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…”

Lyrics

 I love music so much - it’s hopefully going to keep being a hobby that I work at and make time for. I love music because I can feel peace, joy, happiness… I connect to God because I feel the music touch me in my mind and heart. Truthfully, it’s a spiritual experience. 

Every once in a while though, a song touches me because I’m grieving, and it puts words to my feelings. Today, I just want to leave those here - get them out of the dark, secluded, grief stricken chambers of my heart and let someone know that today, I was hurting. 

“Don’t wish, don’t start. Wishing only wounds the heart. I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl. There’s a girl I know. He loves her, so I’m not that girl.” (I’m not that girl, Wicked)

“Hand in my hand, and you promised to never let go. We’re walking a right rope - high in the sky, we can see the whole world down below. Never sure- will you catch me if I should fall?” (Tight Rope, The Greatest Showman)

« Les jours défilent, mais tu n’es pas là, et dans la nuit je cherche encore tes bras. J’ai baissé ma garde mais tu as tout changé. Je m’étais habituée à être celle que tu aimais… » (The days go on, but you are not here. And in the night, I still reach for your arms. I let down my guard, but you completely changed. I was getting used to being the one that you loved…”)

(French translation of  “Someone you loved, chorus)

It's hard again.

I have been pondering for a while about the past couple years of my life. I constantly wonder if I am healed in certain areas because I go through waves of feeling like I still don’t know who I am. I know I have rediscovered parts of me that were lost, and yet… I know there is a long way still to go to feel like I am "me" again. 

I just wanted to compile a list of some of the things that tug at my heart; a list of what I experienced that sometimes my brain tells me weren't real, or were entirely my fault. I don't fully understand why I feel the need to write this, but if it can be of any help to anyone who may have / have had similar experiences, then I write this to you. And I want you to know that I have full confidence that the Savior can heal it all. 

I know what it's like to sit next to a spouse in the car, at church, at the dinner table, who is depressed and distant. I feel the heaviness of wondering how to help them climb out of the darkness and the hope that they’ll realize you’re trying your best to help, to stay positive, to carry the load with them. I know the feeling of wanting to connect with someone who wants to disconnect from everything, and realizing you are powerless to help.

I know how it feels to listen to a spouse - the one you are sealed to in the temple - doubt their faith and wonder if any of it means anything. I know how it feels to listen to them reason God right out of existence, doubt the veracity of the Book of Mormon, and criticize doctrine. 

I know how it feels to ache to be hugged, to ache to have a loved one reach for your hand like they used to, only to realize that they haven't initiated hand holding for weeks now. I know the anguish of heartbreak when your loved one relapses, when he looks at porn over and over, when he weeps and weeps about his mistake, but doesn't bother to ask you how you are doing.

 I know the heartache of going to the temple alone, without your spouse; the feeling of "this isn't right" as you leave him in the waiting room while you continue into the temple because, of the two of you, you're the only one worthy to enter. 

I know self loathing and self denigration. I know the depths of gas lighting and manipulation. I know what it's like to not know who to trust, to not even know what to pray about, and to not feel connection to anyone or anything. 

I know the weight of carrying a secret about him on your shoulders, wondering what he will do to you if he finds out you accidentally told it. I know the sadness of watching him choose not to partake of the sacrament, wondering if you should put your arm around him or squeeze his hand a bit tighter so he knows you’re there, yet not wanting him to feel like you’re drawing attention. 

I know the deep darkness of isolation and fear. I know about distress and anxiety in intimacy, and never feeling like my body was beautiful enough. I know about worrying if what is happening to you in intimate moments is appropriate or not. I know about wondering if you are in danger from your own spouse. I know the feeling of fear, wondering if what you do will make him angry or not. I know the feeling of trying to guess what it was that you did wrong this time - if what you said or laughed at or suggested or shared was what caused the problem. I know what it's like to feel like you are walking on eggshells, never knowing when you would get it trouble next. 

I know the abyss of hopelessness and despair, the desire to leave the world behind because no one cares about you anyway. I know the feeling of planning my death, walking over to carry it out, and being saved only by God - who knows exactly how to remind me of my value and enoughness. 

I understand the pain of working through weakness. The desire to make a marriage better, yet knowing it takes two people to work on it. I know the heartbreak of hearing from your husband that he doesn't want to spend time with you, ever, and that he wishes you looked and acted differently. I know the feeling of confusion when he admits to have known exactly what he was doing by manipulating you, for your whole marriage, yet not seeking to fix what he had done wrong. I know the fear you have to look him in the eye, the fear you feel when you have to bring something up, the fear of offending him, the fear of what to say to him during conversation that won’t start an argument. 

I know the loss of brain power because you rack your brain to find out what you could have possibly done wrong this time… wondering how to apologize, how to do better, how to try harder to not make him angry. 

I know the agony of betrayal, when loving someone so purely and innocently is treated with disrespect. 

I know that feeling when trust is broken and your world is shattered. 

I know the moment you realize you’re in physical danger but you don’t have the courage to leave.

I know the feeling of losing a spouse.

I know the doubt, the uncertainty of choosing to get a divorce; wondering if you could have possibly "made it work" or "helped him more" or "fixed myself better". Wondering what would have happened if you had stayed. Wondering if he would have loved you again. 

I know the pain of receiving that letter from his new bishop, requesting that you write a letter in response to his request for a sealing cancellation so he can be married again. I know the heartache of realizing that she now has the place you always dreamed of having. 

Another time, I will write you all the things I know about the diamonds that came from this furnace of affliction, the pearls from the sand, the beauty from the ashes. 

Another time, I will. But for now, these are the parts of me that sometimes still ache because, well . . . It hurt. It really, really did. 

To hear and to see

Dear self…..

It’s okay that you feel sad. I know it was something you wanted to do, play music with him and talk to him and rekindle a friendship with him. 

In all honesty, you are doing your best to be a good friend. And though you are discouraged because it seems to be thrown back in your face, you can also be happy that you are trying; trying to be good. Trying to be happy. Trying to honor who you are and what you stand for. You stand for humility, responsibility, honesty, and vulnerability. Relationships that last are built on trust - you know this. I am so sad that you feel like you cannot trust him anymore. What a heartbreaking thing. 

I do- I remember how much fun the beginning of the semester was, and how much you looked forward to being with Jacob. I remember how you felt you had a friend - someone who heard you and saw you for who you were. I think that in a way, he still does that - though you may not fully see it. And you are definitely shy and hesitate to talk about that. I understand. I hear your crying and see your tears. I see your heartbreak and hear your prayer to find someone who will be your good friend. 

I know you wonder what has changed. What could have possibly gone wrong because you feel like there’s distance between you two. I don’t know what to do about it, but I know God does. I hear you, Alissa, and your pure heart makes sense. If Jacob feels uncomfortable around you, that doesn’t mean you have done something wrong or are all of a sudden walking the wrong road. It just means he feels differently than you do.

And now that you know what it feels like to be around Jacob (at least, previous to this distance), you can look for that same, deep connection with someone else. Remember that Jacob is his own person and you cannot force your expectations on him. You cannot expect him to do something and then feel hurt when it doesn’t happen. You just have to trust the Lord and trust you will be okay. 

That this isn’t something to be worried about. Marriage will happen when it needs to, and when you find that celestial friend, I think you will know. 

❤️ Alissa

Surprises

 I love surprises. 

The ones that make you giggle and grin from ear to ear. 

I love to plan them and to be the recipient of them. I love to watch people smile as the surprise unfolds, as the door opens and they see twenty people in the room instead of zero. 

And I keep hoping that God is just waiting to surprise me with something exciting, something good. Because…do you ever feel like life doesn’t slow down? That, yeah, there are happy and exciting things along the way, and yet you just yearn for at least one good thing for which you’ve been praying for a very, very long time? 

I don’t believe that God willfully causes anything which, for his own purposes, he permits. Meaning, I don’t think God causes suffering, unfortunate circumstances, or any number of difficult fortunes that befall us. 

Sometimes, hard days go on for many days at a time. And it’s not that God caused them or didn’t hear your prayer. 

I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why some trials last a long, long time.

Nor do I know why it is that when one trial ends, so often another begins. And the “hard day cycle” starts over…

And over…

And over.

And my most recent one nearly took the life out of me. 

Remember that part of childhood when we dressed up and played make believe? When our mothers made or bought us princess outfits and we played outside for hours on end, never willing to give up the freedom of make belief? 

Remember the happily ever after? Well, what do you do when it comes to the previous life you lived, but it doesn’t come to you? What do you do when you’ve tried your whole life to be good, and the story you keep telling yourself (because circumstances reinforce those faulty core beliefs) is that it will just never be yours.

See, one main faulty core belief that I’m fighting is this belief that I don’t get to have a happy endings in this life.

I’m always one song too late.

One glass slipper short.

One dress too old.

One minute too slow. 

….

He’s getting married.

Yes, him. 

The one I thought would be my prince. The one I danced with and sang with… the one to whom I gave my heart. 

That was a lovely Christmas present. 

….Surprise….

And I’m terrified for his new wife. You know, the one in the place that used to be mine. 

It’s like I’ve just gone through grieving the loss of a loved one, who then comes back and denies my very existence. It feels like my tears mean nothing. Heartache? Nothing. Feelings? Nothing. Love? Nothing. 

There was this moment - when he reached out to me to pay a debt from the divorce that he never paid. He had told his Bishop he was up to date on all legal matters relating to the divorce. Well, that was a lie. Intentionally stated or not. But he had been informed of his financial obligation and had chosen not to pay it. Now his new marriage depended on it. 

Lovely. 

So back when he didn’t pay his portion? Guess what. I paid it all. And there was nothing left inside me to fight him to pay his.

Upon receiving news from his bishop, stating he claimed to have taken care of all financial obligations, I responded that actually, he wasn’t current on those obligations. 

The response? 

A text. From my ex husband. 

At first I was angry when I received the text, that he was finally willing to reach out and pay money. 

And then, he had the audacity to ask if I was charging interest.

Interest? On what? The last two years of ….??

As if money could ever suffice, could ever mend a broken heart, could ever take the place of a sincere apology. “Alissa, I’m so sorry I cheated on you, broke my covenant to God, was unfaithful and disrespectful. I’m so sorry I abused you and hurt you and told you that your body wasn’t good enough for me. I’m so sorry I manipulated you and set you up to be the recipient of all the blame. I’m so sorry.”

No, none of that. Just an offer to pay me more money.

Well, money doesn’t buy forgiveness. 

Now, at this surprising moment of finding out that he was preparing for marriage in the temple; at this moment of unexpected feelings, finally, I was able to hold him responsible for one thing. Finally I was brave enough to stand up for myself. 

And in that moment of texting, when he reached out and asked for a way to pay me, I stared at his message, his phone number unsaved in my phone, but I still knew it by heart. 

I was choosing whether or not to congratulate him. I was surprised and hurt and confused at the same time. 

Shocked and speechless are good words. 

My fingers slowly typed out, “Congratulations on your engagement”

And for longer than I can admit, my thumbs hovered over the exclamation point. 

!

Christ gave me strength to forgive him once. Though sometimes it’s a daily effort. And this time? It was a physical sign of whether or not I truly had forgiven him. 

To some people, it may not make sense. But to me, that exclamation point represented how far I had come. And…was I willing to go even further?

….

“!”

*send*

Relief. Tears. Disbelief. Grief. I did that. 

No, no no. I had pushed “send” with my thumb, yes. But Christ had given me the strength to do it. And the feeling of forgiving him. 

And now?

Well…I guess I’ll just keep waiting for a better surprise. 

You know…the kind that catches me when I least expect it. The kind that makes me smile - ear to ear- and laugh and wish that it would never end. 

A surprise worth waiting for. 

Dear broken heart

I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll teach you how to sit in the pain and the sadness of it all. I’ll teach you how to hold the grief in a place of truth, because his actions say nothing about your worth and nothing about your lovability. 

Just because he chose her over you; lust over love; immediate gratification over long term connection; just because he chose all those things doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful and brilliant and caring and kind. You are and always will be enough. 

The good thing about broken things is that God knows how to mend them. And while we have faith that he can do it, sometimes we have to learn to sit in the pain until He will. He isn’t waiting to heal you because He wants to punish you. No- He knows that those who feel deep hurt likewise have a great capacity to love.

And you know how to love deeply, don’t you. 

Your healing will take the Saviour’s love and perhaps hours and days and years. And I will sit here and grieve with you over the dates you never had, the dances you never danced, the pastries you never made, the children you never created, and the love you felt begin to fade. I will help you know that because the grief makes sense, the hurt makes sense, the pain feels real, the ache doesn’t leave... it all means that you are a wonderful individual with righteous desires and a beautiful heart. 

And a whole lot of grief. 

And you know something? That’s okay. 

Pain.

 It hurts too badly, yet I can't stop it from coming. The memories flash back in my mind as fast as the sunlight can hit my skin, bringing tears into my eyes as fast as a shooting star in the night sky. Yet unlike the sunlight and the stars in the sky . . . these memories leave only emptiness in their wake. 

The TV. . . . . . Merlin. . . we watched it together because it was the only activity I could think of to do together at the time. He wasn't keen on connecting in other ways, so I suggested we do something he enjoys doing. We watched a whole television series together. He and I.

Bacon. Eggs benedict. As I walk through the store, looking for the ingredients to create new memories with one of my favorite foods to eat with him, I remember back to the times we would make it together. I would save up and splurge a little bit to buy the best kind of bacon. The kind he loved. This time, I wanted to make it for my sisters and I on Valentine's day . . . wanted to make a new memory with it. We made it so often, he and I. 

A hug. One of my friends hugs me and my roommates, thanking us for a gift we have given to him. It's such a wonderful hug. I haven't been hugged that way by a man in a very long time. And I miss it. His arms, wrapped around me, pulling me close, helping me to feel less afraid. I hugged him every chance I got, even after he would relapse, even after we had an argument, even ....that day that I left him. I tried, I gave it my all, I gave him my heart. We used to hug each other, he and I. 

Sometimes the pain comes back with such force that tears are instantly in my eyes. I can't break the memory. The images are too powerful. The feelings so real. Yet someday, when little moments in my life trigger memories and flashbacks, I'll have the capacity to feel them and let them pass through me. . . . Someday, I'll be strong enough to recognize the grief without giving it power over me. For now, I'm trying to be brave and not let it sit inside of me. I'm trying to have courage to talk about it. 

But - the pain, the pain is suffocating. 

The songs I cannot sing

I open my mouth to tell you my dreams,

I try forming words, though futile it seems,

I ask you for aid and offer it back,

I give you my love, though it’s yours that I lack. 

I opened my heart, though clumsily done,

You opened your arms and by dancing, you won

I entrusted my feelings and my heart - nothing less,

Yet wondered...does love truly feel like this?

I wasn’t so sure how to cope with my pain - 

The pain of the distance and love that seemed feigned. 

I hoped that you loved me, though your words cut so deep, 

And I refused to believe that you’d do that to me.

But you did and it hurt. And I wished that instead 

You’d physically wound me than put thoughts in my head. 

My dreaming and singing, it all ceased in time...

I stopped believing that your hand would reach out for mine. 

Though I hoped for connection, no love can be forced,

So my silence and hopeless discouragement got worse...

I know I’m imperfect, if only you could know 

How over and over I’ve wept on my own 

To go back and hug my childlike past

And tell her to trust God, the darkness won’t last.

Yet over and over, I’ve wept on my own 

And wondered, but why did you never come home? 

Didn’t you love me, didn’t you....love me 

I’ve wept and I’ve wept, but you won’t ever see...

I sing now and dream now and open my heart 

And little by little the healing can start 

And yet, there’s a sadness no lyric can compose 

A song I can’t sing... and none but Christ knows.

The heart of it all.

 I turned 27 recently. 

Yes, you saw that sentence correctly. I had a birthday and I didn't put an exclamation point next it. That's because I don't feel thrilled to be 27. . . 

Truth be known, I feel like my world is ending; like I've lost all opportunity to do what I want to do; like there's too much I've already missed out on. I know, logically, that being 27 doesn't mean I have somehow surrendered the possibility of progression and self discovery (at least, that's what people tell me). But it doesn't help that I can't shake the feeling that my life is somehow already over. 

Sheesh. 27-year-old's...

But you know what I think is at the heart of the disgust I feel towards being the age of 27 ? It's deep and it's dark, but after lots of introspection, I have a pretty good idea of the source of my distaste towards this age...

The truth is I never planned to be here. Physically, emotionally, mentally . . . I never planned to be divorced. Single. Childless. Husbandless. In a job that is literally killing me. I never planned it. I never wanted it. 

At the heart of my disgust is the fact that I don't want to be here - in my life. I don't truly want this life. Yes, I have found ways to bring happiness and joy into my life again, and I do my best to take care of my needs and my wants, and pretty soon I'll embark on a career that gets me excited when I think about it. 

But I had my future figured out - not mapped out or planned out; no, just figured out far enough into the future that I knew where I wanted and hoped to be. I desired to be married during my years of college so that I could experience the undergrad life and trials with someone that I loved. I wanted to have children and start a family rather than make a career for myself. And in terms of family, I wanted to be tackling life and all of it's difficulties with my parents nearby - not clear out in Tennessee. 

I wanted true love. Romance. Honesty. Fidelity . . . I wanted a home built on gospel principles, and a husband willing to serve God, no matter what (which honestly - deep down, I know that he did want to serve God. He really was a wonderful man).

. . . That's all I ever wanted. . . 

And yet here I am . . . 27, not really living the life I had hoped to be living. I'm not mad at anyone - and I'm especially not mad at God. How could I ever be angry at him? He's the one who has supported me and walked with me and listened to me day in, day out. I don't feel mad. Sometimes I don't know what I feel, but I know at the heart of it all, there's something of a dissatisfied, disappointed, and discouraged little girl who wishes her life were just a little different. 

And to top it all off, something happened this week. It's happened before, but I don't talk about it often. You see, there exists these deep feelings at the heart of my pain, and this week they came back so forceful that I thought my heart would once again break from the pain of it all. Literal heartache is one of the worst feelings in the world. And I don't really talk about it because I don't mean to minimize anyone else's pain.

Many triggers built up and I didn't deal with them like I should have. Instead of letting the pain flow through me, I bottled it up inside until it kind of exploded. 

This week, when I stepped out the apartment door at 6:15am, ready to go to school, all of a sudden, I felt sad that I had no one to say companionship prayers with or give and receive a kiss of confidence. I felt this way quite often in my marriage - alone and going to work, and unfortunately, sometimes just the action of leaving alone in the morning brings all those hurt feelings back to me.

Another trigger came because I love to share, and sometimes just the gesture of sharing brings back memories of him. My heart broke when I looked at my blender and realized I wasn't going to share one of my smoothies with him. He really loved my smoothies. 

I collapsed in tears when I saw the flowers - the beautiful flowers delivered to me at school on my birthday - and realized that they weren't from the person I always hoped to receive flowers from. I love my friend who gave them to me. And yet for some reason, I felt sorrow that I never would get one from him. 

I went dancing. Oh, dancing. . . I went to create new memories, and I felt happiness like I haven't felt in a while. Yet it's still painful. It's hard to shake the memory of his strong hands, his smooth movements, dancing in unison across the floor . . . I miss it. It hurts. 

Sometimes when I lay in bed, I still miss his arms... even though as our marriage went on, he wasn't available to comfort me. I can't help but remember how he was able to talk me out of moments of anxiety and high stress. He wasn't available to do that for me later on in our marriage, but at the beginning? I wanted to trust him with my feelings. But trust is a delicate thing...and it has to be earned.

Anyways, all of us experience this feeling of literal heartbreak at some point in our lives. And the heartache I feel is likely only felt by those who have had significant loss in their lives. The grief from my loss truly does have such a gravity that it can infect every aspect of my life. From the clothes someone wears to the phrase or joke someone recites, there's no end to the triggers. My life was so intertwined with his that when it all of a sudden disappeared for good, there was no telling how long it would take to not be effected by ....literally anything. 

It's the loss of joy and potential happiness; the loss of part of my heart that I gave away so trustingly and hopefully. It's the loss of material things that I loved and of the dreams I've nurtured and held on to, but that don't really seem possible anymore.

And so, here I am . . . 27. Still feeling lost in life. At the heart of it all, I think I really just want happiness. 

That's all I really want. . . .

Picture worth a thousand words

In an effort to be ahead for the holidays, my roommates and I decided to hire one of my best friends to take our pictures. We dressed up, I put on mascara and lipstick for the first time in months, and we set off to American Fork Canyon. 

While the nature around us was breathtaking, the day was also rapidly approaching sun down, so we hurried through the picture taking as fast as we could, hoping to avoid freezing to death. 

A few days later, the pictures were ready for us to see. However, I had no idea how difficult it would be to look at myself . . . Look into my eyes and see pain that no one else was aware of. Yes, I was smiling outwardly, yet inwardly? Happiness was far from my heart. 

I don’t think I struggle with chronic depression. At the same time, I know that my life has been nothing but difficult and dark for a long time. I have made choices I never believed I’d have to make. I’ve survived different kinds of abuse, some mild, some so severe it’s left me in darkness every time I close my eyes.

And yet as I analyzed these photographs, as I looked into my eyes, not only did I see that darkness, but I didn’t believe that there was any happiness to be seen. Everyone thought my picture was beautiful. But I ? 

I saw nothing. Nothing of worth. Nothing of beauty. 

Now, several weeks later, I don’t know if I feel much different. I don’t feel much light or happiness. But what I do know is that I want to . I want to find happiness. I want to not only see it reflected in my eyes, but I want to feel it in my heart. 

My picture causes me to think of one word. Not a thousand words, one word : truth. My picture causes me to reflect on questions that tug at my feelings... What was I truly feeling in that moment? What is the truth about what was going on? What truth does God want me to realize and embrace as I look at my freckled, scar worn and red patched face ? 

Perhaps, then, pictures aren’t meant to be worth a thousand words. At least not mine. Perhaps just one word will suffice. . .

A teacher’s perspective

 “Madame, what did I miss yesterday?” 

I close my eyes for a second, pretending to reflect on what we did yesterday. Truthfully, I don’t remember. I can barely remember what I’ve prepared for today. 

But even more truthfully, I’m just fuming inside. How hard is it, really, for my kids to take the initiative and check online to find out for themselves? I post the class PowerPoint and everything else we did in class every single day. Online. At the touch of a mouse. Just take thirty seconds and figure it out for yourself, I mutter in my head. 

“Umm yes, we practiced conjugating -er verbs because we are taking a quiz today.”

Wrong thing to say. Next thing I know, three kids are like, “We have a quiz today?? What!? Can we retake it?” 

I do an invisible eye roll and say, “Oui.” No matter how many times I tell them to study for a quiz...

This has to be one of my least favorite questions of all time, having a student ask what we “did in class yesterday”. It’s frustrating because I go to so much extra work to make everything accessible, especially for those students at home in quarantine or who are online now because they’re at risk for Covid. 

But as I have been pondering on several frustrating things going on in my teaching world, I’ve realized something I have never thought about before. 

Just like I at times feel frustrated and burdened by the expectations of students, who expect me to bend over backwards to help all the time, perhaps sometimes Heavenly Father feels sad in the same way. I shouldn’t expect God to make life easier when I want him to and how I want him to. Why? Because that isn’t how it works. If I expect my kids to not demand so much of me, I understand that I cannot expect the same thing from my Father in Heaven. Of course, He wants me to ask for help and strength and he wants me to have hopes and dreams for my life. But I am to learn to respect his timing and his will for when and how those dreams and those hopes will be realized. 

I know I can be more patient with these kids - all 120 of them. Because God is patient with me. I’m still learning, I’m still growing. And I still need to know, even for me, can I retake that quiz? Can I have one more day to do the homework? Can you help remind me what I learned yesterday, and how I can improve today? 

Great teachers, after all, teach by example and experience, and not just with words. 

My journey

I stare at my face, my figure, my eyes...

And dare not to smile, for I believe all the lies :

That I’m ugly and weak, unkind, undeserving, 

I merit no love, and I feel I am worth nothing. 

These lies that belittle not just what I see, 

Attack on the inside, hidden part of me.

I cover my face and let out the tears, and slowly give in to my very worst fears.

I want to escape, give up and give in

It just is too easy to let that voice win.

So, I do. I retreat. I create my own world 

Where the voice of my adversary is the only one heard. 

Yet I know I’m not happy- my Sunshine depleted, 

Leaving me feeling abjectly defeated...

I desperately reach and cry out for aid. 

I yearn for connection, but inside I’m afraid. 

I fear it’s all true... that I really am forgotten,

Alone in this world, unloved...unforgiven.

Adversity screams, pushing me down, 

“Grieve all your losses, no hope can be found.” 

“Give up your worth, you deserve nothing more,”

And on and on the lies cut to my core. 

Then all of a sudden as I fall to my knees 

With tears in my eyes, encumbered with grief,

I remember a truth I’ve learned in my life,

Fear only has power if I believe all the lies. 

Believing in truth breaks anxiety’s grasp

And dissipates fear of my future or past.

If I choose to accept my journey, my life, 

That I’m right where I’m at - and that is alright;

If I choose to surrender and choose to let go

Of all of the things I want to control,

Instead choosing Christ, accepting His will,

Believing his timing will all things fulfill,

Then my spiraling down starts spiraling up,

As I choose to patiently drink from this cup.

If I stop asking “why” and start asking “How”, 

Then I know I will find joy in the “now”.

My journey, though messy, is what it should be,

And I know in my heart that it’s just what I need.

My journey, though trying and painful and steep,

Is not quite so hard with Christ next to me.

My journey is slow, soul stretching and steep, 

And yet - it is special and sacred to me.

Tears don’t hurt like the ache does.

I just need to write this : 

It really hurts when someone tells me I should stop missing my ex husband. It really hurts when someone tells me I shouldn’t love him anymore. 

I know I’m not perfect, and I’m working on being indépendant and not codependent. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when someone wants to tell me I should just move on and leave him behind...

There’s something about healing that I guess some people don’t understand, myself included : 

Healing. Takes. Time. And I’m just doing the best I can. 

The best I can.... 

When the leaves start to fall

 I love this time of year for a couple of reasons : 

1. General Conference comes again.

2. The leaves change color.

3. Some of my favourite constellations come out at night :)

I really very strongly dislike this time of year for a couple of reasons :

1. It's cold.

2. Parent teacher conferences last for 5 hours after school on a Thursday, and I still have to come to school and teach the next day . . . Sleep is scarce.

3. My parents aren't around, which means that I can't drive to my house, pick grapes, rake leaves, or put up fall decorations with my mother.

:(

It's really hard to stay positive right now, but I am doing my best. Sometimes it's all I can do to not quit my job, and sometimes I feel like I could teach forever. Right now, I am somewhere in between, hoping I don't catch the "Rona"

But I didn't come here to talk about my job. No, I came here to tell you that I miss him. 

A lot. 

I miss my previous husband. I miss dancing. I miss laughing. I miss his smile. I miss his sisters. And his grandparents. I miss feeling wrapped in his arms. I didn't know how much I missed being hugged until a couple of weeks ago when a guy I really like gently wrapped me in his arms. 

But now I like this new guy a lot less . . . 

He brightened my day and helped me to laugh again. He and I could talk for hours about our scripture study, about our gospel insights, about our experiences we have lived through. He's divorced, too, so we really had a great connection. 

But. . . part of me says that I should have known it was too good to be true. The wounded side of my heart says that he is acting just like my previous husband did. Prescott rarely scheduled time to spend with me and develop our relationship. There were a lot of communication issues for both of us, but I know I did what I could to connect with him. The thing about connection though? It takes two people with the desire. Near the end, Prescott wasn't even in a position to understand my feelings, nor discuss them. And I was too afraid to share them. All my pleas throughout the months to do something together or to have him organize a date only happened from time to time. I felt insignificant. I felt like a burden to him. And sometimes I just felt like he was frustrated with me - whether or not he was, I'll never know. Other days - like today - I really regret that I'm not with him anymore. There was so much more I could have done, so much more I wanted to do to improve our relationship, to improve myself. However, the truth is that Prescott wasn't reciprocating or putting forth effort to save our marriage. So there was nothing else I could do.

...right?

One of the most haunting memories I have is a moment near the end of our marriage when he told me (after I had just spent an hour listening to him and letting him cry in my arms, pouring out his feelings) that he wanted to find other friends and develop a friendship with them. I'll never forget what he said : "I look at our future, Alissa, and all I see is darkness. I feel like we will just never get to a point in our marriage where there is light. It's all dark."

My heart broke upon hearing this... It was one of the few times I have ever felt it literally break and pain shoot through my heart, ripping me apart. It was one of the most saddening things to hear that he saw our relationship as darkness. Yet here I was, doing everything in my power to save it. I didn't understand how or if he was doing the same. All I ever wanted was to be his friend. His companion. His confidant. Oh how I ached, how I hurt, holding him in my arms, listening to the emotions he was expressing, and holding back my tears so he could let his out. 

And just a while ago, I felt the same heartbreaking feelings when the new guy told me he wasn't able to come spend time with me. His show up is very similar to this behavior of Prescott's : not making time. I do not know what is going on in his life that has all of a sudden caused so much distance to be between he and I, but it is heart wrenching to put so much effort into a person, have so many hopes and dreams start to form again - something I didn't know if I would be able to feel ever again - only to have it come falling back down, heart break and all: crushed dreams, disappointed hopes, and shattered happiness.

And so here we are, this time of year. 

The leaves are falling again. . . 

Last year, when the leaves started to fall, I had just received revelation to divorce Prescott. 

Last year, when the leaves turned red and yellow and gold, I was battling a first year teaching job. 

Last year, when the leaves lost their softness and turned wrinkled and crisp, I was battling a kidney stone and a kidney infection. 

Last year, I didn't know how to be happy without Prescott. 

Now, as the leaves start to fall, I know I'm in a better place than I was. I know that I don't need to rely on someone else for my happiness. That being said, wouldn't it be wonderful to be loved again? 

I just don't know when that will happen...

Maybe . . . . maybe next year, when the leaves start to fall again. 

Is it about me?

I wait patiently in the car as it is snowing. It’s freezing and I just want to go home. I’ve taken the day off from substitute teaching so I can have a job interview. I’ve just received a text from Prescott, and so I answer him back and ask him a question that I need the answer to as soon as possible. 

I don’t remember what the question was, only that it was important. 

I wait and wait, and as the single minutes add up, I start to wonder why he hasn’t answered me back. He had just been texting me, and I know he can see the text come through on his smart watch, so he knows I need help. 

I send him one more text, asking him if he could please respond because I need to know now.

He responds within seconds, and says something to the effect of how impatient I was. 

Suddenly, I’m afraid to go home because I know I’m in trouble.

When we are finally able to talk, we are both frustrated, and while I do not remember if I said anything hurtful or judge mental, he says to me, “I don’t like texting you because I feel like you are pressuring me to respond. I would rather not text you, Alissa.” 

And my heart sinks. During that conversation, I had told him how I would like to show love to one another by texting throughout the day, but on top of that, this was an urgent situation, and I had texted during a time when he didn’t have class and when he had just barely been texting me back. So I didn’t understand the pause. I was sorry for judging him, for being impatient. All I needed was his advice just then, and he had responded the way he did - overbearing and blameful. 

I always have something I want to share, or a picture I want to send. To me, texting was a way for communicating love. 

And he told me he didn’t want to.

I later asked my friends if I was crazy for wanting to text my husband throughout the day, and they all mentioned that they always texted their husbands. 

Well, I thought, perhaps my husband just doesn’t like texting....?

But in my heart, I knew that couldn’t be it. He messaged his sister on a regular basis. He was constantly communicating with people on his editing committee for the Philosophy Journal. He was hopefully in contact with a sponsor. He was always on his phone - all the time. What was the harm in responding to a simple text from your wife? 

Especially responding to a text just because she wants to tell you something? 

I look back and hope that I was understanding of his schedule, and I hope I didn’t ever do anything to cause pressure or make him react so that he felt he had to text me. I never wanted it to feel like an obligation....

I just wanted connection. And yet...it was always me...my fault. I always was doing something wrong. It was wrong to want him to text me back. 

Apparently. 

And it still is painful to think about, that my husband didn’t want to connect with me that way. I tried a million other ways at least to connect with him...and all it seemed to do was drive him further away. He didn’t have problems connecting with his sisters about DND, or with his mom about all the things I was doing to him (whatever they were), and he didn’t have problems connecting with old friends...so, why me? 

One of the most difficult emotions I’ve had to work through as I have gone through this process of healing is the emotion of self blame. It’s the opposite of being compassionate and understanding towards myself. My whole life, and certainly up to the end of my marriage, I’ve blamed myself for other people’s actions. It’s so easy to do because it gives me a reason to take the blame or the hurt for whatever happened onto myself. Sometimes I do it to myself, believing that it will keep the other person from hurting and somehow protect them. 

The truth is? I’m just hurting myself. 

I’m really really good at hurting myself. 

I tell myself all the lies :

He didn’t answer my text because I said something he didn’t like.

She didn’t call me today because I’m not a good sister.

I’m never going to be able to forgive because I’m such a bad and judge mental person. 

I’m inconsiderate and never willing to listen or forego blame.

He didn’t talk to me because I’m awkward.

He doesn’t like me because I’m ugly. 

He’s just saying that I’m pretty because he wants to use me. It isn’t really true. 

They don’t enjoy being around me because I’m divorced. 

I’m never going to be able to love again.

These thoughts cut me to my core. They hurt so badly. Why do I do that to myself? Well, perhaps it has to do with the fact that I’m still trying to love Alissa for the person that she is. Yes, I have flaws. But I’m not flawed. Yes, I’m divorced, but that doesn’t make me unworthy of love. Yes, I have red hair and freckles and acne and blemishes and sunburns and uneven skin tones...but I’m still beautiful. And perhaps? Maybe Heavenly Father loves my scars. Maybe he loves even all the parts of me that aren’t perfect like I wish they were. 

When events - which are out of my control - happen, the first thing to do is not to blame myself. The first step to take is to surrender the control, have compassion for how I feel, and let Heaven know that I feel sad, or unhappy, or hurt, or anxious, or depressed, or whatever it is. The first step is never to blame myself for what has happened, especially when it involves another person’s agency. They get to be them, and I get to be me. They are responsible for their own actions, and I am responsible for mine. Their actions say nothing about my worth, because I am always worthy of love. I always have worth because I. Am. Alissa. I am a daughter of Heavenly Parents. 

And that’s significant. 

So, is it about me? 

No, Alissa. Not entirely. Yes, you have a responsibility for your own thoughts and actions, but you never have responsibility over someone else. 

And so, though my heart aches and my eyes just want to cry tears of sadness, I will surrender those experiences, that hurtful place of shame and self denigration. I will surrender what I couldn’t control. 

Though the tears don’t hurt like the ache does....

What matters most

“When you cannot do what you have always done, you only do what matters most.” Robert D. Hales 

Last week, I completed a 30 hour online Zoom training for teaching AP French, and as I sat listening to the presenter talking through the computer screen, I began to feel very overwhelmed. 

There are a lot of unknowns for teachers at this time because we don’t know how our classes will be affected by this virus; we don’t know what the dynamic will be having to teach with a mask on; we don’t know if our pay will be increased or decreased; we don’t know if we will be teaching online or at school, etc, etc. Heck I don’t even know how to teach a foreign language without students being able to watch me formulate the words with my mouth! 

So as I sat there, feeling more and more anxious about how I wasn’t going to be able to teach as I have always taught, or prepare lessons as I have always prepared them, I suddenly began to feel very much like I was out of control. 

Which I am. 

I mean, there is a microscopic virus in the loose, after all. 

Honestly, I think my fears make sense, and I think it’s understandable that I would be worried about how to accommodate all my students after having such a tragic sudden ending to the school year (having to teach online for three months). But then as I sat there panicking, I realized that, as Elder Hales suggests, I can learn to do what matters most. And that is all I need to expect of myself. 

Thankfully, for me, doing what matters most revolves around simplicity. 

I can prepare lessons one day at a time, I don’t have to know everything all at once. 

I can rely on what I did last year, thankfully. 

I can still meet my students’ needs, even if I have to learn day by day how to do that.

I can still teach and have fun and play games and be the crazy French teacher I do want to be. 

And perhaps the most important thing I can do is to allow my focus to remain constantly and consistently in Jesus Christ, because in his strength, I can do all things. 

Including teach school with a mask on. 😷👌🏻

So for anyone finding themselves worrying about what they can’t do anymore, I recommend doing what I did, as I sat in my chair, feeling the panic start to settle in. Focus on Christ. Focus on what you can do. And have faith that you can do it.