Adjusting Focus

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...

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...

On July 29th, 2014, my sixteen year old self sat at my old laptop and began writing my first post as an amateur "blogger." I'd been wanting a blog for a while, mainly because I love writing, and because I had so many thoughts in my head-I wanted a place to express them. This blog was a way for people to look into my mind, my heart, and discover a part of me they didn't know much about. The only real problem was, I was sixteen and pretty clueless about the world, and I had a mother who I thought needed to approve of the idea first. I remember rehearsing how I would bring it up to her, how I would make it seem like a worthwhile thing. I was nervous about talking to her about it. When I did, she thought it was a good idea. So, I began taking the first steps. I looked for something to inspire me, something that would be the theme of this blog. In my short sixteen years I'd faced a lot and was starting to overcome my seemingly never-ending battle with anxiety and depr...

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,...

This weekend I was blessed to be able to go down and visit my mission again. I got my old car back and was able to drive around to see some old places I served in and visit some wards I was in too. It ended up being much more therapeutic than planned and I learned a lot and I needed a place to share that, so here we are. On Sunday I attended two different wards. I walked into my first sacrament meeting and looked around at this congregation of people I had grown to love. In this congregation sat three people I met who were either baptized or learning more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It made me miss teaching and I wondered what more I had to offer in being home. The meeting ended and for the first time I was able to hug one of the guys I taught (as a sister missionary we weren't allowed to hug those of the opposite gender). I gave a big ol' hug to another one, and was able to talk with another girl I'd been teaching right before I left. Fo r a mo...