Looking Back

Do you people know how much time goes into finding just the right photo or meme for these posts?  It's cause I love you all so very much.  Recognize.

I heard a song on the radio today that really inspired me.  It's called Dear Younger Me by Mercy Me.  Yeah, it's Christian music, but I think you heathens can groove to it as well.  At first it speaks to the lament of not being able to give your younger self some kind of warning - a head's up of what's to come.  Maybe that could save you some of the heart aches that will define you later in life. Some pain is so deep that we carry it forever.  For example, when I was 10 years old my parents let me watch the movie 'It' based on the Stephen King novel (somebody give them a 'parents of the year' medal).  To this day I am terrified of clowns.  I even have a refrigerator magnet that says "Can't sleep. Clowns will eat me."  Yes, it is awesome, and no, you can't have it.

Other hurts are much more sinister and do so much more lasting damage.  Losing a parent at a young age, being a victim of abuse, witnessing a serious crime; these are all events that leave deep scars on the psyche.  They force you to adopt coping mechanisms that, while serving a purpose at the time, become destructive hindrances in years to come.  I'm still afraid of the dark.  I'm afraid of strangers.  Most importantly, I'm afraid of being alone.  I'm less afraid of death than I am of being alone in this world.

But the song goes on to make a very important point; Changing our past decisions change the person who we are now.  And who we become is something pretty special.  We all start off as a blank slate, but gain battle scars over time that show that we really lived.  Every wrinkle, every line, every stretch mark, every tattoo is a trophy. They each tell a story.  Our own human version of "I was here."

My favorite part of the song is:

Every mountain, every valley
Through each heartache you will see
Every moment brings you closer
To who you were meant to be

So no, for the most part I wouldn't go back and talk to that kid.  Well...I might go back and tell her not to get fat.  And I'd DEFINITELY stop her from watching 'It'.  Other than that I would just hug her tightly and remind her that there will always be people there to help her when the dark moments come.

Which brings me to the meme above.  We're going to fall down.  Both literally and metaphorically.  I have the scars from getting stitches and a prescription for anxiety meds to prove both true.  We can't keep our kids from getting hurt.  The best we can do is to teach them how to recover from the fall.  I think the next time I fall down (I do it so often), I'm going to try jumping up and saying 'Ta-Da!'  It's certainly better than my current super hero catch phrase of, 'Well, fuck.'  Then I'll add it to my wall of accomplishments and try to do better the next time.

Hallway Gossip

This was my best friend from 1st grade right up till about 11th grade on the night of our junior prom.  We were inseparable for over a decade.  We never made any decisions without consulting the other person first.  There wasn't anything we wouldn't do for each other.  Then she started dating guys that I didn't really approve of and things went down hill.  We tried to rekindle things after high school. We got even got an apartment together.  But then she did a series of things that betrayed me and my trust and we went separate ways.  I haven't spoken to her in 16 years

Girls see trust a lot differently than guys do.  Guys live by 'bro-code'.  It's actually rather simple.  It states that your boys must always come before any girl and that you should never take the last beer, even if you were the one that brought said beer.  That's about it.

Girls are a completely different animal.  We have our own 'girl-code' but it's slightly more complicated.  If it were put on paper, girl-code would resemble an engineering schematic or the org chart for a multi-national firm.  There's a lot of 'If-Then' situations.  Sometimes it feels like one of those 'Choose Your Own Adventure' books.  Just like the books, sometimes you reach the Crystal Palace safely, but sometimes you get eaten by a dragon.  It's just how girl code works.  Even us girls don't understand it all the time.  That's why we talk so much.  We're trying to navigate haunted forests and mine fields together.

Girls, on average, tend to trust people implicitly.  The downside is, once that trust is broken, it's typically lost forever.  I went through a situation long ago in a previous job where something bad was said about me at work and multiple "friends" came forward to tell me who the specific "friend" was that had made the offensive comment.  All of a sudden I was working on the set of Dynasty (metaphorically speaking) with a lot of bitching and back-biting going on around me.  In the end I found out the truth, but by then I had lost trust in everyone.  I didn't believe a single thing any of my coworkers said to me.  A mentor once told me to never get my hugs at work, and she was right, but you have to be able to have some basic level of trust with the people in your work environment.  Without trust there's no collaboration.  Without collaboration you become no better than Congress.

I no longer work for that company, but the ripples of the betrayal I felt then still resonate throughout my brain.  I constantly wonder what people think of me both personally and professionally.  No matter how hard I work, I fear performance appraisals.  I feel like people misunderstand me and judge me harshly because of it.  And don't even get me started about the words "we need to talk."

I guess the moral here is simply to say what you mean and mean what you say.  Be direct.  If you have an issue with someone, don't talk about it with anyone else until you talk to that person first.  And for God's sake, if someone says something bad about another person to you, keep your ass out of it.  You aren't in high school anymore, so don't act like you are.  Encourage them to talk to the person directly.  Be Switzerland.  If you don't, whether you intend it or not, you become part of the problem and your friend or colleague will never be your friend or colleague ever again.  They will lose any trust or respect that they once had for you.  You could unwittingly damage the psyche of a person you actually care about.  It's not worth it.  Respect your self, and your friends, enough to be worthy of trust.  Do that, and life will become much less of a mine field.

No ALWAYS Means No

I've been wanting to write about this topic for a long time, especially since the Brock Turner story broke.  I've just been so afraid.  One of the most compelling arguments I have for sharing this story is because I have a voice in my head reminding me that I tell others to speak their minds, even if their voices shake, so I'm going to try to do the same.  Still, I'm very nervous so bear with me.

When I started school at Ohio State I was forced to sit through a seminar for all new students (both male and female).  I'm not sure what the actual title was but it might as well be "How Not To Get Raped: A Woman's Responsibility."  The lecturer started off by addressing anyone in the audience (roughly 200 students give or take) who had ever been a victim of abuse or sexual assault.  She said, 'whatever you did then, you did right because you are here today.  You are a survivor."  Then she went on to speak for over an hour about the types of clothing girls should and should not wear whenever they leave the 'safety' of the dorms.  She reminded students to be responsible when drinking and not to overindulge.  She talked about the buddy system and never being alone.  Not once, not one single time in over an hour, did she say, 'Oh, and you guys out there, try not to rape anyone.'  Because apparently it's up to the woman whether she ends up getting raped or not.

I'll admit, I have a lot of low-cut clothing, dresses in particular.  This isn't entirely my fault.  At some point in the past all the clothing manufacturers got together and agreed that fat girls want to show off their boobs.  Yes, us thick girls DO tend to have bigger breasts, but that doesn't mean we want them constantly emphasized.  I have very pretty eyes and I'm proud of my toned calves.  I also have a sharp mind and a quick wit.  I'd prefer to let those assets do the talking.  Unfortunately I'm an accountant, not a designer, so I don't get to decide what clothing gets produced.  So my only fashion choices are low-cut or 'Mormon prairie dress'.  The important thing here is that, regardless of which option I choose, I'm choosing it because of how I feel wearing it, not because I want you to have easy access.

A few years ago I got invited to a bachelorette party.  There were 15 or 20 of us (it was a very big group) so we inevitably got separated from time to time, but we always made sure to be back at the party bus at an agreed upon time to proceed to the next venue.  After a few hours of bar hopping my ears were ringing so I slipped out of the club to grab a smoke and clear my head.  That's when I met him.  I don't know his name.  To be honest, I don't know if we even exchanged names.  I do know that there was some flirting leading to some serious kissing.  Yes, I was wearing a low-cut dress.  Yes, I had been drinking.  No, I didn't take another one of the girls with me when I ducked outside.  I didn't follow any of the 'How Not To Get Raped' rules.  He kissed me and I kissed him back.

Everything was cool right up until he put his hand in my dress and grabbed by breast.  I pulled his hand away, still kissing, and put it on my waist.  But he tried it again, somewhat more insistently.  This time I pulled away completely.  I said no.  He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back at which point I shoved him and yelled NO.  He grabbed the back of my neck and yelled into my ear that I shouldn't put them (i.e. my breasts) on display if they're not for sale.  Then he put out his cigarette on my breast and walked away.

They say that humans have 2 fear responses; fight or flight, but that's incorrect.  There's also 'freeze'.  I don't know how long I stood there.  It took a while before I knew what had just happened.  I don't remember feeling any pain from the burn.  I just stood there.  Frozen.  Until one of the girls grabbed my arm and told me we were heading back to the bus. By then he was long gone.

I didn't tell anyone for a long time.  I felt responsible.  I was in my 30's so I should have known better.  I didn't follow any of the girl code.  I was ashamed.  There was no way I was going to press charges.  I didn't even know the guy's name.  The police would just look at me like a common whore.  Eventually my therapist convinced me to talk to my friends about it.  So I chose one of my closest friends and told her.  First she asked me to prove it.  Then she said, 'So you're what?  Looking for sympathy?'  Well...yeah...a little.  Isn't that what friends are supposed to do for each other?  Being shamed by your friend feels even worse than the assault itself.  It robs you of the tentative shred  of security that you're clinging to.  You feel like maybe you did deserve it and you become a victim all over again.

A lot has happened in my life over the past several years.  Actually, most of the growth I've experienced has come in the past year.  I've taken back my identity.  I've learned to appreciate my beauty.  I value myself.  I value the people in my life and my relationships.  I have far fewer friends now than I did in the past, but the ones I've kept are the ones who would never ask me to prove whether or not I was assaulted.  I've learned that sexual assault comes in many forms and measures.  I know that nothing I ever do or say will ever give someone domain over my body.

I'm grateful that I wasn't raped that night.  Things could have turned out much worse.  Still, I was assaulted and it broke me for a good length of time.  But I reached a point where I knew I needed help.  As ashamed as I was, I asked for help and I received help.  I wish that for every woman.  I wish every woman has the courage to speak up for herself, her friends, her sisters and her daughters.  I wish our educational and governmental institutions would stop insisting on telling women not to get raped and instead focus their energy on keeping men from being rapists.  Thinking back on that lecture at OSU, I can say unequivocally that I agree with the speaker on one point - anyone who survives assault did the right thing.  They survived.  And I wish that for everyone.

The Lord Giveth...

Always.  It doesn't always feel that way.  Actually, it seldom feels that way.  It's no secret that my family has been going through some trials lately.  Today I was hit with one heck of a blow out of left field.  It left me bruised and somewhat broken lying sullen and confused on the floor  But I'm supposed to be thankful.  I'm supposed to be thankful?  For what?

Are you familiar with the Biblical story of Job?  I'm about to paraphrase it rather poorly just to make a point so don't you Biblical scholars come after me about skipping details.  Basically there was this dude, Job, who was super faithful to God.  You could say he was God's #1 fan.  And God loved Job right back.  Satan couldn't stand seeing God being all smug about his devoted follower so he made a bet with God.  He told God that the only reason that Job was so faithful was because God had blessed Job with abundance.  Satan reasoned that, should God take away those blessings, Job would turn against God in a hot second.

Now God doesn't have anything to prove, he's God after all.  He's the coolest person ever.  But he decides to take Satan up on his bet anyway.  He allows Satan to begin slowly, systematically dismantling Job's life.  Satan to takes Job's livestock, then his children, his wealth, even his physical health.  Job is understandably freaked out by this.  He's been faithful.  He's been pious.  Why hast God forsaken him?

I get it.  I don't profess myself to be half the Christian that Job was, but I get it.  I've slowly watched the few things in my life that bring me joy and security eliminated, not slowly with the breeze, but suddenly like a mighty storm.  I have questioned God.  I've even challenged God.  I don't understand how I got to here.  How my family arrived at this state.  I've tried to be hopeful.  I even started this blog months ago in the hopes of bringing joy to other people's lives.  But still, the things I love are being taken away one by one.

Back to Job.  Job suffered terribly.  His friends and loved ones implored him to curse God or to admit to whatever secret sin he had committed to create such suffering.  But Job remained faithful.  He did not curse God.  He DID curse the day he was born but, come on, the poor guy had a bunch of dead kids and sores all over his body. You'd be pissed, too.  I don't know how, but Job managed to keep his faith and understand that God WAS with him.  Satan became infuriated with Job's devotion but had to admit defeat.  In the end God restored Job to an even better life than he has started with.

But here's the rub; I'm not Job.  I feel like my eternal soul is being used as a game, but not to my betterment.  Yeah, yeah.  I'm building a Kingdom in Heaven and everlasting joy and all that crap, but I could really go for some solace now.  I'm human.  I'm impatient.  I'm exhausted.  I can only be strong for so long before I give up.  So God, please help out a mortal.  Please help out your child.  Because right now, I really need something to always, always, always be thankful for.

Dress Code Confidential

Yesterday a friend shared a story on FB that I feel deserves national attention.  It won't get it, but the story deserves to be told.

A 9 year-old girl was recently given an in-school suspension for violating the dress code at Brookhaven Elementary School in Brookhaven, MS.  Why?  Because, according to the school the child's clothing was too tight fitting which violates their policy.  She was covered from neck to ankle, not showing boobs or butt (neither or which she has yet) or anything in between.  They problem was with her belly.  The girl happens to be overweight.  A lot of her clothing fits tightly around her belly.  If she wore clothing that fit properly around her mid-section, it would be too long which also, incidentally, violates Brookhaven's ridiculous policy.  So unless the parents go out and have a custom wardrobe made-to-measure for their child, the little girl will be in constant violation of a one-size-fits-all dress code.

All I can say is, you have got to be freaking kidding me.  Trust me, this child already gets enough hate out of her classmates.  The grown-ups in her life are supposed to be more mature and able to provide a safe place where children can thrive.  Instead they've misapplied a policy as a way of fat shaming a little girl.  She is just a child.  Do you really want to create an environment where a child feels attacked every day, not by children, but by administrators who should know better?  Go ahead.  That kid will end up dropping out and/or contemplating suicide before she even gets to puberty.

Think I'm being dramatic?  You obviously have never lived life in the fat lane.  Kids in the plus sized community are bombarded daily with images and advertising telling them what they should look like.  Their families, teachers, and other adults in their lives constantly drill into the heads that they don't meet society's arbitrary standard of beauty.  They feel ugly.  They try to spend time inside afraid of a critical, and sometimes downright cruel, public which leads them to an even more sedentary life, which invites even MORE criticism, and so on.  They develop depression and eating disorders.  Some resort to self harm.

I feel like we've made progress in recognizing and addressing discrimination towards minorities and those of different religions, sexual orientation, and gender identity.  No, things aren't Utopian, but we're slowly moving in the right direction.  Still, I don't feel like we've grown when it comes to recognizing different appearances.  'Fat' is not a protected class.  I don't think it should be a protected class, but I also don't think people should be bullied or demeaned simply because they fall into that demographic.

At the heart of this issue is a 9 year-old girl who will never look at herself the same way.  She was shamed and criticized by the people meant to protect her.  I'm sure she doesn't fully understand the situation and wonders what she did wrong.  On one hand I hope her parents sue the school district for what little amount it's worth.  But on the other hand I worry about what a discrimination suit would do to her fragile psyche.  We spend so much time telling our children about accepting others for their differences and not bullying.  Maybe the teachers are the ones that need schooled.  If you are so emotionally stunted that you are unable to show compassion to a child, then you have no place in a school.  Go elsewhere.  I'm sure the KKK and Aryan Nation are looking for recruits.  And they appreciate hate-mongering in their organizations.  God speed.

Persona Non Grata

Oh how I wish this weren't true, but it is.  And the feeling runs deep.  Years ago a friend of mine asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding.  I was honored to be asked, but I initially said no.  I told her I was too ugly and didn't want to ruin the aesthetic of her big day.  Yup.  I can be just that insecure.

Of course I eventually said yes.  That's how I found myself wearing a four-layer, floor-length, taffeta gown outdoors during (what felt like) one of the hottest days ever experienced on planet Earth.  And you know what?  I'd do it again.  For two reasons.  1. She was my friend and it gave me great joy to stand beside her on such a happy occasion.  2. In one of her wedding photos you can see me in the background laid out on a bench like a dead body.  Serves her right for picking those awful dresses.

Growing up I was teased constantly to the point that I lost almost all sense of self-worth.  I bought my friends presents, did their homework, did whatever they asked because I was afraid of no longer being useful.  I figured I wasn't attractive, I didn't have money, I didn't even have a car till I was 17 1/2.  I had to come up with other ways to avoid being unwanted.  As long as I was doing something for them, then I would never be unwanted.   I had a lot of unhealthy relationships back then.

You would think that type of insecurity would lessen as I became older and more mature.  You would think that, but you would be wrong.  In some ways it's worse now.  Now that I'm older all my friends are married with kids.  When we're together as a group everyone always ends up sharing stories about inept husbands, how to pick the right school, or (shudder) lactation advice.  I have absolutely nothing to add to these conversations.  I usually dig out my phone and try to make myself seem very busy.

Now that everyone in my sphere has paired off I feel like even more of a third wheel.  My friends don't even go by their own names anymore.  It's always, "Are John&Helen coming?' or "I ran into Dave&Lisa' the other day.  Or worse, 'The White's called while you were at work' or 'Will you ask the Richardson's if we can borrow their ladder?' At that point you don't even get your own name.  You become part of this amalgamation.  It makes me wonder if there is some strange, spontaneous gene splicing that is occurring as part of marital coitus.

Even on those moments where I do manage to steal a friend away from her ampersand for a moment. she usually has a couple kids on her at all times.  For some strange reason, a child can ignore their mother for days, but the second she picks up a phone it's "Mom!  Mom!  Look at me mom!  Mommy!  Hey, Mommy!"  I'm hoping Stephen Hawking will explore this phenomenon in his next book.  Either that or they start adding Valium to Flintstones' vitamins.  One of those two things needs to happen.  In the meantime, I remain the perpetual unmatched sock (another phenomenon that Hawking needs to look into, why do dryers eat socks?).

In all honesty, I can't hate on my friends for any of this.  It's just the natural progression of things.  Little girls grow up and get married.  When you take a spouse, that person automatically becomes the most important relationship in your life.  It has to.  Just like after you have a child that child replaces all others including your spouse.  I'm not sure our species would have lasted this long had it not been for this pattern.  Still, it's lonely.  I used to have a lot of girlfriends.  They're still my friends, I think.  They just haven't answered the phone in a few years.  Busy moms don't have spare time.  Unless you add up the microseconds accumulated while blinking.  Am I right, ladies?

When you've spent your life feeling unwanted by society, it becomes hard to adapt to these new roles that you all take on during adulthood.  I know my friends love me.  I know they'd like to spend more time with me.  But the part of my brain that stopped evolving at 16 years-old keeps insisting that these people, these so called 'friends' no longer want me.  I was good for a while, but now that they have shiny new families my services are no longer required.

Which brings me to where I'm basically at right now.  It's something I need to work on, but haven't quite figured out how.  I'm learning to say no.  I'm learning that friendships don't require services rendered.  There is no quid pro quo.  True friends don't know who owes whom because no one owes anyone else.  And if you DO know which friends owe you favors, take a long look at those relationships.  I'm learning that I'm not surplus and I'm definitely wanted.  I'm learning that my friends love me, even if I haven't heard from them in some time.  I'm learning that life often takes us in different, sometimes diverging, paths but that, where there is love, there is always a road back.

Good Company

I got some really good feedback on my last post (thanks everyone!) and it made me realize that I left out one super important fact.  For all of you who were, are, or ever will be dealing with mental health issues (so roughly billions of people), you are not alone.  Everyone goes through stuff.  Everyone. Everyone has their own story.  I don't mean to diminish your struggles.  I just want you to know that, should you ever find yourself in a dark place, you CAN talk to people about it.  I guarantee that whomever you chose to talk to has felt the same way at some point.  They will not diminish you or look down on you because they are you.

When I was younger I went to school with 4 girls who were all BFF's. I called them the Perfect 4. Perfect hair, perfect smiles, perfect GPA's, perfect families, perfect futures to look forward to at the perfect colleges.  Just completely and disgustingly perfect.  I'll admit I avoided them like the plague because I could never live up to their perfect brand of perfection.  I didn't want to be the bad guy for hating them, so I convinced myself that it was them that hated me. I was homely with an average GPA and a very lower middle class family.  I didn't have tons of friends.  I wasn't extraordinary in any way.  They must have thought I was beneath them, right?

I was wrong (duh).  Each member of the Perfect 4 had their own shit that they were dealing with.  I won't go into details because those aren't my stories to tell.  Just know that they were each lugging around their own baggage.  I don't know if they talked about it amongst themselves, but I have a feeling they didn't.  I know I didn't discuss my depression and anxiety with any of my friends (except for maybe Amy but that's because, as my BFF, she was technically just an extension of me and not a separate human being).

High school is rough, folks.  At my last reunion I asked people the age old question, If you could go back and do high school again, would you?  The answer is a resounding NO.  No from the band nerds, no from the drama geeks, no from the athletes, no from the cheerleaders.  Just no.  No one wants to go through high school again.  You live with your parents, you probably don't have a car, you have no money, and you have little to no say in what happens in your life.  Worst of all, wear the wrong jeans or shirt just once or get caught talking to someone not within your feudal circle and life as you know it is over.

As teenagers we like to think that our parents are clueless and have absolutely no idea what high school is like today.  It's so cute that teenagers think that way.  It's even more adorable that every generation of teenagers has felt this way since the dawn of high school, and that each generation thinks that things are different for them.  I'll admit that my parents didn't have Facebook or Instagram, but that just meant they had less opportunity to embarrass themselves publicly, thus rendering themselves social pariahs.

While I do believe that individuals can change, I do not think that the human condition will.  In high school everyone is pretending to be okay and just trying not to stand out.  Except the nerds.  This is one area where the nerds have it up on everyone else.  They already know that they are permanent outcasts so they are free to live their teen years however they choose.  They don't have a stake in the game.  Except the clueless nerds like me that thought they might have a chance of being upgraded from a life on the D list.  Silly, silly me...

Here's a little secret that might help.  You can pretty much bank on the fact that every person in your school feels just like you.  All of you are tiptoeing the line between 'healthy, happy emotional state' and 'Oh God!  Kelsie just frowned at me.  What does that mean???  Am I wearing the wrong color today?  It is pink day, right?  Am I out?  I'm going to have to change schools!  Aaarrrggghhh!  What does that look mean???'  Calm now.  Kelsie didn't even notice you.  She's just eating lunch.  Her mom packed her a tuna salad sandwich and she hates tuna salad.  Or maybe she just has resting bitch face.  Regardless, IT ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT YOU.

Whew.  Felt good to get that off my chest.  I don't know how my parents survived having 2 teenage daughters in high school at the same time without killing us.

But back to my original point. You are not alone.  You all feel anxious and insecure and just generally 'less than'.  All of you.  Even Kelsie.  But you teens, and the teens from my day (Go Rams!  C/O '97!), and all the ghosts of High School Past have felt the same insecurities.  No one talks about it because everyone believes that talking about it will cause people to look down on you or belittle you.  It's really a shame, because that's not true at all.  Maybe if I had talked to the Perfect 4 all those years ago I would have figured that out.

Sadly, us grown-ups carry those same insecurities around with us long after graduation.  The great irony of mental illness is that people hold it inside  and refuse to talk about it without ever realizing that all those people they are afraid of are holding in the same secret.  It's not like a heroin addiction or a felony conviction (not looking down on either of them; just needed an example).  This is a universal condition.  It doesn't take anything away from you.  It doesn't limit what you can accomplish.  The only way mental health issues will limit you is if you don't get help. It's exhausting.  Please.  I'm begging you.  Ask for help.  From a friend, from family, from a professional.  You aren't alone so don't feel like you have to go through it alone.  You owe it to the world to put the luggage down and go out there and show us what you've got.

The Lost Generation

I stumbled upon this meme today. My first reaction was, 'Yes! They should do that!'  Then I started reading the comments accompanying the post.  Man are people ever heated about this topic.  What I hope to be just a very vocal minority blames people for shirking the responsibility of parenting and leaving it up to educators.  I'll give an example of the mindless prattle being ignorantly spewed forth.  I think it sums up the emotions of the peanut gallery rather nicely: 

Why is it the school's responsibility to raise our children and teach them the things parents should be? Come on people! Wake up and teach your children these things! No one else should be responsible for it but the parents. If the parents can't handle it, then maybe they shouldn't have been one to begin with. --Jenn Fulton

Dear Jenn: No, some people shouldn’t be parents to begin with.  But that doesn’t stop stupid people from breeding.  Do you really want to deny a scared teenager help just because his/her parents are tools?  Maybe you’re the one who needs to ‘wake up’.

Children don’t decide what circumstances they are born into.  They don’t get to pick their parents.  They don’t choose to be born into poverty or abuse.  They can't control if their parents are present or absent, whether physically or emotionally.  I completely agree that parents SHOULD be responsible for raising and protecting their children.  But what should be, more often than not, is not what is.

So, let's all just agree that children deserve help from someone and that that someone might not necessarily be a parent.

That being said, let's address the kids themselves.  We as a society have already decided that we need to talk to our teens about sex (or abstinence), drugs, peer pressure, and bullying.  Why are we so afraid to talk about mental health?  Topics like depression and anxiety have been clouded in shame and this does a severe disservice to our children.

I didn't have the best childhood, but I knew that my parents loved me.  They told me I was smart and beautiful and capable of great things.  But I didn't believe them.  I spent my every waking moment comparing myself to the kids that I felt were smarter than me (I'm looking at you, Shannon). and the kids that were prettier than me (like Kelly's natural beauty) and the ones I felt were more capable of great things than I would ever be (if only I had Damon's talent).  My parents spent so much time telling me how great I am, but they never stopped to ask how I felt about the matter.  My mother was of the Tom Cruise school of thought when it came to psychiatry.  If you're sad, just think about something else.  Therapy and drugs are for quitters.  She never once discussed mental health in a positive manner with me.

So each day my parents would tell me I was smart and beautiful and capable of great things, just like good parents should.  Then they would pat me on the head and push me out the door and off to school to fend for myself.  And each day I would get a little more depressed and anxious, which I had been taught was a weakness, so I felt a little more worthless.  Each day I left another little piece of myself on that front stoop while I silently cried out to be allowed back inside.  

Please don't misunderstand; I'm not blaming my parents.  They did the best they knew how.  I just truly wish that they had been able to talk to me.  Or that I felt I was allowed to talk to them.  Luckily the world has changed a little since I left home almost 20 years ago. Now I speak openly about my struggles with anxiety and depression.  I take medication and I see a therapist.  I am not a bad person, or a weak person, or less of a person because of it.  And neither is anyone else.

I know it's a difficult topic, but I beg of all of you, please talk to the kids in your life about mental health.  I don't care if it's your kids, your nieces and nephews, your best friend's kids, kids at church, whatever.  If you see a teen is struggling, please throw them a rope. Don't just hope someone else will notice and intervene.   Also, don't be surprised if they push your hand away.  They may not be ready to talk about it, but at least you can plant a seed of hope.  Let them know that you will be there to help when they are ready.  

Maybe you feel it's not your place to butt in.  Maybe you feel it should be their parents' responsibility.  Maybe you're right.  But what I hope I've been able to communicate here is that it doesn't matter who SHOULD reach out.  All that matters is that someone does. 

--shared compliments of Crissy Gwinn

Family Ties

I couldn't tell you what year this photo was taken.  I'm thinking 1982? Maybe '83?  Look how much my sister and I love each other.  Just goes to show that seeing isn't always believing.

My sister and I were mortal enemies.  We fought hard.  Boy-fight type hard.  Fists and nails and using bad words that we didn't understand but we knew we weren't supposed to use hard.  Then again we were each other's most loyal protectors.  Once upon a time there was a boy that went to the same babysitter as Heather and I.  That was around the same time this picture was taken.  I don't remember his name but I know I didn't like him.  One day he decided to bite my sister.  Hard.  Hard enough to draw blood.  He bit the wrong person's big sister.  The next day I kicked him repeatedly until he fell to the ground.  Then I started jumping up and down on him while using some more of those bad words I wasn't supposed to use. I should probably feel guilty about it, but I don't.  That's my sister. If anyone is going to hurt her, it's damn well going to be me.

Family can be tricky.  You don't get to chose them.  From the day you are born you immediately become a branch on the old family tree-house of horrors. It's not just my family.  It's not just your family.  It's every family.  Every family has at least a few drops of crazy drifting around in the gene pool.  It's something you can't avoid.  Not even after you grow up and move away. Life will be going along smoothly until one day when you open you mouth and suddenly, inexplicably, you hear your mother's words.  Then shit gets real.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my mother with all my heart.  I loved her right up until that one day in my early 20's when someone said something glaringly obvious to me and I found myself replying, "Yeah. And if frogs had wings they wouldn't whomp their asses when they hopped."  W. T. F.  Thanks a lot, mom. You'll have to forgive her.  She grew up in rural West Virginia where she developed a tendency towards subtle racism and homespun turns of phrase.

Think you can avoid it because you were adopted?  Good luck with that one, buddy.  I have friends that were adopted and their circumstances are just as bleak when it comes to inheriting familial psychosis.  When you adopt a child, they become YOUR child.  I've said it before, but it bears repeating; Blood does not make families.  Love makes families.  So whether you were raised by your grandparents, a wonderful auntie, or complete strangers, you WILL inherit their crazy.

There is a silver lining, though.  You all have the same crazy.  That makes it seem not-so-crazy. You can be yourself with your family.  Up to a point, that is.  NO ONE wants to talk about your unnatural addiction to Barry Manilow records or that you name each of your toes.  They all know about it.  But it's like that night you came home in a squad car.  Everybody knows it happened.  We just don't talk about it.  Unless you're my mom's older sister, Fran.  Then you feel compelled to remind me about that thing that I did back when Reagan was in office that broke my mother's heart and how I should apologize forever to my saint of a mother.  I guess I just messed with the wrong girl's little sister.

In case that hasn't comforted you enough, the second silver lining is that we now have Valium. Valium hit the U.S. market in 1963.  I find it appropriate and comforting that Valium was available the same year that LBJ took over the presidency, Beatlemania swept across North America, and Coca-Cola introduced their first diet product called Tab (not in that order).  This was a country crying out for a crutch and, if there's anything pharmaceutical companies are good at, it's better living though chemistry.

Family is important,  Sometimes you may feel you need to be heavily medicated to deal with them, but deal with them you must.  My sister and I used to be sparring partners once upon a time, but now we care deeply for each other.  Those familial bonds are important.  They are your refuge, your haven.  Family is where you turn when the rest of the world just doesn't make sense. My mom was the youngest of 6 children.  When I was young I felt bad for her having to grow up in such a big family, but now I know just how lucky she was and how lucky I am to have inherited them.  Or maybe that's just the Valium.