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....