Be Kind

Part of working in the mental health field

is being aware of what's going on inside of you.

I try to practice this everyday,

but sometimes my perfectionism takes over,

and I focus on all the things I'm doing wrong.

The anxiety I feel every day when I leave for the office

or the fear that I won't be able to do enough

or my own awkwardness.

When I do this I undermine the person God created me to be.

I forget authenticity, and embrace the old copycat me.

I try to be like the other counselors.

Funny, professional, seasoned.

I forget to be patient with myself.

New things take time.

Grad school taught me a very important lesson,

I'm going to make mistakes.

I teach my clients to be mindful,

not to judge themselves too harshly.

But I forget to follow my own advice.

I forget to look around.

I recently went through a HUGE transition.

I married, moved, and started a new job in less than 3 weeks.

This is my crash course in learning to be a wife, a professional, a home-maker...

I forget to notice that I'm not alone,
I have a caring husband,
helpful co-workers,
and a list of friends that love me.

Do you ever forget to be kind to yourself?

True

I'm an addictions counselor--

I guarantee that doesn't mean what you think it does.

There are so many preconceived notions--

ones I have been guilty of myself.

"It's a choice"

"They can stop whenever they feel like it"

"They're selfish"

"They don't care about the family"

If there is one thing I could say that is true 

of every addicted person I've encountered,

It would be this:

They are in pain.

She was bullied as a 3rd grader.

He watched his mother drink herself to death.

She was talked into selling her body by someone she trusted.

He was never the same after his divorce.

She lost her child shortly after it was born.

She faced domestic violence and near death experiences for the past 8 years.

She is dying. Years of alcohol has damaged her body beyond recognition.

Sometimes the stories are familiar,

Other times they are nearly unbelievable,

but they are always filled with searing pain.

Another true statement,

I feel very unprepared to work with addictions.

I'm learning new curriculum, a new way of thinking, even a new vocabulary.

I come home and the tears are near,

the client I had so much hope for is back to killing herself

slowly, chemically

Caring is dangerous,

and I'm selfish by nature.

But each day I wake up, 

put on the most "adult" professional dress and heels I have,

and keep trusting.

God made me a helper.

He gave me a mixture of strength and compassion.

Sometimes I even catch a grace-filled glimpse of what He is doing.

I see the connection when 

something I learned in my internship can benefit a new client.

 a class I took in undergrad helps me write a new curriculum for families.

I recognize someone I love in the story of a new group member.

He's given all of us a purpose, a hope, and a future.

And I can't give up now.

Acceptance

I've posted before about the trial I faced in graduate school

But I can look back with rosy glasses 

and feel like it was worth it.

I'm thankful for those hardest times. 

They gave me a professional title, a new job

in a new place, with my new husband.

But I have some rebuilding to do.

Sometimes I can't sleep at night,

Sometimes I'm afraid this isn't the life I was meant for.

The salaried job with the consistent hours feels...

so strict.

I don't love it. I'm not completed by this laboring.

And I lie.

I tell myself I've made it.

This is it.

The dream.

Really, I'm a spiritual shell of what I used to be.

I've forgotten that verse in John I used to cling to.

I've forgotten that he's leading me to...something good.

I forget his promise of healing and focus on all the wounds.

I wish for something else. 

Isn't work supposed to be...fun?

And this work has changed me.

I still miss that blithe cupcake making girl from 2012

before I really began to understand Trauma.

I shake my head as 

I learn Trauma has followed me 

and holds hands with Addiction.

I know these are Satan's ways of attacking people,

I know God has called me to be His helper in their lives.

Still, I emotionally back away.

Because when there's a relapse

or a sudden suicide

-they're all so sudden-

I only feel loss.

What I'm getting at is the need for acceptance.

The need for surrender.

He's asked my heart to break

while I offer hope.

He's made me strong enough to do it.

And he's given me a flawless example.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord you God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior"
Isaiah 43

See

I'm pretty much a year in now.

I look back at the girl I was last July,

a fresh faced dreamer,
a blithe cupcake decorating barista,

still so unfamiliar to sorrow,

to human suffering.

I knew heartbreak.

I knew sadness.

I knew let-down.

But I had never let true suffering get close to me.

Since interning at a domestic violence shelter

I have come face-to-face with human suffering,

I've come to experience trauma second-hand.

I've let sadness penetrate my heart,

I've held hands with hatred,

I've looked bitterness in the eyes.

And it has take its toll on me.
Depression has become something I understand
beyond books, diagnoses, and symptoms.

Sometimes I get to the end of the month,
I look at my stats, numbers attached
to women I have begun to believe in,
and I realize what it takes.

Each session it takes courage to get close,
bravery to poke the soft places that bring tears,
and authenticity to let go of my own expectations.

Counseling isn't about helping others,

it isn't about making someone better than before.

Not exactly.

It's holding onto secrets without giving out judgement.

It's being safe enough to allow discovery.

It's marrying truth and trust in a way that brings vulnerability.

If I thought I could trust the process and come out unscathed I was wrong.
I've had to let go of naivety and hold on to hope.
I've had to see myself for who I am not,
and accept myself for who I am.

I would like you to see this me.
I began the slow walk towards my true self years ago,
and this blog played a huge role in that.

I can't ask my clients to be vulnerable without practicing it myself.
So here I am, blogging, letting myself be seen.
Because I can't stop believing that it is our stories, heartbreaks, and victories
that bring about belonging, connection, and love for one another.

Faint-hearted

I had no clue

how difficult, stripping, life altering this journey would be.

And I'm afraid I won't make it,

not the way I'm going.

I've been steadily pulling away.

Hiding.

I don't want you to see that I'm barely making it,

that this process is tearing up 22 years of structures,

that I am afraid I will not make a good fit as a counselor,

that my weak arms cannot and will not be able to hold others.

And I realize now that this is where I have faltered,

in trying to do this alone, 

pushing on in my own strength.

So let me take this chance to say,

Graduate school has become nothing short of the hardest thing I have ever done,

and I am completely intimidated by the idea of failing.

This so called process has stripped away my pride, my safety-nets, my routine thinking,

and it has left me feeling so much weaker, unsure, and discouraged.

Counseling others is nothing like I thought it would be.

Looking into the face of the bruised, scarred, and desperate 

is much more intense than I ever imagined.

Balancing on the beam of caring too much 

and not caring enough is exhausting.

I don't want you to see,

but I know you do.

I've been getting texts and calls.

People are praying for me.

I'm on their minds.

I seem to be in a "bad place"

They are worried.

And I find myself responding to all their care in bitterness.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for hiding, it takes so much more effort.

So here's the truth. 

I'm struggling. 

I'm doubting.

I'm afraid.

I consciously know I'm not alone.
My classmates feel similarly,
but it take so much effort to explain what we are going through.

But I need others. God and friends and you.

Because I will never make it if I think I can do it alone.

Celebrating love.

As most everyone knows or will now know,

February is my favorite.

I've loved celebrating love

since elementary school 

when Valentines day looked like sleepovers,

extra candy, and craft time.

I still have my top 5 Valentines Cards

stuffed in a box somewhere in my closet.

Adults roll their eyes, 

or profess their hatred for Valentines day

all the time.

But if you think about it,

it's a day to consciously celebrate loving others...

which is a commandment, and a theme with Jesus.

One thing God has been teaching me about love lately,

is that it should be done out of freedom.

I would have said I love others often.

I give up myself, my time, my priorities all the time.

To make someone happy.

To keep someone pleased.

To stay away from conflict.

But that's not really love.

Because in the end I feel used,

bitter, and all the more selfish.

Love should be done out of freedom,

not force.

For me that looks like setting boundaries,

looking inward to  check my motivations,

asking for God's love to fill my life,

not my own paled version.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  

If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body up to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing." 

1 Corinthians 13:1-3

Back.

It has been so long since I wrote anything.

I wish to excuse my absence to grad school, business, the holiday rush.

But in reality, it's because I lost myself.

I couldn't find congruency and genuineness.

So I didn't write.

Losing yourself happens sneakily,

behind your back.

And you're always losing yourself to something,

someone.

But the tradeoff only left me empty,

and ultimately alone.

Because when we give up who we are,

we lose nearly everything.

I'm back
by circumstance, not by choice,

(which is an amazing thing I call grace).

Who knows how long I would have exhausted myself

running on a path I never belonged,

faking my way.

No, I was just a shiny Christian girl

who gave everything she had to people, friends, and job.

I was a rule-follower and I wanted people around me to be happy.

How is that a dangerous equation?

Oh, believe me.

It can be.

But the good thing about losing yourself
is that the process allows you to pick
which pieces you want back,
and which ones need to be lost forever.

I want to be a genuine follower of Christ,
a girl who gives up everything for the sake of the Gospel.
I want to love others in a way that feeds freedom, not compromise.
And I want to accept Grace in a way that fosters self-acceptance.

It's my process. I hope it helps yours.