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

For my fellow Cavemen...

This weekend was my 20-year High School Reunion. Wow! I can’t believe I just typed that sentence! How did 20 years go by so quickly?! I attended American Fork High School, home of the Cavemen!

I didn’t go to my 5-year reunion. Nothing in my life had changed and I felt like I had nothing to show for myself. “Also,” I told myself, “I pretty much keep in touch with the people I’m closest to...” Which didn’t really last too long because, hi, people get married and then they evaporate.

I actually bought a ticket to my 10-year reunion, but then chickened out at the last minute and didn’t go. It had been 10 years and I STILL had nothing to show for my life. I hadn’t gotten married or had children. I was still fat and even uglier, because now my hair was falling out. Sure, I had graduated with a Bachelor’s degree and was working in Human Resources, but was that impressive? Not nearly enough to make up for my pathetic past. Or perhaps, more accurately, to “replace” how everyone might see me. In my mind everyone else was wildly successful – you know, married with 5 kids, millionaires running their own companies and jetting across the globe on fabulous vacations, etc. But I was still just me. Just fat, depressed, lonely, struggling, unimpressive – me. I had pretty much decided that “reunion’s” weren’t for me and I wasn’t ever going to another one…

But a lot can change in 10 years!! So what changed my mind? A lot of things, I guess. Maybe a little bit of curiosity to see how much other people have aged. Maybe curious to see people that I had good memories of, but hadn’t kept in touch with. But also a recognition that, even though my life hasn’t turned out the way I had planned – or even hoped – I’m pretty sure no one else’s life has turned out the way they planned either. Sure, I’m still fat and bald; still not married; no kids to speak of; I haven’t really done anything impressive with my life, or earned any great accolades; but I have changed. I’m not who I was in High School and thank God for that!!

High School was really difficult for me – as I know it was for many people. I was unbelievably self-conscious. Internally, I withered when anyone looked at me because I knew they were looking at how fat and ugly I was. All I ever wanted to do was blend in – disappear, so to speak. Unfortunately, I had a body that wouldn’t let me “blend in.” Every day I woke up to a world that I didn’t “fit” into. Literally.

Of course I was made fun of; Of course I was ostracized and laughed at. I even had to endure teasing from teachers… I hated myself. I had succumbed to multiple addictions at that point in my life and I felt like the worst piece of scum that had ever been created. In fact, I felt like I was a mistake. And I wanted it all to end – frequently. I never actually had the balls to carry out any of my plans to commit suicide, but I planned how I would die – a lot.

Fast forward to the day of my reunion. There was a 5k in the morning and some family activities. I knew I could walk the 5k, so I decided to go. It wasn’t until I was there that I realized how hard it was going to be to recognize people!! So glad we had name tags!! :) But I saw several people I knew and it was so much fun to catch up and see what people were doing and to see where life had taken them. What was the most ironic for me, was to hear people say, “I remember that you were always so happy and always had a smile on your face.” Technically, they weren’t wrong. I DID always have a smile on my face, because I was lying to everyone. I wanted to die inside, but I couldn’t let anyone see that. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. Or worse, let people catch on that I wasn’t okay, and risk finding that they really didn’t care… So I hid myself behind a mask of smiles and happiness. It wasn’t real, but I guess it was pretty convincing. I guess I was more worn out from the 5k than I realized, because when I got home I slept for a couple of hours. 

Later, I got ready and headed out for the evening portion of the reunion when I had a surreal experience about 5 minutes from my house. I was driving on the Van Winkle Expressway and looking at the mountains when I suddenly had this intense realization that I was okay. That might sound anti-climactic, but I will never be able to capture in words how deep that realization came to me. “I am okay.” I also can’t convey how profound it is for someone who spent their entire life feeling like a mistake, to look within their own soul and find contentment. I was so overwhelmed I started crying. I was overcome with gratitude.

“How did I get here? How did I get to being okay, when for so long I wasn’t? And I genuinely believed that I never would be.” I thought about all of the terrible things I’ve experienced in my life – the sexual and emotional abuse, the addictions, the depression/anxiety, the self-hatred, etc. And I recalled an experience where the Spirit told me that Heavenly Father would let me make my own decisions (e.g., with regards to suicide), but that He wasn’t going to let me go without a fight. And He kept His promise. The fact that I was there, driving to my 20-year High School reunion, when I almost didn’t survive high school, was proof of that.

A major part of that has been just in the last year. I hired a personal trainer and while I’m nowhere close to my physical goals, the change it has made on my mind and outlook on life is immense. Every effort to improve myself physically has challenged every aspect of my being – physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Every effort to improve myself physically has brought untold trials and challenges, but it has also brought immeasurable success. Ten months ago I was 300lbs and couldn’t even deadlift an unloaded bar; today I weigh 295lbs, but can deadlift 300lbs. I can’t even begin to tell you what it means to be able to deadlift more than my own bodyweight!! No, I haven’t lost nearly as much weight (fat!) as I would like, but I am stronger than I used to be; I have changed.

I used to wake up with fear and dread, unable to bear the uncertainty of what horrors each new day would bring. But now, I wake up content; knowing that no matter what happens, I can handle it; and if I can’t, I have a Savior I can call on to help me, which means, even if I can’t handle it, I can still get through it. I know that I am worth being helped. I know that I am capable of meeting challenges, because I’m not alone. I know that God makes up the difference WHILE I’m giving it my all, not ‘after’. I know He loves me. I know I’m important to Him. I know that I’m okay.

Yes, I still have addictions I’m grappling with. I have so much to repent of, and to overcome. I am nowhere near perfect, nor do I pretend to be. I still have days where I’m lonely and depressed and want to give up. But those days come much less often than they used to. I still have a lot that I could beat myself up for (fat, ugly, not married, no kids, etc.), but I’ve done that my whole life, and what has it gotten me? Misery. So I’m trying to be nice to myself; I’m trying to be a friend to myself. I’m trying to improve myself and take care of myself – and be okay with that.

The result is that I am capable of seeing all of me – the good and the bad – and being okay with it. I feel like I am now able to live life with nothing to “prove.” I no longer feel the need to make excuses for all that I haven’t done, i.e., all that I haven’t measured up to (marriage/family/weightloss, etc). I’m working on the things that I need to change and for the first time in my life, I know that I’m okay WHILE I’m working on those things and not “I’ll be okay WHEN I have those things.”

Maybe this is the real reason I needed this 20-year reunion. Maybe I just needed to be reminded of how much has changed for the better and how all of those difficult, painful, miserable experiences, were a part of my journey for a reason. And I needed to be reminded that there was also a lot of happiness. While I may not have been close to very many people in high school, and while many people did make fun of me, there were so many more who were friendly and kind. Those are the people I wanted to see -  those whom I hadn’t truly appreciated for their kindness. (Hell, those who even just tolerated me meant something to me!)

Yeah, there is a part of me that wishes I had appreciated them more. There is a part of me that wishes I had been a better friend to so many others. But the past is to be learned from, not mourned. I thought going to my reunion would make me nostalgic, but it had the opposite effect – it made me appreciative of where I am and of how much courage, strength and divine help it’s taken me to get here. And maybe for the first time in my life, I’m finally genuinely living the way people remember me – smiling and happy. 

Thank you to all the “Cavemen” who were a part of my journey – I needed you! (And yes, I’ll always fight for AF High!!)

You're okay, you just don't know it yet...

Well this topic has been a long time coming. Literally. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for over a year. It’s something that I’ve wanted to write down, but just couldn’t and I didn’t really know why. I believe what I’m about to explain was given to me – inspired, I want to say, hopefully without sounding presumptuous.

But look, this is hard for me to say. It has to do with identity. It should be the most freeing thing in the world to say, “I am ______,” whatever; fill in the blank. But for me it’s not that easy.

I come from a very black and white world (i.e., shame-based), where you’re either good or bad; good enough or worthless, etc. In that world, I wasn’t good enough, so I presented a “false” me. The one who was “good enough;” obedient, calm, helpful to others; the one who was happy all the time; got along with everyone – a peacemaker, even; never really had any serious problems; jack of all trades, master of none; etc. Hard to find any downsides to those qualities, right? Maybe not overtly, but subtly, the downside is this: it was just an act. It wasn’t truly who I was. Everything I did, I did out of fear of being evaluated, then judged “unacceptable,” while secretly punishing the real me for NEEDING a façade. The only way I could ever complete the sentence, “I am ______,” was by saying “I am a worthless fraud.” THAT was my identity.

You can’t go through life presenting a false self to the world and expect to be accepted for who you are, let alone happy.

So I’ve spent a significant amount of energy diving into the shades of gray of being me and trying to sort out what I believe about who I am. Which shifted my belief from, “I am a fraud,” to “I am a mess!” (Hey, progress is progress!) Joking aside, though, so much of my identity has been caught up in being the victim. Wow, what a trap to be in! It feels justified in its innocence, as in, “I was innocent, I didn’t cause this trauma, it wasn’t my fault,” etc. But in order to be justified in innocence, you also have to be powerless, because a powerful person wouldn’t have let themselves be victimized (some flawed thinking here, but keep in mind that being hurt as a child doesn’t allow for logical/mature thinking). This is referred to as Locus of Control. Someone who has an External Locus of Control believes that everything that happens in life has a cause that is external to them, such as luck, time, circumstance, etc. This meshes really well with a victim mindset – everything that happens is outside my control; versus an Internal Locus of Control where the person views themselves as being in control of their own life.

I have rarely felt in control of my own life. That includes my identity – how I see myself. I have straddled the line between discovering who I am and creating who I am. And it’s the creation of who I am that I have a hard time with. “What if I fail to maintain that identity?” I ask myself. “What if I say, ‘I am – whatever’ and then find that I’m not?” For example, what if I say, “I’m a writer,” but then fail to be successful as a writer? That word “fail” is hard to get around.

I’m trying create some context for you to understand why what I’m about to share is so hard to say. There is so much fear in just trying to be me, when being me for so long just wasn’t good enough. I also know that I’m stalling. I don’t want to type it. I don’t want to say it out loud. Once I hit “publish” on this post, it’s out there. I don’t want to admit it because it means a monumental shift MUST take place accordingly. It means I must change how I think, how I feel, how I see myself, how I define myself, how I think of myself, how I present myself, how I interact with the world. It means I can never go back to being who I was. It means the death of the false self (who protected me for so long!) and the emergence of the real me…

Enough stalling.

Here it is:


I am okay.


Wow, that was hard! Can you just let that sink in for a minute? For me, the fear and doubt immediately come creeping in. “But what if I say I’m okay only to find that I’m not? What if I say I’m okay and then everyone expects me to be okay, but what if I’m really not? What if I just lied to myself? What if I can’t keep being okay? What if the real me really isn’t good enough?”

You know, one of the major problems with trauma and victimhood is that it creates an internal rule – I am not okay. (Variations are: I can’t be okay, I never will be okay, I don’t deserve to be okay, I’m not worth being okay, etc.) This rule is formed at such a young age that it seems immutable. Set in stone. Just the way things are.

You may not believe this, but I’m kind of lightheaded all of a sudden and feel inexplicably tired. I know this feeling. It’s resistance. It’s the struggle within myself that is taking so much energy that I want to shut down.

But I can’t.

I mustn’t.

I won’t.

“Come on, Micah, fight it!” I can hear a voice within me saying. “Keep going.” And now I’m nauseous. My brain is – foggy; I’m having a hard time concentrating. I just keep typing because I know I can’t stop. It feels like someone has invisible magnets all around me and I can feel the magnetic pull shifting in different directions, but I can’t see anything. [Is this what the moon feels like?! Oh crap, and now the lame jokes have started, that’s not a good sign…]

Okay, I just took a drink and some deep breaths.

Being okay is scary. It’s not at all familiar. It’s a paradox. Being okay actually means you can mess up, once in a while. Because even when you mess up, you’re still okay. Even when you make a mistake, you’re still okay. Even when you look stupid (especially looking stupid trying something new for the first time), you’re still okay. What a foreign concept for me!!

The message I received a year ago was really this: “Micah, you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

It was true. I received it, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to “be okay” in light of everything I’ve been through. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve prayed and asked Heavenly Father to tell me how to be okay with the things I’m not okay with! I’m not okay with being fat, yet I’m I supposed to be okay with myself that way? Not a chance!

But here I am. Letting whoever is reading this know – I’m okay.

I trust the Lord’s timing, but I wish I had been told this from the very beginning.

When I almost died at birth: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was sexually traumatized: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was neglected and criticized: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was rejected socially for being too fat: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was lonely and scared: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was suicidal: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

I have always been okay, I just didn’t know it. I’m laughing and crying at the same time.

As much as I’ve needed this message – and continue to need it – I also want to share it with you. I don’t know who’s reading this. I don’t know what you’re going through in your life. Maybe things are great, and if so, I’m genuinely glad. Or maybe you’re just having a hard time with something and don’t know how to let anyone know. To you I want to say - you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.

I’m sorry for whatever hardship or trial you might be going through. Maybe you feel weighed down and hopeless, maybe you feel helpless and like a victim! Maybe you feel lonely and afraid. I promise you – you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet. It’s hard to wait for the sun when you’re in the middle of a storm, but I want you to know – you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.

This is my first post of the year. I felt like this was the message that needed to be out there right now. May it guide all that I accomplish this year, but more than that, I hope this phrase will come to you IN THOSE MOMENTS when you feel afraid; when you feel out of your comfort zone; when you attempt to improve your life and encounter setbacks; when you experience uncertainty, doubt, and fear; when you’re doing all the right things, but challenges overwhelm you; when you’re feeling lonely and forgotten; I pray you’ll remember what I absolutely know in my heart is true:

You’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.

At The End Of The Storm

I want you to imagine something with me.

Pretend that you are in the middle of a terrible storm. You are walking down an unfamiliar road and you’re only thought is to return home. You are cold and shivering, with only a light hooded jacket to protect you. The wind and rain are beating down on you so hard that you draw the hood around your head and you hunch over trying to minimize the force of the wind and rain battering you relentlessly. The only things keeping you warm are walking and your thin, hooded jacket. All you can see ahead of you is a few feet of rain-soaked pavement, and your drenched shoes, as you put one foot in front of the other.

Imagine this continues for days, weeks, months, years. This darkness, this coldness, this discomfort – and even pain – are all you know; they are all you’ve ever known.

Then one day you stop. You just stop walking. You see that there is no water on the pavement. You feel that there is no wind or rain pelting your hunched form. Your shoes are dry, but your feet are weary and throbbing from constant movement with no rest. You try to stand up straight, but your back screams in protest from being hunched over for so long. Nevertheless, you remove the hood and look around you. You don’t really recognize what’s around you because all you’ve seen for so long is dull, gray pavement.

The storm is gone. The sky is blue with puffy, white clouds. The grass is green. The valley you’re in gently sweeps up to rolling hills, which become tall, jagged mountains. You see rivers and waterfalls; wildflowers, trees and forests. You hear birds singing nearby and the unfamiliar warmth of a zenith sun. It’s beautiful and breathtaking and completely foreign. This is not the world you know. You feel more lost now than you did before.

You want the clouds to gather and darken. You long for the wind to pick up and the rain to fall. You don’t want to see vistas and panoramas; you want your vision filled with the few yards of pavement that you’ve grown accustomed to. You just want things to back to the way they were because that is what you know. That dark, cold, wet, furious world is what you know.

This new world is terrifying. It’s so open, so uncertain, so vast. There is no safety out there – there is only safety within the hood of your jacket. But you can’t help but wonder, “when did the storm end? How long have I been walking in this terrifying sunshine and not known it? How many miles have I traveled hunched over, alone and scared?” And even more terrifying, “what do I do now that the storm has ended?”

This is what life is like for me right now.

The storms of my childhood were criticism, bullying, neglect and sexual abuse. The hooded jacket I wore was inferiority, self-pity, self-doubt and fear, because I learned to use these beliefs to protect me from the storms. This is all I’ve known. As I have aged and received much counseling, I’ve come to realize that the storms of my childhood are over. They no longer rage, though I have no idea when they stopped, because I never stopped feeling the storm!

Yet, I look around me and I see that the world has changed. My circumstances have changed. I no longer need to walk through life as if in a storm, because the storm is over. But this is a new world that I don’t know anything about. I don’t know how to navigate a world where I’m allowed to have desires, wishes, hopes and dreams. I don’t know how to live in world where I don’t have to suffer anymore. And a part of me wants that suffering to come back. I want the storms to return, because it’s all I’ve known. I may be in pain and uncomfortable all the time, but it’s familiar, it’s what I know.

I see that I create negativity in my life. The storm around me did not end, it simply moved within. I needed the storm. I needed the suffering. I didn’t know there was any other way to be. What the storm taught me was that I wasn’t worth sunshine (being loved). I didn’t deserve wide open spaces (freedom to be myself). I thought that I was a mistake; that with me, God had messed up. That’s just the way things were! It was just an unchangeable, immutable fact. All mankind can be saved… except me, because I’m not worth saving.

Having your eyes “un-blinded” is terrifying. You would think that seeing a world where good, beautiful, hopeful things exist would be welcome, but it’s not. It’s terrifying in its unfamiliarity. The implications for regret over living a life in fear (i.e., not knowing when the storm ended) are soul-crushing because it forces you to ask: “how long have I lived this way… and DIDN’T NEED too?!?”

This is the crossroads I am at in my life. I am looking at the immense and open world around me, seeing the hope and freedom it offers, but longing for the familiar storms to return. I am asking myself, “what do I do now? How will I survive a world I know nothing about? How do I begin to believe that I have worth, when I have never known worth?”

The "Santa Clause" Trauma

...and no, I'm not talking about the trauma of being forced to sit on a foul-breathed, fat, old stranger's lap while someone gets a photo op out of it...

I'm talking about movies.

It's funny how common it is for a Christmas movie to have the following premise: Child desperately wants something; Child asks Santa for it; Child doesn't get it; Disappointed child "grows up" in that instant and refuses to believe in Santa Clause. (Only to find out years later that he IS real and that their gift was delayed, but just what they needed, when they needed it, whether they recognized it or not... cue sleigh bells for a happy ending!!)

Which leads me to this question - what do you do when someone hurts you by what they DIDN'T do?

As in the case of so many Christmas movies, when a child does not receive what they expect to receive, it can be traumatic. It can shape that child's experience of the world and their fundamental beliefs about themselves in the world. This is especially true when the child has done all they know how to do to get their desire, even if all they know how to do is have hope, faith and belief.

I guess what I'm talking about here is a little more serious than a Christmas movie, but it's the principle of the analogy that I'm going for here.

How does a child grow up to believe in herself/himself when the actions of their own parent(s) say, "you aren't worth my time..."? A child naturally believes in the superiority of their own parents; even sees them as "god-like," in a way. Developmentally, a child doesn't have a mature sense of attribution of cause and effect. In essence they, themselves, are the cause of everything. For example, it's ridiculously common for a child to blame themselves for their parents divorce. For the child, there is no other possibility.

I think that could explain why so many people hurt themselves. And hurt could be anything from negative self-talk to actual physical harm, leading up to suicide. It could explain why some people have a hard time believing in themselves. Or why change is so hard for some people - their own parent(s) taught them that they aren't worth it.

While both of my parents were loving, or at least, did their best to be, my mom often served as an active critical influence (there are loads of reason's why, which I won't go in to...), and that has it's own type of trauma associated with it, but my dad was absent. It's not ironic that I write this today. Today is the anniversary of my dad's death, March 11, 2007. As I write this, I miss him, but I am also realizing that I've been "missing him" since childhood. He was kind; he was gentle; he never yelled or got violent - and I absolutely love and honor him for that. But I have more memories of seeing his back than his face. I have more memories of him retreating, or walking away, than I do of him coming toward me. I realized just today, while I was thinking about him, that I think I was able to let him go when my parents got divorced when I was 14 and I was able to let him go when he passed away 8 years ago when he died, because I had already had to let him go as a child - because he wasn't really there to begin with; at least, he just wasn't "present."

You can be in the same room as someone and say that you're "with" them, but if you aren't giving them your attention, you aren't really "with" them. You're near them - that's all. There were loads of times when my dad would come home on a Saturday evening and I would find out that he'd been out metal detecting, or rock hunting, or fishing, or whatever, and I'd think, "why didn't he take me with him?" I learned early on that my dad liked being alone. In fact, in those rare times when he did take me with him, I always felt like he didn't want me along. I knew that he'd rather be alone and that he had brought me along out of obligation. No child likes to feel that they're a duty.

I talked with him about that before he died and what he told me blew me away. He said he loved being with me, but he felt that I never wanted to be around him! Here we both were, thinking that the other didn't want the other around. As an adult, with a more mature sense of cause of effect, I can look back and see that he liked to be alone because that was what he knew. His own siblings had alienated him and I don't think he ever dealt with that resentment. But he learned to function in the world alone. I see now that his "absence" was just his own loneliness, but for me, as a child, I didn't see that - I couldn't see that. All I could see was that he pulled away from me because I wasn't enough to keep his attention. That was my "I don't believe in Santa Clause moment." But, what I really mean is, that was my "I don't believe in myself," moment. How could I believe in myself, when I wasn't even good enough for my own father's attention?

What happens to a kid with a fearful/critical mother, a present, but "absent" father - and don't forget to throw in some traumatic molestation for good measure? You get a kid who isn't able to see his own worth. You get a kid who thinks very little of himself. You get a kid who doesn't know why he's here or what his purpose in life is. You get a kid who gets involved in lots of addictions and self-defeating/self-harm behaviors. You get a kid who gets anxiety and depression, because he doesn't believe that he's worth being happy, or deserving of it. You get a kid who will do almost anything to avoid the pain of being himself.

I may not believe in Santa Clause, but I am starting to think it's a Christmas miracle that I'm still here...

Here is my plea to fathers: Please pay attention to your children! Please don't just be in the same room with them, give them your undivided attention!! Be interested in them. Ask them to share their thoughts and feelings and then listen/accept without judgment or criticism. Ask them what their interests are, or what their hopes and fears are. Put your arm around them and tell them they are loved. No, more than that, tell them that they are precious to you; that they are important to you and that you are proud of them. Console them when they are scared or lonely. Tell them that they are okay and that everything will be okay. Hug them tightly.

Just to be clear - I do love my father and I miss him terribly! But the disappointment I feel is real and I know that it will just take time to work that out. I look forward to the day when I can think of all the good my father did for me and not feel the hurt anymore.

My dirty little secret…

I’ve been debating for a long time whether or not to share my dirty little secret. I hid this part of me for most of my life, but I’ve felt the need to come clean. Perhaps it’s just the timing of the new year – with constant talk about goals and resolutions, with looking back and looking forward, etc. The last year has been filled with so many changes, and more than its share of challenges, that it’s hard to fathom what this year may bring. One thing I do know – I don’t want to spend another year hiding. So what am I hiding? What’s my dirty little secret…?

I want to lose weight.

That’s it. That’s my dirty little secret. Not what you were expecting me to say? Is that a bit of a let down? It may not seem like such a profound announcement, but in its way, that is one of the hardest things I’ve ever put in writing. Let me explain.

It’s true that I have been overweight most of my life. I can’t recall a time when I was thin, at any rate. I was teased and made fun of; I was looked down on and ridiculed. I was betrayed and hurt by friends and family. I learned at a very young age, that being fat (“different”) was bad and that I was worth less than those who were thin and attractive. I literally didn’t fit in, and the world let me know in so many ways. Under those circumstances, it would be perfectly logical for me to want to lose weight, right? So that I could fit in and feel normal.

On the surface, it wasn’t unusual for me to admit that I was on a diet. I would often remark that I knew I needed to exercise more, or be more active (sometimes I actually tried!). But all of these things were superficial and, ultimately, to please others. I knew what I SHOULD say/do – because being fat is bad/unacceptable and I SHOULD do all I can to lose weight. But deep down, I felt so bad about myself, that I secretly believed I deserved to be fat and all the bad things that went with it. So, publicly, I kept up the façade. Privately, I was dying of desperation. It is a nightmarish reality to live a life wanting something that is ultimately good, but denying yourself because you think you don’t deserve it.

I guess what it boils down to is that I’ve been too embarrassed to admit that I want to lose weight, because I’m so ashamed of being overweight. Admitting that I desperately want to lose weight is admitting how unhappy I am this way; how unhappy I’ve been for a long time. Making the admission public is also passing a point of no return. If I say this out loud, that “I want to lose weight,” then there’s no going back. People are going to ask, “how’s it going with the weight loss thing?” They’re going to EXPECT me to lose weight and what happens if I don’t? What happens if I fail miserably and don’t lose any weight? Then every time someone asks me about it, I’m going to feel like a failure. I’m only going to be reminded of how disappointed I am in myself; especially how disappointed I am in myself for making poor lifestyle choices that keep me overweight.

People are going to look down on me and I’m going to hear that little voice in the back of my head that says, “see, I knew you couldn’t do it.” Then I’m just going to go on being ashamed and disappointed. Then there’s the condescending voice that says “oh, you want to lose weight? Yeah, good luck with that. You could work out for 8 hours a day and it still wouldn’t make a dent, but if you want to put in your 30 minutes of walking, you go right ahead. Just don’t be surprised when nothing happens because it’s not nearly going to be enough…” and so on. And I haven’t really even addressed shame yet! I’m ashamed of wanting to do something selfish. I’m ashamed of putting myself first. I’m ashamed of taking care of myself physically because I think anything physical is temporary and not what the Lord wants me to focus on. (Can someone help me out with making sense of “self-care vs. putting God first,” because this is still a hard one for me?) Another barrier was the feeling that I HAD to lose weight just to be acceptable or to have any worth. Which I know now is a lie, but for most of my life, this was true. The popular kids were thin and athletic. The people who got invited to parties and had tons of friends were thin and attractive.

With all those negative connotations, is it any wonder that I haven’t wanted to verbalize just how much I want to lose weight?  (If you can relate to any of this, then maybe you can see why it was so hard for me to openly admit that I want to lose weight.)

Maybe this year isn’t really about weight loss, so much as being honest with myself.  Maybe the thing I want from 2014 is to stop living according to what I think other people think I should do or want. Or maybe it’s about finally having the humility (courage?) to admit that I need help and to actually reach out and ask for it. (I know it’s a guy thing, but asking for help is quite possibly the hardest thing for me to do…) Asking for help feels the same as admitting defeat. It’s like saying, “yep, I failed… again. I wasn’t good enough… again.” I guess that’s just pride/self-pity talking.

So I want to lose weight. And not because I think it’s what fat people are supposed to want, but because I want it for myself. I’m tired of feeling bad about myself all the time. I’m tired of daily discouragement and disappointment. I’m tired of being uncomfortable in my skin (not to mention clothing!).

Lastly, I want to apologize to all the people I COULD have asked for help. I realize that many friends I’ve had would have been more than willing to help, should I have asked for it. And to those people I say, “thanks. I’m sorry I wasn’t emotionally mature enough to ask for your help – I was too embarrassed and ashamed of myself.  I also hope that if someone else comes to you and asks for help that you take a minute to recognize and congratulate that person on having the courage to ask for help, because it’s not an easy thing for some of us to do. (And I hope that you feel flattered that they look up to you enough to even want to ask you for your help.)”

Even though I feel like it ripped my heart out, I feel better getting that off my chest. I really am looking forward to 2014. I have a lot of hope for this year (regardless of how much weight I lose!).

Fear: A study in black and white (part three)

I realize I have a tendency to ramble, so let's hope this "part three" is the final post in this (now) series of posts...

The vast world of electronic information, whether analog or digital, can fundamentally be broken down into 1's and 0's. This binary code means either "yes" or "no;" "on" or "off." It's straightforward and "black and white." We depend on this simple system to essentially run our electronic lives. But does this translate into other areas of our lives, such as morality (right or wrong), religion (sinner or saint), self-concept (worthless or worthful)?

Long before I understood electronic communication or religious dogma, I classified the world into good and bad (correlating that with positive and negative). I imagine those are concepts that are easiest for children to understand and I would surmise they form the foundation of black and white thinking. While I think this is acceptable, even advisable, for forming a foundation in life, it makes me wonder - if this is just the foundation, what is built on top of it?

I suppose what I'm really wondering is, how have my beliefs in a world of good and bad (black and white) evolved? Or have they? What if that system of classifying things into a good camp or a bad camp never really changed? I mean it still works, right? Some things are good, some are bad and it's helpful to label them as such. But what about the gray?

I see that there are shades of gray in life. Not everyone who is good is 100% good; not everyone who is bad is 100% bad. I see this in the scriptures. Early in the Book of Mormon, the Lamanites were wicked, but praised by Jacob because they loved their wives and did not have concubines. In the bible, Jonah was a prophet, but ran from his duty. In a very short, but profound verse in the book of Ether, Moriantion did justice to the people (good), but did not do justice to himself (bad) and so did not qualify for the spirit of the Lord (Ether 10:11).

I see shades of gray in the world, but I haven't see them in my life. Either I am good or I am bad - there is no in-between. This all or nothing thinking leads to despair. How can anyone keep the commandment to be perfect, all the while being doomed to be a sinner? Prefect is a pretty strict qualification. It doesn't allow for sins or mistakes. Which means I can pretty much peg the sealing of my eternal destruction to about 5 hours (give or take) after my baptism when I had a bad thought! One bad thought? BAM! You're done - it's over, finished. Game over. You lose. There is no consolation prize, but thanks for coming anyway.

According to a black and white thinker anyway. Which, is obviously not the case in the real world. Why give a commandemnt to be perfect, then say you have to learn everything "line upon line and precept upon precept?" Doesn't that seem the teensiest bit contradictory? To me it's saying, essentially, "You HAVE to be perfect to get into heaven, but, unfortunately, you're not ever going to be perfect while you're on earth. So..., good luck with that."

What I've been (purposely) omitting here (for literary emphasis) is the Mediator that joins the expectation (commandment to be perfect) with the possible outcomes (salvation/eternal life or damnation). Since this post is not a discussion of the Savior's role or mission, it will suffice me to say, He allows for the shades of gray and a lack of appreciation for Him in my life, leads to a lack of appreciation for progress or the process of learning.

But this is a post about the impact of black and white thinking. Which I think I must have already stated in this and the previous two posts: Not making any allowance for the grays of life can lead to misery and hopelessness/despair. Or HAS lead to misery, hopelessness, and despair, I should say, because that is the impact it has had. No wonder I am so hard on myself and feel that I deserve to be punished, if I can only be either a sinner or a saint and I sin, that makes me a sinner. Since sinning is bad, I'm bad, and the negative lables just keep coming.

The truth is, I'm not a vile sinner, although I do sin at times. The truth is, I'm not a saintly person, although I am obedient at times. The truth, is that I'm somewhere in between the sliding scale of black and white and my life is filled with grays. As an artist at heart, I should really appreciate that more. When drawing/painting, the grays (shadows) add depth and dimension; they add contour and prespective. This is just like in life - the challenge of having a dual nature within is to subdue one and build the other. This process is just that, a process. I've been so focused on the destination, that I haven't given any thought to the necessity of the process of learning and growing. I haven't allowed myself to appreciate the depth, dimension, contour and perspective that experience (i.e., the process of learning) brings.

No, I'm not perfect; I still have work to do to be more obedient. No, I'm not skinny, but I'm still probably healthier than I've ever been. No, I'm not the top of my class, but I've had three people this week (independently) tell me that they are glad I am in this class. I think that means, that for the most part, people seem to like me the way I am and my true friends want me to be better and encourage me to be better, but also accept me for who I am, the way I am. [As a side note, this has long been my definition of true love and what I am ultimately seeking in an eternal companion: Someone who sees the potential of what I can become, but loves me for who I am now.]

My goal is to see life like a magnet, which I think can encompass my evolving belief system.
1. The black and white - A positive pole and a negative pole: yes, the fact that there is a right and wrong exists.
2. The shades of gray - The pull between the two: life rarely happens at one end of the pole. Most of life is the struggle between being pulled toward either end and the choices we make impact which end holds sway.

Sorry, again, for the SUPER long post, but I had to put my [chromatic] thoughts down into black and white (HA! How's that for irony?)!!

College crisis... kind of

I had something really weird happen the other day. I suddenly couldn't remember why I thought Graduate School was a good idea. I am so terribly stressed out right now, that I don't remember the last time I felt like this. I've never been so close to a nervous breakdown over school!! Sure, I've had pretty rough times in life, but this is just different. Normally the things that really stress me out are emotional or physical (like being sick or twisting my ankle or something like that). I feel like this is totally intellectual stress and that my brain is only capable of processing so much information at a time and unfortunately for me, it's not nearly fast enough. I've never really thought of myself as stupid, but the last couple of weeks have made me seriously question that. I haven't been doing as well in school as I'd hoped; I'm not saying I'm doing bad - I mean I'm passing my classes and stuff, but I'm just not doing as well as I expected and that's been really, REALLY hard on me. Now I don't really know why I'm here putting myself through all this... How do you find hope you feel like you don't even have time to breathe?

This past week...

This past week has been a good week, but also a rough one. My grandpa's funeral was nice. It was great to see family that I hadn't seen for awhile; obviously, not the best circumstances, but still, it was good to see them.

It's annoying that life doesn't stop. Work is still there; school is still there; etc. Just life in general keeps going. I know that it isn't just my grandpa's passing that's hard. My dad has been on my mind a lot too. His birthday was Wednesday and the anniversary of his death is next Friday. I still miss him, but know he is near. I feel torn between being sad for relationships that ended too soon and also being... I don't know how to describe it... maybe "all mourned out" is the best way to say it.

I think I just need to plan to take some time to get away from everything. I don't know where or when, but I think if life isn't going to stop, then maybe I need to be the one to "stop."

My step-mom shared with us a gift that she was given by a lady in HR who had helped them quite a bit when my dad first got sick. My step-mom had commented that she was sad my dad would never get his well deserved retirement party, i.e., recognition for his 20+ years working for the church. Well, this thoughtful HR lady gave my step-mom a piece of granite from the original temple building site on temple square with a plaque on it honoring my dad for his service. It was a really nice gesture and very thoughtful. I'll have to get a picture of it.

Hope is elusive sometimes isn't it? Maybe I get so used to it at times that I misplace it without realizing; then I get doubtful. But that is part of the good news of the gospel, that hope is still there just waiting for me to remember it and pick it back up again. It comforts me each time. I wrote a poem during a hopeful moment when I was struggling with my dad's illness. I know I've posted it before, but the post was a little long so I'll just copy and paste it here again. (If you want to read the longer post, you can read it here.)

I really do have a lot to be thankful for...

Gratitude

We had time to talk,

to listen,

to understand,

We had time to laugh,

to wonder,

to explore,

We had time to reach out,

to heal,

to mend,

We had time to ponder,

to remember,

to learn,

We had time to live,

We had time to love,

and, in time...

We will have eternity.

Micah James Foster

For Robert Dennis Foster

Mar. 2, 1947 – Mar. 11, 2007