On the Lansing State Journal building move...

The worst job I ever had, I remember going to the bathroom and crying in the stall at least once a week. It just was not a good fit.

The job before that – also not a great fit.

When I started working for Gannett at the Lansing State Journal, I was a bit concerned about whether this new place was going to work. After two jobs that were not amazing, I started to wonder whether I was cut out for the workforce. Was it bad mangers? A bad company? Was I just a crappy employee?

I started at the Lansing State Journal on January 7, 2013.

When I walked through the building, I was, um, surprised at the accommodations.

“Its always cold here. And its colder in summer than it is in winter – so just bring a space heater.”

“You want a new office chair? Um, let me steal one from one of the abandoned rooms.”

“You’ll get use to the cockroaches. Its just an old building.”

Friday was my last day working from the Lansing State Journal building on Lenawee in Lansing. Two days a week I work in downtown Detroit at the Free Press/News building, two days I'm in Lansing, and once a week I'm at home. For the two days a week I'm at Lansing, I’m excited about moving to the new building we’ll work from. But there is a part of me that is sad about leaving this historic building.

My first day at LSJ, my co-worker Robin and I toured the building. Friday, my co-workers Robin, Nancy and I toured the building again photographing this old place.

Here is a picture of where the old print press use to run. You can see the ink from printing newspapers splattered across the walls.

And here is the ‘half room.’ For decades, a copy of each edition was stored in this room. The cupboards are noted with numbers in marker, and with plates, and in some spots - tape.

Moving to the end of the half room, prior employee graffiti marks the walls.

Here is the old basement break room. Legend holds that the drain got plugged in the 90's. To 'fix' the issue, a new break room was built over the old one. The move left the old blue break room exposed.

But the bathrooms are, well, rough. With narrow hallways and old school colors.

And there are all of these weird nooks and crannies. Here's a cage in the basement, and a room full of machines. I wish I could tell you the history behind these places.

And there are cords without ends, and electric cables without matches.

There is an empty room on the second floor where IT once lived.

And another empty room on the third floor that was once the employee break room.

And empty hallways with empty 'IN' boxes on the second floor. I wish I could tell you what documents were housed in the in box.

And there are boxes, where the business office once operated.

And more boxes, in a weird half room on floor two.

And dusty drinking fountains.

And the old freight elevator on the third floor. I don't think this has operated in years.

And three floor histories all meeting in once space. To me, this picture tells the story of the building. Beautiful wooden floors symbolizing a golden age of prosperity. Laminate tile marking a time of quick growth. And plywood - just trying to keep things together as we move through change.

The newspaper industry has experienced many transformations. While millions of people still read the print paper, more and more people get their news online.

As the world changes, Gannett and the Lansing State Journal change as well.

The bathroom stalls are old, and kind of icky. But I love them. And I’ve never cried in a stall.

Although it might be filled with cockroaches, this building is also full of memories. The secret to being happy at work is never the work and it is never the building - it is the people. The people that work for this company have made some great memories in this damn place. I'm privileged to have been a part of that.

I pack light. When I left the building I didn't take any bricks or tiles. When I moved into my cube the prior occupant had this quote taped on the cubical wall. I've always liked looking at this quote as a reminder of how I'd like to live every day. So I took the quote down and will take it with me when we move to the new building.

As we leave the building, I’m sad to leave behind the amazing memories of what happened within these walls. Moving forward, I’m excited to see how we will change the world – and how the world will change us. I trust that people will be good. I trust that God will guide us. I fear not for what lies ahead. 

On how I overcome feeling alone...

Sometimes I think people only imagine that the devil comes to us in big things. You know what I mean, right? That we will meet our demise or downfall through things like drugs, murder, or violence.

While these things obviously lead to problems, I think the devil is in the little things.

If the devil were to conquer me, I do not think it would be with alcohol or beating someone up. If I am conquered, it will be because I have been convinced that I am alone.

Actually, maybe that is not so small?

Most of my life I have felt alone.

In daycare, I remember struggling to connect and make friends.

In high school and college, I felt the same way. I would talk someone and struggle to feel a of connection.

The need to feel connected is a God give desire.

Feeling alone is often just that – a feeling; it is seldom a reality. 

I feel alone, but at any moment, I have a dozen people I can call and ask for help.

Regardless of this reality, my perception has led to some dark times. I have struggled with bouts of depression, paralyzing anxiety, and when I was in college – a suicide attempt.

This last year has not been helpful. In mid-2015, my church campus closed (I wrote about that here), and a few months ago I was diagnosed with Celiac disease (and I wrote about that here). Losing a church campus feels lonely. Learning to adapt to a disease where you cannot eat food others are consuming feels lonely. In spite of being surrounded by people – I feel alone.

This morning I woke up and felt lonely. My brain was telling me to stay at home and sulk. But if you want to grow loneliness – you feed it with being alone. If you want to grow connection – you feed it by being around good people.

Instead of sulking, I drove to church. I was going to sit alone, but instead, I forced myself to sit by some friends.

When I feel alone, I try to overcome it by remembering these three things.

First, I remember to pick up the damn phone. Instead of sitting in silence, I call out to someone I love. I call my mother and tell her I miss her. I call my friend Brandy and ask her about her day. I message my friend Bri and see how she is doing. Honestly, I forget to do this - ALL the time, but I am trying to be better.

Second, I try to realize that my struggle with feeling alone comes from a place of pain. I feel alone because I do not want to let others in because I feel like I have been hurt by a lot of people. When I married Del I put in my vows ‘I vow to let you love me.’ I am surrounded by people that try to love me, but I struggle to let them. I fear that if I let them in, they will only hurt me. Since marrying Del, and learning to let someone love me, I am starting to overcome that. But its hard. Every day it is hard.

Third, I reflect on the fact that even if I lost everything I would still have God. If my friends go away, if my husband dies, and if my church is gone – God still remains (for the record - I would prefer to have those things stick around). I am a child of God. God dwells in me. At any moment, at any time, He is with me. When I am alone, I try to remember Him. With Him, I am never really alone. And if I am never really alone, the devil can never conquer me.

On being ok...

When I was 16 I was in a car accident.

The driver of the car took a corner too fast, and the 1990-something Ford Escort we were in hit some gravel and flipped end-to-end several times. Both the driver and I walked away from the crash, but I’ve had neck issues for the last 14 years.

Around 18 or so I started getting treatment for my neck. Thousands of dollars, too many doctors, and tons of test later I reached the end of medical treatment. The neurologist’s recommendations were: wear tighter clothing, keep mobile, and have an MRI every year.

When I say neck issues, I mean I am in constant pain nearly every single day of my life (about a 4 out of 10).  I have disc degeneration, bone spurs, and a syrinx. I can do most things, but I’ll never ride a roller coaster again. Here's a picture of what a syrinx looks like. This one isn't mine, but it'll work. It's that little white sliver.

At the start of this year, I hadn’t had that MRI for 10 years. My pain was also closer to a five or six most days.

I hadn’t gotten an MRI or seen a neurologist because I was terrified of what the results would be. I was scared of what the doctor would say. “You’re syrinx has gotten worse, you’re slowly dying.”

I think I was also terrified of how my now ex-husband would respond to the results. Would he leave me, be mad about the expense, or act out against me with retribution?

This year my husband I made New Year’s resolutions for each other. One of Del’s resolutions for me was to get treatment for my neck.

I started seeing a chiropractor. I’ve started getting massages. And finally – I got that MRI.

Two days ago I saw the neurologist to go over my MRI results.

Driving to the neurologist with Del I was terrified.

Sitting in the waiting room I was preparing myself for whatever the doctor might say.

Eventually, the doctor came in. He looked at my MRI, did a few office tests, and then told me his opinion. He said, “Well, I can see why you’re in pain. You have issues X, Y and Z. But you can walk and you seem mobile. I’ve seen a lot worse, so I don’t think you keep seeing me regularly.”

To manage my pain he recommended I get physical therapy. To make sure I don’t get worse, he recommended I get an MRI once a year and check up with him.

After Del and I left, we got to the car and cried.

Out of fear I waited 10 years to hear that I was fine.  I am okay. Everything is ok.

This experience has got me thinking about a three things over the last few days: scale, fear and readiness.

Compared to most 30-year olds, my neck is in rough shape. Compared to many folks that have been in a car accident, I’m doing ok. Compared to most people the neurologist I met with sees, I’m doing great. How many times do we forget the scale, and how it shifts based on our perspective?

Out of fear, I waited ten years to get my neck checked out. After waiting so long I was terrified of how much worse my neck had gotten, and if I’d waited too long to get it checked out. I sat in fear for a decade because I was terrified of the outcome. What else have I wanted so long on, just to find out that everything would be ok? What else am I not fixing or working on today that I could be?

Have you ever listened to someone complain about something and thought to yourself, “I know your problem, and here’s what you can do to fix it”? Have you ever told someone exactly what their problem was and how they could fix it, only to have the person shut down or do the exact opposite of what they should do? Everyone has had that experience. But no one can fix something until they’re ready to face their problem. There is no amount of pushing, coercion, or complaining that can get someone to change something they don’t want to change.

The thing is – we have all been that person to someone. To someone, I am that lady that always does this thing, and it’d be great if I just fixed it.

I could have seen a doctor a long time ago, and maybe I’d be better now today. But if I’m honest with myself, I know I would not have been ready. I was not at a place in my life where I felt safe to face the issue in front of me.

This experience has taught me about life.

Life is this miraculous thing. And life is facing one problem after the other. One day, everything is fine – and the next day everything feels like its falling apart.

When those moments come, where everything feels like its falling apart – that is where we find Jesus.

Sometimes he comes in food or water. Sometimes he comes in friends and family. But sometimes he comes from a doctor reading test results. No matter how he comes, he always says the same thing… “I can see why you’re in pain. This terrible thing has happened. But you know what? You’re going to be ok.”

On why empathy is important...

A few months ago I went through a rough patch in life.

The church campus where my husband was a part-time pastor closed, and I spent a long time dealing with that loss (I wrote about that here).

Being active in our church, we have an amazing group of friends who are incredibly supportive. During the church closing, I reached out to our friends and mentioned that the closing was really hitting me hard.

I was surprised when our close friends did not seem to be responding in a way that I though reflected the empathy I needed. I was confused that our friends seemed to be falling short. It was especially strange because we have, quite possibly, the best group of friends for which you could ever ask. When you’re sick, they’ll bring food. When you need prayer, they’re a message or call away. I wanted someone to say, “That situation sounds so difficult. Thanks for telling me. I’m here for you.” (I’ve since talked to my friends about this... I mentioned they're amazing? Part of the issue was me not properly asking for help. I’ll write more about that later).

That experience forced me to reflect on an important question I think we should all ask ourselves: am I good at being empathetic?

The last time I took a personality assessment, one thing that stood out was that I value accurate information over feelings. If someone says something I know to be incorrect, it is more important to me to correct that person than it is for me to value that person’s feelings. In high school, one of my friends was telling me about a difficult situation they felt they were having with their parent. Rather than consider how my friend was feeling, I remember correcting that person when they told me details about a story I knew were incorrect. I can be such a dick sometimes.

I can also think of dozens of times where people have told me about something difficult they’ve gone through, and I can remember not responding as well as I could have. I can think of times where I could have listened rather than talked, where I should have been kind but was impatient, and where I tried to one-up instead of empathize.

Am I good at being empathetic? I’m not terrible, but I need to be better because I am falling short.

My experience after the church closing also led me to ask what I believe is one of the most important questions in the world: why are some people better at giving empathy?

Sympathy isn’t empathy.

Empathy fuels connection – while sympathy drives disconnection. Click here for a video on the topic that I love.

And here’s a nice summary of what is empathy. Empathy occurs in communication when there is:

1)      perspective taking

2)      staying out of judgement

3)      recognizing emotion and then

4)      communicating that emotion back to other people

But what makes someone have the ability to be empathetic? (I wrote about this before too).

It turns out that the most empathetic people, are those that have been through the most difficult situations. David DeSteno, a professor at Northeastern University who specializes in social psychology, noted the following in his article from the New York Times:

“those who had faced increasingly severe adversities in life — loss of a loved one at an early age, threats of violence or the consequences of a natural disaster — were more likely to empathize with others in distress, and, as a result, feel more compassion for them.”

However, in his article, DeSteno goes on to note that studies have also found that:

“Living through hardship doesn’t either warm hearts or harden them; it does both. Having known suffering in life usually heightens the compassion we feel for others, except when the suffering involves specific painful events that we know all too well.”

Simply put… if Mr. X has been through a lot of tough shit, he’ll likely be more empathetic – unless you’re telling Mr. X about a situation he’s already been through.

When I first read about this twist on empathy, I just sat on in – pondering over its merits. Then, a few weeks ago I noticed it playing out in my own mind. One of my co-workers was telling me about how she had too much work to do. An empathetic response would’ve been, “Thanks for telling me. It does sounds like you have a lot going on. Can I help you?” However, I had a ton of work to do as well so I said, “Tell me about it- I’m so busy.”

The moment the words left my mouth I realized what I’d done. Gah, I can be such a dick sometimes.

Empathy is important because people are the most important things in the world. God created more than one human because we were meant to live in connection with each other. If we were never meant to connect, we would live on islands. When we fail to give empathy, we fail at connecting. We miss an opportunity to share ourselves with another human being.

My plan for the next year is get better at being empathetic. When someone needs to connect with me – and I am able – I’m going to try. I hope you’ll consider trying too. 

On gaining back self-confidence...

I just sat there in a work meeting.

The president asked if anyone knew how much money company X had made in Q4. I had the data in front of my face, but I couldn’t say the answer.

“What if I didn’t do this right?”

“What if I get yelled at?”

“I’m too stupid to possibly have the right answer. I’ll just let someone else get this.”

I’ve written before about how my first marriage impacted me (right here).

In the last few months, another layer of that relationship has started to surface: where did my confidence go?

From grade school to graduate school, one thing that I never lacked was self-confidence. If I thought I knew the answer, I would say it. If I wanted to talk, I would speak.

But six years of living with someone who is emotionally abusive will gradually kill your self-confidence.

It didn’t happen overnight, but over time it eroded everything in myself I thought I knew.

Sometimes, I sit in meetings and stare at the people who aren’t afraid to speak. I feel jealous of the folks whose confidence was never crushed.

A few months ago I came across a pile of receipts and a sheet of paper that said “Money.” My ex-husband made me track every penny that was spent. Each month, I was allowed $5 of spending money – despite the fact that I was the only one making any money. Any money that was spent, I had to provide receipts at the end of the month. If I spent $50 on gas, I had to prove that. If I spent $60 on groceries, I had to prove that. If I overspent… well… I just tried not to overspend.

The clothing I wore when we first met? I wasn’t allowed to wear anything that reflected my personal style. Instead of amazing dresses and cool pants, it was khakis and Ralph Lauren t-shirts (vomit). I once bought myself a purple dress, and then hid all proof of the purchase.

My haircut? Picked for me.

My friends? I had a three friends I could hang out with and receive no retribution.

My family? If I contacted my mother or father I was immediately grilled about the conversation. “What did you say? You know your family is terrible.”

Sex? I’m not ready to talk about that.

At one point, I wasn't allowed to have a car because...?

I wasn't allowed to bake because it was too expensive. 

I wasn't allowed to go to church because...?

I was once told that if I didn't lose twenty pounds, he was going to leave me.

I could go on, but you understand. I don’t want pity. This happened, but it is over.

Thanks to my friend Bri and her husband Chris, the camels back finally broke. I was the maid of honor in Bri’s wedding. After Bri and Chris said their vows, they walked down the aisle and Chris started dancing with Bri. It was an amazing moment, because Chris doesn’t love to dance, but he did it for my friend. In that moment, the reality of my situation finally hit me. I realized I did not have someone that would dance with me.

I went home from the wedding and told my ex-husband that if he called me a bitch one more time that I was going to leave him. He told me he understood. A few days later we went to the grocery store. Instead of spending $60, we spent $70. On the drive home he started calling me a stupid bitch, because I spent an extra $10 on food. Soon after, I told him I wanted out. I had reached my breaking point.

Abusive relationships steal. But they don’t just steal and run; it’s a slow drain. Sometimes I wonder how much farther I would be in my life if not for the weight of an abusive ex-husband? How far could I have gone if my confidence hadn’t been crushed? How many hangouts, friendships, birthdays, promotions, and events did I miss?

Most of the time, I’m just grateful I got out. Before I totally lost myself, I left him.

There are times I feel like a failure. I’ll hear people say, “People just get divorced too quickly!” But something tells me those people never endured my ex-husband.

In the last four months, my confidence has started to come back. My husband asked me if I would volunteer to be a part of a ‘Live Show’ he is in charge of at our church. As part of that, he asked if I would be a co-host whose job was to speak on camera. Reluctantly, I did the first show. Then I did the second, and then the third.

After the third show I started to remember the pieces of me that I thought had been crushed. “I use to be really good at this? Didn’t I?” I thought to myself. That confidence has carried over into other areas of life. At work, I’ve started to speak up more. In my personal relationships, I’ve started to use my voice more frequently. It feels really good to feel like I’m allowed to speak without repercussion.

If I can find good in what happened, I can see that I’ve learned to temper my words. Instead of just talking, I’ve learned to be more eloquent when I speak (you know, most of the time).

Del and I are coming up to three years of marriage. Through everything, he has been kind, loving and supportive. Every day, I’m so grateful for Del. He sees the good in me that I cannot see for myself.

It took six years for my confidence to slowly be taken away, but I’m getting it back. Bit-by-bit, it is trickling in. I got out of a bad marriage to a bad person. He took my money, hurt my relationships, and controlled my appearance. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him keep my self-confidence. This is mine, and I’m taking it back – one meeting at a time.

On gluten-free (or, all I want is a fluffy bagel)...

The worst part about having migraines, is waiting for the next one to strike. In high school I got frequent migraines until I figured out that the trigger was harsh smells. For the last few months, I was waiting for the worst part. Without smelling something that is usually a trigger (like Axe cologne or patchouli) I would get a terrible migraine. When I get a migraine, I see a halo, go blind in my right eye, and then proceed to have terrible pain in the front part of my brain for four to ten hours. After my migraine hits, I find a dark room and try to sleep it off.

I only have so many sick days from work, so I decided to see my doctor to get some help. In addition to doing some other testing and giving me some migraine medicine, my doctor told me, “I think you might have celiac disease. You should try cutting out gluten.” I love bread, so I wasn’t thrilled with this diagnosis. But when you’re live your life terrified of getting another migraine, you’ll try anything.

When you have celiac disease, your body attacks any gluten that you eat. Gluten is a protein that is found in wheat, rye and barely. When you have celiac disease and consume something like bread or beer, your body’s immune system attacks your small intestine. The only treatment is a gluten-free diet.

I’m in week two of not eating any gluten.

Week one, Del and I went to the store and just bought nuts, fruits and vegetables. “This isn’t a big deal,” I thought to myself.

Week two, reality started to sink in. I would describe the week as ‘pitiful.’ And the apex of pity struck during today’s trip to the grocery store.

This morning before church I went to the grocery store alone and was trying to find ‘fun’ foods I could eat. The moment I walked through the doors I was hit with a feeling I can only describe as self-pity. That feeling didn’t get any better as I wandered through the aisles. I would pick up a package, see if it said ‘gluten free’ and then would have to put it down when I saw ‘wheat.’

Cereal? Nope. Fluffy bagels? Nope. Pasta? Nope. ALL I WANT TO EAT IS A FLUFFY BAGEL.

When I recognized the self-pity hitting my brain, I immediately felt guilty. I’m not the first person in the world to have a restrictive diet. I know a few people that have celiac disease, and most of them have dealt with the restrictive diet for decades. I’m able to afford food, so I should feel grateful that I have food that I can eat. There are gazillion types of food in the world, and I am able to eat more foods than I cannot eat. Regardless of all of those things, I still felt weirdly sad. It didn’t help when I got to the check-out, and the guy in front of me bought a pack of delicious, fluffy bagels. He better eat ALL of them!

Leaving the store, I started whimper crying as I drove home. The mix of self-pity and guilt over feeling self-pity got the best of me. By the time I got home and started unpacking my groceries I was crying.

In spite of my self-pity/guilt, I drove to church. When I walked through the doors of the sanctuary I noticed tables full of communion elements (wine and bread) in the back.

Seeing the communion materials in the back made me feel strangely pissed off. If a person doesn’t take communion, I know they aren’t any less of a Jesus follower. But still, I really wanted to be able to partake in the ceremony with my church. The entire service I sat in dread waiting for that moment where my pastor says, “Now, go do communion folks!” I imagined that I’d have to sit at my chair and loathe in self-pity as the people I love got to enjoy one of my favorite church activities. I then thought of all of the other people I have known throughout my life that haven’t been able to partake in communion – but wanted to. My heart sank. How had I never thought of these people? Sorry people! I was a selfish jerk. 

Thankfully, something wonderful happened. My pastor announced we were doing communion, and then he said, “And there’s a gluten free option at the back table.” My heart jumped. While other people were slowly meandering to the bread and wine, I was walking like a mad woman to the gluten free option. 

I got to the table, saw the gluten free crackers and wine, and felt a strange sense of relief. I don’t remember gluten free options when I was growing up. I saw the cracker, dunked it in wine, and slowly ate it. In my entire life, I’ve never felt so grateful to be able to be a part of communion.

I haven’t had any gluten for two weeks. My body has never felt so good. I have a history of stomach problems, but haven’t had any issues since I began my new diet. Most importantly, I haven’t had any migraines for two weeks. Thanks you Jesus. 

If you open your eyes to The Lord, you will see Him everywhere. I’ve seen Jesus in people, in nature, and in the kind acts of others. But today, I got to see Jesus in a gluten free cracker at the back of church. The body and blood of Jesus has never tasted so good.

On surviving a church closing...

The Boy Scout motto is “Be Prepared!”

I totally get that.

I’m one of those people who checks the weather every morning, and always has band-aids and ibuprofen.

But how do you prepare for the things you can’t see hitting you?

Two weeks ago, the church campus my husband and I had been attending for almost two years closed. My husband was a part-time pastor. I was a kid’s ministry leader. For months, we poured ourselves into serving the amazing people that attended our campus.

After I found out the campus was closing, I was depressed for a few solid months. When you give so much to something, seeing it dissolve is incredibly difficult. To me, it felt like a death.

My husband was also hit by the loss. Not only did he take care of me, he was trying to take care of church members – and make sure he was coping with the loss.

Yesterday, the long-term impact of losing a church finally hit me. I looked at my husband and said, “You know what? That was really fucking hard on our marriage.”

To which my husband replied, “Duh.”

How should we have prepared for that? Is there something that could’ve curbed the loss, or reduced our grief?

We prayed about it.
We read the Bible.
We told our friends.
We told our family.
We shared ourselves.

But, in all honestly, I’m not certain that all of that made the pain any less terrible. Maybe a little?

Maybe we just didn’t trust God enough? Maybe we just didn’t lay our yolk upon him fully? But I doubt that.

Sometimes, I tend to think we put too much stock in happiness. We tell ourselves we deserve the ‘pursuit of happiness,’ and when we aren’t pursuing that – we feel like failures. How many people have damaged the ones they love in pursuit of their own happiness?

In full disclosure, I’ve always had a melancholy personality. I find a weird joy in understanding grief, and I’m not a huge fan of big changes.

I think the reality is, there are just some things in life that happen for which you cannot fully prepare.

I think the reality is, you cannot always be happy.

I think the reality is, sometimes, you just have to go through something. You can’t check the weather. You can’t pack band-aids. You just have to weather the storm, and check yourself for cuts when you come out.

This storm has passed (I think). Our church campus has closed.

But after the storm passed, I looked around to survey the damage and I was incredibly surprised.

Our church members were all safe. The kids we ministered to are transitioning to the ‘big church.’

Most importantly, my husband and I made it through this together. When I was down, he held me. He didn’t push me back up (I’m probably too stubborn for that anyway). When he was down, I helped him brace through it. It sucked while we were going through it, but we made it out okay. We have come through this event with a stronger marriage. I love and respect my husband more today than I ever have.

After this, I’m sure there will be more. We don’t know what is next, for time and chance happens unto them all. I don’t know what could happen next. Maybe something joyful and amazing? Maybe something not so great?

All I know is, somehow – someway – we’ll be ok. Everything will be ok.