When you really love someone, they become a part of you. Two wholes who merge to form one unstopped force. This is an amazing phenomenon. To know someone so intimately, to feel them so deeply.

Poets have spent lifetimes trying to find the words to adequately describe this sensational force, to create such beautifully written lines that our soul stands up and takes notice. Recalling the sounds, the touch, the taste, the smells – like an early morning dream softly fading from memory.

When you find that one person who can make your soul stand at attention, who’s presence can silence the entire world, as soon as they put their arms around you, you feel all of your problems melt away, like butter sliding across a hot pan. And with no words spoken, you know that everything will be okay. Because no matter what you have to face in life, nothing will ever be stronger than this – this impossible force of cosmic energy.

Because of this phenomenal connection you also feel all the hurt, the pain, the fear. Your mind suddenly goes blank and all you can think about is them. Your chest tightens and your breath quickens, like two cold, bony hands tighten their grip around your throat. Your stomach drops out and all you can feel is emptiness. You’re lost. You’re scared. You’re confused. All you want to do is take all of their pain and wrap yourself in it. Take it away from them. Consume it. It’s heavy and thick, like a dense cloud. You can’t see through it, you can’t move it. It begins wrapping itself around you, gripping tighter and tighter as it forces its way down your throat. You feel defeated.

And then, laying there with that dense cloud filling your lungs and slowly pouring from your mouth, you begin to choke and cough as you remember that you’re not alone. And they’re not alone. You are two wholes who merge to form an unstoppable force. And as the warmth of the sun breaks through the darkness, you see them. Standing above you with their hand extended, lifting you from what’s left of the cold, dense fog.

They wrap their arms around you, and you feel it all melt away.

Your hugs melt away my worst days. Your hands envelop my entire body in warmth and safety. Your kiss is the tangible embodiment of love – I can see it, feel it, taste it, touch it. Your smile is the cure to all of my pain. My love for you fills me from the tip of my toes to the top of my head, bursting into an explosion of golden light, illuminating my way through the darkest of times.

I’m here, forever and always. And your fight is my fight.

So. I haven’t been able to post anything in awhile. And because of that I stopped writing. I feel different when I write. I can express a part of myself I wouldn’t otherwise be able to express. And I hope in doing that I’m able to express it for others too.

I feel like a toy mishandled and shoved to the back of the closet. My insides and my outsides are miserable and all I can do to keep any teeny tiny bit of sanity is to constantly “work on” my appearance. Hair extensions, consultations and heavy debates over dying my hair pink again, filing off my beautifully manicured fake nails EVERY NIGHT and putting new ones on just to keep myself busy, to keep my mind at peace. But lately even that isn’t working.

I’ve tried to work hard on my career. I’ve been an overachiever since day 1. Always trying to make that daddy proud. But now I don’t recognize myself. I can barely make it in to work by 10 every morning. I leave by 4. I can’t focus. I’m full of resentment for the people there. I feel cheated, I feel degraded, I feel like they think I’m dumb and naive. Just another vagina in a tight skirt to show her face in meetings and present ideas for them to turn down almost with an “aww honey that’s cute” expression on their face.

After a year of being beat down repeatedly it becomes very difficult to find your footing again. To look in the mirror and see the person you know should be there. She’s retreated to the back of the closet. It’s safe and dark and quiet in there. But most of all she’s alone. She doesn’t have to face the condescending bosses and the back stabbing coworkers. She doesn’t have to work as hard as she possibly can on an idea or a presentation only to have it ripped to pieces and put back together as an unrecognizable mess. She doesn’t have to write articles that get published across the internet in someone else’s name.

And she doesn’t have to hear the news that she makes as much money as the receptionist. A Director with an office. Running an entire department alone. And she makes as much as the person watching Netflix on their computer at the front desk.

So there she remains, tucked away in her closet. Where no one can find her. She’s always been very good at hide and seek. But I miss her. I need her back. I need her to stand up and take control. I need her to tell me that she has my back no matter what and will never let us fail. Because the part of me that she left behind can’t do any of those things.

But she stays put. And honestly, I don’t blame her. What sense does the world make when it takes someone so confident and talented, so excited and passionate about life, and puts people and situations in her path that beat her bloody. If her outsides matched her insides she would be a scared and broken mess. People’s hearts would break for her. They would help her stand up. They would demand to know who did this to her. But that’s not how emotional pain and abuse is treated or seen.

I don’t know how long she’ll be in there. But I want her to know something: I will take care of you the way you’ve always taken care of me. I will hold your head high and we will take those big, bold steps together. We will take on the world. We will smile again. And you won’t even miss the closet. It’s hard without you. Every single day is twice the struggle it needs to be. So please, please when you’re ready come  back. I’m not the only one who misses you. You have a fiercely loyal group around you, fighting for you. As much as I want to look in the mirror and see you again, they want to look into my eyes and see you too. So come back, please.

*Originally written March, 2015

In 24 days I will be 30. Turning 29 was difficult for me, more difficult than I ever imagined it would be, considering I never though it would be difficult to begin with.

There’s a stereotype for women turning 30. One I didn’t think I’d fit into, especially after dealing with the emotions of my last birthday. Didn’t I already expend enough time and energy into birthday stress? But as the days creep closer and closer to 30 I feel different..about a lot of things.

I guess every birthday brings with it some reflection about the year(s) past and what’s to come. And this year is no different. I’ve reflected a lot about what this birthday means to me. It feels like a right of passage into adulthood. Like there’s a tangible doorway you walk through into the next phase of your life.

I think more than anything I just want to live up to all the promises I’ve made to myself. I have a lot of expectations to be a certain way, to accomplish a set list of goals, to provide a certain kind of life for my family, to grow into the kind of woman he wants to marry, to check enough off of my list to feel ready for kids (I know, I know like that will ever happen). The thing about turning 30 is that most of the biggest life goals you set for yourself are accomplished in your 30’s, or at the very least the foundation and most of the framing has to be done. And that’s a lot of pressure. And a lot of self doubt.

But that’s the thing about time, it never stops. It doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, to meet the right person, to advance your career, to make a certain amount of money. It just happens, taunting you, “Ready or not, here I come.”

So I’ve decided to turn the tables on time. Ready or not, Thirty, because here. I. come.

My finger tips have always been the instrument with which I expel all of my negativity, happiness, intelligence, humor, understanding, confusion, and love.

Now, when I need them most they’re failing me.

I just want to leave everything broken to the wind. Watch it dance and twirl as it’s carried away. Feeling the relief as it gets smaller and smaller on the horizon.

I think the simplest answer my finger tips can express in this moment is that I’m the wind. Nothing or no one else will magically carry my faults away. Not like that.

I’m blessed because I have my own little wind storm around me. People who love me when I struggle to see why. People who protect me when I don’t deserve it. People who sacrifice their own happiness just to see me smile. I love these people with all of my heart and soul.

But it comes down to me. I have the power to create the most awe inspiring force that can sweep through my life, my heart, my head, and purge all of the negativity and self doubt. I can create the force that pushes me back on my path where the rest of my little wind storm is patiently waiting for me.

So watch the wind blow. 

29 turned out to be one of the best birthdays I’ve had. This past year has taught me so much about myself, who I am, and who I am striving to become. It’s shown me what love really looks like. It brought me even closer to my mom and sister, which I never thought possible. The lessons learned over the past 29 years have been immense and priceless.

As you may know from my previous post, I was not looking forward to this birthday at all. I found nothing but gloom and doom in turning 29. Judging myself, the progress I’ve made, and my accomplishments. That attitude turned around quite quickly after getting real with myself.

This year I celebrated with the most important people in my life.
I got my pink hair back, proof that you can still rock it out in the corporate world without compromising yourself in the process. I was given some amazing gifts, some absolutely jaw dropping, some touching and poignant, and others that brought an intense awareness of how some people in your life know exactly what you need, even when you don’t.

Thank you to the people in my life who’ve helped me become the person I am today and continue to walk beside me down this path of change and progress. I am so blessed to have a family and best friends who never leave my side, no matter how ridiculous I can be.

At the end of the celebrations, the cakes, the torn wrapping paper, and the laughter, came the best gift of all: the undeniable love that permeates my life. I worry that I can never repay or even express the unconditional love and support I’ve been given, often times feeling completely undeserved. But there it is. Without hesitation, without condition or expectation. Without a doubt, the most amazing gift is unwavering love.

Even though it sounds ridiculously insignificant, thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve given me, everything you’ve taught me, and for every single time you’ve lifted me up when I’ve stumbled.

I love you.

Since I was a teen, I had a very specific idea of where I’d be in my life by the time I turned 29. With my birthday a week away, I’ve spent most of the week in a very low place. Going over and over in my head what’s missing, what I should be, have, own, live, work, look, drive, everything. In some of the comparisons I’m quite happy, like I’ve achieved some imaginary award from my 17 year old self. But for some of my bigger expectations, I’m far from where I thought I’d be. I see the look of disappointment and sadness on my younger self’s face. I let us both down. It’s hard to stomach. Then comes the guilt and shame of  being so dismissive of what I have achieved and how far I’ve come, this year especially. A spiral of negative emotions.

Saturday, after a fight with my best friend, I found myself in the corner of my mom’s bedroom, crying. I was so deep in my own let downs I couldn’t climb out. I felt like I was trapped at the bottom of an empty well, desperately gripping and searching for a place to find my footing, to pull myself out, but I just kept slipping back down to the bottom.

My mom came in and sat on the bed, facing the corner I was crumpled in. She began asking me questions. “Do you regret moving to Sweden?” without hesitation I said, “No, not at all.”

“When you moved back to the US, do you think you should have taken the job you were offered that paid twice what you make now, but knew you’d hate?” “No.” I replied again with no pause.

“Do you regret the career path you’ve chosen, doing what you love, but having to wait for your salary to grow?” “Of course not.” I answered, gaining a solid understanding at this point of where she was going. “These were all choices you made for yourself when you moved home from Sweden. Choices you thought out very carefully. You said if you had to come back with nothing, you were going to rebuild your life even better and stronger than it was before you left.”

She finished her point, “Do you remember where you were this time last year?” Looking down at the carpet, my knees pulled tight to my chest, I recalled exactly where I was, “Sobbing on the floor in your closet, wedged between the wall and a shelf full of sheets. I remember thinking that I was actually dying. I couldn’t breathe. I was so scared. And you pulled me out by my ankles.” “And look at you now!” She said, with a smile that filled her face and lit up her pale blue eyes.

Her words surrounded me like a warm blanket wrapped around cold shoulders, the way only a mother’s advice can. She was absolutely right. A year ago I was an inconsolable mess. My life was over, my heart was missing, buried in one of the many boxes I left in Sweden, full of belongings I’d never see again.

But now, though I did find myself crying in a corner, it had never been more clear to me. I saw the last year of my life play out like a movie. And here I was. I had done the impossible, I rebuilt my entire life exactly the way I wanted to. I even felt my heart beating strong again, something I never thought I’d experience again.

I took a deep breath and looked up at my mom. She smiled, knowing her work was done, and left the room. The tears were gone from my eyes, my cheeks stained with mascara, and for the first time in days I felt something I had been missing: pride. I was proud of myself. I was in awe of myself as I continued to play the last year over again in my head. I was the heroine of my own life. So why was 17 year old me being so critical and judgey?

She hadn’t been in love, never traveled the world alone, never had a real job with bosses and deadlines and headaches. She never experienced deep, soul wrenching heart break, the kind that poets spend their entire lives trying to put into words. She never had to start over again. She had no idea what life really was. How amazing it can be. And how horrific. She was sheltered and very naive.

I looked 17 year old me in the face and smiled. And you know what? She smiled back, a look of acknowledgement and penance in her big hazel eyes. We both realized something that afternoon; life practically never plays out the way we think it will. Even when we lay the strongest foundation for our plans. Life is fluid and always changing, swirling and folding like smoke from the end of a lit cigarette.

If my life was everything I thought it should be at 29, I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t have learned the lessons that I have, loved as hard as I have, felt the deepest emotional pain and recovered. I wouldn’t have found out that it’s absolutely possible to fall in love again. I wouldn’t be pursuing my passion as a career or have my dream job. I wouldn’t have seen the parts of my friends and family that I did, the intense worry that only comes from deep love, the support they gave, the tough love and the soft. I wouldn’t trade the last year of my life for anything, because everything happened exactly as it was meant to.

So instead of the birthday blues, this year I’ll celebrate birthday bravery. Facing another year, ready for what’s next. Feeling a little more blessed than usual and extremely proud of the person these 29 years have shaped me into.

I came across this open letter to people in any type of relationship with a person who suffers from an anxiety disorder. It so perfectly captures the experiences. If you suffer from GAD or know someone who does, this letter will truly help your perspective, and hopefully your relationship. Because as she puts it, your friendship can mean the difference between drowning or keeping our head above water.  

Let me start by clarifying something. When I refer to my “anxiety”, I am not simply talking about my fears or situations that make me nervous. I’m not talking about the kind of anxiousness that everyone experiences throughout their life. I am talking about Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD)- a mental condition which affects nearly every aspect of my life in one way or another.

You’ve probably noticed my nervous behaviors. Bailing on plans at the last minute, making excuses to stay at home, chewed nails, sudden crying, shortness of breath, restlessness, fearing new situations, inability to go places alone. Panic attacks.

I try to hide my struggling, but I know you see it. You see it because you care. And because you care, you often try to help.

I’m writing this letter, because I want to be fair to you. I want you to understand what my anxiety is and what it feels like.

Anxiety feels like an ocean. When it hits, I struggle to keep my head above the water. It’s overwhelming and every single moment feels like I’m one breath away from drowning. It’s so big, so vast, and it extends further than I can possibly see. The water is dark and heavy. And the more I struggle against it all, the rougher the waves get.

The words “calm down” force me to struggle against my anxiety even more. And the water rises even more.

If I could stop my anxiety, I would have done so by now. These emotions are not a choice, or something that I have invited into my life. I am not a victim, but I am certainly not a willing participant.

I know you want to help me, but you can’t help me rationalize these feelings I’ve spent my whole life trying to understand. Irrational fears and emotions cannot be understood. Instead, try this: When my anxiety is pulling me under, let me know that you see my struggle, even if you don’t understand it. Listen to me, hug me, just be there, even in silence. Most importantly, know that you can’t fix me or make my anxiety go away. I want you to be my friend, not my therapist. I will never put those kinds of expectations on you.

I wish you didn’t have to deal with this; ironically, you seem to feel the same way about me. So this is a learning process for both of us. I promise to continue finding new ways to cope with my anxiety. In return, I simply ask that you keep being my friend, even if I don’t always deserve it. Friendships like ours are often what keep my head just above the water. And that means everything to me.

So thank you, friend. Thank you for being there.

The past will always be a part of us. It has to be. It’s just learning to separate the anger and disappointment from the lessons learned. That’s the hard part. That’s the part that gets most of us. But we’ll keep fighting, and we’ll keep learning, and we’ll continue to move forward with the best parts of the past inside of us.

Tonight the Buck Moon will light up the night sky (granted the clouds in Atlanta back off). Full moon names date back a few hundred years to Native Americans, of what is now the northern and eastern United States.

They kept track of the seasons by giving distinctive names to each recurring full moon. Their names were applied to the entire month in which each occurred.

There is a lot of mystery, superstitions, and spirituality surrounding full moons. Pregnant women going into labor, werewolves, religious ceremonies, and my personal favorite, being overly emotional. I am all too familiar with the over emotional and the full moon is no exception. So keep your tissue box and chocolates close tonight and avoid any and all social media, phone calls, texting, or general interactions with people.

To kick it off, here’s one of my favorite songs. It’s beautifully sad and has a very personal meaning in my life.