Grief, Guilt, and the Sting of Fall Breezes

It is incredible to me how simple memories trigger so many emotions. Every season of the year seems to bring different memories I would rather forget, and autumn is no exception.

As the first bitter breeze nips my cheeks, I begin to recall all of the events of my past right after I was raped.  This past weekend (even today and beyond) stirred up a lot of things for me.

As I felt that first chill I was transported back to the bathroom floor of my first apartment, sobbing, scheming, wondering what my next steps were. I was so weak when everyone was rooting for me to be strong. Though I tried to play it off like I was an adult who had her life together, I was still just a kid. Just 21. Navigating life is difficult as is, but now I have to go through THIS? I remember curling up on that tile wishing he had never laid eyes on me. Wishing he had never touched me. Wishing I had never made some of the mistakes I felt I had made. For the first time, however, I was also brought back to the moment where a friend's encouraging words changed the vision I had for myself that night. I was reminded of the hugs, the tears, the chocolate, the trashy reality television. I was reminded of the love I was so freely shown, that I was hesitant to so freely receive.

I remember not wanting to love myself.

The guilt I felt swallowed me whole. Grief gripped her spindly, cold fingers around my neck and choked me until I could no longer scream for help. I could hear his words echoing in my head. Grief taught me to use those as an attack. "You're beautiful", he echoed. "You're disgusting", she convinced me.

Grief would sneak up behind and whisper into my ear, "You're not worthy, you are ruined. You are weak."

She can be convincing.

If you try to suppress her long enough, she will fight her way out larger than life ready to fight and make you feel like a loser.

It's sad, but all 21 year old Kayleigh wanted were people to love her.

All she wanted were people who would recognize her silent screams for help.

And yet, when those people entered, she pushed them away.

I remember the harassment I experienced at school and the dread I felt every time I had to leave my house. My once bubbly exterior quickly dissolved. I folded into myself. I tried to hide between fake smiles and half-hearted laughter.

My world was crumbling around me.

I remember the smell of burning leaves, the crisp November air, and the hope that finally began to spark somewhere deep within my soul. And those are the memories that make me smile.

Those are the memories that shoo away grief, and tell her that she isn't welcome right now.

For the first time my fall memories aren't only dark. I am reminded of the kindness of others, the times I was finally able to trust again and the people who stuck around.

Grief is trying to creep her way back in lately, and honestly maybe I need to entertain her for a little while. She can be a necessary companion for a short amount of time. Sometimes she allows us to deal with things we would rather sweep under the rug.

With this season bringing so many memories, I realize that I haven't fully dealt with certain things. Maybe some of those things will never fully be dealt with. Grief is bringing her friends doubt and guilt with her.

In reality I know I shouldn't feel guilty. It wasn't my fault. I can't change the past.
Yet I feel tinges of it every once in a while.

Sometimes I still doubt myself and my worth based on the choices I've made in the past.
But I know that my worth is not based on what I do.

And constantly I worry about what my future will hold. I've felt older these past few months and I catch myself wondering if I'll have the life I always wanted. Lately it hasn't felt like it. But then I remember all of the amazing things I've gained as an adult, and I don't worry as much.

The past month has been rocky. But somehow this time is different.

Somehow I know things are going to be ok.

Simple Joy

Simple things bring joy to my heart.

A baby's giggle, the bright colors of a firework, the hug of a good friend, a fresh cup of coffee.

So often I don't take the time to slow down and appreciate those simple things. So often I place too much value on the "big" things in life, typically things that cause me stress. I whine, I cry, I worry. Money is always in short supply. Rejection will always hurt.  Imagine what could happen if I could ignore the things that hurt, and embraced the things that actually bring joy to my life.

Unfortunately, I don't believe that any of us can truly ignore the stresses and upsets in our lives, but we can place less value on those things.

I was reminded this week several times how well I have it.  As I drove home from the car shop with two brand new tires and a $200 hole in my bank account, I agonized over the amount of money I no longer had to do 'fun' things. Then as I was driving, I pass several individuals asking for money on street corners. People who seemingly have nothing. I passed people waiting in line at a church for food. And I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I was worrying about money I could no longer splurge on shoes, or clothes, or outings. Ashamed that I didn't take the time to understand how I am blessed financially in this current season of my life. Yes, I live on a teacher's salary which arguably isn't much, but I also have a salary which is more than so many can say. I have the means to pay for luxuries like my car. I have the means to pay for shelter, food, and clothing. Why am I worried about the extras in life, when I can easily possess the necessities?

I worried about so much. I worried about my job, grad school, friendships, failed relationships. Nothing was distracting me from these worries! I never thought I'd snap out of it until I was at Duke hospital waiting for a friend, and a little girl approached me. Questions came firing at me one after the other out of the mouth of the sweetest face.  "Hi! I have cancer. I like your hair! Can I touch it? You can't catch my cancer. I don't have hair cause my cancer, but I have a shiny head! I like my shiny head! Do you like my shiny head? You're pretty! I wish I could be pretty like you! Do you like my bear? She's my hospital bear! Do you like ice cream? Do you like french fries? Have you ever seen a hummingbird? I come to the hospital cause I am very sick! Are you very sick?" The questions went on and on.

And I was ashamed.

I was ashamed because a 5 year old understands more about life than I do. I was ashamed because her mother shared with me they'd been going through treatments with no marked success and things could turn grim any moment. I was ashamed because in my little world, dumb things mattered this week. In the real world there were precious children fighting for their lives. Fighting to have a future of the very obstacles I was complaining about.

I wouldn't dare tell any of you that I have completely dropped the hurt and worries I've experienced this week. That would be a lie, and I am not silly enough to think that I can instantly change my mindset. What I did realize, however, is that I need to stop and smell the roses. Each day is not guaranteed, and I'm placing too much value on things that in the end won't mean much. I need to learn to enjoy my struggles, to appreciate what they teach me. I'm not quite there yet, but with some work I know I will grow.

I want to start appreciating the simple things that used to bring me joy. That still bring me joy. Too many times they have been overlooked, and ignored so I can go back to worrying.

Worrying is no longer my job. Appreciating the life I have is.

From the Beginning

A couple of years ago when I started this blog I wrote out my story. Every year, sometime during April I repost that original post. April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I have always felt like getting my story out there was important. This year instead of reposting about that night, I wanted to write a new post. I'm telling the same story, but in the past (almost) 4 years, I have grown a lot and wanted to see how that growth affects the way I view my story.  So let's go back to May 6, 2011...

May 5, 2011: Mid-Afternoon
I was sitting down at Old Town Draught House watching one of my best friends in the whole world eat his lunch. I wasn't hungry (ok, actually I was just super poor and couldn't afford lunch out), but I was happy to have some company. We had blasted Ke$ha in his car on the way to campus. It was a warm afternoon, and with the music blasting and windows rolled down I truly believed I didn't have a care in the world. I listened as he explained his new roommate situation: his new roommates were really nice, he seemed to hit it off with them, and he was relieved to finally be out of his previous rooming situation. "I really want you to meet them. You all would get along so well. ---- is a really cool guy, he's single, and I've told him about you. We might have people over tonight for Cinco de Mayo. You should come." For the millionth time that afternoon I told him I wasn't interested in going to a party that night. The semester (well, year) had been a tough and stressful one and my ankle was still bothering me (I had been on crutches for 2 weeks after a bad sprain while playing a game of tag during my Science Methods class). He told me if I changed my mind to let him know.

May 5, 2011: Around 9pm
I'm sitting criss cross applesauce on my couch watching Doctor Who on Netflix and eating a creamsicle. I'm bored out of my ever-loving mind. I should have told my best friend I would come over...everyone knows I hate being alone for any lengthy amount of time and I'm unsure of why I thought I'd want to be by myself. Suddenly my phone rings and it's him asking if I want to come over, he'll come pick me up, it'll be really fun, his cute roommate is excited to meet me, blah blah blah...
Next thing I know I'm standing in front of my bathroom mirror, sniffing my pits (a lady must check these things to know when or when not to apply more deodorant) and realize I really should shave them but who's gonna see? I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and then I hear the knock on the door signaling me to leave. As I hop into my friend's car I can't help but think that I should have changed my clothes. This outfit will not impress a boy. These jeans could stand to be washed. I don't know the last time I wore a bra other than this one. My School of Ed t-shirt is ratty, my UNCG jacket is a little tight (thanks, creamsicles!) and honestly my hair is a little greasier than I would prefer. His roommate will definitely overlook me.

May 6, 2011 12:30am
I probably shouldn't have another drink.  Oh, what the hell. Who cares? I'm in safe company. Plus, I'm having fun and I'm not out of my mind out of it. I can handle another one. I'll switch to water after this. I'm kind of hungry. I wish we had some pizza or something. His roommate is really cute. He seems to like me. He keeps touching my hand. And we like the same music! I would totally date him. OMG. OMGOMGOMG WHAT IF WE DATED AND I FINALLY HAD A BOYFRIEND? No, no, no. Can't get my hopes up........oh crap, he just handed me this drink. I trust him I think, but just in case I'll hide it behind this chair and grab my own. Can never be too safe. Wait, did he just say 'you make out with ----- and I'll make out with ----- and whoever stops first buys pizza?" That is so stupid. I'm not doing that.....whoa. guess I am doing that. This is actually kind of fun. It's not serious. Hm. He's a good kisser. I don't mind this. I really really really like him.

May 6, 2011: Around 1:55am
He just asked me to go upstairs! Fine with me cause ----- is being weird as crap. There's a living room area up there. I'll just tell him I don't want to do anything more than kissing since we've already been doing that....he said ok. Oh man, he's so cool.....Why is my heart beating so fast? Why do I suddenly feel like I'm making a mistake? I'm already halfway up these stairs, I don't know what my problem is.

May 6, 2011: 2am
This is the point I reached the top of the stairs. I headed towards the common area. He had other plans. He grabbed me around my waist, spun me around, and pushed me through the nearest doorway. Crap. I turned to ask him what was happening, but he just kept pushing. Suddenly we were by his bed, but it was dark and I couldn't see a thing. The door was still open, but that was the only light. He grabbed me around my waist and pushed me onto the mattress. Unfortunately we were really close to the wall and I slammed my head on the wall as I was pushed. I was confused. He started kissing me again and I didn't stop him. I was coherent, but I definitely had had more to drink than preferred. I wasn't quite sure yet if what was unfolding was wrong. Suddenly he was on top of me and the kisses turned painful. His hand was up my shirt, and his mouth was on my neck. That hurt. And I told him so. And he grabbed my throat with his hand and told me to "shut the f--k up". And that's when I knew I was in trouble.

May 6, 2011: 4am
My legs feel like jello. I'm trying to focus on walking down these carpeted steps. He's standing behind me on the landing, fiercely whispering things I don't understand. He doesn't exist. Nothing exists. It's just me and the stairs. I make it down, and carefully move towards my friend's bedroom door. I knock and hear him hurriedly trying to get to the door. He swings the door open with just a towel around his waist, looks me up and down and says "what's wrong?" I tell him it's fine, I just need to go home. I'm tired. And disgusting. And I don't understand what's happening to me. He says 'ok' closes and locks his door so he can change, and leaves me in the living room with my rapist looking at me from above.

May 6, 2011: 4:23am
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed when my friend calls me. "Seriously, what's wrong? What happened?" I promptly begin to describe the 2 hours of hell his roommate just put me through. I tried to describe what happened in a way he could understand...so that maybe he could help me understand. I told him about the threats of death. The threats against my family when they came to retrieve my body. The moment he instructed me to take off my jeans or prepare for a fate I didn't want to imagine. The moment I complied. I described how even though I knew what was about to happen, it still caught me off guard. It hurt, my vision blurred for a second. I begged him to stop and he just smirked. He told me that I was drunk, the cops would never believe me. Everyone would just think I was a whore. I told him that the pressure he put on my chest while he forcibly had sex with me (I still couldn't determine if that could be classified as rape) was too much and I tried everything to get him off of me. I finally asked if he had a condom. He rolled off, walked to his dresser, threw a condom at me and said "don't move". Then he walked into the bathroom. I told my friend that was my chance. I told him how I jumped off of the bed and tried to pull my jeans on, I told him I made a mistake of trying to button them when I should have been running towards the door (the door that somehow had become shut), I told him that ---- had his bathroom door open and heard me. I told him about the second time I was pushed onto the bed. I told him about the words that haunt me to this day "I think you like it. You're just afraid of liking it. Let's try something a little different." I told him how he put his hand down my unbuttoned pants, and how I wanted to push those memories out of my brain forever. And that's when he told me, "You were drunk. It's not his fault. You were leading him on." I hung up the phone, and took an hour long shower. I tried really hard to wash the disgust off of me, but that's just not something you can take care of with a bar of soap. After all of that I curled up in a ball on top of my sheets, covered up with a small blanket and fell asleep trying to make myself as small as possible. I hoped I could just disappear. Maybe it was a bad dream.

*********************************************************************************
The next morning I was in a state. I was confused, angry, in physical and emotional pain. Finally that night I called a friend who told me I was raped and insisted I call the police. That phone call resulted in a whirlwind of hospital visits and police interviews. Statements were given several times. He lied. I didn't. They didn't have enough against him. He walked free. I was chained in my own personal hell. A rape kit proved to be almost as traumatizing as the rape itself. People saw the hickeys and bruises on my neck and just assumed I "had too much fun" as said by one person. I didn't eat for days, weeks, months. It seemed like every time I had to go to a dr, it was assumed I had made poor decisions. Not that poor decisions had been made for me. My physical wounds healed. My emotional wounds did not. Flashbacks and night terrors ran my life. Suicide seemed better than going through any of that.

I look back on that time and I thank God that I am still here to tell my story. How I've written it now is as raw as I've ever told it. I have forever been embarrassed by the details. I was ashamed of my actions. I still am to this day. However, as part of reaching out to other women I've realized I have to be real. I am not required to tell my story, but I feel like I am called to it. I can choose to embrace that or reject it. I choose to embrace it. This April, I encourage you to take a stand. Make a difference. Even if it's a simple Facebook post. A hug to encourage a friend who has been hurt. There are moments I truly realize it's a miracle I am still alive. I think that's for a reason. Let's pay it forward. Let's show people how thankful we are for their lives.

Life is an incredible, sometimes painful, journey. I thank God every day I'm still on that journey. I'm glad you're on it with me.

Fear and Forgiveness

This past weekend I was so blessed to be able to attend my church's women's retreat in the mountains and I have had so many thoughts about it since I came home yesterday. I have found that getting my thoughts and emotions down in writing always helps me to process, plus I learned so many things worth sharing.  Two of the topics we talked about this weekend were fear and forgiveness. Wow. I looked at the outlines when I arrived on Friday and thought "Meh. I don't really have an issue with either of these things right now." Oh how wrong I was.


I am sitting in an auditorium, full of chatty laughing women, having just a great time. I was unsuspecting. Fear. I don't have fear anymore! I paid a therapist a lot of money so I no longer held onto my fears! I have Jesus! I am fearless, I am courageous, I am tough.  And then, our session began. Sidenote: Pat Harley is an AMAZING speaker! I was so blessed by her words all weekend.  Ok anyway, Pat starts speaking and I'm taking notes and sort of thinking with like 1/8 of my brain. The more I listened, however, the more unsettled I felt. And that's when it hit me like a pillowcase full of cinderblocks: I am not fearless. I am not the courageous, strong person I once tricked myself into thinking I was. I am a coward. I have been holding onto so many fears stemming from other fears that I had rid myself of long ago. Tears sprung to my eyes as I quickly began to understand that I was letting fear run my life 99% of the time.  Honestly, all of the fears I hold on to are a)a result of my rape and b)things I didn't categorize as a fear. 


You see, I always viewed fears as things that were BIG DEALS. For example, a fear of heights, a fear of being killed, etc. I used to fear my rapist. I used to fear leaving my house because there are terrible people in the world and I didn't want to experience any more physical and mental pain. I don't fear those things any more. What do I fear? I fear being abandoned. I lost all of my friends once, and I am always fearful that it will happened again. The odds of it happening in a large group which was the case when I was assaulted, are very slim. However I always seem to panic when I think I'm annoying someone or talking too much. I am afraid that one or two people will decide I am too much trouble and leave. I fear screwing up my job. I fear never being in a relationship. I fear saying the wrong thing. I have so many 'little' fears, but I was shown that these little fears make it possible for me to slip up in big ways. Acting on these little fears causes big sin. I was forced to see that I was placing all of these fears as idols, and wasn't following Jesus as closely or fervently as I claimed. My fear was controlling every single action I had, but no more. One of the most powerful things I was able to do at this retreat was write down these fears on a piece of paper and lay it at the foot of the cross. I gave it to Jesus and that is where it will stay.




Forgiveness was the second topic of the day. I have struggled with forgiveness for an extremely long amount of time. When you are filled with as much anger and hurt as I am, it sometimes seems near impossible to forgive anyone. I was completely fine during this session until I decided to write out who I needed to forgive and for what. And then I lost it. For the second time that day I was able to give it to Jesus. After I made that decision, I sat and cried for a long time...it was draining. I have held on to so much anger. I can't be free until I choose to forgive. I was always under the false assumption that forgiveness is a 'one and done' deal. I could forgive once and would never need to again. I realized on Saturday that for awhile this is going to be a daily battle. I am going to have to choose to forgive every. single. day. Most days I need to forgive the same people for the exact same things. And that's ok. But I HAVE to do it. I can still have boundaries, and forgiving doesn't mean their actions are ok. But man alive, if I can't forgive others how can I ever expect them to forgive me? And why do I continue to put myself through the torture of anger and sadness?


The biggest take away from these experiences is that I need to stop holding on and give it to God.

Triggers, Nightmares, and Paranoia

I've blogged before (probably about 2 years ago) about triggers, but a 'new' one has wormed its way into existence and it has been really interesting to me to observe how it plays itself out. First, let me explain what a trigger is to those of you who may be confused. I didn't hear that word used so frequently until I was raped. I was constantly asked by therapists and psychiatrists "so what triggered you?" Uhm. What? So basically a trigger is one thing that happens that causes some type of reaction. I used to have (and still do have) certain specific triggers. The most prevalent ones I experienced were mint, pepperoni pizza, touch, compliments on my appearance and the song Smells Like Teen Spirit. I have gotten through those, and they don't create a negative reaction for me anymore, which is great because I love pepperoni pizza and hearing how pretty I am ;). When I would smell, hear or taste all of those things I would have panic attacks. I would get nauseas and sometimes throw up. If someone touched my arm or gave me a hug once during a day when I didn't want them to, I might have nightmares/ night terrors that night. Fortunately I have come a long way in 3 years and I don't have severe reactions (if any reaction) to those things anymore.

Recently I have started having nightmares again and experienced some paranoia, especially at night. I couldn't quite place a finger on the larger, underlying issue. My typical triggers weren't doing it. Usually with those things I have a kind of physical warning like an adrenaline rush or increased heart rate. It's hard to explain. I kept a log of everything that was happening throughout the day and whether or not I experienced nightmares and/or paranoia that night. What I found was that the days my everyday stress increased, my nightmares and paranoia came rushing back. It has been really strange to try and wrap my brain around how the normal stress of work deadlines, relationships, and finances can trigger nightmares and fears attributed to my rape. In my mind, these things don't correlate. Why am I experiencing flashbacks and the weird dreams I had when I was first assaulted? Who knows. I guess I've shoved the memories so far into my subconcious that it just tries to find ways to creep back out.

Last night was the worst. I was getting ready for bed and heard a loud noise. It was just the front door into my building; the girl upstairs lets it slam shut when she comes in and it always makes my apartment door shake a little. Normally it doesn't bother me. Last night it sent me into a complete fit. My heart was racing, tears pricked my eyes, and I had to fight the urge to scream. Then, out of nowhere I started thinking about the possibility of someone hiding in my apartment. I crept around and flipped on every light, armed with a small pink canister of pepper spray in my right hand. I checked under the couch, behind the loveseat, behind the edge of the kitchen counter, under my bed, the side of my bed, in my closet, behind the hutch (no one would be able to fit back there), behind the dresser (or there), behind the bathroom door and made sure to fling back the shower curtain. Then I started thinking about how awful it would be to look out of a window to see a face staring back. Cue Kayleigh looking through every window and hanging a blanket over the ones she did not think the blinds properly covered. It was awful, I felt like a crazy person. But I couldn't stop. I. Couldn't. Stop. It was like I had no control over my own body. My brain was screaming  to stop, but my legs kept pulling me forward.

The nightmares last night were pretty gnarly too. They were mostly flashbacks, with some extra trauma added in (because rape flashbacks totally need extra awfulness layered on). In one I was able to run away only to find myself trapped in a funhouse and raped all over again. In another, I was older and had a daughter of my own. Instead of me being assaulted, my imagined daughter was. That was pretty terrible. All of this brought on because everyday stress is getting the best of me. When things get a little tough, I seem to start slowly unraveling at the edges.

I guess the whole point is that I now understand how triggers don't have to be as specific as I thought. They can actually be pretty generic. Even though the past couple of weeks have been rough dealing with all of this, I actually feel an unusual sense of comfort knowing that you never really completely recover. Like, I never understood how I could be doing so well and how I could just suddenly not be affected by such a big life event. Now I know, though, that things aren't always going to be perfect. I will carry it with me forever, but it doesn't have to own my life. Like I said, there's something strangely comforting about that reality.

Anyway, pray for me yall. I need it. I would like to stop feeling terrorized by my own mind at night.

#FraudLife

I am a wonderful, loving teacher, an excellent daughter, a God fearing Christian, a compassionate friend...and a fraud. 

Yes, a fraud. 

You may be asking yourself, how in the world is Kayleigh a fraud? Is she a liar? Isn't she a teacher, daughter, Christian, and friend?

Well, dear friend, slide over a little closer and allow me to let you in on a little secret. 

I discovered recently that none of those adjectives describe me, and I feel like I have fooled you all. 

When I receive compliments, I cringe. I do not know how to graciously experience and accept kind words directed towards myself. Not that I don't LIKE hearing good things about myself, I just don't know how to digest them. My ears get hot, my cheeks turn a rosier red than normal, I get a small smile on my face and can just about manage to squeak out a tiny "thank you". 

A wonderful, loving teacher... is how I would describe someone who emulated Mother Teresa in the teaching profession. I am not Mother Teresa. Some days I get so frustrated that I want to walk straight out of the door and never come back. Some days I want to throw my hands in the air and say I give up. When little Johnny pokes his neighbor in the eye with his pencil for the third time in a week, I want to quit. When little Billy throws a fit and yells and cries, I want to climb under my desk and yell and cry, too. I make mistakes on a daily basis. My profession is messy, and I try to put on a good front that I have it all together. But guess what? I am far from having it together. There are days I look at my lesson plans and think "what in the world does this even mean?". There are moments where I think about how increasingly pleasant my life would be if I married a rich man and ran away to someplace tropical. I get stressed, and irritated, and discouraged. And then I look into the sweet little faces in my classroom and remember why I'm there. If I were gone, would another teacher bother to take a breath and calmly tell Johnny to put the pencil down or lose it for the tenth time in a day? Would someone else go and hug little Billy and tell him she understands he's upset and that it's going to be ok? I have to remember that I am doing this job for a reason. I have a purpose. It is frustrating. I may never see the positive outcomes of my work, but I have to trust that they'll be there someday. I, however, am not wonderful and loving. I am a hot mess. I'm trying to survive most days. I mess up and I lose my patience and I want to give up. I love my kids. But some days it feels like I am going bonkers. Some days it seems more appealing to give in and give up than to keep up the fight. 

An excellent daughter...is someone who does everything right. Someone who appreciates their parents. Who can forgive the little things, and love unconditionally. None of those things describe how I am. I am ungrateful. I am a terrible daughter. One day about 2 months ago, I had someone tell me "Your parents are so blessed to have a daughter like you." When I heard those words, I wanted to die. I wasn't speaking to my mom, my dad was driving me crazy, and I was walking around like nothing was happening at all. I roll my eyes, I don't say thank you. I don't easily forgive the little OR the big things. I hold on to all the wrong memories, and don't treasure the right ones. I'm quick to point out their flaws as parents before I ever even think to stop and bring up the million things they've done right. I just cry and moan about the ten they've done wrong. I have you all fooled on this one. I am not an excellent daughter, I'm a horrible daughter. 

A God fearing Christian...describes about 90% of the people I have surrounded myself with. These are people who when the Lord calls them, they answer. When He asks them to do something tough for Him, they are obedient. When things go awry, they pray, they trust, they continue on strong. 

I am not one of these people. 

Sometimes I try to make God wait. When He pushes me to do something difficult I drag my feet, I whine, I complain. I tell everyone how hard it is. I don't always trust. I don't always pray. And rarely do I continue on strong. I'm not always confident that He will pull me through...instead I'm scared. I'm afraid to take a leap of faith, even a tiny one. I'm afraid that when I doubt Him, that it will somehow count against me in my life. I fight with Him. I am not always obedient. 

When I think of a model Christian I do not think of me. I think of someone who has immense amounts of compassion for other people. Someone who jumps at the chance to serve the Lord. People who have memorized mass amounts of scripture and can recite the perfect verse when opportunity arises (you people drive me a little crazy sometimes, to be honest...you're all like "well 1 Corinthians... says..." and I'm all like "I can recite Green Eggs and Ham.") They seem to have it together. I, on the other hand, feel like a fish out of water sometimes (most times). Life is messy. My life is messy. I don't understand why things happen or why God allows them to happen. I constantly question why He chooses me to do things. Sometimes I'm too tired to pray, I think "I'll talk to God later". Too often Jesus gets gently nudged to the side. I worry about what people will think about this life I've chosen. I worry, period. I'm afraid to ask questions, because I want people to think I've got it together. I'm afraid to admit weakness in my faith. Especially in this aspect of my life, I just feel like a fraud plain and simple. A faux Christian. I don't feel like I'm doing a good enough 'job'. And I hate it. And I do everything in my power to keep that from 87% of the people I surround myself with. 

A compassionate friend...is not me. I'm a friend. I'm a funny friend. I can be compassionate sometimes. But other times I want to look at my beautiful, wonderful friends and tell them to shut it. I want to tell them to get over it. That things cannot possibly be that bad or difficult. I don't always take the time to put myself in their shoes. I don't always make it a point to actively listen, and ask questions and give advice. I realized that this was the case when I recently had dinner with Lauren...and only looked at my phone one time the entire 2 hours we were together. I actually did listen, and did ask questions, and realized that I had been missing out on a lot of things my friend had tried to tell me in the past. I missed out on truly being immersed in a great story. I missed out on the little details that could have helped me to give better advice on past troubles. I was not present. I was not always understanding. I was not always sympathetic. Sometimes I'm more interested in expressing my issues than listening to someone else's and that's simply not fair. I am a friend, but I'm not often a very good one. 

I think what I need here is help. I want to be all of these things so I don't feel like I need to deceive you all anymore. Some of these things I know what to do, but others I don't. I don't know how to be more faithful. I don't know how to be more present. I don't know how to remain calm and patient and not want to quit. But I want to learn. So tell me, friends, what advice can you give this fraud?

A Symbol of Hope

I am sure I have told this story before on this blog (probably last Christmas), but I think that it's good enough to share again. There is a four letter word that is powerful, and means a lot to me. It's a word that has many meanings to many people. It's a word that carries the dreams and anxieties of many.

That word is hope. 

Hope is something I believed 3 years ago I did not possess. I was hopeless, helpless, and in all seriousness I was constantly on the verge of death. I felt alone, even when surrounded by masses of people. Do you know how bizarre it feels to feel so alone in a crowd? It is the strangest thing, and not a type of feeling I was getting used to. It happened all of the time, but never ceased to make me feel uncomfortable. 

I was going through the motions at that time. It had been about 7 months since I had been raped, but I was hitting a point where the seriousness of the situation finally had begun to hit. It was my senior year of college and I was a fireball of stress. I was having panic attacks on a consistent basis, and I felt like my world was crashing down around me. College is hard enough. Relationships are hard enough. Throw in a sexual assault and stir in some PTSD and what you have just created is a disaster. I didn't know what to do with myself. Two failed suicide attempts later (one may not count to many as an attempt, but it counts to me) and I was a hot mess.

No one needed me. If I was gone no one would miss me. I was convinced I would flunk out of school even though my supervisor was doing everything in her power to pull me through. My roommates were starting to slink back into the shadows of their own lives. Friends I once had, had chosen his side and decided that I was not worthy of their friendship. I was alone, I was sad, and I was afraid. I constantly feared for my life but was often met with the words of those who were trying to encourage, but only made it worse. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of...", they said.

"It's been 6 months.", they retorted. 

"You're safe. You're going to be ok."

As far as I was concerned, as long as he was free I was not safe. As long as he walked this earth I would never be safe. Even to this day I am fearful. I am not in a constant state of fear, but there are still those moments where I want to lock myself in my home and never leave. If I lock myself in, he'll never get to me. 

I was not going home for Christmas this year as I had to work the holiday in order to pay some of my bills. I felt so alone it hurt. 

One night I decided to just drive around town and maybe look at some Christmas lights. I drove to Cookout and ordered an Eggnog milkshake (delicious!). I started driving in no particular direction and soaked in the different neighborhood Christmas displays. Some 30 minutes later I drove, by chance, through the Sunset Hills neighborhood and that's when something changed in me. 

I saw the most beautiful Christmas lights I have ever seen in my life. 

If you have never driven through that neighborhood let me explain this to you. They wrap twinkle lights around chicken wire to form balls. They then string them throughout the trees. These lights hang down and encase the neighborhood in beautiful, twinkling, colorful lights. 

Those lights were literally my light in the midst of darkness. I was filled with so much joy as my car crept through the quiet street. They opened something within my heart and filled me with so much peace. I deserved to live. I was needed. I just simply had to be reminded of the beauty of the world. I watched couples slowly making their way down the sidewalk soaking in this sight as much as they could. It was incredible. 

Every night until January, I drove down those streets with an eggnog milkshake in hand. I would blast Christmas music (mostly Glee...I was obsessed at the time) and I would smile. 

Those lights were my symbol of hope.

Tonight I took a trip down memory lane. I grabbed an eggnog milkshake from Cookout (keeping the tradition alive) and drove through Sunset Hills admiring my small, but mighty, symbols of hope. 

I now place my hope in a power higher than some strings of Christmas lights. Those lights didn't completely fix me, but they helped me to hang on a little longer. I know now that coming across this neighborhood and these lights was no accident. I didn't believe in God at the time, but looking back I know His hand was in that moment. I truly believe He orchestrated my trip so that I could have more time to make a difference and leave my mark on this world. 

Tonight I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for the people who have walked in and out of my life. I am thankful for my 13 little blessings. I am grateful for the people who have, and continue to mentor me. I am, however, especially thankful for eggnog milkshakes, balls of sparkling Christmas lights, and hope.