dreaming again

Words have not come easily to me this past year. A rough copy of this post has sat open on my computer for the past few months and, after rewrite upon rewrite, I’m still not sure if I’ve come any closer to finishing.

While I’ve yet to fully process all I hope to say, I know it’s finally time to let go of this post, if only to put an end to the incessant self-reflection followed by waves of anxiety that is not good for the soul. Indeed, when the thing that should bring joy instead brings shame, something’s definitely wrong. And unfortunately, many times that something is the sandy foundation upon which you’ve built your entire being.

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stop grieving the “only ifs”

ONE

I sat nervously in a closet-sized room across from two school administrators, all too aware that the next hour would determine how I would spend my first year out of college and potentially, shape the course of my life. After months of research and planning, it was finally time to convince the women before me that I was a perfect fit for the dream fellowship to which I was applying. Read More

The Truth About Anxiety

I went bungee jumping despite promising my mother I wouldn’t.

Although almost regularly experiencing an irrational urge to jump from high places (it’s a real thing – check out high-place phenomenon”), bungee jumping was never on my bucket list. In fact, I could barely even watch “Man on Wire” without flinching and looking away. However, something about Nepal, the Himalayas, and the feeling that life was constantly evading me, persuaded me to sign up to jump from one of the highest bungee bridges in the world. Read More

When Sorry Isn’t Enough

Dear friend,

 

I’m sorry… but sorry isn’t enough.

This isn’t the first time this has happened…and even though I’d like to deny it, it probably won’t be the last.

I didn’t show up.

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It’s Time For You To Give Up.

In a garden in Cambodia, hidden behind the leaves of overgrown trees, I spotted a small sign—a sign that I might have considered banal had it not been in “exotic” Asia. The following words, written with a black marker, danced across the stained wood: “It’s never too late to be what you might have been” (George Eliot).

Considering the afternoon spent sharing stories, indulging in sweets, and doing endless somersaults in the pool, I was pretty content with my current trajectory. That afternoon, I had been met by a level of freedom unlike anything I had previously encountered. Read More

We are gathered here today to let the light fill our broken bodies…

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We are gathered here today to let the light fill our broken bodies.

In a world obsessed with “arriving,” we just reached a new plane in “becoming”—and that’s okay. We are here to say that life is not only black and white—instead, it’s filled with more colors than we ever could have dreamed of. Read More

It’s Not About You

I sat on a small, wet, creaky swing, looking into the abyss. Okay, maybe not the abyss, but a dark black hole…the hole of a camera lens, that is. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it—I was sharing a [small] part of my story…on film.

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when life doesn’t turn out like you planned.

“I’m waiting for resolve…but all I hear is abide.”

I wrote those words back in September—as in seven months ago. Little did I know they would still be impacting my life today, with even more intensity than they did back then. Little did I know that those were “the good times.”

Fast forward to April 26th, 2016, and I still haven’t figured out how to abide. Not even close. I haven’t learned to stay (even though I’ve been in the same geographic location for what seems like far too long). I haven’t learned to be present.

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A Love Letter from Me to You: 5 Reasons Why You Should Share Your Story

Despite suffering from social anxiety and Selective Mutism the majority of my life, I appeared much the typical child to everyone except my family, coaches, and teachers, who saw my struggle firsthand. Ashamed of my friendless existence and years of “not talking,” I kept my story deeply hidden within and firmly resolved that it would die with me.

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when only fear remains

I’ve heard it said that the way you welcome the New Year sets the tone for the next 365 days. I welcomed in 2016 asleep in a pool of sweat, while a growing crowd of people clamored outside my window, shouting loudly as they set off a stream of [what I’m certain were] illegal fireworks.

Despite my prayer that the New Year would not be a reflection of that “eventful” night, I’m not sure I got the answer I sought…at least not yet. See, the three months since that time have been extremely uncomfortable—full of waiting, full of questioning, and most of all, full of fear.

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