love is what you go through together

 

There's so much heartache in this world. So much. And a lot of it goes unseen, uncared for, unhealed. 

I weep at the number of times I hear my students say that they don't feel happy at home, don't spend time with their siblings, or don't get along with their parents. There are always two sides to a story, but it's hard for me to know that there's even a story in the first place. 

And then there are people my age who, one relationship after another, feel more and more hopeless that they will ever be or ever find the one to marry. To love. 

I feel like we all have at least this one, same need, same desire, same hope, to feel loved, heard, and seen. 

I know I do. That is what I yearn for is a relationship where I feel loved, seen, and heard. I ache to know that the man I marry will love me and hear me and see me. 

I ache to be heard when I cry, and not pushed aside or ignored. 

I want to see my husband back up his promises with his actions, show his love through feelings and actions, and I want to do the same. Love...it doesn't grow except by actions. "Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends." We do hard things sometimes because of our love for others. 

Perhaps, then, the life I lay down for my prince charming isn't a physical one - but a life unseen by all except God and I. I want to lay down my pride, my hate, my judgement, my insecurities; I want to become someone that my husband can trust and confide in without worry of judgement or rejection. 

I want to  hold him when he hurts, cheer with him when he is excited, and go with hem when the pathway gets steep and daunting. 

I want to help him heal from the hurt that nobody else can see and tell him that he can trust me with his heart; help him heal from the hurt that nobody apologized for. I want to celebrate with him every time he conquers temptation or steps out of his comfort zone. 

I want him to know and feel that he is loved. 

No matter what. 

"Love is what you go through together." We get to create our love story. We get to keep choosing each other. We get to discover that ever so powerful feeling because we keep turning to each other for help and strength. 

Love is what you go through together. 

And so the rain comes

The thunderstorm has started. It said it would start at 10pm, and here we are. Having a 10pm thunderstorm. Wouldn't it be nice if all things in life were predictable? Understandable? Comprehensible? 

The rain is coming down hard now, and there are some flashes of lightning. I can count between the lightning and the sound and gauge where the storm is relative to me. 

But I cannot count seconds and figure out how far happiness is from my heart. Or why the heartache hurts for so long without any glimmer of healing. Or why I can't just push aside what I feel and predict a good outcome if I act in a certain way.

I don't always know what I need. I don't always understand what I feel. 

I just know I need something. 

And I also just know I feel something I don't want to feel. 

...Is that complicated? Maybe I'm just a complicated person. I suppose to one degree or another, we all are. 

The clouds get darker and the wind is blowing. I suppose the world is ready for a little bit of nourishment.

And so the rain comes. 

I suppose that, deep down, I need to change. I need to make room for another person's needs over my own. I need to listen without judgment and speak without guile. I need to love unconditionally and validate continually. 

I guess, in part, my emotions are such that I don't know how to handle similar scenarios. The first time I experienced this exact same thing in the past didn't end well. 

And this time? 

Flash. Pouring rain. 

Thunder. 

...Tears in my eyes. 

This one must end better. It has to end better. 

And so the rain comes down...

Teacher

 This week, it was hard to be a teacher. 

Maybe you're thinking, "Well,  that's a normal thing for a teacher to say." But let me separate two things: teaching as a career and being a teacher. 

It's always hard to teach. It's never easy to do what a teacher does all day every day, especially doing my job during hours outside of my contract. That's never easy. 

But being a teacher? Usually, it's a pleasure, something that brings me joy. I love my students. I love being someone they can talk to. I take seriously being their confidant. I cherish sharing my personality and love of the French language and culture with them.

Yet this week, it was really, really hard because I had to be a teacher who was strong, fearless, diligent. I had to show up again and again emotionally for students who may or may not have felt as terrified and vulnerable as I did after the school shooting this week. 

About 8 minutes from my home, there is a private Christian school that children in kindergarten through 6th grade attend. On Monday, a 28 year old woman shot her way into the school and killed three children and three adults. 

My school is situated right by the hospital, so imagine being informed about the shooting, then hearing the sirens of the ambulances, carrying the children and adults to the hospital.

Imagine not knowing if your school is next; not knowing if this is a linked school shooting. Not knowing if your school will lock down or send kids home or just keep going like "normal."

I've always felt emotional pain in the aftermath of school shootings. But what is really hard is that this one was close to home. This one was different because it felt more real that it could have been my school. My life. My kids' lives.

I don't have a problem defending my students' lives with my own, but I don't want to do that. 

Solutions, you might ask? Well, first of all, giving teachers a gun is not the right plan. Where on earth would I keep it? And having guns on campus around hundreds of little kids? I don't know of any other job in the world where at the work place, you're expected to defend your life. 

Is it possible to up security at a school? Build doors that automatically lock, or that when opened, set off an alarm? Yes, but do we have the money for that? 

Nope. 

Wanna know where money is going? 

Sports. Infrastructure. The military. 

So when do we choose to find a solution that works? Well, that depends entirely upon us. Are we going to let the country remain polarized and incapable of discussion? Or are we going to push for change? Because anything above 0 school shootings is unacceptable. 

But since when has anyone listened to a teacher . . .

Trust.

Recently, I heard someone say, “Sometimes, trust hurts.” 

And this definitely can be true of mortal relationships. Sharing part of your heart with someone can be a blessing to you, and it can also hurt if the person on the receiving end doesn’t treat it with care and respect.

I’m so grateful to know that there is a God who we can trust completely. If you choose to give your heart to God, you choose to let Him help guide your life. And you can have 100% confidence in him. You can trust him. Why? Because “when faced with temptation, He shunned it. When offered the world, He declined it. When asked for His life, He gave it.” President Monson.

I’m grateful to believe in a God who is faithful to me- always. ❤️

I’ve been trying really hard to trust in the love He has for me, including for my physical appearance. That’s been hard. I’m honestly not sure what to do with my thoughts which constantly tear me down. But forever ringing in my mind is the thought that “God created ME. And he doesn’t create mistakes. In fact, he saw that I was very good.” The Genesis account uses the words “very good” to describe all of Gods creations after he created Eve. This phrase can also mean “precious” or “beautiful.” 

And that’s how God feels about his creations.

So I’m trying to believe him. 

Which leads me to the photo - I cut my hair, hoping that it could be a fresh start in believing God when he tells me things. I miss my long hair, but I think this is going to be a great start to a new kind of trust that my appearance and looks have nothing to do with my worth, AND I am beautiful. 

Fairytales.

 Ever since my divorce, there has been a thread of questions on my mind that I know are based in fear and doubt, but they come up so often that I have a hard time cutting the thread and throwing them away. I know it is likely hard to dispel these thoughts because I have reinforced the negative, faulty core beliefs about myself for so long that I readily and easily can convince myself to believe a lie. Manipulative relationships are the worst - including the one I sometimes live with myself. 

My thread of dark questions is related to a loss of hope: Is it really possible that someday, someone will want to love and accept me for who I am, who will actually want to be loyal to me for the rest of his life? Does that actually, really exist?

You know, like a fairytale? 

A thought recently came to my mind that I have clung to ever since my most recent battle with that dark slew of questions : 

Alissa, you have permission to believe in fairytales.

I often find myself thinking that I want to marry a best friend - someone who I spend time with because I want to and he wants to. But so often in this dating world, every time I want to be friends with a guy, he never continues the friendship. No matter how hard I try to be kind, to reach out, to invite, to just be a human being - he doesn't reciprocate. It leaves me to wonder if guys don't trust me, or perhaps they don't like me at all and that is why they reject me. What is so harmful about wanting to just be his friend first? 

That's when I tell myself that it's okay to believe in fairytales. And actually, I have the permission to do so. Fairytales in books and movies are so wonderful and yet so heart wrenching. They are so beautiful and yet they bring the tears so quickly when I find myself asking if that really does happen in life. Do men really want to win the girl's affection? Do they really care about her kindness and personality and not just her looks? 

I have always believed I'm plain. I've always compared myself to my beautiful sisters. They have the most gorgeous faces and I have always just had mine - usually red, dotted with acne and freckles, and never knowing how to put on makeup because I feel awkward in it. Almost like I'm someone I'm not when I wear it. I always used to tell myself that I hoped my personality could shine through what I lacked in beauty. The only man who ever told me I was beautiful later turned on me and said I wasn't the model wife he had wanted. And he was disappointed in that. I hear his voice every time I look at myself in the mirror. Not because I want to hear it, but because it hurt so badly when it came from my husband, the one man whom I loved the most and hurt me the deepest. 

And I think, looking back on that moment….that was the day I stopped believing in fairytales. That moment when he wouldn’t let me leave the car until he had said what he wanted to. That moment when I wasn’t sure if I would be safe or not. That moment, there, in the dark, where no one knew where I was…That moment when I could no longer look at him, for fear of his ever piercing glance. 

Fairytales. I think I hope that they are true, but I don’t have the courage to believe that they are. 

And maybe, by the word “fairytale,” I really just mean a story where both people are so intimately and emotionally and spiritually connected to one another that no matter what happens, they’ll fight to keep their love strong. What else in this world could be better to fight for than love? Even the gospel of Jesus Christ is built in the love of God and the love of the Saviour. Surely, the life I live can reflect but a small aspect of that love. 

Yet, here I am…incapable of even loving myself. 

And so, I sit and repeat quietly, with tears in my eyes, “Alissa….It’s okay to believe in fairytales…”