Adjusting Focus

 *TRIGGER WARNING REGARDING SEXUAL ASSAULT. 18+ LANGUAGE. It's taken me so long to finally type this. It's hard to get the words to say what this all means to me. The truth is, it's taken over a year to even realize that I was affected by such an event. Not to mention I didn't even realize what had happened until I was sitting in my room, at the beginning of being in lockdown from COVID, utterly alone. Scrolling on through an Instagram feed I stumbled upon, looking at images of individuals sharing why they never reported, wondering how such terrible things could happen to innocent people who never asked for it, when I realized how it could happen. Because it happened to me; I was sexually assaulted. The words are more or less still terrifying to write (I can't say them out loud), and the fear of my ex-boyfriend finding this and calling me a liar is very real. Maybe because I once agreed with him that I was a liar, and called myself one in poems written about and for...

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...

Since leaving my home in Massachusetts to go to my first semester at BYU-Idaho in 2016, I've managed to move/have new roommates every few months (and on a mission a new area and a new companion every so often). Though I like to plan out my life, I've grown accustomed to knowing no place is ever permanent for me. My move to Utah, though, would be different. I planned on being here for a while to get state residency, and hopefully apply to grad schools close by. That meant Salt Lake would (most likely) be the longest I've ever stayed in one place since high school.  I've come to realize that the inconsistencies of where I live and who I'm living with has been harder than I've led myself to believe. I used to tell people I loved the change of never being "still" for too long. In some ways, the change is nice. Moving and living with new people every so often has allowed me to meet my closest friends, and have some incredible memories/experiences. On the ot...

I planned to upload a very different blog post today, but at the last minute, decided I had to write about the recent events on police brutality. As one of my goals for this blog is to create a supportive, welcoming community for all, I want to express to you the heaviness many of you are feeling- but from my perspective as a person of color*. My news feed has been filled with white people posting about police brutality and being "white allies," and while I appreciate the support, I was reminded of a poem I wrote a few months ago on the frustration I often carry in situations like this. i don't need a white person trying to fight for me i don't need your white savior complex to rescue me or your guilt from the way you've treated my people to finally move you to take action   where were you when i sat on the bus and a girl told her friends to not sit next to me because i am brown? where were you when i was followed in a store because a worker thought i looked suspi...

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 ...

Good Friday was yesterday. Many (if not all) of you participated in, or at the very least saw a post about, the Worldwide Day of Prayer and Fasting. My heart remained heavy as I saw these posts and these invitations to join. I found myself struggling to have the desire to participate because of the betrayal I've felt from an organization I've dedicated my short life to. Before I continue, though, let me say this; I am in no way bashing on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Personally, I would never do such a thing. It's something that offered me a lot of good growing up, and is something many of my loved ones know to be true, and I highly respect that. There are also parts of it I still believe and find good in. When watching General Conference last weekend, I recognized a large shift in what my life was like not that long ago. Flashes of my last conference, just last October, crossed my mind, because shortly before that conference, as I was pushing myself t...