Dichotomy

She stood on the platform, spine straight and chin tilted towards the fluorescent lighting engulfing the room like a blinding, mocking god. She glanced down her nose to get a better look at those glaring up at her from the floor. Some were shouting and pointing, others staring at her in disgust. They reminded her of her old students, from years ago when she was a teacher, their reaction similar to when they were told there was a pop quiz. Full of angst, naivety, and youth. And just like her students, they didn’t quite understand her, which she imagined was the source of all that anger.

Their words forced her to come back to reality, and with the reminiscent thoughts gone, she felt the urge to cry. Tears were rare for her, they made her feel weak and out of control. Plus she had learned over the years it felt better to choke them down than to explore what was behind them. She tried doing that again now, and wondered if one day they’d all come bubbling up to the surface and drown her. That would be the worst way to go, she mused. And so the never-ending dichotomy continued, of feeling a break down crawl up her throat while at the same time wanting to be the strong woman she knew she was. At this particular point in time, she was sure that crying would only cause the crowd to respect her even less. Besides, who were they to judge? Everyone made mistakes, and if they didn’t, they would eventually.

Her mind wandered again back to a time when she remembered feeling careless and free. She had just finished her master’s program and felt as though the universe was begging her to break all the rules, finally. After so many years of schooling and discipline, she could let loose. And she did. And she would do it again if she had the chance. But as she came to learn, life happened, and it kept happening, and eventually she hardened into a shell of someone she once was. She didn’t even know that young woman anymore, and she didn’t really want to. With immaturity came heartbreak and disappointment, at least now she had the wisdom to protect herself from being caught off guard when she learned that people and life were not what they seemed.

In that moment she realized she wasn’t sorry at all. All of her actions that others would call mistakes and regrets made her able to stand on that platform, dry-eyed and chin up, as the world condemned her for her past. She had planned to explain herself, to ask for their forgiveness, to publicly declare her own stupidity. Instead, she smiled. The room silenced and waited for her voice. She stood there for a long moment, then calmly spun around on her left heel. As she headed for the door behind her, she could hear murmurs and confusion, but she wasn’t sorry. She would never apologize for being herself.

Once outside, she tipped her chin even higher towards the sun. It was warm and welcoming, almost rewarding. The air was quiet and peaceful, and she was intrigued by the mystery of what life would throw at her next.

I’m not that person.

I woke up and followed the same routine I always do, turned off my alarm, said good morning to Jack, then picked up my phone and checked social media. It was a Sunday and I didn’t have anything to do, so I scrolled leisurely through my phone.

Today wasn’t any different, but it didn’t sit well with me. The first thing I saw when I woke up was an engagement announcement, a pregnancy announcement, and wedding photos. All from people I haven’t talked to in years. Society was telling me yet again that I’m alone with no life purpose (I know, this post went downhill fast). I wondered how many others were doing the same thing I was in that moment, scrolling through someone else’s highlight reel, feeling worthless.

And then I thought, no wonder teen suicide rates are higher than ever. No wonder more and more people are being diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Before social media, the most anxiety I experienced was middle school. (As in, like, the whole 3-year event.) I’m grateful now that cyber-bullying didn’t exist then, even though bullies still did. But the most comparing I did to others was to the “cool” 8th graders, who were allowed to wear eye shadow and had A-cup boobs. There was no MySpace, no Facebook, no Instagram. Social media didn’t exist until I was 16, and even then no one knew what to do with it.

Today, kids are born into social media. Toddlers know how to work an iPhone better than I do. Girls are posting selfies and using Snapchat filters in elementary school. And no matter who you’re “friends” with or who you “follow,” you will constantly be scrolling through someone else’s highlights, and subconsciously comparing yourself to them. Not to mention, so many teens (and adults) have social anxiety now because the only way they communicate is through a screen. So when they come face-to-face with someone they don’t know how to act. But that’s a whole other blog post/rant in itself. 

Now let me get back to my main point, which you may not have caught in the second paragraph. Notice I said SOCIETY was telling me I’m alone. That’s right, not the couple who got engaged, or the girl who is due in February, but whatever evil algorithm Facebook puts together that forms societal norms. And in the little bubble that is the Southeastern US, in the Bible belt, society tells me that by 30 I should be married (to a man of course), have a couple kids (after the wedding of course), a steady career that I love (but not so much that it keeps me from my kids), a house that my husband and I purchased, and some pets (namely a labradoodle or two).

But I’m not that person. Most days I can and will honestly tell you that I am happy to be single. I am still learning a lot about myself, have been battling depression for nearly 2 years, and am very much still enjoying the freedom that comes with being a single girl in a really fun city. I can honestly say I don’t want to be married right now, for the reasons above and because I’d be miserable if I had married any of my exes. I also definitely don’t want kids right now, and this may sound insane to you, but I’m not sure I ever want kids. Yea, I said it. I love kids, but I don’t know if I want my own. And maybe I’ll change my mind when I meet the man of my dreams, but maybe I won’t. And I’m allowed to feel that way, even though society tells me I am wrong for it.

And – side note – why is buying a house such a major #adulting goal? Have you guys never lived in an apartment complex? You don’t have to think about mowing the grass or trimming the shrubs, and if your track lights go out you just put in a work order and they’re magically fixed. I don’t want to pay for a new roof or pull weeds in Charleston heat. It’s also not super fun to live alone in a singe family detached home as a young woman where the neighbors can’t hear you scream (again – blog post/rant for another day).

So next time you mindlessly scroll social media, remember these things:

1. It’s a facade – not ALL of those people are as happy as they seem, I promise
2. Don’t scroll for too long – the more time you spend on there, the more depressed you’ll feel (seriously, they’ve done studies)
3. You’re allowed to feel any way you want, and live your life in a way that makes you happy. Never let society pressure you into anything less than you deserve.

 

The Idea of Me

Everyone you meet, everyone you have met, and everyone you know first starts out as an idea of what you want them to be or who you think they might be.

From the moment you first see someone, no matter how hard you try not to, you’re mentally taking notes on everything about them, their clothes, their voice, the way they carry themselves, how firm their handshake is, their smile, their hair, the way they make or lack eye contact. Before someone even has a chance to say hello you’ve formed an opinion of them. They’re wearing too much make up, their teeth are too large for their mouth, their hair is too long or their beard isn’t trimmed, their suit is too small, their shirt has a stain on it.

The first conversation you have with them can alter this initial opinion, or it can support it. They might be friendlier than they look, they might have a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard to your ears, they might be extremely well-spoken but dressed like a complete bum. Sometimes a first conversation can be shocking, leaving you confused and re-evaluating your opinion on someone’s outer shell.

Our brains gather all of this information and try to form something out of it, even though there’s no point. We try to come to conclusions after spending a few minutes with someone, and those conclusions are probably almost always wrong. Society teaches us that attractive people are good, and unattractive people are bad. We all now know as adults that this is entirely untrue, that looks have almost nothing to do with a person’s morality, but innately our minds still tend to follow this rule of thumb.

Then our brains continue to think and process and begin to mold some sort of expectation for this new person. Maybe you expect them to be nice to you, or maybe you expect them to like you because you learned you had something in common, maybe you expect them to buy you a drink because you’re both standing at the bar, maybe you expect them to make a grand romantic gesture because you think you’re both equally attracted to each other and just found love at first sight and have the same favorite drink and both just got out of a bad breakup and are perfect for each other….

Anyways, I see this habit most in myself when it comes to dating, in case you didn’t already pick up what I was putting down. It seems like every guy I meet I immediately start imagining us as a future couple. Of course, all of these thoughts are positive, so my imagination takes me places I’ve never even known in a relationship; understanding, support, romance, communication, a real connection. I see potential, and then I can’t let it go. I’m sure we’ve all heard a friend say at some point, “he wasn’t in love with me, he was in love with the IDEA of me.”

I bet this is why 90% of relationships fail. We put all our energy into someone we barely know, with expectations we have no right to have in the first place. Years later we are wondering why that person isn’t who we thought they were, but it’s because they were never that person. Our brains just like to conjure up ideas of what we want out of that person or that relationship, and when that person doesn’t measure up, we blame them. In reality, it’s our own fault for having these expectations and ideas of who someone might turn out to be, and the likelihood of them successfully turning out to be an idea our own mind formed has to be one in a million.

 

 

No wonder we’re disappointed all the time (we = people in the dating world), when someone turns out to be exactly who they are and not who we wanted them to be. Is there a way to train our minds to accept people at face value (not literally)? Is this what people mean when they say to lower your expectations so that when someone actually treats you well it completely blows you away?

I think everyone has lost appreciation for the art of getting to know someone, like really getting to know them as a person, before throwing your insecurities and relationship standards on them. I used to be a firm believer in deal breakers, and I stand by some of them, but I think it’s time to re-assess the value of a friendship before it gets ruined with the pressure of romance.

Uncompromisable is a Long Word

A little over a year ago I wrote a post about learning to be by myself. When I wrote that post I had been single for all of six months and was just starting to really enjoy the freedom that came with it. And by freedom I don’t mean free to be with other people, I mean free in a way that no one else has an influence on your decisions. Then of course I started dating someone and ruined it all. But I’ve already admitted to being a chronic and habitual dater, since I was in middle school my world has been centered around the male species. As I got older relationship after relationship ended because something didn’t sit right with me. Obviously, there were other reasons to end things, but a pattern that I notice now looking back on things is a lot of times I ran because I noticed myself changing in ways I wasn’t okay with.

 

I’m aware that as humans we change constantly, so even the person I marry will not be the same person 20, 30, 60 years down the line, and neither will I. But I do believe that at everyone’s core are certain qualities and characteristics that are uncompromisable. For me, those things can range from my mental health, to my relationship with God, to my love for art and music. So often we compromise the things that make us who we are to try and make a relationship work that just isn’t meant to.

 

If you know me at all, you know I’m super basic in that The Notebook is one of my all-time favorite movies. Judge me all you want, but it’s not entirely because of the epic love story. I like to think I relate to Allie Hamilton, partially because of her name but also because she’s a feisty smoke show and that’s who I aspire to be. But I digress…no matter how much time has passed, I can watch that movie again and again and each time a different line or scene breaks me down. Particularly, I’ll always remember her telling Lon, “I don’t paint anymore.” Such a simple, yet loaded sentence. I’ve had this thought so many times while dating someone, “I don’t ______ anymore.” I don’t see my friends anymore. I don’t sing anymore. I don’t go running anymore.

 

This epiphany smacked me in the face last week when I was discussing this very subject with a friend. This is why I’ve been single for so long and this is why I’m OKAY with being single for this long. In my longest stint of singledom I’ve finally realized I no longer want to be in a relationship for the sake of company, I only want to be with someone who encourages me and inspires me to do the things that make me who I am and who I want to be. I don’t have time anymore to waste on men who force me into a mold I’ll never fit into because it compromises who I am to my very core. And until I find someone worth my time, who pushes me to not only do what I love but find more things to love doing, I’ll remain single.

 

The older I get the more I realize how hard I have to work to create time for myself. I also realize how many people my age are already married, and wonder if I’m missing something. It’s easy to get caught up in those expectations, especially in the South, so I have to keep reminding myself that I’d much rather be single than be in a relationship (or God forbid, a marriage) that doesn’t force me to be the best version of myself. Losing sight of yourself is never worth it.

 

 

Hello My Name Is: Independence

All this Women’s Rights mumbo-jumbo-social-media-rhetoric has gotten me really worked up lately. I’ve summed my emotions into “If you aren’t for it, you’re against it.” And how any woman could be against her own fundamental rights is simply beyond me.

I was in a relationship for over two years that made me feel like a beautiful, kind, caring doormat. Now listen y’all, I am a ballin’ ass girlfriend. Once you hook me and reel me in, I make it my life’s mission to keep you happy. That’s not me being submissive, it’s just what I enjoy doing. I like to see the people I love happy, therefore, I get really excited to cook a good dinner, do laundry or dishes when my man is sick or stressed out, or anything small that I know makes his day a little better. I like this aspect of myself, because I know I’ll make a damn good wife some day. (Does this paragraph make me look single?)

The problem with this mindset for me is it always takes too long to realize when I’m extremely under-appreciated. I’ve been in more than one relationship where I’ve taken a step back after the relationship ended and asked myself “What the heck was I doing there for so long?” The thing about feminism is it doesn’t mean women are superior, it means women and men are equal. So many fellow women of mine fail to see the equality they are being denied on a daily basis. If you are treating a man with kindness and respect, you deserve just that in return.

As women, I strongly believe that we should never rely on man, but especially A man, for anything. We should constantly be relying on God, and ourselves, to satisfy our needs. If you rely on a man for anything, that thing is no longer yours. That goes for your material belongings like your clothes, your car, your home, but it can also be applied to your emotions, your self-worth, your confidence.

Picture this: You fall in love with Mr. Right. He has a great job, great hair, he’s funny, charming, and takes care of you. He makes enough money to support you and even your kids once you have them. He’s generous, he buys you gifts every now and then like a new pair of shoes, he takes you to fancy dinners and tells you you’re the most perfect woman in the whole world. He tells you he loves you and you trust him. He gives you a big ole’ diamond. Sounds dreamy, right? Sign me up!

So naturally, you get married, you quit your job and start popping out babies. You get fat, you lose your confidence because he stops appreciating you. He takes you and everything you do for granted and you resent him for having to stay home all day with the kids. You fight a lot because you’ve lost your self-worth and want more out of life than talking to toddlers all day. Then one day, he cheats on you. He decides to leave you for the other woman. I don’t know how you find out but you do, because you are woman. Your life crumbles before your eyes. Literally. He. Owns. Everything. Your house and everything in it. Your car. Your insurance. Your clothes and shoes and bags and jewelry. Your body. Your mind. The groceries in your refrigerator that you were going to use to cook him dinner! 

Custody of the children (and probably a hefty settlement) aside, you are now forced to completely start over. What’s on your resume? Nothing, child care. What’s your credit score? Nada, nothing in your name. I would say it’s not your fault, but it totally is. Where did you lose your independence? When did you forget that you are a perfect and beautiful creation of God’s that deserves happiness and fulfillment? When did you forget that you have a purpose for your life here on earth? A lot of women will say that being a mother is their purpose, and I am 100% on board with that. But please, I am begging you, do not give up your independence in exchange for motherhood. That child needs a strong, unwavering woman to teach them how to be the best version of themselves.

When I see women marrying (or dating) for money it makes me want to crawl out of my skin and force my hands around her neck. You are submitting in the worst possible way! You are giving that man complete control over who you are and what defines you. Not to mention, you should never waste your time dating or marrying someone who you could do without. Call me a romantic but, I believe there is someone out there for everyone. Yes, a soul mate! And that soul mate wasn’t put there so you could use them for their money, their money should have ZERO influence on your feelings for them. If their money or worth has ANY influence on why you’re with them, you need to reevaluate your life, my dear! And your identity, and motives, and passions. Who the hell are you, anyways?

The moral of this rant is…Don’t ever let a man control you. Whether he does that with money or manipulation, you are your own person and should ALWAYS be your own person. Don’t forget to take that step back every once in a while and ask yourself if you are being treated equally and with respect. And if the answer is ever anything besides “YES PRAISE JESUS FOR THIS AMAZING SPECIMEN OF A MAN,” get the eff outta there!

 

Open Letter to Tomi Lahren

Dear Tomi,

Sweet, innocent, closed-minded Tomi, you are so sorely mistaken and misinformed about this Women’s Rights Movement. Your anger and hatred are so loud that I can barely hear the judgmental, ignorant words coming out of your mouth.

I imagine you and I are alike in many ways. We were both raised by a mom and dad in an average, predominantly white town. We both attended a high school about the same size, and we both attended college for journalism. We both got into the television industry almost immediately out of school, except that you were handed your own TV show at the inexperienced age of 21, where I worked as a production assistant for a year, part-time at minimum wage, until I was forced to find a different, better-paying job. Here is where our stories begin to differ.

You have never known adversity. You have been riding a cushy six-figure salary since you were of legal drinking age. You didn’t “earn” your job at One American News Network, you didn’t start from the bottom and work your way up a career ladder that some spend their entire lives aiming for. A man looked at you and realized the opportunity for a fantastic ROI. You’re beautiful, sassy, and entertaining, and in news, that means money and ratings. It doesn’t make you right, or smart, or even good at your job. It simply means you are entertainment.

With that being said, OF COURSE you don’t understand this Women’s Rights Movement. Why would you? Every time I see you, your brow is furrowed and your mouth is open. LISTEN. Even if for just a moment, remove yourself from your shiny, blonde, polished Fox News-esque pedestal, take a step back and really look at the world around you. I’m not talking about your friends, and family, and coworkers, I mean the people you don’t even see on your way to work every day. The homeless woman, the cab driver, the single mom with three kids using food stamps, the woman who’s been silenced by a broken and abusive relationship. Don’t you see these humans? Or are you too blinded by your privileged past and present to completely miss what is your imminent future?

The difference between me and you is that I don’t stand for myself and my own selfish desires. I stand for others who weren’t dealt the same cards as you and I. I am not the victim, but I stand with women who have been the victim. Of discrimination, of assault, of abuse, of oppression. I believe wholeheartedly in equality, from gender, to race, to religion, to sexuality. I believe that we are all humans, and that we are all brothers and sisters as children of God. At the end of the day, we are all equal in God’s eyes. We are commanded to love one another, and by attacking other women, your fellow sisters, you are defying the very premise of Christianity.

You have a voice where other women don’t. You are literally handed a microphone and camera and the opportunity to make a difference on a daily basis. Use your voice for the betterment of society. Use your voice to empower other women and inspire them with your own strength and work ethic. Don’t shoot them down because they aren’t like you, lift them up higher than they ever thought possible because they aren’t like you.

No one is asking for “free stuff,” this is so much more than that. And if you did any actual research besides scribbling down a rant and reading it from a teleprompter, something in those facts (not alternative facts, just regular facts) may change your perspective a little. The moment you open your arms and start loving others the way Jesus loves you, your entire world will shift. I urge you to try it sometime. 

I believe in you, Tomi.

Stretch Marks

Lately I find myself subconsciously searching for something more, I’m not entirely sure what, but can’t seem to find it anywhere. I look for it as I scroll through social media, at the bottom of my beer, at the end of a long Netflix binge (I’m such millennial), but I always feel the same. I’ve been trying to find an explanation for that feeling, a word to associate with it, something to blame it on.

Complacency. I’ve been hearing this word a lot lately and actually paying attention to it when it touches my eardrums. Unlike other words, it flutters in and stays there, resonating for reasons I can’t put my finger on. Like an itch you can’t scratch.

To be complacent means to feel unaware or uninformed self-satisfaction. My own personal definition of complacency is “ignorant contentment.” I love when people say that you aren’t growing as a person unless you’re outside of your comfort zone. I love even more when these growing pains are referred to as metaphoric stretch marks. You grow, you stretch, you learn, you adapt, you are forever changed because of it.

So I started really thinking about that word and realizing all the different aspects of my life I’ve slowly grown complacent about. My job, my weight, my city, everything has become so routine that I feel content for the most part. The problem is I can’t label that same contentment as happiness, or pride, or even satiation.

The problem with complacency is you can think about it and talk about it until you’re blue in the face, but unless you actually do something it isn’t going anywhere. It pulls up a chair and sits next to you and you both idly watch the world go by day in and day out. You stare out the same window and watch the same cars go by and think the same thoughts and have the same observations, until after a while you don’t see the window, or the cars, or observe new things, or conjure new thoughts. Life happens and you don’t even know it.

I wish I knew the secret to avoiding complacency altogether, but I guess that’s half the reason we’re here. We all live to know what our life’s purpose is and once we find it, we channel our hearts and souls into that purpose. It’s the waiting period that’s the hardest part, and it could last forever if you don’t force yourself into growing some more stretch marks.

See: Tattoos and Gay Marriage

It’s hard for me to write this post because the very premise of it feels conflicting in my mind, but the only thing that truly angers me is when I try with all my might to understand something and simply cannot.

I consider myself a Christian, and for that reason I strongly believe in being accepting and loving of others, no matter what, because that is what Jesus did and does for all of us. And if we are to live our lives to the best of our ability in line with what Jesus taught, then the cliche of “What Would Jesus Do?” should be ever-present in our minds.

I attend a weekly small group through my church. One night, among other things, we talked about what it means in Phillippians 3 where Paul says “beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers, beware of the concision…” And to my surprise, one girl explained that to her, this means that some people may sound like they are trying to be good people, but can still be going against what the Bible says. And her example was gay marriage. That people can defend gay marriage thinking they are doing it for the greater good, that they should be accepting of it, when the truth is that biblically it is wrong.

I’m going to be completely honest here, I was close to getting up and walking to my car. But, I tell myself every day when I encounter different beliefs than my own to LISTEN. So I listened, and I stayed. No one else spoke up, no one argued, and no one agreed. And the fire in my heart burned so bright for the gay community. All I could think was this must be their enemy. Christians sitting in a circle and saying that even though good people are telling them to accept and love everyone including gay people, the Bible says it is wrong (Leviticus 20:13). And although in that very same book (Leviticus 19:28) the Bible says not to mark yourself with tattoos, the girl and her husband sat next to me with tattoos on each of their arms.

My point here is that we all interpret every situation, every interaction, every sentence differently, so I understand that my interpretation of the Bible is different from the next person’s. What I CAN NOT bring myself to understand is how any Christian can argue that whether they agree with homosexuality or not, that a person arguing for gay marriage can be labeled as an “evil worker.” I vie for gay marriage and LGBTQ rights for these fundamental reasons – not in any particular order:

1) It is of no relevance to me.
2) Everyone is entitled to their own version of happiness.
3) Everyone’s beliefs are unique and their own.
4) God commands me to love my neighbor as myself.

My view of Christianity is similar. While I don’t sit and literally dissect every verse in the Bible (see: tattoos and gay marriage), my beliefs rest on several very similar building blocks of my own personal interpretation or version, if you will, of Christianity:

1) Love your neighbor as yourself. (This could really be the only one.)
2) Trust in the Lord and lean not on your own understanding, as God has a plan and a calling for every child he creates.
3) Because Jesus died for my sins, I have been granted eternal life by believing in and dedicating my life to God.

Obviously there is much, much more to Christianity than these three points, but this is what I base majority of my thoughts and actions around. And because I definitely do not believe any of these points to be arguable from a Christian standpoint, I will never be able to fully wrap my brain or heart around alienating a person or a group of people in spite of their beliefs or individual identity.

This weighed so heavily on my heart tonight that I could not push it out of my mind. If I do one thing with this life I hope that it is to convince you to go love others the way Jesus loves you.

 

Trapped and Broken

This day has never hit me quite as hard as today. The older you get the better things come into focus that were hard to understand as a child, and somehow they become even more difficult to grasp. Everyone has their 9/11 story so it doesn’t matter what mine is, but today has been building up in my heart for a long time. I’m not sure what ignited the emotion in me today, between the anniversary of a tragedy, one of the most humbling sermons I’ve ever listened to, or the perfectly harmonized music and renewing energy in my church this morning. I have so many words and scriptures and inspirations running through my head I don’t even know where to start with this post, so I’m just going to dive in and see what happens.

Of course at church today the 9/11 tragedy was the theme, as well as the Charleston Sofa Superstore fire, two of the most devastating events in U.S. history as far as the number of lost firefighters. A story was told about a woman named Janelle, who worked on the 64th floor of the WTC, and made it all the way down to the 13th floor before the building collapsed on top of her. Trapped in the rubble for over 24 hours, she found herself on top of the dead body of a firefighter. That firefighter’s reflective vest caught the eye of another first responder, who reached down to pull him out and found Janelle grabbing his hand. Even in death, that service member saved her life. Just like the Charleston 9, who gave their lives to save others’.

The message today was that there are two types of people: the rescue squad, and those who are trapped and broken. Those in the rescue squad dedicate their lives to saving those who are trapped, broken, lost. Through God’s word and Jesus’ sacrifice, they pull others out of the rubble, one by one, and give them something to live for. The rescue squad runs towards the disaster, when everyone else is running away. It’s a crazy concept to think that there are disciples out there, who we consider strangers, who would lay down their lives for us. Many first responders are not only serving their community but, first and foremost, serving God.

“No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry, to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny”

 

Something inside me has been brewing for some time now, and I’m learning that my journey with Jesus is more like a roller coaster. I feel close to Him for a while and then slowly veer away, focusing on other, less important things in my life. And then I get this feeling of anxiety, fueled by incompleteness, that becomes so overwhelming that when I finally find my way back to Him, I bubble over into this embarrassing heap of raw, dependent woman, and in the midst of it all I find myself again.

Yes, embarrassing. Because I’m not a big cryer, I’m really good at ignoring my emotions and tucking them away somewhere and dealing with them later in the privacy of my own home or room or car or wherever I can be completely alone. But, like any woman, eventually we have a breakdown from all that we keep locked up inside. And if you’re a Dane Cook fan, you understand how his joke about a “good cry” is actually so true. It starts with a catch of your breath or a single lip quiver, or for me that feeling in the back of your throat that feels like you might choke to death if you don’t entertain it. And I keep pushing it farther and farther down until it doesn’t fit there anymore, and then one random Sunday in the middle of my favorite worship song it fights its way out. For me, my mouth starts doing this awful twitch that I absolutely CAN NOT control. It’s only happened a handful of times in my life, always in public, where I want so badly to choke that cry down until I get home but I just can’t. And I know that if I allow my mouth to stop twitching, the next step is a full-blown sob. Wedged between a row of people I’ve never seen before #iliterallycantevenrightnow. For the record, still didn’t let it out today, so those of you in my immediate friend and work circles, hurricane Allie could develop at ANY second. This is your warning.

Today I sat in front of God and my church feeling like I was back, exactly where I am supposed to be. I worked my way up to the top of that roller coaster again, every climb is harder and higher, but that peak is always the answer for me. All I keep thinking about today is my own personal rescue squad, and how I never realized that’s what they were until now. Andrea Morris and Kristen Suraci for reaching out and welcoming me into their church family. My mom for giving me the best Christian-based and sound advice in every aspect of my life. Adam Caudle for shining His light on me all the way from Atlanta. My support system in Charleston and elsewhere. Thank you for pulling me out of the rubble, dusting me off and showing me Grace and Love and Jesus, no matter how many times I find the bottom of that roller coaster, my rescue squad is there to lift me back up.

 

A simple “thank you” will never be enough to those who lay down their lives every day for strangers. You are the truest disciples and allow God’s word to continue on in the lives of people you have saved or sacrificed for.

No more cake for breakfast.

I was counting down the minutes until 4:00 when I was off work today when I got a text from my mom. She began with “Hey Allie,” and I knew she was either mad at me or something was wrong. She told me my sister had gone to the mall earlier with a friend and that there was a shooter. There was no suspect in custody and my sister’s phone was on low battery. I barely made it through the text without feeling something I have only felt a handful of times in my life. Panic. And even though my mom said she was probably going to be fine, my hands were shaking and my eyes were filling with tears.

I don’t think about losing loved ones very often because I don’t let myself. When those thoughts bombard your mind, feelings also force their way in that we try to avoid, too. The panic never completely settled, but that emotion was quickly replaced with anger. Not even a minute later I was pacing around my office asking myself why gun control is STILL even a question in this country.

If you don’t like what you’re reading and find yourself arguing with me already, I kindly ask that you close this window and move on with your day.

Of the countless shootings over the last several years, some have hit a little too close to home. There was the Charleston Church Massacre, that took place literally 5 miles from my house. My city is still grieving and healing from that one. The Orlando Night Club shooting happened miles from where my best friend lives. Thank God she happened to be safe with me in Charleston that night. And yet, those sobering events pale in comparison to what it feels like to actually have a sibling inside a building where an active shooter is. Every shooting makes me angrier and angrier, to hear people still vying for gun rights because they don’t want a privilege taken away.

We’re so privileged here in America, aren’t we? We can say whatever we want, buy whatever we want, shoot whoever we want, and everyone just turns their head. If you’re lucky, when you shoot up a building you get a ton of publicity and even a little bio in all the newspapers before they send you to prison. We’re so worried about Mexicans finding new homes here, but not so much about innocent people’s lives being taken on a regular basis.

I love hearing gun control arguments, because they always sound like a five-year-old arguing with their mom about why they should be able to eat cake for breakfast.
“OH YEA? Well…saying that guns kill people is like saying that forks make people fat.” That’s right, good job. Oh, except that typically people feed themselves…so this comparison would only work if we were referring to a form of torture where a human is force-fed until they die. They don’t want that fork full of food, or a gun full of bullets, someone ELSE is deciding their fate. When you put food in your mouth, that’s your decision.

How ’bout this one, “NOT UH! You can’t take away my constitutional rights! I am ENTITLED to a gun!” Nothing entitles you to a weapon. Just because I am “entitled” to an hour-long lunch break every day doesn’t mean that I deserve it or that I should take it. Just like how you don’t deserve to carry a glock into a mall or movie theater just because a centuries-old document said you could defend yourself. The constitution was written over two hundred years ago when mass shootings weren’t increasing with time. (Check out the data here. Numbers don’t lie.) People get so butt-hurt about this, and it’s because they’re SELFISH. I want a gun. I deserve it. I need to defend myself. It’s my right. Guess what, this isn’t about you! You’re not the mass murderer! This is about taking guns away from crazy people so they don’t kill our families. Get it?

And my favorite one, “OYEAHWELL! If you ban guns people will still find ways to get them, just like drugs.” Also true. But don’t you think that if guns were illegal, and Joe Shmoe couldn’t go to the store and buy one, and then take it with him wherever he goes, that there would be less mass shootings? Kind of like how drugs are pretty hard to find, unless you’re sketchy and addicted and are willing to go the distance to find them, guns would be pretty hard to find if they were also illegal. Sure, some people would still have them, illegally. But this article says that majority of guns used in mass shootings are LEGALLY purchased. In fact, over three times the number of illegally obtained guns. That’s hundreds of lives that could have been saved had that person not been able to legally purchase a gun.

Point being, any logical person should see that as our country grows and changes over the years, maybe our rules should, too. And maybe you won’t understand that until it’s YOUR sister, or YOUR daughter, or son, or whoever, who’s trapped in a dressing room in a mall with an active shooter on the loose. Maybe then along with all the terrible thoughts and feelings that surface, your brain will start working, too.

My sister is safe, and no one was injured at the mall today. I am so thankful this won’t be part of the statistics. But it’s time things change.