asked for it. They will say that even if the rapist shouldn’t have done what he did, it was her fault. Hurting another person, especially in such an intimate way, is NEVER okay. If the woman said, “No,” or was unable to give consent, nothing else matters. She was raped, and it was the rapist’s choice, not hers.

4. I can be just as successful as a man

Women have been fighting for decades to break through the glass ceiling, and we have nearly made it. We have made huge leaps and bounds in the working world. I could choose to be a doctor or an engineer or a social worker, or whatever I want and work for. However, there are still a ton of prejudices against women. In politics, in sports, and in the workplace, women are constantly thought of as less competent than men, and their looks are brought up again and again as a measure of worth. This video is a great demonstration of the double standard that women face.

I'm not trying to say that we should erase all differences between men and women. Those differences are great things and should be celebrated. What I am saying is that different does not mean better or worse. Its just different. 

Women are often judged based on if they work or are a stay-at-home mom. Whether a woman chooses to have a career, a family, or both is her prerogative and her reasons are her business. She can be a powerful person in whichever case. 

Because I’m Mormon, and it has been a big deal lately, I feel like I should briefly address the women and priesthood thing: I think it’s a total non-issue. Or, rather, that the issue is people letting their pride get in the way of their faith and ability to understand. If you really want my whole spiel about it, talk to me personally. I just don’t think it’s even worth addressing here.
I would also like to point out that while in the United States, women largely have just as many rights and opportunities as men do, there are other places where that is not the case. For many women around the world, their rights extend about as far as do those of an animal. Feminism isn't just a movement for first world countries. It is a humanist movement meant to bring to light and improve the situations of oppressed women around the world. 

5.     I like being a woman

 If you have never seen this video, you need to. I love doing things #LikeAGirl. Because I AM a girl and there is nothing wrong with that. Why is being a sissy something bad and being a man something good? Nothing is wrong with being a girl, so why are words used to describe women also used as insults? 

6.     I am human

I sincerely apologize for the language in this cartoon, but it does explain feminism very well.  

            I refuse to be a victim. I am a strong adult human being who is proud to be a woman. Everyone- no matter who they are, where they come from, how they live, how old they are, or if they have even been born yet- should have the right to be treated with respect and dignity. I believe that we should show Christ-like love to all of our brothers and sisters. I believe in respect and love for others, and not judgement and hatred. THAT is why I am a feminist. 

The Significance of Today

     120 days ago I submitted my mission papers. I was nervous and excited about getting a call and serving a mission for 18 months. I hoped I would get sent someplace warm and that I would get to speak Spanish. Of course, life happens and plans don't always go the way you hoped they would.
     The significance of today is that it was my availability date. On my mission papers, I said that I would be available for missionary service on June 25, 2014. I felt so good about that particular date that I was convinced I would be entering the MTC today. When I put that date down, it seemed so far away, but here it is.
     I know that what has happened to keep me home a little longer has been a blessing. Being here still was absolutely not my plan at all, but clearly it was God's plan. He has blessed me by showing me why His plan is better. I'm grateful for this particular trial, because I can see how it is helping me grow. I will be a better person and a better missionary because of these 6 months that I have to wait and because of the reason why.
     Still. Getting to today is a little surreal. What could have been one of the biggest days of my life is just an ordinary day.

A Billion Pieces of Life

     Growing up just isn't what its cracked up to be. And life has a way of doing things that are not what you expected or planned on at all. I always thought that my life would follow a pretty straightforward pattern. Graduate high school. Start college. Go on a mission. Finish college. Get married at some point in this process. Get a job. Have kids. Get old. I also figured that by the time I was old enough to be in college, I would know what it was that I wanted in life.
     Ha. Right.
     Obviously my mission plans have been turned on their head. I'm still going to college, because I know an education is what will get me places in life, but I don't know what to study. At all.
     I'm not ready to get married yet, but the whole relationship thing is WAY more complicated than I thought it would be. And so much more incredibly painful. My heart has been so broken that putting it back together would be like doing a jigsaw puzzle. With no corner or edge pieces. And some that are warped by water damage. And some that have been chewed on by a dog. And some that aren't even there anymore, because they got left behind in someone else's puzzle box, because I thought that maybe that's where they belonged.
     Its not just my life, either. I look around and my friends and peers, and we're all in a million different places. Some are going to school. Some are getting married. Some are working. Some have a baby. Some are on missions. Some live at home mooching off their parents and doing nothing. Some are traveling the world.
     Within all these experiences are another billion pieces of our lives. The very wide emotional range that comes from interacting with other humans. How or if religion fits in your life. Physical ailments that you or those close to you have, ranging from cancer to seasonal allergies. Mental afflictions such as depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia. Addictions in a variety of forms-- things like drugs, alcohol, porn, or self harm--for a variety of different reasons. The pressure to look just so, resulting in fad diets, extreme exercise, eating disorders, and hundreds of dollars towards makeup and hair products and clothes and breast implants and hair dyes. Trying to figure out what will make you happy and how to achieve it. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

     There is just so much to life.

Old Words

          I came across some old poetry that I wrote a few months ago. There were a few things I wrote that I actually feel rather proud of. I had totally forgotten about this stuff, but everything I felt back then came back to me when I read it. So I've decided to share some if it here.

December 30, 2013

Late at night after the lights are turned down and

The world is silent and it’s just me awake or alive

And there is so much solitude that it can drown you

Finding myself buried deep beneath my own doubts

And fears that I’m not good enough

The black clouds roll in and the demons that

I tried to hide in the day when

The sun shines and the shadows I cast

May be longer than they should be

But one notices anyway, so why would I let them see

What it’s really like in here

In my head where the voices get louder and louder

And my eyes get heavy with the weight of the world and

My hands that I tried to use to catch their pain

But it slipped through my fingers and I only

Got burned with the heat of my own frustration at

Failing to know exactly what to do and to say

But my heart as cold as ice with the emptiness

Of what they feel and I wish I could take it away

Because I know the feeling and I know the monsters

That crawl out of the dark and lonely places

Of the solitary night time.

      That one I wrote right around the time I started this blog. It doesn't have a title, but it needs one. A lot has changed since then, but its still applicable to me in some ways, and its still true. I'm not sure how much if it will make sense to other people, but for me its full of the intense things that I've felt before. So I'm posting it. Because its my blog. So there.

October 11, 2013

How much has been lost in the name of love?

How many sleepless nights?

How many restless, anxious hours

Wasted and worried away?

How many petals pulled off of flowers

In vain means to discover

Whether he loves me or loves me not?

As if fate written could be so easily read.

How many tears fall from red eyes?

How many scars appear

Both seen and hidden from view?

How many angry feelings?

How many hopeless thoughts?

How many lies taken for truth?

How much denial?

How many unknown battles?

How many unheard cries?

How much love without condition or sense?

They say love is friendship set on fire.

Who can stand that flame?

        This one doesn't have a title either, and its older than the first one. Mostly I included it because I think my one follower (who is AWESOME), will appreciate it. I did tweak one line in it from its original version, but other than that, its just as I wrote it last year. 

Plans

Once upon a time I had a perfect plan. A plan to go to a year of school and then immediately leave for 18 months to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

A minor heart procedure altered my plans slightly. I would have to wait a few extra weeks before I would get my call, but nothing drastic.

Weeks passed and no call came. Finally, tired of being in limbo, I asked my bishop to figure out what was happening. He did some digging and discovered that I was required to get a pre-mission evaluation because I had mentioned depression on my papers.

I can't even describe to you what the day I found this out was like. Even before the news, I was extremely depressed. I woke up every morning wishing that I didn't have to, because waking up meant feeling the ceaseless mental pain of pointless despair and the never-ending anxiety of over thinking. I hated my life. I never smiled, never laughed. I sat in silence or cried. I had finally worked up the courage to admit to my mom that I needed help, so I was scheduled to meet with a doctor the next day to talk about getting medicated. I was extremely high functioning. My grades were high and I got along well with others, but inside everything just hurt. I had started to have doubts about serving a mission. Could I really handle leaving everything behind for so long? Was I actually mentally okay enough to do it? My inner demons screamed these questions, and my resolve wilted as something inside me whispered, no, you can't. 

When my bishop called first thing in the morning to tell me I needed to get this evaluation, all I could think of were neighbors and friends who had been in similar situations and who had been told no. Suddenly the fears I had secretly harbored were brought to the surface and became so much closer to reality. My once perfect plan was now utterly uncertain.

I spent the rest of the day crying, praying, talking to my parents, and reading gospel literature until I had received the answer that I should keep working toward my goal of going on a mission. I still felt miserable, but at least I had some direction. The next day my doctor prescribed an SSRI. Within a few days I began to feel the effects. My anxiety ebbed and I felt light return to my dark mind. I arrived at the pre-mission evaluation slightly nervous, but mostly confident that I would be approved. I felt fine, didn't I?

I was told that my evaluation report would be sent along and a decision would be made in a few weeks. The therapist that evaluated me predicted that the worst-case scenario was that I would have to wait three months so that they could monitor the effects of the medication.

In the following weeks of waiting in limbo for an answer, I felt more and more grateful for modern medicine. Limbo was hard enough as it was, but the pain of uncertainty didn't constantly barrage me as it would have before. Nevertheless, in a normal-reaction sort of way, it was painful to wait and wonder.

Yesterday I got my answer. Because of the medication, and because they want to monitor the effects, I must wait SIX months and then resubmit my papers. I could tell you why this is so extremely dumb and why it makes absolutely no logical sense AT ALL. I could explain and defend my bitterness and you would nod along and realize that I am perfectly capable of serving a mission.

But that won’t change a thing, so there’s no use in rehashing my frustrations. Instead I’ll tell you why I’m okay: This morning I emailed the marching band director at BYU, and he told me that I could return to the band this fall. I'm currently working a summer job that I happen to love, and now I get to work there for the rest of the summer. I may have a TA job lined up for me for fall semester, and I'm just waiting to hear back from the professor who asked me to TA for him. My meds are still working wonderfully, and I have been able to handle the news with minimal tears and anxiety. It will be a struggle to find an apartment for this fall, but a friend of mine just told me that she is looking for place to live in the same area, so we could be roommates. And most of all, even though my perfect plan has utterly fallen apart and I have been forced to recreate it from the bottom up, I finally have enough information to make a new plan. I am no longer living in limbo. The answer is disappointing, but it is finally an answer. I will go to school for another semester and resubmit my papers in November.

Maybe the original plan wouldn't have been so perfect after all. Hopefully the new one will be.

Today is my birthday

If you want to get technical, I was born at 5:17 pm, so I'm not officially nineteen yet. I remember when nineteen seemed so impossibly far away. I thought it was such an old and grown up age to be. I thought I would have everything figured out by nineteen.

When I was little, I always had a specific age in mind that, for whatever reason, meant "grown up" to me. It was twelve for years, and then sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I seemed to think that by the time I made it that far, I would have become the person in my head that I imagined my best self would be. I would be smart and beautiful and powerful and socially competent. I would be confident and my life would be in control and everyone would stop treating me like a kid.

Of course, one birthday passed, and then another, and I never seemed to get any closer to being "grown up." I was the same person each new day as the one I was the day before. And yet, I am absolutely not the same as I was seven years ago, or four years ago, or even just one year ago. Being more "grown up" than I used to be is only part of it.

I really am the same person as I have always been, with all the same strange personality quirks. I've learned and I've grown and I have a more developed world view. I don't think that all the things that make me fundamentally me have changed, though. I've just....adapted.

It's not even something that I notice is happening, though. I just live, and sometimes I look back and realize how far I've come.

Broken

Someone once said that there is a crack in everything, and that's how the light gets in. He was confused, because cracks let the light out. Maybe all the cracks make me beautiful and unique, but Nietzsche said that "there are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth," and I think he was right. 

People never look past the surface. They see two dark eyes peering out from long lashes, but they miss that the darkness is not simply the color of my irises. The light has leaked out of cracks in my soul and left the windows to it dull and empty. 

Did Ophelia drown in a pond, or in her own despair? Because drowning doesn't require water. You can get so stuck inside of yourself that the barrage of emotions or the absolute emptiness cuts off the air and sky and drowns you beneath the waves of your own mind. 

The cracks are like joints and old injuries that ache when it rains. Sometimes it hurts without the rain. Sometimes it rains, and it doesn't hurt. Its hard to tell why or when the ache will come, but when it does, it carves out the rest of me like a pumpkin, and moves into the hollow space left behind. 

I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever though I was. I've learned to judge others less and have more empathy. I've learned that sometimes, I should just stifle my pride and admit I'm not okay, and that I need help. In many ways, its been a blessing. 

Its true that I'm a little broken, and I guess that's okay, because we all are in some way. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less. 

Just the Little Things

      Whilst perusing Facebook, I came across a blog post of a friend of mine. It was essentially just a list of things that she liked. The idea was that she had spent a lot of time thinking about all the things she didn't like, so she wanted to think for a while about what she did. It was almost poetic and the idea of focusing on good things was uplifting. They say that the best form of flattery is imitation, so I wrote this copy-cat post.

 Staying up late or even until the sun comes up while talking to a friend, deep, real belly laughs and hysterical giggles, playing with Legos, telling stories, having deep conversations, making people laugh, ultimate frisbee, wearing fuzzy socks and skating around on the kitchen floor, nerd-talk about Sherlock and Star Wars (and yes, I LOVE Clone Wars), long summer days filled with ice cream and impromptu adventures and sandals and tan lines that turn into warm summer nights spent laying in the grass staring into the star-studded heavens, going to church and reading the Book of Mormon and feeling that I know exactly who I am and that God loves me even when I do stupid things, singing in the shower and to the radio in my car, staying inside on cold afternoons and drinking hot chocolate next to a warm fire in a pile of blankets and pillows, driving fast, analog clocks with Roman numerals, unexpected texts from a friend I haven't talked to in a while, roller coasters, go-carts, staring out at the passing landscape while riding in a car, acknowledging that the best part of tour-bus travel is the company I am in, feeling the thrill of the moment when the plane lifts off of the ground and staring in awe at anything I can see below, hearing someone call my name, smelling the spray of citrus as I peel open an orange and then the sweet and zingy taste of the first bite, talking to my siblings and parents, sitting just close enough to get butterflies, cuddling, kissing until I'm breathless, the smell of fireworks and of barbecue and everything about the 4th of July, the comfort of old stuffed animals, dancing in warm rain, the clap of thunder following a flash of lightning exploding across the sky, and the smell of hot asphalt mixing with the storm, having smooth legs, getting dressed up for special occasions or for no occasion at all, doing my hair and makeup, putting on a pretty dress, jewelry, and high heels, hot showers, playing my trumpet alone or in a band, listening to music for hours on end, getting an A on a test, driving my stick-shift car with the windows rolled down and the wind messing up my hair completely, experiencing the world through smell-- cementing memories or bringing back old ones, popping popcorn and watching a favorite movie or going to the theater to see a new one, posing for pictures, compliments from strangers, wearing my hair down, watching basketball and cheering until I sound like a smoker, playing with my cat and dog, flopping into bed at the end of a long day, chocolate cake, visiting temples, attending BYU, hiking, watching the Olympics, and brushing my teeth,

Its amazing how long this list is. It could keep going if I wanted it to. I spend far too much time complaining and wishing for something better, but there is so much around me that I enjoy and so many things to find beauty in. It doesn't make the hard times go away, but it does give me something to be grateful for. 2nd Nephi 2:25 says, Adam fell that man might be; and men are, that they might have joy. It really is uplifting to notice what brings me joy, even if its just the little things.

Memories in a Car

Fourteen years old, in the driver’s seat for the first time in my life. My white-knuckle fingers grip the wheel as I push in the clutch, turn on the car, and slowly let my foot off the break. The car rolls forward, I scream, and promptly stall the car. My patient father directs me to try again. Twenty minutes later, I’m driving tentatively past empty fields on a nearly deserted road.

Fifteen now. I’m moody, impulsive, and self-centered. I’m about to have my heart broken for the first time, but I don’t know that yet. I'm on vacation at the family cabin. I take a break from moping to practice driving with my dad. The bumpy dirt road terrifies me, but I’m too proud to admit it. I’m not paying enough attention, and have several close calls with trees. Frustrated and angry at myself for messing up and at my dad for being right when he told me to be more careful, I storm away into the trees as soon as we get back.

Another year passes. In the picture on my new license I'm tan and blonde from the summer sun. I look young and care-free because I am. In the next year, everything is going to go just right for me. My dad will get a new car, so his old one-- the Nissan Sentra I started out in two years ago-- will be mine. I’ll have great friends and even a boyfriend. Most of my time will be spend smiling and laughing. I won't be close enough to the pain of life for it to affect me, or to even understand it. Sometimes I still long for those innocent days driving from one happy place to another.

Seventeen and it's senior year. It starts with change and people moving on. I struggle with that, but find enjoyment as a section leader in the marching band. Countless hours are spent parked on the side of the road with one of my trumpet players (not always the same one) in the passenger seat telling me about his life. Almost all of them are fifteen, and just like me at that age. I am the wise older sister figure that they all have a little bit of a crush on, and I love that role.

Marching band ends. Winter begins, and I spiral downward. The only thing colder than the frigid air is my soul. A long relationship runs its course, and even though I know it’s for the best, my heart feels the pain of a ragged hole where love used to be. I drive home from school day after day, sobbing to the radio or to my own silence. I drive in circles past places full of memory or park on the side of the road and wonder how I came to this. I sit behind the wheel of my motionless car, stuck inside of myself. I feel so much emotion some days that I feel ready to explode. Other days I feel so much nothing that even pain is a welcome guest. I have met the darker, sadder side of the human mind; not only in myself, but in the people I love the most. I want so much to take away their pain, but it’s impossible. I come to understand the deep penetration of depression. It’s a despair that doesn't have to have a cause or a reason to persist, but it does, and it tears you apart from the inside. 

When I'm all alone, it is the most present. When I step outside of my car and into the school or my house, I wipe it from my face, but I can see when I look into the mirror that the luster has gone from my eyes. I don't know how or who to ask for help, so I don't. I just turn into a shell of myself and try not to let my inner demons hurt anyone else. I keep them to myself and only let them out when I'm driving all alone. I hardly know who I am anymore.

Another year later my car takes me away from home to a dorm on a college campus. I walk to class every day, but still make excuses to drive. Today, another year later, I'm someone different than anyone I've ever been. I'm not care-free. I'm not empty. I'm not scraping rock-bottom. I have learned so much from a summer that brought me back to life and almost two semesters of college. There are still days or even weeks when the depression and anxiety creep up and swallow me whole, but I've learned how to snuggle with my demons more often than wrestle with them. There has been new love found and lost, new hurt, new struggles, new joy. There are new roads to drive on and a lot of figuring out who I am.

All alone in my car I roll down the windows and let the wind leave me breathless and feeling utterly alive. I sing the words on the radio or the ones in my head, pray earnestly, or just think aloud. Between my starting point and destination, anything can change.

And, as the memories in my car testify, everything does.

I thought about it, and I didn't do it.

I just finished writing a really long and deep post about my car and driving and life in general. It really is a good post. I'll probably put it up someday. (Hopefully in an edited state that is a little shorter than the current draft.) However, because my last post was pretty personal and long, I decided that in lieu of a longer and possibly more personal post, I will share this video. You're welcome in advance. 

Its Valentines Day (in case you hadn't noticed)

           But, see, if I really was Batman (er...Batwoman), I would probably have a Valentine. I mean, who wouldn't want to be Batman/woman's Valentine, right? 

           Okay, actually, if I really wanted a Valentine, I could have one. I'm just really really picky. And indecisive. And boys are dumb. I could say its because I'm going on a mission in a few months and don't want to start a relationship. This is true, but to be honest, if the right guy came along, I would date him anyway. (And then he would have to wait for me, because I'm going on a mission, and nothin's gonna stop me.)

Here is a poem I wrote to sum up the situation. 

Some boys are awkward

Some boys are shy 

Some are hard to look in the eye 

Some are gentlemen

Some are sweet

Some I hope you never meet

Some boys just keep asking you out

Even when you try to leave no doubt 

That they are nice, but, you see

You just don't have chemistry 

Some will tell you they love you, and then

They say they're too scared to let you in 

You try to say, "don't be afraid"

But already their mind is made

Months later, when you have moved on

They decide to be a total moron 

They try to kiss you, and they say,

"This time I will be okay," 

You grapple with yourself for weeks

Yes or no? Gosh, love stinks 

Your heart says yes, your head says no

It can make you feel very low

Valentines Day rolls around

Still an answer can't be found 

Whether its wrong or its right

You can't help but hope that he will call tonight. 

Yup. So....I can't think of much else I want to say. Valentines Day. Holla. 

Welcome to Life

      Sometimes life decides to smack you in the face. Hard. And when you land on your butt, it kicks dirt on your face just to top it off. That was basically this past week. 

       I started out feeling on top of the world. I felt like the girl that made every guy's head turn and his jaw drop, who had wonderful friends who I could (and did) talk to all night, and who was entirely confident in her abilities to be successful. A week and a half later, I was stressed, pulled thin, confused, and reeling from one hit after another. 

         To begin with, boys are dumb. Really really really dumb. It's hard to get your heart broken, and its hard to break hearts. Its hard when your past returns and you aren't sure how to handle it. And its very hard when your head and your heart don't agree.

        All in favor of ditching boys, staying single forever, and going the test tube baby route, say, "Aye." (Cue chorus of frustrated women shouting "aye" in perfect and resounding union.) 

         That was life pushing me down. 

         Today my mother called me in a panic and informed me that because I was 1.5 credits short, I have likely lost my scholarship. My very large scholarship. So unless I can figure out a way to make something work, its gone forever. 

          That was the dirt in the face. 

          However, things aren't all bad. On Sunday, my teaching companion and I threw together a very last minute Relief Society lesson (we found out late the night before that we were teaching). Even though we put it together in about forty-five minutes, it was a huge success. The Spirit was very strong and I had several people approach me afterwards to tell me it was just what they needed. God is so good. 

          Also, I still have the best friends in the world. Even if I do keep staying up WAY too late talking to them. The girls I live with are so sweet and supportive, and they know exactly when I need a hug. Today I got to hang out with one of my best and oldest friends for an hour and a half. Rachel Struthers is one of the coolest people who has ever lived. I don't know what I would do without her. Yesterday, a Facebook post triggered a messaging conversation with a friend from high school that I haven't talked to for a while. We discovered that we are both dealing with some very similar problems. It has been so nice to find comfort in empathy. 

        I guess that's just how life is. We're brought very low, and we start to lose faith in ourselves and in all that is good. But if we look around long enough, we can still find things that make it bearable. It doesn't mean the problems go away. But it does make it easier to keep swimming. 

Update: I was able to get into a couple of 1-credit half semester classes and keep my scholarship. Yay!!!