Worth It

It is my belief that people are born inherently worthy. Worthy of love, worthy of respect, worthy of just taking up space and existing exactly as they are.

Almost immediately, we all start to unlearn this. We each have different experiences that help us form our beliefs about ourselves and what we are deserving of. Sometimes, these are good beliefs like, “Mom and Dad still love me even though I did poorly on my school assignment. My worth is not dependent on doing well in school.” But sometimes, they are limiting beliefs like, “If I hadn’t spilled my drink on the sofa, Mom and Dad wouldn’t be fighting right now. It is my fault they argue because I am always making mistakes.”

Obviously, we don’t usually form these beliefs in straight-forward, black and white sentences, and that is what makes them so sinister. We are constantly shaping the way we view ourselves without even knowing it! Then, we behave in a way that we think will make us more desirable, more lovable, more worthy, believing that worthiness is something that can be achieved.

We try to achieve worthiness through our jobs, our relationships, our belongings, and the way we present ourselves to others. We think that if our life just looks a certain way, if we could just obtain perfection, then FINALLY, we would be deemed worthy.

I created my business, Chariot and Charm, as a way to help others release the limiting beliefs they hold about themselves so they can rediscover their own self-worth. The modalities I offer (Life Coaching, Tarot and Oracle readings, and Yoga Nidra) allow clients to reconnect to themselves in a world that often encourages numbing and disconnection. By reconnecting to their truth, my hope is that individuals can become aware of how their beliefs effect their behaviors and then consciously decide which beliefs they want to keep, and which beliefs are no longer serving them.

In my dream world, all people would know they are valuable and worthy. All people would know they are here for a purpose and they would pursue that purpose confidently and passionately, knowing that they don’t have to be “perfect” to be good enough. My goal is to offer a safe and supportive environment for people to get to know themselves so that they can really, truly love themselves.

Please please please please love me

Hi, my name is Jordan, and I am a chronic people-pleaser. This has been the case my entire life. So much of my identity is built upon wanting others to like me (or, even better, LOOOOOVE me). I became so codependent (on everyone), so focused on being who I thought everyone else wanted me to be, that for a long time, I didn’t even know myself.

I believe this started in my childhood around the time my parents started to have problems in their marriage. I remember once, hearing them shouting at each other in our garage, I quickly drew a happy family portrait with my crayons and presented it to them. I was trying to “fix” whatever was broken (even before I understood how a marriage could be broken).

My sister was what you would call the “problem child” in our house. She struggled with school and often cut class. She had a hard time holding down a job. For a lot of reasons- some fair and some really unfair- my dad (technically our step-dad) had issues with my sister. Which meant our mom had issues with my dad. There were other problems, too, but a lot of it centered around the struggles my sister dealt with. Before I was even old enough to realize what I was doing, I made it a point to be the easy kid. I performed well in school, I got a job at 16 and worked hard at it, I didn’t really ask my parents for anything. I tried not to be a “burden.” I saw that they already had a lot on their plate (especially my mom) and I did my best not to add to it.

This translated into pretty much every relationship that followed. My first boyfriend would become distant and cold if I ever brought up concerns about our relationship. On one occasion, he didn’t speak to me for 3 days. I didn’t think my requests were unfair or unwarranted, but I also didn’t want him to leave me, so I apologized excessively and smoothed everything over. I internalized any discomfort or pain that I felt, because I felt it wasn’t safe to share; if I shared it, I could potentially end up alone.

In my early 20’s, I moved to Arizona to start fresh. I soon learned that you don’t just leave all your baggage behind. My people-pleasing, codependent ways followed me. I was basically alone in a new state where I knew exactly two people. I didn’t know who I was or what I liked or what I wanted. All I knew was I was afraid of being alone. I wanted to badly to be loved and wanted. If others didn’t love me, I knew it was because I was unworthy of being loved. I was unlovable. It was my fault.

These feelings weren’t reserved solely for romantic relationships, either. I was completely codependent on my friends as well. I did whatever they wanted to do. I never started an argument and I avoided conflict at all costs. I am an introvert by nature, but I was so afraid of being left out that I was constantly out partying and drinking. I avoided my feelings by being constantly in contact with other people; I could NOT be alone. Sometimes my friends would become upset with me or need space, and when that happened, I would spiral into my depression, even resorting to self-harm. I didn’t share any of these sad or bad feelings with my friends because I didn’t want to be a burden. I wanted them to like me and I thought that if I wasn’t “easy,” then they wouldn’t want me around.

(This photo is from one of my many drunken nights out. Don’t get me wrong, not every night out was bad, and I have a lot of good memories. But when I look at this girl, I see someone so lost, someone who didn’t love herself, and who was using alcohol as a way to fill that void.)

Of course, there is a rock bottom in this story (involving way too much alcohol and an interrupted suicide attempt). Fortunately, there were professionals there to catch me. I wound up in a mental healthcare facility off the Las Vegas strip. It was fucking real and fucking terrifying. It was also what I needed to open my eyes. I realized, I don’t want to die. What am I doing?

It was in a group therapy session at this facility that I first heard the term codependency. It resonated deeply and I wanted to know more. Codependency has traditionally been used to describe relationships with addicts, but more recently the definition has evolved and expanded. Codependency is a sort of relationship addiction based on an excessive reliance on approval from others. A person puts so much focus on keeping their partner around and filling their needs that they ignore their own needs. As I read, I was like whoa. This is me.

So, I knew that in order to crawl my way out of rock bottom. I needed to make some changes. It helped that now I had an idea of where to start.

The first thing that had to go was drinking. It wasn’t just unhealthy for me, it was dangerous for me in my current mindset. This meant I had to miss out on going out with my friends multiple times a week, which was hard for me. At first I felt left out, and was certain I would be forgotten. I wasn’t actually too far off. Pretty quickly I realized that there wasn’t much to these friendships beyond drinking. Most of these people didn’t reach out to me to see how I was, or invite me to other activities like dinner or the movies. I mourned the loss of these “friendships.” But this showed me who my real people were. The ones who stood by my side and helped me through my transition, who genuinely cared about my well-being. These people are still my best friends today.

Maybe even more difficult than quitting drinking was learning how to set boundaries. I had to fucking learn to say no, and it went against everything in my body. I learned that I couldn’t go to every event, I couldn’t take every late-night phone call, I even had to lessen my load at the community college I was attending. I had to slow down. I had to take time for me. I had to spend time with me, learning to check in with myself and pay attention if I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. It was uncomfortable, spending time alone. It was hard to be alone with my thoughts instead of out numbing and ignoring. But it got easier and I’ve become in tune to what I need for my mental and emotional health. Now I can make a decision to do something based on what I truly want, not how I think others will perceive me.

Finally, and this is I think a constant work in progress, I had to learn who the hell I am. What my likes and dislikes are. What my fears are and what my hopes and dreams are. What kinds of personalities I enjoy and want to be around. I was 25 years old and I didn’t know these things!! I had worn a mask for so long, I didn’t know what my real reflection looked like. This takes practice and discovery and trying new things and again, boundaries. I learned to listen to and respect my own opinion. Now, I am finally in a place where I know who I am and what I stand for, and this has been my greatest gift to myself.

(Infographic by Sara Kuburic, @millennial.therapist)

F.E.A.R.

One of the things I love about Life Coaching is that it helps a person make an impact on their life right now. Unlike therapy or counseling, it isn’t necessary to know the whole story and all of the “why’s” in order to start taking steps forward.

I want to make it clear right now that I do NOT think life coaching should take the place of therapy/counseling. Some people may need one or the other, some people may want to have both. It is an individual’s choice to make sure their specific needs are being met. Life coaching isn’t about delving into past traumas or childhood experiences to discover why we act or feel the way we do. It is simply about coming up with a motivating plan to move forward from where you currently are.

That being said, life coaching does require a person to be vulnerable and honest. This can be really hard when talking about fears and insecurities, especially if you haven’t already been working your way through them.

My big fear is to live an unfulfilling life. A life with little emotional connection, no big-life talks, no exciting new experiences or travels to different places. A life where I am stuck in a comfortable but boring day job, feeling like I don’t make a difference in the world. A life where I don’t have a purpose. Essentially, I am just waiting to die because I’ve given up hope that life can be bright and inspiring and full.

The thing about my fear is that I have already lived it. I was trapped in a job, a relationship, a life that felt suffocating. I was filled with anxiety over the thought of never having something more meaningful to me. That is why I quit my job, ended a five-year relationship, and moved to a different state to start over. I had to leave behind the comforts of home and embrace the unknown in the hopes that things would work out for the better. And, so far they have.

I recently learned a new definition of fear in class:

F- false
E- evidence
A- appearing
R- real

How do we overcome fear?

F- face it
E- express it
A- acknowledge it
R- release it

One way of facing and expressing your fear is by turning it into a metaphor. Speaking of something metaphorically is sometimes easier than openly discussing a painful fear, and it can bring objectivity to a situation. Also, in your metaphor, you are entirely in control. You can overcome any roadblock that is set in your path.

My fear feels like a room with no doors. I’m in the room alone, and it is pretty threadbare. One entire wall is made of glass and I can see out into the world. People are constantly passing by, but they don’t pay attention to my little room. I try to get their attention but they can’t hear me. They are participating in life. They are making a difference in the world through work that they’re passionate about. They are embracing relationships and friendships fully and basking in the love they are giving and receiving. They are traveling, trying new things, finding new hobbies, new likes and dislikes, new ideas. 

My room is isolating and uninspiring, but it is safe. I can’t be hurt by others. I can’t fail or disappoint myself or others. I want to go outside, I want to live in the light, but I’m so worried I won’t be good enough, I won’t succeed, I won’t bring anything important to the world. What if I enter the light and fail? What if I am a burden to those around me? What if they were better off when I stayed in the shadows?

Still, my heart longs for adventure. I can’t stop thinking about what I might achieve. “Maybe I could succeed,” I whisper to myself, and a small crack appears in the glass.

“I have stories that others might relate to.” A snapping sound as another crack appears.

“I’ll never know unless I try.”
Crack.

My voice slightly louder, I say, “I’m a good listener. I’m thoughtful and caring. Others could benefit from having me around.”
Crack.

“Why shouldn’t I be happy? Why shouldn’t I dream big dreams?”
Crack.

“I’m holding myself back in this room. I’m playing small. I’m hiding from potential happiness and success.”
CRACK.

Taking a step back, I see the web of cracks connecting all over the glass. It seems precariously balanced, like one wrong move would send it shattering into a million pieces. 

“My voice is powerful,” I say louder.  
The glass shakes, every so slightly. 

Suddenly, I am so sure of myself. “I am powerful!” I shout. “I have the power to create any life I want!”

With this final declaration, the glass bursts into tiny, glittering pieces clattering to the ground. The dividing wall between myself and the world is gone. It is up to me what I do next. I step forward and feel the warm sunlight hit my skin. I smell the fresh, clean air. I hear laughter in the distance. My heart is so full. 

Looking over my shoulder, I see my small, dark room. Sunlight is streaming through the opening, brightening the corners. It doesn’t seem so threatening anymore. I turn back to the sun and take a step forward into the unknown. 

When I started speaking this metaphor to my classmates, I had no idea what was going to come out. I knew I felt trapped, but hadn’t realized the feelings of isolation and looking out at others. I sure as hell didn’t know my voice would be the tool I used to free myself. But with my eyes closed, deep in the visualization of my metaphor, I just knew. I knew that the power was inside of me. I just had to be brave enough to use it. 

What is your fear? What is it holding you back from? If you turned your fear into a metaphor, how would you smash it? 

Born Worthy

Last weekend, I took my first course in Life Coaching. While the creator of the course, K. C. Miller, was giving her introduction speech, I got really teary-eyed. I thought I was able to blink them back well enough, but K. C. locked eyes on me and said, “I appreciate that you are having a physiological reaction. Would you please share with us?” And then the crying hit my throat, and I knew I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to.

What got me so worked up was K. C. Miller’s philosophy that, “There are no extra people.” It’s simple and short. But the meaning is so potently beautiful, I couldn’t help but break into tears.

I am someone very familiar with feeling “extra.” I didn’t think I had a purpose or a reason to be alive; most of the time I just felt like a burden on my loved ones. I still remember the day I had an insane breakthrough with my therapist, Joy, when she told me, “You matter, Jordan.” It was the first time I had ever heard it, which maybe isn’t so unusual. It isn’t exactly the sort of thing you go around casually expressing to others. But for me, it was life-changing. Before that, I didn’t know if I mattered. In fact, I doubted that I did. In this pivotal moment, I realized that I didn’t have to earn the right to matter. I didn’t have to earn my worthiness. Every single person matters just because they exist. By extension, that meant I must have to matter too.

While in class, there was a lot of sharing (as is to be expected from a healing arts school). I listened intently to the stories of my peers. The boy with the mohawk covered in tattoos. The pretty young yogi. The blue-haired witch. The ever-giving mother. As I listened, I was brought to tears more than once. Throughout all of their trials- be it with addiction, abuse, grieving a lost loved one, low self-worth, poverty, and more- these beautiful humans still found their way to a school where they could learn to heal themselves so that they could then help to heal others. How amazing is that??

I thought, “There isn’t a person alive that you couldn’t love if you heard their story.”

Life Coaching isn’t really about giving advice or sharing stories. It’s about asking the right questions. The goal is to help your client discover their own answers through self-reflection. On the last day of class, K. C. asked us to contemplate, “What is the one most important question that we need to ask ourselves in order to heal and move forward?” Fucking intense, man.

Initially, I came up with, “Why do I think I don’t deserve to love myself?” You see, even with the important realization that I matter in this world, actually loving myself is still a work in progress. Some days it is so easy, I don’t even have to think about it. Some days it is so hard, I don’t want to think about it or I’m afraid I’ll break down.  While I meditated, though, another thought hit me. “Why do I deserve to love myself?”

Even speaking the question aloud, I felt insecure and undeserving. But I don’t believe that narrative anymore, so I am here to answer my question.

Why do I deserve to love myself?

• Because I am brave.
• Because I left home so I could spread my wings.
• Because I lost myself, completely.
• Because I tried finding myself in bottles of liquor, in strangers’ beds.
• Because I have had my heart shattered by an ex-love.
• Because I allowed myself to love again (and again and again…)
• Because I am a Scorpio.
• Because I put so much stock into astrology.
• Because I’m a good ass friend.
• Because I’ve been a bad friend at times, but my apologies are sincere.
• Because I am the absolute best gift-giver you’ll ever meet.
• Because I feel things so deeply, and it’s fucking hard.
• Because I love learning.
• Because I hate being told what to do.
• Because I believe in love and equality between genders, races, and religions.
• Because I can’t keep a hairstyle for more than six months.
• Because I’m, like, really funny sometimes.
• Because I’m an introvert to the max.
• Because I have anxiety.
• Because I’m so. goddamn. awkward. sometimes.
• Because I won’t let my depression win.
• Because I understand those who do, and I love them anyway.
• Because I have zero sense of geography, even in my own neighborhood.
• Because I’ve gotten too drunk and said too many things I can’t take back.
• Because I’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than I can count.
• Because I find answers in poetry.
• Because I find meaning staring into the ocean’s vastness.
• Because I keep trying to grow things, even though I have a brown thumb.
• Because I’m a fucking dope wife and an even better fur-mom.
• Because I know the world is mostly good.
• Because I know the world is entirely deserving of love.
• Because I am always striving, always expanding.
• Because I was born worthy. 
• Because we all were.

Fall down 6 times, stand up 7

I am currently taking a class called Building Resiliency. It’s inspirational, obviously, and throughout, I’ve also learned methods and techniques I can use to coach others on resiliency. The techniques are so applicable, I have been integrating them into my own self-care practice as well. (For instance, I have recently found great closure in a past relationship through the practice of Higher Consciousness Conversations.)

What is important to know about resiliency is that it isn’t a personality trait. It’s a skill. That means we can all develop resiliency and learn to grow through the trials life throws at us, and even come out stronger.

For me, building resiliency has really been about coming back from my depression as a stronger person. To be frank, depression knocked me on my ass and sent me tumbling hard into rock bottom. Not only did I feel completely alone, but I felt like I deserved to be alone. I felt like a burden to the people I loved. I didn’t feel worthy of joy, love, or even existing. And through this, I completely lost my sense of identity. I wasn’t an animal-loving, poetry-writing, kind-hearted person suffering the despair of depression. I was despair and depression.

Everywhere I looked, I found evidence of this fact, evidence to support how unworthy of love I was. I put on a mask everywhere I went of a happy, silly, easy-going girl, so even my “friends” and “family” (quotations because, at the time, I felt they didn’t want to be a part of my life and were unfortunately forced to because they felt sorry for me or felt too guilty to blow me off) couldn’t see how lost and full of hurt I was. I didn’t let anyone in, sure that nobody could love the real me; the me that carried a heavy heart and a tightness in my chest so stifling that sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

For me, rock bottom and the turning point were one and the same. On what was supposed to be a joyful trip to Las Vegas to celebrate friends’ birthdays, I found myself alone, drunk, and crying, wishing for my non-existence. Here, I attempted to end my own life, and was stopped at the last moment. I got to see another side of Las Vegas- an emergency room visit, followed by a stay in a mental health facility where my life was on a consistent schedule of meal times, group therapy, and two outdoor breaks a day. Not what I really had in mind when I embarked on this trip. Still, it was here that I realized, I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to stop existing. I just wanted to feel better. I didn’t know if that was possible, but I committed to at least trying.

I went back to my therapist, who I had been ignoring for the past few months. Here, I did WORK. Hard, dirty, painful, soul-searching work. I strengthened and learned new personal protective factors. Because I spent so much time in the chair, exploring my past, my emotions, my thought processes, I learned Inner Direction. I was able to consciously evaluate how I felt about something and make my decisions based on this, rather than what I felt would make me most lovable to others. I learned Perseverance. Things didn’t feel better for a long time. But I held onto a tiny glimmer of hope that one day, they would. I deepened my Spirituality starting with the belief that we matter because we exist. On days that I couldn’t convince myself that I mattered, I would come back to this belief. Everyone matters, so by default, I had to matter as well. Self-Worth came slowly, and there are still rough days when I can’t find it. But it is now something I know is there, so I trust that if I show myself some love and compassion, I can always find it again.

Another very important piece to my healing was pro-social bonding. Prior to my hospitalization, I spent as many nights as possible going out to parties or bars with a large group of people I considered my friends, but who actually didn’t even know me. After I decided to quit drinking for a while, I didn’t see many of them again. Who I did see, were the people I discovered were my real friends. The ones who called to check in on me in the hospital, and who sent me encouraging notes in the weeks that followed. The friends that I could hang out with without drinking and (though it was scary at first) be my true self around. My circle shrank significantly, but the love I felt grew immensely.

The tricky part about pro-social bonding and depression is that depression doesn’t want you to bond. It wants you to stay home alone and compare yourself to others on social media and wallow in regrets and past traumas. And it’s comfortable, and it feels safe, so sometimes we give in. Some nights, I had to force myself to go watch a movie or meet for dinner because I knew I would feel better after spending time with a good friend. My advice to others dealing with depression would be, “Say yes sometimes.” You don’t have to go to all of the events; in fact, you really probably shouldn’t. But do go, sometimes, with the people you care about and who you know care about you. Being around people who love you is miraculously helpful when you are trying to learn to love yourself.

While I am in a much healthier head-space these days, my recovery from depression is ongoing. There are great days and there are days that I feel I barely made it through. Resiliency is what keeps me going through all the days. Resiliency helped me climb from the shadowy darkness into the light. Resiliency helps me find humor and creativity around what I have experienced. And resiliency helped me find myself again, which was the greatest gift of all.

Piercing or pleasing

Recently, my work changed its policy on nose piercing (allowing piercings 2mm or smaller) and, being a staff of young women, we were all pretty excited about our new freedom. A group of four girls (myself included) planned a trip to a tattoo and piercing shop together so we could bond over decorative nose jewelry.

When I got home that night, I told my husband my plans. He was less enthused. “Please don’t,” he said. “I really don’t like how they look.”

Now, I will openly admit that perhaps the most childish trait about me is that I HATE being told what to do. In fact, even if I was already planning on doing one thing, if someone tells me to do it (not asks or suggests but tells, as if I don’t know what is best for me), I will almost certainly do the opposite thing instead. In my  actual wedding vows, I said, “I vow to never let you tell me what to do, but to always take into account your opinion on important decisions.” That’s fair, right?

Herein lied my dilemma. My husband didn’t tell me what to do. He didn’t even suggest it. He just asked me not to do something. And, vows aside, I really do respect his opinion. But, I really wanted to pierce my nose.

I asked the opinion of one of my very close friends. She is a successful doctor, a homeowner, an amazing chef, and a thoughtful, funny, charismatic woman. I explained my situation to her and her response was, “That’s why I don’t have a tattoo. My boyfriend hates them.”

My immediate reaction was a strong one. How dare he? I thought. She is a strong, independent woman and she doesn’t need his permission to do what she wants with her own body! That’s bullshit! She should go get TEN tattoos! 

So you can see where my cognitive dissonance was coming from. I am a proud feminist and I never imagined making decisions based on what someone else wanted me to do. I felt anxious and nauseated at the thought.

The day came and my friends texted me to see if I was still in. I told them I was undecided. I still had a few hours to decide (and to make up an excuse other than ‘My husband doesn’t want me to,’ if I decided to ditch out. That would be too shameful to admit.)

As the afternoon wore on, I brought it up to my husband. I was going to tell him that I respect his opinion but still felt that, when it comes to my own body, I should get final say. “The girls are all going to get their noses pierced tonight. What if I went with them?”

His response reaffirmed why I chose this man as my life partner. He said, “If you want to get one, you should go. I want you to be happy and if this will make you happy, I support it.” Heart eyes forever, right? And I didn’t even have to give him my speech.

So, the full group of us went to the shop and squeezed shut our eyes as a REALLY big needle was jammed through our nostrils and then giggled as we tried not to sneeze.

Turns out, two of my friends had had similar conversations with their own spouses. I’m happy that all of us decided we got to choose what we do or don’t do with our own noses. Even though a nose ring seems like such a small choice, it feels important to me that I made the decision based on what I wanted, not on pleasing other people.

I remember my therapist told me once, “The more confident and happy you are with your choices, the less it will matter what everyone else thinks about them.” I am happy with my choice.

Writing a story I want to read

Yesterday was my birthday, and it’s fall, and right now life feels like it has the potential to be a brand new, sparkly chapter.

My previous chapters have been about learning and about getting by. Chapters about self-loathing and all the boys it didn’t bring back. Pages with my face pressed up against a mirror as I cry because I knew it was my prerogative to have my own back, to carry myself through. There’s a chapter when real love shows up in two forms: first, from a big-smiled, curly-haired, beautiful man; and second, from within.

Next, I want a chapter where my devotion to writing grows and, alongside it, so does my devotion to living a full life. To living as the person I want to be. A person with passion that outweighs tired.

If we’re all in charge of building our own story, I want mine to be fulfilling and inspiring and exciting. I don’t want page after page of monotony, of dissatisfaction, of means to an end. It’s so easy to get stuck in day-to-day life without realizing it. To feel content and peaceful (if not infatuated) with a routine life and so to never try for something more. And I think that’s where I’m at right now. But I want to be infatuated with every day.

To me, this feels like a more befitting time to make resolutions for the coming year. And, writing them down in a public place might make me more accountable, so here’s what I got: Spend more time outdoors and less time online. Read more poetry. Try some new things. Travel as much as possible. Write as much as possible. Get in touch with my intuition. Be present but always moving towards my dreams.

If you have stories of how you got out of a rut or how you chased down your dream and made it come through, I would love to hear them. Please, share. 🙂

Don’t quit your daydream

It is becoming very apparent to me that I am an eternal optimist- mostly. It becomes clear when I’m driving through a town my best friend will later describe as “sketchy and dangerous” and all I noticed were the cute houses with different colored mailboxes. I notice it, also, as I listen to other people complain about the rude clients they’ve dealt with at work all day while personally choosing to remain silent about the injured pets I cared for and the euthanasias I assisted my doctors with that day. (It is a constant choice for me to leave work at work, and I do believe I am healthier for it.) Looking back, I can even see the small glimmer of optimism I held onto during the worst of the worst days of my depression. Even when my days were endlessly long, lonely, and dark, I somehow held out hope that one day they wouldn’t be.

The one place I find it hard to maintain an idealistic attitude? My future. My dreams.

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember, but as the end of high school loomed nearer and fear of the real world set it, I changed my major from creative writing to the more sensible journalism. Even then, I didn’t really think I had the chops to make it in that field, so I left my four-year-college for a technical school where I studied veterinary technology.

Don’t get me wrong; I love my job and I’m thankful to have my degree. I genuinely get to feel like I make a difference to people every day. But this isn’t what I always dreamed I’d be doing. And, the longer I’m in this field, the more I realize it isn’t really the passion-inspiring career I want for the rest of my life.

Lost and wandering (isn’t that how we all spend our twenties?), I visited a psychic in a lone building in a desolate parking lot in California. She told me she saw me in a career focused on helping people, something like therapy or counseling. Cut to me enrolling in community college for a degree in psychology. This is the closest fit I’ve found to what I actually want to be doing, which is helping people through my writing. I mean, I love therapy. I love going to my own therapist. I enjoy listening to my friends’ problems and assuring them that they are good, beautiful people, and they have everything it takes to succeed inside of them. I could easily excel at counseling others.

But… if I’m being honest, it still feels like the safer choice. The choice with job security and a 401k and a somewhat direct course of action. Does that mean it won’t be fulfilling? No. But will it be the most fulfilling? I don’t know.

Most of my life, I’ve carried around so much insecurity in my heart you could sink a boat with it. I believed I wasn’t funny enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t kind enough, wasn’t good enough at anything. Some of that comes from childhood (none of us makes it out completely unscathed), and some of that comes from friendships and romances I’ve been hurt by as an adult. It has taken literally 5 years in therapy for me to be able to admit that I’m a good person. Even writing that is hard. Neurons in my brain are firing-off, shouting, “No! That is narcissistic! Try harder! Be better! You aren’t good enough to call yourself good!” The difference is that, now, I can acknowledge those self-doubts and say back, “No. Fuck you. I am smart and I am kind and I am good enough, damn it.”

A really important part of that for me is allowing myself to believe that I’m good enough to follow my own dreams. I’m deserving of a life that fulfills me. I am worthy of happiness. (For those of you that this realization comes easily to: consider yourself luuuucky.)

Admitting that I want to be a writer is scary. Admitting that I want to create something in the hopes that others will be receptive to it is scary. Letting go of the typical life plan is scary. But the scariest thing I can imagine is looking back on my life twenty years from now (as I go through the motions at a job I only mostly like) and wishing I had been brave enough to at least try to go after my dreams.

A couple of years ago, at a particularly low point of my depression, I went with a friend to get a tattoo (great time to make permanent life decisions, right?) I chose the word brave because that’s what I wanted to be. And I was; brave enough to keep fighting. Brave enough to put in the work to get myself healthier. And now, brave enough to admit I have a dream and to chase it as hard as I can.

Who I Could Have Been

I am deeply introverted. Not only this, but I am shy. I can mull over my own thoughts in silence for hours. Often, in conversation, I find I don’t have anything to add. I listen, I process, I consider, and then I decide how I feel about something. Sometimes, I will know that I loved a movie or that a person’s comment made me feel sad, but even I won’t really know why at first. Through my quiet process, I become aware of my own thoughts and feelings in a way that allows me to really understand myself. I’d like to think I’m pretty self-aware (5-plus years of therapy can do that to a person).

I wasn’t always like this. As a middle schooler, I was outgoing and loud and silly (and really awkward). I wrote love notes to the boys I had crushes on and listened as my best friend read it to them over the phone. I hollered jokes across crowded rooms to my friends. I acted silly in drama class. (The current me would probably have a panic attack if I was required to take a drama class.) My favorite outfit was a pair of mismatched, brightly colored socks (with shorts, obviously, so they could be admired) and pink Converse. I wasn’t afraid of attention; in fact, I wanted it.

Things started changing around my Sophomore year of high school. A combination of teenage angst, my parents’ constant fighting, and my own first heartbreak, I guess. Everything I was so certain of was now shaky and unreliable. Scared, I turned inward, scuttling into my shell to watch the world from a safe distance.

Looking back at these things is weird. Who would I even be if my parents hadn’t spent years hurtling angry words back and forth? If I hadn’t had to take refuge in my best friend’s maroon Nissan Maxima every night, both of us singing as she drove us around for hours until I finally drifted to sleep and she brought me home. If my first “love” hadn’t been about, “Whoever cares least wins.” If after kissing me on my moonlit driveway that night, he had kept calling, taken me to Prom maybe?

Maybe I would have flown out into the world at age 18 with confidence that only the young and stupid can know. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost myself in taking care of everyone else first. Maybe I would have gone to my mom with my heartache instead of the other way around. Maybe I never would have doubted my own self-worth. What is that like, I wonder? To just inherently believe that you are worthwhile and important in the world?

Still, if I could change it, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change my grown-up childhood or the pain that ruined forever my naive heart. I wouldn’t change the years I spent empty and lonely. I wouldn’t change the way I needed to run away from everything, but mostly myself. Not the way I ached for love and searched for it in messy beds or the bottom of bitter tasting bottles or finally, over a railing and onto a balcony ledge.

I wouldn’t change it because I am happy with who I am. Saying that feels like a revelation. The version of me who climbed over the balcony railing and wanted to jump wouldn’t have believed it was possible to one day feel that way. I am happy with who I am. Not necessarily with my job, or my slow progress in school, or my financial status. But those things aren’t who I am. Who I am is how I treat people. It’s the jokes that make me laugh. It’s the songs that make me cry. It’s the books that inspire me. It’s the spark of hope at my core that’s burned hot and bright throughout all of this.

So, no, I wouldn’t change my past. I wouldn’t choose the easier path. My struggles are what brought me here, to the woman I am today. And I’m proud as hell of her. I wouldn’t trade her for who I could have been on any day of the week.

Your shining light

It’s been a while since I’ve written. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything I enjoy, to be honest. Depression has a way of sneaking up on you that is both slow but also unstoppable. There are certain things that help me feel better (I keep a list of them in my journal so I don’t forget about them when the depression hits) but for some reason, this time I couldn’t make myself do them. I would think, “I’ll wake up early tomorrow and do yoga before work. That will make me feel so refreshed.” I had every intention of following through, but morning came and all I felt was heavy and slow and numb and I just couldn’t make myself do fucking yoga. Or anything, for that matter.

September and October are hard months for me. October holds the anniversary of the day I tried to kill myself. And September is even worse; it holds the day that a coworker and friend of mine succeeded in taking his own life, almost one year after my own D-Day (Death Day). These days have a way of coloring my entire world during the fall months. Melancholy grey. Bright, burning red. Aching blue.

Even though I am so grateful to have survived myself, and I have since learned new skills to help myself cope with the depressed days (or weeks, sometimes), even though I can now say “I love myself” and actually mean it, these days hurt to remember. Recently, I drifted back into an old coping mechanism, one where I simply numb myself to life because thinking about it, actually feeling it, is too painful and exhausting. I go through the motions of my day as an emotionless robot, which to me, is even more awful than the deep sadness that comes with depression. This went on for a few weeks.

Finally, late one night, my heart felt ready to weep. I lit a candle and lay on the floor and I wrote what came. What follows is a direct entry from my journal. Because it is real and true and editing it to make it prettier, to make it less vulnerable, feels wrong.

I am trying to write the truth so I can feel the truth. I have been trying to write about Dr. W but it’s hard. I am overwhelmed. I am so sad. But sad is real and real is what matters. 

To be honest, my heart is broken. It will scar and heal and grow stronger, but it will never be not broken. Some days it is really hard to live with that. It’s hard to feel that hurt all of the time. I think it’s partly the curse of the empath. I feel everyone’s pain. And I do see my sensitivity and empathy as a gift. But the pain is a lot. Sometimes I get so down because I see this world of selfish politicians and homelessness and abuse and addiction and mental illness and pain, pain and suffering, and I just think, no matter what I do, no matter how much love I can put out, I can never fix it. There will always be pain and it makes me profoundly sad. 

Is this what Dr. W felt? Is this why he gave up? I can understand. Of course I can. 

There is the cliché that goes something like, ‘if love could have saved you, you would still be with us.’ But maybe love could have saved him. Maybe we all failed him. Maybe we needed to make it clear that we loved him, that he was needed, and valued, and essential. 

I love you, Dr. W. And I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever had to feel alone. I’m sorry I didn’t express to you what a great friend and human I thought you were. You were truly the kindest human I ever knew. I showed in your supportive words and the gentle care you showed your patients. I know that having a soft heart can hurt. And I can understand why you felt like you had to leave. I understand because I’ve been there too. But I just wish it wasn’t so. I wish I could have done anything to help you see just a glimmer of hope. Anything to change your mind. I feel like because I was once in your place, I should have been able to see it in you. I should have been able to sense it and to help, but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

Your anniversary just passed and mine is on its way. Yours, an anniversary of death. It will never again not be the day that you died. Mine is the anniversary of when I didn’t die. My D-Day. I’ve lived almost three years since I didn’t kill myself. It seems short and also very long. It’s been hard, which I know you understand. But there have been some really beautiful moments too. Moments where I can feel love pouring out of me over everyone I know. Moments of shining clarity, when I can see my path and my purpose. And even moments that I deeply know myself and love myself for all that I am.

I wish you could have had that. You deserved it. You deserved to see yourself for what you truly are and to have loved that person. I wish it for you. I wish that wherever you are, whatever happens after, that you have seen yourself and loved yourself.

We’re so much the same. You and I and everyone else. We need to be known and loved and we need to know that love matters, that love makes a difference. 

I am so sorry that your flame blew out before you could see the truth. Before you could see that it all matters, every single minute. All you can do is love and love and love some more. That’s the point, I think. We’re here to love and we have to trust that every small bit matters. We can’t fix all of the pain in the world but we can let our love heal our tiny piece of the world. The side effect to loving is hurting. But that’s because it matters. That means it’s real.

I wish I could have shared my candle, could have re-lit yours when it got dim. I didn’t always believe that this mattered, you know. I definitely didn’t believe that I did. Sometimes I still doubt that my love can make a difference. But I just keep holding out. There is a flicker in me that I pray never goes out. In the darkness, it gives me a tiny glimmer of hope that things won’t always be dark. That the light is coming. That one day I will bask in its glow. I hold onto that flickering flame like my life depends on it. Because it does.

I want you to know that you were a beautiful, radiant beam of light on this Earth and that anyone whose life you touched was better for it. I miss you so much. We all do. I still hold your light close to me. And it still hurts to think of you because I loved you and because that love mattered. 

Maybe you are a star now, or a sun, or maybe you are a spirit looking down on us, or maybe your energy was recycled to make ocean waves or to help grow flowers, or maybe you came back as a beautiful dog, like your Annie, or maybe you’re with her somewhere. Everywhere. Wherever, whatever, you are, I hope you have found peace. I hope you are happy and I hope you feel overwhelmingly loved, because you are. 

May you always hold onto your light.
Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255