You appeared in my dreams last night. It was from a time long since passed- when you were aware, present, full of love and acceptance. There was no over-arching plan that either of us was bound to, no higher way to live, no need to blow up our lives. There was just friendship and laughter.

We were shopping, finding clothing we were both excited to newly wear. Our mutual power surprised and invigorated us. We went down this new path together, cheering each other on, reaching down to pick each other up if one of us fell down. But onward we went. That was the goal, onward.

You were the person I knew all those years, before the true trauma began. Before it ravaged our carefully-laid plans, and scared us into submission. It was so nice to see you again, the girl from a simpler time. Yes we weren’t yet awakened. Yes we were in closed systems. Yes we were embarking on a new journey- but it was together.

I realize it was all in the right timing. I’m not asking to go back. We are where we are. We’re doing the best we can. But your best is no longer good for me.

I’m shouting, yelling: I’m doing this for me. Waving my hands in the air. Please please believe me. Don’t feel hurt- I must walk this path alone. Please don’t walk away as I journey alone for a time.

It’s time to go inward. That little girl inside has said “Enough. Nothing will heal me- no outside source. It’s time for you to hear ME.”

No one is listening to my words. I knew before I raised the first hand. My inner knowing warned me;

They won’t be able to hear you. Their inner trauma rules the day. They will feel abandoned. When you chose yourself this day, you will lose it all. Lose them all.

Nevertheless, it must be done. I will continue to choose me. Over and over again. If you honor that, I choose you.

I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I’m sorry you perceive me to be the source of that hurt. But I won’t claim responsibility for your hurt. I said over and over what my heart had composed. You could not hear.

You’re doing your best. But it’s not good for me.

Thank you midnight moon for sending me your ghost last night, to visit me in my dreams. You kept appearing. You spent the entire night with me. It was wonderful to see you again. I miss you.

I was born into a high-demand religion, much like the Jehovah’s Witnesses or Scientologists. When I was IN this religion, I would’ve scoffed at this comparison. But now that I’ve had a chance to think critically about it, there are an abundance of similarities.

Mormonism is unique from other Christianity, in that it is very works focused. In other words, you’re hustilin’ all day long to receive the grace of God. If I listed here in bullet points all that is required of you, to be a worthy Mormon in good standing, it would go on for pages and pages. But here’s a short list of some of the things that are required:

*Wearing the appropriate underwear all day and all night

*Abstaining from certain food and drink, common things such as excessive meat, coffee, and tea

*Going to two hours of church each week (for 40 years of my life, it was 3 hours), plus a weekly activity of some sort

*Paying 10% of your income, for life, no matter what, to the church

*Visiting with other members of the church for a few hours each month, doing service for them, and reporting it to leaders

*Studying scriptures each day

*Writing in your journal

*Going to the temple once a month for 5-6 hours

I’m going to stop there because I’m exhausted just writing it all down- Can you imagine having such a list hang over your head, all the time?

When I walked away from my religion, people in said religion were very concerned about me. Obviously my eternal life is now in question. They’re worried about that. But most were just very preoccupied with the quality of my life. How would I ever find peace? How would I raise my children without specific direction from on high? Wasn’t I fearful going into the scary world without “the truth”?

Here’s something I never knew in my 42 years as a Mormon. God is not trademarked by a church. That good feeling you have, the burning in the bosom if you will, that you work day in and day out to cultivate? No church owns that. I STILL feel that. All the time. I don’t know if God is a white male with a beard, a body of flesh and bone. But that’s ok. I believe there is a higher power. Yep, as vague as that.

But that ambiguity doesn’t take away from the peace and love I feel from that force when I seek it.

And seeking doesn’t mean wearing myself out with meetings or abstaining from eating for two meals (fasting) to feel it. I can feel it when I close my eyes. I can feel it after a night of drinking. It is always there, within me. And it brings me immense comfort and peace. I don’t have to do a darn thing to “earn” it. This truth WAS the most amazing thing about leaving Mormonism.

The relief I felt when I realized this, still feel, is indescribable. All those spiritual experiences I’d had in the church, that the church labeled and defined as their property. Not true. That power, love, and presence had been with me all along. They just claimed it as their’s. But every person has it in them. It’s why people can belong to so many religions and be happy. It’s why religions were created in the first place.

Man felt that power inside of him and he had to label it. We humans love labels. We feel safer when we can define something. Greedy men felt that power and wielded it to control others. Some started churches. It’s the common thread throughout all spirtuality today. And when I left Mormonism, it started to pulsate.

All the guilt, expectations, perfectionism was all gone. And I could bask in it. Not only that, I could get to know and appreciate who I am. Free of the labels, free of the constant hustle to prove to myself (and everyone else) that I was worthy, free of all the guilt and shame. I had to redefine what worthiness meant. I had to soul search to discover who I was without all the milestones around to reinforce an idea of worthiness, given to me by a church.

And what I found is that my self worth is right there, at the surface. i don’t have to earn it. It’s connected to that powerful feeling of God within I talked about earlier. Just by the mere fact that God is in me, that I can freely access that power, I knew I was enough.

I walk around with so much light, joy, love, and most of all, peace. Do I feel more fear now? In fact, I feel less. I’m no longer constantly scared that my husband isn’t doing enough to lead our family, no longer looking at my children and other family members and their choices with fear that we may not be together forever. The upheaval in society allows me to look for solutions and work towards legislation and other efforts that solve those societal problems. I have far less fear outside of Mormonism. Mormonism and it’s dogma created most of the fear I had in my life.

In Mormonism, we’d work so hard to feel that peace and escape uncomfortable feelings, like fear, sorrow, or anger. Every week at church we’d be told how we could be doing better, how we needed an atonement to make up for our ruinous selves and qualify for God’s love. It made us so innately insecure, so unworthy in our own minds. Out of desperation, we tried to appear to have it all together- be the stalwart church member with unshakeable faith, rarely expose our hardship or weakness because it’d become such a dark secret in our soul, anything to garner some worthiness. Even if it was as worthless and unimportant as someone’s opinion of us.

This eventually translated into feigning perfection in our very shallow appearances. We were desperate to find some peace in who we were, that we humanly started to grasp onto the outward things- our bodies, our homes, our children’s clothing, anything to seem as if we had it all together.

It was all so exhausting. It’s been wonderful to shed this pressure. It’s a huge part of what’s made leaving so joyous and freeing.

As far as raising our children, without a rigid checklist of all they need to become or we’ve failed as parents, I’d gladly tear that checklist up over and over again. Parenting is so much simpler now- I love them, love them fiercely. I accept who they are. I parent them with that acceptance, waiting for them to show me who that is. I listen so much more. Sure I give them parameters. But there’s so much trust now between us. They know they can share anything and we won’t be disappointed or concerned about their spiritual standing. We look at every decision now as a learning experience, not something that is negative or needing repentance.

Just like there’s freedom in our personal lives outside of Mormonism, there’s freedom in our parenting. And it’s so damn good on the other side of Mormon parenting. There’s real connection, honest unconditional love, and the space for each of us to be who we truly are. The masks are gone, the constant check-in’s to determine that they’re meeting all of our expectations are non existent, and the hovering fear that we’re not doing enough and of the unknown has been replaced. In it’s place is excitement for the great big, beautiful world that they get to be a part of. It’s anticipation of what they’ll choose, where they’ll go, who they’ll become.

So in short, I’m sorry people are worried about our happiness after Mormonism. Life is so good on this side. It’s wonderful, joyful and free. If I’m being honest, I’m worried about people in stringent, soul-crushing, appearance and works-obsessed religions. What you think is peace, is actually something already in you, that you don’t have to earn. Your religion isn’t giving that to you.

In fact, you’re carrying an impossible load. You’re walking around with so much unrealistic expectation for yourself, your children, your family. There’s so much self doubt, self loathing, so much unnecessary work. Walk away from it. You don’t need to carry this. Drop this load and just try life on the other side. You can always go back. That fear that’s welling up you in you right now, that fear is created by religion. Observe it.

But please take it from someone who’s been to both places. The world isn’t a scary place, it’s magnificent. You’re magnificent. And you can only know this when you put down all the labels, rules, doctrine, and judgements. God is simple. Love is within you. Peace is a decision away.

Describe what you learned and how this experience made you feel……..

Today I stood on the corner of Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach, holding a sign I’d scribbled on.

“No Justice No Peace. No Racist Police!” a group of us yelled, in righteous anger.

A young black man stood next to me. He was one of eight. The other fifty or so people were white. He was one of those people that looks young but is probably in his early twenties, like say…..Tamir Rice or Trayvon Martin. If you don’t know who those kids are, Google them.

He didn’t look like a threat. But as those names will remind us, the appearance of a threat isn’t a factor. He could still be killed by police. Tomorrow.

A man in a beat-up Subaru drove by us. He was a white guy.  He looked right at this young man next to me and said,

“Go back to Africa.”

I stood stunned. The young man next to me was stunned. But he quickly regained his composure and continued chanting.

“What’s his name?”

“George Floyd!”

“What did he say?”

“I can’t breathe!”

I was not as quick to catch my breath. He must’ve been used to these racist sentiments being hurled at him.

I was embarrassed to be white. I was mortified that an American would say this to another American. A black American whose ancestors were stolen from their homes in Africa, placed on a torturous ship to our country and then split up and sold as slaves. A new horrific life they didn’t ask for. Whipped, Mistreated, Demoralized, Lynched. All in our country.

I was so ashamed. But most of all, my heart was broken- seared in two by a deep, fiery rage of grief and hopelessness.

How dare this racist man hurl such an insult at a young kid who just wants the chance to live. Live, with the possibility of maybe succeeding. Maybe being given half the opportunities and privilege that me and almost all of my white family and friends have been given to make it. He knows that’s asking a lot. So he’ll stick with being able to live for now.

He’ll stick with being allowed to walk down the street in a hoodie and not be shot by a gun-toting, racist vigilante who feels threatened by his very existence in this world.

Or maybe seeing another day of life without a racist, smug-ass cop kneeling on his neck with a look of dominion and power as he chokes out his black victim’s last breath.

But I guess that’s too much to ask for some people.

I learned today that racism is still very active, alive and pulsating through our communities. And when you are silent, you are the same as that racist old man.

Family.

I love my family deeply, as do most of us! But choosing to differentiate is proving to be too much for some family members to understand.

It is emotionally healthy to have boundaries.

It.is.okay.

I’m so grateful for the examples and knowledge of others to show us how it’s done.

“The.holistic.psychologist:

Family is everything for some people. And that’s a beautiful thing.

But, in my past, and in the lives of many people I’ve worked with “family is everything” is spoken as a mantra of self sacrifice. The undertone of the message is: do as we say.

Meaning, your needs and wellness comes second to the needs of a family unit. Or in many cases, one member’s desires for the family unit.

It’s no wonder that we have hundreds of years of secrets, dysfunction, shame and resentment.

If a member attempts to set boundaries, or focus on their own wellness it’s seen as betrayal.

This is codependency in action.

We are interdependent creatures. Our relationships are incredibly important, but so is our autonomy. Interdependence says, I can love you, I can be deeply connected to you, but I do not sacrifice or betray myself in order to gain this connection.

Being our authentic self, following our own life path, consciously choosing beliefs and values are part of the adult experience.

Yet, in many family this is discouraged. Growth or change is not valued because it threatens the “group think” of the family unit.

In interdependent relationships, there is always room for evolution. Even if it brings growing pains or shifts in the relationship dynamic.

In my perfect world, family is there to love us however we show up because there’s an overarching respect for one’s personal journey. No one would ever try to influence that because:

-People learn best from trying or living, not from the words, emotions, or pressures coming from others.

-We’re all imperfect. As Jesus said- Why do you see the mote in another’s eye and not the beam in your own? We should focus on our own lives.

If we truly love our family members, as is often the motivation we cite as to why we’d like them to change a path we’re uncomfortable with, love is absent. This kind of love is conditional.

Real familial love is being there without judgement for our family members. We wish them well, without judgement. We encourage them, without judgement. We respect their life path, without judgement.

This isn’t about me. It’s about sweet Jaime. But I’m mad, so mad. I’m sickened by what Jaime’s been asked to endure. The long years of pain, defeat, fear and endurance have been oh so long. Seeing her battle while her family continues to need her and her kids watch her fight, instead of being able to go to their Back to School Night or school performance. I’m livid that such a beautiful spirit is being taken from us so soon, way too early. I don’t want to believe that the world can still be a good place with this bright light extinguished. So I didn’t even want to write this- in fact have been avoiding it.

But then I remember what Jaime represents and has always represented- faith in the face of devastation, hope when everything seems hopeless, and joy in the midst of suffering. And I know that she wants me to write this. She wants me to celebrate her and celebrate the wonder and beautiful complication of life. Because that’s what she represents. And she’s always steadfastly represented it. So I owe it to her and her legacy to put my thoughts to pen.

Jaime always shows up. Courageously, she’s there. And with a huge smile on her face, no less. The first time I really understood her cheerful radiance was during a night at the movies. This was back in her blogger days, when she was given free tickets and such to promote events on her blog. She asked me if I wanted to join her. We’d talked before, as I was her sweet Jeremy’s scout leader. But we didn’t really know each other. That didn’t matter to Jaime- she enthusiastically invited me to come along, stating that she wanted to get to know me better. I was impressed by her courage and friendliness, in a sometimes socially-intimidating area. We had a wonderful time, laughing over huge burritos at Javiers. And what I most remember about the night was her vulnerability. We talked more about ourselves and our deepest struggles together in a few hours, than I’d revealed to some friends in years’ worth of friendship. If Jaime’s going to be a friend to someone, it’s going to be a real, true, heart-string-connected friend: a friend who you call when you’re a puddle on the floor.

A few years passed and I was traveling through my own veil of tears. I showed up at a church event for the first time in awhile, feeling scared to be in public carrying so much pain. Jaime was one of the first to approach me. And she wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me in her embrace. My recent solitude caused me to immediately pull away with discomfort. She wouldn’t let me. She held on, for what seemed like an hour, and poured her love into my broken soul. My battered spirit relented and melted into this overpowering gesture of love. I almost started to tear up, as her embrace fed my heart with the support and unconditional love it’d been yearning for and desperately needed. It was as if she KNEW what I needed at that moment. But now I know that this was a typical “Jaime hug.” Even in her hugs, Jaime shows up for those she loves. The simple act of a hug is something Jaime looks at as a medium in which to demonstrate her fierce love for the world.

Then the ugly, relentless monster that is cancer showed up in her life. She still showed up- everytime I saw her- in the midst of the latest chemo or after weeks of being bedridden- she wore a huge smile. She hugged me. She asked me about myself. I went to visit her with a box of frozen dinners that the youth in our ward had prepared for her. She invited me in warmly, out of breath because at this point cancer was ravaging her lungs. No matter, she jumped up and walked me back to her garage. I meagerly tried to stuff the frozen meals in amongst the hoards of frozen meals that other loved ones had dropped off before me. She started to move things around in the freezer to make room for the ones I brought, even though we both knew she and her family would never be able to finish all these before they went bad. But she was determined to make sure my small offering didn’t pass by unappreciated.

Her social media was consistently positive, dare I say happy, as she used this horrific ordeal to encourage others and bring hope. She showed up time and time again, when I would have felt angry, defeated and sullen, to focus on her blessings and the things that were going right. And she did it with humor- “Hashtag- I like to breathe and I cannot lie.” I felt angry for her. My heart was broken for her. But I knew she wouldn’t allow me to be that way, because through her posts and overall demeanor, she communicated over and over again that her life was still beautiful. I was reminded again and again, if Jaime feels her life is still worth living, what am I complaining about? 

What a gift she gives us.  By always showing up with hope, cheer and never-ending compassion- she demonstrates to all of us that it’s possible. And not only that, but Jaime as an individual, shows us that this is the point.  The courage to love others with a smile, no matter what the harships of our life will be, that’s a life well lived. Jaime shows us by her life, that a life lived with intense courage, unending love, and an unrelenting effort at finding that light shining through the cracks is a successful life. It’s what matters the most. So no matter how short her life has been, it’s been a resounding life for us all to look to. By showing up every day, she’s lived more life than most of us ever will, when we face the inevitable. Thanks for this Jaime. I’ll never be the same. None of us will.

Lately I’ve been thinking about checklists. I don’t write down my “to do’s” for the day, unless it’s a grocery list. But I do create mental checklists all the time. Sometimes when I trek up the 25 stairs that make up my staircase to grab a few items, I say them over and over in my head, so as to not forget anything.

“Makeup brush, navy clogs, diapers.”

Checklists are good because they help us to manage our increasingly chaotic lives. But when are checklists detrimental? When I was single and dating, I’ll admit I had a checklist in my journal as to the type of guy I wanted. I’m sure “good looks” was on there, as well as many other less-important or shallow traits. Exposing those would only add to the very clear fact that I was an ignoramus in my 20’s and really had no clue what traits are really crucial in a person you’ll be spending the rest of your life with.

I think checklists can be damaging when they apply to a person’s life path. In my culture, people are expected to check off several items on a commonly-shared checklist, that in many ways determines the value of that person. Did that person go away for a few years to serve other humans, did they go to a specific college, were they married in a certain place by a certain age?

And then at that juncture, once they’ve checked all these boxes, there’s a whole new set of boxes. But this time, it’s for their children. Did their children check off these boxes? Because if they didn’t, then it doesn’t really matter the boxes that you, as their parent, had previously checked off. Because now, you have failed to check off the most important boxes- those that determined how you raised your children. So now you’re really screwed. Because you can control your adult children like you can control the weather. And why should you even want to control them? Why would you want to rob them of the learning, growth, and absolute wonder that comes with determining and living their own unique lives?

So I am thinking about rejecting these checklists in my culture. Because my kids are too valuable and wonderful and brilliant to have to be confined by them. They must know, no matter what they decide, those decisions are right where they are meant to be. And they will learn from them. No matter what they are. And I refuse to rob them of this priceless gift- the gift of determining their own lives and becoming who they want to become, not what someone tells them they must become in order to be valuable.

And while we’re on this subject, I deserve the right to choose my life. I am also precious, as is my life. I only have one and I’ve determined to be the master of my own ship. And I just threw those damned checklists off of it.

OK, the title can be offensive. I’m sorry!! But I had to be accurate. This is the title of a podcast that has changed everything. Kara Loewentheil is a Harvard Law grad and former attorney who left the legal world behind to become a life coach. Instead of spending $100’s of dollars an hour to get her wisdom (and yes, it is absolutely WISDOM), we can just listen to her podcast for free and get episode upon episode of advice that changes our lives. And it changes them because she helps us change how we think. And how we think, creates our feelings. Which then motivates our actions. I’ve listened to five or so episodes and the point of almost every single one is CHANGE your THOUGHTS to solve all your problems. Seriously, simply our thoughts.

She starts by telling us that we all have a running dialogue in our mind that’s been placed there by society, our parents, experiences, etc. A lot of these things have been out of our control. And what our brain tells us is not always true, in fact sometimes our thoughts are downright hateful lies. In fact, most of the time our thoughts about ourselves fall into that category.  Most of the time we’re not even cognizant enough to recognize that these messages are constantly playing and that they’re usually detrimental to our sense of self and success in life.

So one episode of her podcast is titled “How to Change Your Thoughts.” She says the first step is to target a statement you continually tell yourself that is destructive. It could be:

“I’m fat.”

“I’m a failure,” or

“I’m not enough.”

Then, several times a day (and not every time because you can’t possibly catch yourself every time you think of the lie), tell yourself something like,

“I see you’ve been saying this a lot lately – INSERT THE LIE (example, “I’m fat”)

So set up a qualifier about the lie, so that you start to recognize the lies your brain is telling you.

Then, think of something about yourself that is true that you honestly believe (not something you WANT to believe, that will come later). Something that you undoubtedly believe about your self. Such as:

“I’m kind.”

“I’m smart.”

“I’m funny.”

And tell yourself this truth all day long. Make up a song about this statement. Over and over again, say it to yourself.

It may take a few months. Your old story is embedded in your brain. It’s like the Grand Canyon- For eons, water has run over a specific part of rock in the canyon,creating a deep ridge. And although it was just a small amount of water, the consistency of the flow created a deep imprint. That’s your old story. Your new story takes just as much material- for example, a small amount of water, but it’s the consistency that you tell yourself the new story, that will determine how deeply it’s embedded in your brain.

So just keep on keeping’ on. And as this truth starts to get easier to believe, add new ones. Baby steps are good. Don’t be a perfectionist and think you have to think positive thoughts only from now on. As you practice these new positive truths, your brain will continue to tell you negative lies- it’s normal. But hopefully this practice will help you to recognize them more readily and create positive truths that become a greater part of your mental dialogue. The compounding of these baby steps will soon lead to a brain that thinks positively about yourself more often than not.

Thats the goal anyway, right? So I’m starting on this new quest and will let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I suggest listening to it. It’s fascinating and I’m feeling like it has the potential to really turn things around. Check it out- I’m already more positive-  DAY 1!

Our trip to Cabo was on the books- the hotel was a dream, beyond a hookup. The spray tan was applied, the toning goals accomplished. We were born ready.  And then the phone call came from my brother- the measured, fact-gathering sibling- who dropped the news that would change everything arrived. Our 90-year-old Grandmother (a.k.a. Grams) was fading fast and he was inviting me up to the north to see her in her final days. We’d just been up there a month or so earlier to throw her a shindig (that we knew may be her last) so I didn’t feel that I had any last words to say. My time with her at the party had been of quality and meaning.

Then I spoke to my dad who put it like this:

“Grams is ready to pass, has been for a very long time. But despite all that, dying is scary. And I want to be there to put her at ease.”

My Grams is like my mother. The only way I can adequately describe what she means to me is to say, “She never checked out on me.” She has always been there- loving me, nurturing me, praying for me, worrying about me, and mothering me. I knew I had to be there for her now.

We changed our reservation and planned a trip the next day to my hometown.

When I first arrived and met the hospice nurses and greeted my dear cousin and Aunt who’d been the main caregivers these last long months, I was immediately struck at how commonplace it seemed. Although my usually-spunky spitfire of a Grandma was now frail and quiet, lying still on her giant king-sized bed, everyone else was bustling around her. Discussions of room temperature and how much medication to administer were constant topics. And still my Grandmother’s presence was giant and not because she was the subject of conversation.

But because she is still larger than life, such a presence and still loved by so many. People came almost every hour, on the hour, to love on her. And although she was drugged up and seemed to be confused most of the day, she knew enough to greet them and joke with them, essentially making them feel loved and welcome. And this will be her legacy. She was kind to everyone. Even ex-spouses of her own children- one whom visited her daily and left with a kiss on her mouth and a tender word. During Christmas dinners, her own first and second husband would be doing dishes side by side at the sink. She didn’t hold grudges and knew what was important- family, forgiveness, and love.

As the men sat around the kitchen table conversing, leaving at intervals to grab food, and watching You Tube videos on their phones, the women were in Grams’ room. We bustled around adjusting the draft, massaging lotion into her tired limbs, applying chap stick to her lips, and holding her hands. We tended to her every need although it was bittersweet- sad and momentous at the same time to slowly be saying goodbye. The feeling in the home was heavy.

What struck me was that women DO. We get it done. We bring the babies into the world and we administer to our loved ones as they leave the world. We have the emotional strength to do all those weighty things. I was so proud to be a woman and to be surrpounded by my strong posterity who together were doing a very hard thing.

 

 

My love/hate relationship with my church goes something like this: Girl is young and unafraid because her church gives her all the answers. All her friends are there. They think the way she does. It’s comfortable, it’s warm, it’s bright. Girl flawlessly follows the tenants of that church because they coincide with everything that is right and good and easy. Girl meets and loves people who aren’t in her Church bubble or who’ve left it. Girl realizes these people are happy and fulfilled, yet they don’t have the answers she does. Girl tries to ignore these facts because Church is still a mostly warm place to be. Then her church asks her to make decisions, like voting for or abstaining from or proclaiming things that she is having a hard time agreeing with. Those people she loves, those “others”, they’ve taught her a few things and girl can no longer reconcile her life experience with everything the church tells her is truth. Church becomes less of a safe place because the things she struggles making sense of are brought up at church and she’s told over and over that what she’s come to understand is wrong. She starts to feel isolated. She starts to question what is wrong with her. She tries to ignore these doubts and get back to the way it used to be- when church gave her all the answers, when it was so easy. She can’t ever go back to that. So she tries to limp along, not understanding, feeling alone, but going to church and doing the things that once brought her comfort. It comes to her sometimes. Once in awhile she finds another friend at church who feels the ways she does, but not very often. She wants to stay, she doesn’t want to let go of the church that once brought her so much joy and comfort. But she is forever changed and working hard to find the peace at church that was once there.

 

Whenever I get a second of down time, I haven’t watched recorded shows on my DVR or shopped on my phone or listened to the latest true crime podcast that’s caught my fancy. I’ve pulled out my laptop and started writing. Because I figure now is the time. This nagging to write has pestered me my whole life. When I was young, it was fun for me and came so easy. But as I got older and failed at a lot of things, it started to incite fear. I pushed off the thing that used to be my hobby and had now turned into that “thing nagging me”  for decades. A few years ago, I stumbled on this quote:

Man, it cut deep. My fear and procrastination to writing is actually keeping me stuck. I’m not evolving. And I’m writing this now in the present, although I had the ephiphany in the past when I read the quote, because I am still fearful to do it. Almost all the time. But I’m realizing the more I do it, the less scary it becomes.

Sometimes after I write down my truth, I’m fearful- What if I offend someone? What if I lost friends? What if what I wrote is just too real? All of these outcomes may cross my path. But I can’t get myself to delete anything. Because then I would be lying to myself. And I’m sorry, but that’s worse than any of those fears becoming reality. What is the thing that nags at you? Because that’s probably your life’s calling. Scary right?