Radical Acceptance & Personal Grace

Hey y'all.

I'm back to check in on you again.

It's been a serious hot minute since I've posted on here, because as I'm sure you are aware, life has been... well, a dumpster fire of molten radioactive manure.

2020 has been an utter train wreck, and I'm not sure when it'll get better. I'm certainly not holding my breath.

There has been so much happening, at a level of jaw-dropping escalation, that I've truly struggled to keep up, let alone make sense of it all.

I have started and stopped, written and re-written this post time and again, yet it never quite hit how I wanted it to. I got too caught up in overthinking what to say or how it will be perceived; will it be clear enough, concise enough, or cover the myriad of topics well enough to satisfy my audience? I overthought it to the point that I couldn't even words anymore, and thus gave up...

Then I decided to take a different approach.

I took the old post, the one I'd been mulling over for countless weeks, and decided to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and start from scratch. 

See, everything sucks, the world is awful, the floor is lava, it seems to be Bad News Bears all day every day. That's not anything new. And I honestly don't feel that I have any level of justifiable expertise to try and weigh in on the complex issues we're facing as a state, a nation, and a global community with any reasonable semblance of merit (contrary to the multitude of experts blowing up everyone's social media feeds, amiright?)

So I'm not going to try. 

(No, Karen, opinions are not facts...)

Instead, I'm going to talk about me.

...

Okay, that sounds worse than it is... I promise!

I'm talking about coping mechanisms. With everything burning down at such an epic and unprecedented level, and the continued uncertainty of literally all of the things, it's only natural to feel some kinda way about it all. And believe me, y'all, I've been feeling all kinds of ways. And very little of it has been good.

And that honestly has taken its toll.

Worst kept secret: I have anxiety. And not your throwaway comment "ugh I have such bad anxiety" that so many people use these days when they really mean they feel temporarily stressed or concerned about something. I have literal, diagnosed, for realsies anxiety. As in, my fight-or-flight response likes to kick up at random and inopportune times because it cannot decipher between real and perceived threats.

(Thanks lizard brain!) 

And my usual, highly successful coping mechanisms are, evidently, not sufficient for a global pandemic, social and political meltdowns, rampant unchecked corruption, daily news horrors, and the fracturing of friends and family over all of the above.

So as much as I love the overwhelming physiological rush of an anxiety attack (I do not), the swirling-thoughts-induced insomnia (not my fave), and the squirrels-at-a-rave good-luck-focusing-on-literally-anything brain activity (nope), it was all getting a little out of hand. 

It was time to figure out a new plan of attack on this genetically modified version of Super Anxiety (cape and patent pending). And truth be told, I'm still science-ing it, because it is a lot of trial and error. Here's what has been working for me so far:

• Reducing my caffeine intake. Anyone who knows me understands what a monumental undertaking this is, because caffeine is life. But caffeine is also, duh, a stimulant. And what is bad for anxiety? STIMULI!!! Ergo, less caffeine. Le sigh. 

• Notes. All of the notes. I am literally writing down everything these days: to do lists, shopping lists, reminders, all of it. Partially because anxiety makes your memory utter crap, and without writing everything down and setting reminders in my phone, I would honestly forget all of the things. But more importantly? Writing everything down helps clear out the brain clutter. Rather than having all of the thoughts, tasks, action items, etc floating around in your head, they are put on paper where you can see them in an orderly fashion and your brain can stop trying to grasp them all at once. Also? As you begin scratching out each item on your list, your brain gets a sweet boost of dopamine (it's science, look it up!). 

• Square breathing. Square breathing is a calming technique wherein you breathe in for 4 seconds, hold it for 4 seconds, exhale for 4 seconds, and hold it for 4 seconds. You repeat this for a couple minutes, or as long as you need to until your heart rate begins to come down and you start feeling calm. It is truly one of the most effective in-the-moment methods for calming the fuck down when an anxiety attack starts rushing in. Even Navy SEALS use it. Pinky swear. 

• Limiting social media. Yup. Remember how anxiety loves stimuli? Well social media is one big cesspool of stimuli. All of the self-appointed current events and political experts on Facebook screaming their opinions in your face 24/7; all of the negativity and nasty comments and toxicity; all of the shallow, braggy "highlight reel" posts that are often nothing more than fabricated lies; all of the narcissism and sociopathy running rampant; all of these things are affecting our mental and emotional health. If we are not choosy with what media we consume, we can easily be consumed ourselves. I personally have been purging my list of who I follow on social media and what I allow in my feed. You gon' be toxic? You gon' get cut off. My mental and emotional well being is more important.

• Self care, sis. Doing my nails. Online shopping (god bless Amazon Prime). Face masks. Glam makeup on an otherwise average Tuesday. Gourmet meals. Snuggles with my hubs. Snuggles with my kitten. Time with friends and family. De-cluttering my kitchen, makeup vanity, closet, etc. (clutter around you legit creates clutter within you). Anything and everything that helps bring me back to center. I will acknowledge, however, that my self care does need a little work. I have been arguably focusing too much on external self care, but neglecting my internal self care, aka my mental and emotional needs. So I have recommitted myself to reading more, writing more (heyo!), listening to the podcasts that always ground me, and engaging in the creative side of my brain which I have been recently neglecting. 

Times are tough right now, and no one really knows when things will return to normal, or even what that normal will be. Because of this, it is vital to take care of you and your core needs. Touch base with your inner self and figure out what you need to do to heal your shit. And while you're doing that? Don't forget to cut yourself a little slack. We're all just trying to do the best we can. 

So what about you? Do you have anything that helps you get through all the things? Feel free to share in the comments!

Normalcy Lost For The Greater Good

Hey.

Hey you.

Yeah, you.

You doin' okay, bud?

Because it's okay if you're not.

Things are weird right now. The world is closed. There's a heavy vibe in the air that weighs on you. Life is all out of sorts, and will be for the foreseeable future.

And it's okay to have feelings about that.

It's okay to grieve your sense of normalcy. It's okay to grieve cancelled plans, cancelled trips, the day-to-day life you were freely living before all of this occurred. It's not selfish or silly to be sad, or frustrated, or disappointed, or angry. It's okay to retreat into yourself while you process. It's okay to emotionally eat all of the quarantine snacks. It's okay to feel all of what you're feeling, even if you're not even sure what all you're actually feeling.

We are facing unprecedented times right now. We've never, as a collective global society, experienced something of this magnitude. There's no built-in memory function for "global pandemic". There's no saved setting in our brain that says "Oh yes, this is how to handle this!"

We are all of us winging it to the best of our abilities; some days we are successful, other days we fail miserably. And that's okay.

We will get through this. Life will eventually return to some semblance of normal. That normal may be a little different than what we were all used to, and that's okay. We will adjust and start to move forward, and we will all find our groove again.

Hang in there.

We as a global community are in this together.

To those of you deemed essential enough to still have to go to work, THANK YOU! You are the glue holding the fabric of society together right now. You are appreciated more than you may know. Stay safe.

And to those of you sheltering in place, I know you're going stir crazy. I know you're stressed. But you're doing your part for the greater good of society.

Try to think of it this way:

You're not stuck at home. You're safe at home.

I'll say it again.

You're not STUCK at home. You're SAFE at home.

And finally, to those of you ignoring the shelter-in-place requirements because you don't like it...

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!? STOP IT!!! STOP BEING SO GODDAMN SELFISH!!! THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU OR YOUR PERSONAL PREFERENCES OR PREVIOUS PLANS!!! THIS IS ABOUT FLATTENING THE INFECTION CURVE SO AS TO GIVE DOCTORS AND NURSES A FIGHTING CHANCE AT TREATING CRITICAL PATIENTS WITHOUT BEING OVERRUN!!! THIS IS ABOUT PROTECTING VULNERABLE COMMUNITY MEMBERS, EVEN IF YOU AREN'T ONE OF THEM!!! THIS IS ABOUT REDUCING THE NUMBER OF FATALITIES AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE!!! THIS IS ABOUT SLOWING THE NUMBER OF INFECTIONS AND STOPPING THIS VIRUS IN ITS TRACKS SO WE CAN GET BACK TO NORMAL LIVES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!! DO YOUR PART!!! STAY HOME!!! GEEZ!!!

*Ahem*

I digress.

Stay home. Stay safe. We will get through this together.

I Did... NOT Let That Sh*t Go...

Hey y'all! Remember in my last post when I was all optimistically going to chill a little bit and cut myself some slack and not let stress weigh on me so badly?

.........

Yeah, that didn't go so well.

The last few weeks kicked my ass. Like, straight up left me bleeding in the gutter. Holy crap.

I had my final paper due for winter quarter, and due to my aforementioned stress over how strictly my instructor graded, that paper nearly killed me. Then my youngest fell playing soccer at school and broke his humerus pretty badly. Add to that the COVID-19 situation here and, well, suffice it to say, I was done.

D. O. N. E.

My anxiety was through the roof. I was grouchy. I wasn't sleeping well because my brain wouldn't shut off. I was on the verge of tears all day erryyday. And I hated it.

And it got me thinking.

The last few weeks have been a struggle, yes. They've been stressful, to say the least. Things are crazy in the world right now, more so than usual. News feeds are filled with scary updates on death tolls, forced quarantines, and future projections that are far from comforting. Grocery stores are wiped out, people are fighting over and hoarding basic necessities (and preventing others from getting what they need). Here in Washington State, we are in a two-week mandatory lockdown of public spaces, which may extend longer if needed. Schools are closed for six weeks at minimum, potentially extending to the fall if the worst case scenario comes to fruition. Countless businesses have been forced to close their doors; those that can work from home are, and those that can't are facing dire financial situations.  Our normal lives are completely disrupted and no one knows for how long. And it's unnerving.

But it's also absolutely vital.

And that's what I was mulling over for a few days. Weighing out my personal life stresses and anxieties in comparison to the bigger picture.

I had to ask myself if my level of stressball struggles were proportionate to what I was experiencing, or if I was snowballing my emotions unnecessarily.

The answer I've come up with is... yes.

It's both.

My stress was real, my feelings were valid. But they were also far more consuming than they needed to be. And I think I've finally sussed out why.

In terms of my personal stress, I basically haven't had a break since before the holidays. I've been burning the candle at both ends with school and writing and mom-ing and all of the various curveballs life likes to throw into the mix. My self-care routines took a hit in order to accommodate my overly-full plate, which of course only compounded my stress. I wasn't utilizing my outlets frequently enough to relieve stress and get back to center. And because of that, I've basically been at max capacity since... early November?

Then all hell breaks loose on a global scale.

Then my kiddo gets seriously injured and (at the time) his prognosis for treatment was unclear because medical facilities are maxed out and everything non-COVID-19 has to take a backseat.

And my lizard brain hit its limit.

And it became clear I had to sort out my shit before I cracked.

The first step was taking an inventory of what, exactly, was weighing on me. I don't know about you, but when life gets chaotic and things start piling up, my brain becomes a big ball of yarn. All the stressful thoughts and topics kind of blend together and it becomes one big overwhelming swirl that I can't even begin to address. So I started untangling the individual things one by one.

From there, I had to essentially prioritize what things to give my energy to, and what things needed to have a pin put in them for later.

My final paper? It was done. Turned in. Out of my hands. No longer worth carrying. (I did subsequently get a really good grade and glowing feedback from my instructor, which felt amazing!)

As far as kiddo's treatment, we just had to wait until he could be seen by the orthopedic surgeon at Swedish Pediatrics. We had that appointment on Monday, and little dude does not need surgery. That was a huge relief.

And in terms of the global pandemic we're facing and all of the fear and uncertainty that comes with it? I'm basically forcing myself into radical acceptance. I joke that as an introvert I've been preparing for this my whole life, that I'm built for social distancing. But deep down? I'm scared.

Not because I have to stay home and avoid people. That is quite literally my life goal 98% of the time.

No, I'm scared for my friends and family who are at risk because of health conditions or age. I'm scared for the catastrophic national and global economic implications. I'm scared for my husband who works as a first responder and puts himself at risk every time he's on shift. And I'm scared for the unknowns that are inevitably to come in the proceeding days and weeks.

In Washington State, I do not believe we have hit the top of our curve yet, and that honestly frightens me. I worry about vulnerable populations. I worry about those, like my husband, working at the front lines of this and facing direct exposure while helping others, and if/how our medical infrastructure will hold up. I worry about the psychological impacts this experience will have, especially for kids.

But, all those worries aside, I am aware that so much of it is beyond my control. So I am doing my part. I am practicing social distancing, otherwise known as the introvert's dream. I am figuring out plans for home education for my youngest, who is in elementary school and does not have the online learning options that my older kids do. I am meal planning and maintaining adequate food supplies (while not taking it too far out of greed or panic). And I am practicing radical acceptance despite everything feeling like one big ball of fiery chaos.

Things are nuts right now, y'all. Look out for each other. Be kind to each other, kinder than usual. Show gratitude and empathy. Find joy. We need it right now. Check on your neighbors. Wash your hands. Hug your kids a little tighter, because they're probably freaked out too. And for goodness sake, follow the social distancing and self-quarantine measures. While you may not be at risk, others are.

Let That Sh*t Go

The past few weeks have been, shall we say, a wee bit stressful. School has been brutal, and this final push toward the end of the quarter just might kill me. Life has been hectic and tiresome, mostly in good ways, but also in HOLY FUCKING SHIT ARE WE THERE YET kind of ways. Writing has been a struggle because all of the tired has made creativity feel impossible; I sit down to write, stare at the blinking cursor for what feels like an hour, and then just shut the laptop and go watch Netflix. Oh, and I started working on three professional certificate programs as well, because why not?!?

I'm doing all of the things. And lately I've felt like I've been doing none of them well.

That's the thing about stress, it becomes this vicious cycle wherein you're too stressed to do the things you need to do, then become increasingly stressed about the not doing of the things you are too stressed to do. And the things you do manage to do despite the stress aren't as good of quality as they otherwise would be were it not for the aforementioned stress. Ya dig?

I'm trying to be a good wife, a good mother, a good student, produce good writing content, complete these certificates in a timely manner, exercise, drink enough water, and try to get enough sleep to not look like gollum...

Actual footage of me without mascara on, trying to force a smile because someone is daring to talk to me before the coffee has hit my bloodstream. Precious is not happy you have disturbed us. Just sayin'.

So what do you do when the life crap starts to pile up and you feel yourself getting all bajiggity? (Yes, it's a word, I promise)

See? Told ya.

But I digress.

What is your go-to coping mechanism for pushing past the stress and getting back to business?

No, I'm not trying to be motivational, I'm looking for ideas. 'Cuz mine aren't working and I want to steal yours.

Okay, I'm kidding... ish.

Sometimes all it takes is a tried and true method to get back to basics: a hot bubble bath, a solid nap, a good run, a shopping spree.

And sometimes, all your usual tactics end up backfiring, only adding to your stress because you are acutely aware that you are doing something other than the very thing you know you need to get done, and this knowledge only adds to your stress...

Le sigh.

That's where I've been recently.

And it started with school.

This quarter has been kicking my ass. My instructor is... shall we say, demanding. So demanding that it has made me completely question myself as a student. Okay, that sounds a little dramatic to admit that getting a B on a paper rattled me that much.

But it did.

I don't get Bs.

I haven't received anything below an A- since high school (and even that A- bummed me out hard). And while admitting this might make me sound arrogant and douchey, it's true. My education is something in which I take a lot of pride. I want to excel, I want to achieve... hence the three certificate programs on top of grad school on top of building my writing career. I want big things for myself, and I am the one accountable for delivering that.

But recently it's been at a cost.

I think I've been too focused on perfection lately, too focused on doing all of the things with panache and a big flourish, when really, that's not necessary.

Getting that B rattled me. Badly. It showed me areas of weakness in my school work that I needed to address, and have been ever since. But in my attempt to make up for my self-perceived failure to be perfect, I have piled on a metric fuck ton of added stress. And it has been affecting everything else, snowball style.

And quite frankly, y'all? I'm tired!

There are only a few weeks left in this quarter, and I have committed myself to just chilling out a little bit. Yes, I will continue to strive for my best work, because that's just how I'm wired.

But I'm also going to work on giving myself a little grace. I have so many irons in the fire, and only so much energy in a given day to put into any given one. I give myself permission to not be perfect. I give myself permission to set down the weight of the stress I've been carrying, take a deep breath, and just be.

When Something's Gotta Give

Worst kept secret in history: I have anxiety.

I have for as long as I can remember. I just didn't know it.

I have always been a worrier, an over-thinker, a Neurotic Nelly.

Growing up, my home life wasn't the best. It wasn't terrible, mind you. But it certainly wasn't stable. There was a palpable degree of familial tension and dysfunction that really resonated within me, with lasting effects. I never felt at ease in my own home, which in turn resulted in me never feeling at ease in my own mind or body. I was also a highly sensitive child. I never wanted to upset anyone or rock the boat, and I took it really hard when people were unkind to or judgmental of me. And I never, ever stood up for myself.

I gave myself an ulcer at 9-years-old worrying so damn much about things your average fourth-grader hadn't even considered, let alone obsessed over. I'm pretty sure I was the only kid in class who watched the nightly news religiously and was so emotionally tormented over events in the Middle East, Somalia, and the Eastern Bloc that I needed Mylanta. 

One time I stood up for myself and told a bully at school that I hated her... and subsequently tortured myself with guilt for weeks after. I apologized to her and told her I felt bad for being mean, something she used against me well into the following school year.

I was afraid of everything from lightening storms to chronic illnesses, home invasions to internal hemorrhaging. I read a lot, and my highly advanced reading level meant I was poring through books far too grown up for my mental and emotional maturity, exposing me to real world topics my little fear-based brain couldn't handle. I was afraid of everything. I worried about everything. And it held me back. 

As a teen, these worries benefited me in certain ways, as I never had any interest in drinking, drugs, or the general party scene. I barely dated. I avoided drama as much as I could. I was sheltered both by my mother, as well as by my own acute awareness of all the dangers, risks, and consequences inherent in being a wild and crazy kid. 

But I also didn't have many life experiences from which to grow and learn, which only held me back further. I didn't leave the confines of my safe zones, I didn't take even the most basic of risks; in all honesty, I didn't have much fun. Because what if...? What if this bad thing happened, or that bad thing? What if I did something stupid or embarrassing and someone said something bad about me? What if I got in trouble? What if I got hurt?

Those "what ifs" kept me tethered to a highly limited existence. 

I got married young, like, super young, and my "what if" brain continued chugging along. I worried obsessively over my then-husband as he commuted long distances for work. I checked on my children countless times throughout the night, making sure they were still breathing and hadn't been snatched from their beds. I checked the doors and windows of my house over and over, just in case I'd forgotten to close or lock one of them, or they'd... I don't know... self-unlocked? I imagined all of the ways things could go wrong, so that I could figure out ways to prevent that from happening. 

And this is the trait that has stuck since.

Catastrophizing. 

My brain needs to run through all the "what ifs". On repeat. To the point of mental exhaustion.

The particular topics vary, depending on what is happening at that given point in time. But the cycle is the same.

And it was this cycle that finally led me to the realization that, holy shit, I have anxiety! (Something that literally everyone around me knew... except me...)

A few years ago, I was on the struggle bus. Hell, I was piloting the entire fleet of struggle buses. I was in a near-constant state of stress and upheaval, trying to rebuild my life from scratch, and it was really fucking hard. 

I had gotten divorced, moved halfway across the country back to my high school hometown (a place to which I'd vowed I'd never return), and was simultaneously trying to build a solid career, raise my kids, drink enough water, eat a vegetable or two, and get enough sleep to remain somewhat functioning. 

My ex and I were also in a very, shall we say, contentious phase of our post-marriage relationship, which was incredibly stressful and miserable (thankfully that phase has passed and we're cool now). To top it all off, I was in a new romantic relationship that I knew deep down was a dead end but was determined to make work anyway (yay denial!), and had ended up surrounded by individuals who were toxic, though I hadn't yet figured that out. 

Suffice it to say, it was a lot. A lot of intangible stressors. A lot of negative energies and bad vibes that were gnawing at me, but I couldn't quite identify. A lot of fake friends, fake support, false pretenses, and ulterior motives. Though I was surrounded by people, I ultimately could feel just how alone I truly was.

And it broke me.

My anxieties finally won out.

I was utterly consumed by fear, doubt, worry, even paranoia (although in some cases my paranoia was actually gut instinct, and it was spot fucking on, but that's a post for a different day). 

I didn't know in whom I could trust. I didn't know what to think or how to fix it. But I knew I couldn't carry on feeling this way.

So I started making changes.

Slowly at first. 

I started seeing a counselor in order to gain an understanding of why my brain was always convinced the sky was falling. I started poring through self-help books, reading countless articles, and downloading podcasts all in an effort to establish a baseline. I started unpacking three decades worth of emotional baggage I didn't realize I had been carrying. And finally, ever so slowly, I began to heal.

And it felt amazing.

So I built on it.

Yoga. Meditation. Mindfulness. All that spiritual, hippity-dippity brouhaha. I became addicted to self-improvement, to mending my broken pieces, to living a life of authentic inner peace and happiness.

And in doing all of that, in really digging in and trying to fix what I felt were the broken parts of myself, I started being able to identify the different sources of my anxiety. I started to pinpoint the epicenters of toxicity that were plaguing me, those who were amplifying my anxieties through insecurity, triangulation, gaslighting, pot-stirring, and other general drama instigations. I had unwittingly surrounded myself with people who thrived on my struggles, who were fueled by me being down, all while pretending to have my back. 

In being so lost in the chaos of my life during that season, I didn't notice any of this. After all, when you're up to your eyeballs in mud, you can't see the crocodiles surrounding you.

I had finally started clearing away the muck and mire of my anxious little brain, and was shocked and devastated to realize that as I'd been tirelessly shoveling the mud away, people in my inner circle were just scooping it back up and dumping it back in.

And it became clear to me, those toxic energy vampires had to go.

I was never going to get my anxiety under control, I was never going to heal my past wounds, I was never going to grow and truly thrive, if I stayed surrounded by their garbage.

In the months and (almost) years that have followed, my healing and growth have grown by leaps and bounds. It is amazing how much better you feel, how much easier it is to heal, when you're no longer surrounded by asshats. However, I am well aware that while I was absolutely being fueled by the toxicity around me, that was not, at the core, the root cause of my anxiety. They simply enabled and instigated what was already there. My empathetic, anxious personality is what allowed such individuals to stick around as long as they did; after all, when you're wearing rose-colored glasses, the red flags just look like flags. 

After I cut out the flying monkeys who were gleefully adding fuel to the fire, I took a hard introspective look at what was making me tick, at the very traits that permitted such individuals to prey on my vulnerabilities, and I did the necessary work to rectify it. I am committed to living in an asshole-free zone, and early asshole detection is key!

(I say that in jest, but it's also completely true)

Self-improvement and personal growth aren't easy. Not if you're really doing the work. And it's not linear. Two steps forward, one step back, occasionally a step or two sideways. Essentially you sometimes feel like you're doing the hokey-pokey, but that's what it's all about. 

(Oh you know that pun was intended!)

But in all seriousness, that really is what personal growth is all about. It's about intention. It's about commitment. It's about hard fucking work.

I still have anxiety. I am still that worrywart, that over-thinker, that Neurotic Nelly. 

But nowhere near what it used to be. 

Nowadays, my anxieties are triggered less often. When they do show up, I have much stronger coping mechanisms, and am surrounded by much better people, people who help me through it rather than berate me, belittle me, or talk shit about me all while lending a sympathetic ear. I also have a much better understanding of where my anxieties stem from, what causes it to rear its ugly head, and how to get myself back to center faster and more effectively.

It's not perfect, but it's pretty damn great.

Let's be honest... being a person is complicated. The least you can do is be happy while you do it.

The Struggle is Real

As I mentioned awhile back, I left my job in government to fulfill my passion and pursue my writing career.

I also subsequently bitched about it. 

Because here's the thing. Are you ready? Imma 'bout to drop a truth bomb on your face. Here goes...

Being a writer is hard.

Yeah, I said it. Fight me.

Yes, I am pursuing my dreams. Yes, I love it. Yes, it also sometimes sucks a little bit.

And because of this, there are some times... okay, most times actually, where I have a little bit of hesitation in telling people what I do for a living.

"Oh, you're a writer? That's so fun!"

No Karen, it is not fun. It's actually somewhat soul sucking and plunges me into the occasional existential crisis.

"You should write my life story!"

LOL Debra... your life story isn't that interesting. Also I require a retainer for such services and I doubt you planned on paying me. My time is not free. Run along.

"Tell me what your story is about!"

Put simply .... no.

"How's your writing going?"

*open weeping whilst chugging white wine* It's fine. This is fine. Everything's fine. 

When I tell people I'm a writer, I usually get some variation of this, or a darling anecdote about their brother's neighbor's dog walker's college roommate who wrote a thing once for funsies that may or may not have gotten published by a big publishing house because of some fun little twist of luck.

Cool. Thanks for sharing.

Does that sound bitchy? Oh well. Ask me how much I care. (Kidding... mostly.)

In actuality, I am hugely supportive of anyone who has the cojones to purge their heart and soul onto paper and dare to send it out into the world. Because that's what writing is. That's what any art is. You're taking a vulnerable little piece of yourself and exposing it to the world, hoping to not get clobbered in the process.

More often than not though, you still get clobbered. Very few of us get to be that brother's neighbor's dog walker's whoever it was. 

And that's why I'm arguably a little pissy in my responses. Let me explain.

It took me years, YEARS, to finally fully commit to my writing career. And even once I finally bit the bullet and did so, it's not like anyone from The Big 5* immediately came a-knocking on my door. 

This is not a "if you build it, they will come" kind of thing. 

It's a "constant grind, keep plugging away, write every damn day despite all the self-doubt and writer's block and obstacles that get in your way" kind of thing. 

It's a "everyone will doubt you and judge you and you have to ignore it even when you doubt yourself because crazy hard work and hustle is the only way this pays off" kind of thing.

*For those not in the know, the Big 5 are the major U.S. publishing houses, and suffice it to say, they don't give a flying fuck that I (or anyone else) decided to put my big girl panties on and pursue my dream. True facts. But I digress.

When I tell people that I'm a writer and their response is anything other than "ouch, here's more coffee", it's immediately clear they don't get it. 

The sacrifice, the struggle, and blood, sweat, and tears you pour into your work only to have a client, publisher, or agent tell you it's "not Twilight-y enough".

Um, thanks Greg, but that was kind of the point. 

You see, writing is not just sitting down with a happy little cup of coffee and productively typing away for an hour and boom, finished product. And if this how it is for you, well then, with all due respect, kindly fuck off. Because I do not know a single writer for whom the process of creating quality work is easy and painless. On the contrary, it can be pretty fucking brutal trying to get into words the exact thing you're picturing in your mind's eye. 

Words are hard. 

Words are stupid. 

Words are a time consuming clusterfuck of emotions.

Ask any writer.

It's a love-hate type of thing, and some days the hate part really wins out. It is a struggle to create, to produce, to bring about a physical manifestation of your imagination. And when you get brave enough to share that struggle with someone and they don't understand it or respect it? It crushes you.

Writing is not as simple as non-writers think. It's not easy. It's not this quaint little way to pass time. And when you have a scene, or a story, or the perfect set of dialogue right at the tip of your brain but you can't express it the way you want to? Or when you give your precious manuscript to someone for consideration and they brush it off? Or when someone smirks because you haven't published anything in a hot minute "but you still call yourself a writer"? 

Fucking sucks.

But at the same time, it's what my soul is called to. It's this hole in my chest yearning to create, even when creation is a fickle and fleeting thing. It's staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, picturing the scene perfectly and not finding one. damn. suitable. word. to describe it. 

So no, Susan, I don't want to tell you what I'm working on. Not even a little bit. But we can talk about puppies instead.

I didn't choose the caffeine-addled life of a frustrated writer, the caffeine-addled life of a frustrated writer chose me. Now bring me a damn coffee. Please and thank you.

Extraordinary, Intentional Love

I got married a few months ago, and I still very much like my husband and he still very much likes me.

While that shouldn't necessarily be a huge accomplishment less than six months in (though for some people, maybe it is!), I am acutely aware of how quickly a relationship can go sour.

And I intend to avoid that this time around.

I have only been in two other serious relationships, neither of which were particularly healthy, each for its own reasons (that's a post for another day). From both of these experiences, I learned a series of lessons, painful yet worthwhile, about my strengths and weaknesses in relationship, as well as my strengths and weaknesses individually.

I also learned what I absolutely require in a relationship, and what I will and will not accept moving forward. I set standards, I set intentions, and without even looking I stumbled into the most wonderful love story, one that I never thought possible.

It's okay, go ahead and vomit. I'll wait...

You good now?

Okay cool, I'll proceed.

Yes, Hubs and I are disgustingly, nauseatingly happy. It's gross. We're sappy and affectionate. We laugh constantly. We send each other cheesy texts, flirt incessantly, and engage in obnoxious PDA. Our pun game is off the charts. We're thoughtful with one another, going out of our way for each other in order to show how much we care. We tell each other how we feel daily. We are, in short, intentional with each other.

And that's the topic of this post.

Being intentional with your partner.

Many relationships (though not all) follow a similar trajectory: In the beginning, it's fun and exciting. You are purposeful with your time together. You go on dates. You have plentiful one-on-one time full of laughter, conversation, and bonding. You crave your time together, and it seems like electricity is in the air constantly.

Then as time goes on and commitment deepens, the initial heat begins to fade as you sink into the comfort and minutiae of everyday living. Real life takes precedence over romance. Running errands often becomes a substitute for date night. Flirting gets replaced with debates over whose turn it is to pick up toilet paper or grab takeout on the way home from work.

Eventually, that real life minutiae takes over and you start to take each other for granted. You both settle into the comfort, into the assumption that your partner just is, just will be; that they will be there, that they will do this thing or that thing, that the status quo will continue no questions asked. This mentality opens you up to the risk of drifting apart, living separate lives, and losing the very thing that brought you together in the first place: the intentional fire you had for one another.

Sadly, this seems to be a socially accepted trend. The "end of the honeymoon phase" we've all heard about. Some couples go on existing in this place, content in the mundane comfort. Others find this a miserable existence and the relationship ultimately ends.

Controversial opinion: The end of the honeymoon phase is crap!

Why does the so-called honeymoon stage have to die out? Why is a relationship becoming stale and stagnant an accepted thing? That, to me, is utter garbage.

It really is as simple as this: If you're not growing, you're dying.

That's just a universal fact of life.

If you're not flourishing, you're withering.

Look at trees. Or flowers. Or the human life cycle. It all follows the same pattern.

The growth stage, followed by the decay stage.

I do not accept that relationships have to be on this same path toward inevitable decay, and I'll take a gander that you don't like it either. Hence the purpose of seeking intention within your relationship.

Pursue your partner with the same love, the same passion, the same interest that you did when you were first together. Court your spouse. Date your spouse. Continue to place value on your relationship even when you're roaming through Costco or taking the garbage out or running through the other 8,000,000,000,000 responsibilities of your daily round.

Yes, the day-to-day stuff has to happen, that's called being an adult. But there's no reason why your relationship has to suffer because of it.

I don't know about you, but I don't want mundane. I want extraordinary. Thankfully, so does Hubs.

So we have made it a priority to be intentional with each other, in order to keep our nauseating, diabetic-coma-inducing love story alive.

"But Sarah, how do you do this with 1,000 kids and full-time jobs and busy, hectic, tiresome days full of adulting?"

Well I thought you'd never ask!

With daily, consistent, intentional effort.

Another controversial opinion coming at ya: If you let the honeymoon phase die, it's because you are lazy in your relationship.

There, I said it.

If the honeymoon phase dies, it means you quit pursuing your partner. You quit prioritizing your relationship. You allowed mundane complacency to take over. You got too comfortable. And that's entirely on you.

Only you get to decide how much effort to give your partner, whether that's 100% or 15.7%.

(And if you are hovering around the 15.7% mark? You're essentially just roommates. And barely even that.)

I have been lazy in a relationship, and I have accepted laziness in a relationship, and I vowed to never do either again. And yes, sometimes life kicks your ass and you temporarily lapse in how much effort and intention you are giving your partner; that happens. And it's important to allow each other space to be human. But it is equally important to come back to center as quickly as possible, before you drift for good.

I am lucky to have found a man as committed to this as I am.

I am married to a man who is as thoughtful, as loving, and as intentional in pursuing me now as he was on our first date. And I am as crazy about him, as enamored by him, and as appreciative of my time with him now as I was in the very beginning as well.

My husband is really and truly my best friend. We tell each other everything, good and bad. We support each other's endeavors, goals, and dreams. We call out each other's bullshit (with love, of course). We are partners in life and have an absolute blast doing it, even on the shitty days when everything goes wrong and life just fucking sucks; yes, even then we've got each other's backs. We lift each other up, and we root each other on.

I'm literally living a Hallmark card 80's power ballad sappy romcom kind of life.

And here's how...

Hubs and I go on weekly dates, sometimes to a fancy restaurant, sometimes to MOD pizza. We go on monthly adventures, from weekends in fancy artsy hotels, to hikes, to concerts, to random Airbnb's in a neighboring county where we explore a new town for a few days. We go away on trips as often as our schedule (and responsible financial management) allow, whether across the state, across the country, or out of the country altogether. We regularly plan time together without kids, without stress, and without distractions in order to reconnect.

And our in-between time (you know, the time spent actually adulting), we slow-dance in the kitchen while I'm cooking whatever latest meal I found on Pinterest. We snuggle on the couch and watch a comedy special or a documentary or a movie. We snuggle in bed at the end of each day and talk about whatever is on our minds. We go on walks on the trail by our house as frequently as possible (and as frequently as I'm willing to tolerate walking in the stupid winter rain, let's be honest). We are purposeful with one another, intentional with how we express our love, and consistent with making each other our priority.

Because life is hard enough as it is. But it's utterly miserable if your relationship sucks.

There's no place for mundane. I expect extraordinary.

And I hope you do too.