Rawness

I seem to have lost my ability to expound upon a collection of thoughts in my brain enough to form a decent draft, let alone a finished, coherent post.

I recently made the above statement to K.

Upon further thought though, I believe that I have not suddenly lost my ability to write; can one really unlearn a skill that fundamental without major brain trauma? What did happen, I think, was that I became afraid to write. I’ve come to fear rawness. Being raw is not an easy thing, but I had become more comfortable with regularly pushing myself to be such.

Then I hit one of the inevitable lapses of recovery (defining a lapse as a period where some disordered behaviors resurfaced). I am uncomfortable with escalating emotions in others though—it does not feel safe to me because highly emotional people are often rash and unpredictable people, and unpredictable does not sit well with me. Because of this fear of mine, I have a difficult time admitting to taking any steps back for fear of sending someone into a panic. I feel a great pressure to ensure that every step I take is a step forward, but we are all bound to take steps backwards at times. Life is a cha-cha: two steps forward, one step back.

I figure that I was about due for a step back in my dance anyhow before I could continue moving forward. I’m not entirely sure where forward is taking me, and I’ll admit that I am terrified of what the months ahead will hold. I’ll be starting college applications soon; K has reached the homestretch of her pregnancy; senior year will be kicking into gear; and life will keep moving on. I’ve always loved Robert Frost’s quote: “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on,” and I’ve always said that keeping up with it is the tough part.

The next few months, and the next year in general, are going to see a lot of changes in my life. I’m hitting a time that holds a lot of excitement, but also a lot of uncertainty. It is both exhilarating and paralyzing. All I can do though is trust that the Good Lord is going to get me where He needs me, and that He’s going to give me the strength I need to make it through each day.

It’s funny how every time I think I’m starting to get good at this whole deal called life, the rules are changed and everything gets shaken up. It can be exhausting at times, but I also know that I am doing so much growing at the moment, and that’s an amazing thing. The Potter is at work, and He will keep on molding until He—not I—is satisfied with the results.

It’s good to be moving in the right direction for now, and it is good to be back.

Do Life Big by Jamie Grace

Often times, doing life big will not look the way we think it will.

God has a different idea of what success and changing the world looks like than we might have. Sure, He will call some to positions of great attention. But more commonly, He calls us to what we see as humble places—places where we, nonetheless, impact the circle of people we meet in a profound way whether we realize it or not.

When I let the world’s view of a successful life cloud my view, restlessness, anxiety, and feelings of unworthiness start creeping in. But, when I trust that the Lord’s plan is perfect and will fulfill my humanly need to feel significant, I can live in contentment, doing life big in my own unique way every day.

It would really do me good to keep this in mind more often, as I have mastered the art of putting myself down and convincing myself I’ll never add up (not the best art to have become proficient in). Day by day though, I’m learning to do my own thing, slowly gaining trust in the currently unknown plan for my life.

We can all do life big. We just have to re-shape our idea of “big” before we truly feel as though that is what we are doing. So let’s redefine success shall we? Success is not a particular career or amount of money. Success is fully living the life God intended for you to live, basking in His glory and being filled with joy along the way. If we can learn to do that, we can all experience living life to the fullest—doing life big.

Writing Through The Changes

It was only a few weeks ago, but now I cannot even remember how I came across this poem by a man named Charles Bukowski. I only know that it had me at the first line.

“So you want to be a writer?” By Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or

fame,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,

don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,

don’t be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don’t be dull and boring and

pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don’t add to that.

don’t do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don’t do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

 

there is no other way.

 

and there never was.

 

If you have ever wanted to know what the process of raw and real writing looks like, this is it. When the time is right, we’re just overcome with a need to write. We may not even know what words will flow, but as soon as there is a keyboard beneath our fingers or a pen in our hand, they start coming. I never used to experience this burning need to write, but that is just one of the many changes that have occurred from the end of my sophomore year to now—the end of my junior year.

It was shortly before the start of my junior year that I started blogging, blogging my way through recovery and the changes that it was bringing to my life. Since then, I have gained a small, but steady audience, and I appreciate each and every one of you who have joined me along the way. This past year, God has taken me places that I never could have imagined. My head spins just thinking about everything that has happened.

I left my beloved early college high school, and am discovering an equally wonderful place amongst homeschoolers. I have reached a point of solid, stable recovery—something I’m still trying to determine the right term for. And through it all, I have fallen totally in love with the very form of communication and expression that I spent the first fifteen years or so of my life despising.

I think that only now, after trying my hand at blogging to discover that I enjoy it immensely, can I truly appreciate Charles Bukowski’s poem. Before now, it was not alive in me; I was not a writer. I am now though, and I can’t imagine taking life any other way. For me, writing has become my means of interpreting. It has become a looking-glass for me; through words, I can see the world more clearly.

My world is changing though as I get further into recovery, and I feel that the contents of my blog will shift some with it. I still have plenty to say on the topic of recovery and eating disorders and self-harm and perfectionism, but I’m unsure of what the words will come together to look like. I mentioned in my post written off of Hillsong United’s Oceans that the unknowns about what recovered life looks like really freaks me out, and I think that the uncertainty of what my blog will come to be is one of those scary unknowns. I mean, what if people don’t like what I have to say anymore? What then?

I’ve been trying to figure out what direction I want my blog to head in, but I really have not the slightest clue. I hope you all don’t mind if we just figure it out together as we go along because right now, I don’t know much about what my future holds. I have not taken the leap of faith yet, but unintentionally, this post seems to have brought me one step closer.

Lord, you work in mysterious and marvelous ways.

The only things I am sure of are my identity as a writer, and my identity as a Child of God. The rest, I think I will figure out as I go along.

Until next time, folks.

Spring Thoughts

Explosion

Seemingly overnight,

These problems all arose.

Bringing to the light,

That which was to remain unknown.

Perhaps it’s not all bad

For secrets to be told.

While the sufferers grow sad,

They used to shine like Gold.

This isn’t how it should be,

Letting life knock us down.

What if we were all free

From that which makes us drown?

We must end this explosion

Of hurt and quiet and pain.

Before we’re word down from erosion,

We must erase the stain.

With love and support,

We can all stand tall once more.

And finally, we’ll shove

Away the secrets we abhor.

Poetry is not usually my choice form of writing; I typically enjoy prose most. Last spring though, I happened to write a poem or two. Now that spring is coming once again, I thought that a poem might be a nice way to switch things up. Last year, I felt lost in a sea of secrets and lies. Now, I’m a relatively transparent person. My secrets no longer exist as such, and it feels as though with the blossoming of new life that spring brings, my life is also seeing many new buds forming. It’s so nice to be finding my niche once again. Instead of an “explosion of hurt and quiet and pain,” I’m experiencing an explosion of healing and compassion and new opportunities. So, welcome, Spring. And welcome, new life.

Recovery Perks

Recovery does not always rock, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. There are days when you’re exhausted and taking one more bite is the last thing that you want to do. That’s the honest truth. There are also so many perks to recovery though, so many pros that outweigh the cons. A few weekends ago, I was able to experience one of the larger, more exciting pluses to recovery: I did not let my eating disorder dictate my social life. Not being an active member in the youth group at church, I was invited by someone who is to be a part of an annual youth retreat. In my mind, all I saw was a weekend away from home, away from routine, away from safe food, and away from my usual, more predictable environment. A few months ago, I would have immediately turned the invitation down without even thinking twice about it– all because of the anxiety the food element of the weekend would have brought up, a few months ago. Now, the invitation was received in a very different light. Now, I gave it some thought. Now, I decided to step out of my comfortable little box and go to the retreat.

As it turns out, this was a fantastic decision– hindsight being twenty-twenty and all. But going into the weekend, I did not have the vision to see this. I was unsure of how social interactions would go, girls being girls and cliques being a thing amongst them. I would be taking an extra two rest days. I had no clue what food we would be eating. And, I knew that personal space would be limited in the event that I found myself in need of an emotional break. Honestly and truly, this weekend put me out of my comfort zone in pretty much every major way possible, yet I agreed to go. Recovery win number one of the weekend.

My prediction about food wasn’t wrong. Other than the Quest Bars I packed, nothing was safe. In fact, every single meal was more than unsafe, they were all fear foods. Following pastries for breakfast, white bread at lunch, and pizza for dinner on Saturday, we had donuts for breakfast on Sunday. Donuts. Donuts. The only thing that I fear more than donuts is chips. My dear friend, H, said it well when I told her about the donuts in a rather worked up tone, to which she responded with, “I know, I know, donuts are a big deal.” Allow me to claim eating so many fear foods in a span of thirty-six hours as recovery win number two of the weekend. I’ll claim managing it without a single panic attack as recovery win number three of the weekend.

Beyond clear cut recovery wins within the weekend was the weekend as a whole. I stepped out on a limb and discovered it was sturdy. I reconnected with some amazing girls, and I met plenty of new ones. I had fun; I was a normal teenager. My eating disorder did not slow me down or stop me this weekend, as it has so many times before. Recovery may suck sometimes, but at others, the perks of recovery are just a little too good. Living for those perks is was keeps most of us going. One day though, weekends like this one will not be a perk to recovery, they will be the result of a normal, healthy life. That is a terrifying thought to me though, so I’ll keep taking it a day at a time, enjoying the perks as they present themselves.