Busyness

Brene Brown says that "crazy busy is an armor." But busyness is also a lot of other things. It is a pace of life, sometimes forced, sometimes chosen. It can be a cover-up. It can be an escape. It can be a badge of honor or a curse of culture. It can become an identity. I think it is always dangerous when we put our identity too much in any one things, so if you are a person, like me, who tends to be busy, maybe even who likes to be busy, here are a few questions to ponder:

Is my busyness stressful or purposeful? Is busyness happening to me, or am I choosing it? There is a big difference between letting our lives get overrun with needless to-dos, and actually choosing to do things because they matter to us.

Am I doing this because of anxiety or because of actual need or want? I can pursue busyness because I am anxious, because I need things to do to escape that anxiety (. (Spoiler alert, busyness just pushes off the anxiety and can make it come back stronger.) I can also end up busy because I have lots of great things to do, I have the energy to do them, and I want to do them.

"Whose house [am I] building and why?" (Frederick & Frederick, 2022) Who does this busyness serve? Does it serve my employer and "the man"? Does it serve me? Does it serve my family? Or is it doing the opposite. The dividends paid by my busyness matter.

Truth be told, I have not gotten my own busyness figured out. Sometimes I am crazy-busy. Sometimes I get close to crazy bored. Intent matters. Thinking about busyness a little more, maybe instead of busy work, might help us all!

References:

Frederick, R., & Frederick, S. (Hosts). (2022, April 19). Designing higher quality time. (no. 256) [Audio podcast episode]. In Fierce Marriage. https://fiercemarriage.com/designing-higher-quality-time

Marriot, S.,, & Kelley, A. (Hosts). (2018, July 19). Challenge Your “Busy” Identity – Gain Consciousness Over Your Pace. (no. 70). [Audio podcast episode]. In Therapist Uncensored. https://therapistuncensored.com/episodes/tu70-challenge-your-busy-identity-gain-consciousness-over-your-pace/

Entering the Social Foray

I'm going to enter the social foray for a moment. I may regret it, but the issue at hand is important enough to me to worth the risk. If you disagree, feel free to engage in healthy debate with me. I will discuss, but not argue. And I will not shame. As Brene Brown says, shame is never a good motivator.

With that being said, what I want to discuss is the saying, "God is still on the throne," or better yet, "God is still sovereign." I've seen some posts lately stating that this phrase can be associated with oppression. The argument is that the phrase denotes lack of action by God during horrific world events such as pestilence, famine, plague, and annihilation. If God is still on the throne, why doesn't He act? This philosophical question of why God allows suffering has been around for ages, and I'm not here to answer it. I am here to say that I believe in the truth that God is sovereign and I think we should still say it.

Some argue that instead of saying, "God is is still on the throne," we should say, "God is with us." I can agree with that statement. God is with us, dwelling on earth through the gracious deposit of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of believers. But to say, "God is with us," and not say, "God is still on the throne," I believe, is lacking in theological strength.

God is still on the throne. Scripture says so:

"The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them. He rebukes them in his anger and terrifies them in his wrath, saying, 'I have installed my king on Zion, my holy mountain'” (Ps 2:4-6, New International Version [NIV]).

"He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in" (Isaiah 40:22).

"But about the Son he says, “Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom" (Heb 1:8).

God is sovereign. His plans are higher than ours (Isa 55:8-11). He works all things together for our good (Rom 8:28). The circumstances of our lives may not feel good, but God is good, and he can use all things to bring Him glory.

But is the truth that God is sovereign sufficient theology? I argue that it is not. God is also with us. Jesus came to earth as "Immanuel," which means "God with us" (Matt 1:23). And He is coming back (1 Thess 4:16-17)! So it is right to say that God is with us. Let's add this to, "God is still on the throne."

If Jesus came to earth as a baby and ascended after his death and resurrection, though, is God still with us? Yes! God indwells believers through the Holy Spirit (John 14:16). He is a "deposit guaranteeing our inheritance" (Eph 1:14). God is not just sovereign, not just with us, but also in and among us! How cool is that?

God is still on the throne. God is with us. God is in us. The three go together. To make any one statement without the other denies the triune nature of God. And that borders on heresy. That is a problem.

So if you see statements about God being on the throne and you disagree, I encourage you to add an, "and still with us," "and still in us" rather than recommend erasure. Cancel culture gets us nowhere. Good theology? That's a start. For with good theology comes Christlike action, God-imaging, and Holy Spirit inspired movements. The world needs more of those.

*Thank you to my husband for his input into and review of this post.

United We Stand. Divided We Fall.

So many emotions. So many thoughts. To say nothing seems complicit. To say something risks worsening or escalating the situation. I want to do neither. What I want to do is share my heart, one of the driving purposes I have always had behind this blog. So here goes.

I am saddened. By the loss of life. By the resorts to violence. By the racial tensions and inequities that continue to plague our nation.

I feel fear. Fear for people of color I see on the streets. Fear for myself and my family as we walk the streets. Fear for the restaurants and businesses that just reopened and are now again economically hit. Fear that COVID cases will increase due to all the pressing together of bodies at these protests and riots. Fear that things will get worse instead of better.

I feel anger. Anger that our country is so divided. Anger that we're destroying ourselves from the inside out. Anger that life can't seem to get back to normal.

I see collective trauma, first from COVID and now from everybody watching not just one murder, but continual acts of violence. I see economic, mental, physical, and spiritual stress feeding protests and riotous behavior. I see media spinning stories to create reactions. I see my own paralysis in the midst of it all.

I haven't asked my friends of color what to do in this situation because I don't want to seem insensitive at best, or at worst, voyeuristic. I didn't participate in #BlackOutTuesday because it felt inauthentic. I definitely don't support racism, but I also don't feel right using my "power" and privilege to advocate for what I, as a white person, think needs to change. How do I know what people of color truly need? And if change requires me as a white person to act, aren't I just reinforcing white privilege and power? My heart is to support my friends of color, to let them have what I have, and I don't know how.

What seems most glaring to me right now is the polarization of society. Race against race. The COVID-cautious against the COVID-carefree. Cops versus civilians. Republicans versus Democrats. People versus people. People all going into their own corners and coming out with fists swinging. I keep thinking about how Brene Brown writes in Braving the Wilderness that nothing gets done when people are polarized. I see that right now. Right now, no one is winning. Everyone is losing. United we stand, and divided we fall.

People are trying to do stuff. They're asking. They're listening. They're learning. They're promoting. They're protesting. They're posting. Some actions seem like they could be helpful. Some are definitely hurtful. But the change does not seem to be enough. We have battled racism in our country for years. I would argue that a few advances have been made, but there is still much to do. The only true solution to systemic racism is for God to govern and rule, for the horizontal to be right, so the vertical will be right. But God will only ultimately rule and reign in heaven, a place that is definitely not here.

So what am I doing with all of my thoughts and feelings? To put it succinctly, I am praying. There are plenty of posts with suggestions about who to support and how to support, and if you feel convicted to act, please do so! This is not that kind of post. This is a post about what I feel is, in fact, the most powerful thing I can do: Pray. 

I have no clear convictions, so I am praying. I need wisdom, so I am praying. People are grieving, so I am praying. As I feel sad, I am praying. As I feel afraid, I am praying. I feel angry. I am praying. I see protesters. I am praying. Prayer unaccompanied by action will change nothing, but maybe if our nation collectively fell to its knees, God on High would be merciful and begin the movement for unity that our nation so desperately needs. Uniting in falling may just yet lead to unity in rising.

All People Have Value. Some Have Priority.

"All people have equal value. Some have more priority." I talked about that with at least two people yesterday. And today, I had to practice what I preached. I set some boundaries at work, and honestly, I felt bad for saying, "No" to coworkers and families. But I also knew I needed to say, "No" to preserve energy for the people that are the most important. And guess what? When I came home, my parents needed me to help them run some errands and take care of some business things for them. 

Were my coworkers or the families I said, "No" to today any less valuable than my family? No. All people have equal value because God created them in His image. But some people do have more priority, especially in this season of my life.

Brene Brown in her book, Daring Greatly, talks about an exercise to help determine whose opinions matter. She suggests taking a one-inch by one-inch square of paper and writing down names of people who you love and who love you. They are who matter, she says. Right now, my square of important people might be even smaller than one-inch by one-inch. But you know what? That's okay. As long as I'm clear about the people who are my priorities, and I make them my priorities.

Boundaries suck sometimes, but they keep the good stuff in, and the less than good stuff out. The people on the other side of my boundary fence right now are as equally valuable as the people on my side. But the people on my side have priority. And if I keep throwing myself over the fence to save the people on the other side, I'll lose all energy for the ones closest to me.

So here's to acknowledging the worth of all people, but asking the Holy Spirit for help to prioritize my people. It's a battle, but one worth fighting.

Flip The Script

Prepare for the worst

Hope for the best

Won't you steady my heart

For whatever comes next?

~King and Country, "Need You More"

I generally consider myself an optimist, a person who looks at the bright side of things, a person who sees the glass as half full, who always holds hope. I've been convicted lately, however, that I might not be as optimistic as I think. When times are good, I'm wondering when they'll be bad. When relationships are healthy, I'm afraid to give thanks, for fear that this will lead to a prideful fall and rupture. When I have ample financial resources, I act as a miser, for fear that one day the money won't be there. When I have time off work, I let myself get overwhelmed with home details, or fear of going back to work. When days are sunny, I wonder when the rain will come. I find that I have a tendency to label life as hard, instead of seeing it as good. In so doing, I miss the joy of the moment, and I can end up sabotaging myself.

Now that I've realized what I'm doing, I'm trying, by the Holy Spirit's power, to view life as more of a privilege than a struggle. I'm trying to be present in the now instead of looking so muhc into the future. I'm trying to give thanks instead of worrying. Life is good. God has blessed me. Sure, there are hard parts of living, but that's not the substance of life. There is so much worth celebrating. So many good things worth recognizing and further pouring into.

Let's flip the script, shall we? Instead of looking for dysfunction, let's look for function. Instead of living with foreboding joy* about the future, let's celebrate the now. Let's rejoice and give thanks, for when we have God, we always have good.

*Credit for this term goes to Brene Brown and her books.

What Cutting My Hair Taught Me About Belonging to Myself

I liked my long hair, but I also felt ready for a change and chopping off my hair seemed like a change I should make. For months, I pinned images of my preferred styles and asked the opinions of others. I decided to make the cut for my 30th birthday, but then I chickened out. I couldn't find a salon that had openings. I feared I would look like a boy. I worried what people would think.I knew my dad liked my long hair. I worried I would dislike myself if I cut my hair. I was distinctly afraid. So I didn't cut my hair.

I did a lot of thinking and soul-searching when I was on my cruise this summer. (I was also reading Braving the Wilderness by Brene Brown during this time.) I remember the moment when I looked into the mirror and thought, "You know what? This is my wilderness. I need to belong to myself and care less about what other people think and more about my acceptance of myself." I decided then and there that I would cut my hair when I got home, if I could find a salon that would do it.

A few weeks and phone calls later, I chopped 10 inches off my hair. The experience was terrifying, and liberating. I didn't realize my worst fears. I actually liked my new hair cut. My dad approved. Many other people complimented me. Though the compliments bolstered my self esteem, people noticing me so much actually made me feel uncomfortable. But I survived. And I learned something about belonging to myself as a result.

Three haircuts later, I chopped my hair again yesterday. I like my hair short, but I wanted a different style. I asked my boyfriend if he cared what I did to my hair (because I felt it was respectful to do so), and when he said he didn't, I went for the new cut. I figured I could always grow my hair out if I didn't like it. That thought was a huge realization for me, and a symptom of growth. I realized that I am not my hair, and that my hair cut doesn't change who I am. I was belonging to myself!

I have a really good hairstylist and I like my new hair cut. I'm grateful The fact that my fears were minimal and that I could go into this knowing I wouldn't change, though, was an even greater blessing. Who would have known that cutting my hair would teach me so much! Praise the Lord.

Shades of Gray

I'm so tired of the polarization of society. I'm so tired of hearing people labeled as saints or Satan. Seriously! Can't we see that life exists in shades of gray? People are not all good or all bad! We are all created in the image of God, and all of our hearts are deceitful (Jer 17:9).

If I channel my Brene Brown and reflect on her book Braving the Wilderness, I'd say that the root issue of this polarization of society is fear. It's easier to pigeonhole people and label them than it is to accept that people are fallible, that they might disagree with us, that we might disagree with them. It is easier to see people as stagnant than as capable of growth, because then we might have to grow. 

Truth always exists, and there is a place for confronting lies and telling things like they are. But seriously, can we not let some things go?  I'm not saying we all have to agree. I just wish we could all get along and have some grace and appreciation of one another and our differences. I wish we could be authentic and genuine with one another without fear of recoil or backlash or getting sued for goodness' sake!

As a former black-and-whiter, I still have strong beliefs and preferences, especially when it comes to my faith in Jesus for salvation. But I don't want a Bible-basher, a polarizer, a labeler, a pigeon-holer. Rather, I want to see people as the intricately wonderfully created people they are, people capable of good and evil, people capable of growth and change and redemption. 

I know who I am. I know Whose I am. I don't need to be afraid. Because of that, I'm making an effort to see people in shades of gray,and the world in shades of color, for much of the beauty of life lies there.

Vulnerability is a Verb.

I've been thinking lately about feeling vulnerable, about how I use feeling vulnerable as an excuse. I use it as an excuse for not getting out and being social. Being social risks too much, I tell myself. I use vulnerability as an excuse for hiding my emotions, even from myself, because the depth of my emotions scares me. I use vulnerability as an excuse for not telling people how much I care about them because I don't want to risk loving and losing. But you know what? Without vulnerability, I'm hard, stoic, and cold. I'm inhuman and inanimate.

Vulnerability requires action, either on the part of others, or myself. And since I believe I'm responsible for my own feelings, I don't think anybody can actually make me feel vulnerable. That's a choice I have to make for myself. And I don't think I can feel vulnerable as much as I can be vulnerable.

Failing to admit my hurt and pain and rawness is part of my perfectionism. And it sucks. It keeps me scared and afraid and trapped. I don't want that. I want to connect and learn and love and grow. All those things require movement, choice, decision-vulnerability.

Vulnerability is a verb, folks. It doesn't happen in a vacuum, and it doesn't happen without some pain and agony. So here's to being more vulnerable, come what may....

Life is Hard.

I was somehow under the impression that life would get easier at some point. That at some point, I could just celebrate and have some sadness lingering over me. Maybe I wouldn't arrive. But I could at least be content and not want more. Nope! Life is hard. It just is.

I'm an ISFJ, and I feel things deeply. I feel it when a kid gets removed from their parents. I feel it when coworkers argue. I feel it when friends and family members are struggling. I feel it when the seasons change. I feel it when the skies are gray. I feel it when the country is in a state of upheaval from the latest terrorist act, school shooting, or court case.

But I also feel the joy when adoptive homes open. When people reconcile. When family and friends succeed. When hopes springs anew. When the sun shine. When there is redemption. 

Life is bittersweet. And as Brene Brown says, “We can't selectively numb emotion. Numb the dark and you numb the light.” I am finding that to be true. I can't feel the joy without feeling the pain. I can't feel the gladness without feeling the sorrow. I can't celebrate without having wept.

So if I'm going to live life, I guess I'm going to have to accept that life is hard. Because I have to see that life is hard to feel that life is also good and worth living.

Scary Things I've Done Lately

In the nature of embracing fears, I thought I'd share just a few scary things I've done lately to live life free:

(Here's a list I previously made.)

I cut my hair. To be precise, I cut 10 inches off my hair. 

I've cut my hair before. But this time I was afraid. I was afraid of what others would think, specifically my dad. I was afraid I wouldn't like it. I was afraid I'd look ugly. I was afraid I wouldn't feel like myself. But then on the cruise I had this flash of inspiration that I'd be myself, haircut or not. I could belong to myself (Cue Brene Brown's Braving the Wilderness book, which I was reading at the time) and to God, long- or short-haired. So I did it. 

In hindsight, I'm glad I cut my hair now. The hairdresser did a great job and styling my hair now is fast easy and convenient. I've received a lot of compliments. Even my dad says he likes the cut. I like it so much I think I might even keep it this way for awhile. But I wouldn't have known the joys of my new 'do without facing my fears of it.

I've been speaking my mind more. This can get me into trouble, and I definitely need to speak the truth in love (Eph 4:15). But I'm tired of being the quiet, meek girl in the back row pew pretending to be dumb. (Cue Matt Chandler's exhortation in his Beautiful Design sermon series.) I've got an opinion and I'm trying to learn to share it, albeit respectfully.

I climbed a mountain. This is a traditional hike for my family, but I haven't done it in a while. The trail was steep and the terrain loose and scary. Mom told me to look down and see how far we'd come. Since my fear of heights has grown as I've aged, I just kept looking up until I got to our final destination, and I made it. I looked down only on the return hike, because I had to.

Embracing fear doesn't always pay off. Sometimes it results in hurt (physical, mental, and/or emotional), hangups, and heartbreak. But in the long run, if I want to live life free, I've got to take some risks and feel some pain. In the face of that pain, victories like these feel even more freeing and joyful.

Friends, has embracing fear and/or taking risks brought joy to you lately? Please share your experiences in the comments section.

Social Media as Catalyst, Not Connection

I've felt extra lonely lately. And I've noticed that when I'm really lonely, I scroll social media for hours. (Okay, maybe I do this when I'm bored, too.) I scroll looking for something to touch my heart, for something to impact my mind, for something to make me feel less alone. You know what? It doesn't work.

Brene Brown writes in her book, Braving the Wilderness that social media is a catalyst for connection, but not a substitute for community. “Face-to-face connection is imperative in our true belonging practice,” she writes (p. 140). Man, I think she's right.

When I've had a long day at work, when I'm tired and alone and just want someone to understand, I scroll. I look for belonging. And most of the time I don't find it. What I mostly find are beautiful lives, lived in beautiful places, with a beautiful lack of struggle. There's some honesty, but most of what I see is the reverse of what I have, and it makes me angry and envious and more tired.

On the other hand, when I actually get out in community, when I force myself to make face-to-face connections, I come home tired and exhausted, but a good tired and exhausted. I find that I don't want or need to check Instagram or Facebook or Pinterest. I'm content, ready to shower, eat my snack, and head to bed. I've had my fill. I've filled and been filled, and I'm ready to accept my aloneness, to belong to myself and live my own life without comparison.

Social media isn't bad. There is some real and great and honest stuff out there. But overusing social media is bad, at least for me. When I try to make it something it's not, a substitute for community, it fails. I fail.

So here's to using social media as a catalyst, not a connection. To connecting with real humans, with real hearts, in real places. To experiencing the beauty that is life lived with real people, even if that includes real struggle.

Arizona: Year Two

I've made it two years, y'all. I've gotten a few funny looks lately when I've expressed my excitement about the anniversary of my move to Arizona, and that's okay. They don't get it. These past two years have wrecked me, in good ways, but in hard ways.

Work: If you had told me in grad school that I'd spending close to fifty hours a week helping kids, I would have said you were crazy. I fought against my elementary school internship placement. I asked the community clinic to only give me teenagers and adults. I didn't take the play therapy training classes offered to me. And now I have a birth to five year-old case load. You'll find me outside throwing a football more than you'll find me in an office. I'm now taking play therapy and sand tray classes. And I'm growing to love what I do. Go figure.

Church: I came home to Arizona partly because my family belonged to a strong church. And it's fallen apart. The brokenness of the people that make up the church has become apparent and though we are pursuing healing, it is messy. We are currently without a pastor and our body has decreased to about a third of the size. But we're still together and the Word is being preached. Thanks be to God.

Family: I planned to live with my parents only long enough to set up my own independent life, but here I am two years later still living at home. It's been hard, but good. I have found a lot of healing in relating to my parents as adults. I've been forced to let some of my perfectionism go and recognize that relationship matters more than having a perfect house or an ideal life. If God ever sees fit for me to get married and have a family of my own, this has been good training.

Worship team: I sang in choir growing up and never thought I'd sing on stage. But I've found community in worship team and you'll find me on the platform a few times a month singing, but for God's glory and not my own.

Car: I thought I knew what I wanted and fought against Dad's suggestions. But I drove the car I liked and it wasn't what I thought. Now I'm back to Dad's suggestions. In fact, I am supposed to get that new car Dad suggested today. My dad is a smart man.

Community: I've expected community to come to me, but I'm learning that I've got to go to it. Relationships aren't one sided. I've met a lot of cool people here, but it takes a lot of intentional effort to connect. Connecting means being honest and vulnerable and belonging to myself above all else. It's hard work.

Health: My health struggles have reminded me that I am human and not invincible. Though I am thankful that my conditions are not fatal, they are frustrating. Dystonia is yet another way that God is sanding off my rough edges. I didn't choose it, but God has allowed it into my life for some reason.

I still have goals in life, but I'm trying to hold them loosely. As God takes what I have known and breaks it all apart, He reveals His bigger and grander and more beautiful plan. And You, my God are greater still.

Crazy-busy

"‘Crazy-busy’ is a great armor, it’s a great way for numbing. What a lot of us do is that we stay so busy, and so out in front of our life, that the truth of how we’re feeling and what we really need can’t catch up with us."

~Brene Brown

This quote is perhaps another way to explain where I'm at in life. I've been crazy busy for so long. And now, as life slows a bit, all the emotions are hitting me in the face. I feel lonely. I feel scared. I'm angry. I feel sad. And I find myself trying to fill time instead of feeling. I go on more walks. I take on more projects. I try to sleep more. None of these things are necessarily bad, but they're just other ways I keep myself numb. They're ways I stay a human doing instead of a human being.

What I really need right now is to sit with my feelings, to ask God what He is trying to tell me through them. But I don't want to. Admitting my feelings makes me raw and vulnerable and real. And that's not comfortable, or painless. It's pain-full.

I know God made me a feeling creature for a reason. My emotions help me connect to other people. My emotions help me experience the richness of this world God has made. My emotions remind me that God is God and I need to be still and know Him (Ps 46:10).

So here's to letting down the armor a little bit, to feeling the feels, to trying to enjoy life a little more instead of numbing myself with busyness. Jesus, hold me close.

I Have a Hangover.

No, not that kind of hangover. I don't drink. I have what I'd call "vulnerability hangover*." It's that incredibly confusing and painful state that comes from being so real that it hurts. It's that sensation that you've shared too much, done too much, and want to go back, but can't. I've been extremely vulnerable with myself this weekend, and it's left me feeling overstimulated, overly sensitive and overwhelmed with emotions I can't seem to sort out.

My job requires me to show up and be present with people and their stories each and every day. It's not the kind of job where I can show up and put myself on the shelf. No, I am there in person every day at work, and sometimes, the work is there with me when I leave. I like my job, I really do, but I haven't ever had a job where I've had to be this real, and it's hard. A particular call this past week reminded me of that.

It isn't very often that I go out with people and let loose and really have fun. And I did that this weekend. It reminded me of the value of community and of the importance of activities that really have no extrinsic worth. It was an experience that made me painfully aware that fun and community are seriously lacking in my life.

My parents were out of town this weekend, so schedule and routine were completely up to me. I'm so used to the rhythm of life with my family that decisions like where to sit to do my devotions and what to eat for dinner became overwhelming. I had to really tune in with myself and ask myself what I wanted. And I'm not used to that.

I've lost a lot of myself in my years of moving away from home, getting an education, trying to be perfect, and living an overall inauthentic life. In this process of coming home to Arizona, I'm coming home to myself and feeling the pain of God breaking down the walls of what I have known to make me into who He wants me to be. It's confusing and awkward and strange. 

My life right now is messy and complicated and I'm afraid, but I'm trying to show up. Please be patient with me. I'm in God's workshop and He's not done with me yet.

*I got the term "vulnerability hangover" from Brene Brown, but am using it in a slightly different context here.

Coming Home

“He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'”

~Matthew 18:2-3

I made the decision to move back Arizona a little over two years ago. On faith, I decided to pack up and leave, without a job, relationship, or a place of my own to go to. It has been a rough several years, but despite all the twists and turns of life, I feel like I'm finally coming home.

Coming home in a lot of ways looks like becoming a child again. I live with my mom and dad. Little brother was home for awhile. Though Mom and Dad treat me as an adult and respect me, we are once again making family memories over kid things like meals and grocery shopping and hiking.

I am regularly engaging in kid activities in my daily life. I ride bikes with a kid every other week for work. I went kayaking for the first time in 20 years a few Sundays ago. This year, I hung out with horses for the first time since I moved home. I do a lot more art. The things that mattered to me as a kid (and even some that didn't) are suddenly coming back into my life.

My relationship with my body has had its fits and starts, but I feel like I am becoming more comfortable in my own skin. I've become un-vegetarian since moving home and eat a lot more “fun food” because it's available. I now enjoy pizza most weekends, a favorite “kid food.” I wear yoga pants more than jeans, and that's okay, both with me and with work. Yoga pants/leggings were my favorite attire growing up, and they are becoming so again. Why not wear comfy when I can?

When as a child, I first told Mom what I wanted to do with my life, she told me that she couldn't see me sitting behind a desk. I got a little upset, but she was right. My job has been hard, but I feel like I'm finally starting to own it. I play with kids A LOT, and it's fun. My employer embraces atypical services and that's a good thing for me. Hard as this job may be, I feel like I'm doing what I was designed to do since I was a child: helping people.

Brene Brown writes, “We can't selectively numb emotion. Numb the dark and you numb the light.” Children generally don't know how to numb. They learn that “skill” as they experience trauma and hardship and disappointment. They start to tune out life as a means of survival. God doesn't want us to live like that. He wants us to live out of faith and trust and a belief that He is good and that there is good in the world created. He wants us to celebrate the good amidst the bad.

I've been “home” for almost two years, but I feel like I'm finally coming home, home to myself and to the person God created me to be. The highs are high and the lows are low, but I am finally feeling them and integrating them into my existence. God is bringing me to a place of more authentic living, to increased reliance and dependence on Him, and that is where I need to dwell. Praise be to Him!

Synonyms for Shame

I recently finished I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't) by Brene Brown (2007). It's a book about shame and how it affects our society. (Brown defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging....Shame creates feelings of fear, blame, and disconnection" (p. 30). It's definitely informed the way I think about some things, for example how I view my words. 

Case in point, when I say, "I've had a crappy day," I'm not usually saying that there's literally been poop all over my day. I'm saying my day's been bad. I'm saying I'm tired. I'm saying the day I've had feels disconnected from the life I'd like to live. I'm usually sending a signal that I either need love and acceptance and belonging.

A second example is when I say, "I feel crappy. " Sometimes I say that because I have stomach ailments. But most of the time it's because I feel self-conscious, run down, disconnected from myself and from others. I feel afraid. I feel ashamed. It just seems more socially acceptable to say the word "crappy." (Note that I didn't say socially correct.)

My own experience with synonyms for shame make me wonder what other code words are out there. And it makes me ask why we're so afraid of saying we're ashamed. Is it because we're guilty and don't want to change our behavior? Is it because in this culture of rampant individuality and self-seeking we don't want to be vulnerable and acknowledge that we don't have it all together? I don't know. I just know that using synonyms for what I'm really feeling isn't really honest or authentic or real. So now that I know how shame presents itself, maybe I need to call it out, and call it what it is.

Friends, do you use synonyms for shame? If yes, what words do you use? Please share below.

I Thought It Was Just Me (Book Review)

I've been able to define the difference between shame and guilt for some time. Shame means I am something bad. Guilt means I did something bad. Brene Brown gives a larger context to shame in her book, I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't), however. She explains that shame disconnects us from our basic human need for acceptance and belonging. It forces us far away from our true selves, and the support we need from others to embrace our true selves. Brown's style in this book is definitely more scholarly than in some of her later writings, but her research is worth reading. In her book she explores not only the definition of shame, but ways that shame manifests in our culture, and ways that we can build shame resilience. Brene challenges readers to cultivate “ordinary change” in order to combat the shame culture, and I think that's something we all can do. Life isn't just about me. It's about others, too.

Any other Brene Brown fans out there? Have you read this book? Please comment below.

I Cried At Work.

Maybe it's because I was tired. Maybe it's because my buttons got pushed. Maybe I was hungry. I don't totally know why, but I cried at work.

And you know what? I'm not sorry about it. It shows I'm human. I have a heart. I think I handled myself as professionally as I could in the immediate situation. Then I let my tears out with my supervisor. What's more, I cried again when the issue came up again. And I'm going to choose to be okay with it because I feel.

A lot of people think I'm strong and have it all together. I do try to hold it together as much as I can, but ask those closest to me and you'll hear that I fall apart. Like majorly. So as much as this hurt, maybe it's a good thing that I cried at work. It shows that I'm integrating my true self into what I do both inside and outside of my home. I see at as a sign of growth, a sign of moving towards more authentic living, which is what I want, painful as it may be. (See Brene Brown's work for more on vulnerability.)

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.

Things I'd Like to Lose To Live a Healthier Life

'Tis the season to diet. Okay, so we're past the New Year and into February, but I still hear diet talk everywhere:

• "I can't have that. I'm on X diet." 
• "X pounds lost. X to go." 
• "I've gotta lose weight before X event."

You know what I want to say? Food is just one part of life! Okay, yeah, some people want to lose weight and I don't want to shame them about that, but for me, there are a whole lot of things I'd like to lose other than weight:

1. Anger at myself and others for misdeeds done, because we could all use a little more love and grace.
2. Unforgiveness, because it does more harm to me than it does to my offenders.
3. Comparison, because I'll never be as good as them, and they'll never be like me. We're our own people, unique and beautiful in our own ways.
4. Shame. There's a fine line between guilt that motivates me to change my behavior and shame that backs me into a corner and prevents me from making connections. (See Brene Brown's book.) I don't want to live there.
5. Rules and expectations about what I should do, whether it comes to food, exercise, social interactions, or something else. Most of these areas are value-neutral, so I'd like to lose the rules and enjoy life instead of trying to fit my life into one little box.

Excuse me if I'm being presumptious, but if I could lose the weight of these five things, I think I'd be a whole lot healthier than I would be on any one diet.

What about you, friends? What would you like to lose to become a healthier version of you? (And please don't say pounds. That's clearly not the point of this post.) Please share in the comments section.

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.

*This post was inspired by "The Numbers That Count" by Rachael Hartley.

What a Gray T-Shirt Taught Me About Blame

"Who put this gray work shirt in with my white load of laundry?" I grumbled as I pulled the wet clothes out of the laundry. Roughly yanking up the shirt and unfolding it, what did I discover? It was my "good" t-shirt, and I put it in the white load of laundry to keep it away from the dirty gray "work" shirts.

I am so guilty of blaming other people for my problems. And I do it without ever trying to investigate the facts or gain perspective on the situation. Blaming other people keeps me from realizing my contributions to problems. It keeps me from feeling my own pain and shame when I screw up. It can keep me from being accountable for the consequences of my own actions. 

I want and need to be quicker to investigate and slower to judge. I need to be faster to admit fault and slower to cast blame. The world might be a better place if I did (or at least I'd have a better attitude about that gray shirt in the laundry).

(Brene Brown's video on blame is excellent and the source of some of my thoughts here.)

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.