she's worth the whiskey

Double-fisting in Jamaica

There are moments (usually when I'm buzzed) when I wish I could live buzzed. No less, no more. Just buzzed. Cause the girl I am when buzzed? I LOVE her, want to squeeze her and hang out with her, like, ALL THE TIME. She's me, the real me. Fearless me. Emotional me. She sings when there's a good song on, knowing full well she can't carry a tune. She can't help but move her body to a rhythm, even if no one else is feeling the song. She says what she means (and, it's usually love and truth). She's up for nearly everything (within her moral compass) - conversation or action or dream. She's living and noticing the moment. She's undistracted. She's really happy. She's hopeful. She's slow and easy - like a non-churchy Sunday morn. She's completely okay with all that she is and all that she is not. She's willing and able and sure ... of God and life and self.

And, I love her. I really do.

I don't know many people like that in real life. I want to know more people like that in real life. Fun and easy and real and present. How do I find those people? How do I get that way ALL THE TIME without imbibing? Is it possible this side of heaven? In this culture?

I lean toward "no." But, I'm trying. I'll keep trying. Healing. Sanctifying. Getting closer to who I was designed to be. I'm trying.

So, "cheers" in the interim?

LOVE.

what my water bottle says about me

For years and years, I have tried and tried and tried to drink more water. For the sake of my skin, muscles, digestion … by glory, I have tried. And failed. Over and over and over again. And it’s not even like I don’t like water. I actually like it. Purified, tap, sparkling or spring — I’ll take it. I just suck at remembering to drink it.

I often tell my clients to eliminate obstacles and incorporate helps when working to achieve goals. If they want to work out in the midst of a necessarily busy schedule, join a gym they pass on their commute. If they want to quit smoking, first toss the carton and get a box of patches or buy a vape. So, when I wanted to start drinking more water, I knew having water with me at all times would be essential to success … so, a hunt for the perfect portable water bottle began.

“Portable = Light. Small. Refillable. Comfortable and easy to drink from on the go. Indestructible.”

And, ridiculous or not, my hunt has continued for years. Many a BPA-free plastic bottle has graced my kitchen counter and eventually made its way into a cabinet coffin. My goal of hydration had all but fallen to the wayside when I stumbled upon FRED in the aisle of my local Fresh Market. 

Yup, it’s shaped like a flask. Yup, it looks like a small vodka bottle ... but it comes filled with water and is refilled with water several times a day … by ME (Miss Couldn't Ever Remember to Drink Water). Yes, I'm drinking water these days like it's going out of style. Granted, my recent increase in water intake also coincides with the recent acquisition of our first refrigerator with an in-door filtered water dispenser, BUT I’ve also never been happier with a water bottle than I am with this FRED flask (learn about the product and company here). 

But, WOW, THE LOOKS I GET when I take a swig out of that thing.

Seriously, I meet judgement on a daily basis. Even people that know me (clients, co-workers, friends and family) have done double-takes. And all of this condemnation tossed my way (unwarranted) has gotten me to thinking ...

... About how often I have judged people without knowing the details of THEIR story

… About how often I have condemned another based on assumption and an unwittingly ignorant, self-biased perception. 

... About how little compassion I offer to those who appear different from me.

See, it looks like I’m throwing back whisky, but it's actually my attempt at getting what I need — life-giving H2O. I've chosen to drink water out of a flask because that works best for me as a I pursue healthy and whole. I am okay with how that's not always known and/or perceived as okay by others.

Every sideways glance of recent has been a reminder not only to continue working on self-compassion and self-acceptance, but to also cut others a break and refrain from judgement.

Unless given the privilege to hear and enter into another’s story, I cannot know why they are who they are and what they’re actually doing. My profession teaches me that in glimpses on the regular, but sometimes, when it’s personally impactful, I finally apply the lesson I’ve been learning ....

So, I’m grateful for FRED … for making it easier to reach my goals … that of healthy hydration AND that of growing in Christ-like compassion.

Join me?

on who I wasn't

“Ten years from now, may we all look back and love who we were while hardly recognizing them.”

— Don Miller

This is kind of a mind dump, so prepare yourself for fragments and a rough flow …

——

I spent a lot of my life trying to be someone I just wasn’t.

A dancer. A singer. An actress. A speaker. A choreographer. A leader. 

I didn’t know I wasn’t those things. I guess I kept thinking I could be. So, I kept alluding to being this girl that I wasn’t. Looking back, I can confidently say I didn’t do any of it maliciously or pathologically. Always curious, always wanting to be better, I’d sign up for things, thinking I should and that it’d be different this time — that it’d be natural, good, maybe even easy. But it wasn’t. Ever. At all. 

I punked out each and every time it was time to perform.

I’d quit. Back out. Stall. I even faked sickness a time or two.

Something started me thinking about it all last night. I felt the flush of a fool and it was like opening up pandora’s box. In an instance, memory after memory came flooding back — reminders of times when I ran because I knew I wasn’t going to live up to expectations — mine and/or someone else’s …

Soccer. Track. That time I got cheerleading co-captain for basketball. That acting class. Club president. Choreographing for a local JV cheerleading squad. Choreographing for the church’s family program. Speaking at/welcoming/doing a skit at FCA. Chorus in 7th grade. Random pickup sports. I’m still not even sure I didn’t initially pursue my current career because I realized I just wasn’t an expert in my former one. The list goes on …

This is my pattern. That’s my confession. My fear of failure. My self-loathing and condemnation. My pride and self-protection. My idolizing of labels and talents and my pathetic pursuit of what was never mine to catch.

I’m writing this now because I feel the pull of old habits. Feeling slow at success in this new career, I’m inclined to sign up for what’s not mine to own … to be what I’m not … to walk toward something I’ll most likely turn tail and run from eventually …

But, I won’t give in. It’s harder to run the older you get. There’s more to lose. Less to gain. It’s not really even an option anymore — to walk away. Finances won’t stand for it. My reputation wouldn’t survive it. And frankly, I actually don’t want to run. Even though it’s hard and I’m still learning and growing into/from it, I like where I’m at, what I’m doing, and who I’m impacting. I'm good at this, even if I like to tell myself that I'm not.

So, I’m not going to try and be what I’m not. I’ll never be that counselor that works cases just to get hours. I’ll never be that counselor that markets herself as an expert on something just because it’s a good marketing/brand strategy. I’m made for an in-depth discussion in a little room behind a closed door. I’m a reader and a writer and a thinker. I’m an introvert. I’m flawed. I’m still learning how to evade depression and to reach for connection. I care less about what you think than I did, but still care a little too much about what I think of myself … and I have to stop apologizing for all of it.

I’m working on loving who I am and who I was in my scared, impressionable, reactionary years. My husband says there's a silver lining in all of it — a hint of nobility in my quitting — I got to try a lot of different things, more than most people. I tested waters. I found out for sure what I liked and what I didn’t … what I could do and what I couldn’t … where I fit and what grated against my nature. I may not have known it then, but I know it now.

I’m better today for my foolish ways and failures of yesterday. Praise God.

on conflict and contentment

I'm conflicted about whether or not I should be conflicted about my blogging (or lack thereof) habits. Should I be concerned that I don't have an urge to chat about anything online? Should I be worried that nothing in my life seems to warrant the time and energy of writing about it? And if that's my measure of worthiness - where'd that come from? Idiocy or intellect? Is my current state of contentment cause for concern as a result? 

'Cause I am. Content, that is. 

With qualifers, of course. I mean, I'm completely out of shape - I haven't run a mile in, well, weeks. The last time I hit the gym was like a month ago, which was probably the second time that month. I've self-soothed a time or two (or twelve) with cake. And a beer ...  and I kind of don't care ...

And I still look at homes for sale on Zillow once a week. Occasionally, I send a link to the Mr. for kicks ... and dreams. I stroll through the garden department at Home Depot every few weekends, picturing a landscape overhaul of our current property.

I've got a Pinterest board for a private practice office. I've measured furniture. I've run numbers. I even bought a pillow for color palette reference. I've got more clients. Just note enough yet.

I have a list of books to read a mile long. Fiction, vocation-focused stuff. I'm eager for competence, depth, expertise. I take notes, watch TedTalks ... pick the brain of the established.  It confounds me that they're all so right and all so wrong at the same time.

So, yea, I guess I want more. Other. I'm never satisfied, but I'm content. I'm not as torn and confused as I once was ... I don't need to process or prove much in public anymore. I guess. Very little gets me riled up these days. I don't need as many answers. I've got less expectations for myself and others. It's nice. 

This is good. So, I'm sharing. :) 

on why hope is hard

It's one of those days. The ones where all feels ick. My husband snuggles me on the couch and looks into my eyes with his blue ones, searching and kind, and I'm overwhelmingly grateful and completely numb, both at once.

These days seem to come out of nowhere ... and yet part of me feels like they're the price I pay for having hope. Like the universe is shaking it's head and muttering a "foolish girl."

Because, I felt pretty great last week. It felt really nice. I had a meeting on Wednesday that gave me energy and encouragement and a bit of hope I hadn't felt in a LONG time.

Thursday was good.

Friday was another meeting that at least felt like something progressive and hopeful.

And the weekend was fun — from puppy shopping to waverunner riding with friends, it was a steady stream of happy that worked to keep hope alive.

But then Monday. And the ick factor. 

I catch myself in automatic negative and self-deprecating thoughts. The old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity return. The sense of financial and professional stuckness and a related despondency set in deep. Opportunities feel like burdens and yet, when I refuse to shoulder those "burdens", a weight of shame descends.

Changing your inner narrative is hard. It's a battle. It's taking every thought captive and holding it up to the Truth and deciding to believe differently about myself and life and God. It's a little bit exhausting, this inner work, but it's my work today ... and every day ... because Hope is worth the struggle.

I think. I hope?!

on knowing yourself

“A proper understanding of the soul also holds the promise of revitalizing Christian spirituality. Another consequence of the acceptance of the artifical distinction between the psychological and spiritual aspects of persons has been a practice of Christian spirituality that emphasized knowing God but failed to emphasize knowing self. Tragically, this has often lead to a spirituality that is neither grounded nor vitally integrated within the fabric of total personhood. Not only does such a spirituality fail to transform us in the depths of our being, it also leads to all the dangers associated with a lack of integrity. A spirituality that fails to involve the totality of our being is inevitably a spirituality that furthers our fragmentation.”

— from Care of Souls by David Benner

on southpaws and therapy

Sometimes it feels like my "job" is to point out the obvious.

For a few seconds at the beginning of my counseling career, I felt like a shyster — taking money for noting out loud what seemed blatantly obvious. But when, with client after client, what I saw as "obvious" was declared a "lightbulb moment" for them, I began to not only value the service I offered, but to wonder at the phenomenon itself.

What I've come to realize is that we humans have an amazing capacity for NOT putting two and two together. It doesn't matter who you are — genius, successful, experienced, educated or not — you miss something. Lots of somethings. It's like we walk around with blinders on.

I'm no exception. Case and point:

I've always known I was a "southpaw." But, until last Friday, I thought eating and writing were the only things I did with my left hand. Turns out I brush my teeth left-handed, too. It took me more than 30 years to note something I've been doing for more than 30 years. Crazy, right? The discovery came out of a casual discussion with my in-laws about my left-handedness. Someone probed me about my habits and, forced to think about it, I was astonished by what I discovered.

Lest you think these moments of epiphany must be few and far between, I shall astonish you with another story of astonishment from this past week:

Last Sunday, I was cruising the Costco aisles with my parents (yup, #merica) when some dried mango caught my eye. I think I hugged a bag to my chest and regaled my father with a story of culinary courtship. My dad grabbed the bag from me, slid his eyes over the label and muttered, "Huh, sulfur dioxide. Bet it makes you fart." I laughed. We put it in the cart. I've been munching on it all week. And ... wait for it ... yup, I've been visiting the bathroom a little more than usual all week.

So, turns out dad was right. Sulfur dioxide should not be consumed by humans. Today, thinking back on his utterance in the aisle, I realize that my beloved dried mango messes with my stomach. There's a correlation. And thinking back on the past couple of months since I first discovered said mango, the mango has ALWAYS messed with my stomach. There's ALWAYS been a correlation. I just don't know that I would have seen it had my dad not mentioned sulfur dioxide.

Needless to say, I tossed out the rest of the mango today.

Anyway, the point? I think we all do a lot of things out of habit. Whether it's muscle memory or instinct or learned behavior, we do a lot without thinking about it. We don't always connect the dots. That's not inherently a bad thing ... at all ... but it can be. That's where I think therapy can be helpful — in the cluing us in and clarifying of things.

No, you certainly don't need to know that you brush your teeth with your left hand or that mango makes you fart. However, it may help you to know

... that you're attracted to chaotic relationships because that's what you grew up navigating.

... that being uncomfortable is comforting to you and that that's why you sabotage anything good in your life.

... that you eat excessively (or starve) because food is the one thing in life you've ever felt you had any power/control over.

... that you drink alcohol to avoid being socially awkward because being socially awkward makes you feel what you've always felt and believed about yourself — that you're alone and unworthy of love and attention.

... that [insert your story here] ...

All of it, any of it, might help you to know that change is possible.

I think therapy is a lot about that stuff — the exploration of what we do and why we do it and why it matters. More importantly, therapy is about the hope generated by the exploration — a brand new opportunity to respond accordingly, to begin again ... to be transformed.

Awareness is a requisite first step toward change. So, here's to taking the blinders off?

Love.