Social Acceptance

 I don't have the typical family---although I couldn't even tell you what the "typical" family is supposed to look like.
I'm number 4 of 6 and I grew up with the knowledge that we are all different. There was no denying this concept. This wasn't even something my parents had to teach me.
It was just a fact of life.

My little sister has never spoken a word in her life. She is autistic and she has a short temper if her routine is tampered with. Her facial expressions aren't always socially normal and it is pretty easy to notice her physical handicaps upon meeting her.

 But who decided this? Who decided what the social norms are? Because what if a thousand years ago, it was normal for people to rock back and forth and hum loudly and walk around with what we could label a 'semi-disgusted look'? What if what was normal back then is not in the slightest bit socially acceptable now?

 At the age of 10, when I was well-equipped to love those human beings who were different than I was, a little brother came into my life and introduced me to a whole different scheme of normal vs. abnormal.
Because although he has a chromosome disorder, he is very high functioning. In so many ways, it is different than watching my little sister grow up. Because he can understand when people are making fun of him. He can communicate and receives love easier than she can.

Although they both can technically communicate, they are different. And on top of that, I am different too. I was given challenges, much different than theirs', that sometimes create socially abnormal thoughts in my head. In fact, sometimes I react in 'socially unacceptable' ways.

But what is normal? And who decides it?

Although each of us (besides my little brother) contain similar genetics, we are all completely different people who react to situations uniquely.

I think this realization is one of the reasons I work so hard to keep an open mind when people share their opinions. Sometimes I am surprised when I find myself agreeing with an opinion I didn't think I'd ever agree with. But the idea that we are all the same just isn't cutting it. Societal norms and cultural beliefs aren't always our personal norms.

And that's ok. It's ok to feel strongly about something but to understand where the other side of the argument is coming from. Life isn't black and white. 

I could say this about my opinions on Ordain Women or vaccinating or eating/exercise or trauma or addiction or pornography---although my opinion on pornography is probably the least likely opinion to budge. 

This vaccine debate has been confusing and hard for me. I've expressed my feelings about my belief in vaccines and have gotten retorts relating to a person's unique experience with a vaccination that their child reacted to. I have also had people speak about how a family member has died due to non-vaccination.
I get it. I do. I get that we all have opinions. But isn't there some line in the middle of all this madness where we sit down and realize that everyone is trying to make decisions based on what they believe to be best? Isn't it ok to speak respectfully and not assume the other side of the argument is being conned by the devil himself?

I get that this isn't always the case. We have a personal duty to judge each situation we are in and decide whether it feels safe for us. I'm not trying to tell you that I think you should put yourself in a situation where you are unsafe or outside your personal boundaries.

What I am asking is that we open our eyes a little wider and look at the people around us. Are they normal? Abnormal? And what makes us label them that particular way? Does our label have to do with our safety or with society's views on what we should/shouldn't tolerate?

Above all else, I find it odd that our general society accepts the notion that if you don't agree with someone, it is ok to blindly view them as less informed than you. I find it odd that an emphasis on love and acceptance isn't the most important thing we focus on in our society. Because how do we know that someone is less informed? Who are we to decide where their beliefs came from and how valid they are?

My mind is circling with these questions and I don't have all of the answers. I just have a view in my head of what the world would look like if we were more accepting of other people, in all of the different and unique "norms".
And I can tell you, that view looks particularly inviting to me.

Twenty-Seven

 Last Thursday in my Sociology 101 class, our teacher read us a story that really pierced my heart. The title was "Eleven" and if you'd like to read the pdf of it, here is the link.

This story explained a lot of my childhood feelings and as I was listening, I knew I could've written the exact same story.

And so I decided I would.


Seventeen. It was supposed to be an amazing birthday.
I woke up that day and grinned from ear to ear as I got ready and headed off to school.
Seventeen. The day I was supposed to be older and wiser, braver and happier.
I wanted life to change that day. I wanted to start over and become the person who was fighting to get out.
Seventeen. The day I came home from school and had a huge fight with my parents. The day I felt the opposite of brave and happy. The day I considered that death might be better than life because life hurt too much.
Seventeen. The day I didn't know if we would be celebrating at all. As the tears poured down my cheeks, I hugged my pillow and wanted to be eighteen...or maybe five. But not seventeen.
Seventeen. The day we made up long enough for dinner at the restaurant of my choosing. It was the day I tried steak for the first time and fell in love with it, if it's possible to fall in love with food.

But when I laid down to go to sleep that night, I was confused. Because seventeen didn't change anything about me. In fact,  a lot of my reactions from that day had come from a younger me.

Someone must've forgotten to explain that when I was seventeen, I was also three. I didn't lose that age just because a new one started.

So sometimes when I'm twenty-seven, I can hear the thirteen year old who is still trying to figure out who she is. Sometimes when I'm twenty-seven and I realize how painful divorce is, I can feel five year old me screaming as I hug my pillow really tight.
I am not just twenty-seven. 

I am twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one.

So when my eyes are burning from the tears trying to break free and I throw a fit in my room, it really is ok. Because along with being twenty-seven, I am also two. 

 When I am in need of extra attention and I feel stupid for wanting that, I try to realize that it's ok. Because along with being twenty-seven, I'm also nine.

 When someone hurts my feelings and my first response is to lash out in anger, it doesn't make me any less mature than the twenty-seven year old that I am. It just proves that along with being twenty-seven, I am also eleven. 

 This year, part of my healing is learning to break away from the fear. Because the fear contradicts my genuine emotions. When trauma set in, I stopped crying in front of others---because to me, crying is among the most vulnerable of reactions and it's scary. It's scary to feel like you're not in control of the water dripping from your eyes and the quiver in your bottom lip.

 But I don't want to be afraid of the "younger than age twenty-six" me who was able to cry and trust that she could show her feelings in front of other human beings.

I want to embrace five year old me who used to cry because her knee got scraped. And ten year old me who used to cry because her friends weren't being very nice. And sixteen year old me who used to cry because she just wanted a boy to notice her. And twenty-six year old me who was found sobbing on her friend's shoulder one afternoon in late August of 2013.

Emotions are healthy. 

Emotions are teachers and healers.

So today I am twenty-seven. But I am also twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one.
And that is never going to change. 

Another Storm

I've endured many storms in my life. Some are big and some are small. Some are ingrained in my memory and others are forgotten.

I can remember quite well the summer I was 10. That was probably the summer I spent the most time having sleepovers with my cousins. There were 3 girl cousins my age growing up. One who lived in California and two that lived here---including a step-cousin I had met when I was 8. We spent a ton of time together that summer. My California cousin came for a visit and I can remember one night in particular during monsoon season, a storm had come into town and our power had gone out.
My cousins and I all huddled around a battery-operated night light that was my baby brother's at the time. My dad had gone outside to check the power and I was so scared. I was scared he would never come back or that our house would catch on fire or flood.

But I had my band. I had my team. My cousins kept me brave that night. I watched the shadows dance off the walls as the thunder cracked louder and louder but I knew I would be ok because I wasn't alone.

Another storm I will never forget was during my days at ANASAZI. Because I was there from June to July, I ended up enduring monsoons in the middle of nowhere---with a 8x8 tarp for protection. The first time I experienced a monsoon on the trail, I started to cry. I begged and pleaded for them to let me go home. I told them I was afraid of storms when I was in my own bed and that I couldn't possibly endure it out in the desert.
We hiked through most of it but when the sun started to go down, we built personal shelters out of our tarps and were sent to bed. This was the very first time I remember feeling completely alone during a monsoon. I sobbed under my tarp and pulled my journal out, aware that the lack of light would prove difficult. But I didn't care. I knew I needed to write. I knew writing would help.
I scribbled out most of my fears almost illegibly but the rain was still pouring and I didn't feel much better.

So I started to pray. I prayed out loud. I pleaded with God to stop the storm because I was scared. I was afraid of dying or getting hurt. I was afraid of the loneliness.

I ended my prayer and laid there for a minute, wishing that God was actually real so that He could answer my prayer.

And just like that, the rain stopped.
I could hardly believe it. I had never received an answer to prayer so bluntly before.
I pulled my journal back out and began to scribble the events of the night. I wrote, "Tonight while it was raining, I said a prayer and asked God to stop the rain because I couldn't take it anymore. And you'll never believe it! THE RAIN STOPPED! There is a God. I know He is there. I know He heard me. I felt Him tonight."

It was during ANASAZI that my testimony of prayer began to grow. I was so afraid of death and I felt like we faced so many dangerous obstacles but each time, we were lead to safety.

The storms I have faced have taught me so much about who I am and who I want to be. Some of them have knocked me off of my feet for a period of time but I've gotten up eventually.

I can see that happening with my current storm. I've been knocked down and I'm not up yet. I'm still figuring this all out and trying to repair the damage. But today something clicked. Today, on another Sunday that we were late for church because I dread sacrament meeting alone with my littles, I was listening in Relief Society about patterns becoming habits and how quickly we can become comfortable and set in our ways and I realized, I don't want to be this. I don't want to struggle to go to church. I don't want my children to get used to this example and think that it's normal that we miss the sacrament 50% of the time, sometimes more.

I may not be where I want to be. I may be struggling with this picture of my life and how it's turned out. I may still question why this has all happened in the particular timing that it has.
I will still struggle to feel like I fit in on Sundays. Some of the lessons will still cause a lot of pain in my heart. I will still feel alone and stressed out most of the time in sacrament meeting.
But it won't be this way forever. 
Because eventually, I'll figure this all out. Eventually I'll be standing taller than I've ever stood. I will face this storm and beat it.

Because I know I am capable of greatness. I know I am strong enough to endure the hard days and enjoy the good days.

Although I don't understand it all, someday I will. Someday I will be able to look back and think, "Wow. I made it through another storm."

Worthy

 I'm trying.

I'm trying to remember who I was as a carefree little girl who didn't have a clue that I'd someday equate my worthiness to my weight, to my marriage, to my whole outward appearance.

Sometimes I try to dig deep and remember her but often times, I find it impossible.
She seems impossible.
Did she really even exist?

I've thought so much about all of the events in my life and how they've shaped me, good and bad.
There is a lot of bad, friends. 
Because the world told me that unless I was skinny, I wasn't pretty. The world told me that without money, I would never be happy. The world told me that unless I had a boyfriend or a husband, I must not be good enough.
This didn't come from one source. It seemed to come from every corner I would turn. Magazines. Commercials. Movies. Even the Disney shows I watched seemed to be telling me my best plan for happiness was to be skinny and always have a boy to love me.
I believed those things. 
Hell, I still believe those things...

I remember in high school, I liked this boy. We were in marching band together and during football season, we would spend hours on Friday nights together, either on a bus or in the band room. I would think about it all week and hope that this was the week---the week he would cuddle with me or kiss me or something! I just wanted him to show me my worth! I wanted him to prove to me that I was beautiful!

It never happened.
Instead, he dated my best friend and I got to watch from the sidelines, as my heart felt like shattering.

This was my real life in high school. Not very many other things mattered. I didn't really care about my school work---I just wanted to feel loved. I was searching for worthiness. And might I add, I was searching for worthiness in all of the wrong places.

I wasted so much of my high school experience, waiting for someone to love me---never realizing that the most important thing would be loving myself.

I never found my worthiness in high school. I don't even know if I can say I found my worthiness after high school.
In fact, I think I can confidently say that I didn't find my worthiness after high school.
I got married, had two babies, became a stay-at-home-mom, and suddenly, I found myself divorced.

Divorced. Overweight. Worthless.

I think I had convinced myself that I knew my worth when I was married. But the thing is, I was married---I had a man who automatically proved my worthiness---and when that was over, I found myself struggling all over again---and even more-so since the rejection hurt so much worse this time.

I don't think I've ever really taken the time to think about my worth as an individual daughter of God. I've seen glimpses but I don't know if I've ever had the opportunity to really grasp it before.

A part of me finds this concept to be foreign and highly unreachable. But then there is the part of me filled with faith and hope, yearning to feel as loved as my God intended me to be.

I don't quite know where to start, to begin this healing journey of my worth. I feel like I've taken so many different roads and each one of them has taught me something but I still doubt. I'm still so afraid that without marriage and weight loss, I won't be able to reach my full potential as the woman I want to be. I still feel somewhat worthless and abandoned and fearful of the future. I still question whether the people who say they love me really do---or whether they're just in my life because they feel sorry for me.

I'm at a point in my journey where I'm confused and as much as I hate being confused, I think this is where I'm supposed to be. I think I'm going to let myself stay confused until I can learn in my own time what my individual worth is.

I think it's ok that I don't have all the answers right now.

They'll come when I'm ready for them.

In the meantime, I'm going to hold on.

I'm going to try not to freak out over how busy life is and how much time I lose every day with my kids and my friends.
I'm going to continue on in school and get myself one step closer to my end goals.

And I'm going to try to love my life as much as possible. Whatever that looks like to me.
Some days, it might be only five minutes and other days, it'll last hours.
But I'm going to enjoy the moments where I'm not anxious and scared and angry.

I'm going to try to be authentic to myself.

Anchor to the Good

 Sky high and fearless---that is a real picture of me when I was a little girl. I used to climb to the top of our incredibly tall swing set and feel the wind on my face and just breathe. I'd sit on the top metal bar and watch the cars go down the streets and the people walking on the sidewalks.

That was my place.

Very few times did the fear of falling come to my mind but it never stopped me from climbing up to the top and feeling like I was on top of the world.

As a young girl, it was a fun place to climb. As a teenager, it was a place I would go to escape my pain.

My kids play on that swing set now. I watch them from my parents' kitchen window and imagine I am the young version of myself again, the little girl who needed someone to understand her a little bit better.
Sometimes I mourn the parts of my childhood that were sad. Other times, I smile because I love that little girl so much. I love 'young me'. Maybe that seems weird but whenever I see things in my children that remind me of myself as a child, it makes me happy.

Because I am her and I know what she needs. I know how she felt. I know all of the genuinely compassionate things she felt as a little girl. She is incredible to me.



Last week, I had a super rough night---or couple of nights. I wish the hard nights would stop but I guess that's never going to happen. But as I laid in my bed and wrote in my journal, I was thinking about everything that has happened and I was starting to blame myself all over again.

This is what anxiety does to me. 

I was worried that my divorce was too fast and that I had jumped into this new life without waiting for a fourth or fifth answered prayer that this was right---as if the first three answers were no longer valid. 

I started to second guess my friendships to some of the most amazing people I have ever met. I couldn't believe that they really love me. I started to think that I was probably just a girl with a sad story who everyone feels sorry for so they invite her to hang out.

I was crying while messaging a friend about my pity party and she stopped me right in my tracks and said, "Ok, I'm stepping in now! No No NO! Now you're making that up in YOUR head because you anchor to all of the self critic talk, instead of anchoring to what you know is true. You're amazing. You have awesome friends who are trying to protect you. You have been through hell and back and you don't give yourself enough credit for the amazing amount of crap you've been through and have to deal with. Let yourself feel those feelings of hurt but don't anchor to them. Anchor to the good."

Anchor to the good.

That phrase really spoke to me. Anchor to the good. I like simple messages that carry deep meanings. They are easier for me to remember and apply.

The next day, I went straight to my white board and wrote that beautiful message on it.

I pass by it multiple times a day.

When my friend first said those words to me, I thought they would be easy. I am a generally optimistic person and I've always felt like I can pick the good out of the situation and focus on it most of the time.

But it has been harder than I thought! Because I've been dealing with so much anxiety and shame that finding the good isn't always easy.

Often times it bothers me that I haven't yet figured out who I am now. I am a different person than I used to be and sometimes it's hard for me to understand myself. It's hard to understand the anxiety or the anger or the shame because even though I have felt all of those things in my life, I didn't recognize them as much as I do now. They weren't as debilitating as they are now.

And a huge part of me resents that. A huge part of me gets angry with this new person because I just want her to calm down and stop being so scared of life.

I want her to trust. 

But if I take a step back and look at her as if she isn't me, I can see why she is scared and why she doesn't like to trust. I can see why daily activities can give her anxiety. Because the day she was hurt the most was just a normal day with normal activities and it changed her life forever.


I hope that someday I will be able to overcome my fears. I hope that I will be able to live more freely and trust and love and commit.

But today all I feel like doing is climbing back into bed and never coming out of my room.
Because at least my bed is safe. 

Little Me

I go back to the pictures of Little Me and I want to tell her to run! I want to tell her that it gets worse, that people are not to be trusted, that life is rough as hell.

Because tonight, that is how I feel.

Her smile was real. She didn't know what life was going to give her. She was chubby-cheeked, curly-haired, and invincible.

Oh how I wish chubby cheeks were cute at my age.

Trust is such a hard thing, my friends. Trust feels like blindly walking through a room full of scorpions. You can get stung at every turn, with every choice. But maybe you won't. Maybe you'll walk past every scorpion, dodge every sting. It's a gamble every time because we are only in control of ourselves. Anyone can let us down, anyone can lie.

Bad analogy? Sorry, my brain has been going a mile a minute for the past week.

I often wish I were that little girl. I wish I could be her with the knowledge that I have. I know that isn't the way life works but I'm kind of burnt out with big decisions and being a grown up. Navigating through this adult world is harder than I ever imagined it would be.

I want to trust life again. I want to trust people again. I want to look around a room full of people and see mostly good. But I don't. I'm afraid of fully living because letting go and giving my all to people is scary.

Anyone can leave me.

Trials open your eyes to reality and the reality is that life is imperfect and messy and scary.

It's hard for me to feel so negative because this doesn't feel like the real me. But I've been told to just let myself feel what I'm feeling instead of keeping it all inside of me so that's what I'm trying to do.

I'm trying to be real without being sad on here all of the time. I'm happy sometimes. I'm doing well sometimes. But other times, this is so hard. Other times, I struggle to keep my head above water.

Today's good news? It's finals week and I decided against taking any summer classes so I'm almost done for the next 3.5 months!

Sisters

 Sisters.
I have a lot of sisters.
Growing up in a family of girls (until age 10 when we adopted my brother) was one of my favorite things about growing up.
It's funny how I perceive the girl fights and the drama because mixed in were a lot of laughs and late night talks.
It was worth the drama.

My sisters teach me. This certain sister in particular has taught me more about how special we all are.
She doesn't speak at all but she's amazingly smart and I love it when I get to see her smile.

 She happens to be the only sister younger than me and I loved being her older sister. I am grateful for the experience of being close in age to her because I got to teach this sister a lot and spend a lot of time with her growing up.

I'm grateful for the 'olders' too.

 I remember many times laying next to my older sisters and having them read me books and falling asleep to their voices.

 I remember the "We're best buddies, yeah!" chant this sister and I made up as kids and I still consider her my best buddy.

 I remember matching clothes and Easter dresses and shopping together many times.

 I remember loving to give gifts...can you tell? Even in the picture, I'm motioning to make sure everyone knows I got her that "rad-i-cool" shirt!

 I remember when my bestest buddy broke my collar bone---because even sisters fight dirty sometimes. :) And I still loved her and wanted to be her best friend.

 We took many family trips and sang many car songs together. On top of that, my older sisters and I have sung on numerous occasions together in church and even at the ASU basketball games.

 One day, we all grew up. We all became mothers (besides Candace---our awesomely special needs sister). And we are all still friends.

We are all different and unique and live different lives but we love each other so much.

And our dad loves to throw pillows at us when we're taking pictures together...

The End!

PS: Mostly I wrote this because we are having a girls night tonight and I can't wait to spend the night with my sisters and mom {We'll miss you, Karin!}. I'm one lucky gal.

National Eating Disorder Awareness Week

 What's up with all these pictures of me on the blog lately? My goodness, I promise my kids are still healthy and happy. Someday you'll see their faces again.

This week is National Eating Disorder Awareness week and I bet you're wondering why that matters to me.
Well, let me tell ya...

I was once a beautifully chubby 6 year old girl. My belly was round and my cheeks were extra squishy. I was adorable and I'm not kidding even a little bit---refer to picture above and notice that chunky-cheek, wide-grinning girl to the right. That's me.

But I started noticing around that age that I wasn't the typical 6 year old. I noticed my round belly and I saw my double chin.

Years later in 2nd grade, we were walking to school one day when I noticed that every time my older sister took a step, a ligament would poke out under her knee. I wanted that.

 The very first day of 7th grade, I met a new friend and I was immediately jealous of the way her collar bone protruded. I wanted that.

 In 8th grade, I started noticing so many other body figures that seemed better than mine and by the time I was a freshman in high school, I was convinced I would never be good enough unless I was skinny---like bone-skinny. I became obsessed.

 As we've already talked about in the past few weeks, growing up was hard. But the hardest part of growing up was high school.
High school was messy in my family. I didn't seem to care about anyone, they didn't seem to care about me, and there was almost always tension. The frustrations and stress caught up to me pretty soon after my freshman year started and I had no constructive way to deal with it.

Although I was never treated or diagnosed until after my biggest issues were over, I could've been diagnosed with Bulimia Nervosa as a young 14 year old girl all the way up to a few months before my 18th birthday.

But for most of those years, it was a secret that I kept to myself. I can't remember how or when I finally told my parents but it wasn't until almost the end when I was ready to give up my act and heal my heart.

 This was my sophmore picture in high school. I used to love this picture. I was so happy with my weightloss and loved seeing my double chin GONE. I could see my hip bones and I could see my collar bone. I had achieved what I wanted but I was so broken, so so broken.

It took me a long while to realize this. I wanted control so badly and I was willing to go so far just to get it. I was broken and I didn't know what to do.

I call my senior year of high school my remission because it was the first time I felt whole again. It was the first time I appreciated myself and my body more than I ever had.

I learned so many things at ANASAZI the summer before my senior year that helped me become the person I am and have the strength to fight my battle.

And fight, I will.

I graduated from high school, a healthy and happy senior. I was a different person than any of the other years prior. I had a much better sense of my self-worth and I wasn't as obsessed with my looks.

It didn't completely fix itself and I don't think it ever will. It's a completely different perspective, going from being a literal size 2 to now being an overweight, busy mother of 2. I go from being engulfed in love and admiration for myself to being engulfed in self-doubt and feelings of worthlessness because I'm not skinny anymore. I battle with myself all the time to feel like I'm a person of worth.

But I'm trying.

Last week, I wrote an essay on eating disorders for my English class. This is only a rough draft and I haven't received feedback yet so don't be too critical of it. It was a FIVE page essay but it really seems appropriate for NEDA week. If you'd like to read it, I'll copy and paste it below. If not, skip along, dear friends, and enjoy the rest of your week.

Eating Disorders and the Media

             “In spite of the unprecedented growth of eating disorders in the past two decades, eating disorders research continues to be under-funded, insurance coverage for treatment is inadequate, and societal pressures to be thin remain rampant.”(NEDA) I was six years old when I first noticed I was different than the average girl. I wasn’t a small six year-old. I had a round belly and a double chin. In second grade, I was walking to school with my sister one day when I noticed that every time she took a step and bent her knee, there was a ligament poking out underneath her knee cap. In seventh grade, I took note of a friend whose collar bone protruded above her sternum. In high school, it became an obsession with a friend whose hip bones were noticeable and months later, I noticed another friend whose ribs and top of her spine would show through her clothing. After all of these insecurities, I had this mindset that those things would make me happy and they would make me love myself. Although I never fully received treatment, I would have been diagnosed with Bulimia Nervosa beginning the second month of my freshman year all the way up to the summer before my senior year of high school.

            My obsession with thinness started out harmless. I knew that my older sister was thin and I wanted to achieve the goal of becoming like her, although she didn’t have to put any effort into her body looking that way. The obsession only grew with time and was set off in high school when I became a more avid dancer. I would see myself in the mirror standing next to someone whose body was a different shape and I’d crave to have a body like that. Not only was I worried about my weight, I was constantly fighting with my parents and things weren’t always happy in our home. I felt sandwiched between younger, special needs siblings and older, extremely talented siblings. I felt out of control and needed a way to express more control over my own life. It was on an especially low day in October of 2001 that I purged my dinner for the very first time.

            Eating disorder is a diagnosis that covers a wide variety of bases. From Anorexia Nervosa to Bulimia Nervosa to Binge-Eating Disorder, many factors play into the diagnosis of an eating disorder.  An eating disorder “include(s) extreme emotions, attitudes, and behaviors surrounding weight and food issues.”(NEDA) The main factor when diagnosing an eating disorder comes down to the word obsession. Am I obsessed with my weight? Do I obsess over the food I eat? Am I obsessing over the comparisons of the people around me? An eating disorder can start out so simple. It can be noticing the differences between you and your peers and suddenly feeling a twinge of jealousy that your body doesn’t match theirs. But that jealousy or harmful thinking of ourselves is what leads to these decisions of controlling our weight in an unhealthy way. This idea that we need to be thin is something that we are bombarded with in magazines every time we go to a grocery store checkout or watch commercials on our television. So how does the media play a role in our perception of the people around us?

            We’ve all seen those magazine covers that portray new mothers who have gotten down to a pre-baby size and claim that it was all hard work and motivation. Most of these articles claim that anyone can look this great with determination and a lot of work. Although I don’t doubt that this is possible for some, it is articles like these that put subliminal messages in the minds of young people that being thin is extremely important. The media portrays women with boney bodies and claims that this is what beauty should look like but the truth is that our bodies are different. I could live at the gym or starve myself or put myself on a strict diet and I still wouldn’t look like a magazine model. In all honesty, most of the magazine models don’t look like magazine models. A main problem in the media is editing images to create a distorted reality of perfection. Every picture we view in a magazine is edited but claims that this is what beauty is all about. The idea that this perfection is not only possible but manageable is ludicrous. It isn’t possible for everyone because our bodies were created differently. How would the world be changed if the media, our families, and we celebrated our bodies and how unique they are? Would it make a difference in the amount of people suffering from eating disorders?

            The stigmas of an eating disorder make it very difficult for some to take this condition seriously. If you’ve seen the movie, Zoolander, you’ll remember a particular part in the movie where the models are discussing Bulimia Nervosa and joking about how that is a normal thing for a model to do. This creates the idea that the want to be thin outweighs any underlying health issues associated with eating disorders. Another stigma that creates problems is the significance of obesity in the media. Weight bias is real and can create many issues when it comes to obesity and eating disorders. “One source of weight bias may be the media, as stigmatizing portrayals of obesity are common even in the images accompanying online news stories ( Heuer, McClure, & Puhl, 2011). For example, obese people are often shown eating unhealthy foods or being sedentary, reflecting common weight stereotypes that obese people are unhealthy, lazy, lack exercise, and have poor eating habits ( Brochu & Esses, 2011).” This bias of obesity tells us that if we would all just get off the couch and go to the gym, obesity wouldn’t be a problem in our society and sadly, there are so many inaccuracies in that statement. Obesity can be related to so many other health conditions and isn’t always a lack of motivation for an individual. When society puts so much pressure on us to not gain weight or make sure we are as active as possible, people develop these obsessions that can lead to eating disorders and other mental health disorders.

            In an article written by Abby Ellin in the New York Times, she speaks of one of the most rampant eating disorders in the world, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, or Ednos. This disorder, which is vague in description but claims millions of sufferers starts with the onset of weight and food obsession. In her article, Abby describes how doctors didn’t know what to do with her or how to treat her problem. “No one at my college health center knew what to do with me. Clearly, I wasn't anorexic; I was slightly round, in fact. I didn't purge, so bulimia was out. To my distress, the counselors told me there was nothing they could do for me and sent me on my way.”(Ellin) Ednos is one of the leading diagnoses in eating disorders because almost no two eating disorders are alike. Although physical in nature, an eating disorder consumes the mind and is a very serious psychological problem.

            Eating disorders stem from a variety of problems. Psychological issues are a main factor in eating disorders and what causes them. Mental health is a subject that looms over our heads but nobody seems to know what to do about it. Victims of mental health can range from a person who hates themselves and causes self-harm to a person willing to go on a shooting rampage. These conditions are serious and according to one doctor, they need to be treated better in childhood. Pediatric surgeon Kurt Newman stated that “As with obesity and diabetes, pediatricians know that, by detecting disease in childhood and intervening early, we can have a tremendous effect on the health of that person in adulthood. By contrast, there is an average delay of eight to 10 years between the onset of symptoms and treatment for children with mental health issues. This is driven in part by a lack of focus on early identification. For the one in five children who has a mental health condition, such early recognition could be lifesaving.”(Newman) Eating disorders are a real and debilitating mental health disorder that can seriously affect the minds of those who are suffering.

            The fact is that eating disorders hurt our bodies and can even be fatal. “Eating disorders are serious, potentially life-threatening conditions that affect a person’s emotional and physical health. They are not just a “fad” or a “phase.” People do not just “catch” an eating disorder for a period of time.  They are real, complex, and devastating conditions that can have serious consequences for health, productivity, and relationships.”(NEDA) Treatment needs to be more readily available for those who seek it and those who are too afraid to seek it.  In an article written for the Northern Ireland News, two young people who suffered with eating disorders had died as a result of their disorders. The mother of one of them said, “"It was a mental health issue. His personality started to take the form of someone who was depressed, who was very angry, very afraid and suicidal. But we never thought in one million years that Laurence would die."(NIN) But just like millions of other human beings who have suffered from the effects of an eating disorder, Laurence had a heart attack and passed away.

            Among many treatment problems, one that seems most prevalent when talking about eating disorders is the medical care available. Insurance companies don’t always cover mental health expenses and many of the people suffering with mental conditions cannot afford to seek the help they need. Regarding this problem, Dr. Kurt Newman stated that we need to “ensure access to medical care. Even with the most advanced approaches, real change cannot be achieved if the significant shortages in pediatric mental health providers are not addressed. This is a profound failing in a health system that is supposed to ensure children receive the best care.”(Newman) Many insurance companies don’t recognize mental health as the rampant problem that it is. Because there are no genetic facts about mental health and the problems that may arise in one’s life, it is hard to prove to an insurance company that a mental health problem exists in a patient, therefore making it difficult for that company to pay for services rendered.

            Another hard fact when it comes to the treatment of eating disorders is recognizing the problem. Many times, eating disorders go unrecognized because the sufferers remain silent. In a video entitled Battling Eating Disorders, the author talks about eating disorders and how to recognize if someone you love has a problem. Some of the main signs are a “deliberate self-starvation with weight loss, fears of gaining weight, self-perception of being fat, refusal to eat, avoiding eating in public, secret eating, denial of hunger, constant exercising, tiredness and difficulty with normal activities, sensitivity to cold temperatures, absent or irregular periods, going to the bathroom or toilet immediately after meals, using laxatives and vomiting to control weight, anxiety, depression, obsessive behavior or perfectionism and poor concentration, missing school, college or work.”(Battling eating disorders) Being able to recognize these signs in the people we interact with on a daily basis could end up being a factor in saving someone’s life. 

            The fact is that eating disorders need to be taken more seriously and the specific size of our bodies needs to be taken less seriously. It is detrimental to society to portray figures of people who seem to have reached perfection. That perfection isn’t possible and cannot be attained by most of the population obsessing over it. There is a real problem among society and the problem needs to be stopped with our children. Eating disorders need to receive not only medical attention but also, we need to stand against the media and demand the portrayal of a genuinely average person. Attaining the media’s idea of beauty is not only detrimental, most of the time it is unreachable. It’s time to rewire our minds to see the human body for the beauty it already possesses.

Citations:Battling eating disorders. (2006). Films On Demand. Retrieved February 24, 2014, from
       http://digital.films.com/PortalPlaylists.aspx?aid=20759&xtid=35200
Brochu, P. M., Pearl, R. L., Puhl, R. M., & Brownell, K. D. (2014). Do media portrayals of obesity influence
       support for weight-related medical policy?. Health Psychology, 33(2), 197-200. doi:10.1037/a0032592
Ellin, A. (2010, Jan 19). Redefining an eating disorder. New York Times. Retrieved from      http://search.proquest.com/docview/434266912?accountid=3859
Mills, T. (n.d.). Eating disorders: Sufferers unaware condition can be 'fatal'. BBC News. Retrieved
        February 24, 2014, from http://www.bbc.com/news/
National Eating Disorders Association. (n.d.). National Eating Disorders Association. Retrieved February
        24, 2014, from http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/
Newman, K. (2012, Dec 28). The treatment of mental conditions must start early (posted 2012-12-
        2801:13:37). The Washington Post. Retrieved from http://search.proquest.com/docview/1264873887?accountid=3859

Why Divorce Hasn't Changed My Views on Marriage

 Thoughts of this post have been stewing in my head for months but I knew I wanted some time to really think about how to explain myself and also, how to help others going through something similiar.

When I woke up today, it seemed like the right day to start writing this.

As a little girl, I wanted life to be a fairytale. I dreamed of that man who would sweep me off my feet and who would always be there to love and care for me. 
I just knew that someday, I would be married in the temple and life would give me that stability I had always craved. I had such a firm belief in marriage and hoped that decision would get to be a part of my life someday.
We grow up watching fairytales and wishing those same things for our life but what we aren't always taught is the good is usually intertwined with some very hard. I use the word hard as a noun here because it doesn't have one simple meaning. Hard can mean debt or loss of trust or infidelity or little arguments or death or loss of motivation or impatience, among many, many other things. No one gets to have a perfect marriage because no one is perfect. Marriage isn't always fun and it takes work, a lot of work, to figure life out together but marriage is worth it.
And why do I believe marriage is worth it?
Marriage, when both parties are committed, is beautiful. It goes beyond a serious relationship because you have vowed to stick it out, through thick and thin. Marriage is loving someone at their best and continuing to love them at their worst. Marriage is trust, a whole lot of trust. It is teachable, humbling, and can be so much fun! Most importantly, I believe marriage is ordained of God. It is a sacred bond between two people who love and respect one another. I believe God is not only forgiving, He understands when marriages fall apart. He understands why and He knows that because of certain situations, it's ok to let go. But out of all the failed marriages, that isn't the case for even half of them. God wants us to give our heart to our spouse but to also love them enough to give them our time, our respect, and our trust. It's really hard work and some days, it seems like it would be easier to be single and have more freedom but I have been in a marriage where I wanted to succeed and I have been in a marriage where I wanted to give up {If you're confused, I'm referring to the same marriage since I've only been married once}, and I will say that when two people are working hard together, marriage a beautiful experience, far outweighing the pro's of being single.
As a wife who had just celebrated her one year anniversary, I was listening to some crap radio on the way to work when they were talking about infidelity and how it is very normal to cheat on your spouse around year 7. They justified infidelity on so many levels and I was floored. I knew I couldn't just sit there and listen to a discussion on such a sacred subject without adding my own thoughts. Something inside of me told me to call the radio station and I did. I was put on the air and started explaining what I believed and why I believed it. I was in the middle of saying something when the radio host asked how long I had been married. I gave them the honest answer and they started laughing. And not only did they laugh, they remained talking about me for at least a few minutes before I turned off the station, red with embarrassment.
I had only been married a year. I had no idea what that 7 year itch was like! I had no credibility.
That day, I was saddened by the loss of faith in marriage these days. I couldn't believe that some people thought marriage wasn't all that important and that committing to someone forever was truly unrealistic.
I knew my life would be different. We would get past whatever 7 year itch they were referring to because we were strong and committed.

And then one day, about 6.5 years into our marriage, one half of our marriage decided he wanted out and let me tell you, one of the first things that flashed through my mind was that radio conversation from 6 years ago. I was angry. Actually, angry is an understatement. I couldn't believe this was going to be my life. I tried to place blame everywhere, including on myself---and I still do at times.
We had become part of that norm. Our marriage that was supposed to last forever was dissolved in a matter of days. I knew when he moved out that he wouldn't be coming back, not because him or I had made any decisions but because I had prayed for days about it.
I tried to accept it. I tried to understand that I was now part of a social norm when I didn't want to be. It was my fairytale's nightmare.

But three days after it happened, three days after sinking so low and not wanting to leave my house and crying until there were no tears left, I picked myself up and decided this wasn't some norm. This wasn't the end of my fairytale. I had decisions in this!

So I decided not to lose my faith in marriage. I decided to trust that it would be possible to be with someone for eternity.
Although it is going to take a lot to trust and a lot of work, I have faith in marriage.

 I know marriage is hard. I know it is work. And I know it is scary.

But so is letting my children leave my sight and going to school full time and planning on being brave enough to own my own practice someday.

Life is scary because we don't get to decide what choices everyone else makes. We don't get to control the world and decide who stays in our lives and who leaves.

But we do get to decide how we handle life. We get to decide what attitude we have with the situations we are given. We get to decide if we are going to take the left path or the right path.

Yes, marriage takes two people but we really only get to decide if we are all in. We can't force anyone else. We can't make them stay or make them appreciate us. All we can do is try to show them we want them to stay and show them we appreciate them. How we treat others is 100% our choice and it is imperative that we take that choice seriously. We affect others on a daily basis.

Marriage taught me so much more than I ever could have imagined. As a young 19 year old girl, I was blissfully in love and felt like the heartache from my growing up years was over. But marriage taught me to look outside myself and live for someone else. Marriage taught me things I never planned on learning.
And divorce has taught me even more.
I think what I'm realizing is that it isn't about whether you've survived a divorce. are happily in a marriage, have gone through the death of a loved one, or are living another story, every day is teachable. Every experience I go through, good and bad, has it's moments where I can choose to learn or ignore.

My marriage didn't ruin me and my divorce won't ruin me. It may take more work than I wanted to get back to where I was but nothing gets to ruin me without my say!

That pain and heartache will someday be a thing of the past and I'll look back and see how much I've grown. I'm so grateful for an eternal perspective on life. I'm grateful to know that God loves me and never abandons me. I feel Him. I know He is there when I need Him most.

I believe in marriage. I believe marriage can work. I believe any two individuals working together will make a marriage work.

Loving Myself: Protecting Myself

 The thought of protecting myself has seemed so foreign since it was introduced to me weeks ago. When I say this, I'm not talking about a physical protection, although I could definitely work on that too. What I'm talking about is an emotional and spiritual protection.

I was once a little girl with so many dreams; dreams of becoming a famous actor or singer or dancer, dreams of making a huge impact on the world, dreams of volunteering in third world countries and saving lives, even dreams of becoming a surgeon and saving lives daily. As a child, this all seemed realistic and I imagined my life would be full of bliss and free of challenges---but then really, who ever imagines their life full of challenges when they are little?

As a little girl, I was often obnoxious, rude, and I felt like everyone's biggest problem. I always seemed to be in the way. I was sandwiched between amazingly, talented older sisters and two younger special needs siblings. I often believed I was bad because I craved attention all of the time. It was hard to feel stuck because when I didn't get attention, I was lonely but when I got attention, it was often in the form of someone telling me I was trying to get too much attention.

First issue: I felt like an attention-seeker.

 I look at pictures of that little girl and it makes me sad that I can't be the one to go back in time and protect her from her pain. I know my parents knew I "had issues" but no one really knew why or what to do about any of it. Not even me. I was taken to therapists but that only validated my feelings of being a bad kid because 'good kids don't see therapists'. Because I'm a member of a 6 kid family {and I wouldn't trade that for anything...well, maybe 200 million dollars...wait, no...I wouldn't trade it for anything! =)}, I know that getting my parents' attention full time wasn't feasible nor should it have been. But I do know that I needed someone, something to make me feel like I belonged.

I know that now, I didn't know it then.

I grew up so self-conscious about my personality that I overexagerrated often. I told people I prided myself in being different. I didn't want to be like them. I wanted to be over-the-top all of the time. And a part of that is true. I really, truly loved being me. 'Me' was such a special term because I liked who I was.

 But that didn't last forever. It became a hit and miss feeling. Sometimes I loved everything about myself and other times, I couldn't find one single thing to love. I stuffed a lot of pain deep down inside of myself because I didn't want to seem sad and quite frankly, I didn't want to be sad.

I used to think I was this open book, this person that overly-spilled her feelings but looking back and looking forward, my current therapist would laugh from that assumption. It's hard for me to open up about the real stuff. It's hard for me to get emotional because I'm so darn afraid of getting hurt or being judged or even just judging myself for seeming weak.

So many of those feelings seemed left behind when I graduated and was quickly married to that awesome guy who gave me two gorgeous children. I think marriage validated that I was worth something, that someone believed I was worth something. Marriage validated that I had someone who would always be rooting for me, who would always believe in me.

So you can imagine where this is going.

Divorce changed all of that.

 Feelings have resurfaced left and right, dating all the way to early childhood years. At first, I didn't understand this and I didn't want to face it. I absolutely adore my parents and have this fear that by talking about the hard in my childhood, things will resurface in all of us that will take things back to the way they were. Or maybe they'll think I'm ungrateful for the many good experiences I had. Or maybe everyone will perceive me as this giant attention-seeker because quite honestly, that's how I perceive myself.

When I serve others, I'm often double and triple checking to make sure I'm not serving "for the wrong reasons". And if I can successfully label any part of my service as attention-seeking behavior, I feel guilty and I tell myself I'm really, truly, an innately selfish being.

When I'm going through trials, there is a point where I have always believed everything should be better and I should no longer be hurting or bringing attention to myself because that is just overreacting and attention-seeking. My worry of not wanting to be an attention-seeker makes it so that I often lie about the way I'm feeling. And if I do tell the truth, my goodness I'm afraid I'll lose those people I trust so much in my life.

Because even people you trust can leave you.

So here we are. Today. I'm trying to grasp my head around the fact that I need to protect myself from myself. I need to be the type of person I can trust. The bully in my life is me and that is hard to realize.

I like to label a certain reaction of mine as the "spiral effect". In my life, this is the effect that happens when I see an imperfection in myself so I start beating myself down. I'm an emotional bully but only when it comes to me. I often perceive myself as this being that creates drama and annoys people around her. When people thank me for something good I've done, my mind says, "You did that good thing but...*insert some other excuse as to why I'm NOT good here*."

So my goal is to protect that little girl inside of me that always wanted love and sometimes needed extra attention. Instead of hating her and making things worse, I want to love her and encourage her to blossom.

Sounds easy, right?

No, not really. Not even a little bit.

But remember...I can do hard things.