Perfectionism Is a Scam But Ghibli Stills Are Not

I've been thinking too hard about this whole blogging thing. 

The irony is that I'm working very hard at not being a perfectionist. As it turns out, being perfect at not being perfect defeats the purpose and the results are the same anyway; made out of frustration, anxiety, and probably an unhealthy amount of caffeine. 

*takes sip of coffee I made with three shots of espresso*

*no seriously this is me cutting down on caffeine*

*8 shots down to 5 a day,,,,,,,,,*

I nearly sprinted over here to write this after coming across a blog that had anywhere between 600-1001 posts a year, with high school-level graphic design text layouts, and some of the most profound writing I've read about film. I arrived at this blog because I was hunting for some decent stills of Ghibli films, specifically My Neighbor Totoro landscapes (iykyk), for drawing and color study. My son has been loving the Ghibli films, so lately I've been taking deep dives into film essays, art studies, and Japanese film making. Some of the best, and worst, takes I've seen on Ghibli films were from blog posts; normal people with the shared love of whimsy and childlike wonder. And this blog post was no different, except it struck me in a new way that I didn't expect, and honestly has very little to do with Ghibli. 

Upon first glance, it would seem that the author's strong suit is not in graphic design. If I stopped at this truly innocuous imperfection, I would have absolutely missed out on his thoughtful dissection of a household favorite Ghibli film. The funny thing (or perhaps profound or utterly normal thing) is, I didn't even notice the design faux pas until I started really looking over the author's blog as a whole. That's when I came over here to write — why am I stressing over the tiling of my background to the point of anxiety? Making sure my colors blended right in my header? Is this the right shade of blue? I spent too much time copy/pasting hex codes so my header didn't look out of place with the rest of my blog layout.

Granted, I'm an artist, legibility is important, and perfectionism is a beast. I've written about it frequently and I probably will never stop writing about it because of its chronic nature. I find great joy in designing an appealing, and readable, blog, however the problem lies in becoming afraid to write or post anything because perfectionism is holding me back. I can't fail if I don't try in the first place. But that begs the question; what is the standard anyway? (Spoiler: there is none.)

If someone can have high school level graphic design skills, but write between 600 and 1001 quality posts a year since 2007, I think I'll be okay. Not that my writing skills are better, or to compare artistic skill (though admittedly, as an artist it's difficult to not critique), but rather, I can write imperfect posts on my imperfect layouts about my imperfect thoughts and people will still read what I write. If they don't get it, they don't get it, but there is an audience for what I write. 

So, here I am, not thinking too hard about this blogging thing, sharing my favorite stills to study the landscapes and color grading of My Neighbor Totoro, because that's what's been occupying my brain lately. These will end up in my imperfect sketchbook, and will be imperfectly reproduced for me to imperfectly hang in my apartment, next to my other imperfect artwork for my imperfect enjoyment. 

*how many times can I say imperfect in one sentence?*

I will say though, these stills are anything but imperfect. I can't get enough of them. 

~ for those of you who didn't know, now you do. ^

all images are from My Neighbor Totoro, directed by Hayao Miyazaki, 1988

Control is Overrated

I've been holding back. Watering down my story with preface after preface (maybe this post counts as a preface lol) and I'm really sick of it. 

There is so much I want to say, and it's getting very heavy to carry. But I'm not here to confess anything, because that's not really the point of this. I'm more interested in why I've been holding back, even in the littlest things. 

I could list off what is expected, like a lack of confidence or I'm feeling silenced, but after closer examination, I've realized I'm only holding back because of one thing, and that's fear. No one likes being misunderstood or being responsible for uncomfortable conversations, and I'm learning that I've been avoiding some situations that require this of me. But as a divorced and remarried Christian woman with three diagnosed mental illnesses that had a baby two months before graduating with her Bachelor's degree in psychology, these situations are necessary and inevitable.

I don't admit this freely and comfortably. Well, maybe freely. This is the internet. But it's never comfortable to face parts of yourself you promised you wouldn't adopt into your behaviors. But alas, we are creatures of habit, imitation, and fault. 

My first draft of this post was complete garbage. I was angry and fed up with a lot of injustices, so I wrote, and it felt really good to get it off my chest. In this moment of weakness, however, I fought the urge to share everything on my mind because it would've been out of a heart of needing people to understand how "right" I am. Which is a problem, because it indicates a "wrong" side, and would turn me into some sort of martyr because of my trauma. And, ironically would've made me look like the pontificating windbag I told myself I would never become. Not only would that have been inappropriate, but so fruitless and plain wrong. 

Because it isn't about me. It's about truth. And the truth is, I'm tired of gossip, I'm tired of grief, and I'm tired people expecting me to put lipstick on a pig and brush things under the rug. I'm tired of assuming people expect things of me and I'm tired of expectations, assumed or not, being a motivating force for me to do anything. 

Ultimately, my first draft lacked grace and forgiveness, things I've fought so hard to advocate for, and it was really embarrassing to read. 

And like a whisper, I heard these words.

"Don't let your heart be controlled by their actions."

The ultimate soul-poke. In my moment of weakness, I'd become the very thing I've fought to not become in my healing journey; bitter. God spoke the truth with so much grace, so I scrapped the first draft of this and started fresh. ✨so here I am✨

This doesn't mean that I'm not angry or tired anymore, as nice as that would be, but those words snapped me back into the right heart posture. Sure, I have plenty to be angry about, and many reasons why I'm tired, but those words were the mirror I needed to see that I'm feeling this way largely due to all of the crap I've been inadvertently holding onto. I need to just let go. And honestly, I'm really tired of holding on. 

In light of this discovery, to let go started with me leaving my past self alone. I ask her too many dumb questions like "How did you not see this coming?" or my personal favorite "Why didn't you say this instead?" 

Because the past version of myself was genuinely in love. It wasn't her fault that she was lied to or used as a human doormat. She didn't know any better, she was young, and she was learning. And that's okay. She didn't know she needed to stand up for herself or be tough as nails or cut people off because she couldn't see what the future held. And that's okay. She did what she could, and she did a damn good job of it, considering she didn't know what I know now. I won't discredit the hard work I did by asking silly questions, because my past self went through a hard season without the lessons I learned from them. She is tough. And I need to leave her alone. She deserves peace just as much as I do now. 

Hindsight is 20/20 but that isn't going to give your past self a pair of glasses. 

...or something like that.

So, I won't hold her back with questions. I let her be at peace. 

Little did I know that my anger has been my biggest teacher in my healing journey, because I've been too busy looking at it like the enemy. It exposed insecurities and fears that ended up being of little consequence. It showed me how desperately I need to remind myself my identity is not assigned by others' opinions, but in the truth that I am a child of God. The way others react to my boundaries has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with them. Anger taught me that it's time for me to accept it all as it comes, as it came and went, and move on. 

So, I won't hold myself back with expectations I have no control over. I've let go of the need to be understood and seen by others.

Because it isn't my responsibility to make sure people understand what I share, and even sharing what I want to doesn't guarantee that people will see my side. I'm aware of those who've made their mind up about me, and it isn't a great picture. But that's fine. I'm past the need for people to have a good opinion of me, because the point I'm making has little to do with the trivialities of being "liked" and everything to do with freedom.

As I let go, I'm set free. Giving up the control I *think* I have sets me free to enjoy what is right in front of me. And there is so much in my life to enjoy. 

Holding onto feelings of betrayal while trying to heal from them is a form of self-sabotage, even if I didn't seek out to hold onto them in the first place. I found myself wrapped up in figuring out where my past fits in my healing journey and I'd inadvertently made my past feelings my present. I got too wrapped up in "figuring things out" that it became a distraction. It's a mental prison, because how much control do I really have over how people perceive me? 

*spoiler, the answer is ✨none✨*

 Holding on was holding me back from fully experiencing the best and most joyful years of my life! 

God has restored to me wholeness that I wouldn't otherwise have known so well. I cannot let the hurt of my offenders influence how I treat the God-given people in my life; the projection is fruitless and isolating. I'm so beyond done with that part of my life. That's all it is, a part. Granted it had a huge impact and ripple effect, but ultimately, it's just a part, not the whole. And the whole is so much sweeter. 

My now is dripping in gold and covered in peace. Because the truth is, I am already seen by God because He made me from dust and bone and knows even the littlest of details about me, from the number of hairs on my head to my last words on the day I die. I'm already understood by Jesus because He grieved and wept and died and rose again, and would do it all over if it meant I would spend eternity with Him because He loves me that much. I am already empowered by the Holy Spirit in me, who gives me the strength and courage to ask for help and let go of what no longer serves me. I don't need to hold onto things on this earth, the expectations and hurts from my past because I am seen and understood in ways that surpass the human capacity for the same. 

Why would I desire the cheap human alternative when I can let go and receive what is freely given to me by a divine God who chose the color of my eyes and has only the best in mind for me?

I'm learning this is what it's like to process grief; reflect and release. There are things I miss from hard seasons, and I grieve even for those things that weren't good for me in the end, because in those things I can recognize the potential for gain. And in many ways, I have gained. (Unfortunately, one of those things is weight but that's motherhood I guess lol)

The past is my past. It hurt, I lost a lot, and it's still manifesting itself in real ways. (helloooo mental illness!) But I can't afford the distractions and the noise, not when I've looked at my past from every angle and can't learn anything new from it anymore. There are bigger and more important things in "the now" that need my attention, like how my husband built us a bedframe and shelves, and we're making plans to have friends over for dinner next week. 

Grief is weird. Anger is weird. But it's a good teacher if you're patient enough to listen.

Here's to letting go, and not holding back. 

~Let It Go by Idina Menzel was stuck in my head while writing this so now it's stuck in your head, you're welcome.

Made to Forgive

In light of my second installment of "what I wish I knew about mental health" I thought I'd write a little follow-up about where I'm at today in my healing journey. 

** T/W mental illness **

In my last two posts, I opened up about some dark thoughts and how I felt during triggers, and I feel the need to explain myself. I'm afraid that there isn't grace for me. Admittedly I have the tendency to think the worst outcome will happen, that I'll be scrutinized for being a bad Christian because I was bitter for a while and wasn't always forgiving, but I'm often proven wrong with the abundant grace people show me. It's humbling and heart-warming. Even though I'm encouraged by seeing the fruit of me sharing my experiences, I cannot put my peace in it, and I can't expect the praise to carry me through the remainder of my healing journey. I must make the choices to go forward, even when I'll inevitably be met with scrutiny. Those choices are to move my focus away from what happened, to how I can learn and forgive now, tomorrow, and the next day.

I can't control what happened to me, but I can control how I respond to it.

The biggest part of my healing process has been learning about forgiveness and its many facets. I don't want to define forgiveness — because dictionaries exist — but I want to show how it's changed my life, how it's actively changing my life. I've never experienced such joy and unbridled grace, but not because I'm the one receiving it. Forgiving others and extending grace is the spice of life, it's our purpose as human beings, a fundamental practice, and so fulfilling. Serving others in this way, we find purpose and meaning in our lives. We find freedom. Forgiveness frees me from the burden of keeping track of the nitty gritty details of my testimony. Honestly, I don't remember a lot of them, partially because trauma amnesia is a thing, but I also don't want to dwell on the details and keep those hurtful memories alive. What is important is despite going through a season that nearly took my life, I emerged with a soft heart, but not without hard work and daily discipline to forgive those who hurt me.

We don't drift towards holiness, so choosing to heal required lots of discipline, daily. I wrestled with my inborn sinful tendencies and had to learn to rise above them. In my effort to forgive my ex-husband and many others in that season, I absolutely battled bitterness, hatred, and anger. And I still do, namely in weak moments or when I work through a trigger. To have learned a lesson doesn't mean one is an expert in applying what's been learned, because it takes practice to be good at making those hard choices.

That's the thing really, to "practice what I preach" entails the inevitability of failure. So yes, while I was working on forgiveness, I often failed and caved into bitterness, but my decision to forgive is still completely valid and my mistakes do not make me any less of a forgiving person. Failure to forgive is a part of the process. To not practice what I preach is to abandon forgiveness all together, and that's absolutely not an option. (There's a reason why the saying isn't "perfect what you preach" because it's unattainable and unrealistic. It also just sounds weird.) 

But people don't see those silent battles and daily choices. Only now am I sharing my experiences publicly. This isn't a unique struggle because everyone battles bitterness at one time or another. It's a part of the sin nature we were all born into. Whomever tells you differently is ✨lying✨ 

At the beginning of my healing journey, I knew forgiveness was the right thing to do, and I should do it because of what's been written in Scripture. I'd be lying if I said my heart wasn't hesitant; I was so hurt and so broken, and desperate for external peace. I wasn't aware of the lie I believed, that forgiveness was excusing actions that hurt me, and that it was an olive branch to my offenders. I can't even begin to describe the relief I felt when I learned that forgiveness is not synonymous with reconciliation or condoning hurtful actions. Instead, it is freeing yourself from carrying the pain your offender has caused you, allowing you to move on and make peace. As the age old saying goes, to withhold forgiveness is like drinking poison with the hopes the other person will die.

There are plenty of opportunities for me to remain bitter, daily. Given the nature of PTSD, I'm consistently reminded of little things regarding my ex-husband and the divorce; it's hard to completely drive out memories of someone you were doing life with. Not every reminder is a trigger, but the reminders do make me angry sometimes. It's difficult to say no to bitterness in those moments. But no amount of good will ever come from me being bitter towards my ex-husband. It isn't like bitter thoughts will somehow end up in him getting my form of justice, or him understanding what I went through or, or, or... It isn't up to me that justice is served or that "he gets his" because it's none of my business. I don't know what he needs in order to change and I'd be a fool to assume I do. It would also be foolish to bank finding my peace and closure on "him getting his" because no form of justice would be satisfying enough; I cannot risk my peace on circumstances I can't control.

There's a lot to be said about the latter, but it all comes down to understanding the importance of placing my peace and closure in something I can control, and something that withstands time and the space in my spirit. I can choose to have closure and peace — to wait for him to act gives him power over my peace. To wait for your offender to offer closure is like handing them your keys and enabling them to change the locks without you ever knowing — where is the peace in that?

Remaining bitter hardens the heart, a state in which it wasn't created to experience. Like a rubber band or dried clay before the firing, hardness is weakness, cracking and brittle. There is no strength found in harboring bitterness. Bitterness is all promise and zero delivery. It keeps us trapped into thinking that holding on to the pain from our offender will result in something fruitful. All it does is deepen the pain, prolong suffering, and weaken us in the process. 

Choosing to forgive is a fruitful discipline. It gives you the room to tap into your indwelling peace God gives to us, something wild and beyond our understanding; everlasting and never changing. It brings forth ripe authenticity in the pursuit of joy and of grace for others, but not without making daily choices to think right thoughts and practicing the art of letting go. 

I'm not perfect at this, and I never will be. Growing in forgiveness is not progressive like stairsteps, and not quite cyclical like a complete circle, but rather like a horizontal spiral. Through ups and downs, we learn, moving forward in time through the seasons of life, picking up valuable lessons on the way and doing what we can to make good choices, one of those being to forgive, hard as it may be. 

Forgiveness is difficult. But living in bitterness is a bigger burden. 

So be strengthened. Find peace. Align your heart with your wonderful design. Take the power back and participate in something greater than yourself. Don't let bitterness keep you in chains. I urge you, let go of what we were never made to carry, choose to forgive, and be freed.

~All I could think about when concluding this was the song "Nobody's Perfect" by Hannah Montana, and now the song is stuck in your head. You're welcome.

What I Wish I Knew About Mental Health #2.2

Welcome to part two! Thank you for being here and braving through this tough subject with me.

Now that we've gone over some misconceptions and I've bared my soul to the world, we can talk about healing.

** T/W trauma, mental illness **

**I am not a licensed mental health professional (yet) I am simply sharing my journey through struggles and my own studies. Please contact your doctor or a mental health professional if you need help **

I wrote in the last post that my journey is not the golden standard of what it's like to live affected by PTSD, and I want to emphasize this because healing is so subjective and what might work for one person may not work for another. I found my solace in hiking nearly everyday after my divorce. I learned to breathe deeper, to count and to notice the small things, and to drink in the view at the top of the climb. Or to put simply; breathe, be thankful, and celebrate victories. 

As great as the benefits are, this would be a terrible healing strategy for someone who hates to hike, which, in the PNW, is right up there in rarity as seeing a local use an umbrella. If you know, you know.

There is no "golden standard" or "one-size-fits-all" when it comes to healing in a healthy way, but there are unhealthy practices in a healing journey, namely, making assumptions.  

The worst of the worst of things that someone can do is assume, and unfortunately assumptions run rampant, and have really deep roots. The thing that makes assumptions so dangerous is they are divisive. Like lies, they fool many people into thinking they're not loved, that there's no hope, and that things won't get better. Some assumptions are honest mistakes, or they're made from the heart of wanting to be helpful. But many times, because of misinformation, the assumption will ultimately keep one stagnant in their healing journey, regardless of who is making them.

*You know what "assume" does right?*

The biggest mistake I see when people talk to someone who is healing and working through a trigger, is they assume the traumatized individual needs a hero. This can go the other way too, where a traumatized individual feels like the only way they can get better is if someone else does the heavy lifting because they feel like they're not strong enough. How great would it be to have someone step in and take all the weight, offer the greatest advice, and solve all the problems so they aren't triggered anymore? Sometimes, admittedly, I wish this were plausible. But there's a wonderful alternative that yields even better results and the opportunity to grow. 

It all starts when you realize that you have a choice.

I can choose to heal and do the work and heavy lifting, to be my own hero, because to not choose is to choose misery. To have someone else do the heavy lifting is being robbed of the opportunity to refine your character, becoming stronger, and having the satisfaction of saying "I did that."

I'm not saying that you can "think" your way out of a trigger, because there isn't much one can do when the brain is reacting in its rewired way. But you absolutely have a choice in how to respond to your trigger. The beauty of it is that in making the choice to heal over and over — to breathe, be thankful, and celebrate — your beautiful brain creates a new breathing, thankful, celebratory pathway and it becomes easier to make the choice each time. The pathway eventually becomes second nature. It's really this simple.

When I say simple, I don't mean easy. Nothing about healing is easy. But it's as simple as making the choice to show up and be willing to feel weak as you sit with your pain for a while, so you can walk out as the warrior you were made to be. 

This is why it's absolutely silly to assume that triggers are weaknesses, because they aren't. They are purely a response from a brain rewired to be hypervigilant. Essentially, the amygdala, a small almond-shaped part of the brain, is conditioned to react to any stimulus that it perceives as threatening by throwing out the stress hormone cortisol, in abnormally high quantities. It isn't a matter of whether someone is "really healed" but rather how the person is literally at the mercy of their altered brain chemistry. Because of this, triggers make for poor indicators as to where a person is in their healing journey. A traumatized individual can make the decision to forgive, go to counseling, practice mindfulness and other prescribed exercises, but it takes a very long time for the brain to adjust its chemistry. 

It's all brain science folks.

The only thing assumptions have ever been good at is robbing someone of the chance to connect on a spirit-deep level. Assumptions fuel the fire of pride in the individuals that want to help, while simultaneously watering down the hope of the hurting. 

"I can fix them. I give great advice."

"If people knew what I really thought about, they wouldn't want to get close to me."

It is imperative to cast assumptions aside. Instead, focus on these truths:

Triggers do not make you weak, nor are they indicators of failed healing. The progress is evident in how you handle your triggers and the choices you make, not in how your changed brain chemistry reacts to stimuli you can't control. Don't bleed on others just because you're cut. Your triggers do not make your choice to heal counterfeit. Your decision to forgive your offender is genuine, even on days where forgiveness feels so far out of reach. Trauma validity is not a matter of opinion, because what happened and how it affects you is real. Healing has its good days and bad days. One bad day doesn't mean you aren't healing, it's all a part of the process; there's a reason why it's called a healing journey.

You cannot "fix" someone who is hurting, but you can love them through it; choose to listen to their story if they feel comfortable sharing and make an effort to remember their triggers. Love them by waiting for them to open up in their own time, because it isn't about you. Choose patience over the need to know. To do otherwise is to rob them of important growth moments. 

It's hard to heal and it's hard watching someone you love heal, but regardless, you are not alone. Refuse to make an island out of yourself, because there are people who have gone through things you have, and they do understand. Let people in and watch them surprise you with their abounding love, and let it soften your heart.

There is an exception to the rule, and I've said it before, but if you assume anything, assume you don't have the full story. You can absolutely be helpful to someone without knowing every detail. Choose grace when emotions are high. Choose gratitude, especially on the dark days. Above all, choose compassion; trauma is painful and a little compassion goes a long way. 

I know this is all much easier said than done, but the beauty of it is that it does get easier the more you do it. Healing takes time. Healing is a practice, there will be ups and downs. It is not a destination, it is a journey. It takes lots of love, especially for yourself. There's a lot more healing found when you're vulnerable with the people you trust. I've found that to be true.

Really, it all boils down to making the choice. 

~Listening to Healing by Riley Clemmons

What I Wish I Knew About Mental Health #2.1

If I had to list things I wish I knew about mental health going into my 20's, knowing more about triggers before I experienced them would be on the list. I don't like being caught off-guard, and triggers have flipped my life upside down in many ways. 

The unfortunate reality is triggers are complicated and messy. It takes time — and lots of it — to know how to work through them as the healing process advances. Though complicated and messy, I'll try my best to address them and their common misconceptions, while sharing some of my own experiences, in two parts. (And a bonus third part because the inspiration struck.)

** T/W su*cide, self-h*rm, trauma, mental illness **

**I am not a licensed mental health professional (yet) I am simply sharing my journey through struggles and my own studies. Please contact your doctor or a mental health professional if you need help **

My sister and I talk about triggers often, because she also struggles with PTSD. She described in a recent conversation how she felt after listening to a song, that she felt like she was "back there." She was hesitant to call it a trigger because her understanding of being triggered was that it's solely a movie-like flashback in her head, like we see on TV. 

"It brings up difficult emotions," she wrote in her text to me. "Haven't listened to [the song] since freshman year. Would that be considered a trigger???" (Yes she used 3 question marks leave her alone.) "I didn't have a flashback but I feel like I'm back there."

"w h a t" she responded when I told her it's absolutely a trigger.

Two major things came to mind after having this conversation, both having to do with the proverbial "they." Media has a huge impact on how people understand the world, and the way media portrays PTSD perpetuates that, one, it's an illness that's exclusively experienced by combat veterans, and two, that being triggered is only experienced as vivid flashbacks and acting out in a breathless daze. 

So, spoiler alert, there are several ways to experience being triggered and PTSD is a diagnosis for ✨everyone✨ It's inclusive that way.  

The history of mental illness portrayal in movies and TV shows is laughable. Not to say there aren't gems out there with an excellent story and accurate representation, but generally, neurotypical individuals write the stories with second or third-hand experiences. This isn't an inherently bad thing, but unfortunately, this means the general etiquette — trigger warnings, excluding self-harm/suicide on-screen etc. — is not on the forefront of their mind and is often forgotten. The point here is not to blame the media for all the misconceptions about PTSD and triggers, it doesn't even have anything to do with how it perpetuates stereotypes, but rather, there's an abundance of misinformation out there. As a soon-to-be art therapist and someone who struggles with these things daily, it's endlessly frustrating.

There are important distinctions to make when addressing triggers and what it means to be triggered. Triggers, to the untrained eye, are innocuous — a smell, a person's name, a specific place. There's nothing inherently dangerous about these things, but to someone who has been traumatized, those seemingly innocuous stimuli can leave the person feeling terrified and helpless. 

Responses to triggers are dependent on the individual and how they perceived their traumatic experience. Physiological responses such as an elevated heart rate or upset stomach are possible symptoms of being triggered. To become anxious or afraid in the face of a trigger is also very common.  In my case, I'll usually feel as if the thought follows me around like a dense cloud, which commonly results in mental fog and extreme irritability for the rest of the day. Sometimes this can last for a few days, if the trigger is really intense. I call these "hornet thoughts" because these thoughts sting over and over and over...

*I know it isn't my job to ask God "why" but I have a few questions about the creation of hornets. And mosquitoes, like what is their job in the world's ecosystem other than carrying disease and being an absolute nuisance??*

Responses are not a one-size-fits-all because trauma comes in all shapes and sizes. As it's commonly understood, combat violence is traumatic. But so are car accidents, or even childbirth. As more research comes out, there is scientific evidence supporting that intimate betrayal, such as an affair, in a committed relationship can encourage the onset of PTSD. The triggers in relation to these events will be different. 

Because of my divorce (read my previous post), I've had difficulty watching crime TV shows, which is a bummer because I love a good murder mystery. But those TV shows will almost, if not always, have scenes where a character is on trial in a courtroom. This is one of my triggers.

There are instances where I can get past the anxiety with quiet prayers and deep breathing, but there are other instances where it's just not possible. I sit at the mercy of my altered brain chemistry, as the TV show brings me back to my first experience in a courtroom, the morning after my ex-husband was arrested. In these moments, I can almost smell the matted carpets and old wooden benches. 

I'm reminded of details I haven't thought about it a very long time. Sights, smells, sounds. Feelings. Mostly embarrassment; I was the wife of the accused, hardly able to hid my sobs as he was shuffled out wearing handcuffs and navy blue like the other inmates. Not only were eyes on me as I cried ugly tears, a victim to his crimes was on the other side of the same bench I sat on. I wanted to tear out of my skin. 

The trigger doesn't stop there. I'm reminded of a separate hearing, where there were more victims present. I remember my thoughts. Angry, embarrassed. I desperately wanted privacy in my life, but I was realizing that was no longer an option in that season. The victims snickered as we prayed together before the hearing. The hate in the air was thick, suffocating, and I wanted out of the building. I couldn't figure out why I was so torn up, even though I wasn't the one on trial. I wanted to die. I wanted peace.

I'm reminded of the heat from my face, the bouncing in my leg, my restless, shaky hands. The burning tears I held back. 

I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry.

I need to stay strong. Everyone is counting on me to be strong. He's counting on me to be strong. I cannot and will not break. He needs my help. I must stay strong.

I couldn't have been happier when the hearing was finally over. I don't remember most of the night afterwards. Trauma is like amnesia at times, though the 2 shots of tequila on an empty stomach followed by several beers probably didn't help. Grief makes you do funny things. Stupid things. It was definitely not my proudest moment. This is where the trigger amplifies my embarrassment.

As I navigate the embarrassment, it becomes a sort of flashback, both memories replaying at the same time, pulling in other moments, good or bad, anything that relates to the courtroom scene. My brain is whizzing at a million miles an hour, my heart painfully palpitates in my chest. Frustration, white hot in my face. I can't catch a good breath. The night only comes with lucid nightmares. My thoughts, doubts of my progress. Repeating to myself that healing isn't linear, that I'm safe now. I know the science like the back of my hand, but that doesn't make it hurt less. I wish it did. I wish for an end, frustrated that I need to ride it out like a boat on a restless sea.

And all of this is happening because I had to sit through the stupid scene about the stupid courtroom on the stupid TV show that I can't stop watching because the stupid story is just so good. (I was about to call myself stupid here but we don't do self-deprecation over here at Bee Happy. Self-deprecation is for sissies.)

I don't share to get sympathy or pity because I share from a place of healing, not grief or pain or even bitterness. Do my thoughts come out pain-soaked and bitter? Sure. Being triggered is a raw, emotional process, and many of my triggers are rooted in a very bitter season, where every thought was muddled with grief, shame, betrayal, and a lot more. I'm still processing. But I'm healing. I'm choosing to forgive, which has made me able to share this today. I'd call that a victory. Though this be a victory, it doesn't make it any less difficult to share. 

As small a window this is into PTSD and triggers, it's a very real window. Being triggered is far more complicated than being uncomfortable or offended. Rooted deeper than trivial irritants, triggers are exhausting, messy, and ruthless. The body is put into fight-or-flight, bracing for impact, even at the slightest hint of possible danger. This piece of my heart I've shared is just a fraction of what I experience, as I have several triggers, and my story is not the golden standard of what it's like to experience these things. Even if I had known what it was like to experience triggers before going into my 20's, I don't think it would have made a significant difference; again, it's complicated and messy.

With that said, don't do your loved ones, or yourself, a disservice by basing your understanding of mental health off of movies and TV shows, because stereotypes write the scripts. Have grace, extend love, and listen. We'll be talking more about that in the next post, so stay tuned. 

~My sister did talk to her therapist about our conversation and I'm happy to report that it was a good session. 

If all of your friends were "doing it for the 'gram" would you ju- oh wait.

I have like 37 other drafts that I'm working on which is why I've decided to start something new. See how I am?

I'm struggling with discouragement, and I want to share this without sounding like a cross-stitched pillow in all of its infinite wisdom. "I don't know everything, I'm still a work in progress, I'm right where I need to be..." 

My biggest fear is that I share my brain for the internet to pick and unintentionally build this idea that I don't struggle through my struggles.

I remember hearing a pastor once say that what we see online is the highlight reel of a person's life, the perfectly manicured posts to match an aesthetic, to appeal to the masses, to gain followers, likes, comments... and we naturally compare it to every part of our life, including the nitty gritty parts.

It's very easy to see people share what seems like their heart and soul online and think they don't struggle, or when they do share their struggles, it's easy to fall into the trap of comparison. It is hard to not be cynical when we come across these things online because struggles aren't manicured. Chaos isn't organized. 

But picking up the pieces can be. I stress on the can because healing isn't linear and the steps to heal don't really have an order. Healing is often messy, but the testimony that comes out of healing, when all the pieces do come together, is where we can find the tidiness in chaos. 

That tidiness in the chaos often manifests itself into manicured posts online, where the word vomit and ideas are put together in a way that makes sense. 

An online presence is a very small window into the struggles that people face in their lives, so it is important to cast aside assumptions as the viewer, and to be as genuine as possible, without white-washing the truth and crossing the TMI line as a creator. (This is a very important line pls do not cross thiiiiiis.)

So here I am, sharing my mental health struggles and other shenanigans and stuff in the name of truth, honesty, and not "doing it for the 'gram." 

That being said, I'd like to get back to my point- discouragement has me tied up in knots this season. 

I'm discouraged while sorting old photos of me wearing clothes that are currently gathering dust in my closet. Discouraged as I look down at my loose skin covered in stretch-marked evidence of God's handiwork, the reason why the clothes I love are gathering dust. Discouraged by the way my motivation to work out has just disappeared. Discouraged by the lack of artwork I've made in the past month and a half because my son keeps me busy with sleep regressions and getting into literally everything. Discouraged that my ad revenue account is going to close soon because I didn't reach the ad interaction quota within a certain time frame. Discouraged because I'm told what I'm feeling isn't discouragement, but discontentedness, which makes me feel guilty. Discouraged by the fear of sharing this because I don't want to put out the wrong idea that I want sympathy or that I just want to complain.

I've been discouraged because my days just whiz by. I'm so busy, but I have literally no clue what I do all day??

*@ mama's with tiny humans, amirite?*

I don't know what to make of this type of busy. And I know busy, as a former full-time college student with part-time work while planning my wedding in 4 months while getting ready to move. I'm no stranger to getting 4 hours of sleep at a time, when my days consisted of 7 cups of coffee, dry shampoo, and murder. The busy I experience now is gallons of water (because breastfeeding), stretchy pants, and "hey where is his pacifier" or "did he poop today?" Busy, like hey, I can't ever remember to vacuum, and laundry is piling up, but at least I didn't cry today??

*Dry shampoo is also still definitely on this list.*

Sometimes I make banana bread with organic whole wheat flour after a beautiful dinner with all the trimmings. I'll spend the whole afternoon meal prepping and cooking dried beans with a Pinterest perfect Instant Pot recipe. Other times my husband and I will order pizza so we don't have to do dishes and then immediately regret it because we eat plant-based and we definitely got the cheesiest pizza on the menu. Sometimes I am consistent with watering and feeding my plants. Sometimes I'm really good at following through with my entire morning and night routines. Other times I just need to sit on the floor with my son for another half hour, singing silly songs and playing pattycake. Other times I really need to sleep in, skip breakfast and have an early lunch while my drooping plants stare sappily at me. 

A part of me is crushed, and I know a lot of it has to do with how easily I become irritable and annoyed by the littlest of things (thanks PTSD) and the other part of me is going "boo-freaking-hoo, life happens, roll with the punches, it won't be like this forever." 

But there is beauty to find in this, right? 

Well of course, I remind myself as I stare at my cluttered shelves and toy-strewn floor. I'm where I'm supposed to be, I remind myself. Your baby is healthy, I remind myself. You have more than you need, I remind myself. I've got a roof over my head, hot meals, and a warm bed. (lol that rhymes.)

As grateful as I am for these things, none of that acknowledges the suck I feel from the discouragement. 

In a culture prone to romanticizing pain and finding beauty in pain, it is hard to come by what is really needed, and that is to be seen in the struggle. To be told "you're where you're supposed to be" doesn't hold a candle to hearing "this sucks right now, and that's okay.

"What do you need right now?"

"This is tough, and what you are feeling is normal."

"The way you are experiencing the world does not define who you are."

"You are bigger than your experiences, but that doesn't make them any less real."

A little acknowledgement goes a long way. 

It would be nice if discouragement wasn't common, but because it is, we need to be better at encouraging others in a healthy way. Not to say that these cross-stitch statements aren't true, but we cannot ignore the bad if we want to make things good or make things better. Blanket positive statements without acknowledging the discouragement is not helpful or constructive because they diminish the very real feelings and circumstances a person is going through. To only focus on the good stuff and ignore the bad stuff is what we call ✨toxic positivity✨

I understand this is where God has me. I understand things will get better. But things aren't "better" right now, because right now I could use a long hot shower and 5 minutes to myself where I'm not on high alert for a curious baby and extremely aware of my floordrobe I've been living from for the past week. For someone to not try to fix what is going on or tell me how I feel (which is never appropriate in any circumstance e v e r) but to just listen and tell me I'm not crazy for feeling this way. I don't need my struggles validated, I want them recognized for what they are; real and raw struggles.  

Discouragement sucks. Positive statements are good, but acknowledging what is real and in front of you and meeting yourself where you are at is even better. 

This is hard work. I do struggle. And that's okay.

~I can almost hear the little cries of my other drafts as I write this very small but very real glance into the season I find myself in. 

Listening to: Not Right Now by Jason Gray

Living with PTSD: Grow or Suffer

Having mental health problems pushes you to make one of two choices: process and grow, or wallow and suffer. There is literally no in-between.

In my quest to heal from PTSD and depression, God revealed to me that I am to share my experiences, little bits at a time. "You will have your time to share your whole truth, but not yet." I struggle with this. A lot. I know that God has given me this great task to share my experiences by writing a book, but there is so much pressure to share tactfully because my story is tied up with the stories of others. 

All I know is that God doesn't want me to focus on details, names, exact dates or timelines, because He wants me to focus on how I'm becoming more like the woman He created me to be. Plus the lessons and growth are way cooler than the drudgery of trauma. The glow-up is more exciting than the grit.

A part of my healing process has stemmed from making and keeping boundaries. One of those boundaries I made was to not dwell on the details, because not all details are made equally, all while not rendering myself invisible.

*This is what we call a mental tug of war, and why people who have mental illnesses are exhausted even though it's likely they have physically done nothing. Not throwing shade, it just do be like that.*

Details are messy, and it's a headache to keep track of them. The moment I decided to not be bound to the details was when I found freedom. The messy details caused my PTSD in the first place, why would I keep track of them and be retraumatized in the process? My boundaries keep me from wasting time and energy. They keep me on the path of healing.

Unfortunately, boundaries aren't always enough to keep all triggers at bay.

For a long time, I hated the word "triggered" because of how loosely it is used out of context online. It's thrown around like it's a joke, so when someone is truly triggered by an actual traumatic event, it isn't taken seriously.

This is a tragedy. Not only is it insulting, it is very annoying.

Being triggered is almost a daily thing for me. Some things don't trigger me nearly as badly as they used to. A detail will sting for a little and I'm able to calmly work through it and move on. Then there are other triggers that are like bombs. These bombs vary. I typically experience one of two types; one goes off immediately, exploding in my face, and the other is like a time-bomb. The latter of the two is the worst. 

Time-bombs are sometimes not noticeable. You're reminded of a seemingly innocuous detail that used to bother you. You might even celebrate being able to breeze past the detail. Minutes go by, hours go by, sometimes a day or two, then it hits you. 

It leaves you doubting your intuition. How could I have not known? But the thing is, you did know, because you could almost hear the seconds counting down to the explosion. But you decided to push past it anyways, because celebrating growth is much easier to process. (Not to mention, way more fun.) There is relief when the smoke clears, but you only find that the smoke was keeping you from seeing the debris around you.

Time-bombs are the worst.

My most recent trigger was a time-bomb. Hours went by before I realized how affected I was by a seemingly harmless conversation. The conversation details are not important here, but rather how the trigger, like all other triggers, gave me those two choices; grow or suffer.

The trigger was a catalyst to self-discovery, as I recognized the bitterness I let into my heart. Choosing to grow meant extending grace and forgiveness in the hardest ways, praying for strength as God showed me the hardened parts of my heart, and how He can fix them. It was difficult and embarrassing to face the parts of me I thought I didn't have, the parts I thought had healed. 

Making the decision to grow or to suffer is really simple, because no one wants to suffer. However whether or not it is easy is an entirely different conversation. Simple decisions often require lots of work, but the pay off is priceless. The sick and twisted irony of having a mental illness is that you need energy to grow, but energy is often scarce. But to get the energy to do the work and grow, it requires that the work already be done. 

Sick, isn't it?

It's hard to call yourself out on your own dumb behavior, but it's even harder living in that dumb behavior. Choosing growth is simple, but it isn't easy. The bottom line is that you have to make a choice, because not choosing in this scenario is choosing to suffer. 

*How many times can I say "choose" in one sentence?*

Despite this mental tug of war, I've found ways to share those little bits at a time, without violating the boundaries of others. My journey to tell my story has brought me to the conclusion that it's not entirely ready to tell. I remember being told a few years ago that your seasons will change, but your calling will not. I constantly remind myself of this while I find the building blocks for my book. I will tell my story, it's just not the right season for it.  

It is widely known in the counseling community that healing from trauma, when the work is being done to heal, takes at least two to five years to feel a sense of normality. I'm only in year two. In these two years, I have become more aware of my thoughts, which has brought me a lot of peace. Yes, my external circumstances have changed for the better, but that's not the peace I'm referring to.

Being more conscious of my thought life has helped me better identify my toxic traits, changing my internal circumstances for the better. That is where I find my peace and how I can keep my peace. (Because life likes to go "lol hold my beer" when external stuff is good, but it can't "lol hold my beer" your internal stuff unless you let it. Never depend on the external stuff for peace.)

I'm learning that the best thing to do with triggers is to let them happen, because they will, regardless of boundaries. When you let them happen, feeling rise, indicating deeper problems. Feelings guide you to the root of those problems, and from there work can be done. For me, I write, I pray, and invite God to the battle.

The only thing I ask of those along for the ride, please be patient with me as I slowly open up about my story. I don't want pity and I don't want opinions on what I should have done better, because quite frankly I'll ignore them. I am still healing and still have so much work to do. I will never say that my decisions were right or wrong, but I stand by them, because I did what I thought was best based on the choices God laid out before me. And really, that's all we can do.

It drives me crazy sometimes because in a way, I'm thankful for the details. They gave me the opportunity to grow. My trauma didn't make me stronger, the choices I made to grow despite the trauma is how I've become stronger. 

And that is all there is to it. Grow, or suffer. It's really that simple.

~Working through a trigger doesn't always have to be so clinical. Sometimes it comes in the form of baby snuggles, mindless sketching, and Thai food. 

Luke Skywalker Probably Didn't Need a Therapist

The absolute butt-kickery that is going on in my spiritual life is, well, kicking my butt.

I've started reading Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyer. I'm only 5 chapters in, but every step of the way has me examining all of my thought patterns.

It's a big soul poke. All of the soul-pokage. The whole thing.

I have to try harder than most to make the best out of my thoughts, keeping my brain from being an absolute warzone because I have PTSD and depression. Lately I've had more good days than bad, but the bad really comes out when something goes wrong or when something upsets me. I become a self-deprecating dork, I don't eat, and I almost physically feel my brain spiral out of control into dark and negative thoughts. 

"Well, things always go wrong. This is just my lot in life, to not have anything go right for me. Everything is pointless. Why even try to make things better if this is where it will always end up eventually? I'm not worth it anyways."

This is absolutely not normal. It says in scripture in many ways that peace is n o r m a l (I'm still really trying to understand this.) God offers this to us freely, we just have to choose to take it and live it out in our lives. 

In this book I'm reading, the whole focus is on shifting our thinking, to renew our minds and to take every thought captive. If we want to have positive and life-giving thoughts, we must choose to have them. This takes a lot of discipline. 

*Wait, you can choose how to think? There's got to be a catch that seems way too simple.*

There is literally no catch. It just takes time and work to get good at it.

People often get this mixed up with choosing how to feel, which is entirely different. Feelings are indicators. You can't help but feel threatened or discouraged or annoyed by certain things, the difference in positive and negative thinking is what you choose to do with those feelings. 

I think about the scene in Return of the Jedi where Darth Sidious is trying to goad Luke into fighting Darth Vader, saying things such as "I can feel your anger, use it." In this scenario, Luke is given the choice to use his anger to fight Darth Vader. In this same fashion, we are given the choice to use our emotions in a way that is healthy or unhealthy. 

*When in doubt, use Star Wars as examples for spiritual health and wellness. It's foolproof.*

In my life, I've needed to shift my focus off of what is going wrong to how temporary it all is, and how healing takes time. In the span of 2 years, I got a divorce, got remarried, and had a baby. I've had so much change in such little time. I've had to learn how to heal from the trauma I experienced in my divorce, all the while enjoy the beauty that came from it. I've had to make a lot of choices in my thought life. Triggers come up, as they do, and I have to choose to examine them so I can learn and grow. I have to recognize that I am 4 weeks into working out consistently, and it will take time for me to get to my goal. (Post-partum mom bod is a thing. But at least I'm starting to fit better into jeans woohoo!!) I have to be patient with my growing baby as he learns to communicate because cries and coos are all he knows, and it isn't his fault that he needs to eat in the middle of the night. Mama is tired and crabby, but at least she's learning.

"Things go wrong, but that's okay. I learn how strong I am when something goes wrong. I am allowed to feel frustrated and tired, but I will not let that dictate my day. The pain doesn't stay, and I am growing with each step. I have a healthy, growing baby, a husband that loves me, and a fresh start after a hard season. It's just a bad moment, not a bad life."

The path to being better and thinking better is one choice away. Ultimately, we have every right to feel how we feel, but we do not have the right to use our feelings in ways that are unhealthy, at the expense of others, and at the expense of ourselves. 

Having the weight lifted after choosing life-giving thinking is so freeing. (If the weight of thinking negatively was quantifiable, I would be so ripped tbh, it's kinda rude that I'm not.) Thankfully, it does get easier, because once the choice is made, you really won't want to go back. 

~Given the nature of Jedi training, I doubt that Luke ever needed mental health counseling.