Thanks

I think I’m going to be done with blogging.

When I first started writing this blog, I needed to write.  I didn’t have an outlet.  I couldn’t say what I thought or felt.  Either I wasn’t brave enough to say it, or couldn’t identify it until I started hammering the words out on my keyboard; I’m still not sure which reason is the truth, and it’s most likely some combination of the two.  Regardless of the reason, I couldn’t talk.  This blog has allowed me to do that over the last two years, and to say in writing what I couldn’t say aloud. 

But I don’t need it any more.

It’s very cool to be able to say that.  To say that, right now, I am okay.  I feel whole.  Safe.  Joyful.  I’m in a good place.  I feel healthy for the first time in a long while, and I even like myself.  You have no idea what it means for me to say that.  I. Like. Myself. 

Over the last year or so, I feel like I’ve changed a lot.  I’ve grown into someone else.  Someone who’s a lot more comfortable with herself, and happy with who she’s becoming.  I thank God for that, and for all the other changes he’s allowed to happen within me throughout the last few months.  He’s helped me to do what I wanted to do.  Let go.  Grow up. 

I’ve still got a lot more growing up to do, and I recognize this.  Maybe I’ll start a new blog, at some point in the future.  If I do, I’ll be sure to let you all know.  Until then, thanks so much for traveling with me, and blessings to you all!

~Melissa

Tutoring.

I started tutoring this semester, working with the junior nursing students in three of the courses I did well in last year.  In the beginning, I hated it.  I’d feel nauseous, every time I went off to lead a study session.  The idea of teaching groups of my peers made me want to be sick.  I got excited on the days when no one showed up to my sessions.  God, obviously, did not intend for me to be a teacher.

Now, a little over two months into the semester, something has changed.  I look forward to running my study sessions, and interacting with the juniors.  I walk back to my townhouse afterward feeling pleased, and happy that I could be an encouragement to them.  A far cry, and a huge contrast, to the way I felt before.

The juniors themselves have not changed, nor has the way I run my sessions.  It’s my attitude that’s changed, and has made such a huge difference in my mood.

At first, I was convinced I had to be the best.   I had to know everything there was to know about Medical-Surgical and Psychiatric Nursing, and be prepared to answer any question that the juniors asked of me.  I had to be able to explain things in a way that the juniors could understand.  I had to keep them engaged, and make my sessions interesting.  I had to make sure they learned and got stellar marks on their exams, and always left my sessions feeling like they were experts on whatever topics we happened to cover that day.

What crap.

Now my goal is just to be an encouragement.  It’s not my responsibility to make sure the juniors learn and pass all their exams – it never was.  It’s my job to explain material in the best way I can, and to help them understand concepts.  I spend most of my sessions laughing with the juniors, and trying to help them not be so stressed out.  I leave feeling happy.  I don’t have to be the best, I just have to be.

It’s amazing how much more simple – and enjoyable – everything becomes once you take the filter of perfectionism away.

Familiar.

“Would you trade it for something else?” Joyce asked me.

The eating disorder, she had meant.  I was sitting in her office, feeling slightly miserable because I’d spent the majority of last week struggling with awful thoughts about my body image and gone to bed every evening wanting to throw up.  I was royally ticked, too; obsessing over my weight and how I look seems stupid, and petty, and vain.  And, in all honesty, after nearly 6 months of the eating disorder not being much of an issue, I was upset that all my thoughts about it had suddenly popped back up.

Joyce says that, most likely, it’ll always be an issue for me.  Body image will always be one of those pots that are on the back burner of my personal stove.  For a long time, my automatic response to stress and anxiety will be a desire to make myself get sick or starve myself. Which sort of sucks. 

“Would you trade it for something else?” my therapist asked me.  “Given the choice, would you trade the eating disorder and all the struggles you’ve got with body image, and perfectionism, and all of that for something like alcoholism?  Or cancer?  Or schizophrenia?”

No.  I wouldn’t.  Not ever.  And I guess this is because, at the very least, the eating disorder is familiar.

Funny how that works.  Do you think that anyone, given a similar choice, would choose their familiar pain?

Eco Club

I joined the Ecology Club.

In part, I joined because I’m sick of my entire life on campus seeming to revolve around the Nursing Department. Mostly, however, I joined because Dr. LaCelle is one of the faculty advisors for the club. Trust me – if you knew how adorable Dr. LaCelle is, you would join the Eco Club too.

Anyway. This morning was our first official get-together of the semester. We met at 9 a.m. to clean up trash along a strip of roadway that the college has adopted. Aside from Dr. LaCelle and the other faculty advisor, I was the only one who showed up. Oh, the irony.

Decked out in our neon-colored vests and heavy work gloves (I drew the line at wearing a hard helmet – For real), the three of us spent two hours bagging trash and improving the aesthetic beauty of CR- # Something-Or-Other. And I realized that I live in a bubble.

I’m up to my mid-thighs in weeds, and Dr. LaCelle and his counterpart are amiably discussing the world’s energy crisis. They’re talking about things like carbon emissions, ethanol, and all the untapped energy that could be utilized if someone would just be smart enough to harvest oil from algae. It’s literally a foreign language. I don’t contribute to the conversation, because I honestly have no idea what they’re talking about.

The point of all of this, I suppose, really has nothing to do with the Ecology Club, Dr. LaCelle, algae, or hard helmets. It is really just to say that I worry I’m entirely too self-absorbed. I don’t follow the news. I’m not interested in politics. If something doesn’t directly affect me through school, my job, my church, my family or my friends, I am usually completely unaware of it.

I realize that, developmentally, it’s semi-appropriate for teenagers to be extremely self-focused. The thing is… I’m not a teenager any more. So how do I start to grow up in this area?

I just feel sad.

“I miss Sarah.  I miss all you girls.” My dad said.

He made that comment last weekend, driving in the van with the twins and myself.  McKenna had just commented on how similar one of my friends looked to our tall, blonde-haired sister.  I was struck by the sadness and regret in my father’s voice.

I feel badly for my daddy.  Isn’t that funny?  After so many years of being ticked off and hurt, now I just feel sad for him?  He missed so much, and he knows it. 

I’m not angry any more.

My Decision.

I’ve been having trouble deciding what to do about living arrangements for the next year.  My options include living at home, living on campus, or getting my own apartment.  I’ve done a lot of waffling back and forth, unable to make up my mind.  This is pretty typical of me.  I tend to be indecisive, and I have trouble making choices.

There is always the possibility that I will make the wrong choice.  This would be, of course, unforgivable.  I am not permitted to make stupid choices.

To avoid making stupid choices, I usually just try to avoid making choices altogether.  When forced to actually decide something, I tend to choose impulsively, refusing to think about what the consequences of my decision will look like, or I just go along with whatever someone else says to do.  For some reason, I always seem to view letting someone else tell me what to do as being the better course of action; this way, I tell myself, if it ends up being the wrong choice, I’m not really responsible.

For some reason, my decision process regarding where to live next year has not looked like this.  Yes, I have done a lot of waffling back and forth.  However, I have also made out a list of pro’s and con’s, talked with a lot of people, researched local apartments on-line, looked at an apartment complex, thought about it, prayed about it, and… made an actual decision.

I’m living on campus next year.  With my friends.  Within walking distance to my classes, and with free access to the gym.

I do not really understand exactly why I am so excited about this, but I know that I am.  This is my decision.  No one else made it for me.  And I am happy with it.

This, my friends, is what the face of progress looks like.

Home.

I feel a little like I am homeless.

Maybe this is a typical feeling among college-aged young adults. Maybe it is not. I don’t know; I’ve never really talked about it before with anyone my age.  I’ve never really talked about it with anyone, to be honest; I’ve only just realized that I feel this way.

Coming back from vacation, I realized that I’m not really sure where Home is anymore. My mother lives in one city, and my father lives in another. Their houses are just houses, and aren’t really places I’m comfortable enough in to consider Home any longer. I’m comfortable at Susan’s house, but the unspoken rule is that I’m only allowed to pretend it’s my space when she’s away on vacation. I’m comfortable at Ed and Gloria’s, too, and it feels Home-like. But it’s only a temporary Home, until classes start again at the end of August. After that, I’ll live in a dorm room for a year, and, after that… I’m not really certain.

It’s not so much that I want a place of my own as it is that I want someplace where I belong. Someplace where I can be me, and where I can be healthy, and where I don’t feel like I’m being selfish for trying to take care of myself. Someplace where I can run to when the bottom drops out and everything comes crashing down around me, and where I won’t feel guilty for taking up anyone else’s time or attention.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. –Psalm 46:1

I feel like, until I figure that out and really believe it, I could live in a hundred thousand different places and never find Home.

A Good Movie

This may seem silly, but sometimes I wonder what my life would look like as a movie.  I imagine an invisible third person viewing my everyday actions, following me around and silently observing me.  On some levels, I wonder if this might be narcissistic or self-obsessive, but I honestly really just think I’m overly imaginative.  No worries, though; I’m not coming up with my own theme music, or anything like that. 

The scenes now are quiet ones, and have been especially so during these last few days.  Everyone at home is away on vacation, and so I have the house to myself for the next week.  Skipping in and out of my life, the scenes show me doing things like singing in the shower, taking out the trash, and unloading the dishwasher.  I let the dog out in the morning, make myself coffee, and go to work.  In the evenings, I have friends over for dinner, or eat on my own.  I wash the windows and do my laundry.  At night, I watch dramatic, older movies on the couch.  I share my popcorn with the dog.  The scenes show me talking on the telephone with my mother, or going out with friends.

My life is unremarkable right now.  Blissfully simple.  I am completely content.  It’s sort of like that feeling you get when you lie in the sunshine – everything is warm and comfortable, and so practically perfect that you don’t want to move.  You feel like you could just stay there, smiling softly and with your eyes shut, forever. 

The problems and issues that were there are still there, and new one are still coming up.  But they all seem so much smaller and less overwhelming now.  Things that would previously have made me feel tense and anxious no longer do, to a certain extent.  I’m not certain what’s changed.  Maybe I’ve changed.

I like this.  I like this feeling.

This is a good movie.  I have a good life.

Defiant.

A sign appeared in the women’s bathroom at work a few months ago, and was displayed prominently on the paper towel dispenser.  “Why take two when one will work?” the sign questioned.  It was an attempt to cut down on the number of paper towel used by the ladies frequenting the restroom.  Go Green, and all of that.

Now I am all for being environmentally friendly.  I try not to waste electricity or water, I’m a huge believer in recycling, and chew my sisters out on a semi-regular basis for littering.  But I hate that sign.  At twenty-two years old, I’ve finally realized that I cannot stand being told what to do.  Every time I read that sign, I am tempted to use six paper towels, as opposed to my typical two, simply out of spite.

Two days ago, I threw the sign out.

On Monday, I was in a particularly pissy mood.  I ripped the laminated paper sign off the paper towel dispenser and tossed it in the waste basket.  A co-worker, washing her hands at the sink next to me, looked at me a little questionably.  I shrugged; “I hate that sign,” I explained.  My co-worker laughed, and confessed that she hated it as well, for reasons similar to my own.  Later in the afternoon, she walked by my cubicle and gleefully whispered that she’d just used the last two paper towels in the dispenser.  I giggled, and we high-fived one another.  It was slightly ridiculous, but highly meaningful.  I felt a little defiant.

Telling this story to a friend yesterday, she laughed at me, and then said she was rather pleased.  “Three months ago, you would never have done that.  In fact, you might have actually even cut down to using one paper towel, just to be obedient.”

Cool.

A minor victory.

Failure.

”I will always be remembered for my biggest failure.”

That’s a line from Night at the Museum 2, which I saw with my family over the weekend, said by Col. Custer.  It’s the only line I remember from the whole movie.  The Colonel makes this statement in reference to his involvement in the Battle of Little Big Horn, and tries to use it as an excuse to avoid joining in a fight against the film’s villains.

I left the theater on Friday night thinking about how often I (used to) feel defined by my failures.  No matter how much good I did, or how well I performed, it was never enough to cover up the smudge made by mistakes.   That’s not a fun way to feel, and I’m glad I’ve slowly started to step away from that line of thinking.  

It’s sort of hard to feel much hope if you keep thinking that way.