To the Girl Who Sparkles

Posted on by ezl0022

 

image

Enter a caption

I have always been a girl who sparkled.

For as long as I can remember, I have loved all things girly. Clothes, make-up, rhinestones, glitter, and accessories (dear Lord do I love accessories). This is probably in part due to the fact that my mother also loved those things when she had me. I always had the cutest baby dresses, and as I got older my hair was always put together in some cute new way.

Unlike my mother, however, my life has been a series of events (and I’m not talking lemony snicket)! Birthday parties? I’ll never forget my “Queen Eizabeth” party in Florida where all of my friends dressed up, and my parents constructed a well for us to make wishes in and retrieve candy from. Made out of cardboard and construction paper, the life sized well will always be one of my favorite childhood memories. That’s right, at 7 years old my parents built me a freaking well. We drank from goblets that had been hand decorated by my mother, with bedazzles galore. I wore a home made dress fit for a young princess, and a crown to top it all off.

And it wasn’t just that one party…it was all of them. I have always had a flare for the dramatic, and a keen eye for event planning that I can only assume I got from my mama (who’s birthday is today by the way!). It wasn’t just a party. It was THE party.

This tendency to over complicate and go above and beyond has continued throughout my teenage years and into my adult life. I begged my mom to try on prom dresses as a freshman, despite the fact that I had four more years before I would get to wear it. I attended every homecoming dance, and have had a wedding board on Pinterest since the day I created an account. If it weren’t bad luck I would try on wedding dresses before I ever got engaged. I think cubic zirconias are tacky and would rather have a tiny real diamond than a large fake one. I love all things decorative, and am a sucker for a cute couples costume. My favorite souvenir from studying abroad is a Dior bracelet I bought in Milan, and yes, I DO love Starbucks. And I never thought there was anything wrong with that.

Until recently.

All of the sudden I noticed women my age (especially single ones) began to feign disdain for such materialistic fantasies.

“Oh, I don’t care about weddings…I think big weddings are dumb.”

“Why would women spend so much on material things? They’re just insecure…that’s why they need all of those accessories and all of that make-up.”

“Who cares what my wedding ring looks like…I can’t imagine why anyone would ever spend that much money just to have a real diamond.”

Suddenly I felt ashamed of the way I have been my entire life.

Now please don’t misunderstand me…I know that there are women out there who are not like me. My mother, and three of my best friends are not at all like me. They really don’t care how many people come to their wedding. Where I already have a color scheme chosen (despite the fact that I am not engaged), the thought hasn’t even crossed their mind.

These sweet friends, and my mama, are people who would never claim the spotlight. They want to make sure people have a good time, and at the end of the night know that they are with people they love. They aren’t concerned about the type of icing on their cake, or where their venue will be.

And I love them for it. So why is it that when someone like me shares her dreams, she becomes shallow and vain? At the end of the day my friends and I want the same thing, but why am I suddenly a bad person if I want to make sure that my buttercream cake has a monogram on it?

Why do so many women my age act like they don’t care? Is it fear of seeming mundane? Desperate? Anti-feminist?

It cannot be blamed on the fact that these women are single, because even when I thought I would be #foreveralone, I dreamed of my fairytale. Of Kate Spade purses, mani pedis every two weeks, and a shiny diamond on my finger.

Different things make different people sparkle.

I had just as many scraped knees as kid. I played sports, and raised rabbits and goats. I showed heifers and got drug in the dirt just like everyone else when we had to halter break them. I have mixed soil, and potted up hundreds and hundreds of plants. But you better believe I had on make-up. I got manicures before every livestock show. And I always loved covering those scraped knees with a pretty dress.

So don’t belittle women who enjoy life’s finer things. I won’t call you a hippy, if you don’t call me superficial. Women should celebrate their differences instead of shaming them!

I told one of my best friends the other day that we need these differences because we complete each other. One day, when she gets married, I will be there, sparkles and all, to make sure she gets the wedding of her dreams. I’ll finally force her to allow herself to be pampered, and splurge a little. And when it’s my turn, she’ll remind me not to have a meltdown when my dj gets sick, and politely tell me I don’t need to spend extra money to have a wedding cake that lights up.

So to the women who aren’t like me–thank you. The world needs people like you to keep us in line. To remind us that there is more to life than the events we host, and the dresses we do it in. And to all the women like me–don’t ever let anyone dull your sparkle.

-L

Growing Up

Posted on by ezl0022

19 Ways You Know You Are Raising A Teenage Girl - Barbie Bieber and Beyond:

In honor of my parents coming to visit me, this week’s post is inspired by my family!

I’m not sure when it happened, but one day I woke up and realized that for the rest of my life, I will spend more time away from my childhood home, than in it. What?! How could this be? I’m not a real grown up yet! That two story home tucked in the suburbs of Katy, Texas has become a place to go visit holidays, and maybe a few weeks scattered in between. Coming home is no longer coming “home” to me, and frankly, that makes me sad.

45 In Loving Memory Quotes With Images | http://art.ekstrax.com/2014/07/in-loving-memory-quotes-with-images.html

All of those days my brother and I fought relentlessly, waiting for my mother to get home from work. Nights spent riding blankets down the stairs. Countless hours of Crash Bandicoot, throwing baseballs, and playing basketball in the driveway until the sun went down. The sounds of sports radio or television were always in the background, and my picky eater of a little brother always had chicken nuggets to snack on. Fire pit nights, early camping mornings, and baseball tournament weekends.

All of the sudden your childhood is behind you. Your high school friends are graduating and getting real jobs, and adulthood is staring you down.

I am very lucky to have come from a loving and supportive family. I have never once doubted that they were proud of me, or that they would support me in whatever decision I made, which I have learned is not something every child receives growing up. So even when I am 11 hours away and three states over, I know that they will do anything in their power to help me, because they always have.

So this week, remember to text your mother back, or call your grandma. Tell them that you love them, and hug them if you can, because no matter how they influenced you, you wouldn’t be where you are today without them.

-L

Worth It

Posted on by ezl0022

Sounds so simple:

I recently wrote a blog post about vulnerability that ended up being extremely relevant to one of my best friends. Despite her past of closing her heart to romantic opportunity, she has consciously been making an effort to open herself up, and put herself out there. I told her that no matter the outcome, I think that is one of the bravest things we can do as humans. It is so easy for us to close off our minds and our hearts for fear of being hurt.

For me, this quote took on more meaning last night. Yesterday I completely forgot to write my new weekly post, but I am sure glad I did, because it provided me with a lot of perspective. I had been dreading the conversations with my boyfriend involving life’s more complex issues: religion, equality, racism, gender, and the like. I knew we came from very different backgrounds, and feared that if we found out just how different we were raised that it would create conflict. Urban vs. Rural. Religious vs. not so much. Equality vs. opportunity. We spoke with passion, but not with anger, diving deeper and deeper into the personal relevance of each subject breached, and for a moment we were both so completely ourselves that I thought the room might concave. I could feel the frustration in the air like a cold sweat, and then, silence. We just stared at each other.

And it was in that moment, that I had to chose. Do I continue to bare myself to this man, open to insult and injury, or do I shut it down, change the subject, and pretend everything is fine?

Is love worth it? Is he worth it? Or better yet, am I?

Despite every bone in my body telling me to avoid confrontation and walk away, I battled on. Each step, though seemingly dividing us, bringing us closer together, until we were so lost in conversation that nothing around us mattered.

And let me tell you, I have never been more honest about my fundamental beliefs and struggles.

And I have never felt more safe and whole.

So yes. Love is worth the bravery. Love is worth it.

You are worth it.

As you make your way through this week, let this serve as a reminder that no matter how different we are, in the end we are all human. And as flawed as it makes us, the one thing we can still do is love one another.

“Mark 12:31- And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.”

-L

Words of Inspiration: Week 1.

Posted on by ezl0022

One of my new additions to PD&PC is a weekly “Words of Inspiration” post. I will post links to each post on my “Inspiration” page so they will be archived. My goal is to pick a few Pinterest finds each week that made me think or giggle and share them with y’all as a little reminder throughout the week! So, here is my first post!

The moment you feel like you have to prove your worth to someone is the moment to absolutely and utterly walk away – I caught myself doing this recently then stopped myself. The minute you feel the need to defend yourself to someone that “loves” you because of them putting you down…DON’T. Walk away. The iOS 7 update has this awesome feature that let’s you easily block any contact’s number and ultimately erasing them from your life. Done.:

I was just talking to my Mom about this the other day. Something so wonderful about my current relationship is that I feel like I no longer have to prove that I am worthy of that person’s love and time. When someone accepts you and recognizes your worth, they demonstrate it through actions. In past relationships I had a feeling of needing to prove that I was smart enough or pretty enough for his love, and although now I can look back and see that those feelings stemmed from his own insecurities, it took coming through a harsh emotional battle to reach that point. Always remember you should not have to prove your worth…people should simply recognize it.

do no harm (but take no shit):

This is always such a hard line for me to see. I will take crap from people more than I should to avoid conflict, which generally leads to a breakdown somewhere in my future. While you should always follow the golden rule, I think we can agree that you wouldn’t want other people to let you walk all over them! You can stand up for yourself, and others, without being hurtful.

So true.:

Do they see an extroverted go-getter? Or a reckless maverick? A heartbroken friend? Or a selfish bitch? Sometimes you have no control over other people’s opinions of you. But sometimes it tells you a lot more about the other person than it does yourself. Never be afraid to expose someones true character for fear of what they will say about you. I’m not saying go around slandering people, but simply stand up for what you know to be noble and true.

Have a happy week y’all!

-L

{IN}ST{AN}T

Posted on by ezl0022

“I’m glad it happened though, because I never would have met you.”

We were standing in the kitchen last night talking about my life back in Nacogdoches, Texas. Gossiping about friends, laughing at stories, and sharing some of the not so funny things that happened to me toward the end of my time there. We had way too much rice cooking on the stove as I repeated, once more, the tale of a friendship lost. As my feelings of betrayal came back to the surface I turned to him and said, “All is fair in love and war. At least that’s what I told myself. That, and everything happens for a reason.”

“Did your friends say anything?”

“Not really. A few of them tried before, telling him that he didn’t have a shot with her because we were best friends, but she changed her mind. The whole group dynamic changed. It was awkward, or at least it was for me. But my friends are good friends. They are still in touch with me, and I love them to pieces. But I was leaving Nac in a couple months, where as the two of them were staying. I wouldn’t have expected everyone to react any differently. It sucked, feeling like I was losing them too, but I may not have ever left that town if it hadn’t. I needed to get out of there.”

And that’s when he said it. He was glad it happened, because he never would have met me.

You know those moments in life that you will never forget? I don’t mean a day, or a week. I mean like an instant. Someone can say a word, or you can smell something and suddenly a whole bunch of very small moments come back to you. The way she looks when you see her walk down the aisle. The first time you really looked into his eyes. When you hold your baby for the first time. The moment you answer the phone to hear about the loss of a loved one. The look on your best friends face when she tells you that she got kicked out of school. The first time you cuddled and his hand just barely brushed your thigh. They aren’t always huge life altering moments that you think would stick out in your mind forever, but as time passes they are the ones you find yourself coming back to.

All in an instant.

One sentence and suddenly a thousand moments came flooding back to me. Sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing while my ex sat in front of me. The first time that smooth talking cowboy came into the office. Her face when she told me they were dating.

Out of order and just as powerful as the first time they happened.

A razor blade in a shower. Screaming and begging him to open the door so I can confront him about cheating on me. Hot pink high heels. The look on his roommates face. On his boat, as he turns back to me and smiles. Running into the door, giddy after our first date.

But now there are new moments.

A Facebook message about playing the guitar. A hot July night, when we hugged for the first time. A North Face jacket. His hand on my knee driving down from the mountain top.

And now this.

While sausage was frying and rice was boiling, a moment that I won’t ever forget. I’m not sure what the future holds, but I do know that everything happens for a reason. And I’m glad it happened to me too. All of it. Because I never would have met him.

-L

Vulnerability

Posted on by ezl0022

Does it come easy to you? Being vulnerable?

I think my generation views vulnerability as a dirty word. I read one of those dramatic and insightful Elite Daily articles on Facebook recently about how we have already broken the heart of our future spouse. We as in our generation. We are so accepting of all types of love, and were a huge force behind the marriage equality act, but do we really know how to love? Or rather, do we know how to be vulnerable? It said that because of the dating culture we have created, where we have so many intimate encounters with people we have no intention of marrying, we have let down our future husband or wife.

“It is rare to take a group of mid-20-year-olds and come to find at least half of them have not been intimate with another (or several) in their group. Odds are more than half have shared a sexual encounter with more than one person in the group.”

 Not to get preachy, but I found so much truth in it. Not for religious reasons alone, but for social ones. I have quite literally lived the above scenario in my last year at SFA. It was a new type of “dating” that I did not fit in with, no matter how hard I tried. I’m not being self-righteous, it was just a lesson I learned. I cannot date casually.

Vulnerability has always come easy to me.

Maybe it is my empathetic nature, or my blind trust that people are inherently good, but I am pretty much an open book. That’s not to say that I am vulnerable around everyone, but if I have deemed you trustworthy, you are seeing and talking to the most real and honest version of myself.

I’m not good at talking about my feelings. I learned that in my first serious relationship.

But I am good at feeling them.

In fact, I hold nothing back in that regard. When I commit, you better believe I will go down with that ship. I’m not talking about Jack and Rose floating in the water while she holds his hand. I’m talking about pulling your ass up onto that door with me, even if it means we both drown.

When I love, I love hard. That includes all types of love..friendships, family, and boyfriends. When I hurt, it cuts deep. And when I get angry? Honest to God angry and betrayed? I haven’t met a single person who has come back into my life after that, even if they tried.

I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I am in the minority here. I think I represent a pretty average twenty something woman in my generation. Other people are just like me…feeling so deeply that they just don’t think they can stand it. But people my age avoid vulnerability, and avoid feeling deeply, at all costs! And why? To protect yourself? One of my best friends has said to me if you don’t get close to people they can’t let you down. And if your don’t get your hopes up, you won’t be disappointed when real life happens. But the same woman has so many dreams and fantasies about her fairy tale life. And those same people still want what we all really want.

We talk about wanting it! About wanting someone to be vulnerable with, who won’t bolt for the door and who knows just what to say. But I am asking you how can you obtain that kind of love if you don’t open your heart and take that terrifying step that turns into falling?

If you guard your heart so fiercely, how will you know when it’s okay to unlock that gate?

If I have learned one thing in the brief romantic experiences I have lived through, it is that the heart is not anything if not resilient. Despite falling so hard, and feeling so deep, it recovers. Not without scars and caution tape, but still it beats on and continues to love. And guess what? Even if you try to harden yourself against the pain, you will still feel it. Try as it might, your brain does not feel in the same manner as your heart. So you can tuck the pain neatly away in the corner, and pretend it doesn’t exist, but it will eventually find it’s way to the light, sometimes in the most surprising ways.

Like for instance, a year after you have been broken up with the only man you have ever seriously loved.

You have healed on your own, moved on, and made peace with your experiences. And not the “OH yeah, I’m so over him I just still text him every Friday night and cry into a bottle of wine,” kind of healing. I mean you have grown up, fallen for other people who didn’t work out but served their purpose in reminding you that you will love again, and can truly say that you are happy without him.

And then you meet someone else.

Not just any someone. A different someone. Like a real deal, tell your Mama, butterflies and kisses, is this real life kind of someone.

And what do we immediately do? Compare them. To the former one. It’s not smart, or fair, but we all do it. It may be for different reasons, and it is completely and wholeheartedly terrifying to imagine that they are doing the exact same thing, but we do it. And slowly but surely they peel away those layers, and prove to you that they are not, in fact, your ex. He is not going to cheat on you (emotionally or physically) with his ex-girlfriend. He is not in this for the physical aspect. He is not going to claim he wants freedom and then turn around and date one of your best friends. He really wants to take you out to nice dinners, and buy you that new fishing rod, and yes, you are really going home with him to meet his family.

And it is still there…that tiny desire to push away. To test, to see if they are genuine. To nit pick your relationship to bare bones and see if it still stands. And there is a small caution sign in your heart still waiting to light up with the words “I Told You So”.

But trust me you guys, it is so worth it. To be vulnerable. To open up and give in, as we say, to all the feels.

Even if it doesn’t work out, and you are broken once more, each time you pick yourself back up you are gaining knowledge about what you want out of love. Gaining experiences that will shape the way you continue to love, and gaining perspective on your own heart and it’s failures. Those lessons are invaluable, but they cannot be learned by detaching yourself from what you feel.

So put down your trashy magazines and pick up that Jane Austen novel. Stop seeking permanent comfort in temporary conditions. Allow yourself the luxury of feeling everything from the kiss on your lips to the tingling in your stomach when he grabs your hand. Don’t look away when he looks you in the eye because you are so afraid he can see what you are thinking. Embrace the fear, and fall into it.

Faith hope and love are the things that He gave us, and the greatest is love.

-L

What it’s like to be “The Girl from Texas”

Posted on by ezl0022

Texas, Our Texas! All hail the mighty State!

Texas, Our Texas! So wonderful so great!

Other than a short three year period where I lived in Boca Raton, Florida (to which I give credit for my initial Spanish skills, bleach blonde hair, and desire to travel) I have lived in Texas my entire life. Good ole Texas. Tejas. The Lone Star State.

Home of dance halls, several former presidents (looking good there GB Sr.), performers (ummmm Beyoncé end of story), Wranglers, it’s own genre of country music, Whataburger, and Blue Bell ice cream.

Where football is king, unless your talking about George Strait, y’all is an official pronoun, summers are hot, the women are hotter, tea is sweet and those southern men are sweeter. We love our guns almost as much as we love our country, and we always support our troops. We are damn proud to be Americans, but deep down we know that God blessed Texas with his own hands.

And we can’t help it. Growing up in a state so amazing gives us the right to brag. And even though I will sit here and say Texas forever, I do believe it is important to leave at some point. Even if all it does is confirm your belief that you never want to live anywhere else, leaving the place where the stars at night are big and bright is a vital step to appreciating the land you call home.

When you do leave, there are a few things you learn about you and your two-stepping compadres back in Texas, and I have compiled this list to teach you a little something about how that goes.

 You will get asked about Texas. A lot.

“What’s it like living somewhere with state pride? Did y’all really think about seceding?” It’s fan-freaking-tastic, and no. Unless you ask any adolescent man between the ages of 16-20 in which case they might actually want to secede. “Why is Rick Perry running for President?” I don’t know buddy but we don’t all claim him. “Is illegal immigration like a really big deal there? Do people wear cowboy hats?” Yes and yes. “Wait, like every day?” You should really try it sometime…

Texas is just as fascinating to other people as it is to us. They want to know all of the juicy details about living in a place that thinks so highly of itself. And you are happy to tell them.

 You don’t realize how much you talk about Texas.

You will find yourself bringing it up a lot. Both intentionally and unintentionally! Sometimes it is just to remind those around you that you are a true Texan, and sometimes it because you are just used to talking about how great your state is. I’m not sure if this applies elsewhere, but back home my friends and I talked about our great state pretty regularly, which is a conversation topic I’m just not willing to let go.

 You will miss so many things about your home state.

Mexican food was to be expected, right? We grew up learning the mantra that Texas has this segment of the restaurant industry locked down. But there are other things you will realize you had been taking for granted. Like Schlitterbahn, seeing the state flag everywhere, boys in starched jeans and cowboy hats, Cane’s, honky tonks, HEB and Whataburger. Oh sweet sweet Whataburger. I salute you HBCB….and don’t forget to put bacon on your patty melts.

You’ll miss the variety. No matter where you are (except maybe the panhandle but no one really counts it anyway), there is a beautiful state park ready for fishing or hiking within a 30 minute drive. Big cities, small towns, open plains, rolling hills, and pinewood forests–Texas has it all. So head on out to Pedernales or Enchanted Rock and drink you a cold Shiner.

 You know more about your state than most other people know about theirs. 

For this point to be made I want you to read a conversation had between myself, and a fellow grad student from Connecticut.

Yankee– Oh gosh…it’s one of those annoying mockingbirds. Such a nuisance.

Proud Texan aka Me– *most likely much more abrasively than intended* Hey! Don’t be hateful. The mockingbird is the state bird of Texas!

Yankee– Really? Wait why do you know your state bird?

Me– The same reason I know that our state tree is the pecan tree, the state flower is the bluebonnet

(but don’t forget the yellow rose of Texas), and the state reptile is the horny toad.

Yankee– Oh Gosh.

 You’re damn right I know my state bird.

 You will suddenly be compelled to say “Howdy!” as your primary greeting. 

I’m not sure why…it just happens.

You are now officially “The Girl from Texas”

Or the guy–whatever! Inevitably a moment will occur when you forget you aren’t in Texas, so you don’t need to acknowledge that Texas is where you hail from. Or if you’re like me…you feel a burning need to inform people you are from Texas, even if they didn’t ask. But your peers and friends are always there to remind you that you are different from all of these regular folks 😉 It becomes your identifier, and you wear that badge with honor.

All in all, I wouldn’t give up my label as a Texan for anything! It brings your pride and some great conversation starters. Watching someone’s face light up when you tell them where you are from, and then proceed to dive into a story or memory having to do with Texas is a pretty great feeling.

God bless you Texas! And keep you brave and strong,

That you may grow in power and worth, throughout the ages long.

-L

It’s Not You, It’s Me

Posted on by ezl0022

It’s a phrase that is so often used to soften the blow of breaking a heart. The cliche is usually taken with a grain of salt, shortly followed by tequila and lime! But despite being over used, it’s usually true. When people get dumped they try to figure out what they did wrong, why they weren’t enough, etc, when often times it REALLY wasn’t you. It was them! But it’s so hard to accept that, right?

To accept that, despite your best efforts, your dazzling personality, and stunning good looks, it just didn’t work. And you can’t control it. I think the reason that hurts so bad, is because you didn’t see it coming. So how could you, brilliant and brave and honest, have not seen this coming? What kind of fool have you turned into?

A year ago I was taking back a man that I thought I would end up spending the rest of my life with. Today, I’m “alone”, single, whatever you want to call it, but I have never been happier. How is that possible? How could just one year change so many things. About me, about my life…it’s mind boggling!

The last time I wrote I was doing it therapeutically. And now I am writing a resolution to that post.  Writing things down forces you to admit they are true, and it keeps you honest. I was putting the final nail in the metaphorical coffin that was a dear friendship. Because writing it down forced me to realize that it wasn’t them, it was me.

Don’t get me wrong, they made poor choices. And were careless, and thoughtless in regard to other people’s feelings. I am not defending or condoning their actions because what they did, hurt me. Though I would not have done the same in their shoes, I wanted desperately to forgive them, because it would mean finally letting go of all the anger, and all the hurt.

And I tried every day.

I tried to pray about it, but I took nothing to heart. I was so bitter. Searching for an answer, a reason as to why I deserved this. It was all their fault, wasn’t it?

It was. I was not at fault, I didn’t choose betrayal and I didn’t choose disregard for my friendships. But I did choose anger. I chose to make her uncomfortable by hanging around, when it tortured me. I chose bitter. I didn’t think it was up to me, but it is always up to me to determine my course of action. My game plan. My recovery. It wasn’t my first heartbreak. It wasn’t even my worst! So why did it hurt so, so bad?

Writing that last post was like the lightbulb going off, showing me that I was in control.

I no longer looked at old photos with longing, I looked at them with pity. What a shame, to have lost friends over a guy.

I no longer saw his name on my screen and felt butterflies, I felt dissappointment, that he wasn’t the man I thought him to be.

I no longer questioned my choice to come to Auburn because I was afraid of leaving them behind, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I am strong enough to do this.

I no longer felt the need to obsess over messages, or voicemails, or stolen glances because I knew that because of what happened to me, I deserved so much better.

How valuable was a friendship that could be so easily stolen?

How honorable was a man who would disregard feelings so easily?

How true were the other, surrounding friendships, if they couldn’t stand this trial?

In my eyes, that friendship was no longer valuable. That man was no longer worthy of my love and affection. And those friends, who knew right from wrong? They will always hold a special place in my heart.

In my eyes. In my heart. According to me.

My standards. My affection. My emotion.

Guess what isn’t part of the equation?

So I sit here tonight, at what is the happiest, most confident point in my life I can recall to date, saying that I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive the man who I always knew I had met at the wrong time in my life. And I forgive the woman who took advantage of that. I forgive my friends who didn’t flip tables in rebellion when they hurt me. I know you are just trying to keep your heads above water, and I can’t ask you to defend me. And I forgive myself, for falling so deeply into something I saw coming.

So it might not be today for you. Time heals, and had you asked me a couple months ago I would still be a very bitter woman. But one day, when you are fighting whatever battle it is you are fighting, you will realize, it’s you. It has always been you.

And I think, if they were being honest with themselves, and they ever saw me again they would reflect and think,”It wasn’t you. It was me.”

-L

A Letter to a Former Friend

Posted on by ezl0022

“Loving yourself takes practice. It takes intention.”

It’s been a while since I’ve had something to write about on my blog. The day after Valentine’s day I started a post about the value of friendship, and the wonderful group dynamic I had found in my new friends.

A lot has changed since then.

Before spring break, I thought the worst form of betrayal was losing the man you love. Turns out it wasn’t. I have never felt more hurt than when I found out a woman I considered one of my best friends was now dating that smooth talking cowboy that I hadn’t quite gotten over. Maybe it hurt more because I never expected my friend to hurt me that way. As a loyal person, a friend, and even just as another woman, I will never understand that. How could someone who just a few weeks earlier, comforted me as I worried myself sick about why I wasn’t enough for him to commit to, turn around and drive that feeling home? Who just a few weeks earlier was into another guy. Who just a few weeks earlier was someone I trusted with the most vulnerable information that I keep close to my heart. We had commiserated about our exes, and how even though we had come so far, we were still damaged. How even though we had gained confidence, we were still learning to love ourselves.

And now out of nowhere I was crushed. I had worked so hard to love myself, surrounded myself with these people who were supposed to have my best interest at heart, the same way I had theirs. I watched in a 3rd person haze as our group dynamic completely changed the day I found out. I couldn’t be brave. I couldn’t be strong “for the group”. I felt those oh so familiar waves of anxiety coming on, pushing me towards break down. I had to get out of there.

So I did. And for a few weeks I didn’t see any of them. People I had become accustomed to seeing three times a week, I barely spoke to.

Even with the support of my best friends, even people I wasn’t close to who assured me that it was, “so messed up.”  Friends of friends who had shared the story, sending me messages, encouraging me that I was going places in life, and had so much to look forward to. Even then I couldn’t ignore the hurt.

Still I dived deeper and deeper into self doubt and inescurity. Reliving every thing I had told her about him. About me. Reliving every moment I spent with him. Every conversation we had. Every late night. Every kiss. Why wasn’t I enough? What lesson comes from this pain? I couldnt even bring myself to pray about it because thinking about it that much moved me to tears. I was in this odd balance of not thinking about it, but also being consumed by it.

“Loving yourself takes practice. It takes intention.”

So, for the sake of consistency, I have chosen a couple months after the initial stab wound, to reopen it just a little, to write this letter to my former friend.

Dear Former Friend,

It should come as no surprise to you that I am writing this, and if it does, well then I guess we weren’t as close as I thought. But then again I think that has been established. It hurts me to think about this more so than I wish to admit. Still, months later, the sting of your betrayal buzzes a constant, persistent pain deep in my core. I blocked you on Facebook, because one thing I have learned about social media is that by simply clicking a button you can remove a lot of self inflicted pain. And we both know I don’t need any more of that.

In fact, let’s take a trip down memory lane, to the days when you would come into the office, and sit with me for hours, getting to know me. Advising me. Comforting me. Remember how open I was? How honest? How I told you of the perils of my ex, heart on my sleeve, almost in tears. How we laughed about that smooth talking cowboy who came to the office to “chat” just a little too often. How excited I was to tell you that I loved being around him…but no no I’m not falling for him. How you looked at me with cautious eyes when I told you about our late night conversations, and his ability to make me forget about the world around me. But don’t worry, I promise I’m not falling for him…just having fun.

You told me about your ex. We commiserated, talking at length about how men can cause us so much heartache. You helped me grow in my faith, constantly assuring me that God was taking care of me and that I just needed to pray about it.

I told you about cutting myself when my ex left me for the first time, and how somewhere in my mind I knew that would never leave me. That I saw it as a failure. But, look at us! We had made so much progress. And we are beautiful, smart young women, who don’t need a man’s attention. Except that I started to. And you watched it happen. The casual mention turned into a regular occurrence. I didn’t just say his name in passing, but I started to talk about him all the time, this smooth talking cowboy. And I was going crazy trying to figure him out and play the game but no, never fall for him. And you hated him. You spoke of how much you disliked the way he treated me. And how he just “rubbed you the wrong way.” I tried fervently to explain to you the side other people didn’t see. The laughter behind his eyes. The tender in his touch. How I wish I could go back in time.

We laughed about my late nights. We danced, we drank, we became best friends. And when things started falling apart you spoke words of kindness and assurance. That I was wonderful, and he was an idiot for not seeing it. That I shouldn’t concern myself with someone who isn’t willing to commit to me. You dried my tears, and calmed my anxiety as my feelings of insufficiency crept back in.

And then I sensed a shift. In the way you spoke to me. And the way he spoke to you. At first I thought it was all in my head, but then I was almost certain that my worst nightmare was coming true. And it did. When you told me, eyes on the ground, that the two of you were dating, it was quite possibly the single most painful sentence I have ever had to hear. Because we both knew, me with my numbed silence, and you with your shameful stare, that I had fallen for him. Despite my best efforts, we both knew that I was in love with him.

It’s true, for weeks I had been trying to move back to being just friends with him…God what a cliche. But I think most people would agree that does not excuse your actions. I try every day to forgive you, but I can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m sure you are glad that I am gone and left east Texas so you can pursue a life with a man who exemplifies the majority of the qualities you have been telling me for the last 8 months that you don’t like in a man. But I guess getting attention changed your mind. Settling works for some people.

I have tried every day to forget. But I can’t. I sit here in my new apartment shaking because this situation makes me so upset. Not even just because I lost a man that I never really had, but because I lost my friends. Your actions changed the entire group dynamic because guess what? They all knew how much you hurt me. I tried to act like nothing had changed but how could I when everything had so obviously changed? Just a few weeks earlier you were crushing on a different man in our group of

friends. Just a couple weeks earlier I had broken the new “just friends” rule I had laid down for myself. And you knew about it.

How could I act the same when every time I was around the two of you, you threw yourself on him like a high schooler with her first boyfriend? Never leaving his side, touching him constantly, shooting me dirty looks when I walked up. I’m glad you weren’t worried about throwing it in my face. I watched in horror all the while keeping a smile on my face. I knew I made you so uncomfortable, and quite frankly, I should.

I know nothing I say will make you believe what you did was wrong, because as the strong Christian woman I took you to be, I know you would never do anything you thought to be morally wrong. Besides, “Your girlfriends come first.” Right?

This will probably be the last thing I ever say to you, if you ever read it, so I want to leave you with this. Despite my bitterness towards you, I hope that the two of you stay together. Forever. And get married happily in love. Because the only thing that made me keep my head above water was telling myself that everything happens for a reason, and maybe my role in your lives was to bring the two of you together. Because you were soulmates.

That being said, you better hope he keeps you warm at night, because you are a cold bitch.

Sincerely,

 A woman betrayed.

I’m not the type of person to feel sorry for myself, but even I can’t deny that I have had some horrible luck in the area of relationships this year. I also recognize that it isn’t fair to hold this much anger towards my former friend, when it takes two to tango, and that cowboy pursued her. However, I think that as women that is just something we can’t control. She will always take the blame in my eyes. But aside from relationships? My last year at SFA was awesome.

I was so focused on everything wrong with me, it was so hard to see what was right. I came out of heart break and grew more as a person than ever before. I reached my goal GPA and graduated with honors from a university that I love whole heartedly. I got into my dream grad school program at AUBURN FREAKING UNIVERSITY, with tuition waived and a paid assistantship. I made tons of new friends. I put myself out there despite my fear of failure. I got to finally experience being a teacher and am completely in love with it. I have gotten stronger physically, and am taking so much better care of myself! I got a dog, finally tried dying my hair red, learned the guitar, and danced more than I ever have before.

So why is it so hard to look in the mirror and see the whole picture?

Why do I only see the girl whose friend didn’t think twice about hurting her. The girl who lost herself once again chasing a boy. The girl who has panic attacks, and cellulite, and a fear of never finding someone to love.

“Loving yourself takes practice. It takes intention.”

That is a quote from a woman in a video I watched not too far back, and it has brought me quite a bit of  comfort. It reminds me that every day is a new day to learn to love yourself a little more. Because it does take practice and intention, and it definitely doesn’t allow you to wallow in the pool of your own doubt and insecurity.

This too shall pass. 9 months ago I was completely broken at the hands of a man. 9 months from now I will no longer wake up every morning thinking about how much I miss the friendship of a man I should have never fallen for. And how he didn’t choose me.

I will wake up reminding myself that we all face harsh battles, and we bare scars as witness to our wounds. For me they are literal and figurative. But it is those same scars, those same wounds, that make us uniquely, genuinly, tragically, and magnificently ourselves.

And there is no one else I would rather be.

-L

When Anxiety Crosses The Line

Posted on by ezl0022

A young preteen is in the car with her mom on the way to her regular gymnastics practice, and it takes everything inside of her to stop the tears from pouring out, get out of the car, and walk into the gym. With knots in her stomach so tight she thinks she might be sick, she pushes her way through the doors. You are better than this. A few weeks later she quits. 

A high school sophomore on the JV basketball team clutches her knees to her chest as her mother enters the room and sees her daughter, sitting on her bed, tears running down her face. “Baby, what’s wrong?” “My leg hurts momma,” She says between caught breaths, “I can’t go to practice today, I just can’t. It hurts, and I hate running, and I’m not good enough.” “Okay sweetie, it’s okay, we’ll go to the doctor today, okay?”

18 years old and weeks away from graduation, the President of her school FFA chapter sits in a chair at home, with her retiring address speech grasped tightly in her hands, crumpled. She rocks back and forth while making any attempt to catch her breath, sobbing, while her parents stand in the room watching helplessly. 

A third year college student slides down the door, hitting the bathroom floor, head between her knees, crying uncontrollably, unable to breathe, while the man who just broke her heart sits in front of her, shakes his head and says, “Baby….please…stop…I had no idea you cared this much about me.”

These four girls all have one thing in common.

They are all me.

They are all me, in each of the moments I distinctly remember that my anxiety won.

I am the happy girl. The girl who has it all together. Or at least that’s what I make them think. I am constantly in a good mood because I don’t see any reason to make other people feel bad just because I feel bad. So I slap on the smile. I do the song and dance. I push to be the best at whatever the task at hand is. I’m busy, and I thrive on it. I don’t have time to stop because if I stop, it catches up to me. And by it, I mean my anxiety.

Usually I can control it, and I don’t consider myself an unhappy person. The only things that give me away are the nubs I call my bitten fingernails, and a leg that shakes. Usually my anxiety doesn’t interfere with my social life. But as long as I can remember it has been there.

My constant companion.

Anxiety is different from other mental illnesses because it can show itself in many different forms. My anxiety’s favorite forms are waves of depression and melancholy, and a very defensive nature about touchy subjects. For as long as far back as I can see.

As an average high school basketball player, my need to be the best ate at me every single day. Before school, after school, and Saturday practices. Other girls were faster, stronger, better. I was so determined to prove myself worthy of being on the team that I played the entire pre-season on a really bad stress fracture in my tibia that the doctor said, “I shouldn’t even be walking on without pain.” Even typing that sentence makes me feel like I am making excuses, and I’m better than that. So, after going to the doctor and missing district play, I quit. For the first time in my life I accepted that I wasn’t good enough, and became more involved in the National FFA Organization.

Which I excelled at. My desire to be the best guided me through the club with very little issue. I became a good speaker, learned how to make people like me, put my head down and piled on the work. Before long I was chapter President, and excelling at everything I tried. When I knew the end of my high school FFA career was approaching I made myself sick to my stomach day after day worrying about it. I had created a bubble where I was one of, if not the best at what I was doing in my chapter. I was popular in the ag circle, admired by underclassmen, appreciated by my mentors, and at home in my surroundings. Until I couldn’t be anymore.

Until life happened, and I had to leave, and prove myself all over again.

Which I successfully did in about two years. For lack of a better phrase, I was making college my bitch. And then he came into the picture. He claimed I was everything he wanted–driven, independent, well dressed and well respected. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I fell in love, hopelessly devoted. And then in the blink of an eye it was crumbling in front of me. He left me in Nacogdoches to go visit his ex girlfriend’s mom in the hospital, in the middle of our biggest fight. When I surprised him on Christmas day, he embraced me with open loving arms. Until discussion rolled around and he responded by telling me he loved me, he just didn’t want to be with me.

So I broke down because I wasn’t enough, but this time it wasn’t just my athletic ability, which I could blame on genetics and mother nature.

It was just me. Vulnerable, honest, and broken.

And boy did it break me.

If you have never experienced a panic attack it is a difficult thing to describe. Both of mine have felt like I had bricks on my chest while I was crying, but the more I tried to catch my breath, the more the tears came out and the harder it was. My heart was racing and felt like it was in between my eyes. My mind wasn’t just focused on being upset, or what caused the explosion, it was running 100 miles a minute while I hyperventilated, reliving every moment of anxiety in the last day, week, year….the time period changes. My vision got blurry and at several moments I remember thinking, and kind of wishing, I would just pass out.

And then the storm clouds dissipated. My heart rate slowed, my breathing regained normal rhythm, and all I wanted to do was sleep.

My entire life I have suffered from being a “perfectionist.” I say suffered, but perfectionism hasn’t caused me pain, anxiety has. Perfectionism has blessed me with good grades, a friendly and like-able nature, and a love of busy schedules and challenge. Anxiety on the other hand, has done me no favors.

It has made athletics something I began to dread in 4th grade after realizing I wouldn’t be the best. It made me quit playing the cello after junior high because I was so afraid I wouldn’t have been good enough in high school. I quit gymnastics because the thought of doing it competitively made me want to cry. It made me back out of performing a cello solo at a choir concert because I didn’t want to fail in front of that many people.

It makes me avoid group workout classes, and turn down numerous offers to go jogging with friends because, what if I’m not as good as them? It has caused stomach knots, and skin conditions. Tears shed and burned bridges. But by far the most pain it has caused me have been in affairs of the heart.

———————————————————–

Anxiety takes all of those normal relationship fears and amplifies them. Combine that with an already insecure man and boy are you in for a tragic show.

Lying there broken on the bathroom floor while he stood over me was probably the third lowest point I have ever reached in my life. The second lowest was a couple weeks later when I began to cut my shoulder in the shower because it stopped me from crying. And the lowest point was after I took him back, because then I had lost myself entirely. I gave up time with friends, going out, arguments, and any ounce of confidence or dignity I had left. But it was okay, because he loved me. I was being who he said he wanted. All three of my life’s lowest points have happened this year.

I wish I had known then, that anyone who made me feel that low, could never reciprocate the kind of love I wanted forever. The kind I deserve.

But we accept the love we think we deserve, right? And the second time around I wasn’t over ll of the things I hated about myself.

Ever since my ex and  I broke up for the first time I have been changed. I think I always will be. But this change, for now, is not the change that helped me grow. It tore me down. After dating him the second time? I was done for. As weeks passed by the strain of everyday was more and more noticeable.

But I am the happy girl.

I started avoiding going home because when I got home all I wanted was sleep. I would stay at the ag building or at friends houses looking for things to do, working on assignments until 7, 8, sometimes 9 pm. At the end of everyday I was exhausted from putting on the show that had become my life. At least 5 days a week, I went out. To eat, for drinks, to dance, to party, It didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t stop. I stopped eating, not to lose weight but because I didn’t have an appetite. And the worst part was that I hated myself for not being able to correct whatever this problem was. But I didn’t stop.

 Constant Interaction = Constant Distraction
 But I am the happy girl.

I came home for break and, with no distractions at my disposal for every hour of the day, the anxiety intensified. Reliving moments with my ex. Analyzing every word I said or action I made with the charmer I fell for after him. Things that happened in September keeping me awake at night. My stomach in knots and my attitude defensive. Obsessively checking Facebook to see if either of them have posted anything new.

 My mind is still racing, and I don’t know how to make it stop. Which is why I need help.

Before this a handful of people knew about the cutting. God that sounds embarrassing doesn’t it? Cutting…like a teen who just bought her first gauge earrings from hot topic. I only did it for a brief period of time. A few weeks max. But those cuts ran deep. I never dealt with the demons I was left with after the night in that bathroom.

I still can’t sleep and a lot of times still don’t want to eat. However, the first step to correcting a problem is admitting you have one. And although I have always known about my anxiety, I have never reached out for help with it.

Because I am the happy girl.

I have felt like I was on the verge of panic attack for the last five days. A few nights ago I made the decision to see a counselor when I go back to school.

I am surrounded by people who love and support me. It’s okay to be mad or depressed. It’s not okay to repress and ignore it to the point of panic attack just because I am the happy girl.

So to every happy girl out there who expresses her deepest fears and feelings through thoughtful Pinterest quotes, I understand. From one happy girl to another I know what you are going through and I want you to know that it is okay to not be happy.

Find your people. The ones you don’t have to try for. The only people I can go numb around are those closest to me.  The people I don’t have to be “on” for. Find those people in your life and hang on to them tightly, for they are an escape. An escape from your own mind. An escape from your constant companion.

It does not define you. It will not break you.

You are not broken.

You will be happy.

You will be loved.

You are enough.

-L