Power Reclamation

I’d like to say that since my last post, things have gotten better, classes have become more manageable, the fear has lessened — that I have everything under control. However, that is not the case. A part of me wants to say they have gotten worse.

See here’s the thing, I had a breakdown spiritual awakening recently.
I find that my Higher Power works with the WORST (best) timing.

So I work for this youth leadership development program. Its the best job I’ve ever had. It embodies two of my three deepest passions in life — leadership & youth. And I mean, you guys, we really do some phenomenal stuff with our kids! Like really! Disclaimer: I am not being paid to write this ;) We do these awesome activities that are interactive and relevant, and yes its fun – absolutely. But its so much more than that – Its authentic, and real, and deep, and its raw. Most of the concepts we teach, I didn’t even know of, much less learn until adulthood. In fact, I’m still learning most of them.

So a few weeks ago we were doing this activity that had to do with emotional security (What is this emotional security stuff you speak of?! For youth?!… My thoughts exactly). Essentially this activity is one of those ‘write down your fears on a piece of paper and then you burn it to represent you’re letting go’ deals. (We burn this in a fake fire, by the way). We’re in a staff meeting that Monday morning going over/ doing this lesson and I nearly lose it. One of those – don’t make eye contact, put your head down, don’t speak, *please don’t call on me, please don’t call on me* type situations. Otherwise, I would have lost it right then and there.

Now hold on for a second, this is one of my favorite lessons out of our whole curriculum, in fact, next month I’m presenting at a conference over this exact lesson. Yeah, so not only am I thinking:

“What the hell am I doing here!? I have to go and make this experience happen with my kids in a few hours” but I am also thinking “AND I have to present this shit at a conference!!!! Again, what the hell am I doing here?!”

The meeting ends, I (attempt to) go about my business for a little while, then lunch rolls around. Luckily no one else was ready for lunch, so I’m sitting there alone; ready to break. I can’t speak, or else I really would lose it – in the middle of the office. So I do the next best thing: I reach out to a coworker/ good friend via email.  I let her know the real deal. I let her know that she needs to fix me, or there’s going to be this big, sopping, snotty mess here in the middle of the office. Ha, no I didn’t tell her to fix me, and even if I did ask that of her, she knows better. I’m grateful for that, and her. I was desperate for her to respond, like 5 seconds ago – As soon as I sent the email, I text her and messaged her via Linc. She got the message (both literally and figuratively). She responded the kind of way that makes you turn into that snotty mess there in the middle of the office. But also the kind of response that speaks truth to the core of your being – the TRUTH-TELLER, HOPE-SPREADER,
& WAY-MAKER kind.

Anyway, that was the beginning of my breakdown spiritual awakening. It didn’t all get better overnight and it still isn’t better. But its getting better. My circumstances haven’t changed. My professors are still assholes – I mean, my courseload isn’t any lighter. I still feel overwhelmed. But I am making changes. I am changing. I am being made new. I am being restored. I am being an intentional choice-maker. I am doing the footwork and trying to leave the results up to my Higher Power. And in my powerlessness, I am taking back my power. My circumstances do not dictate my decisions, my time, nor my life.

Throughout my entire life, I have been extremely active in sports. My latest endeavor has been CrossFit and weightlifting. However, I put this aside over the past year – because I’m too busy. I pick it back up tomorrow morning, though. Because…

“When I pick up that weight, the kind on my shoulders are lifted as well
because I’m here to take back my power.”

Awakening, J

OHT: Obsessive Highlighting Tendencies

I began my Spring semester courses this past Tuesday. That morning, I read the syllabus for one of my classes and the first test listed was a ‘Syllabus Quiz.’ I was baffled; I laughed and I mocked the professor who finds it necessary to give graduate students a syllabus quiz. I mean, if students who have been in school for this long and can’t, or chooses not to read the syllabus, that’s on them (me). I don’t need a quiz to motivate me to read the syllabus, I highlight (with multiple and all colors, of course), underline, and circle all over my syllabus the moment I print it out! I actually do this with all of my readings, assignments, and in my planner. Which, I’m sure some psychoanalyst-type would tell me its a sick obsession and a false notion of control. And they’re probably right (they are), but whatever, I love my highlighters! I got new ones for the start of the semester!

Classes began, I obsessed about my syllabi, and I spent the following days in blissful joy that classes had started again. Now, you should also know (if you didn’t catch by my OHT, which is obsessive highlighting tendencies, of course) that I LOVES school.

However, this can be a double edged sword. I am one of those types that loves, like has a deep  love for learning and for and the institution that provides me with a structured facet to not only learn, but to (begrudgingly) learn a lot in a fairly short period of time. There is no doubt that I love the outcome of school (sense of accomplishment, self-pride, deeper knowledge, gained experiences, etc.)

The process, on the other hand, is often a different story. Ask anyone who is close to me about my feelings of school and they’ll tell you I love it! If you then inquire how many calls, texts, and conversations we have in my asking them for prayers, good vibes, perspective, or suggestions regarding my struggles with school, they’ll tell you its numerous and ongoing. Anytime someone responds sympathetically after asking what I’ve been up to as I say something like, “writing more and more papers,” my boyfriend will jump in and say “Oh, don’t feel bad for her, she LOVES that stuff!” And it’s true, I do. But I still can hate the process.

I have never before, nor do I think I ever will, have a deeper love/ hate relationship with anything than I do with the institution of school. I love and hate everything about the process of school; of reading long articles and multiple text books, of writing a lengthy variety of papers, of grasping and applying concepts, of deadlines, etc.

After my blissful couple of days, I remembered why I hate it. By this coming Wednesday (8 days after classes began), I will have turned in 26 different assignments, both short and long, easy and hard. But 26!? As I write this, I am on a break upon the suggestion of one of those people I call/ text asking for encouragement. During this break, I’ve tried to figure out  why I can’t get a single thing on paper, why I am so frustrated, angry even; why I have an assignment due tonight and three tomorrow, yet still can’t write (though I am fantastic under pressure), and why I am having such a hard time being interested in the very material I have a passion for.

The conclusion?
Fear.

At the start of every semester, I am inevitably overcome with fear (often the paralyzing kind). I fear not being good enough, I fear not doing well, I fear that I’ll miss an assignment. I fear I’ll turn in an assignment that is so far off of the material that the professor wonders if I read, or tried, or even if I just copy/ pasted some other assignment onto this one. I fear that my professors won’t like my work when it IS about the material. I even fear that I won’t give it my all or my best. I fear a lot of things in starting each semester. This fear falls away after I get comfortable, but until then, I usually white knuckle my way through those first few weeks, knowing it will pass. But why? Why should I make myself miserable by white knuckling it if there is something that can change?

I called my mom yesterday, hysterical, after feeling the pressure of that weight and fear. My mom always know what to say to make me feel okay again, even just hearing her voice was healing enough. After being on the phone for almost an hour, one of the last things she said to me was:

“Jen, you know its okay to not make all A’s, right?”

To that, I began hysterically crying again, eventually mustering the words: ‘I know.’
But inside I was screaming “WHAT! Are you crazy?! No that is not okay! I have to give my best! Sometimes, I give my best and I make a B or C, and that sucks, but I’m okay with it. But, these classes, these classes are my passion, and my passion deserves my best, and my best will get me A’s! So no, its not okay to not make A’s!!!!”
I knew she was right, though. I know she’s right. I don’t feel that, and I don’t believe that at the moment. But I know she’s right. It is okay not to make all A’s. And its okay to give my best in other places, resulting in only giving my assignments three-quarters best. And here’s why:

Because, at the end of the day, people are who matter.
My people. Your people. I people. Us people.

When I chronically sacrifice my people for the sake of having to give my best for this assignment (and a grade), I am not the only one who is sacrificing, my people are. They lose on receiving the best me, I lose in receiving the best them, and I lose on giving my best me to the ones in whom matter the absolute most.

There is balance in this. I found a glimpse of this today. And maybe tomorrow
I will find an even bigger portion.

Awakening, J

The Heart Behind the Passion, & The Fear (COURAGE) Under It All

As I have previously shared, “there have been (significant) periods of my life where I did no writing at all. This ensued from an egotistical notion that vulnerability within relationships was futile. My abandonment of writing was based on a concept that I no longer needed the deep-rooted love, acceptance, affirmation or affection that my soul so deeply craves.” I have been sitting on this post for more than a few days (weeks). I would type some just to delete it and then type more to again delete it. This process persisted as I would write & erase, write – erase – (re)write – erase, and then write again… Classic writer’s block. (Yes you’re right, I just shared that when my wall was shattered, the words began to flow again and I had to write! Right, right… Back to reality though – Woe to me, for writer’s block still occurs on occasion!)

“If I don’t have the ability to be vulnerable but I am required to be brave — What’s left except to fake being tough? But being tough means we’re super cynical and we’re super critical of others who are putting themselves out there. Vulnerability is never easy, and it almost always feels terrible. However, there is no evidence that otherwise suggests that vulnerability is anything but courage.”
– Brené Brown

Bravery is confronting pain or danger with no feelings of fear while courage is the ability to confront an overwhelming amount of adversity or pain despite the eminent and very real presence of fear. I needed to be brave, but I didn’t have the ability to be vulnerable.

Bravery alone never got me writing. Courage though, courage got me writing.
Courage is the very thing that allows the lion to look death in the face and remain steadfast, relentless,  and unwavering in position and purpose.

I was then confronted with danger and pain, the kind that involved fear that was very real. My mom called my brother and I two days after her 52nd birthday and shared what the doctors had found. And what the doctors had found was a diagnosis that left me with two choices: One that would allow those intimately beautiful parts of me to remain in that coffin, airless and lifeless; leaving me practically unscathed. The second though, was a straight- guaranteed route to the excruciating & terrifyingly unpredictable nature that the future held. When our family was given this news, I was mid-semester in the midst of my junior year in college and couldn’t travel the 600-mile journey to make it next to my mom. The only option I had in being present, was through my words. I chose the latter of the two choices.  The latter though, forced me to stand relentless and steadfast in the face of the very real possibility that I might lose my mom at the age of 20 to a rare form of Stage II breast cancer. I didn’t care anymore though. I was willing to do anything to mitigate the blow this took upon my mom – I even would have taken this diagnosis on myself if I could have.

Because I obviously couldn’t take on the cancer for my mom, I knew that the next-best solution was to unlock that coffin and love my mom in the best way I knew how – words. I will never regret choosing the latter of those two choices for it has ultimately lead to the awakening of one of my deepest loves in this life – writing.

Awakening, J

awake my soul

“Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen. We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known. We honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.” – Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Who am I? Who are you? Who are WE? Perhaps these are loaded questions. Through the series of my writings here, I hope to provide you with the first question’s answer, perhaps to help you more deeply uncover the answer to that second question as question three’s answer is what I know for certain. The third question’s answer is really quite simple (despite the complexity we often place upon such an inquiry). You see, we may be diversified in a variety of ways, however, the infinite and enduring truth is that we are the same, you and me. We’re really not so different. If you’re unsure of this, I hope you’ll consider joining me on this adventure toward an unapologetically wild, liberated, and unguarded way of living.

The pen & paper has no judgment. It simply receives my truth and allows me to turn the page. I write because there are lessons to be found here, but mostly I do this so I can know me. Lately, as I write, I realize they’re as much for me as they may be for you. – Jax Teller, Sons of Anarchy

I am a writer. I always have been.

However, I have not always accepted this as a noteworthy contribution to humanity. For many years, I kept most of my writing to myself. This was due to fear. There have been other (significant) periods of my life where I did not write at all. This ensued from an egotistical notion that vulnerability within relationships was futile. That unfortunate resolution was a result of devastating and (seemingly) heart-shattering pain. The author of one of my favorite books (Carry On, Warrior), Glennon Melton, says that “if you’re sensitive enough to be a good writer, then you’re probably too sensitive to be apathetic about [negative] responses.” My abandonment of writing was based on a concept that I no longer needed the deep-rooted love, acceptance, affirmation or affection that my soul so deeply craves. The cost of this risk was just too high. Without the aforementioned things, my actual ability to write was eradicated. I had made a decision to dig a grave in the depths of my being, burying all of these intimately beautiful parts of me in a barbed wire wrapped and padlocked shut coffin. I thereafter threw away the key and built an 8 inch cement wall around this coffin. In doing this, I began to live in a sleepy, deadened state. Eventually, the agony of denying myself these essential sustenances-for-the-soul was greater than the cost of immense discomfort or excruciating pain & I began to crack under such pressures. Providentially, the cracks are where and how the light got in. This pressure-cracking experience will forever be my greatest fall back to grace. The moment I began allowing myself to become raw, and vulnerable, and messy… and real — Words began to flow once more and I began to write again. No. Thats inaccurate. I didn’t just write. I couldn’t NOT write. I HAD to write. As this took it’s effect, I first began by sharing my words with those closest to me. The time though, has come for me to honor the spiritual connection that you and I share.

So, here I am. Writing. Being vulnerable. Being honest. And scared. But real, nonetheless. And the freedom found in this is reclamation of my soul.

Awakening, J