I don’t really know how things work up there. One thing is for certain though, from here on out...my worst days, are your very best now. Eleven years gone too soon, but one day closer always.
It was a few days after my 26th birthday. My oldest cousin Nick — the sweetest, kindest, most outgoing and lively human bean you ever did meet — took his own life. I’ll never forget that phone call from my mom when she told me the news: one minute I was sitting at my desk, and the next my life was forever changed.
Grief changes you at your core, but suicide is a whole different realm.
There were so many questions left unanswered. And guilt, just this overwhelming sense of guilt, a feeling that I could’ve done or said something – I should’ve done or said something – to prevent this from happening. A reaction that is often had and felt when someone you love takes their life on their own accord. From the outside looking in, he seemed to be okay. We’d talked frequently on the phone, filling each other in on our jobs, our lives, and Colorado sports. But there was a deeper pain that was living inside of him that he did not talk about. A pain that was just too hard to bear.
I found out later that Nick had been dealing with severe depression for quite a while, turning to alcohol to numb and quiet his thoughts and heartache.
There are many complex reasons and factors that go into a suicide attempt, but possibly the most simple way to explain it is that the individual’s perception of their pain outweighs any hope they may have for the future.
This was the case for my cousin.
Yes, it does get better and there is support out there – but that doesn’t necessarily mean the person in question feels that way. The reality they may be living in might be quite different from the way you perceive their life from the outside.
It’s easy, for instance, to look at a successful, seemingly outgoing and happy person and think that they are thriving. But we honestly have no idea what people go through – whether they’re suffering from depression, acute loneliness, anxiety, or another mental health issue that may be affecting their day-to-day functioning. Until you’ve been in a suicidal person’s shoes, it can be difficult to discern how excruciating their pain might feel.
Addiction can be a silent killer as well, and is another leading cause of suicide. Not only does substance abuse increase the likelihood that someone will attempt suicide, it may even be used as part of the attempt. When people are under the influence of drugs and alcohol, their inhibitions can be lowered, their impulses can run the show and any existing mental health conditions can also be exacerbated.
After Nick’s death, I was inconsolable. Not only because I missed him — I did and still do, terribly — but also because he had so much to live for. We all did. We were so young. Youth is often wasted on the young, as they say.
He hardly had that chance to waste it though, before it was wasted on him.
It felt unfair. It was unfair. Loss always is, especially in this way.
I am now the exact age Nick was when he took his life, almost to the day. It’s really made me think about the idea of life and death, our mortality, in a whole other light. It’s made me more in tune with how the people around me are feeling–truly feeling. Time is the one thing we all wish we had more of, but sometimes it can be taken away from us without so much as a warning. With the passing of my cousin, and so many others I know who have lost loved ones to suicide, we are so strongly reminded that these issues do not discriminate and that mental health is something that needs to be prioritized.
I have spoken with my husband and with good friends who have all lost someone they love this way. My dad, a retired colonel in the Air Force, has lost many great friends and fellow soldiers after they took their lives, the weight of the world just too heavy to carry anymore. Suicide is a silent epidemic that is only growing and becoming more prevalent by the minute. It leaves survivors constantly questioning “Why?” and “How?” I don’t think we ever really get the answers. At least not the ones we want to hear.
Unfortunately, there is still a great amount of emotional invalidation, stigma, misinformation, harmful stereotyping, and shame surrounding the topic of suicide.
That’s why it’s so important to continue the conversation.
It’s important to talk about why suicide attempts and ideation occur.
It’s important to destigmatize the suffering of those who may be shouldering their pain in silence.
It’s important to be mindful of how we treat those who choose to share their struggles, that not everyone may be as open in coming forward or reaching out for help.
It’s important to be there for the ones we love, to show kindness and grace, and to try and not put blame on those who have taken their own lives, but instead honor and remember them in every possible way we can.
There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t miss Nick, or think about him: what he would be doing now, if he’d be happy, if our lives would be different. I like to think he would be married, maybe even have a couple of kiddos. He would coach youth soccer and jam out on his guitar with friends on the weekends. Most importantly, he would be happy. Really happy.
I can only hope that he finally found peace and that he is finally…free.
I love you, dooder.
For more information about suicide prevention and actionable items you can take to spread awareness, you can visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.
Oof, do you ever wake up some mornings and just feel like you got hit by a car?
‘Cause samesies.
But maybe that’s because I did. Get hit by a car, that is. Kinda wild, right? Trust me, I don’t think there will ever come a day when I’m not in total shock. Definitely did NOT have that on my Bingo card for happening. Like, ever.
But it did. And I think I’m at the point mentally and physically (yer gurl is typing this with her right arm wut??!!!) that I can talk about it. Write about it. Start working through the trauma of what happened. I think at least for me, that’s the biggest first step towards healing.
The Accident
On October 1st while out on a morning run, a run that I’ve done a thousand times before, I was struck by a vehicle while crossing a small neighborhood intersection. I was almost in the middle of the road when a car driving directly towards me made a very fast right hand turn. Without slowing down, the car hit me on my right side. Maybe it was instinct, but I threw my right arm out, almost as if I was trying to stiff arm this very large vehicle moving towards me. My arm hit the car and I flew into the air, landed on the hood, and fell hard onto the pavement below me.
Lying on the road, completely in shock as to what had just happened, I opened my eyes and saw the car drive away.
Yep. The jerkface who just hit a human being (me) with their CAR (!!!) had the balls to just speed off. I don’t understand how they could do something like that. I don’t think I ever will. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was shock. Maybe it was just a complete and utter lack of human decency and compassion. Whatever it was, they fled the scene, leaving me in the middle of the street wondering what the heck just happened.
As I slowly gained consciousness back, and realized the brevity of the situation, I called Mike in tears. Thankfully I had my phone on me and was able to call for help.
“I just got hit by a car.”
The Aftermath
The next 8 hours were a blur—there was a slew of policemen asking questions and taking notes, an ambulance ride to the hospital where they took my vitals and stabilized my arm, head and neck as best they could, and an incredible medical team who immediately went to work treating my injuries.
The prognosis:
A concussion.
Four staples in my head.
An elbow that had been shattered into pieces.
Some gnarly cuts, gashes, scratches and bruises.
And a very mentally shaken me.
I went home that afternoon in a daze.
I think anytime you go through a traumatic experience, your mind tries to immediately understand and process the situation. As your body physically starts to begin the healing process, your mind is left to pick up the pieces, to try and find the answers to the questions that are running through your head.
How could this have happened?
Is there something I could’ve done differently to prevent this horrible accident?
Why didn’t that driver slow down when they saw me?
Why did they just drive away?
How am I gonna get through this?
A lot of unknowns, friends. A lot of feelings and emotions.
Healing Isn’t Linear
Healing is a very peculiar, funny and non-linear thing. It’s a very up-and-down, janky, rolly-polly thing.
It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, of thoughts, of progress and regression and progress again. I think the thing that has surprised me the most though throughout all of this is the giant wave of feelings I’ve felt over the last month or so.
Guilt and Shame
There was definitely a sense of guilt and self-blame at first. If only I ran a different route that morning, left earlier in the day, later. What if I hadn’t even gone for a run? This might not have ever happened.
But that’s just so silly. I know that now. This accident wasn’t my fault in the slightest. I was out doing something I love, something I have done a million times before. As a pedestrian who was following the rules of the road, who had the right of way, who was VERY much at a disadvantage against anything made out of metal and steel with four wheels, this was simply an unfortunate yet extremely terrible accident. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Despite not being at fault for what happened, I have recognized that healing from it IS my responsibility. Because if it isn’t, an unfair circumstance becomes an unlived life. And bleh, that just sounds awful and NOT what I ever plan on doing.
Fear, Anger, and Sadness
The second wave of emotions involved this sense of fear, anger, and sadness. I just couldn’t shake what had happened. Anytime I would close my eyes, I was right back there –the car, the accident, the pain coursing through every inch of my body. It was like watching a scary movie or reliving a nightmare on loop–you knew when the scary parts were gonna happen but you couldn’t do anything to stop them.
I was scared to leave the house. The sound of screeching tires, honking horns, and even being close to a car sent me into a fit of uncontrollable shaking and tears.
Anytime I’d look down and see the giant L-shaped scar on my arm, I was reminded of what had happened. Anytime I’d feel pain or discomfort, I’d get angry for what had happened, at the person who did this.
I would get extremely frustrated that I could no longer do things that once came so simple and without even thinking. Acts like simply brushing my teeth, using my computer mouse, putting on a shirt and eating now took concentrated effort, were painful, and sometimes weren’t even possible without the assistance from someone else. Talk about humbling.
Part of me felt like I lost myself, too. Running has always been my happy place, my outlet to destress and think. It’s my biggest passion. I feel like that was taken from me the moment that car struck. Physically I will soon be able to run again. But I think it’s going to take some time for me to work up to running outside again, being on the road, without fear of being hurt.
My sense of safety was compromised that day, stolen. That doesn’t just come back overnight.
I guess I just felt so powerless to my emotions, powerless to the situation, powerless in my own body.
There are moments when I still do.
But as the days go by, I’m slowly regaining some of the power back.
The Uncomfortableness of Asking For Help
The next wave of emotion came when I realized that, well shoot. This very independent, need-to-take-care-of-others gal all of a sudden was very much in need of some care herself. I’ve always had the hardest time asking for help, allowing others to provide that help. I never want to feel like I’m a burden (something we’re definitely working through in therapy lol). But I simply had no choice this time–I had to rely on the people in my life that I love and who love me, to help put me back on my feet again.
And goodness, I am BEYOND thankful and grateful for those beautiful souls in my life who were there when I needed them the most. My friends, my family, my coworkers, and especially my wonderful husband Mike.
I cannot even begin to express the overwhelming amount of gratitude, adoration, and love I have for this incredible man. In my scariest moments, in the moments when I felt like I couldn’t pick myself up, he was there to hold my hand, to wipe the tears from my face, and to tell me that everything was going to be okay.
Not only did Mike literally save my life, but he has also been there for me every step of the way as I slowly pick up the pieces, being the shoulder I figuratively and literally lean on as I ever so softly begin to heal my head and my heart.
From helping to wash my hair and making sure I eat, to getting me in and out of bed, making sure I’m comfortable and always making me ugly snort-laugh and smile like a total goober, Mike has been an absolute superhero. My rock. My steady ground and biggest supporter. On top of everything else that he is juggling right now (it’s A LOT), he has sacrificed so much in order to be right by my side through it all.
How in the heck did I get so lucky?!
Hope
I still have my hard days, moments when I struggle, times when I get a little sad. But for the most part, I am feeling so gosh darn hopeful. Hopeful that I will get through this, hopeful that I will regain the use of my arm again, hopeful that they will find out who was driving that car early that Sunday morning.
I have quite a ways to go until I get back to where I was before the accident, but I have also come a long ways from where I was after it. And that I have to celebrate. That, I have to be incredibly proud of.
Everyday We’re Getting a Little Stronger
I was a victim of a horrible accident.
But I’m also a survivor. I’m alive. I’m a badass!
I went though the most traumatic experience of my life and was able to walk away. That’s pretty dang incredible.
Despite feeling like a somewhat broken human right now, I’m also incredibly grateful. There no doubt was a guardian angel looking over me that day. And every day after.
This has been by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. I am tested constantly on my will, on my strength, on my fortitude and hope. But we’re doing it. Little by little I’m getting there.
The scars will fade. My arm will regain its mobility and I’ll start to feel whole and safe again.
Until then, I will practice the utmost grace and patience, and lean on the people I love and who love me. I truly have the most amazing humans by my side.
And to the driver who hit me, I hope you find the power to forgive yourself (and find it in your heart to come forward and clear your conscience).
I’ll be back stronger than ever, fam (it’ll be with a bionic arm, but I’ll be back).
When I first my amazing fiancé Mike just over three years ago, one of the things he was so incredibly proud to share with was me was that he was a dad to two equally amazing kiddos — Lucy and Jude.
I won’t lie, friends.
I was a little intimidated.
Okay, a lot.
I was a lot intimidated.
I love kids. Huge fan of tiny humans. And even pictured myself having one or two of my own some day. But at the time, I wasn’t sure I was ready, equipped, prepared for what that might mean. Would they even like me?
These were all questions that rumbled through my head and heart.
But then I went and kinda sorta really fell in love with Mike…on our second date lol. And all of those thoughts flew out the proverbial window because I knew these incredible kiddos were going to be a part of my life.
I remember the first time I met them.
Mike and I had talked seriously about when the perfect time would be to make this most special of introductions. As a parent, you want to protect your kids’ hearts as much as possible. I didn’t want Mike to ever feel rushed or under a certain timeline. I wanted it to be right. For all parties involved.
We decided about five months into seriously dating that I would come over to their apartment for breakfast.
Oh my goodness, when I tell you how insanely nervous I was. I wanted them to like me so badly. Mike was quickly becoming the most important person in my life, and I was getting to meet the most important people in his. This was a huge moment. I didn’t want to screw things up.
As soon as I walked in carting my homemade banana bread (which the kids still talk about to this day, ha!), I instantly felt like I was home.
They were seriously the sweetest, kindest, and most inquisitive kids that I had ever met. Truly an extension of Mike. Lucy walked up to me, after having only known me for exactly 2.5 seconds, gave me a big hug, and said, “We finally get to meet the person that dah can’t stop smiling about.”
A puddle.
I melted right then and there.
It’s been three years since these amazing kiddos became such a big part of my life.
Three years since I’ve taken on the most special role I’ve held to date: Bonus Mom. (My incredible mother-in-law told me one time that I’m not a stepmom, I’m a bonus mom and it completely changed how I felt and viewed my role in their lives.)
Three years of learning, growing, adapting, trying to find my way in this very unique dynamic.
If I’m being completely honest (which I will always be with you), it hasn’t always been easy.
Coming into an established family is hard. It’s really hard.
These four people — Mike, the kids, and their biological mom, were a family unit at one point. They shared a life together, memories together, laughter and love together. It can feel sometimes like you’re the odd dock out. Even now, after all of this time, I do have moments where I think about all the time I missed out on, the things they (collectively) have that I will never be a part of.
Another thing? I don’t quite know my place sometimes.
They already have a mom. One who loves them very, very much. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for a parent to have their kids being partly raised by another woman. Everything I do, every decision I make on behalf of the kids, is lead with thoughts of empathy and respect because of that. But I also want her to know that I love them as if they were my own. I may not have given them the gift of this life, but life absolutely gave me the gift of them.
I will never, ever replace her, but I will always be the first person to give them guidance, support, advice, an overabundance of love, and will do I everything I can to make sure they’re happy and healthy.
Being a bonus mom can also feel a little lonely.
When I’m having a bad day, am doubting my parenting skills, or there is particular tension or disagreements with the other half of the co-parenting unit, I don’t really know who to talk to, to vent to, to ask questions, and get advice from. Mike is wonderful, and is always there to talk through things with me, of course. But sometimes I would love to get an outside perspective, someone who isn’t so close to the situation. There just aren’t a lot of people who share this unique position, and as such, I’ve had to really learn as I go.
But I guess that’s being a parent in general, huh? You will doubt yourself. You will wonder if you’re doing it “right.” You will probably make mistakes along the way, and get lost, and constantly worry about them (CONSTANTLY!) and will call your mom in tears, asking her, “How did you do thisssssssss?!”
And you know what?
That’s okay.
It’s all a part of the journey that’s distinctly unique to you.
I think one of the biggest lessons that I’ve learned so far, however, has been one of humility.
There is a level of selflessness that comes when you are caring for another human (or humans). When you once had all the time in the world to do whatever your heart’s content, you are now a full-time chauffer, cook, homework helper, laundry queen, counselor, and sometimes, disciplinarian (although, woof, I am realllllllllllly, really not good at that part lol).
And sometimes, all of those things don’t get appreciated, at least as outwardly as you’d think or would like.
This is also something that makes me especially grateful to my parents for (besides really just being the GREATEST examples of what loving, supportive, caring, thoughtful and the best parents should be. Thank you, mom and dad. A million times thank you.). They did so much for my sister and I when we growing up. SO. MUCH. They still do. And I’m discovering that as a parent, bonus or biological, you don’t do these things to get recognition (although anytime the kids thank me for taking them to practice or making them cookies, I melt all over again). You do them, because you love them. You want them to have a full and beautiful life. You want them to grow and develop and become well-rounded young adults. You want them to be happy.
So yes, being a bonus mom can be hard. Heck, being a parent can be hard.
But it can also be the most wonderful thing you will ever do.
Being a part of Lucy and Jude’s lives, and creating our own little family unit that is so full of love, has been the greatest thing I will ever do.
Mike and I are a team. A pretty fantastic team, if I do say so myself. And I love, more than anything, raising Lucy and Jude together.
Helping to shape their outlook on life.
Guiding them through the messy bits, the hard bits, the uncertainty and doubt.
Celebrating their wins, their accomplishments, the times they were afraid but did the dang thing anyway.
The smiles, the hugs, the laughter, and heart talks.
These are the things that make everything worth it.
I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve been trying to find the words to express how I feel for some time now.
You see, it’s been over a month since you unexpectedly let me go, and while I carried the weight of pain, confusion, and shock on my shoulders for a good long while, I’ve finally been able to move on, to take a breath, to see you for who and what you are.
And goodness, what I saw wasn’t pretty.
And that makes me sad.
Because I thought we had something special.
You brought me onto your team over a year and half ago with open arms. And during my time there, I not only made real connections with my amazing coworkers, but I did great work.
Work I truly believed in. Work that I was proud of. Work that helped take your company to the next level.
I remember thinking to myself during those early honeymoon period days that this was the best thing that had ever happened to me career-wise.
“How did I get so lucky?”, I asked myself over and over again.
But then…something changed.
Red flags started to pop up, slow and soft at first, but then quicker and louder.
I was worried all of the time, restless, anxious, and stressed. I felt like any small infraction was going to be the tipping point. I started to question not only my work, but who I was as a person.
I’ve always considered my kindness and positivity one of my greatest strengths, but I was told, over and over again that all I saw were “butterflies and rainbows.” I was mocked repeatedly. I was made to feel small.
“You’re too nice,” they said. “You need to stop being such a doormat,” they said.
When I finally did stand up for myself, for others who I saw were being mistreated, I was punished for it. Gaslit. Told that leadership wasn’t ever going to change, but instead it was me to had to simply learn how to deal with it.
And deal with it I did, or at least tried to.
I kept my head down. I continued to give 110% every day. I worked so hard, for so long, and I didn’t get so much as a “Thank you”, a “Good job!”, a “We see the work you’re doing and we appreciate the heck out of you!” In fact, you did the opposite; you straight up told me that my position, my work, wasn’t valued. It wasn’t the priority. And if I wanted that appreciation, I would have to look for another job, at another company.
That was the moment I truly felt like I didn’t matter. That I was disposable.
Do you know how that feels, Management?
Let me tell you. It doesn’t feel great.
Initially when you denied my raise, then a week later, told me we could revisit and discuss that matter again, only to be laid off that very next week, I did take it personal.
I thought it was me.
Something I did. Or didn’t do.
Was I not the best writer I could be? Was I too nice? How could they just let me go so easily?
Well, former bosses, I want you to know that you can rest easy, because I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t me. It was you.
You can pretend the blame rests on me, because that’s easier than addressing the harder issue. I’m the one in the wrong because I didn’t communicate my qualms so easily as you did. Never mind that you were the one who shut down those lines of communication in the first place. You can ignore the double standards you set up, the atmosphere that your arbitrary policies and passive-aggressive emails created. Just focus on how I messed up. Life is easier when you assume someone needed to be let go because they weren’t an asset. At best, they weren’t the right one. Your perfect fit. We’ll ignore the part where a “perfect fit” is someone who sits with and ignores injustices, or the type of person that no one wants to be or be around.
And you’re right: maybe there was more I could do. Maybe I could’ve found new ways of communicating. Maybe I could’ve been the one to make you realize where you were going wrong and help you try to fix it. Maybe I was too wrapped up in my own very hard life challenges that were going on (that you didn’t seem to care about) to really see things for what they were. But I was exhausted. Emotionally and mentally and physically exhausted. You pass a point in a toxic situation and there’s no turning back. In a weird way, you did me a huge favor. And in a weird way, I should be thanking you.
But I hope, despite all of this, we can remain civil. As much as you have hurt me, I can’t burn that bridge just yet. In some messed up, co-dependent way, I still need you. There are people who might call you, asking about me as a person. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum, since I know how awkward of a situation that must be – new administration talking with old – but it’s bound to happen.
I wish only the best for you.
Maybe someday you’ll realize the error of your ways. Maybe someday you’ll come around and change how you act and interact. Maybe you’ll recognize that we’re all flawed human beings who need an extra moment of understanding before reacting. Maybe you’ll actually practice that “culture” that you’re always preaching. Or maybe you’ll just find that “perfect fit”, someone who is completely okay with a lack of support or respect or communication. Someone who will nearly kill themselves to fulfill those unrealistic expectations you have. Someone who will never try to challenge or question you. And you can sit back in your meeting room, office coffee warming your palms, and congratulate yourself and finally, finally finding that right someone for your company.
But Management, that person is not me.
Best regards, Your now happy and much more confident ex-employee
I was going to start this by saying that I’m sorry for always talking so much about #mentalhealth but then I caught myself and audibly had a lil chuckle.
Because why would I ever apologize??
This stuff is super dupes IMPORTANT and I am more than willing to hold the gauntlet any day.
For a good portion of my day today, I laid on my couch, hung out with my cats, and held ice packs over my swollen eyes. A direct result of having yet another sleepless night where I tossed and turned, anxiety taking hold of the steering wheel. Life has been kind of heavy and hard as of late, and when it gets that way, I have a difficult time turning my brain off. I worry, I contemplate, I try to quiet the thoughts of defeat, failure, fear, and uneasiness that run circles in my mind. It’s a whole process, really. Maybe you can relate?
Have I been better? You’re darn tootin. But I also have never been stronger.
That’s a funny concept with mental health. It sometimes appears to others that you’re living a perfect life, thriving – when in reality you’re completely falling apart. On the other hand, it can appear to them that you’re suffering – when actually you’re fighting and flourishing. It really can be both.
The truth is, despite it all, I love this big ‘ol beautiful jumble of a brain that I have. She is clever, she is strange, she is painfully empathetic. She would give the shirt off of her back to a complete stranger if they needed it more, she loves anything and everything she comes across. She has felt a lot (thank goodness for writing) but most importantly, she has fought.
She has fought for who she knows she is. For the person she knows was handmade by the wittiest, most sovereign of artists. She has never given up. And deserves to remember those things. YOU deserve to remember those things.
Even — and especially when — your brain is convincing you of the opposite. In the deepest part of your spirit, you know who you REALLY are. Please keep showing up for them! For us! We are all worth that.
On #MentalHealthDay (a day that should be every day tbh), I wanted to remind you that taking care of yourself is productive and a priority.
Check in on yourself, on your loved ones. You only have one head and one heart and they beat and think in only the most uniquely you way possible. Be sure to give them a lil TLC.
And if you ever need to chat, about anything, I am always just a text, DM, phone call, and surprise drop-in with coffee and donuts away.
Since a very young age, I’ve struggled with feeling anxious, worried and at times, just so overwhelmed.
Maybe you can relate?
When I feel things, I feel them fully and without conviction. I not only carry the weight of my own heart, but I also carry that of others as well. When the ones I love are hurting, I hurt. When people around me are scared, sad and suffering, I feel that pain. And I try to do everything I can to make it better, to make them feel better. Sometimes at the detriment to my own mental health.
My wonderful and amazing boyfriend Mike told me that being an empath is one of my greatest attributes, and he’s absolutely right. It makes me who I am. In a world that can often be so cruel and hard, I remain soft, caring, kind, hopeful. And I honestly think that’s pretty incredible.
But friends, feeling all the things and trying to carry those burdens can also be one of my biggest downfalls.
You see, when you take on that much heaviness, it can start to wear on you. Two years ago I experienced my first panic attack. Multiple, actually. I had never felt so completely not in control of my own body before. It was terrifying. My heart was racing. Every breath I took felt like concrete coursing through my lungs. It was almost as if there was this dark and menacing cloud that I just couldn’t get out of.
The panic attacks haven’t been nearly as frequent as they once were, but I still have moments of doubt, of fear, of helplessness. I think that’s all part of being human.
May is #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, an opportunity to truly bring to light the importance of looking after your head and your heart, and to have these sometimes difficult but open, honest and poignant dialogues and discourse about the struggles we all can face from time to time.
I have the most amazing life, and am blessed beyond measure for so many different reasons. But it’s important for me to be honest. And the truth is, I still struggle asking for help, and still feel bad anytime I feel bad.
That’s a funny concept with mental health.
It can sometimes appear to others that you’re living this perfect life, thriving – when in reality you’re struggling to keep your head above water. On the other hand, it can appear to people on the outside that you’re suffering – when actually you’re fighting and flourishing. It really can be both.
Despite it all, I love this big ole mess of a brain that I have. She is clever, she is funny, she is kind and positive and painfully empathetic. She doesn’t know a stranger, she loves anything and everything she comes across. She has felt a lot (thank goodness for writing 😅) but most importantly, she has fought. She has fought for who she knows she is. For the person she knows was handmade by the wittiest, most sovereign of artists. She has never given up. And deserves to remember those things. YOU deserve to remember those things. Even when your brain is convincing you of the opposite. In the deepest part of your spirit, you know who you REALLY are. Please keep showing up for them! For us! We are all worth that.
There will be days that are a little rockier, a little heavier, a little harder.
And on those days, I try to remind myself to simply: Try.
Try to breathe.
Try to be kind to myself.
Try to listen to my needs.
Try to write.
Try to move.
Try my best.
Try again.
Just, try.
So this is me trying.
Breathing, being, believing that just as it always has, the fog will lift. And whatever space you’re in right now, I hope you’ll keep trying too. Because this world needs both of us. All of us.
“Do you hear that on the wind?” she said. “It says I am so many mountains more than the way you made me feel.” — Atticus Poetry
It was a little after seven o’clock on an early spring evening. The air was crisp with just a touch of sweetness stemming from the trees that had only just begun to bloom. And the sun, which had just settled behind the mountains to the west, gave way to the most brilliant moon-lit sky.
It was one of those nights that just made you happy to be alive, happy to be in that moment.
I had just wrapped up work for the day and was making the long walk across the beautiful Regis University campus to my car, a routine I had grown to really look forward to. It was the perfect way to unwind after a long day; just me, my music, and my thoughts.
I never ever had any reason to feel uneasy or unsafe. This was something I had done every day for the past three years, after all. It was something that became second nature to me: walking past the big weeping willow tree, over the tiny footbridge, and past the baseball fields that were now fully animated with cracks of the bat and players anxiously awaiting the new season that lay before them.
It was because of this that I also didn’t think anything of it when a stranger stopped me halfway on the walk to my car to say hi.
This stranger, an older man in gray sweatpants and a blue baseball cap, was standing in front of that tiny footbridge next to his bicycle. He waved at me, smiled, and introduced himself as “Father Woody”, someone I had heard about in the short time I had been at Regis who headed up the community service and outreach projects here at the university. I was honestly honored to meet the man I had read so much about, the man who had done so much good for the members of the Regis and surrounding neighborhood communities.
As I approached the bridge, he smiled again, although this time it wasn’t as friendly as before. Stepping in my direct path, he held out his hand and said, “Now wait just a second, beautiful. You’re gonna have to give me a hug first if you want to cross this bridge.” I was a little weirded out for sure, but gave him the benefit of the doubt, laughing it off as a joke, a man just trying, albeit horribly, to be nice and funny to a young woman just trying to get home. He proceeded to move to the middle of the path, saying in a much firmer tone, “You must have not heard me correctly; you need to give me a hug.”
Do you ever get this uneasy, pit-in-your-stomach feeling? A feeling that shoots a message to your brain that something just isn’t right?
What happened next was somewhat of a blur. The man grabbed my arm and dug his fingernails into my wrist with such speed and force that I was stunned. Maybe it was adrenaline, or fear, or a distinct feeling that I needed to get out of there and get out of there ASAP, but I pulled away and ran to my car, not without hearing him exclaim in a tone that still sends a shiver down my spine, “You just gave me a god damn woody!”
*It turns out that this man was not, in fact, Father Woody. He was a mentally-disturbed man who got his kicks off of sexually insulting and physically abusing young women. Of course, looking back on it now, I should’ve seen the signs that something wasn’t right. But hindsight is 20/20, so they say.
The weird thing was, I got home that night and really didn’t think it was that big of deal. I remember calling my sister and telling her what had happened, the shock and anger in her voice is still something I won’t ever forget. It wasn’t until that very next morning when I saw the man again on campus, this time riding his bike through the first floor of my office, the look he gave me and the “Hey sweetheart” that escaped his voice that I realized what had happened to me was something much bigger.
I decided to come forward about what had happened, not for me, necessarily, but I had this distinct feeling that I wasn’t the only one this had happened to. Later that afternoon, I gave my statement to the Denver Police, recalling in detail, everything that took place the night before. Over the course of the next two weeks, over 30 other women reported having this man say and do crude and awful things to them around campus on multiple occasions. I wasn’t alone.
I never thought something like this would ever happen to me. And when it did, I didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as bulletproof as I thought. The strong, independent part of me wanted to brush what had happened under the rug. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want sympathy. But when I started talking to others who had come forward after I did, thanking me for sharing my story, being brave, and giving them the courage to share theirs as well, I realized the undeniable power that is telling your truth.
Unfortunately the path to justice wasn’t a short one.
For six years, his case dragged out in the legal system. For six years, I felt this uneasiness, this fear, this constant need to look over my shoulder when I was alone. Being a victim of assault is a funny thing; for the most part, you’re okay; you’ve moved on with your life, you’re stronger than you were back then. But then something out of nowhere reminds you of the debilitating fear you felt, the vulnerability, the complete intrusion of your safety, and it sends you right back to that place.
For six years, I’ve had to appear in court, rehashing that night over and over again and to no avail. For six years, I wondered whether or not this man was out there somewhere, continuing to hurt other people. For six years, I questioned whether or not any progress would ever be made, if justice would happen.
But today, that all changed.
Earlier this morning I received a phone call from the Denver District Attorney’s Office letting me know that this thing that has weighed so heavily on my heart and life for the last six years was just brought to a close. The man who tried to steal my sense of security and safety away on that fateful night on campus six years ago, was finally prosecuted for his actions and was behind bars.
When I tell you the breath that I finally was able exhale, the weight that was lifted from my shoulders, and the range of emotions I felt after hearing the news.
Happy.
Relieved.
Proud.
Just so damn proud that I was brave enough to stand up for not only for myself, but for women everywhere who have ever had their safety compromised, who were disrespected, abused, and hurt.
What had happened to me over six years ago undercut confidence, stole time, and harmed my mental health to the extent it that it impacted my work, my relationships, my life in ways I didn’t even comprehend.
Today, I felt like I had won.
That I had taken the power back.
And that…is an incredible feeling.
To those reading this that have gone through something similar, who may feel like they can’t or shouldn’t tell anyone because of shame or guilt or the antiquated stigma that comes along with being a victim, I want to let those people know that you are not alone. And that I love you. And that I am here if you need to talk or a hug or need a cheerleader to stand by your side.
Don’t ever, EVER be ashamed or afraid to speak up, to share your experiences and take a stand for what is right. You never know who else you could be helping.
I hope one day we won’t have to have these difficult conversations. But until then, I urge you to keep talking and creating these important dialogues.
And to the amazing men out there who are champions, who are kind, and respectful, who are challenging the status quo and working to help educate and raise an even better generation (I’m fortunate to have so many in my life), I thank you.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
If you are experiencing abuse right now, or fear for your mental and physical safety, please don’t hesitate to reach out. There are so many people and organizations who want to see you happy, healthy, and safe.
Hi, friends. I hope you know that sometimes, you’re not going to have the right words. Honestly, sometimes you’re not going to have any words.
Some days, you won’t be able to pick yourself up or wear that beautiful smile on your face.
You’re not going to be able to keep pretending that everything is great when in reality you’re just trying to keep your head above water.
And I hope you stop thinking you have to.
Easier said than done, I know. I guess this is more a case of “do as I say, not as I *do.”
*but also, what I’m currently in the process of working so very hard to do.
Take it from someone who has been there and felt all the things on the reg, sitting with our emotions can be an incredibly scary place; it means facing and accepting what we’ve been covering up and hiding behind the facade of jokes and smiles, even and especially from the ones we love most. It can feel defeating, demoralizing, like in some way you’ve let the world down, let yourself down, simply by being human. Which is just the silliest thing, right? Feeling all the things and fully embracing and allowing yourself to move through the motions of the ocean is one of the healthiest things you can do, necessary even, to come out the other side stronger and wiser than you were before.
And yet, still, it’s so very hard.
The last few days have been a little heavier than normal. The anxious thoughts have been a constant humming in my head, reverberating every doubt, worry, and fearful thought I can muster — some have actual merit to them, others are simply manifesting in such a way as if to be a giant middle finger to lil ‘ol me, just out here trying to enjoy the present moment with the human beans who matter most to me.
Rude.
I’ve noticed that I just haven’t felt like my normal, bubbly, overtly positive self, but more so a me that’s stuck very firmly in between the lost and found, between one lesson and the next. My life is amazing, incredible, the best it’s ever been, yet there are things — some that are in my control and some outside of it — that hold a certain level of uncertainty right now. Things that have, in the past, so sneakily defined who I was, what I could be. The not knowing, the not having an exact plan of execution (I’m a planner — it’s just what I do. On any given day, I have a plan to the backup plan to the backup backup plan). Not knowing the answers to problems I should be able to solve has left me feeling a bit depleted, rejected, inadequate.
The hard days are the pits, y’all.
And in those hard moments, it’s difficult for me to accept that not every day is going to be rainbows and butterflies — I pride myself in the unadulterated joy I carry, the authentic happiness I hold, the hope in the general good that I put so much of my faith in. It’s who I am. Who I love being. Of course, I can’t be all of those things all of the time, that would be impossible and unhealthy.
A part of me also feels guilty for having these low days knowing that there are so many other people out there struggling, who may have it worse than I do. I know that their problems and heartache don’t take anything away from what I’m going through at the moment, but again, it’s hard for me to rationalize that.
Only until recently did I realize that I tend to define myself by these low days. While far and few between, they do happen. And it makes me uncomfortable. Unsettled. Icky.
After all, I’m the one who helps others with their bad days. Who am I if I’m the one in need of help? How can I be there for others when I’m trying to keep the levy from breaking myself?
As I’m typing this, I recognize how impossible this all sounds — no one has that superpower (although if I had a choice, I think it would be mine. And flying, definitely also flying because that just sounds neat.)
Part of being human, contrary to popular belief, is not being perfect.
It’s about being empathetic, supportive, kind, strong, giving, forgiving, and gracious. It’s lending a selfless helping hand to those who need it most.
But it’s also very much about being brave enough to accept and receive that same help from others when you need it, too.
No shame, no guilt, no feeling bad for feeling bad.
It’s about staying with those negative feelings, not pushing them away or trying to hide them, but allowing yourself to sit with whatever emotion comes up. To accept them, and you for feeling them. Because there is no bad feeling, only bad ways of reacting and dealing with them.
The person I love most recently told me that one of the things he admires most about me is my ability to feel, to be compassionate, and to have such a huge heart. He also said that one of the hardest parts for him is watching me apologize for having those feelings, particularly the heavy, hard, and uncomfortable ones.
I’ve never felt so seen.
*sidebar: I’m so beyond grateful for amazing boyfriend Mike and his unyielding support, belief in me, and for loving me unconditionally — my scars, flaws, messiness, and all. Until I met him, I didn’t know what love meant — real, true love — for having someone who will always be there, who I can count on and do life with, no matter what it throws our way. When you’re lucky enough to have those people in your life, lean into that love, that support, even and especially when it gets hard. Because as much as we think we can do this hard life stuff alone, having someone to help you carry that weight and hardship is invaluable in so many different ways.
One of my best traits is my softness, my empathy, my tendency to care (sometimes a little too much), and that I tend to always, always lead with my heart.
But like anything taken to access, it can be detrimental, especially to your head and your heart.
Mike helped me to see through a lot of shed tears (being vulnerable is so, so hard but so, so worth it) that I can be the girl who feels on top of the mountain one moment, and down at the bottom the next.
It ebbs and it flows, baby.
Being or feeling one way doesn’t cancel out the other. In fact, one could argue (me, I am that one) that you’re not truly complete without having or feeling both.
In a weird Colorado-themed analogy, that’s kind of what this beautiful and crazy thing we called life is all about. We are always exactly where we need to be, feeling exactly what we need to be feeling. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.
So remember, all of the heartbreak, the ‘this doesn’t make sense’ moments, the challenges that have happened/are happening are all shaping us.
Keep feeling the feels, keep putting one foot in front of the other even when you don’t know where the ground is leading you, and keep being the amazing human that you are. This is about you – so please remember to trust in your journey. It’s got you.
You are a remarkable human and you are going to be okay.
On the days when it feels like you will never get through this season, this period, this transition — please remember all of the mountains you have climbed before. Please remember all of the nights you spent convinced that the anxiety wouldn’t leave, that you’d never move beyond where you were in that very moment.
Whether you realized it or not, the time passed.
Without you having to even try, joy emerged from your days. One day, something small brought you a little ease, and then a little more. You waited. You realized that everything was going to be okay, even if it doesn’t always feel okay. You let the waves crash, and then you let them recede.
Whether you realized it or not, you found courage.
You did things you once did not believe you could do, even if those things were just finding the will to wake up and face each day. You felt worse than you were capable of feeling, you suffered loss that you couldn’t have conceived prior. You were awakened to reality, which is sometimes cold, and sometimes hard, and sometimes brutally unfair.
But also, unimaginably sweet.
Because while you were mourning what you thought would be, you also found softness. You discovered how important it is to love the people nearest to you, and how invaluable they are. You began to appreciate what you didn’t see before. You began to know that you were enough, because you decided what was enough.
Whether you realized it or not, you became resilient.
You explored the perimeters of what your heart could hold, and how much it could process. You discovered that your strength is limitless, you just don’t know what if it’s never been tested before.
And over time, what was once impossible became easy.
The life you have today is a mere dream of the past. The things you do right now were once the things you only could have ever prayed to have. The people in your life are the ones you gazed out the window for years and wondered if they would ever arrive, if someone would ever show up that made you feel so deeply understood, cared for, appreciated and loved.
You do not have to have everything in order to make the best of anything, because the truth is that goodness is something we extract from life, something we savor, something we choose to see. It’s not always something we can achieve, or find.
So when the day comes that it feels most like you will never move beyond where you are right now, please remember how far you have walked, and through what. Please remember all of the times you were stuck and were sure you would never get out from under the crushing weight of your own disappointment and defeat. Please remember all of the times you were truly heartbroken, truly let down.
Then remember all of the nights you dreamed of being where you are right now.
The days you spent working and planning and hoping that it would all work out. In one way or another, a path was made where it did not exist before. The opportunities showed up. The doors creaked open. You met the people who you’d spend years if not the rest of your life with, people who were once strangers becoming friends, family.
You discovered things about yourself you did not yet know.
You learned what it takes to feel safe, and not. You learned what you enjoy, and what you don’t. You learned what you value, and what you don’t. You learned, because you discovered, the honest truth of who you are and who you’re going to be.
You found yourself, not because you were searching, but because you were cornered. When discomfort in life peaks, we are left to look around and wonder why. Through that reflection, we discover all the pieces that are out of place, and then we find the courage to put them back together.
You will move the pieces in front of you today.
You will arrive to the horizon you’re gazing at in due time.
Instead of fearing that the road will fall out from under you, return to what life has shown you: that things can be scary, but that a way is always made. That even if you don’t believe you’re worthy, you’re always given enough. That even if you don’t believe you’re lovable, you’re always loved. That even if you don’t think there’s a way forward, there always is.
When it feels most like nothing will ever give and the mountain ahead of you won’t ever be scaled, remember how you crossed every one that’s behind you: one step, one hour, one moment, one glimmer of hope at a time.
There’s always that one person who is going to disagree with you, to dislike you, no matter what. It seems harsh and reductionist, and it’s a tough reality to stomach: that you could have done absolutely nothing, and yet someone will come along and decide that you are somehow not enough. That you are flawed, or come up short, or any myriad of lesser-thans that you could ever possibly be. Even if you weren’t even trying to please them, even if what you were doing was solely for your own enjoyment — because there still are those little happinesses in the world — they will make the official proclamation that you have somehow failed.
You can’t please everyone. So it goes.
But still, if the Internet has taught us anything, it’s that these small maledictions are the ones that stick with us the longest. They are the ones that, even if they come from the faceless and nameless, torment us. As if we could have done better. As if we owed it to someone else, somewhere else, to do better, to do justice by their thoughts, their feelings, their beliefs. And no one set of credos has the ability to take away from yours — the world is vast and open, and all that airspace above our heads holds everything from WiFi to power lines to birds and the little lightbulbs of inspiration and ideas that come along if we let them.
And when someone comes along and takes a swing at these things, it hurts.
It’s normal, of course, as is the habit of dialogue and debate and discourse. You can’t stop someone from disagreeing with you as much as you can stop them from drawing breath. And they shouldn’t have to agree with you. There is nothing in this world that says they ought to open their arms wide and welcome you in. We know this, at the core.
Why then, is rejection always so painful? Why do we care?
I’ve been back on the job hunting scene now for just over three months, and while I’ve had some incredible opportunities to speak with and interview for some even more incredible positions, all that I can really focus on is how much rejection I’ve faced.
Which has been…..a lot.
I know people say that you can’t take it personally; it’s just business, after all. It comes with the territory.
But I’m here to tell those people, whoever they are and however well-intentioned they may be, are crazy. How can you not take it personally? When you pour your heart into something, when you allow yourself to get excited and hopeful and inspired about the potential that could be, it’s nearly impossible to not be disappointed when that gets taken from underneath you via a two-sentence email.
It’s nearly impossible to not be sad, or confused, or upset.
To not care.
Because you should care.
You absolutely should care.
You see, that fear of rejection is what keeps you from applying to your dream job, but it also is what drives you to study for your interview. It’s what makes you terrified to ask that cute guy or gal at the bar for their number, but it’s what drives you to dress your best for your first date. Every point has its counterpoint, every con has its pro. The silver lining to rejection is acceptance, but it’s not other people’s acceptance we should seek so blindly — it’s our own.
It’s only when you begin to accept yourself for who you are — when you talk yourself down from the ledges of changing every last detail of what you think and what you say and who you like and what you don’t — that rejection seems a little less scary, because the people who would reject you won’t bother. To them, you will be a lost hope. They need you as much as you need them.
There’s no rejecting someone who doesn’t need approval to keep going. You can resign yourself to the idea that they will keep doing what they want to do, or you can accept it, or you can embrace it. But your rejection will fall on deaf ears. The relentless and the stubborn and most optimistic people care about being rejected, but they don’t let it stop them.
Therein lies the difference. Therein lies the key.
You can’t please everyone — nor should you even try. If you’re not doing something worth having a strong opinion about one way or the other, what are you doing? And there will always be the people who hate something on principle. They will want to hate it, and there is no helping them. There is no pleasing them, either, because giving in to what they want will only ever lead them to rejecting your next big endeavor, too, and the next, and the next. So it goes.
People say to focus on pleasing yourself. And while that is the push to rejection’s pull, that’s not quite right, either. Devote yourself, instead, to doing something worthwhile. To something that leaves you not always pleased, but satisfied. Fulfilled.
Naysayers will reject you no matter what. That is what they will always aim to do. You can’t prove them wrong all the time, by any means. You can, however, prove yourself right. You can create in yourself a person who you don’t reject.
Because if anyone should embrace the person you are busy becoming, it’s you.
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