Caring Less, Caring Differently

The older you get, the less you should care about what other people think.

 I’ve been learning and absorbing this, both in my own experiences and in other reflections from various bloggers and thinkers. There comes a point in every adult life where you realize that you’re no longer living in a bubble; you’re in control of what you do with your time, your energy, and your heart. You’re not necessarily surrounded by all the same people who are always doing the same things, so therefore you’re not saturated in specific culture or way of living. And even if that’s the case, you have the choice of going with what’s easy or embracing the awkwardness.

I know this, but it still takes effort to believe, to practice, and genuinely act on it. For years I’ve lived as an impressionable person, believing that if a chorus of people told me something (especially if they were older and family), then they must be right. It never occurred to me that might be wrong, or they could be neither wrong nor right. It about perspective more than anything, and mine is one that I’m in the process of learning to trust and see as valid and worth talking about.

The less you care, the better you become at dealing with rejection, ignorance, hatred, pain, self-doubt, and so on.

I can agree with this to a point; it’s important to know how to be resilient, to stand up and keep going (even if it means hobbling for a little bit). But I’m not sure that giving the finger to those mentioned above is the answer; people love to rant and complain about how entitled, self-centered, greedy, and narcissistic this current generation is, but forget that we’ve grown up in an era where vulnerability and transparency equals weakness. Our primary education has been through technology and one-sided media outlets, rather than real-life conversation; when you’re exposed to all these different view-points and ideas and so on, of course it gets overwhelming. So you retreat, buying into the lie that if you don’t tell anyone how you really feel, it will all go away on its own.

But it never does; pretending that you’re immune to being real and complex only creates disconnection and resentment. I’ve done my damnedest to convince myself that I’m a lone wolf, but I’m a people person inside and out. And honestly, are any of us really all that better off alone?

Don’t stop caring, but rather, choose to care differently. I’m finding that this is two-fold:

One, you stop living in your head and actually let it out. Sometimes it’s in a journal or sometimes it’s in the presence of another person, but I have to be able to acknowledge the darkness, the not-so-pretty stuff in order to make room for what is good.

 Vulnerability is both terrifying and liberating, but I have to be able to talk about All The Things to at least one person. Silence gives the enemy golden opportunities to fill my mind with BS, leading me to believe that those I care about would be better off if I wasn’t around. But when I speak, scream, lament, however it comes out…God uses people to act as a tender voice, or maybe a bullhorn, to speak truth into my life when I need it most. Then once I’m done heaving word-vomit (or tears), I take a step back and am able to see the situation a bit more clearly, because my head isn’t going in a million different directions.

Two, acknowledge the truth and then do something about it…

We’re all human here, humans who long to be loved and taken care of. We’re all scared of rejection, of failure, and ultimately wasting our lives. It seems like in your twenties you have so much to prove, but what about what you have to offer? What about the gifts you have to share?

It really comes down to this:

People will judge you and criticize you, but the loudest voice is often the one in your head. I have no qualms admitting that I am often my own worst enemy.

The only way to get what you want is to ask for it. It might be through whispered prayers or blunt questions, but ask nonetheless. Looking back on my younger years, I wish I had done more of it.

What’s the point in going out of your way to get people to understand? I’m tired of over-explaining and having to justify my intentions, my desires, and what brings me joy. If I want to go on an adventure or try something new, I will.

In other words, if you’re by yourself and you want to have a drink, go out and do it. You’re not the first person to dine alone, and you’re not the only one who will feel weird about it at first. Friendships can happen in bars, on street corners, and the most unexpected places. Be open to the possibilities.

Worry less about having answers and focus more on being present. I believe in listening and being sensitive to others, but sometimes I get so sick of tap-dancing around certain subjects because they might be uncomfortable. Death, suffering, sickness, pain, and depression are all difficult to cope with, but avoiding them won’t erase the fact that they’re part of life.

Know when to apologize and when to own who you are. I’m sensitive. Quirky. Sensual and child-like. They’re all part of me, but they’re layers that aren’t exactly visible on a daily basis. You can be a social butterfly and still appreciate taking time for yourself. I call it being an antrovert.

They all have to be practiced and preached a thousand times over, always a work in progress.  But that’s the beauty in it, realizing that you don’t necessarily have to decide just once, and can change and evolve is time goes on. 

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be able to relate to anybody. But there’s a big difference between caring and putting my livelihood on the backs of someone else’s opinion.

And it's not a bad thing, being able to show what's important and what matters, versus what is a waste of time. If someone asked me what's really attractive and appealing, especially in relationships...I'd say it's actually giving a damn.

I'm not an acrobat, so I'm not going to act like one. But we're all better together than we are apart.

When Morning Breaks: Moving Onward, Looking Up

Weeping may stay for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
-Psalm 30:5

I've often spoke of the multiple transitions that I've been experiencing since finishing college, much of which has been taking place in moments rather than in stages. The last year or so has felt like one incredibly long night, and one that is filled with grief, loss, fear, anger, uncertainty, exhaustion, and occasionally despair. Every so often the darkness threatens to swallow me whole, causing me to wonder if my friends and family would be better off if I just went away for a while and didn't come back until I got my shit together. In the grand scheme of things, I'm fully aware of how important it is to acknowledge and embrace emotional ups and downs, despite the societal encouragement to go numb all together.

Since every journey is different, you really can't put a timeline on the healing process. There is such a thing as getting through it, but never quite getting over the pain, the piece of your life or your heart that was buried underneath all the devastation. There is indeed a time for everything, whether it involves mourning or celebration; for me it is not a question of what exactly, but of when.

When is it time?

Time for what, exactly? I don't want to say "let go" because that seems to imply that you go through a whole range of motions and then act like the whole thing never happened. "Move on" is rather cliche, and is more applicable to relationships; in my case, relationships aren't necessarily ending, but some of them will look and function differently. When I truly think about it, it comes down to this:

When is it time to stop wallowing and start living?

I'd been angry and depressed for a while, and to such a level where I felt like an animal gone rogue. Having no control over the decisions that were being made, I felt like it was the only way to truly protect myself from what was going on around me, and to make sure that I wasn't taken advantage of. Lashing out didn't do a whole lot in regards to motivating the people around me to listen, but neither did holding it all in.

Some have and will call me selfish, and I'm not going to deny it. I came to a point where I was tired of being the rock, the parent, the one that held the fort down while all hell broke loose. I didn't know how to support one without resenting the other, and I've always believed that you have to take care of yourself first before you can take care of anyone else. Isn't post-grad usually the time when most people establish healthy boundaries in order to find their own footing? I was constantly being told that I needed to focus on my own life, so that's what I did. I wasn't always compassionate, nor was I always mature. Now that the smoke has begun to clear, understanding might be a little bit easier to come by.

I've learned a lot, much of which I'm not quite ready to share with the world just yet. Though I don't agree with how certain aspects were handled, I pray that this next chapter gives both of my parents the freedom to find their own sense of happiness and make better, healthier decisions for themselves.

So what now?

I'm re-discovering my identity, one that is fully anchored in faith instead of the events of the last decade or so. I'm learning about truly being comfortable with who I am as a person, to own my perspective instead of questioning it. The beauty of being where I'm at now is that I feel like it's less about what I have to prove, and more about what I have to give/offer. I shouldn't have to constantly explain or justify my reasoning, as long as I don't harm myself or others in the process. I still care, but I'm not putting my lively-hood on the backbone of other opinions.

It comes down to choices, really: you can use happenstance as an excuse to blame other people for your wounds, or you can put on your boots and keep walking. The older you get, the more autonomy you have to go your own way. It's why I don't fear getting married or being committed to someone, because I'm aware that history doesn't have to repeat itself.

If nothing else, I'm afraid of missing out on life because I held back.

That doesn't mean it's easy, or that it won't involve falling down, picking myself back up, and starting over again. It's going to happen a lot. A lot of my personality has been a defense mechanism in what has gone on, not just with my parents' situation, but for most of my life. There is a part of me that will always have this feisty, don't mess-with-me attitude that is more than determined to accomplish what I've set out to do. From this point on, I can be stubborn and hard-headed while having a soft heart. I can take things in baby steps while still building something worth holding onto, whether it be creative or relationship-oriented. 

Yes, it's very possible. 

I still have moments where I feel like I'm going through a bit of an aftershock: like I'm a character in a horror movie who's standing in a clearing in the woods, waiting for the monster or whatever to come out and attack her again. It will take time to get used to this "new normal" as it's called, but it will happen eventually.

I have trouble finding adequate words to express how grateful I am to those that rallied around me, who still walk with me to this day. I'm grateful for the validation and reminders that I wasn't alone, that I had people to confide in and carry me (both literally and figuratively) when I needed it. I'm thankful for those that prayed, listened, loved, and still continue to do so. And...I'm grateful for a kick in the pants every so often. 

I'd like to think of myself as a strong person. Resilient. Determined. Brave. Raw. Nothing can hold me down, and nothing can keep me in.

I don't know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. 

Let's move.

Through The Rain

I knew that he was gone when I saw faded glimpses of lightening flash behind us, followed by the low roar of thunder. It started to drizzle slightly, upon becoming a torrential downpour as the four of us made our way out of the concert arena and into the impossibly crowded parking lot. At one point the rain was coming down so hard that I had to shut my eyes in order to ease the sting of sweat, make-up, and water that were now seeping from my eyelids. I clung desperately to my mother with both hands, praying that I wouldn't slip or get knocked over or lose my glasses. Don't let go! Just get to the car....

In a way, that is how life has been for me,  particularly in the weeks and months after my friend's passing occurred. My lack of experience with loss was almost like walking in complete darkness. The inability to mourn and grieve freely caused both my mind and body to go into autopilot; after my family had gone to sleep, I would sit in my pitch black room and cry as quietly as I possible, or read the stories that were posted on his memory page until my head ached from staring at the computer for two hours straight. This went on for a week and a half until I got back to campus, the day of the funeral service.

I believed that once I could get away from my hometown, I would feel better. And in a way, I did; I had more people to talk to about it, but I can't remember how much we actually talked about it at first. And while it wasn't often because of busy work and summer class schedules, down the line I kind of started to hate rehashing the same thing over and over again. I wanted to move on, and yet the mere idea of it felt like betrayal.

Self-medication became the norm; when I wasn't with my friends, I tended to go out on the town alone, sometimes multiple nights in a row. It wasn't so much about the drinking as it was just being around others, even if a lot of them were strangers. I did meet quite a few of them, but rarely anything went beyond the dance floor, save one guy who got my number, texted me an hour later, and hasn't contacted me since then. It was the darker side of Cinderella, except I went to bars instead of a ball and walked out with an empty heart rather than a missing shoe.

But the levee gave way soon enough; during the first two weeks of August, I could barely function without something triggering a tear-fest. There were periods of time where I would just sit on my couch and cry, not knowing the reasons why or how to stop. In a way, they were the tears that I should have cried at home or even at the funeral.  At the urging of my grandparents, I finally made a motion to talk to one of the group leaders of Intervarsity; up until then I had gone out of my way to not talk to pastors or anyone involved in the organizations that I had been part of, at least regarding everything that was going on. I was terrified that I would just be met with a bunch of cliches about how my friend was in a better place, and that if I just kept praying, went to church, read Bible verses, etc. all the pain would go away. I didn't want any numbing cream with a Jesus-approved sticker, and I didn't want to risk the rejection. Unfortunately, I had gotten to where I couldn't keep silent without it eating me from the inside out.

It was a long and exhausting conversation; it didn't automatically make everything better, but it was the start of setting myself free from this emotional prison that I had kept myself locked in for weeks. Spiritually, I was practically bone-dry. I didn't know what to pray about exactly, but I did read the Bible and write when I felt the need to. On a very random morning,  I came across a verse that has practically spelled out where I was at: when my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then you knew my path (Psalm 142: 33).

It has been almost four months since, and I am not going to deny that I am a changed person because of it. I have a love hate/relationship with alcohol and I occasionally get angry when others seem to put getting drunk before their own safety or that of others. However, I do try to make the most of the time that I have with friends, and I feel like I'm getting better at figuring out what matters and what doesn't.  Looking back, I now have a deeper understand of why I felt and reacted the way that I did:

The very idea of knowing I could lose a loved one in just a span of a few hours (or moments) was absolutely terrifying. After the news was confirmed, I reached out to multiple friends as a way to keep myself calm; I didn't care that it was two in the morning or that each text was somewhat long and sappy, I needed to feel connected somebody. In the days that followed, I wrestled with whether or not I just have waited to absorb it before telling anyone else, particularly those from college.  While I don't regret telling that I care for them, I am sorry that they might have been uncomfortable about it. Nothing done with the intention of showing or giving love should not be felt in shame.

The root of my pain wasn't solely in the tragedy, but also in the disconnection from my friends and family afterward. I understood that there are appropriate places and settings to grieve, yet I felt like I couldn't even do that in my own home. I spent so much time and energy putting the needs and feelings of others above my own, and I paid for it later on. As I mentioned in an early post, I feared being called selfish or undeserving.Back then, I would have rather been alone than to risk being looked down on, even though both make me miserable.

And I know everyone deals with this kind of stuff differently;  More specifically, "being strong" may work for my parents or my siblings, but it doesn't for me, at least when something had happens. I can't pinpoint the reason though, considering they all seem very reserved in that regard. Comparing pain levels (i.e. someone always has it worse then you) does not make it diminish or disappear.  While that may be true to an extent, everybody is hurting in some way. There are other phrases to use in order to put it all in perspective without denying another person's (or your own) pain. 

There is such a thing as feeling before you can feel better.  For those on the other side of the fence,  It may be personal nature to go into problem-solving mode, but that's not what the grieving person needs. They need to be held. They need to be loved on. They need to be given the space to just let it out. When you don't know what to say, those are the times when actions will do more than words ever will.

It doesn't take much for me to care about a person. I don't have to see or talk to them all the time in order to learn to love them. Being observant as I am, I can learn to do so in one night. Hence, it is possible to make a list of things that made my friend so special, despite our lack of conversation and interaction. Along with that, it is possible for one act of kindness to impact my perspective on someone. Not just in our friendship, but for other friendships as well. 

When I reflect on that rainy night, I was literally holding onto my mom; looking at this from a spiritual standpoint, it all seems like a metaphor for what I've been through and how I've grown since then. Realistically, I haven't been holding onto my parents, or anyone else for that matter. In the times where I can't see, where I'm blinded by whatever is going on in my life, there's only One that I can hold onto.  

Then again, maybe I'm not holding onto Him; rather, He's holding onto me. 

photo credit: ViaMoi via photopin cc

Adulthood On a Slide

When the Miley Cyrus Video Music Awards spectacle happened, everybody was all up arms about how she was "too sexy" and basically flipped the bird to her younger fans. I'm not disagreeing with that, but I saw something that may have gone over everyone else's heads: she was trying to announce to the world that she is no longer a child,  when realistically she's just shy of being a  year younger than I am.  While watching her performance I thought, there is a difference between being an adult and being an idiot; she was obviously going for the latter.

A week or so later, a distant/extended relative of my maternal grandmother made a point to compare college to a country club, and then made an even bigger point of informing me that the real world absolutely sucks. That Sunday in church, the closing prayer was "help us grow up before we grow old" while friends are starting to panic  when we're not even halfway through first semester yet.

It all kind of makes me sigh and wonder what adulthood even means these days.

There's no arguing that it's different for everyone, but part of why so many may struggle with it is because people from the age of twelve and onward are given mixed messages, and they end up burning the candle at both ends. On one hand, young kids (particularly girls) are told that in order to gain approval by their peers or be popular, they have to dress a certain way. But then morality cries that girls are completely dismissing their youth by wearing revealing clothing or piling on the make-up.

Then come the teenage years, seven years which can be emotionally taxing and confusing. There are those that have to "grow up" early; they take on a parent-like role for their younger siblings, they have to help contribute to finances or give up a paycheck entirely. Some move out on their own or go to college. Add in curiosity about alcohol, sex, perhaps drugs, and things can get complicated. The icing on the cake is when teens get put into a glass box for the sake of "protection" instead of learning how to actually cope and properly handle it.

Once you're in your twenties, it can go two ways: you're either an upstanding role model with a good head on your shoulders, or a selfish, lazy party animal. You're considered stupid and irresponsible for making choices that your parents probably made twenty-five or thirty-something years ago. Showing emotion and being vulnerable is taboo because few know how or even want to deal with that. You're not allowed to voice your doubts or ask questions; rather, you get your college degree and a warning that it's all downhill from that point on.

While it's true that a lot of those things are stereotypes, it all points to the same pattern: one extreme or the other. And it could just be me, but I'm beginning to think that it doesn't really have to be like that at all. You can still have fun and be responsible, and you don't have to exist on a teeter-totter.

I'm still in the threshold of all of it, but I've come to understand enough that "adulthood" doesn't have to be as daunting as most assume that it is.


You'll never have it "together"

The phrase "I have to get my shit together" is slowly becoming one of those that are like fingernails on a chalkboard. A friend once said it  mid-rant and I had to hold my tongue while trying not to cringe. Let's face it: no matter how hard you try and no matter what you may think, you will never completely have it all figured out. You can plan and prepare all you want, but most likely it won't happen exactly as you envision it to.  It's like trying to carry a multitude of bags in an airport: stack 'em, sling 'em and what have you, but eventually you will get tired and stuff will get messy. In other words, too much preparation only leads to insanity. Emotionally, I missed out on a good chunk of my senior year in high school because I was worried about functioning in college. Do what you can and let God take care of the rest, or at least deal with something when it happens and not beforehand.

Needing is NOT weakness 

It has taken me two decades, but I'm finally in a place where I don't balk at the idea of asking for help. It's easy to stand up and yell "look at me now, world!" in regards to how far I've come and what I've accomplished. Honestly though, I didn't get here without some kind of guidance. Sure, I had to dig my heels in and fight for what I wanted at times, if not all the time. I've made choices when everyone around me thought I would fail. But I have gotten where I am today as a result of love and encouragement, despite all of that. In a way, I've learn to see pessimism and negativity (from others) as a motivation; not to prove anybody wrong, but to continually ask myself, just what am I capable of? How far can I push myself? Most of the time it works, although occasionally I do question the reasoning behind that determination.

It's become common culture for needing someone to be viewed as weak, although life has shown me the opposite. True strength lies in taking the hand of or upholding another, because it shows that one simply cannot go through life alone. Once you stop using anger, isolation, and self-reliance as a form of protection, your experiences with others will become so much richer.


It Takes (A lot Of) Time

There is no such thing as "growing up too fast" and being successful at it. Young celebrities think that they can go from teen royalty to sex icon in just a matter of months, but reality does not work that way. Old habits and routines are not things that you can simply switch on and off; it all takes adjustment and getting used to. And just because you go from one phase to the next does not always have to mean doing a one-eighty and becoming a completely different person; you just learn to take it down a few notches, and/or do certain things in moderation. Overall, you cannot control how others see you or whether or not someone will take you seriously. Shout it and out tell the world all you want, but that doesn't mean that the world will listen. And if you're going to do anything drastic, make sure it's for you and only you. 

A lot of people are probably in the same place you are: they're scared and uncertain, wanting to make sure they don't just end up living in the mundane day in and day out. Be patient, because you will get stuck and possibly even fail on more than one occassion. That's not a bad thing, really; it teaches you how to be humble and recognize that there is something bigger than you out there, whether or not you believe in God or some sort of higher power. 

I still have a ways to go, but I'd like to think that the basic definition of adulthood is simply outgrowing and evolving. Like it or not, we all do and most of the time don't even realize it. Embracing your sexuality is part of it, but it's more about perspective and maturity,  and I think that's where I'm at right now. I no longer carry this gigantic weight on my shoulders, instead of walking in peace and faith as opposed to shame and hurt. Things still do happen, but for the most part I'm calm and relaxed. I'm learning not to take shortcomings too personally, and to see people as human beings.

I don't believe in "glory days" or that the best parts of life always take place when you're young. Though I'm in no rush to get older, I'd like to think that there is something beautiful about every life stage, despite not usually recognize it in the midst of the daily grind. Cherish what you have and be present in the current moment, but don't be afraid to move forward. If there's one big lesson I've learned this year so far, it's that each day is a gift. Age should not mean that you lack anything, but that you gain something; wisdom, experience, whatever it may be, you have more of it. 

My hope and prayer is that in the midst of all of it, that I don't lose my child-like sense of wonder and zest for life. It's a sad misconception that one has to give that sort of thing up once they reach a certain age. What they don't realize is that it's the ability to see beauty in everything, and take notice of the small stuff that keeps you going. When the road gets tough, sometimes it's the truth that all will be OK eventually that helps you to hold on. You can have joy without ignoring pain, and you don't have to ignore the pain in order to love life. Some call it living in the past, but I'd rather see it as setting myself free. 

As I finish writing this, one thought occurs to me: maybe we shouldn't call it growing up, because we never really stop. As I mentioned, you can outgrow things and want to go in a different direction, but there's never a point where you say "I know all there is to know and I've done all there is to do." From now on, maybe I'll just call it growing.

photo credit: Rachel.Adams via photopin cc

The Town That Pushed Me

Let me start off by saying that I did not write this with the intention to bash my hometown or anyone in it; since I've been home for the last couple of weeks, I'm having a hard time fathoming the idea of possibly having to move back in a year, along with some of the things that have happened over time. Regardless, this is my attempt at being honest about how I feel, and trying to sort all of my thoughts out. 

The Town That Pushed Me

The familiar sign comes into view

“Welcome to a life from long ago”

A small town disguised as a city

A place where I once believed that I could grow old in

Ideal for a child

But not anymore

There’s the church where I first fell in love

A boy so sweet and kind I thought it would be forever

Yet it wasn't meant to be

He left me without an explanation

I could only hold on for so long

Until it held me back

From the backyard lake to hill of the high school that I didn’t go to

We were so close for three years

Some of my  best memories as a teenager

He faded away into the background as high school graduation came and went

I wonder what he’s doing now

If the walls of the house could talk

They’d have a lot to say

They’d tell stories of bonfires, barbecues and sleepovers

Along with the times filled with so much pain

They say it’s your hometown roots that shape you and help you grow

Yet I didn’t start to discover who I truly was until I left

Now that I’m getting older I’ve realized

It’s like a pair of jeans that no longer fit

Once you’re a butterfly and you’ve flown away

You really can’t go back

Now that I know what’s beyond this place

I have such a hunger for adventure

An ache for a playground

Where here I feel so confined

Limited, but not locked in a cage

Is there such a thing as reconciling the past with the future?

A happy medium between love and I hate

There’s no way in hell I’ll let myself burn out

Or take what just gets handed to me

This isn’t the town that saved me

But the one that pushed me

I have to keep going on 

photo credit: Pandiyan via photopin cc

When My Heart Breaks For Theirs

I do not want to go to deep into the meaning of this poem, or reveal any specific names out of respect for these people. But I'm sure we've all been there; watching a person(s) from a distance as they struggle and hurt themselves repeatedly. What's worse is that there is that there is very little that can be done on my part, aside from praying for these people and listening to them when needed. But even that can be tough, particularly when you want to scream and yell about just how badly they're destroying themselves. At the same time, I also have my own life to live and cannot fully bear a burden that isn't mine to take on. The words will hopefully explain themselves. 

Watch, Hurt, Hope

She’s just seventeen and still a child in many ways

Yet needs a prayer for something bigger than she can understand

She’s put her trust in all the wrong people

Built a foundation on people and things

Tired of loving and being left over and over

She tells her friend’s that life’s not worth living

For over twenty years

They threw themselves into what was only temporary

They claimed it didn’t matter and that’s how things would be

But at the end of the day all they do is blame each other

Neither one of them is happy

He has been struggling to find his way for most of his life

Running around in circles

One minute he’s confident, the next he’s lost again

He cries out in anger and frustration

Yet doesn’t seem to understand personal responsibility

Here I stand

Looking from the outside in

My heart breaks for such pain

A kind of pain that doesn’t seem to end

I want them to know that I care

That love will always be there

Still I hesitate for a fear of being ignored due to indifference

So in this place I pray

For healing and peace

For forgiveness and mercy

For peace and starting over

That what I call home may become a place of sunshine again

Rather than a place of sadness and bitterness

A world of gray

From Man, To A Monster, And Back Again

Trigger warning: Rape, rape culture, sexual violence

Day 20- Fear

Describe something that scared you. How did you overcome your fear? 

I've always thought to have good relationships with guys, but I've actually been struggling with those views for a while now. I've only mentioned it in passing because I was still in the thick of working through it, and in many ways that is still true. I will forewarn and say that I’m not glossing over anything or mincing words, although I won’t include names out of respect for those involved. 

It was back in March, when a couple of family friends came to campus to visit me for the weekend. We went to a nightclub downtown, and immediately got separated upon entering; I'm not sure where they went exactly, but I did immediately hit the dance floor.  After a little while I did make an effort to try and find them, but the place was packed and texting became pointless. For a short time I considered heading home; I didn't want to wait around and waste an entire night on keeping track of them. However, I felt extremely protective of the both of them since neither knew the area very well. And when you’re unfamiliar with how the police force in my college town works, it’s possible to get into some serious trouble. And for those two, getting into trouble meant serious consequences.

And on the other side of the coin, I didn't get very many opportunities to get out and have a good time, shall we say. And normally when I see an opportunity to let loose, I take it. When a guy approached me and asked me to dance I said yes, having no problems with having done so before. It was fun for a little bit, at least up until he tried to kiss me. I hadn't experienced my first kiss yet, so I was not about to give it to someone that I wasn't even attracted to. "Just a little kiss?" he asked. I told him that I didn't want to.

I'm not sure if it was solely because of my refusal or what, but a moment later he resorted to groping me below the belt. Honestly, It didn't occur to me to tell him no, because I’d believed over the years that such touching in that kind of environment was “just something that people did” and that it was best act like it didn't matter. All I remember thinking was how badly it physically hurt, though it lasted only about ten seconds. It hurt so much that for the next two days, I had a hard time putting jeans or pants on. The first chance I got, I bolted up the stairs and out the door.

Upon leaving, I found my friends outside near a bench and insisted we get the hell out of there. Meanwhile, they’re telling me that they want to go find a party and that we should split up. They were way past drunkenness, and I felt as if I had no choice but to agree. I had very little money to spend on a taxi, and the night ride service was done after three in the morning.

I started walking toward my apartment with the mindset that if I couldn't find a party, at least I could go home. Creepy Kevin Federline (that’s how I remember what he looked like) showed up again out of nowhere and was adamant about walking with me, despite my firm rebuttal of preferring to be alone. I felt trapped, because everything was starting to close down, so there weren't many places I could go to get help. It seemed even less safe to go to the cops; the buzz of the liquor had worn off, but I was extremely tired and therefore appeared to be more out of it then I actually was. I didn't want to run the risk of getting a ticket or being arrested for public intoxication. I basically went  into survival mode; in that moment, I thought it was better to have him walk with me than walk alone and be ambushed.

On the way back, he asked me a lot of personal and sexual questions, most of which I didn't know how to answer. I did my best to be nonchalant about it in hopes that he would take a hint, but he kept persisting. Taking it a step further, he put his arm around me and attempted to sweet talk me about dating and what I wanted in a relationship. By now I was more irritated than I was afraid. I wriggled out of his grasp and told him “I do have pepper spray, and if you touch me one more time, I will spray you!” I figured something wasn't right when he immediately took his hand off my waist. 

We got to the intersection where I usually crossed to get to my apartment, and I said that I could take it from there (there was no way I would allow him to walk me to the door). He tried to kiss me again, but I refused and then practically sprinted toward my building without looking back.

For about two weeks afterward, I was both terrified and paranoid; I wasn't sure if he had seen the exact place that I was living in, so it was hard to fall asleep at night. The building was more like a Motel Six, where you could walk right in as opposed to having to go through a hallway, and needing a special key or code to get to that point. Not to mention the lock didn't work well (and I know because I accidentally kicked the door in once). I avoided going out until shortly before finals and I made absolutely sure that it was with friends that I completely trusted.

I didn't have a whole lot of time to work through the ordeal, since I had a whole lot of other crap going on in my life. I did tell a few of my close girlfriends about it, most of whom I knew would react without judgment or asking why I hadn't handled it differently. And while I do kind of regret not bringing it up, I chose not to discuss the matter very seriously with those that I had been with that night; I tried to do so very casually, and all I got was “I’m not responsible for what I do when I’m drunk” which indicated that going any further would be a lost cause.

Of course, I had no intentions of making my family aware, but one relative did see that something was up and eventually got it out of me. It wasn't a very detailed explanation, so I wasn't surprised when I was told that enough time had already passed (four months up to that point) and that I needed to move on.

In a way, I did get what she was saying; I hadn't been raped, so why was it a big deal?

The thing is, while that slimeball didn't take my virginity that night, he definitely took my sense of safety. I have never viewed myself as an overly sexy person and I don’t try to purposefully get attention, so I assumed that no one would try to come after me. But then I thought the other tiny incidents that I had pushed out of my mind: a guy calling out to me on the sidewalk asking me if I would sleep with him, and then when I ignored him, he told me that he could easily rip me in half. Another being a little too rough with me the first time I went out dancing, where I was first told that that kind of behavior was typical. I was hit on by at least three or four different guys during my twentieth birthday celebration, and that ended with my friends and I being followed out of the place. Oh yes, when I look at all of it from a broad perspective, it was a big deal.

I didn't realize just how much it affected me until I started my junior year. I was constantly on alert while walking around at night, even though I lived much closer to campus and it was only a ten minute walk. I couldn't, and still have trouble with looking a man in the eye in passing, regardless of the time of day. I was judgmental and suspicious of every guy that I saw on the street or on campus, mostly because of the manner that they spoke in or even what clothes they wore. There was even a night where a guy was walking behind me and I got so freaked out that I yelled "what the fuck do you want from me?" before running all the way home. I didn't stop or look back until I was inside and had locked the door.

More than anything, men scared the crap out of me.

I decided to continue doing group counseling, and knew I needed to discuss if I was ever going to truly heal. It took a few weeks, but eventually I did gather the courage to talk about it.It was really tough, both in group and in general to be vulnerable; I was ashamed by the choices that I made, and didn't want to face the pain and rejection that could possibly result from such honesty. This was especially true of the Christian student organizations that I was involved with, as well as most of my guy friends. Around campus, you’re either a good person or a bad person, and there doesn't seem to be much of an in-between. This seems especially true for women.

Emotionally and figuratively, it seemed easier to become defensive and automatically assume that the people I interacted with the most weren't going to understand. I particularly kept it from my guy friends for a long time because I didn't want to dump everything on them and make them feel like they had to make it better. I needed to be able to see clearly first and work it out in an environment where it could be properly addressed before I told certain people.

It turns out that there were a lot of difficulties underneath what I’d been through. I realized that I didn't know how to say no or communicate effectively when something, be it physical or emotional, upsets me or makes me uncomfortable. I don’t have a close relationship with my Dad or my brother, and that has bothered me to an extent. The big thing was that I hadn't opened up to a man since I was sixteen years old.. There were several others that came into my life after that, but any attempt to connect with them on that level was immediately shot down or turned out to not be worth it. For a while, I thought it was better not to try.

In the last nine months, I have been slowly working my way back to viewing the opposite gender in a healthy light. I’m still somewhat hypersensitive when walking around at night, but I do take the Night-Ride bus if I’m going home at ten o’clock or later. I haven’t been to the nightclubs since then, although I still enjoy dancing and can’t promise that I won’t ever go back. I will no longer allow random men to touch me or give me a hug if they ask (it has happened many times). I no longer care if it gets to the point where I have to be a complete bitch or get other people involved in order for a creep to stop bothering me. I’d prefer not to make a scene, but self-protection ultimately  precedes over being nice.

I've come off the pedestal of thinking that all men are heartless; I have met and gotten to know some that are absolutely wonderful and respectful. However, it does still take time for me to fully trust and invest  in someone, which is for another post regarding intimacy.

This kind of situation is just about me; there are millions are stories regarding both women and men who endure this kind of hell, often way worse than what I experienced. It’s not enough to just avoid specific areas or establishments, because it can happen just about anywhere and at any time. Go on hollaback.org and you’ll read stories about incidents on subways, trains, and even just walking down the street in broad daylight. Any place can be potentially dangerous, depending on how crowded or deserted it is.

I don’t know if there is one broad solution to solving this problem; there will always be sick idiots out there who think that they’re either entitled or claim that they can’t control themselves. While it’s important for women to be aware and keep themselves safe, one can only do so much before they feel like they’re isolating themselves from daily life. Men need get it through their heads that if a woman tells them no or makes it clear that she has boundaries, they need to respect that and back off. Even if there are mixed signals or scantily clad clothing involved, that does not give a guy the right to feel her up or take her home. I don't advocate for the hookup culture, but if that's what you want,  go find someone that’s sober and will give a clear and verbal “yes.”

This is not an issue of sensitivity or how a big of a deal something is; this is an issue of comfort and personal space. I know that if I don’t like something or become uncomfortable, than dammit you’re not going to be able to convince me otherwise.

 Unfortunately not many want to openly discuss this stuff, but the only way a difference will ever be made is if we stop making excuses are start standing up for something. This kind of crap isn't normal and shouldn't be taken lightly. It’s disgusting, and no one should have to live with the shame of another person’s choice.

If you can, take the time to share this with people that you know. If a friend or a family member approaches you and admits that they were in this type of circumstance, don’t brush them off or tell them to let it go. Everyone has different ways of handling stuff that scares them, and it’s not your place to tell them how to do it. Listen carefully, and if you don’t know how to respond, simply say “I hear you and I respect that you feel that way.” It might very well be a situation that needs to be reported to the police.  But overall, a positive and non-condemning response can and will make a world of difference.

I don't see myself as a victim, but rather someone who has been through a lot and is managing to overcome it through love and Faith.  The more I hear about these stories, the stronger my feelings become. I don’t want pity or apology, but to live in the comfort and truth of not having to hide anymore.

It happened to me, but you can impact whether or not it happens to anyone else.

Update: It has been two years, and most likely there are people who are wondering why I'm still talking about this. This may have been my first experience in being exposed to rape culture, but it wasn't the last. There were several incidents my junior and final year of college, none of which were as severe but still left me shaken. It was never a question of "why did he do that?" but rather, "why didn't I fight back? Why didn't I stand up for myself? Why did I let him push me around?" There are a lot of possible reasons, but I'll elaborate more on that another time.

I saw the guy who approached, touched, and followed me that night at least one other time, but toward the end of junior year. I wasn't freaked out, but more so just wanting to get as far away from him as possible. We were both at the same bar and he said that he remembered me and thought I was a good dancer. Needless to say, I stayed glued to my friend's side the rest of the night. 

To this day, I still haven't had a full, in-depth conversation with the other two that were with me for a short time that night. I considered it and weighed my options carefully when one of them told me that they planned on visiting me last summer, but it never worked out. I just never saw the opportunity to bring it up again. And yes, the possibility of ruining that relationship by having that conversation is what scares me the most. I'm not sure how to describe their attitudes exactly, but let me just say that they only way they will understand is if and when they have daughters of their own. I can only hope and pray that it's sooner.

As much as it hurts, I accept that not everyone will see where I'm coming from. When you haven't walked in another person's shoes, it's hard to know what to say, though there are times when words aren't wanted or needed. I chalk it up to being a generational thing, but that's not an excuse to invalidate another person's experience, especially of it's painful or traumatizing at worst. 

For all of the horrors that continue to happen every day because of other people's choices and warped views on life, I will continue to speak up on this matter. I know now that what happened to me was not a punishment for underage drinking or using a fake ID. It was not because of what I wore, nor what I said or didn't say. It's true that I did make some poor choices, but nothing where I deserved to be preyed on by a twenty-six year-old grown man who probably had every intention of having sex with me that night.

 No one deserves to objectified or have their dignity taken from them. No one deserves to have their worth defined because of what they do or don't do with their bodies. And I make no apologies for saying this, but no one deserves or their life threatened or taken because they choose not to sleep with a certain person or attend a high school prom with them. There are so many things that have happened over the last six months that sicken me, so much that I can't even find the words right now.

While I genuinely believe that not all men are like this and not all men rape or commit violence,  this does not excuse the fear, shame, and humiliation that women have to endure because of the culture that we live in. I say that not because women are the only ones that go through it, but because I can only speak from what I've experienced as a woman, what I've seen, and what I've heard. I shake my head as I angrily agree that probably all of us have and will go through some form of this bullshit, regardless of what we do to protect ourselves from it. But damn it all, I'm ready to put my foot down. 

photo credit: DanielJames via photopin cc

Not Quitting, But Not Accepting

Day 13-Calling It Quits

When Did you really want to call it quits? Did you? 

You know, I don't think I really wanted to "quit" anything this year, so to speak. There were relationships where I was ready to boldly proclaim that I was done, while verbally giving that person the finger and getting on with my life. But I can't say I was overly motivated to throw in the towel for anything. 

On the other hand, I did ask myself "is this all there is? Where's the line between being content and knowing that you can do and be better? In other words....

Are my emotional struggles because of something that I'm doing or saying, it does it more relate to the kind of people that I'm allowing into my life? 

Will I always go through the same cycles over and over again? 

Is there a happy medium between optimism and pessimism? 

There were moments where I was perfectly OK with feeling like only certain parts of me existed; that I could just take whatever got handed to me and be able to get by in life. I was perfectly fine with never going back to the way I used to be, that innocent little girl with a mile wide grin on her face. 

I had been through too much, I reasoned. I didn't want to have to repeatedly explain my past and than watch as people walked away. 

I didn't see it as quitting; I saw it as accepting that this was the way things were going to be. There would always be fear and a barrier between me and certain people that I cared about. After all, it's normal for only a few people to know who you really are, right?

Every time I did that, I never felt whole or alive. Intimacy is a huge thing for me, and when I don't have that, it's like a big part of me is missing. 

I will write more about it when my brain doesn't feel like a fried egg (it's finals week around here). This has taken weeks, if not months to contemplate and process. A lot of it is going to be very deep, and maybe even somewhat difficult to take in But it is something that I want to share in the coming days of Reverb. 

I'm ready to let it all go.

It Is Not So (A Response)

 You're lucky that you have such great people in your life. I've had to learn to be alone.

I received this comment on my last post, one that both saddened me and made me think. There are well over six billion people in the world, and yet we all feel so alone. For some of us, loneliness comes and goes. For others, it's a constant presence that threatens to consume us and drive us to the edge almost every single day. I don't personally know those who commented, nor am I aware of their personal stories, so it's not my place to say whether they're right or wrong; but again, it made me think. 

I once believed that loneliness would forever be a part of my life; by day, it was me against the world, determine to prove everyone wrong and fight any obstacle with all the strength that I had. By night, I was a mess, crying against my pillow while wishing and praying that someone would wrap their arms around me and let me know that they were there. 

I thought that nobody understood, when the truth was, I was the one that didn't get it. I couldn't depend on people to read my mind and provide the answers to my problems. I couldn't keep feeling bad an expect them to know what was going on, or tell me what I wanted to hear. 

If I wanted to genuine relationships, I needed to take that first step and reach out to them. 

Initially, it was very hard. I didn't, and depending on the person, still don't trust very easily. I become intimidated when people act like they don't have any issues or difficulties, so it took some time to open up to them. But once I did it for the sake of being honest, and not necessarily a reaction, it wasn't so terrifying. 

And it doesn't always have to be something huge or emotional. Sitting in a coffee shop or a library is always interesting. Go to a gym or a park. Volunteer for a cause or an organization that you feel passionate about. Try out a church. Join a book club or a study group. 

Maybe it's not as simple as it looks, because there is also the experiencing of feeling like you have no one, despite being surrounded by dozens or many more. I am nearly twenty one years old and have a lot of amazing loved ones, yet I still have that experience from time to time. 

I feel alone when someone tells me to "suck it up and let it go," especially if it's a situation that isn't all that simple.  

I feel alone when I think about all the things that I haven't done; that by now, most people my age probably have or would have done. 

This is going to sound very selfish, but I feel alone when I have to work at something. For most of my life, I've had to use a lot more energy, to fight a lot harder, and ultimately work my ass off to achieve my goals. It gets really frustrating when certain things appear to come so easily for others, while I'm practically bending over backwards. 

Deep down, loneliness is a feeling or a state of mind, not a reality. When I start to succumb to that lie, I've learned to close my eyes and say out loud, "it is not so." 

Another part is changing out how I look at solitude. Whenever I am by myself, particularly in my apartment, I try to make the most of it. I try to write for at least an hour each day, and sometimes it turns into more if I really get going. Sometimes I read or catch up on whatever is on my DVR. Heck, it's nice to just bask in the peace of not having to deal with bad roommates or their shortcomings. 

My favorite thing, however, is being able to connect with God. It is honestly where a lot of my spiritual growth has happened, at least thus far into the school year. I read my Bible. I journal. I pray. And not to say that community isn't good, but there are times where it just gets to be too much and my focus gets lost. I need to be able to have that space where it's just me and God. 

As for being lucky? Well, I don't consider myself lucky. The better way to describe it is that I am blessed, especially by those that I have in my life. Love and friendship isn't happenstance; it is a gift. But the gift isn't necessarily whom or what we have, but being able to recognize it.

Please know that I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do or give a concrete answer; I'm simply sharing my experiences and what I've been able to take out of them. 

I don't need a ton of people to care about me in order to make me feel whole. The fact of that matter is, only a certain number of people actually will or do care. Sometimes all it takes is one person to change a life, or vice versa. The question is, will you be that person? 

Don't hide away from the world; we're not created for isolation or to live without companionship. It won't be easy, and it will take a lot of time to feel completely comfortable with the whole thing. There is an abundance of joy in taking down the walls of shame, anger, or whatever you feel is keeping you from connecting to other people. 

Trust me when I say that I know. And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world!