A Wedding Dress called Stress

I went to try on wedding dresses on Saturday. Oh the horror! I thought I might cancel the night before. I wasn’t actually going to…but I thought about it.

You see, here’s the thing. I am not that excited to try on dresses. I feel like I’m not cut out to be a bride in some ways. I feel oafish and unattractive. I get a feeling of “Why dress up a turd?” That’s terrible, isn’t it? I talk to myself in language that I would never dream of using towards another person. I think most of us do.

Well, anyway, I was having trouble sleeping the night before. I was all agitated, preparing for the worst. Asking God to remove my obsessive negativity and help me enjoy the experience, or at least not loathe every minute of it.

I got up in the morning and put an outfit on that I felt comfortable in. Drank some coffee, ran an errand, and then…pulled up alongside Sandra D’s Bridal Boutique in downtown Watertown. I felt a sort of panic throughout me, but I knew my maid of honor Jaime would be there soon, as well as my other good friend and bridesmaid, Destiney. Without the encouragement of those two, I would never have made the appointment.

I walked through the front door and was immediately greeted by Sandra herself, a lovely, friendly lady. I felt absolutely lost. That was my first time in a dress boutique, I wasn’t exactly the ball-gown type of prom dress girl in high school so this was all new to me. She asked what I was thinking of and I said rather unsurely “Hmm, I don’t know. I guess something with sleeves. I hate my arms so I don’t want people to see them on my wedding day…And something that hits high at the waist to kind of like camouflage this area,” gesturing around my midriff.

Starting out on a real positive note Anne.. Dammit! My therapist said I need to use more positive language when talking about myself. Oh well, too late now.

“Okay, here’s a few,” she said pulling some down from what seemed like an overwhelming number of dresses in plastic bags on the wall. “Pick out some others you’d like to try on and hang them here.”

I proceeded to halfheartedly glance at the fancy white dresses, thinking how terrible they would all look on me. Then the bell rang and Jaime came in. Thank GOD! “Help me, help me!” I cried. (Okay, it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but almost!)

Together, with the help of Destiney, we pulled out some more dresses. Then it was time to enter the torture chamber. “Let me know if you need any assistance,” said Sandra. Yeah, I don’t think so.. “I’ll be fine,” I said.

The first number was quite lovely, I proceeded to try to pull the bulky fabric up around my waist and got stuck on my hips. It wasn’t going to work. So… Naturally, I decided I would have to pull it over my head. Well, wedding dresses are a LOT of fabric and tulle and poofiness. It’s kinda hard to find the opening, but I managed. Got it on.. (pretty much) only the sleeves wouldn’t go up over my arms so I couldn’t fasten the back…. Panic.

“How are you doing in there Anne?”

“Uhm, fine. It’s just kinda small..”

“I can hold it up for you so you can see the overall effect if you like,” she graciously offered.

“Alright…” and I let her in.

She held up the dress and I viewed myself in the mirror, trying to see past my perceived flaws. I did think it was a lovely dress. I let Jaime and Destiney peek in the door. With my back against the wall so they couldn’t see the evidence of my largeness. I allowed a picture. It felt like a mugshot. But hey, exposure therapy, right? Walking through fire.

The next dress fit, but made me feel like a T-Rex. I came out of the fitting room and stepped on the dais in front of the dreaded 360 mirrors.

“How do you feel?” asked Jaime.

“Like a T-rex,” I said, laughing and displaying my arms limited range of mobility.

Oh boy. It went on like that for awhile, much longer than I would have liked it to. There were dresses that didn’t fit at all. One that was terribly unflattering, and another I kinda sorta liked. There were increasing numbers on the size of the dresses that made me feel as if my body were ballooning outward as I stood there dejected. Trying to remind myself that it’s just a number. Trying to remind myself that life in an active eating disorder never brought me happiness so I better do my best to keep growing and keep challenging that horrible voice within.

And I made it through. With a little self-deprecating humor, a little help from my friends, an understanding and patient Sandra, and a little prayer. (And a little American Spirit.. I quit 3 weeks ago but that ordeal deserved it. No regrets!!)

After all is said and done, I am thankful and glad that I decided to do it. I don’t know if I’ll go with the dress I found there, but I faced a fear and came out on the other side unscathed. Indeed, with even a little bit more resolve to not let my negativity get me down. There isn’t anything on this planet I can’t face with a little love and help from friends, a dash of humor, and some prayer.

Progress, not perfection!

The Moment

I don’t know why it is so hard for me to stay in the moment. I do really well sometimes. I feel present. My eyes are open and I actually see my surroundings. My ears listen to the sounds of nature or my friend talking across the table or my fingers clacking on a keyboard. I feel the chair beneath my bum or the bumps in the road as I drive.

But sometimes I am gone. I am hypnotized and mesmerized by the labyrinthine winding paths of my brain. It is really dangerous up there sometimes. Fraught with boobytraps and dynamite that might explode at any minute. And I know this. So, if it is so difficult to be there (my mind) instead of here (the present moment), why do I always go back?

Mostly habit I think. I know I’m not the only one that struggles with this. I have many friends with whom I lament with over our inability to stay in the moment. Oh, we try! We try very hard. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes in the most amazing moments, our meddlesome mind likes to jump right in.

For instance, right after I became engaged (which happened on Sept 24 yay!) to the most amazing man I have ever known, I began to be worried about potential divorce… Also about how I am going to look in a wedding dress and about how we will end up old and I might be ugly and wrinkly and he won’t love me anymore like he used to..

(P.S. Chad is the most incredible human being I have ever met. Hilarious, so attentive, creative and smart. He loves me like no one else ever has–good, bad, and everything in between. I could not ask for more)

So I became frustrated. “ANNE WHY CAN’T YOU JUST ENJOY THIS MOMENT?”

And I further destroyed my chances of enjoying the moment by delving further into my mind with my amateur psychoanalysis.

I think it would be a lot more fun to live in my mind if it was a more positive place. Daydreaming. It is such a nice word, isn’t it? Connotes a lot of positivity, maybe unrealistic, grandiose things, but still, I imagine a child at a desk staring out the window with eyes glazed over in imagined glee. I don’t daydream much as an adult. Day-maring? Is that the day version of a nightmare? I am good at those.

So, how do I stop these day-mares?

I think breathing helps. Haha. I hear people talk about grounding techniques. In fact, I was listening a podcast the other day that suggested narrating each activity as you are engaged in. I think you’re supposed to do it as an inner dialogue, but I was especially lost in my head yesterday and desperately tried this new technique. “I am driving my car. I am looking at the road. I am talking out loud to myself. I am thinking about being in the present moment. I am thinking about how I am not supposed to be narrating my thoughts.” Right! “I am stopping at the stoplight. I am feeling the steering wheel under my hands.”

It was weird. I’m not gonna lie. But it helped. I try praying too. Sometimes the most effective prayer for me is “God, please take this from me.”

And He does. Not always on my time, but in His time.

I do get to live in peace and serenity some days. Many more than I used to. And I trust it will continue to get better as I seek to grow.

But I also know that negative thoughts will always exist. They will come, to me, and to you, and everyone else on the planet. That’s life. It is a good thing too, because sometimes negative thoughts are helpful. Like “I should not do that, it could kill me.” Or, “That milk was curdled, I think I’ll stop drinking it.”

And those other negative thoughts? Those daymares? They pull at us, tear at us, rip us to shreds. But gradually, those negative thoughts can lose their power. Because they are thoughts, just thoughts. They are not reality. They do not have to be played upon repeat, or treated as an inevitability. They do not mean we are defective people, or that there is something any more wrong with us than there is with the rest of the world.

But! They sure do make it hard to stay in the moment!

So when they come up, we can start to accept and move past them. And return to the moment.

This moment. Right where I am supposed to be. Right where you are supposed to be.

If you can’t do it perfectly, you might as well not do it at all…

First off, terrible advice. Don’t take it. I take it all too often.

A few things follow…

For starters, I don’t write in my blog for months. Apparently that thing they say about blogs failing within the first 6 months is true. It’s funny. I was so determined not to let that happen. And then, all of a sudden it did. Whoops!

Well, here I am again. I have been writing. Writing for school, and writing for fun. Fiction mostly. I journal some. I’m not sure what happened. Not sure why I stopped blogging. I think it was mostly self-imposed pressure. That is usually what makes me give up at most things in my life.

If I can’t do it perfectly, I might as well not do it at all!

That has been a motto in my life. An old idea that has been so deeply ingrained, it is very difficult to let it go.

I remember…

When I was a kid, I was rather heavy. I was nicknamed the 1,000 lb cow. Full disclosure, I did not weigh 1,000 lbs BUT my affinity for cows was rather unfortunate in my situation. Anyways. So, there I was, an awkward and clumsy chunky monkey… doing what? Learning how to waterski. Yay! What could possibly go wrong?

I mean, I was wearing a swimming suit…so that was a good start. All chubby kids love wearing swimsuits. And also I was with my very athletic and talented cousin who seemed to be able to pick up anything within minutes of her trying it. And we were with her parents, my Aunt and Uncle who always asked me at meals if I “really needed seconds.” So as you can imagine, my confidence in myself was at an all-time high.

Ah yes, I do well remember that day. I remember most of my failures with vivid clarity. I remember that there was a pair of waterskis that were tied together for beginners. I remember trying to get up and the rope whipping out of my hand. I remember attempting to laugh it off and try again, and falling. Again and again. I remember my little arms quavering and the slap of the water like a slap of remonstrance. I remember encouragement from my uncle that felt like ridicule. I remember shame creeping over me. A voice saying “Your fat-ass is never going to get it.” And then I remember crying. I’m not sure if I did or not. All I know is that I have never tried waterskiing again because “it’s stupid.”

Haha! Yes. The ultimate solution. I’m not saying that I have any particular desire t o waterski, but that situation is just one illustration of me not executing something perfectly and giving up. I don’t know how I missed Thomas the Train Engine’s sage advice “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Maybe I thought he meant only try two more times, and then give up. Whatever the reason, I am beginning to realize that no one is perfect. And I can’t just give up all the time.

No one does everything perfectly all the time. In fact, few people do anything perfectly any of the time.

I mean, no shit!? Really Anne, you’re 29 years old and you just realized that. Yup. I know. It’s sad. Well, anyway, all success is built upon failure, and learning to improve. And I think learning to accept imperfection as part of life is something that I must do. Not everything I do is going to be graceful and elegant. Not everything I write is going to be beautiful. Not everything I say is going to make sense. And not every idea I have is going to pan out. But that’s okay!

And it’s okay for you too. You don’t have to be perfect. Just don’t give up.

In case you have forgotten Thomas the Train Engine’s advice, I am here to remind you, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again…ad infinitum” (That means don’t stop. Unless you can really tell that it’s not meant to be, which is a totally different case and maybe I’ll write about that some day).

Labels

I’ve been giving a lot of thought lately to my perception of myself. I once heard a speaker talk about labels. She was stressing the importance of getting rid of old negative labels we put on ourselves, or that others have stuck us with. It is amazing how tightly adhered some of those labels are. It reminds me of when you ever so carefully try to remove a sticker without leaving any of the adhesive behind, but despite your painstaking efforts, you are left scratching away with your fingernail trying to get it all off.

I think that is how it has been for me in trying to rid myself of some of my labels.

When I was young, I accepted what other people said about me. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t deny it. If people called me a weirdo, I assumed that identity. If I was fat and ugly, well, that must be accurate. If I was a loser and a loner, hmm, sounds about right. That’s me, that’s Anne. Of course, there were some positive labels, intelligent, creative, funny. Though usually those labels had an asterisk next to them denoting some other label that would negate the positivity of the first. Like “Funny*” *but ugly, or something of the sort. The bottom line is, I did not have a very healthy self esteem or perception of myself growing up.

I still am finding myself coming up against some of those labels today. Trying to rip those suckers off is tough. One that I particularly struggle with is feeling like a bumbling oaf. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I was a kid, I have felt BIG and not feminine. Almost manly… I have been told this is untrue by many people. And maybe part of me thinks that it might not be an accurate perception at times… But Friday, I found myself believing the old label.

I was meeting a couple friends for dinner at a trendy restaurant in Brookfield that is by a shopping mall, replete with stores that I have heard of but never set foot inside. Altar’d, Lululemon, Anthropologie, etc. Partly this is due to the fact that I do not shop as much as I used to (trying to keep that budget in line), but also partly due to the fact that I don’t feel like I’m worthy of wearing fashionable things. At these times I tell myself, “Well Anne, those clothes are just Goddamned overpriced nonsense.” And I pretend I’m not afraid, just “too good for that material BS.”

Now that’s a lie. I try not to be overly concerned about material matters. God knows I’ve struggled with that in the past, but I like clothes. I’m just afraid to put something on that seems trendy and then look like I’m trying to be trendy and failed and look like a big fat goof.

So, needless to say, there’s a lot of labeling and judging and control issues and a lot of stuff going on there.

BUT! It was time to slay the dragon on Friday.

I went into one store because the clothes on display were actually my style. I thought “Oh, what the heck, go on in there!”

As I walked through the heavy door into the store that was decorated with more care than my living space, I immediately felt a sense of being an outsider looking in. I felt as if every person in there looked at me like “OMG, what is that?” Thinking that my entrance would create such a stir is a ridiculously absurd ego-feeding proposition. Moreover, there was no validity to that feeling, aside from an old label rising up from within.

A voice inside telling me “You don’t belong here. You don’t fit in. You’re not like them. This is where pretty people shop. This is where they shop. GET OUT”

But I didn’t listen. I thought to myself “Well sweet Jesus Anne, you’re gonna have to get over this bullshit sometime soon because I’m getting pretty sick of feeling like a goddamned alien every other day. You just go look at that shirt you liked and try the thing on and walk around like you own the place, because you are the customer. And you have every right to be here. And you are a beautiful human being. And give people a little credit. Maybe smile at someone.”

(I have to give myself ridiculous pep talks sometimes, full disclosure.)

But it worked. I took a breath. Let myself be myself and took my time. Looking at the clothes upon the rack that appealed to me. Not because of what I thought other people would think or say or anything like that. It felt like a big accomplishment.

Now, most of the clothes were, in my humble opinion, quite overpriced.

But I did walk away with a new shirt that was on clearance,

And a new key fob that said

“Kind heart. Fierce Mind. Brave Spirit.”

Now those are some labels I can dig.

What You Look for is What You’ll See

As long as I can recall, I have struggled with feeling a sense of disconnect with my surroundings. I have a dual nature, and though at times very positive, it can be equally depressive. It then urges me to see every negative thing, every flaw, in myself and the world around me. It tells me this is necessary–this is the truth.

I look around and see war, I see corruption, deceit, disunity. I see people fighting one another, on physical, digital, emotional, spiritual planes. Lemmings all scrambling to be the best, disregarding the consequences visited upon those around them. Sometimes I see the pursuit of pleasure at the expense of humanity and connection.

A world obsessed with instant gratification to the extent that they are blocked from any sort of true gratification.

I would be lying if I said I never fell into this trap. I still do sometimes. Maybe that is why it is so hard for me to feel harmony. I am still fighting my own demons, my own self-centeredness.

The thing of it is though, I can change my perspective. What I focus on grows and grows.

I remember reading once that every thing, every situation, every person is comprised of darkness and light.

We choose what to focus on. My fear tells me to focus on the darkness, that I might shield myself from it. What ends up happening is the darkness envelopes me. Every part of me. Mind, body, spirit. It has the exact opposite effect of what I am hoping.

When I focus on the light, the world is brighter. I see goodness around me. I see strangers helping strangers. I witness movements toward communication, toward tolerance and acceptance. I see people striving against the negative influences out there. Not everyone is blindly following the masses. And not everything is negative.

Sometimes, it is easy for me to look back upon the past and envision it as a perfect place. A simple place. “The Good Ol’ Days” A place where people got along, where life wasn’t bogged down with cellphones and television and the vast world of the internet. But that simply isn’t true, is it? There may not have been cellphones, TV, and the internet, but there was that time period’s equivalent.

The deeper you dig into any situation involving humans, the more apparent it becomes that though the scenery has changed, we are simply playing out a story told a thousand times.

So…at times my dark mind tells me that as a society, we are moving more and more toward disunity; that the ridiculous amount of leisure and self-centered activities that drive us each day are driving a wedge between us and our fellows.

But! My light mind knows there are many good things about life and people. Love, friendship, ease of communication and travel. There’s a plethora of positives in this world today.

It is one thing to acknowledge darkness in the world and try to do what you can to change it. It is fully another thing to see the darkness and let it consume you, rendering you depressed and useless.. What I find is that I then end up contributing more to that very same darkness.

I myself must go forward with hope. With hope and love in my heart. It is the only way I have ever found a hint of harmony. May I continue to remember that and cultivate that attitude day by day.

Waging War on an Old Idea

The other day I was getting dressed to go for a walk with my boyfriend.

It was hot out, cloudy, a little muggy. It was the kind of weather that called for a tank top. The kind of weather that I dread.

Wearing a tank top is historically no small feat for me. I have avoided wearing sleeveless shirts since I was probably around 11 or 12. I remember watching an episode of Oprah with my mom when a lady lifted her arm up because she won a prize. As she waved her arm excitedly, the woman’s fleshy underarm wiggled about. My mom exclaimed in disgust.

I remember thinking, “Oh no! Do I have that?”

I decided that I did. I also decided that to avoid ridicule, my arms should never again face the light of day. Perhaps in an isolated situation with no witnesses, but other than that, never..

As I have grown older, no matter how thin I have ever gotten, the arm phobia has never ceased to plague me.

It seems trivial, but it grew and grew. It’s something I am still working through. But it goes beyond the simplicity of a sleeveless shirt. It is indicative of much deeper underlying issues that I have had with myself.

Harsh judgment and condemnation. Comparison with others. Fears of inadequacy.

I have been waging a war against this menace within my mind. Sometimes I win the battles and sometimes I lose, but I always keep trying. Why? Because I have experienced some measure of freedom. And I am hungry for more of it.

So, this particular day that I referred to earlier began with the putting on of the tank top. I managed to do so without spending too long in the mirror checking for flaws (of which there are never a shortage when I am looking). It was a decent first maneuver for this particular battle. My spirits were shaky, but the action was strategic.

I went into the local coffee shop for an iced coffee. Black of course. One can’t justify creamer when wearing a tank top. My mind said, “Anne! People will see the cream and think ‘no wonder she looks like that.'”… I listened to that negative inner dialogue. That was a mistake, the first indication of a battle-losing mindset.

Then, the barista overcharged me by a couple dollars. I took notice, but instead of pointing out to her the very easily corrected mistake, I ignored it. I had to get out of there! Too many people, too public a place. “My arms, oh my arms! Everybody’s looking at them. Judging them.” Insecurity mounting.

We went outside and proceeded downtown to the lake loop. The lake loop in my town is a popular walking route. My boyfriend and I have done it many times. I usually enjoy it quite a bit. But this was our first sleeveless journey together. And that meant trouble.

You see, there is a problem with the lake walk. There are a lot of reflective surfaces. Many opportunities to condemn and judge oneself, especially when in a PMS-worsened state of self-loathing.

We began our lake loop. Window number one. “Don’t look. Just keep walking.” I told myself.

Window number two, accidentally caught sight of self. “Oh, there you go. Ugh, wow. Yikes. Look at that, that’s awful… Wait, now what was Chad saying? Pay attention!”

Friend on bicycle pulled up to say hello! “Oh no, he probably saw my fat arms from behind me. Now he’ll think I’m disgusting,” said my inner fear dialogue.

“Hi!” I said out loud with a smile on.

I could feel my resolve starting to waver. The battle was starting to be lost. What I thought could be a victory was slowly slipping away. “Help me God!” I thought, desperately not wanting to fall into the all too familiar pit of self-centered despair.

It crept on. The bleakness coming towards me. All I wanted to do was cover my hideous arms.

But it was not my arms.

It is an old idea. It has been deeply ingrained in me by myself and my perception of others. It is the idea that I must be perfect to be loved. It is the idea that my best is never enough. It is the idea that if people know the real me, they won’t accept me.

There’s a lot of reasons for those ideas. None of them are very reasonable, or logical. But, they are familiar and therefore often difficult to let go of. However, the only way through the fire is to get singed a little. The process can be painful.

Anyway, after our walk, we were heading to the pharmacy. My boyfriend, being the ever-perceptive gentleman that he is, inquired what was wrong.

I told him. Our open communication about our struggles has been a wonderful gift to both of us. I was vulnerable and explained my feelings. He’s heard it before, but listened patiently, attentively. He is a gift in this journey of life.

As usual, it felt freeing to let some of the anguish inside out into the light of day. Yet, I still felt a little heavy, both literally and figuratively.

Then it happened. On the way back home, magic in the skies before us.

The clouds were numerous, fluffy and white, wispy and gray. But a clearing in the clouds.. just around the sun. And through the opening, thousands of sun rays radiated down in a pyramid. It was majestic. It was as if heaven itself was on earth. Like goodness and light raining down. The sheer beauty of it halted the flood of negativity. It was like I could hear God saying “Anne, it doesn’t matter what your arms look like. These things simply don’t matter. They are so petty.. So small. Look at the beauty of life, the vastness of this world. Don’t worry my daughter, I love you just the way you are.”

And just like that, the tides of that battle turned. I was bloodied and bruised, but emerged victorious.

Never underestimate the power of the spirit. Sometimes it is darkest before an especially remarkable and reviving dawn.

The Puzzle

I’m so glad I found the missing piece.

The piece that fills in that hole inside my heart and soul. You see, I think we all have it in some way shape or form. And through our lives we try to find that missing piece. The piece that will make us whole.

“Maybe this is it” we say as we buy a new car or find a new relationship.

“Maybe this is it,” when we feel that familiar high due to our substance of choice.

“Maybe this is it,” we think when we change ourselves, the way we dress, the way we do our hair.

But sooner or later, we find no rest. There is no end to the search for that missing piece when we’re looking in all the wrong places.

I think we are all born with a piece missing. As infants, it’s barely perceptible. So small we don’t notice. The progression stems from there. The more we grow, the bigger the missing piece. It becomes painfully obvious. We resort to all sorts of idiotic behavior. Think teenagers. Our ideas about what the missing piece is are painfully immature and sometimes embarrassing to look back upon.

Then we grow older, not necessarily wiser, and try different pieces. A marriage. A baby. A house?

Nope, all those might be just fine… but still not quite sufficient.

Because the missing piece is something intangible. It is something indefinable. It is of the spirit, and the spirit alone can fit the vacancy. When we are experiencing that sensation of something missing, we have a tendency to look in the realm of the material.

I always had.

And in the material, we shall never find what we are looking for.

Today I know the missing piece is a relationship with my Creator. The Spirit of the Universe. God. Whatever spiritual entity you choose to believe in. The missing piece is the peace of God. It is what connects me to you, to myself, to the world at large. No other piece means a thing until that piece is in place…

But.. there is a funny thing about that missing piece.

It seems to need constant adjustment. Just when I think I have it perfectly in place, a space appears. I start to feel a little restless. Something feels off. This is where the seeking comes in.

Now that I have found the substance that satisfies that vacancy, I have to be diligent about fashioning it to fit each and every day. Just as the piece missing grew from infancy to adolescence, it will continue to grow. As the vacancy changes, so must I.

So how do I do this? How do I keep that piece in place? I have to slow down and practice awareness and being present. I have to remain willing to grow. I must reflect and see where I can improve and where I can be helpful. When I am conscious of that piece of my life, then I have the peace I desire.

The search for the missing piece gives my life meaning. Without that search, life would be meaningless.

Apples Can’t be Oranges

I listened to this podcast today about a boy who was convinced by two well-meaning assistant high school football coaches that he was destined for athletic greatness. They were pushy, going so far as to call him at home and tell him to meet up with them for training. He did. By the end of that summer, he was 6’ 6” and 240 pounds. In the interview, he referred to his body after that period of intensive training as a “costume.” This was because one important fact remained, he was still himself. Someone with very little aggressive nature and a little on the depressive side. Gary simply wasn’t a football player. His spirit was tied to other endeavors. He tried so hard to be what they told him he could be. He even went to college on a football scholarship. However, eventually he listened to his heart (and the advice of a wise therapist) and ended up quitting the football team and becoming a comedian. He found his path.

But first he had to jump off the other path. He had to leave the football player identity behind. He had to venture back into the land of self-discovery rather than others-centered discovery of self, intent on gaining outside approval.

I have also had to eventually adopt this plan. This plan of leaving behind all the costumes of my life, and trying not to acquire any new ones along the way.

How many identities have I had to leave behind?

There was my attempt at being chic–in which I am pretty sure I ended up looking like everyone’s mom. After that, my zebra print fiasco, complete with orange hair and eyebrow piercing. Then a little rocker chick. But when that didn’t work, I tried on redneck. Then my athlete runner stage. Honestly, I never quite nailed any of those identities. Still never felt right, none of these changed the interior.

I was running from me. I didn’t like her!

You see, my thoughts about her were negative. She was fat, uncool, too smart, too dorky, or just plain boring and ugly. Who would ever want to be her? No one liked her or ever would..

No, assuredly that Anne had to be destroyed. Burned to the ground and a new Anne built out of the ashes. That idea started at a young age… and I ran with that plan for awhile, trying different versions of myself.

But that Anne was never improved. And no matter how hard I tried to be someone else, that little dork was always underneath the surface threatening to reveal herself with an obscure Lord of the Rings reference.

Thank God I love that girl so much today! She’s actually been pretty great once I gave her a chance. I think we can all benefit from embracing that inner self that we have. That spirit inside that tells us who we are, that calls to us and inspires us. Why do we judge it? Why do we run? We are all who we are. Some of us are strong and silent, some of us are sensitive and loud. Some of us love math and science, some of us are artists and dreamers. Many of us are an amalgam of many different quirks. Maybe we should stop fighting ourselves and embrace our individuality. For, if you’re like me, you cannot be someone you are not and find any happiness…

I think a lot of damage comes from us trying to fit into specific identities, or trying to tell other people who they should be. You just can’t make an apple into an orange. You can paint it orange and texture the peel, but it’s still going to be an apple on the inside. And you’re going to make that apple awfully unhappy when it puts on its orange costume and deep down just wants to be an apple.

So be an apple!

Or be an orange if you’re an orange!

I am always going to be me on the inside.

And you are always going to be you on the inside.

And that’s a beautiful thing.

It’s time to give the real you a chance.

Learn about yourself, the essence of your spirit. Learn to love that sometimes silly, unreasonable, eccentric, wonderful creature that is you. Feed your spirit, cultivate your character, expand your heart and blossom!

Be You!

I was doing some reflecting the other day about being a woman in this world. Being in a hotel and watching the television complete with TV commercials (remember those? I barely do–thanks Netflix!) brought me back to my childhood. One that was filled with ideas about what makes a person beautiful and worthy of love. A lot of pain and misguided striving came from that. Though, it must be said, it has all lead me to where I am today, and for that I truly am grateful. I am happy today.

But I was thinking if I ever have a daughter, I would want her to know some things. What could I say to a daughter?

I started writing. I didn’t feel emotional as it was happening, but when I read it to my boyfriend afterward, I started to cry. I realized it was just as much a letter to a future daughter as it was a letter to my younger self.

It’s a letter to the girl that resides within all of us women, the tenderhearted girl that needs to be reassured that she is lovable and worthy..

So to all my girls out there…

Don’t sell yourself short. You are going to meet a lot of people in your life that want to tell you who to be. Sometimes it will be obvious, at other times quite subtle.

They’ll tell you what clothes to wear, how to wear your hair, what car to drive, what cosmetics to use.. Finding yourself bombarded with all this, “they” may start to infiltrate your mind.

You’ll start to think “This is how I should look; this is the way I should talk; this is the path that is expected.” You might look in the mirror and think you can never measure up. Your hair too thin or too thick, your eyes too close together, your chin too round, your butt too big, your laugh too raucous, your intelligence inadequate.

You might step out into the world and compare yourself to women in magazines or on billboards, or maybe even just to the girl next door. You’ll think

“If only I had that hair…”

“If only I had that body…”

“If only…If only…”

So you’ll try. You’ll try so hard to be what “they” tell you to be. Working your ass off both figuratively and literally, a constant nagging in the back of your mind.

You’ll meet people who encourage you to do these things. They’ll pat you on the back and tell you you’re on the right track.

The road to perfection is hazardous and endless, and there’s a million crossroads all leading to different definitions of perfection depending on who you talk to.

And along this road, you’ll get attention for something and feel giddy. The world might tell you you’re beautiful. The world might tell you you’re smart. That’s all well and good until the next person comes along and there you are, forgotten, and left with yourself.

Why? Because all those crossroads lead to the same ultimate destination… To a feeling of inadequacy. When you arrive there, you will be blocked from others. You will be blocked from love, from life, from your spirit.

Inside, you’ll feel like you’re dying.

You’ll try so hard, but it will never be enough. “I’ll never be enough,” you think.

What’s next? You will have tried it all. Exhausted yourself. You’ll be scared half to death because you won’t know what else to do…

Ever since you were a little girl, you will have been told who and how to be. And now I’m going to tell you too.

Be you! There is no one else like you on this planet. No one with your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your spirit.

Stop listening to “them.” Stop listening to their voice inside your head…

Just be you.

You are needed, you are loved.

I love you, just the way you are, a beautiful girl with a beautiful soul.

Be you, be kind, be loving, be true.

Conflict

Conflict is so interesting. I like to think I am the type of person who avoids conflict. This is true to some extent; I am an inherent people pleaser. I want everyone to like me because I am sometimes desperately insecure. Historically, I have looked for the approval of other people, as most of us do.

But there has always been another side to me. The side that says, no, this is what I believe is right and true. When those beliefs are threatened, a different side of me comes out. This side of me is not afraid of conflict. She stands her ground with gusto, speaking exactly what is on her mind.

When it happens, it is almost like an out-of-body experience. It is strange to have such different tendencies within the same person. Strange, but at the same time, very human.

I engaged in a little conflict yesterday as you may have surmised based on this blog post. I am not going to go into the particulars because they don’t particularly matter, but it afforded me an interesting opportunity to look at myself. How can I handle conflict differently?

Was I respectful and considerate?

Did I take time to listen to what was between the words?

Was I too aggressive and outspoken?

To some extent, yes, I could have handled myself a little more decorously. And I always think this self-reflection is a useful tool and serves us well. Next time, I’ll try to do better.

However, I believe what I said was important and a reflection of a truth that I hold dear. It is important to me to be true to myself and what I believe is helpful to others.

I have always had a stubborn and defiant streak. People are often surprised when I tell them this. I come off as pretty mellow, which I am…sometimes. Then people get to know me a little better and witness a few examples of my independent defiance. There is a fire burning inside of me.

In all of us I believe.

I think that fire serves a purpose. I think we are enthusiastic about things for a reason.

I also think other people are too. It is good for me to remember that although I needn’t compromise myself, it is also helpful to look at the other side. Oftentimes the solution to a conflict lies somewhere in the middle.

These days I try to bend more than I have in the past.

These days I also don’t break under the force of another personality. Not everyone is going to like me. I am okay with that fact. I may not particularly like it, but I can accept it.

Different personalities all serve a purpose. Conflict serves a purpose. When we are able to engage in conflict with a constructive attitude, it can often lead us to a middle-of-the-road solution. I do well to remember that no matter how right I believe I am, the other side is equally or more convinced of their own righteousness.

There must be someway to constructively engage in conflict and come out with a solution, without deriding one another or being convinced of our inherent superiority. Conflict is a reality of human nature and I think our inability to deal with it leads to many problems in our society today. Our inability to deal with differing opinions and our want of censoring the other side.

We should look beyond differing opinions into the hearts of one another and see we are all brothers and sisters. While it is okay and oftentimes beneficial to disagree, it does not mean we have to dismiss other people or their opinions. Having an open mind and open heart leads to some pretty incredible friendships.

No, we are not going to be friends with everyone. But we also don’t have to wait to make friends with only people who think exactly like we do. Growth and understanding come from different people coming together and engaging in constructive conflict.

Don’t lie down and be a doormat, but don’t be a steamroller either!

And if you fall into either of those categories, don’t beat yourself up, just try to do better next time…