Regrettably, I will not be posting a full-length blog this week. The events of the past few days have taken their toll on me. Under normal circumstances, the few days leading up to posting are specifically left for making final revisions. However, I haven’t been able to bring myself to concentrate on my writing long enough. I have not even been able to focus on my school work. Out of respect for myself and my mental health, I have decided to give myself grace and not post this week. I feel worn and weary. Next week I will be back with a new post, but for this week, I must rest. I pray you all have a wonderful week.
Much Love, Bri
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Dear Mom,
Happy Birthday! This year marks the first time in which we will not be together for your birthday and to tell you the truth, it makes me sad. For the past 19 years, you have selflessly put my needs ahead of your own and your birthday has always been a day to give you a break. From going out to eat to watching movies your birthday means family time. Now this year, it looks a little different. Since I can't be with you in person; I decided to write you a letter. I want to thank you for all that you've done for me. Ever since day one, you've been my biggest supporter. In elementary school, you always came to help out at Halloween, Christmas, and Valentine's Day parties. You were one of the first coaches that I've ever had and taught me that basketball is played by shoving others around with your butt. Although I found it strange at the time, that little lesson came in handy over Christmas break last year when I spent hours playing basketball with my friends. In 2006, you started taking me to swim practice and swim meets across the state. Even when I was exhausted and didn't want to swim anymore that day, you encouraged me and pushed me to keep going. You'd tell me to swim so hard that you'd have to lift me out of the pool. You dutifully kept track of my times and made sure to get all of my splits. Your voice could be heard loud and clear at any meet. Well, maybe not clear, the noise from outside of the pool sounds more like "blah blah blah,” when you’re racing, but none the less I knew you were cheering. During my years away from the pool, you followed me countless places just to watch me play tennis. Although it took you years to figure out the rules and the scoring and you still didn't have it all down when I graduated, it didn't matter; you supported me anyway. Although, I applaud you for how quiet you were during my matches even when I almost would give you a heart attack. Your nervous pacing and clenched fists when I looked over pushed me to take a few breaths and get back to playing like we both knew I could. I loved it when I heard, "Go Cupcake," and still have the card you made me for my senior state tournament in my car. My senior year when I went back to my true love, swimming, you were right there. From taking notes on how I swam to accompanying me on trips to meets, you supported me in every way you could. You’d pack too many blankets and make sure I would have enough food to fuel me through my meets. You talked to physical therapists and had them work with me to improve my flexibility so I could swim faster. You even paid for me to work with a coach each week to improve my technique. After a bad race, you would remind me that it was all okay and that one bad race was not the end of the world. I think back to my home meet senior year when you said, “I wish you would have never quit swimming,” and it makes me cry. You really did believe in me and could see the burning desire I held for the sport. Not only have you supported me in my extra-curricular activities, but you've also supported me in school and life. Although I didn’t realize it when I was young, your strong belief that homework was my responsibility and not yours taught me how to push myself. If I didn't understand something, you'd tell me that I needed to go in and ask questions. When I didn’t know what a word meant, you’d hand me a dictionary and tell me to look it up. Let’s just be clear here; I hate dictionaries, and I hated when you'd hand me one, but thank you. If it wasn’t for all of that, I don’t think I would love learning as much as I do now. In life, you've always had my back. From elementary school days when I had a hard time adjusting to a new school to now, you've shown support for me in ways I cannot imagine. For that I thank you. I know I'm not the most pleasant person to deal with at times, and I have tested you on more than one occasion, but you continue to love me. When I reached out to you because I needed help, you were right there and made sure I got the help I needed. You are nothing short of miraculous and I hope you know that. I think all of my friends would agree that you are incredibly special. You truly amaze me at the love you show for my friends. I've never known anyone else that would come home from a 12-hour shift at the hospital to start baking for their daughter’s friends simply because they want to. Then there are the never ending tennis matches when all of us would horribly under pack for the cold weather, but you would come prepared with extra clothes and blankets for all of us. Although they all had mothers of their own, you made sure they felt your love just as much as I did. Now that I’m away at college, my friends often refer to me as the mother of the group. Just like you, I usually seem to have whatever someone needs. Your famous brownie recipe is now in my memory, and I can whip them up at any time. Don't worry, though; your brownies are better, so I won't take the pleasure of making them away from you when I come back to visit. You’ve taught me what it means to be independent and love others as if they are your own. The words “thank you” seem so weak in comparison to all you have done for me. You’ve taught me how to be a better woman and the importance of laughter. You’ve shown me that you should always lick the spatula and that silly string isn’t just for kids. Most importantly, though, you've loved me and shown me how to love, and for that I cannot thank you enough. If I can one day be half of the amazing woman, wife, and mother you are, I will consider myself to be successful. Happy Birthday Mom! You don't look a day over 29! Love, Your Baby Girl P.S.- Guess what?! I love you! I'd like to start this post by saying thank you. Throughout the past week, I have received an overwhelming number of comments, e-mails, texts, snap chats, and kind words regarding my last post. Out of all of my blog posts to date, "Beautiful" has been the hardest to write. Not only did I struggle to decide what I wanted to say, but I also struggled with figuring out how I would put it all together in a way that would make sense. There was even a point in my writing when I considered completely shutting down this blog.
As a college student, I don’t always have the time to sit down and write. My days are filled with classes, studying, and different activities which make running a blog tough. I am one person in charge of writing & editing content, deciding on what content to publish & when along with every other detail you see on this site. At times I enlist help from friends, but a majority of the time, it’s just me. I’m a one woman show with God as my foundation. I started this blog under a different name on January 1st of this year. It wasn’t just some New Year’s resolution; in fact, it wasn't a resolution at all. I started writing for the world to see as a way to record my life and share my story. At the time, though, I would have never expected my story to look like it does now. A lot has happened in the past ten months, and I often wonder why, but I stand firm in my belief that God will use my story for good. In fact, He already has. Not only do I write, but I have been blessed with the incredible opportunity to share my story with friends, old and new, and minister to them in a way that I never could before. Nearly a month ago my college held an event called Take Back the Night in which I, along with other survivors of domestic and/or sexual violence, were fortunate enough to share our stories with roughly 450 people. I believe I can speak for all of us when I say that we don’t share our stories for pity or attention, but to raise awareness for a cause that has affected and touched us down to the very depths of our souls. There are things in life we can never control, but we can control how we respond to them. I’ve used this blog as a new way to cope and heal. When things become hard, it’s easy to forget the progress I’ve made and desire to turn back to my old destructive ways. However, I have worked too hard to go back now. I have my whole life ahead of me and will not allow my story hold me back. Each day, I am beyond grateful for this amazing platform that provides me with the opportunity to share my heart. I pray that in every post you will be inspired and moved. I desire to shine like a light for Christ and show others his incredible love. However, without my reader's none of this would be possible. So thank you again for all of your support. Your kind words mean the world to me and it is because of all of you that I keep writing. Thank you. Much Love, Bri If only I were taller, then I’d be beautiful.
If only I were thinner, then I’d be beautiful. If only I could do my makeup as well as her, then I’d be beautiful. If only I had hair like hers, then I’d be beautiful. If only my nose weren't so big, then I’d be beautiful. If only my hips weren’t so wide, then I’d be beautiful. If only my belly weren't so round, then I’d be beautiful. If only I didn’t look sad all the time, then I’d be beautiful. If only I was beautiful. For many people, the words above are all too familiar. I am no different. All too often I’ve become caught up in the lies of the world that tell me I must change to be beautiful. I’ve stood in front of the mirror and told myself horrible things with tears in my eyes. I’ve mentally beat myself up until I could no longer take it. I’d cope by going to the gym and pushing my body past its limit. Then I’d go home and eat next to nothing. I’d go to school then do another workout at night. My morning workouts consisted of lots of cardio, mainly running which I hate. At night, I would lift weights, a workout I truly enjoyed. However, I soon became obsessive. I’d make myself lose weight no matter what it took. Every time someone complimented me on how I looked, it only encouraged my behavior. I dedicated my time and energy into being beautiful, but I failed. In place of beauty, I obtained misery, and it fricking sucked. I was constantly tired and irritable. Anytime someone would ask me if I was doing okay, I would tell them not to worry about me, I was fine. My junior year of high school I was sleeping for only a few hours a night. Then I would get up at 4:15 a.m. to be to the gym by 5 o’clock. I’d workout then go home to shower before spending my days in class. After school, I was back at the gym by 5:15 to meet a friend for a weight lifting class. My meals consisted of eggs, spinach, and fruit. It was working, my waist was shrinking all the while my irritability was growing. I remember one night in particular in which I looked at my best friend and directly lied to her face. We had just gone to supper with a large group of people and were back at her house. Our friendship was on the line, and we were trying to talk it out. Then out of the blue, she asked me if I was eating enough. I told her not to worry that I was eating plenty of food and was fine. The truth was, I wasn’t fine. I was far from it, but because I wanted to be beautiful, I lied. This past April, fourteen months after that conversation, I asked her along with one other friend to go out to lunch. I was scared but knew I needed help. Finally, they asked me what was going on, and I told them the story. I told them how for the past four years I had constantly been harming myself in an effort to be smaller and beautiful. They listened and supported me, and asked me to please be open to professional help. Eventually, I was. Two months ago, I moved away from home. A few days before I left I looked up at one of my senior pictures on the wall. My immediate reaction was, “Why I can’t I be like the girl in the picture? She’s happy and constantly smiling.” However, a few seconds passed, and my thoughts changed to, “I don’t ever want to be that girl again.” The girl in the picture was struggling, she was in desperate need of help but was too scared to speak up. She found her worth in the number on the scale and the size of her jeans. That girl hid under layers of makeup and baggy sweaters. She believed her value was determined by the guys she dated. The girl in that picture wore a smile as a mask. Eventually, that mask shattered into a million little pieces. It hurt like hell and that girl who I once was found herself lost and confused. She spent months awake at night and slept all day. She became so unrecognizably sad and tired that the bags under her eyes started to transform into tattoos instead of temporary features. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and still I was left struggling to keep my head above water. I had gained weight, and my jeans were starting to fit a little tighter. My struggle with bulimia became worse as I tried to lose weight, but could never succeed. With only a few months until high school graduation, my grades dropped lower than they ever had been. My parents and friends tried to help me, but nothing they did worked. With that extra weight around my middle and no guy by my side, who was I? In my mind, I was worthless and ugly. I was incapable, and I was destined for failure. However, each Sunday morning I woke up and headed to church with my best friend. I prayed and prayed hoping this pain would go away. After all, what had I done to deserve any of this? I was praying and reading my Bible; I was practicing my faith, and I spent my Wednesday night’s pouring God’s love into a group of freshman girls. My heart ached with a pain deeper than I ever thought possible and I didn’t understand what was going on. I had failed to realize at the time that the pain I was going through was God’s way of protecting me. I had been on the fast-track train headed straight for a lifestyle of self-destruction and wasn’t likely to jump off anytime soon. I was upset and angry with God. I pleaded with him, just please make me better. I was experiencing brokenness in a way I never have before, and I was hating every second of it. Little did I know, that this time of feeling as if I was nothing more than a million tiny little pieces would be the best thing ever to happen to me. It separated my real friends from my fake friends and forced me to be brave. I didn’t want to feel like I was hiding anymore, so I spoke up. When those closest to me found out what was happening, I ran the risk of not being believed. The mask of happiness I had learned to wear so comfortably was ripped off, and all that remained was the cold, dark truth. At first, I considered my truth to be horrifying and ugly. I already wasn’t enough to be beautiful, now with a story like mine, I was sure to be nothing short of hideous. Depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, and sexual assault. What more could I add to my “Shit I’ve Had to Deal With” resume? After a while, I started to look at my story in a different light. Instead of looking at my story of brokenness as who I was, I began to view it as the launch pad for who I would become. I learned how to be brave by speaking up for what is right and sharing my story. It isn’t always easy. Some days I can’t bring myself to share my experiences, and that’s okay. On those days, I have to allow myself grace. My story has taught me that my beauty doesn’t depend on how much I weigh or who I have standing next to me. My beauty isn’t in worldly things but Heavenly things. I find my beauty when I trust the one who created me. It’s not always easy, and I never will pretend like it is. There are times I struggle and wonder how I am anything more than broken. It is during those trials that I look myself in the mirror and say to myself, “You are beautiful. You are loved. You are worthy, and you are enough.” Somewhere out there one of you reading this may be holding onto every word. You may find yourself relating to my story and feel as if you are struggling to breathe. It may feel as if you will never be more than you are right now, but listen as I say, when you ache, God aches. He loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurting. However, sometimes in order for him to protect, he must allow us to break. Then we must embrace that brokenness and use it for something good. Finding the good in the bad can be difficult, I know. At times I don’t know how to hang on, but then I remember: I am broken, brave, and beautiful and I love every minute of it. Happy Thursday everyone! Only one more day of the week left then it’s time to relax! Last week, I ended my post about brokenness by stating that brokenness allows for people to be exceptionally brave and beautiful. Now as promised, this week I’m going to talk all about bravery. The following quote by Veronica Roth in her book Allegiant, beautifully describes what it is to be brave. “There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater. To each person, bravery can be something different just as Roth stated.
Those in the military demonstrate it by going to war and risking their lives to defend our constitution. They are a part of something greater than themselves as they fight for our freedoms as Americans. Throughout history, thousands of American soldiers have died on the battlefield and yet each day, men and women from across the country agree to fill the roles of those now gone. Not only are these soldiers brave, but so are the family and friends they leave behind while they are away. Each day brings about worries, about whether or not their husband, wife, son, daughter, or parent will return. Worries about how they will care for their children while the other is away. Throughout it all, they keep going. Then you have the girl whose father has passed away. It’s his birthday and all around her are people whose fathers are still living. She hears them complaining about how they don’t like their dad and can’t bear it. She longs to run to them and say “Please, appreciate him while he is here! Soon he could be gone!” However, instead, she simply walks away from the situation with tears in eyes. She contemplates calling her best friend but worries she is a bother. However, she dials her friend regardless. She considers setting down the phone and picking up the bottle, but something stops her. A voice in her said tells her to leave the bottle lay and stay on the phone. She's scared but listens. When her friend picks up she tells her everything and with every ounce of courage in her body, she bravely asks for help. There are others too; that demonstrate bravery by fighting battles we cannot see. Some fight against the unforgiving grip of depression where even waking up in the morning can be extremely hard. However, through it all, they keep living even though the demons in their head tell them to end it all. Others fight back against eating disorders and anxiety. Asking friends to go to the bathroom with them after a meal to make sure they don’t purge to practicing saying, “I am kind, smart, talented, and worthy of love,” these are both examples of bravery. Even when you don’t believe the encouraging words you are saying to yourself, simply being able to say them is an act of bravery. Sometimes being brave means being vulnerable, it means sharing your story with people. It means letting others in on your deepest and darkest secrets. It means allowing others to see your scars whatever they may be. Each day brings about a new opportunity for bravery. Although we may not think of asking for assistance from a professor or coworker as brave, it can be. For some, admitting they need help is incredibly challenging and asking someone else for help is even harder. Even apologizing to someone you have wronged is brave because you don’t know how they will react. For each person bravery is different. However, throughout it all bravery has one thing in common; it is born out of fear and brokenness. Author’s Note: This is the first of three posts that will cover the topics of brokenness, bravery, and beauty. Check back every Thursday for a new post.
Brokenness, it’s something we all experience at some point in our life. To each person, it appears different. Google the phrase, “stories of brokenness” and in 0.69 seconds you receive nearly 500,000 results. Reading through the different results, you find stories of all kinds. People share their experience of domestic violence, childhood abuse, heartbreak from infidelity, and so much more. These stories shed light on painful pasts and current situations. Some are simply remembering times of brokenness they have experienced throughout their lives. Others share their stories of brokenness as it is happening in order to work towards healing. So many times brokenness is seen as something negative. Society condemns those that display any signs of brokenness, labeling them as weak or unsteady. From the woman in the grocery store crying because she has just received a call informing her of the death of a family member to the man walking out of the clinic in disbelief after hearing the words, “You have cancer.” Even the small child on the playground going home with tears after being ridiculed by bullies is shamed. For those struggling, phrases like, “Well you should be grateful you don’t have it as bad as they do,” or “You’ve got to get over it if you ever want to get better,” amongst many others are often heard. However well-meaning these phrases are, they often are more destructive than they are helpful. By comparing someone’s situation to that of another’s you are simply telling them that their feelings are not valid. This only adds to the feelings of brokenness and despair. Each person that has walked this earth has a story to tell. Some are full of never ending joy and laughter. Then there are stories that only seem to know pain. Often times the stories of people we know are not always what they seem. That guy in your English class, you know the one that seems to have it all together? He’s struggling. His struggle and feeling of brokenness are deeper than you could ever imagine. You can’t see it now because he hides it so well, but there was once a time in which he revealed it. He spoke up and was shamed by those who downplayed the seriousness of his situation. Then were the people who questioned his faith. They asked how much he was praying and reading his Bible. When he answered, they said it wasn’t enough. Didn’t he know that he was only struggling because he wasn’t praying and reading enough? As a Christian, I do believe that reading your Bible and investing in a relationship with Christ can help with healing. I say this because it has helped me and I’ve seen it help others. However, I do not find it acceptable to question someone’s faith, especially when they are struggling. Just as you would never throw a Bible at a diabetic and tell them to simply get better; you should also never do that with someone feeling broken. A diabetic goes to professionals for help, and sometimes a person struggling with brokenness also may need the help of a professional. So instead of questioning their faith, pray for them and pray with them if they allow you to. Encourage them and be willing to listen to their story without judgement. By condemning those who struggle you do not help them; instead you hurt them even more. Because of this, brokenness can often lead to low self-esteem and isolation. Those living in brokenness many times feel as if they have nowhere to go and no place to turn to. I know this because I have felt this time and time again throughout my past. Many of you reading this may have also experienced this feeling at different times in your life. You may even feel completely broken right now. If you’re someone who has previously struggled with brokenness or are in the midst of your struggle, please know that you are not alone. You may feel so broken that you are unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I promise you that it is there. The late Vance Havner said it best when he said the following: “God uses broken things. It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume. It is Peter, weeping bitterly, who returns to greater power than ever.” -Vance Havner I truly believe that just as Havner has said, “God uses broken things,” he also uses broken people. Those people are not just broken, but they are exceptionally brave and beautiful because of their brokenness. Have you ever walked into a place and felt completely lost? You didn’t know anyone and you felt almost like a small lost child? Last week Sunday, less than 24 hours after my parents dropped me off at college, I walked into a new church in a new town. I didn’t know anyone and felt clueless. I was that small child. Walking past the crowd of people and greeters, I found the sanctuary. Immediately after sitting down, the lead pastor walked up to me. He introduced himself and asked about me. Soon he directed me to the place where rest of the college group sat and invited me to join them. Having nothing to lose, I said yes. After worship, the church holds what they call “College Life.” It’s a time for college students to come together for food, fellowship, & to deepen their connection with God. Once again an invitation to join was extended, and once again I said yes. I walked into the room and sat down at a table with a girl I had never seen before. We talked for a bit and I found out she was also new to the church. She was also a freshman at the same college and we quickly hit it off. Throughout the past week, we’ve had lunch several times and shared many conversations. Other people joined us at the table, and we were all invited to go on what the group calls “24 hour epic road trips.” This road trip was to include tubing, water skiing, and just plain fun on the lake along with some Jesus time. Being the fun loving person I am, I said yes. Just don’t think my mom was too thrilled when I called her and said that I was going with a group of people that I had just met to a place I had never been. Throughout the week, I sometimes wondered what I was getting myself into. Each day, I would try and convince my new friend to go so that I wouldn’t be alone. However, I was never able to convince her. Last night as we gathered in the parking lot and loaded up the vehicles, I looked around and only recognized five faces. Out of those five faces, I had only talked to one for a few brief minutes. Once the vehicles were loaded, we gathered in a circle to pray and headed out on our way. The ride was filled with a combination of silent moments and very loud moments. We shared different parts of our lives and became familiar with where people came from. I soon felt slightly less lost. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the associate pastor of the church and the older couple who owned the home we would be spending the next 24 hours in. They showed us to our rooms and we gathered downstairs for a Bob Goff video and carrots. Yes, you read that right, I said carrots. As the video played each one of us chewed on a carrot. Take a moment to picture that in your head. Nearly twenty college aged kids sitting around a living room watching Bob Goff, eating a carrot, and laughing. The video concluded and we headed outside to sit around the fire. We ate s’mores, animal crackers, gold fish, cheese balls, and carrots while drinking pink lemonade from the carton. We sang songs of praise and worship while enjoying the stillness of the night. Prayers were spoken and we gathered together in partners to share with one another what we believe God is calling us to do. Long after most of the group had gone to bed, only a few of us remained. We shared our hardships and poured out our hearts to people who had only met within the past few hours. It was a safe zone, one in which we could freely talk without fear of judgement. We made connections and heard stories that almost resembled our own. The night ended as the four of us held our hands together in prayer. This morning when we awoke, we made a special time for devotions. I sat out on the dock and read from my Bible while the cooking team prepared breakfast. I felt a sense of calm and peace that I continue to feel even now as I am back in my dorm room typing. Being surrounded by people who hardly knew me, but accepted me anyway was a feeling like no other. Our day was spent out on the lake. We tubed, rode on the jet ski, and I even learned how to waterski. Meals were shared gathered around the table out on the patio and hearts were renewed. All of this wouldn’t have been possible if I wouldn’t have said yes. Now as I sit in my dorm room, I can’t wait to get up and go to church in the morning where I will once again be surrounded by those same people. So I encourage you this week, to go out and try something out of your comfort zone. All it takes is for you to just say yes. Exactly one month ago at this time, I was on a cruise ship in the Caribbean with seven family members. We had just left from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, that morning and were filled with excitement. This was my very first cruise and I had no idea what to expect. The ship was larger than I ever imagined possible and the views were stunning.
Our first two days of the trip were spent at sea and were filled with many onboard activities. What was our favorite activity? Eating. We made many trips to the different dining options and loaded up on everything you can imagine. From escargot to seafood spaghetti and eggplant parmesan to lasagna, we devoured more food than what seemed humanly possible. Our late night favorite was frozen yogurt and we gobbled up rice pudding to no end. All I can say is yum! The morning of the third day we woke up with a view of the beautiful island of St. Marteen. I instantly felt awakened and excitement filled me. Our shore excursion for the day included a sailboat tour on which we made a swimming stop. At first I was just simply excited for it, but little did I know that on our swimming stop, things would change. An avid swimmer myself, I was eager to jump off the boat and in to the crystal clear waters. Suit on and a smile on my face, I climbed over the rail and jumped. My heart sunk and I felt strange, but quickly an overwhelming sense of peace came upon me. I hit the water and immediately could taste its saltiness. I smiled and wanted to jump again. For the first time in months, I felt completely at peace and joy radiated from me. I simply have no explanation for what I felt that day, except that it must be a God thing. The weeks leading up to the trip were very hard for me. It seemed like everything in the universe was working against me. I had written my blog post titled, “What You Don’t See,” and was working hard to be better. Going away was exactly what I needed. I’m a firm believer in the verse, Jeremiah 29:11. It states, “’For I know the plans I have for you says’ the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I truly believe that all of this was all a part of his miraculous plan for my life. Without the pain and sorrow felt before the trip, I never would have been able to experience the fullness of his wonderful grace. As I readied myself to jump off, I never expected what was to come. We made two more stops on this trip before returning back to Fort Lauderdale. One stop was in Puerto Rico where we took a tour of beautiful San Juan. From the colorful buildings to the stunning fort and having my picture taken with parrots, I couldn’t have been happier. It was an adorable city. Labadee, Haiti, was our final stop. There we kayaked through the beautiful waters. Well, most of us kayaked. My uncle and I ended up having to be towed across the water by the rescue boat along with another couple. Instead of going straight, we ended up going in circles the whole time. Regardless of how we made it across, it was still a blast and a memory I will never forget. The afternoon was spent zip lining on the longest zip line in the Caribbean and swimming in the water. Without my fabulous family, especially my aunt and uncle, this trip would not have been possible. For them I am forever grateful. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been smiling and laughing more than I once thought possible. I still have a long road ahead of me in my recovery, but I’m doing better. I’ve been planning more adventures and am excited for things to come. What I thought was just going to be a fun-filled family vacation, turned into something much more. It turned into a trip of healing for me. The day I jumped off the sailboat, I jumped into joy and I don’t plan on letting that feeling go anytime soon. I posted this picture on Instagram a few days ago. In it, you see me smiling and messing around while waiting for a train. It appears that I am extremely happy and don’t have a care in the world. You’d be wrong though.
Social media has provided a place for people to express the best parts of themselves while hiding the worst parts. I am no different. I post pictures that portray my life as one of pure fun and excitement. However, under all of that is a different person, a person that you don’t see. What you don’t see is the immense amount of effort it takes for me to put on a smile. You don’t see me as I sit surrounded by a group of family and friends, and yet feel as if they are miles away. You don’t see my cousin trying to have a conversation, but I’m so distant that I don’t notice their presence. What you don’t see is me as I lay in bed at night, tears roll down my face, my body shakes, and I feel hands of a former lover on me. I go through more tissues than you can imagine and it feels as if I can’t breathe. Sleep is hard to come by and sometimes I can’t sleep alone. When sleep finally comes, I usually awake in the same manner I fell asleep in. What you don’t see are the tears I cry in the shower. I try to wash it all away, but I cannot. It doesn’t matter how hard I scrub my body, the feeling is still there. What you don’t see is the discomfort I feel in receiving a hug or a pat on the back. The moment may be brief, but afterwards I feel hands on me and it makes my flesh crawl. There are times when hugs aren’t so bad, but I have to mentally prepare for those beforehand. What you don’t see is all the time I’ve taken off of work to escape my hometown. So far I’ve only spent two days off in town, otherwise I leave. I spend time with cousins, aunts, and uncles. Leaving makes me feel better. No longer do I have to drive by places or see people that bring up uncomfortable memories. I plan my trips so I don’t arrive back to town until I have to be to work. My drive back is always filled with tears and panic. The thought of family and friends helps to calm me. What you don’t see is someone who has spent time damaging her body in an effort to look better. Waking up and doing multiple insane workouts each day and restricting food was easy. But eating and purging was easier. I could go out on dates and eat. When we’d go back home, I’d use the restroom to purge and then pretend I was fine and continue on. My family has a history of acid reflux so no one ever suspected something more was wrong and I kept it that way. What you don’t see is when I walk in late to in-service every other Friday because I am coming from my therapy session. You don’t see the breathing exercises I’ve been assigned to help calm myself. You don’t see that the journaling I do is to help calm anxiety and how the slightest thing can make me burst out in tears. What you don’t see are the tears streaming down my face as I listen to my psychiatrist say, “It is obvious that you have severe depression, anxiety, and eating disorder symptoms.” Then more tears stream down my face as he writes a prescription for medications to help me feel better. All of this is what you don’t see. It’s unfortunate, yet simply amazing how one simple picture can hide so much. Too often we are tricked into believing that others have a perfect life simply by the content they post. Often times we don’t look beyond a simple picture and realize the person may be fighting every day. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to ask my family or friends for some simple encouragement. One friend and coworker even decorated my locker with silly screenshots of me and made a little sign that says, “I love you,” as a reminder of what I often forget. I am currently in the process of recovery and working hard. There are days when it isn’t always easy and I would rather just forget about the world, but I keep fighting. I have my good days and I have my bad days. My friends and family have shown phenomenal support. I pray like crazy and try to keep my body in good physical condition. Although the battle takes place inside my head, I’ve been instructed on the importance of keeping my physical health in top condition. I ride my bike to work when I can to ease anxiety and listen to “Pride,” by American Authors on repeat (Thank you Crystal for introducing it to me!). Like the song says, “I ain’t never giving up, I ain’t never ever, I ain’t never ever giving up my pride,” I also won’t give up. Sure, there are days that absolutely suck, but pushing through those days is helping to make me stronger. This is my story and there are others like me. My picture does a good job of hiding my story, but remember that what you don’t see, is me. Writing, it’s something that usually comes so easy to me. It’s what I do to release stress and clear my mind. Through written word I am able to release my feelings and voice my thoughts. For me, it’s a form a therapy.
When I started this blog at the beginning of the year, I did so with the intent to of recording my life events. There are times when I am more willing to share what is happening in my life and times when I keep quiet about things. Lately, I’ve been fairly quiet about my life. It is not good or bad, it just is. I’ve been very busy between multiple graduations including my own, a cousin’s wedding, work, and other things. It is hard to find time to just sit down and write a blog. Don’t get me wrong, I have still been writing throughout this time. I journal often and I try to write a little snippet each day. Right now, I am currently just experiencing a time of unwillingness to share. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to write about graduation, the pool opening up again, or what I’m doing for fun, but I just can’t. There have been countless times that I have sat down with the intention of writing, but instead put my laptop aside and grab my journal instead. So, for those that have been wondering and asking it is not that I haven’t wanted to write, I have. I just simply haven’t been able to for a while. Hopefully, I’ll be able to write soon. For now, know that although I don’t post much about what is going on, I am still writing. I am just writing for me. |
AuthorHello everyone, I'm Bri! Here you can find me writing about life in order to help provide you with encouragement and hope. Want to find out more about me? Go visit my "About Me" page! Happy reading! Archives
April 2017
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