on knowledge.

{via}

Lately, I've really been struggling with this whole "I know better" guilt. 

I know that I should eat healthier. I know that I should work-out more. I know that I should keep the house clean. I know that I can be a better wife. I know that I can wake up earlier. I know that I can work harder at my job. I know, I know, I know.

So I have all this guilt for the things I'm not doing. I don't do them because I have this constant fear of not being good enough. And then I drown those feelings with more laziness and food. And that my friends, is the vicious cycle I am in.

I have this ache to paint and write and run and sing and bake and LIVE.

I just don't because I have convinced myself that I'm not good enough to find happiness in those things.

As if I have to be perfect at a task to enjoy it.

I feel this suffocating demand to be without flaw, and I know I'll never live up to that so I fall back on the knowledge that I will fail at perfection.

So why try.

But even here, I know better. I know that it is not perfection that is asked of me or of you or of anyone.

Improvement is all that is expected.

I have this text-message urgency to have everything now and reach the future now and be prepared now and have all my problems solved now.

The future isn't now. I know that too.

Knowledge isn't always what it seems. The truth is, knowledge can be crippling.

Truth seems like freedom when you don't have it.

But when you do, it comes with expectations. I just wanted to go on a cruise, but I have an expectation to run the ship.

Life isn't a vacation. I keep trying to take a vacation FROM MY LIFE, but you can't. Life follows you wherever you go. Responsibility, expectations, and structure call to you each and every Monday.

It is not a hard life, but sometimes living it is hard.

I know that I should do better, but I don't know if I can be better. I hope I can. I want to be. But that is something I just don't know.

I see my feet slip-up and my steps get shaky, and instead of working to regain my balance, I jump off the cliff. As if I meant to do it in the first place.

No one can judge me if they think I chose this. No one can make me feel bad if I make myself feel worse first.

But, then there was a break-through.

Bonnie L Oscarson spoke to me this week. (To thousands of other women too, but really to me.) I have emotionally craved this lesson for months. Her solution to all of my stresses and worries and fears came in eight words.

"Aim for the ideal but plan for contingencies."

This is my new mantra. All week I have repeated this over and over and over in my head. I can learn to accept contingencies. I can move beyond the ideal of perfection and find happiness even when things don't go according to plan.

I can get through these struggles. I can overcome. I can be better.

{via}

growth.

i gave up on love. i gave up on marriage.

it wasn't because i was old or tired of waiting, it was because i had been hurt. i had been lied to. i had been disappointed and tossed aside like garbage.

and they're not supposed to hurt you -- words. but they do.

words that go unsaid, they hurt.
words that are said insincerely, they hurt.
promises that are issued without thought and then broken, they hurt.

and through all that hurt it seemed impossible.

it seemed impossible that a boy existed who just wanted me to be happy. (not just make me laugh or entertain me, but to make and keep me happy every second of every day.)

it seemed too much to ask for a boy to care about my day.

it seemed there would never be a boy who listened.

i felt incredible. i felt deserving. i felt funny and attractive and relatively intelligent.
but i didn't believe that there could ever be a boy who saw all of that and my flaws and wanted to keep it.

no matter what the future held, i was certain that i was stuck with me.
i can never escape this body. i can change my name and looks and location, but this body and soul, they are mine.

and so i made myself into a version i was am proud of. i worked hard physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.

i worked on me. and that's when everything changed. i wasn't looking for someone to complete me or say the right thing around every corner. i wasn't looking for an elusive puzzle piece. i was more than content, i had created happiness.

i made myself into someone better, and then i got someone who was better.

the tweet of life stories.

subtitle: because you have to keep up with brissa and shaylynn.

my parents have a child for every form of birth control they ever tried. i was the last and the seventh, but i was intentional. this means that i have an unrealistic view on my importance as a human being.

as a child I made dance videos with my friend kelli. i messed up a lot and she yelled at me. this was the end of my dancing career. but i do know the hoedown throwdown and will show that off any chance I get.

up until high school, my mother forced me to endure permed hair but never let me in on the secret that brushes and perms don’t mix. picture a frizzy, triangular mess with loads of acne and you have every school picture of me from 1996 to 2004.

during high school I met friends that brought me down to earth in the best way – through laughter and sarcasm. i dated the prom king for like a week; even i’m not sure how that happened. he was my first kiss. i was half-asleep and didn’t realize he had kissed me until it was over. pure magic.

in college i perfected my cookie baking skills. i also skipped class a lot and so here i am, 23 and barely about to get my associate’s degree. power through, kids!

i recently started dating a boy who terrifies me in a good way. he's disgustingly nice. i was fully awake for our first kiss.

here’s to flat irons and conditioner.

the hardest thing to accept, the easiest to give away.

from the beginning, notes were my thing. sometimes i complimented his freckles. sometimes they were stuck to his back. sometimes they were hidden and sometimes they were hand delivered.

the first note he gave me was folded inside a birthday card. it was a letter, really.

he listed everything he liked about me. at the end of the list he wrote, "i guess i just took the long way to tell you that i love you."

those three words were supposed to be good news, but they stabbed me. because i couldn't say them back.

my whole life, love seemed like this euphoric, magical feeling where the heavens opened and you flew. maybe it is like that for some people.

when i read them i cried. in the following days, each time he'd say it it stung more. there was swearing and praying and even more tears.

because how could he love me.

for ten days he said those words. my silence didn't stop him. he loved me. he knew it. he didn't need to hide it or wait for the "right time."

he told me he wanted to marry me. that he would spend his life ensuring my happiness. that he couldn't promise a perfect future, but that he wanted me to be his, forever.

he said all these things even though i was silent.

part of me was scared to promise the same. part of me was scared i'd have to say it to someone else someday.

mostly i was unsure that what i was feeling was indeed love. but in those ten days i've learned that:

love is 90% being the right person,

10% finding the right person.

i learned that love is a choice. 

love isn't blind; i know his faults, i see his weaknesses. but i choose to look past them. i choose to help strengthen them.

love isn't on a time-table; it doesn't always come at first sight or hit you like a bus.

love is happiness. love is security. love is patience. love is practical and a bit reckless. love is full of possiblities. love is given and recieved.

it took me a while to accept love.

but once i accepted the word from that boy, it was the easiest word to give away.

my thoughts on growing up in the mormon church.

i am the youngest of seven children, born to a mother and father that faithfully abided by the doctrines of the church of Jesus Christ of latter-day saints. (and still do.)

growing up i attended three-hours of church service every sunday.
from the age of twelve, i attended an additional hour on tuesday evenings.
throughout high school, i reserved one credit-hour each semester to leave campus and take scripture courses.

my opinions on the church as a teenager were that there were far too many stories about pioneers.
there were a lot of references to obscurely-named characters from the book of mormon.
it seemed that i was to have every story memorized and able recite at any moment.
i knew to gasp upon mention of getting tattoos and showing too much skin.

i showed up happily to all these meetings. i understood what was being taught and i believed it.

more than anything, i observed the people. i watched what they did, i remembered what they said.
if, after observation, i felt that an individual seemed "good" i would listen to what they believed, then i would take their word for it.

after twenty-one years of doing everything i was told to do, one day i stopped and looked around and decided it wasn't for me.

so i quit going. i ignored phone calls. and suddenly i had all this free time.

then i experienced a down-ward spiral --that may or may not be related to the above-mentioned inactivity.
[the spiral did not consist of pre-marital sex or drinking or drugs or butterfly tramp-stamps.]

quite frankly i went from a euphoric, free feeling to unshakable self-doubt and despair.
but this is another story.

i experienced what i now refer to as a quarter-life crisis.

dream boy.

i have been in two relationships. each lasted exactly two months from first date to break-up.
both of these boys were outgoing and funny.
both liked to cook.
both had hoards of friends.
both of them had dreams and ambitions within reach. -- both of them worked hard to make them come true.
both treated me with respect.
both spoke of marriage and futures, and both made plans.
each is a good person and each deserve beauty and love and happiness.

dream boy is different.

dream boy is quiet, he is a wallflower.
dream boy teases me, but never mocks.
dream boy does not seek attention.
dream boy listens and observes.
dream boy accepts compliments graciously, but never seeks them out.
dream boy opens doors for everyone, all the time, no matter what.
dream boy makes me feel safe.
dream boy always says thank you.
dream boy never returns animosity.
dream boy offers assistance and helps even when i deem it unnecessary.
dream boy inspires me and encourages me.

dream boy is different.

he isn't mine. he may never be.
but he has done more good for my heart than anyone else in the world.

i'd like him to be the third. the one who breaks all the patterns. the snow that doesn't melt so quickly.

the long and complicated story of my recovery.

Today I finally reached the surface of the water; I took my first breath, and was filled with life once again.

As I work through the events of the past year I am overcome with the lessons I have learned. Overcome with feelings of love and gratitude.

There are two people who know my struggle. Not even my parents know, unless of course they are now reading this. I've given hints and passing sentences, but not details. I won't even attempt to do that here.

You see, eleven months ago I decided that I was going to end my life.

I wouldn't share this except that I feel it will help convey the seriousness with which I take the following. My reason for returning to this blog, isn't to discuss my downward spiral, it's to share my journey of swimming back up. To share the reasons why I can once again, call myself a dreamer.

The first flotation device I was thrown:
I had been underwater for a long time; I'd long since run out of oxygen. And then a boy named Nate showed up on my doorstep and told me so many sweet things. He told me sweet things and I, in my self-deprecating state, was less than sweet in return. I was down-right awful to him, actually. Mostly because I had such low self-esteem that I couldn't believe he meant the things he said, and partly because I had been a sincere jerk my whole life, and didn't quite know how else to respond to people.

But his efforts showed me that someone cared, and before that I had felt so invisible, so irrelevant. His kindness and forever-happy spirit showed me that I could make decisions to progress. I could kick my legs and fight to get to the surface. He unknowingly started pulling, while for the first time I started fighting.

The second flotation device:
I had made progress. Plans of how and when and where to end my life no longer plagued every thought. But after sinking for so long, my muscles simply couldn't fight anymore. I began to stagnate my ascent. I learned to fake-swim -- to look like I was working and happy, but still wasn't at all. At this point, no one knew of my struggle. I remember I was at church for the first time in months and people asked how I was. Each time I would enthusiastically reply that I was wonderful, that my life was lovely. Then once, after someone had walked away, I heard a voice over my shoulder. Riley told me that my answer was the most fake thing he had ever heard me say.

I was caught. Embarrassed and enraged and guilty, I hastily made up an excuse and went on with my day. But his blunt reaction taught me that I wasn't fooling someone, and that knowledge made me wonder if I was even fooling anyone. I could no longer fake it till I made it. I had to actually do something.

This is where the fight gets hazy. "Isn't it funny how day by day, nothing changes. But when you look back, everything is different?" - C.S. Lewis

All I know is that there was a lot of prayer. A lot of church. A lot of looking outside myself. A lot of kicking, a lot of screaming.

Mostly, there was hope:
Hope for air. Hope for happiness. Hope for good days.

I would pick landmarks and swim to them as fast as I could. Birthday parties, trips, and holidays. Anything that required celebration and was in the future. I started to make things exciting so that I would look forward to them. I listened to Dory and just kept swimming.

As I got closer and closer to shore, the water would get brighter and clearer. So many times I had thought I had broken through, only to realize that I was still amid a battle. But I could see things better, I could see how far I had come and finally I had something within myself to propel me forward.

Then there were two life vests thrown toward me:
Combined because they are brothers, Kyle and Nathan taught me that a person can be wholesome and pure while being outrageously funny and pleasant. They taught me that not all males are inappropriate. Not all males are jerks. They showed me what men act like.

These men reminded me of laughter. Of teasing and frustrated giggles. They have changed my perception of and  renewed my faith in marriage. After coming to dry land, I learned that I have a mountain to climb. But these two taught me that although it will be a difficult road, it can be filled with joy and lots of silliness.

Finally, there was learning:
I have learned that progress is progress and that is worth celebrating.

I have learned that the greatest gift you can give someone is the benefit of the doubt.

I have learned that celery is not poison, especially when it is covered in peanut butter.

I have learned that water doesn't have to drown you; that from the right source, water can fill you and lift you higher than you ever thought possible.

I've learned that there are men in my midst. Men that are clean and respectable and gentlemen and fun. Men that make me laugh. I've learned most of these lessons from men younger than me, but who have such a better grasp on life than I do.

I have learned that dating is the worst, but it is nice to be asked on dates nonetheless.

I have learned that I have an infinite ability to work. For happiness, and money and an education. I have power and means and time. Oh, how lovely the gift of time is.

I have learned that I can run, and I've learned to love the pain that comes after strengthening my muscles.

I have learned about all my flaws and imperfections, my tendencies to judge and gossip. I have learned that I can be tolerant and kind. I have not perfected this, but I am growing every day.

I've learned that JoAnna is the most incredible woman on the planet, and I am so happy to call her my beautiful best friend. I am so lucky to have had her by my side through this whole journey, and thank my lucky stars that she continues support me and offer her sunshine to me every day.

I have learned that dark days come to an end. That there is light at the end of the tunnel. You have to walk toward it though.

I have learned that no one can encroach on my ability to be righteous. No one can hinder me from pleasing God. No one can halt my journey. This makes it easier to move on, even when they treat me badly.

I have learned that lipstick isn't evil. It makes you feel fancy and grown-up.

I have learned that tears are healthy. They dry like raindrops, and are always followed by rainbows.

I have learned that you can cry a river of tears, but that you should probably build a boat first.

I have learned that Jesus Christ is the way, the light and the truth. He is the son of God. He is my brother. I have been a believer my whole life, but now I know the reality of His mission. He has given me a life worth living.

I have learned to forgive myself.

aftermath.

abandonment was her matress,

a firm, cold reality
that dreams don't come true.
her heartache collects dust,
and no maid comes to clean it.

as time passes, her memory remains.
a boy from months past
continues to be seen --
in flashes and wishes
and fairytale books.
a toad in disguise
keeps her heart closed; confined.

no bedtime story
or soft, lullabye
can return the hope
that once lived in her mind.
wishes on stars are willed to come true, 
but often,
so often,
they fall out of the sky.

her heart,
not quite broken or missing,
is just simply trapped,
in a world full of dragons and swords.
with no knight coming bravely,
and no kiss on her lips
to help her wake up.

well-balanced diet.

my dinner tonight consisted of tortilla chips, 2 egg rolls, a sleeve of oreos and a handful of starbursts.

i'm going to make a fan-freaking-tastic mother one day.