Halloween 2025 Movie List

Welcome to 31 days of Halloween...Movies!!!! My annual watchlist of my favorite Halloween movies. I have listed at least one movie for every day in October, but I reserved my absolute favorite films for the last week leading up to Halloween! Check out the list below and see what you think!

You'll notice that I have virtually no horror films, which is not by accident - I don't care for them! My only exception is Tucker and Dale vs Evil because it's a horror COMEDY and it pulls it off insanely well! Alan Tudik and (cutie patootie teddy bear daddy) Tyler Labine are perfect!

I have listed the rating for those who don't watch rated R movies and where a movie may share a title with another film, or even be a remake, I've added the release year of the version of the movie I prefer.

But wait, there's more! Because there were so many movies on my list I decided to make three separate lists - that's right - THREE separate lists! My main list I tried to keep as closely as I could to actual Halloween themed movies, whereas my second list includes movies that may be suspenseful/scary, but don't actually have anything to do with Halloween (e.g., Deceived, What Lies Beneath, etc.).

Lastly, because I'm an old soul with personality of a child, I have a list of family friendly flicks with nothing over PG-13 and the majority with G/PG ratings.

I hope you find something on these lists you haven't seen before, or maybe have forgotten all about and want to watch again. What about you? What are some of your "must watch" Halloween movies?

I wish each of you all the flannel, pumpkin-spiced, spooky joys you can muster this fall and, most of all, I hope you all have a fun, safe, and happy Halloween!!

Freemont Street to Freedom

Eight years ago, my life changed with the push of a button.

I had recently turned 39 and was seriously questioning what I was doing with my life. I was working in St. George, Utah at the time on a travel assignment when I had one of the most profound, eye-opening, life-altering experiences of my life. It was just a few weeks before the end of my assignment there and then I would be returning home to Salt Lake. But I was feeling restless, unsettled. I felt like I just needed to go somewhere and do something out of the ordinary. I was close enough to Las Vegas that I thought I would just go down on a whim and spend a couple of nights there over the weekend. (I should emphasize at this point, I’m a planner – this is NOT like me!)

I had no interest in gambling, or shows, or “the strip” in general, so I was looking at other places and found a good deal at the Golden Nugget, which was also not too far from the Outlet stores, so I thought I would just walk around, do some shopping, and just generally relax. The Golden Nugget, as I would come to learn, was also on Freemont Street. Now, back in the day, there was something called the “Freemont Street Experience.” At the time, they only did it once a month, and I just happened to book my stay that same weekend.

Essentially, they shut down Freemont Street to any traffic and allow people to roam up and down the street, visiting the bars, shops, vendors, etc. Stages had been set-up at each end of the street and bands would play. Down a large portion of the street overhead displays were set-up and would show videos/light shows timed to music. And in case that wasn’t enough, there were two stretches where you could zipline down the middle of the street! At the time you had to have a wrist band to prove you were over 21, which I thought was “alcohol” related (and I’m sure that was part of it), but also because there were street performers. I ain’t talking clowns and magicians here – this is still Vegas, after all. There were shirtless cowboys giving lap dances; winged, bikini-clad female dancers, also giving lap dances, among other people wearing racy costumes – all of which could be enjoyed, or get your photo taken with, for a little donation, of course!

Normally, this would have been a little bit much for a good, little Mormon boy from Salt Lake, like me, but something was different this time. It didn’t feel evil, or even scandalous, it felt… fun? One of the reason’s I felt like I just needed to “get away” was because of how much I was struggling to understand my sexuality. I knew that I was “in the closet” at that point, but that I was still doing “all the right things,” (church, temple, etc.) and that – even though I genuinely felt blessed for doing those things, I also felt miserable, stuck – trapped really, and I didn’t know how to come to terms with what I “felt” (being attracted to men) and what I “knew” (that I was going to hell for being attracted to men).

Even now, I don’t know if I can describe my thought process. I saw what was going on around me and wanted to be a part of it somehow. I went back to my room, freshened up, got a bunch of cash, and acknowledged that because I had felt something inside me telling me that I just needed to “get away,” that I was just going to enjoy this night and maybe more importantly, I was going to LET myself enjoy it WITHOUT judgment.

And enjoy it I did! (No, I did NOT get a lap dance, because I’m still pretty shy, BUT I got pretty close!) Reflecting on that experience, part of the enjoyment was the anonymity. I didn’t know anyone there and no one knew me. They didn’t know “who I was” on the regular day to day. They didn’t know me with any labels. More importantly, they didn’t know my past or what I was struggling with internally.

This was the first time in my life that I felt like I could just be me.

I got my picture taken with several of the street performers – male and female alike – and I loved it! The only real challenge that night was trying to find other people to take pictures for me with my phone, but people were friendly and great and more than willing to help me out.

During all of this “letting my proverbial hair down,” one moment stands out in particular. One of the vendors had been watching me ask for pictures with a bunch of the male dancers walking around. I was standing by his cart at one point and he flat out asked me – without any reservation – “are you gay?” It wasn’t a judgmental question. It wasn’t dripping with disgust. He was genuinely curious about me. But no one had ever asked me like that before, with that amount of candor. I hesitated for a split second, but then nodded my head and said, “I am.” And the shackles around my heart fell away. The weight of all the shame, guilt, and fear I had carried with me for YEARS flew from off my shoulders. It was the first time I allowed myself to admit it – to say it! And to say it out loud – without fear of retaliation, without fear of being shamed or condemned? Well, it changed something within me.

That night will go down as one of the most influential experiences of my life. It was a turning point for me. Later that night I went back to my hotel room and prayed. I thanked God for an experience that I knew He had a hand in. It wasn’t accidental that I felt a need to get away. It wasn’t circumstantial that I happened to be close enough to Las Vegas to get away. It wasn’t coincidental that I was directed to stay at that particular hotel on that particular street on that particular weekend. That whole night, I felt a spiritual companionship that I still can’t fully explain. I didn’t feel dirty. I didn’t feel depraved. I didn’t feel lost, confused, or condemned – basically all of the things I would have expected to feel. I just didn’t.

I felt seen. I felt accepted. I felt like I could be myself AND still be acceptable. I had never experienced that before.

Which left me with a conundrum. Sure, I could go to Vegas and “be myself” where no one knew me, but what about when I go back home? It was heart wrenching in a way, because I now had had a taste of a kind of freedom I had wanted my whole life, but was convinced wasn’t possible for me. And yet, there it was. I had been “out,” I had been openly gay, and I had been accepted, not just in spite of it, but BECAUSE of it. But could I be that at home? Could I be that where people DID know me?

I ended my travel assignment and headed back to Salt Lake City. On the one hand, my heart lightened for having experienced true "authenticity," but on the other hand, my heart was also a bit heavy in a way, fearful of knowing what I needed to do…

I selected 2-3 close friends – friends that I knew would be supportive, even if they couldn’t relate – and I came out to them. I shared with them what I felt and who I really am. And they were so kind and loving and I will never forget how much that meant to me. While it felt liberating to a degree to finally be honest with a few people, I realized that – even though I was “being honest” – it didn’t mean that I was being “authentic” with myself. It was a little bit like opening up the closet door a bit and peeking out. And I was terrified. Terrified to come out fully because it meant never going back. It meant opening myself up to criticism, rejection, shame, punishment, condemnation, being thrown out of the church – I mean, I just didn’t know what the consequences were going to be or how hard it would be to navigate them. It meant voluntarily giving up safety for the unknown.

But I did know something. God knew ME. He led me to Freemont Street that night and stayed with me. He was there when someone asked me if I was gay and he was there to hear me say, “I am.” And He didn’t condemn me. He didn’t punish me. He didn’t cast me off into outer darkness. Quite the opposite actually. He supported me; He comforted me; He encouraged me. Ultimately, my fears were not about God, my fears were about what I had been taught about how God would see me. But what I had been taught, did not match my experience.

I sat down and I wrote. I poured out my heart and expressed the understanding I had at the time. Then I copied that into a blog post and waited for several minutes, my mind whirling, my breath quickening, my heart racing. There would be no going back. One more quick, silent prayer – than I clicked “publish.”

And there it was – in black and white; publicly expressed for all the world to see. “Other types of closets,” published on May 16, 2017, the day I formally came out of the closet; making 5/16 my “coming-out-of-the-closet-iversary,” or my “birthgay?” My “De-closeting Day?” My “Gay Day?” I’m not sure what to call it yet! 😊

While I’ve chosen this date to celebrate a turning point in my life, it certainly didn’t happen on just one day. I wrestled with my heart, my mind, with God – and I struggled, for years, to understand myself. Celebrating coming out of the closet isn’t just about “admitting” I’m gay, it’s so much deeper. It’s about accepting myself as person, for who I am, the way I am, without guilt, without shame, without judgment, criticism, or condemnation – all of which are the negative practices I spent a lifetime “perfecting.”

And it is still a journey. I still find deep-seated fears that need to be addressed. I still find new layers of acceptance that need to be achieved. While I had previously seen that as “evidence” that I wasn’t “there” yet (whatever that means), I realize now that those are not proofs that I’m not okay, they are, in fact, proof that I am on the right path – MY path, the path God meant for me to walk. Even though the road and the obstacles and scenery are different from anyone else, I know it’s my path and I’m grateful to be on it.

I’m not going to lie and say that after I came out everything was wonderful. In fact, kind of the opposite. Coming out made life harder because of the uncertainty; because I didn’t know how to “be this way” in the world, when all I had known was secrecy, shame, and hiding myself – my real self – from everyone. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I’m still changing. But I am so grateful today to be who I am. I am so grateful for what I am learning on this journey and for finally finding peace within myself. And I am grateful to God. I am grateful that He has not only understood me, but encouraged me to be myself and to accept myself and has not once made me feel like I was someone deserving of punishment or condemnation. No one has ever punished me for “being me” more than I have.

I am learning to overcome that deep-seated, learned self-hatred. I am learning what compassion, love, acceptance, and forgiveness really mean. It will take more time, but I am also learning to offer myself what I have never been able to do before – unconditional love.

I just needed to come out of the closet to find it.

Enjoy some photos of my Freemont Street Experience! 😊

 

 

 

  

Forty-six

I decided to turn 46 today. And, honestly, I’m having a bit of a hard time with this one. I’m not sure why really – there is nothing particularly significant about this age for me. Maybe it’s the fact that in the last two weeks I’ve been affected by no less than four deaths (three patients at work [two were mostly expected], and one, a colleague that I admired, which was very much unexpected). But even without that, ever since the Winter Solstice on December 21, 2023 (oh wow, exactly 1 month ago!), I have felt the need to withdraw, to be introspective, to hibernate essentially. Not in a “feeling the blues” kind of way, but more of a feeling the need to protect myself in some way. Protect myself from what, I couldn’t tell you. It feels more like the need to wrap myself up in a safe cocoon and turn inward – to give myself the time, space, and energy to examine what’s there and to decide how I want to move forward with my life.

I’ve been in a bit of a holding pattern. My job is going well. I think I’m fairly good at what I do and I’m happy when I can be there for someone, or be a kind, listening ear, or just brighten their day with a smile. I have not been dating, nor wanting to date, but yes, feeling the sting of loneliness. I haven’t been exercising since last October and I feel the weight I’ve put back on, which makes me sad sometimes. I haven’t been writing or painting or photographing or really pursuing anything creative. I’ve been busy though. I don’t really know what all I’ve been busy with, it just seems to ebb and flow, you know? Probably lots more T.V. than I should admit to watching. I don’t have a bad life. I actually recognize – and I’m grateful every day – for the good life that I have.

But I also just feel like I’m not really living either. I don’t know if that makes sense. I keep asking myself what I’m working toward in life; what I want out of life; what do I want to accomplish; what do I want to be? These questions have been consuming me lately, because I don’t know how to answer them.

If you had asked me when I was 16 what I wanted my life to be like at 46, I might have said the following: “I want to be thin, married, have some kids, have a good job, live in a good ward with a good calling.” You know – the plan! Growing up there was only ever one plan. There was only one path. It was clear that this one way was also the only RIGHT way – anything else, anything that deviated from that in even the slightest way was wrong, and the type of wrong that borders on sin. But I didn’t need to worry about that because I wanted “the plan” right? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was that plan - to fit in; to be normal; to be like everyone else.

And yet…

I’ve had something inside of me that’s haunted me since I was young, as young as 6. And believe it or not, I’m not talking about being gay. Of course, that plays into it, but there is one struggle that I’ve had throughout my life, that in all honesty, and just for me personally, rivals the excruciating experience of growing up a “closeted gay” in the LDS faith – being fat.

You see, what church gave me was something clear, and something simple – the plan. Grow up, go on a mission, get married, have kids, be a productive, good member of society and serve others. Simple, right? And in a way, this plan gave me a direction so that I no longer really had to think for myself. The plan was laid out and I didn’t have to think too much about it – I just had to follow it. I was promised, in fact, that if I did follow it, that everything would be okay – that all my problems would be addressed, that all my challenges/obstacles would be removed, that I would receive miracles that would change my heart and mind, and a myriad of other promises. I was taught, that when something is right, God prepares a way, he lightens burdens, he makes things possible, and he makes them easy – that’s how you know they are the right things to do.

You might imagine my confusion then, when going to the temple, going on a mission, following the counsel of my priesthood leaders, etc., did not yield the results – the miracles – I was asking for and was told I would receive. I remained fat, ugly, disgusting, unwanted, repulsive, weak, pitied, looked down on, dismissed, devalued, etc. (and yes, gay).

I was 6 years old when I knew that I was fat and that being fat is bad. I still remember the experience, which I won’t relate here. This was also the age where I was molested for the first time (that I can recall, anyway), but I don’t remember how closely these two experiences occurred, though it makes sense that I might feel more self-directed body hatred after having my body violated. In any case, as I say, I knew I was fat and that being fat was bad. From that moment on, I just wanted to be thin, to be normal, to be like everyone else so that I could fit in and be a part of things, and not singled out and picked on as something detestable, gross, unwanted, ridiculed, and unworthy.

So, I prayed. And I promised God that I would be so, so good - perfect even, if that’s what it took, so that I could be worthy of this blessing. This blessing that never came.

Consequently, when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up or what I wanted out of life – I dutifully recited “the plan.” That was after all the only acceptable answer they wanted – whether they voiced that expectation or not. And I said it for so long that I fully believed it myself. But there was also another want there, a deeper want. One that I didn’t think was as acceptable an answer, because compared to “the plan,” this desire of mine was superficial, selfish, vain, prideful, etc. This desire to be thin wasn’t ever really about a bodyfat percentage, mind you. It was about what “being thin” means. It means, being approved of. It means being acceptable to everyone. It means being wanted or desired. It means being attractive and confident. It means being included and being valued. It means being seen as a person worthy of love. But superficial because I also just wanted to be, like, super hot, you know? Hahaha! (*rolls eyes, shrugs shoulders, sighs...*)

Looking back, coming home from my mission and going to college were probably more significant turning points than I realized. Even though I was working my way through “the plan,” suddenly, there were parts of this plan that weren’t established. Yes, get an education and a good job, but a good job doing what? Suddenly there were all these choices that were up to me that I didn’t have “a plan” for. What DO I want to do for work or a career? What are my interests? What do I really want to do?

And I didn’t know, because I had never thought about it. And I never thought about it, because all I could think about was how I wanted to be thin.

Sure, I have a million different interests: writing, photography, cooking, hiking, drawing/painting, music/singing, life sciences – biology, anatomy/physiology, botany, astronomy, etc. But do I love any of those “interests” enough to turn them into a career? Every time I tried something, I found that the answer was, “no, not really.” And to a much greater “unconscious” degree it didn’t really matter what I did - as long as I was thin doing it. Because the reality for me is that anything else I may have wanted didn’t really matter as much as the desire to be thin.

I know, I know – I mean, to hear me talk about it this way makes it sound like I would have put all my heart and soul into making weight loss happen, right? But I couldn’t because, for one, it wasn’t part of “the plan.” The plan doesn’t say you need to be thin to get to the celestial kingdom. So I was left feeling that this one thing, this one important, all encompassing thing to me, was something that I shouldn’t want. And because I tried to be so good, I tried in fact to be perfect, but still didn’t warrant this blessing, I felt that this was God’s way of saying, “no, I’m not going to grant this to you because you don’t deserve it.” And that’s what I’ve believed my whole life – that as much as I wanted thinness (and everything that comes with it), I just didn’t deserve it.

Surely, if I had deserved it, I would either have it as a natural condition (like most everyone else around me it seemed); or I would have been given that condition as a reward for my faithfulness. And not only that – and this point is critically important – but to really have been worthy of it would mean that I had obtained it “easily!” Because, after all, in my spiritual arithmetic, God’s blessings (i.e., his approval) make obtaining blessings easy.

Consequently, I also learned the inverse of this rule – that if good things are easy, then bad things are hard.

Have you ever tried to lose 100 pounds before? Guess what? It’s hard. It’s really, super, f******g, agonizingly hard. Which meant that – because it was so hard – that it wasn’t right for me to achieve. I could WANT it, sure, and I absolutely wanted it, as I said, because of all the desirable things that come with it, but to actually HAVE it? No way. It’s hard, so it must be wrong. It’s hard, so it must not be what God wants for me; it’s not what He thinks I’m worthy or deserving of. If it were, He would have made it easy. Do you see the confusing loop I’ve spent my life in? And most likely why I still feel like I’m spinning my wheels now?

I can see now that my rules (easy=good/hard=bad) were flawed, but I’ve been conditioning my brain with these beliefs for 46 f*****g years!! I have made this my default setting. This is just how I approach life; and no wonder I feel stuck, stagnant, and busy but with no real purpose.

Letting go...

Photo by Catalin Pop on Unsplash

I’m scared, I guess. I’m scared to change – I know I need to; I know it will be good to; but I’m scared. I’ve lived my whole life doing what’s “easy” because I thought it was the right thing to do. Facing the prospect of now needing to do hard things challenges every core belief I’ve had ingrained in me for as long as I can remember.

Ugh, the irony, right? Just facing that I need to do hard things is the hardest thing of all! Laaaaaaaammmme!

But letting go of old, ingrained beliefs – even when I know it’s the right thing to do – is still undeniably hard. And I even feel a bit of some shame and embarrassment that it’s taken me 46 years to figure this out.

You know, it’s strange. When I look back over the last 46 years, I reflect on all the hard things I’ve experienced – and I’ve experienced some really hard things (for me personally, I’m not trying to compare to anyone else or win the “who has the worst life award” here!!). But those hard experiences seem to fall into one of two categories: 1 – victimhood; i.e., that the hard things I’ve been through were hard things that were done TO ME; or 2 – expectations; i.e., that the hard things I did do were expectations from being part of “the plan.” For example, going on a mission, or going back to school to get a Master’s degree, which was extremely hard, but because “getting a good job” was part of “the plan,” I didn’t stop to question it.

But now I need to focus on letting go. As hard as it will be. I need to let go of the belief that hard equals bad. I need to let go of the need to be perfect in order to somehow “earn” thinness (approval, love, etc.). I need to know, learn, and accept that sometimes, good things are hard – even really hard, and that’s okay. I also need to acknowledge that sometimes things are good even when they are hard and even when they don’t seem to be a part of “the plan.”

I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life. No matter what I decide, I do still want to be thin doing it. That desire has never gone away, right or wrong. Maybe my journey to find fat loss, weight loss, health, etc. is the training ground I’ve needed in order to challenge my beliefs about things being hard. Maybe, for me personally, and for whatever reason, this is the best condition for me to learn that I can do hard things, that sometimes hard things are good and that I can finally, perhaps, grow into the man I want to become, some day. I don’t know, maybe ask me again when I’m 76…

Self-love and Sacrifice

When I was a child I learned that the most noble act a person could perform was to sacrifice in order to serve others. While I do fundamentally believe this is true, I also know that I erroneously interpreted that to mean that other people come first and I come last. I believed that other people’s needs should come before my own, because that is what sacrifice is, right? It’s sacrificing my needs in order to meet the needs of others. Taking that further I also erroneously believed that because other people’s needs mattered more than my own it meant that, in general, other people mattered more than me - period.

This is problematic on many levels, but one of the unforeseen consequences of always looking out for what other people needed, was that even more than placing their needs before my own, I also placed their thoughts, feelings, and beliefs before my own. The simplest way I can say it is that I cared more about what other people thought than what I thought. Virtually every single choice I made in life – from where to go to school, what work to do, whether or not to come out of the closet, even down to what socks to buy – every choice was accompanied by, “but what will other people think about this…?”

I basically couldn’t do anything in life without being paralyzed by the fear of not getting other’s approval and desperately wanting their approval, because doing so meant I was making the “noble sacrifice” of putting them first. But if I was so good at sacrificing myself and putting other people first, why then has my life been plagued by feeling stuck, depressed, lonely, etc.? I mean, shouldn’t I be the happiest, most contented person in the world from all the “noble sacrifices” I’d been making? Why wasn’t I being blessed for following the second great commandment, which is to “love thy neighbor as thyself?” (Matt 22:39) (I’ll have more to say about this in a moment…) From this passage, it seems pretty clear to me that the order of operations is to love God first, then, love your neighbor. Okay, well – check! Done! That’s what I’ve been doing. So why have I also been so miserable for so long, and more poignantly, why have I felt so powerless in my own life?

I just want to add, that I don’t regret the things I’ve done for others, not one little bit. It does feel good helping others, and it has felt good my entire life to help others, the problem was that all that good feeling never seemed to extend to me. I boxed myself into a trap where taking care of myself and my needs meant putting myself first and if I put myself first, then it meant putting other people last, which then meant I was no longer nobly sacrificing for others – and I would be committing the unpardonable sin of being selfish. I mean, that’s what it boiled down to for me, or at least, that’s how I saw things.

I was taught that selfishness and pride are some of the ultimate evils and – looking back – I can see how this would reinforce the idea that I needed to put other’s first as a sign that I wasn’t selfish, that I wasn’t prideful, to ensure that I wasn’t guilty of these terrible sins.

I had lots of reasons for putting my needs last, for putting other’s first, for relying on the approval of others, and conversely, avoiding the disapproval of others. At the heart of this I’ve just wanted to do the right thing. I’ve just wanted to make my Father in Heaven happy and make other people around me happy – and these are all good things. The problem isn’t sacrifice and the problem isn’t caring for others. The problem is not truly seeing where I fit in, in these acts, i.e., the misinterpretation of how to have love for others in relation to myself.

As I see it, there at least three ways to interpret the commandment in the book of Matthew to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” One way to interpret this, as I’ve tried to outline here and what I believe I’ve done wrong my whole life, is to “love thy neighbor BEFORE thyself.” This comes pretty simply from an order of operations standpoint – “others” are mentioned first, therefore, others should come first in my life.

But another way to interpret this scripture is to NOT ignore the final condition “as thyself.” I infer from this that a certain measure of self-love is ALREADY EXPECTED TO BE PRESENT in this commandment. If I could re-word this in my own way I might rephrase this commandment to say, “love thy neighbor as much as you love yourself.” Maybe the Lord doesn’t need to explicitly command us to love ourselves because that should already be inherent within us.

But for me, it seems, it wasn’t. Or perhaps my life experiences, such as trauma, unhealthy relationships, and even simply the immature understanding that accompanies youth, altered how I related to myself and others in a faulty way.

Briefly, I’ll just mention another possible interpretation, even though unlikely, it can still be beautiful in its implication – which is to “love thy neighbor as [you are].” In other words, love your neighbor from who you are, the way you are, i.e., “as thyself.” Think about that for a second. To “love thy neighbor as thyself” = love thy neighbor from your own unique, beautifully human, flawed, perfectly imperfect self. You don’t need to change who you are to love someone else. Love them in whatever capacity YOU are able to love them, and know that it’s enough.

That’s meaningful for me because, you see, I thought I did need to change. I thought I needed to change who I was in order to get the approval of others around me. Whether that “approval” was friendship, praise/validation, relationship, acceptance, love, etc. I saw myself as fundamentally flawed, literally worth less than others, and the only way I could have worth (or love or success or whatever), was to change from the worthless sack of s--t that I saw myself as, and be perfect – have the perfect face, body, job, bank account, clothes, car, etc. Oh yeah, and doing all of this while “sacrificing” myself to put other’s first.

Does this sound crazy to you? Because seeing it here in black and white, it sure sounds crazy to me too!

I want to reiterate that I do believe sacrifice is noble, but I was never asked to sacrifice loving myself in order to care for someone else. In fact, and I think many of you readers already know this, you probably CAN’T really love another until you do love yourself – because only when you truly love and care for yourself, are you able to offer your best self to others, when needed. The airplane oxygen mask analogy immediately comes to mind!

In spite of the all these realizations that I’m having, it still feels selfish to love myself or to put some of my needs “first.” But I remind myself that if I’m not loving myself (i.e., taking care of my needs), then I’m not keeping the commandment to love my neighbor as myself, because I’m not actually loving myself. It also occurs to me, that as much as I do want to help others, the only person that I can truly have any control over taking care of, is myself. Not only that, taking care of myself is my responsibility only. It is not anyone else’s responsibility to make sure I exercise, eat right, sleep well, etc. I am really the only person I CAN truly take care of.

Maybe what I need to “sacrifice” is not my love for others, but my need for other’s approval. Maybe I need to “sacrifice” placing myself last or thinking of myself as unimportant and learn that the key to loving others is to start with loving me.

 

 

Photo by Bart LaRue on Unsplash

The Beauty of NOT Fixing Things

I had a sweet, yet powerful experience at work on Friday that humbled me and taught me that there is a beautiful freedom in not always fixing things. Because it happened at work, and regarding a patient, I can’t say much due to HIPAA rules, but I think what I can safely say is that this woman, I’ll call her “Regina,” is essentially quadriplegic. (For example, even though she does have some very limited use of her hands/arms, she is unable to feed herself.)

Regina’s been having a rough time. She asked me for a blessing the day previous (Thursday), which I gave her. Then on Friday, I got a message that she wanted to see me. I’m not going to lie here, even though this is going to make me seem like a terrible person, because even though I love Regina, it’s sometimes hard to be around her because it takes a lot of energy to interact with her. I know that sounds horrible, especially when she is clearly not at fault, but it’s important that you know that because it sets the stage for what follows.

In the afternoon I decided it was time for me to go visit with her to see what she needed from me. As I walked to her room, I mentally prepared myself, as I usually do for each patient, in order to ready myself for what I knew would most likely be a draining experience. I gowned up fully, (because, thanks Covid!), and went in.

She started by thanking me for giving her a blessing. She recalled me placing a dab of oil on her head, but didn’t remember much after that. I typically don’t recall much when I give a blessing, but I told her all that I could remember. Then she started talking to me about her fears. These kinds of conversations aren’t new and part of why it takes a lot of energy to be with her, but I always see it as an opportunity to provide a listening ear and to give some words of comfort, if I can. As she was speaking, I remember praying – as I often do – for the guidance/inspiration to know what to say in response and what I can do to “fix” the situation. The feeling that I got in my heart was this, “you don’t need to say anything, just be here.”

Something inside of me became calm and clear. I suddenly felt a great release. I believe it was the feeling of being relieved of a burden. In this case, the burden I felt was that I needed to have the right words or advice in order to make Regina feel better, as in, to fix the situation. I know that my desire to help her is absolutely sincere, which somehow also increases the burden of needing to know what to say in order to help. But when I received the message that I just needed to focus on being there and not worry about what I could say, I felt that burden lift.

I stood next to her bed and reached out and held her hand. And I just listened. She shared how lonely she felt in her trying circumstances, and that she had never said that aloud to anyone and how scary it was to even say it out loud. I continued to listen. I grabbed a tissue and wiped her tears away when she couldn’t hold them back. And I was just there, not trying to fix anything, but just being there. She point blank asked me how much time she had left on this earth. I told her that I couldn’t answer that, but that if she was still here, there’s a reason and that she is not forgotten and that all of her trials, troubles, and fears are known by the Savior who loves her deeply and would compensate for every pain and for every loss, if not in this life, then in the life to come.

She didn’t say much more after that, but did say thank you, and I left.

It struck me profoundly while she was talking to me that she didn’t really need me to fix anything for her. What she needed, more than anything, was just for someone to be there and to listen. I was humbled and grateful for the inspiration to do just that.

When I walked away, I reflected on how many times in my life would I have loved someone to just be there for me in that same way – not to fix anything, but just to let me talk and just to be there. The answer is – often. I would have OFTEN loved just to have someone there to talk to and not try to fix anything, but to just listen and just be there for me. Certainly, there have been times in my life when someone was there for me, and I don’t mean to minimize that. I think it’s just that, however often it did happen, I still would have wanted that more. Maybe that’s just me being selfish. I am deeply grateful for those who have been there for me when I needed someone to talk to.

But for so much of my life, my experience was that people were always trying to fix things. If I came to them with a problem it was just an immediate laundry list of what I needed to do to fix the situation and then just move on. I didn’t know how to say that that isn’t what I really wanted. I didn’t want an immediate fix. Most of the time, I didn’t really need advice anyway. I think I just wanted someone to listen to me and I just wanted to know that someone was there for me.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that because my job is all about “fixing” things. It’s literally my job to rehab people on their cognition, and speech, and swallowing, and whatever. My job is to “fix their problem” and help them be as independent and safe and they can. I also think this can be tough because the desire to fix things is healthy! It’s a reflection of the care and concern that we have for each other; if you come to me with a problem, I want to help you fix it because I care about you and I want you to be happy. But even though the desire to help, i.e., by fixing things, is good, it shouldn’t be underestimated how powerful the desire to help by NOT fixing things – and just being there – can be.

I guess this post is kind of supplement to a previous post about finding value even while broken. Maybe this is just a continuation of that idea. Not only can we have value while being broken, but sometimes there can be great healing in not trying to fix anything.

Maybe this is also an invitation for all of us – myself included. The next time someone comes to you with a problem, maybe you could ask yourself, “does this person really need me to fix anything, or do they just need someone to listen to them and just be there?” Paradoxically, maybe people trying to fix me all the time is what taught me that I was a problem…

What would it be like if we could be a world of just being there for each other, instead of always feeling like we have to fix each other? I think we would find a lot of beauty in not needing to fix everything – and just being there – just like I did with Regina.

 

Photo by Dương Hữu on Unsplash

What You Have Within You

Photo by Katya Azi on Unsplash

There’s a lot on my mind and in my heart right now. My friend’s brother passed away earlier this week and the funeral was today (I'm writing this on a Saturday). It brings up a lot of emotions for various reasons. I don’t know the details surrounding his death. I don’t really want to know the details, though I do know that he took his own life. The first emotions I feel are shock and disbelief. I would never have thought that things were that bad for him and as far as I’m aware there is no mental illness in the family that might explain it. It’s normal to want to know why, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It also brings up feelings of great sadness. Sadness for my friend and their families, for all those who remain to wonder and grieve. Feelings which are all hard, but also a normal part of the process.

What is unexpected is how quickly it brought me back to the times in my life when I’ve been suicidal. I’ve never attempted suicide formally, but I had planned how I would do it, I’ve written suicide notes, etc. I know that darkness. I know that pain. I know that despair. I know that desire for escape, for just wanting the pain to end.

But along with all that grief, there is also, deep within, a feeling of relief. I can look back and see where I have been. Where I am now is in such a better, healthier place than I’ve ever been. I’m immensely grateful. I’m grateful that I survived. I’m grateful that I am no longer in those dark places. I’m grateful to be in a much healthier place, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I’m not lucky. I’m not special. I’m not favored. While I can’t go into all the details, the reason I’m still here is because my Heavenly Father let me know that He was aware of me, that He was aware of my pain, and that He wasn’t going to let me go without a fight. So I’m still here. With lots of questions, but I’m still here!

I have been reflecting on this distance between the here and now and the past – really the difference in who I am now from who I was in the past. I haven’t shied away from sharing that I was a victim of abuse. I’ve mentioned – without going into detail – that I’ve had my share of addictions. I was traumatized in many ways, which left me believing that I was inherently damaged, broken, and worthless as a result of all of these things happening in my life. And I was resentful. Not only was I resentful that these things happened to me, but I was resentful that I wasn’t given what I needed as a child to combat these terrible events/circumstances. I wasn’t given confidence. I wasn’t given the affection I longed for; the praise I sought so desperately from my parents; the comfort and understanding I wanted from my mother; and the sense of worth, importance, and “mattering” that I longed for from my father.

I’m not criticizing my parents here, even though it sounds like it. They did the best they could, and from the little I know, they did better by me than what they had been given from their own parents.

But that’s the idea I’ve focused on my whole life – what I should have been given from my parents; or what I expected them to give me. Which, on the surface, seems accurate – parents “give” their children a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort, and sense of pride/confidence, a sense of mattering to someone, as well as a sense of being loved, of worth, of safety, etc.

And for most of my adult life, I believed those were things I did NOT get from my parents. Which only added to feeling empty, worthless, damaged, not good enough, etc. As if I’ve been walking through life with these holes in me, these absences, that were supposed to be filled by my parents, but weren’t. And I have felt despair, believing that filling those holes was a one-shot deal, either they are “filled” in by your parents, or they are not; and if they are not, well then, you’ve missed your chance and they are going to remain empty for the rest of your life, because they could ONLY be filled at a certain time in your life (i.e., childhood) and in a certain way (i.e., by parents).

But my reflections today on who I am and who I have been, has changed my perspective on that.

For the last few years, I’ve been working on “filling those missing pieces of myself.” I had finally decided that even if I wasn’t given the things I felt I needed from my parents in order to feel whole, complete, and a sense of worth, I could “resign” myself to learning how to fill those pieces in for myself. This, in and of itself, is a monumental shift in changing my way of thinking. I still felt some resentment at needing to fill in those missing pieces on my own, but it was the first time I felt hope at being able to fill in those pieces, i.e., have my needs met – even if I did have to do it on my own!

Overall, I would say that it has been working. It has helped me to reach a better place where I know I have to do what I’m doing to help myself, because I am the only one who can help myself right now, and that’s okay – in fact, this has been a really important lesson for me to learn. 

In order to make another point here, I want to relate a work experience I had several years ago. For a time I was working as a Home Health Speech-Language Pathologist, which meant going to people’s homes to provide rehab on speech, language, voice, swallowing, etc. I recall one particular time, where I had gone to an Assisted Living Facility in Bountiful to treat a lady that had been having some swallowing issues. She was a sweet lady, but my heart went out to her – she was in her late 60’s, very overweight, living in an electric wheelchair and I could just see that life had been hard for her. Sometimes, when you’ve been through a certain kind of darkness, you recognize it in others.

We had met for a couple of sessions, and I had been teaching her some exercises for swallowing. On this particular visit, we went through the routine exercises and I could see some improvement, which I always make a point to recognize for my patients. I told her, fairly simply, though sincere, “hey, you did really well with those exercises, I can tell that you’ve been practicing.” I paused for just a second, and then added, “I’m really proud of you.”

She reacted almost as if she was startled, and then started to cry – which startled me! I asked her if I did or said something wrong, and through her sweet, innocent tears said something that broke my heart. She said, “no one’s ever said that to me before.” I jumped up out of my chair and gave her a big hug; I mean, what else could I do?!

It broke my heart to think that this sweet woman had lived her whole life, never hearing that she had made anyone proud. And it sounds like such a simple thing, but it also broke my heart for another reason – I had lived my whole life never hearing anyone say that to me either. I wanted so much to make my dad proud, or my mom, and I had never, ever felt like I did. Partially because I knew what terrible choices I had made, but also because I believed who I was, was inherently disappointing. I mean, how could any parent be proud of a son who is overweight, ugly, unaccomplished at anything, and gay? I actually have a vivid memory of my dad telling me once that he was disappointed in me. It was only once, but I knew it was how he truly felt about me, because I never heard him say otherwise. And if that’s how my own father felt about me, then what else was I to believe?

I really couldn’t have known what impact the words I spoke would have on this woman, but my words were sincere and I think that’s why they were powerful for her.

Today, as I reflected on that experience, I saw something else in it that I had never considered before: I gave this woman something that had never been given to me. How is that possible? If I never made anyone proud, and I had that as an emptiness within me, then how could I have given that to her? The only answer that makes sense to me, is that I wasn’t empty of this thing, as I had led myself to believe. I suddenly realized that it’s also possible that I never really have been “empty” of anything. That maybe, just maybe, all of those “needs” that I thought could only be granted by loving parents, were not really missing from me after all. Maybe they’ve been there all along, but I just couldn’t see them, because I “thought” they were missing.

Maybe it isn’t that parents are supposed to give you those things that are part of your identity, but maybe they are supposed to help you discover them within yourself. Yes, it is just as unfortunate and sad for anyone who doesn’t have parents or an upbringing that can help them see their worth and value and importance, but it’s not because those things are missing. Would I have wanted my parents to show me those parts of myself? Of course! I will always look back and I will always have wanted that, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

I need to say that again: For the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

The irony is not lost on me. I have felt empty my whole life and I now believe that I have been perpetually trying to “fill” those needs with anything that would make me feel good – and what better way to feel good than to eat? So I ate. A lot. (It’s also not lost on me how ironic it is that feeling so empty inside would result in me gaining so much on the outside! As if my waistline were trying to compensate for the void I felt within.)

If I had it within me to be able to tell this woman that I was proud of her, then I suppose I have it within me to tell myself that I am proud of me. And just to be clear, I’m not talking about “comparison-pride.” I’m not talking about the pride that makes a comparison and says, “I’m better than…” No, I’m talking about “confidence-pride,” or maybe a better word is “assurance-pride.” The kind of pride that comes from the confidence, or the assurance, that you have inherent worth and value, simply for being who you are, and not in comparison to someone else.

It's hard in this world we live in. It’s hard to not compare. It’s hard to look at someone else’s life and NOT make some kind of comparison. Everything in the world invites that comparison; wants you to believe that you aren’t good enough, smart enough, talented enough, accomplished enough, strong enough, good looking enough, etc. I certainly bought into that idea. I wholeheartedly bought into that idea. And lived in misery and despair because of it; because I compared myself and was always lacking.

I understand, now, that my formative years contained experiences that prevented me from seeing what I had within myself, from seeing my worth, in fact. But I also now see that I wasn’t ever really lacking anything within, I just couldn’t see it.

I don’t know if this insight that I’ve had will help anyone else. I don’t know if anyone else will really even understand it, but I hope that if someone reading this feels empty inside, I want you to know that you aren’t. You already have everything within you that you need to heal, and to be whole, and to feel your own worth and value. It will take some faith and it will take some practice, but you can do it.

Because you have it within you.

Photo by Flavia Carpio on Unsplash

Broken Value

 

I was speaking with someone recently who, at one point in our conversation, just flat out asked me, “do you feel that you have worth the way you are right now?”

My answer was, “no.” I said it easily, with no hesitation; almost nonchalantly, even. Me? Have worth? Of course not? I thought it went without saying…

I have been thinking a lot about why that answer came so easily to me, virtually automatically. My first thought was, “well, just look at me! I’m fat and overweight! Being fat and overweight makes you worth less, i.e., “worthless,” than thin/skinny people because fat is ugly; in other words, being fat means being ugly and no one wants to be either (we all know it, even if we don’t have the courage to admit it!).

I’ve held these beliefs about being fat and worthless my whole life, it would seem. And on the surface, that would be enough to explain why I have felt worthless my whole life, because I’ve been fat my whole life.

But that’s just the surface. Something else has been there my whole life too, but deep; much, much deeper than even I was able to see. It was a feeling, a belief, a profound knowledge that has evaded being known or seen. It’s like an indescribable leviathan, living so deep in the ocean that it’s never been seen, but every so often, evidenced of its existence emerges. It remains unseen, but deeply sensed. And it is just always there. Relentless, tireless, watchful and aware of all that goes on above it. It never sleeps. It never stops. This thing that is powerful enough to move the currents of my life, my behaviors and actions, and yet, stealthy enough to remain “unknown.”

It’s a treacherous journey to dive so deep, but dive I must. This is my journey, to know myself, to know who I am, and what moves me, to know what makes me the way I am. To know what makes me such a problem.

And there it was – the thing that didn’t want to be seen or known, but that I had to enter the dark places of my mind and heart to find. 

I am a problem.

Not just that I have problems, but that I AM a problem. In my mind there is no difference between having problems and being a problem – it is one and the same: If I have a problem, then I AM a problem.

“But why?” I continued to ask myself. My logical brain knows that having a problem and being a problem are not the same thing. “Then why do I see myself as such a problem?”

The answer is equally simple, yet as deeply profound: “Because I am broken.”

It’s hard for me to move past that sentence. It’s hard because it’s true. I believe I am broken. My heart has been broken, my spirit has been broken, my body has been broken, even my mind, in many ways, has been broken. It is a fact that I almost died at birth (asphyxiation in the womb). It’s a fact that I was molested. It is a fact that I felt neglected, judged, and criticized at a very young age. It is a fact that I gained weight, which resulted in being teased, hazed, rejected, ignored, and minimized – for years. I was traumatized in so many ways and those multiple, repeated traumas broke me.

I have felt broken from birth. Everything in my life that happened after, seemed to confirm that I was broken and that I didn’t deserve to be any other way.

You know what else is a fact? That when something in this world is broken, it becomes worthless. We throw it away, because when something is broken it is no longer useful and no longer has value.

The equation I have in my mind is that all the things I am – such as a problem, broken, fat/ugly, etc., equals being worthless.

It’s why I could answer that question so easily and so quickly. 

And it’s why I have such a hard time changing. I tend to resist change because I haven’t found a reason or an argument that is stronger than “broken = worthless.”

I tend to self-sabotage, whether relationships, diet/exercise plans, work, etc. because deep down, I never feel like I’m worth it.

As an example, here’s a loop I often find myself caught in: I want to lose weight in order to feel like I have worth (i.e., when I lose weight, then I’ll be worth something), so I embark on a fat loss/fitness journey, only to very quickly derail my efforts, because as soon as dieting/exercise gets hard (and it’s always hard!), then I give up, or sabotage my effort, because – deep down – I’m not worth it anyway. But then I desperately want to have worth, so I desperately want to lose weight and the cycle continues. 

I get angry when I see how easy health and fitness is for some people. I get angry that they can diet down for a few weeks and look great. I get angry that there are men who are already genetically prone to good health and fitness and pursue that lifestyle, then get on Instagram and give advice, like, “hey, you just gotta eat less and move more and if I can you do it, so can you,” when they’re clearly genetically gifted, and/or already prone to being healthy and active. As my last trainer kept telling me, “it’s just a choice you decide to make.” I hate how simple that makes it sound. I hate it because he’s not wrong, but there are so many other factors, the biggest one being, “do you think you’re worth it?”

Even when some of my previous trainers have been supportive and said, “I believe in you,” I still sabotaged the diet or exercise plan they gave me as a way of saying, “see, I told you I was broken and that you couldn’t help me.” Doing that helps me live in the safety of being right, but also keeps me in the misery of being broken. They all make it sound so easy, or so simple, because it seems to be that way for them. 

And that’s what really gets my goat! These “fitness gurus” all seem to have an inherent sense of their self-worth. They don’t doubt themselves. They don’t stay awake at night wondering if they’re worth it. They seem to be born with confidence. They seem to be born just knowing that they have worth, and yes, that makes me angry. It makes me angry that I’m not like them. It makes me angry that they are allowed to have confidence in themselves because they’ve never had anything happen to them that made them feel small, weak, …or broken. I hate that they aren’t broken, but that I am.

Dieting, health, fitness, relationships, etc., are all so much harder when you feel worthless.

All of which, brings me to the million dollar question: “Can that be changed?”

On second thought, maybe that’s not the million dollar question, because for most of my life, the answer has been a resounding “no!”

I guess the question I need to ask myself here is, “can something that is broken also still have worth?”

It might be true that in this world we devalue things that are broken. We esteem them as worthless and only good for being tossed out. But while this rule may hold true for “things,” maybe there is a different rule for people, because people are not things.

It seems to be quite a paradox to me – to live in a world that is in a constant state of change and decay – entropy, we call it. And yet, this constantly breaking down world is full of people who are full of worth, no matter how much they break down.

I do believe we are eternal beings. I do believe we are the spirit children of God, and maybe, as a child of God, I just need to embrace the paradox that people are full of worth, no matter how they are broken. Maybe it’s why the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 18:10] says, “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God,” and not, “the worth of things…”.

Other paradoxes might be – yes, I have a body, but my body is not ALL of who I am; yes, I’m fat, but being fat is not ALL of who I am – it may be a condition I’m in, but it’s not WHO I AM; yes, I have problems, but that doesn’t mean that I AM a problem, because my problems are not who I am; yes, I have been broken – repeatedly, but being broken is what’s happened TO ME, it’s not WHO I AM. 

Maybe the hardest paradox to accept is: I can be broken and still have value.

Can I accept that? I think so.

I think about all the people I’ve known, especially those who “have been through what I’ve been through,” and I ask myself, “do I see them as having less value because they are broken?” Truthfully, I do not! In fact, maybe even the opposite. I see those people as having a great deal of value because they are broken. To my way of thinking they are people who need even more love and compassion and friendship and I would never deny them that simply because they are broken. The real question is, can I see myself that way? Can I offer myself that same compassion? Can I see myself as someone who is broken, and yet, still full of worth?

I think have to.

I mean, I think that is the challenge for me – now that I have had this realization, what will I do with it? Okay, maybe this inherent sense of self-worth is not something I was born with (or maybe I was and life beat it out of me!), BUT that doesn’t mean it can’t be learned, right?

There’s another paradox about this world we live in: that even despite the inevitable entropy, this life was meant for growth. And growth can only come from resistance. Maybe I don’t automatically think that I have worth, but I can practice resisting that thought and practice growing new thoughts where I DO have worth, even with having been broken. It seems like that process is really what this world was meant for – to use resistance to grow.

And maybe, just maybe, instead of despairing over how broken I am, for the first time in my life I can feel grateful for being broken, because, in yet another paradoxical way, being broken is how I’ll find my value.