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.

On depression... round...???

If you’re ever struggled with depression for a long time, you don’t wonder why people commit suicide.

I know that’s morbid.

Mina Brees was 59-years-old when she committed suicide from a prescription drug overdose. I don’t know a lot about Mina Brees (Mina was the mother of Saints’ quarterback Drew Brees). I know she was an attorney in Austin. I know she was intelligent and people say she was charming. But when I first heard that she had committed suicide, I wondered about how she lived? Did she struggle with depression? For how long? What was the last straw? I don’t know the answers to those questions. But when I hear of an older person who has made the decision to end their life, I assume they struggled with the monster that is depression.

Alcoholism is a disease that persists. Some people struggle with alcoholism for a short time, and then conquer it. However, many people struggle with the urge to consume alcohol for their entire lives.

My experience with depression is chronic. I was diagnosed with depression when I was in 8th grade. Since that time I’ve had a half-dozen or so bouts of depression. One bout lasted a year, another lasted only three months.

Depression is exhausting. It feels like there is a giant weight on me. I try to move, and it holds me down. I try to think, and it holds me back. My body hurts all of the time. I haven’t slept soundly in weeks. I’m exhausted from fighting something that won’t seem to go away. I feel ridiculous that I have to tell people again that my depression feels like its winning.

This time, my bout has been going on for about four months. It started slow. I noticed I was feeling anxious at work, and felt scared to talk in front of people. My depression has progressed to calling into work ‘sick,’ avoiding large social situations (if I can), and trying to stay away from people. This week at work I had to go to the bathroom six times to cry in the stall.

Frankly, I’m just fucking tired. I’m tired of fighting this. I’m tired of the waves.

Last week my mom came to visit, and she spent a lot of time taking care of me.

Last night, my husband held me while I melted down into nothingness.

If my depression could be healed by thinking of nice things, I would’ve started investing in puppy stickers a while ago.

If this mental pain could be healed by prayer alone, my words to Jesus would’ve saved me years ago.

If my anxiety would go away with hugs and kisses, then the time my mom spent holding me Saturday should’ve healed my tired nerves.

If my faith were enough to save me from this, this weight would’ve been lifted a while ago.

I try to imagine all of the good things that come from having depression. When I think of the best thing, I think of Darl from As I Lay Dying. "Life was created in the valleys. It blew up into the hills on the old terrors, the old lusts, the old despairs. That's why you must walk up the hills so you can ride down." You never really know a peak, until you’ve been in a valley. And if you’ve never really been in a valley… well… you know the rest.

I lay in this valley. The only way to get back up – is to climb. I’m so fucking sick of climbing. Can’t someone else just pull me up? Whatever… here I am. Climbing again. Step by step. When I reach the crest, I know I will rejoice in the glory (1 Peter 4: 12-13). The sun will be bright again. The sky will shine in glory. It’s hard to see the glory from the bottom, but I know it’s there. I will walk up.

On why some people suck at being empathetic...

I almost punched someone in the armpit a few weeks ago. In my brain, I totally punched that person in the armpit, and then in the ankle.

A few weeks ago I was on the phone sharing something very personal with someone I know. I was talking how event X was really difficult on me because of Y. Like a lot of people, because I was talking about something difficult, I started to cry. There I was, chatting on the phone with this person, pouring out my heart and crying like a child.

I was the picture of vulnerability. In that moment, the only thing I wanted was to share my own personal experience with another human being. All I wanted in return, was for that person to hear my pain, and try to connect with me on a human level.

I think we all want that. I think that is why we make friends, get married, and have children. Deep down, we all want to be vulnerable and share deep connections with other people.

After pouring out my heart, the person said to me, 'Well… at least you can be happy about…. X. And at least you can look forward to Z.' That is when my brain started reaching through the digital airwaves and punching this person in the hamstring.

I'm not a negative person. In any given day I see that my life is full of amazing things. I have an AMAZING job, a great husband, and super duper friends. I have a car that works, a house, two cute cats, great parents, and – most importantly – a God that loves me. I understand that focusing on your blessings is a good mental exercise in making sure you don’t turn into a Mr. Sour-puss. I'm aware that being negative all the time sucks.

The thing is, in that moment – in the moment when I’m sharing my soul – that is NEVER the moment when you say ‘Well, at least...’

That is never the moment because it shows that instead of you (as the listener) trying to feel empathy, it shows that you are trying to alter the mental state of the person talking. And if you know even .01% of psychology, you should know that you can never force a person to change her mind by making one or two little 'Well… at least' comments. In fact, one or two little comments are more likely to drive a person (like me) to want to slap you in the kidney.

I've spent the last few weeks pondering why some people suck at empathy. I think my mother would say, ‘Well, some people just don’t know what to do or what to say.' I think my mother is an empathetic person – perhaps the most empathetic person I know. I agree with my mother that some people aren’t sure what to say, but I think there is a reason for that. I think the causal factor is that the least empathetic people have never really experienced suffering. The reason some people don’t know what to do or say, is because they’ve never been in a position where they need another person to give them empathy. Until you reach the point of receiving empathy, I’m not sure if you can ever really give it out.

The person that sucked at being empathetic has never experienced true suffering. No big deaths, no illnesses, no big family issues, no real money issues, no marriage problems, no kid problems… no… NOTHING.

My mother…. My mother has overcome more than any person I have ever met. My mother overcome a very difficult childhood. She overcame a very difficult first marriage. I am so proud at my mother’s kindness and resilience. As a result, she knows exactly how to act, react, and empathize.

A few days ago a friend came to me to talk to me about his life. This friend has many things that are exceptionally difficult going on in his life. Half way through our conversation, when he was talking about how difficult life has been, he started crying.

The best thing to do when someone is crying – is to cry with them. So that is what we did. My friend and I sat there for a few minutes, and we just cried.

In a one hour conversation, I am not going to be able to fix another person’s problems. Heck, sometimes I feel like I can’t even fix my own problems. One thing I can do, is sit and listen.

At some point, that person that I wanted to punch in the armpit is going to need someone to cry with. Part of me hopes for that moment to come soon. When that moment comes, part of me wants to wait around the corner with a bunch of 'Well…. At least X, Y and Z.' Unfortunately, my dear sweet mother didn’t raise me that way. So when that person comes trotting back needing empathy – which is going to happen at some point – I plan on being there.

If you are my friend, and you need to cry – I will cry with you.

If you are my friend, and you need to talk – I can just shut up and listen.

If you are my friend, and you need me – I want to be here for you.

That is what empathy is. It is understanding. It is sharing. It is... just being there.

On why I left the church, and how I came back...

When I was a freshman in college, I walked away from God and the church. Actually, I’d say I ran away screaming.

My first six months of college I attended a campus Christian group. We would meet every week, discuss the Bible and hang out. Then, one week we started talking about judgment. No, I don’t mean we talked about how we will be judged, or salvation. We didn’t talk about being saved through grace, or acts, or some other theological debate. I mean, the group of people I was sitting with started discussing who was going to heaven and who was going to hell. I thought that was bullshit.

I was so offended by the conversation that I left and didn’t come back to God for about seven years.

My falling off started small, but grew over time. I began doubting God’s existence. I wondered how a gracious God could create a world with so much bullshit. I was angry that I suffered from depression and had experienced so much loss, while other people seemed happy and full of life. I stopped attending church. I never read the Bible. I stopped praying. I stopped believing. If you asked me if I believed in God, I would have told you ‘Hell, no!’

The thing about God’s voice, is that once you’re really heard it – it is impossible to stay away. Although I thought I had left everything I once knew about Christianity, God still wanted me.

After seven years, my life started turning to shit. My now ex-husband was going to leave me. Graduate school was terrible. I was suffering from three solid years of depression. I felt like I had nothing left.

I got into my car and decided I was going to drive it off of a bridge. I started driving around looking for a place where I could gather enough speed, and where I could drive off without hurting anyone else.

But then I heard something. Something was telling me that this didn’t have to be the answer. Instead of driving my car off the bridge, I called a suicide hotline. The woman on the other end, whose name I don’t even remember, saved my life. She convinced me to call my brother. My brother came and got me.

Two days later, I started going to church again. I googled the church that was closest to me, and just started going. I was terrified that someone in the church would be able to see that I had been fighting for team atheist, and that they’d throw me out. No one did that.

I use to think my journey was beautiful and unique. I guess in some ways it is, because it is mine. However, since time has passed I’ve talked to at least a dozen people who’ve followed a similar path. I think a lot of people leave the church because people within the church are shitty to them.

For some strange reason, growing up going to church, I always had this weird idea that church-goers were somehow better people. After over twenty years of going to church, I now see how naïve that is. I do think that churches need to do more to let people know that Christians are not perfect, and that pastors are people who sometimes fuck up. After attending church for a few decades I hope I’m a better person. Even if I’m better, I’m never going to be perfect. No matter how hard I try, I’m probably going to do something that hurts someone.

Churches are full of people. And sometimes people are really crappy. Hopefully, churches can be a safer (safer than work or home) place where we can turn to each other in our times of need. But sometimes, churches fail.

When you are crapped on in church, it is easy to look at the church and blame God for the problem. It is also easy to think all Christians are as terrible as the person/people that treated you poorly.

I’ve found that when I talk to a crappy sales person from a company I often think that the cruddy sales person IS the company. The number one reason people don’t return to a restaurant is a bad waiter. And the main reason people leave a company is a bad boss. Does a bad waiter mean the whole restaurant is terrible? Does a bad boss mean the whole company is worthless?

If you identify as a Christian, and you treat someone like a jerk, it is probable that the person you treated poorly will think that you are representative of all Christians.

I was able to come back to church because I was able to make an important distinction. Going to church is a lot like going to a gym. Some people are going to be really fit, healthy, and in shape. But there are also going to be a lot of people that are unfit, and need to spend a lot of time getting in shape. We don’t go to church because we are perfect. We go to church because we are hoping to get better. If we all had to be perfect in order to meet Jesus, none of us would be good enough.

If you’re reading this, and someone within the church has hurt you – I want to tell you that I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that someone hurt you. That sucks.

If you’re reading this, and I’ve hurt you – I am sorry for that as well. I’m sorry I was a crappy person.

In the campus Christian group, those people were just being jerks that day. It doesn’t mean they are terrible people. It certainly doesn’t mean God is terrible.

At the end of the day, the most important thing, is that you are a child of God and God loves you. No matter what you’ve done, and no matter what others have done to you, God loves you. In a perfect world we would always be examples of Christ. We would let other people be themselves. We would hold each other when we are in pain. We would protect each other, help each other grow, we would be safe places in a storm. But we are people, and we will fail.

No matter where you are, if you’ve ever heard the voice of God – He is calling to you. He wants you to hear Him. He needs you. And if you’ve ever heard the calling, you know that you need Him too.

From the day my husband and I were baptized.

On the loudest voice…

One part of my job is reviewing comments from readers.

I read survey comments. I read Facebook comments. I read comments people write post on articles.

There is no shortage of people sharing their point of view.

I’ve been reading comments as part of my job for about six years now.

Although I haven’t crunched the numbers, I am convinced that the amount of negative feedback has greatly increased over the last few years.

Three weeks ago someone wrote a comment in one of my surveys that the author should be fired because he/she was an ‘idiot.’ What was my crime? I had one typo on a thirty question survey.

A few months ago, I had to go through over 15,000 comments from a massive survey. The comments included insults that called people names like ‘facists,’ ‘communists,’ ‘fucktards,’ and ‘retards.’ One person said we needed to kill ourselves.

After two solid days of reading comments I was utterly destroyed from the negativity. I don’t know of a single person that wouldn’t have some emotional reaction after two days of such pessimism.

Since the internet began, we have experienced the approach of infinity on a number of things. The amount of data is infinite. The amount of new knowledge is infinite. With the approach of infinity, there is no shortage of people reacting to the things they read online.

With all of the noise, what voice do you listen to? What voice reaches out above the rest?

I am guessing that people leave mean or cruel comments because they simply want their point of view to be heard.

I get that. I understand that we all want to believe that our opinions and viewpoints are valid and valuable.

In the sea of comments, I think people forget that their voice is being heard by someone.

Many times, the person hearing that loud (and sometimes cruel) voice is someone like me.

Who am I?

I am a 29 year old, married, white woman who lives in Jackson, Michigan. I love watching television. I teach Sunday school to little kids. I am a daughter, an aunt, a sister, and a friend. I like playing board games with my friends, and trying new beer and wine. I am a person. I have feelings and thoughts and reactions. If you call me a ‘bitch’ that hurts my feelings. When you tell me I am an ‘idiot’ for having one typo that makes me feel bad. When you tell me to ‘go kill myself’ that hurts my heart.

In my entire life, I have never had a complete stranger walk up to me on the street and yell obscenities or say cruel comments. If you would not yell at a stranger on the street, then why is it okay to do it online? Is it because there is some anonymity? What is it about cutting someone down builds you up? If you feel the need to cut someone down, what are missing in your life?

Swimming through the sea of information and stories, I think it is easy to forget that there are people watching and reading. I am one of those people. And I am tired. I am tired of being yelled at, called names and insulted for the most trivial things.

Are some people actually idiots? Yes. Are some people doing incredibly stupid things? Yes.

But I bet you are too. I know I do stupid things all the time.

Would you want a team of people yelling obscenities at you the next time you mess up?

I know I wouldn't. So why are you doing it? And can you please stop a little bit?