Adjusting Focus

For a long time, I believed my religion was enough; it was all I needed in life. If all else failed, I had God. I had this organization I so devoutly believed in and followed. What I didn't realize was that the day would come I would feel this wasn't enough for me, that I was feeling isolated, resentful, and overall unhappy with where I was, and religion played a rather large part in that. And though I am much happier with where I am now, happy to be leading my life as an openly bisexual woman, leaving wasn't necessarily an easy choice. My therapist pointed out that I spent my entire life within this organization, and have only spent less than a year out of it. That meant my thinking wouldn't change over night, and it would take time. I expressed to her the guilt I often felt when I did the things I was always taught not to do-date women, for one, get tattoos, pierce my ears more than once, drink coffee, and a lot of other things, a lot of which are relatively small in ...

It's been a while since I've posted here. Quite frankly I've been in some very dark spots over the last little bit and my motivation to write has been almost non-existent. I've spent more days crying on the floor and more hours sleeping than I would like to admit. But, for the first time in a very long time, I felt a burst of inspiration. I'm reading " The Gifts of Imperfection " by Brené Brown. I'm currently on a "vulnerability/courage journey" so that I learn to stop hiding and running from my emotions, share those emotions with others, and also learn how to be more present when I am feeling good (I often find myself on edge, waiting for the next "bad" thing to happen to ruin the happiness I have). It's been very eye opening, terrifying, and uplifting. Once again, for the first time in a while, I'm getting new ideas and writing more. I take notes constantly. I also cry a lot still, and throw my own pity parties because I w...

Every night, I take some time to read poems from some of my favorite poetry books I have. I've been marking some that particularly stick out to me with sticky notes. My books end up looking pretty worn and messy, especially with bent edges of various colored sticky notes adorning their pages. One night, I sat staring at the book in front of me, and found beauty in the messiness I held. It was an unusual feeling, because anytime things are out of order or not perfect, I feel uneasy, frustrated, like the world is closing in around me. My mind is unable to focus on anything else until I feel settled. I wrote down several thoughts I had about my OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) and how these sticky notes were some sort of symbol to me about overcoming my obsession with perfection. It rules pretty much every aspect of my life, but at the end of my notes I wrote, "OCD doesn't have to rule my love for poetry." I then wrote a poem with the opening line being, "Poetry ...

I've spent the last couple months constantly on the move. Nannying part-time, trying to get 250 hours done for my internship, maintaining my physical health, and trying to find moments to myself have kept me busy. For the most part, I've loved every second of it. I was starting to feel fulfilled in life, starting to become a version of myself I was happy with. There was a sense of freedom and belonging I hadn't felt in a long time. Coming out and getting away from Rexburg was a huge burden lifted. But I write to you at 4am because I feel heavy. We all know the state of the world right now. Honestly, for the most part I've been pretty calm about it. I'm trying my best to do my part in flattening the curve, staying safe, keeping myself informed, etc,. Amidst all the chaos, I've found joy in the newfound hours I get to write and play the piano. All the memes make life a little more bearable and keep me laughing. I've been working out in my room to keep my bod...

I believed I was a good person. At the same time, I felt dirty. Disgusting. Unworthy. Ashamed. Guilty. My sexuality was devilish. Carnal- something that would never allow me to be with God. But when I wrote my poems, it was freeing. Beautiful and who God made me to be. It was nothing to hide. It was as real a love as anyone else's. Wasn't that how it should always be? Coming out honestly seemed like a lot of effort when fundamentally, I stay the same. I love that scene in " Love, Simon " where people have to come out as straight , because that's a little bit how this feels. At the same time, it also seems right that I do it. My blog is so much about letting others know they aren't alone and there is always good to come. Suffering doesn't last a lifetime. My goal here is to create a community; a welcoming environment where people feel they don't have to hide. That's why I decided to write this post. I've denied my sexuality off and on for...

Your body is a temple. It's a gift from God.  Treat it well.  Somewhere, somehow, at the age of probably 14, I decided my body was disgusting. It's a strong word, but it's exactly what I thought. I looked in the mirror, day after day, feeling like there was too much of me there. I wanted to be like the other skinny girls; I couldn't handle looking like the ones society labeled as 'big'. It set me off into a storm of tears and stomping on the scale.  I thought things were too tight on my body. I thrived when my guy friends would comment on how small I was. I loved when girls at school would say how good I looked. There was one morning I weighed myself and hated the numbers I saw on the scale. I sobbed and told myself I was too fat, that no one would ever like me, that I had to be better the next day. During my advisory period a boy told me I was skinny and I thought, "Oh, he thinks I'm skinny, so I must be. I'm doing okay." Followed by, ...

I'm currently writing to you as I sit on a blowup mattress in my brother and sister-in-law's living room, with what turned out to be a really bad braid, and with nails that are too long, so typing is actually really irritating. BUT I've had a post I've been meaning to write down for a while, so here I am. If you've followed up on this blog since the beginning of the year, you'll know my 2019 life motto is " Bloom ." It's a word which I feel sums up what this whole year was going to be for me- and it has. The year's not even over yet, but boy oh boy have I learned so much and found more of myself than ever before. I started college again, was seriously depressed and so anxious I barely left my room, decided to see a counselor on campus but he turned out to be... the worst... started the journey of medication, found a new therapist, ended up with a boyfriend for a brief time, gained and lost friends, started getting slightly political on social...

I define myself by a thousand things that probably don't matter in the long run; I'm anxious. I'm brown. I'm this and that and the list goes on. If I'm to be completely honest, most of them are negative. As I began reading a book ( Brave Girl Eating ) for a class I'm taking this semester, I realized that I've been forgetting my most important identity that isn't defined by the world and by myself. I am more than my problems and the things that have happened to me in the past. This will be an unplanned continuation from my  previous post on perfectionism- a lesson I'm still desperately trying to learn and apply in my life on a daily basis. As per usual, I'll be honest. In my Abnormal Psychology class we talked about how there is such a stigma around mental health. It's improved a lot over the years, but there's still a long way to go. As a future social worker and one who is generally passionate about mental health and bettering lives,...

For about 12 years, I've been looking up pictures of Guatemala on the internet, taking every opportunity to do a school project on it, and reading books about the place I come from. I've stared at images of Lake Atitlan on a computer screen, I've studied the culture of my people, and I've tried to imagine myself in a place I've never physically seen. For about 12 years there's been some sort of hole in my being, a longing for a country I belong to less than I do North America. Now, after a little more than 17 years later, I returned back to my birthplace. The images on the internet, the studying, the reading, were all so different from physically being in such an amazing place. And while I would like to say it was also everything I had ever imagined over the past 12 years, it wasn't quite that way. But don't get me wrong, I still love my country and I always will. I will always have pride in the country I came from. It's an extremely culturally rich...