Safe to be Vulnerable

Today someone asked the question, "How do you make someone feel comfortable when they tell you they don't want to come to church anymore?" And what came to mind, was to let them know they're not alone. Some days I don't want to come to church anymore either. Sometimes my doubts overwhelm my faith. Sometimes I feel like I have more questions than answers. Sometimes it feels like that lack of balance should knock me over and take me away from the answers that I do have. And I sometimes feel very very alone in feeling that way. And sometimes, going to church and being surrounded by people who are either very good at faking it, or are filled with more faith than doubt leaves me feeling like I don't belong. And I get that there is a pressure at church to focus on the positive, and to fill people with light, but... there's something that just doesn't fit right. You often hear people say that the church is like a spiritual hospital. Hospitals aren't full of healthy people. They're full of sick people trying to get better. And churches aren't full of perfect people. They're full of imperfect people trying to get better. But when I walk into a hospital, I know that the people there aren't healthy. I know that they have problems just like me. And they are all unique problems, and I don't know who has the same problem as me, and who has a very different problem, but I know we all need help to get better, or find an answer, or understand the answer we've been given. And church isn't quite like that. It's not so easy to remember that everyone there needs help of some kind or another because we can't see it. But if we can't see it, maybe we could at least talk about it. 

One of the things I said in response to this question, was that in my experience, people are more willing to be vulnerable with you, when you are first willing to be vulnerable with them. Maybe that's not fair, but it's true. And when I find places where it is safe to be vulnerable, I find that that is a place where I want to be. There is nothing that I crave more in this life than the space and the people with whom I can feel safe being vulnerable with. And if we could make church feel like a space where it is safe to be vulnerable, safe to admit things like "I'm not so sure I even want to be here"... then maybe more people would want to be there in the first place. 

I mentioned that to me, it is important that when I feel prompted to share something at church, that I do so, even when it feels vulnerable. I try to prioritize being vulnerable. Because I have been in the meetings where someone shared something vulnerable, and it made me feel safe, and loved, and not alone. It made me feel at home and at peace and like I was in the right place. And if I can do that for even one person, then I have done something to repay that moment of safety that was offered to me through someone else's vulnerability. 

And I provided an example. I mentioned sharing in a church meeting that I was gay. Because it felt applicable to the lesson, and it was the most authentic and vulnerable thing I could do in that moment. And it felt important to be true to that. And I could have gotten my point across today without sharing that story. And it would have been fine. But it felt like a way to say "Here, this is what I mean. I'm giving you an example by being vulnerable and sharing this. It's okay to let people see you for who you are outside the cookie cutter version we think people want to see." Being vulnerable creates a space, where other people can do so too. And what I shared today felt good and it felt right, and I had no fear in sharing it. And that was empowering, for a moment.

But after a moment of awkward silence, I came away from that comment, on the fence as to whether it was a good thing that I shared or not. Did the shock factor take away from the value of what I had to say, or did it add to it? I don't know. And the silence made me want to bolt. I wanted to leave and never look back. Which to me... just reinforces the need to help people see that they are loved for what makes them different, and not just what makes them the same. That's not to say that I didn't feel loved in that meeting. Just that I was surrounded by people who didn't know what to say. And I totally understand and relate to not knowing what to say. But feeling like the elephant in the room is never a comfortable thing. But maybe we just need to worry a little less about knowing the perfect thing to say, and focus a little more on communicating what's in our hearts. And for me, when people choose to share their vulnerable with me, what goes through my mind is "I feel so honored that you would share that with me. Thank you." And sometimes, at least in the moment, I don't need anyone to say anything. Sometimes I just need a hug. Or for someone to look in my eyes, with the certainty that says “You are seen. And I still love you.”

But I didn't bolt. I figured I would do my time, and wait until I had paid my expected pleasantries and then leave as soon as I had fulfilled the bare minimum expectation of awkward small talk. But I actually had very pleasant conversations. In part because one person made an effort to engage me in conversation when they could have averted their eyes and avoided contact, and that ease of conversation seemed to spread to the rest of the table I think. And for that, I am grateful. And nobody said anything to me about what I had shared. And in some ways I wish someone had, because sometimes it feels like the elephant in the room... but in other ways I was grateful to just feel normal despite what I shared. We've all heard Emily say that one before. It's nice to feel normal. I think we all want that. And feeling not normal... seems to be the real normal that we rarely speak aloud. And maybe that's the real thing that needs to be celebrated. It's normal to not be normal. And today, I am grateful for all the spaces and people that make me feel safe to not be normal, so I can walk through the uncomfortable spaces without feeling any less than. 

In the oft-repeated words of a friend of mine “You are loved. You are wanted. And normal is different for everybody.” Maybe you need those words, just like I do.

Privilege

I was recently listening to a book titled “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man” by Emmanuel Acho in preparation for book club night. There’s a chapter about white privilege and while I won’t say it’s a perfect comparison or anything, I found myself emoting with what he was saying, but in the context of how I feel as someone who identifies as gay. 

Statements like these:

“Privilege is the power of feeling normal”

“It’s the silent reinforcement of being able to walk into a store and see its main display show products that cater to you”

“It’s the ability to turn on the TV and see people who look like you represented in all walks of life”

“Privilege is the omnipresent benefit of the doubt”

“It’s the safety of moving through the world without being profiled”

“Imagine having to avert your eyes so you don’t make a [woman] uncomfortable”

“Imagine always having to be on guard to gauge whether you are being perceived as a threat or are in some way playing into some [person’s] negative image or idea of you”

These are all things I emote with. I relate to feeling this way. The thought that I had was that anyone who is in a minority, especially a minority that the majority historically holds some kind of bias against, can relate to. 

Something I hear straight people say A LOT is that they don’t spend very much time thinking about their sexuality and that it’s not a part of their daily experience. This is said as a way to express their confusion and frustration with gay people who seemingly “over-focus” on this aspect of their lives. Honestly it comes across as a bit patronizing. Like “I am better than you because I don’t waste my time with things like that.” Not to say that everyone means it that way, but sometimes that’s how it hits. And while I understand the attitude, I also believe that this attitude comes from a place of privilege. There is less need to weigh and evaluate your actions, thoughts and feelings when you are surrounded by people like you and the belief that you are normal. 

It can be something as simple as sitting down to watch a chic-flic with a group of girls and knowing someone is going to comment on how attractive the male character is, and that person can trust that most everyone will nod and agree, but yourself knowing or feeling like if you said the same thing about the female lead, all that would follow is awkward silence. And maybe a pity comment from someone trying to support you but you know they don’t feel the same way. That’s the kind of moment that makes you feel isolated, alone, taboo.

I am still trying to figure myself out. I am still trying to feel comfortable in my skin. I am still trying to feel like who I am and how I feel doesn’t change how people feel about me. In some ways I still feel like that awkward middle school girl that I thought I had outgrown. 

One question I am occasionally presented with is “Why do you have to talk about this?” For this question I like something from Meghan Decker’s book “Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women,” 

“Generally, ‘coming out’ is more about healing and trust than advocacy.”

I am trying to heal from years of shame. I am trying to trust you. I am trying to trust myself. 

Feelings

 I used to think that healing from being sexually abused meant no longer feeling emotional when the subject came up. I thought being able to feel like nothing triggered me meant that I was over it. I thought it was better to feel nothing than to feel sad. But the thought occurred to me recently, that when I tell people about what happened… they usually have some form of an emotional response. Whether it shows on their face while I’m talking to them about it or not, gears are turning in their head, thoughts are forming, and emotions register like sadness, grief, anger, maybe even confusion, guilt or worry. And those things happen even if they have never experienced anything akin to my trials themselves. Those feelings come even if they have nothing to heal from in regards to the subject. The feelings themselves aren’t indicative of healing or not. The feelings are part of the human condition. Part of being empathetic. Part of loving one another. Part of putting yourself in another person’s shoes and realizing what it would be like for you to walk in them. And not many people would recommend to the person listening to the story, that they distance themselves so far from things that they no longer feel emotion. You can’t get wrapped up in it. But losing your ability to feel those things isn’t good either. And me feeling those same things when I think back on my life doesn’t mean I haven’t healed from them. It just means I’m human. And that is okay and it is good.

Feelings are never innately bad. Feeling sad is not bad. Feeling anger is not bad. And feeling happy is not the only good emotion out there. I guess it’s another one of those lessons in “moderation in all things.” But we just can’t get lost in those feelings, any of them. Or give away our self control while we feel them. I have never felt more lost than when I felt completely disconnected from my feelings. I think at this point that I would rather feel depressed than feel nothing. Because to feel depressed is still to feel human. Feeling nothing was just empty. 

I recently completed a training on protecting children from abuse. And it has been updated since the last time I’d taken it. Honestly the new version was mildly triggering. But I suppose it made me feel compassion. It made me feel protective. It made me feel hopeful for the future. It made me sad these trainings are necessary. It made me feel a shared bond with the scared, ashamed, and sad faces depicted. It made me realize that while bad things happen, and those that make them happen will be held responsible… there will always be people who can love you. Even if you haven’t found them yet. 

And all the feelings hold a place in teaching us in this life. We can hold every emotion in our hands and hearts when it’s their turn. But when it’s time to put them down, we need to learn to put them back on the shelf, and not throw them away, because they are just as important as the emotions that we like. And it’s okay to come back to them. It’s okay to share them. It’s okay to cling to them for a while. As long as we don’t hold on so tight we forget how to feel the other things. 

Come (pause) Follow Me

A few years ago, leaders of our church initiated a new scripture study program entitled “Come, Follow Me.” The focus of this program being to encourage more gospel learning in the home, and not just depending on being taught at church on Sunday. Now, admittedly, I have not made much effort in following the program personally, or with my family, although I hope to do so this year. But I want to share with you something that was pointed out/discussed in our Sunday School lesson this week.

The title of the program is not “Come Follow Me” but rather, there is a comma after the word ‘come’ making the title “Come, Follow Me.” Now, I’m not a huge fan of commas because I know they are one of the rules of grammar I tend to struggle with. I tend to overuse them. But, they can serve an important purpose. I have always said that to me, grammar is most important when it changes the meaning of what is being said.

I own a book about punctuation entitled “Eats, Shoots and Leaves” and one of the very simple things that it points out is that the meaning of the sentence is changed by the presence of the comma or lack thereof. With the comma, the panda bear on the cover of the book eats something, shoots a gun, and then leaves the scene of the crime. Without the comma, the panda bear sits down to eat a lovely meal of shoots and leaves. The meaning of the sentence is changed greatly by the presence of a comma or lack thereof.

So, let’s look again at the title of the “Come, Follow Me” program. What does the presence of a comma do for the meaning of the title? Well, without the comma we are being issued a command: “Come follow me.” To me, I read that phrase with an attitude of “get your butt over here!” But with the comma, we are being given two separate invitations/instructions. The first being to come. And then after we have followed the invitation to come, we are offered a second invitation to then follow Him. The “Him” being Jesus Christ.

But something that was pointed out in our class is that one of the purposes of a comma is to provide a pause. To me, that added one more layer to the invitations to “Come, follow me.” It becomes 

1. Come
2. Pause
3. Follow Me

Our first instruction is to come. Come to the places where we can feel of His presence. Participate in His church. Gather together to listen and learn. Feel the spirit of truth. Witness the fruit of the gospel. Prioritize Him. 

The second instruction to pause gives us the chance to make an informed decision. It gives us time to sit with our doubts. It gives us time to ponder on whether we want to continue in the course or not. It gives us time to ask questions. It encourages agency. 

The third instruction to follow him can only truly occur after we have come, and paused, and then made the choice that based on what we have seen, heard, felt and learned, that we want to do all that we can to do what Christ would have us do. Go where Christ would have us go. Become who Christ would have us be. And accept Christ is the leader. Embrace Him as your leader.

It may seem silly, but in some ways, the hardest part of that to me is accepting Christ as my leader. Accepting that anyone is in a position of authority over me chafes my pride. I have issues with authority figures. As an adult I recognize this. I don't like being told what to do. But I appreciate the instruction and the allowance to pause. It is okay to pause. It is okay if pausing is where I’m at right now. It is okay to spend a little more time on the first invitation to “come” before I take the next step to truly engage in following. Now, part of “coming” in my opinion, is to experiment with the activities of following Him. But it is okay if the conversion involved in that step is a little slower to manifest. 

Everyone’s journeys are unique. And that is okay. We have merely been issued loving invitations to try, to see for ourselves, and then embrace the path when we are ready.

Terrified to be Eeyore

 By middle school I had gained a reputation. I was the one who was always happy. I was also the friend people went to for advice and counseling. When they needed help or a listening ear, they came to me. I was the one people trusted with their secrets. I remember kids joking that I probably knew things about everyone in the whole school because everyone felt safe talking in front of me even if it wasn’t to me because I didn’t gossip and I kept things to myself. I felt destined to be a therapist one day because it seemed to be something I was innately good at and I liked that people trusted me and felt safe with me.

But when crap hit the fan in my own life things got heavy fast and I realized that it was hard to shoulder everyone else’s burdens in addition to my own. And I felt I had a duty to keep being who everyone expected me to be. I was “the happy one.” I didn’t have anyone I could talk to and share my burden with because they had their own crap and I felt I had an obligation to be the strong one for them. The happy one. The one they could rely on.  

It was okay for a while. For a long while really. Because helping other people gave me a sense of purpose and a sense of worth when I couldn’t find those things in my own life. But I did eventually break. I stopped having the energy to be the strong, happy one, always there for others and ready to listen and shoulder their burden. I barely had the energy to keep myself afloat let alone help anyone else. 

There’s a song I like that talks about mental health with the lyrics “Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care; Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air” And that hits hard because that’s exactly what it felt like. Losing my ability to help other people took away the one thing I had in my life that gave me a sense of purpose and worth. I cared about my friends but couldn’t find the feeling necessary to act on it anymore. I became a terrible friend. I was lost in a sea of apathy and couldn’t find the energy to care about anyone including myself. I knew I cared. I knew I loved people. I wanted to care. I just… couldn’t do it. 

And it took getting a therapist to become whole again. The beautiful thing about therapists is that there is no expectation to be anyone but yourself. No expectation to be strong or happy or reliable. No expectation to be nice or nonjudgmental or perfect. No expectation to shoulder any one’s burden but your own. You can say the inappropriate things in your head that would make anyone else uncomfortable. You can just be yourself, with no need to be tactful or politically correct or socially acceptable or not-awkward and you can accept help. Because you’re paying for it. Which is the down side, right?

In reality, for most people, what needs to happen is a certain amount of give and take in their relationships. I help you and you help me. I shoulder your burden and you help shoulder mine. But in order for that to work we can’t put people on pedestals. There are no “strong ones” or “happy ones.” People who are always strong or always happy don’t exist. And to have that expectation is unrealistic, unfair, and unhealthy for everyone involved. It doesn’t help to always view others as perfect and yourself as imperfect, or to be viewed as perfect and in reality never measure up.

And I have tried multiple times in my adult life to let down the walls of “always being happy” and try to let people help shoulder my burdens by sharing them with others. But it’s really hard. I get strangled by a sense of guilt. I don’t feel like I have the right to do that to people because it’s never been allowed of me within the confines of fulfilling the pedestal role of “the happy one.” I’m grateful for the intimacy involved in being myself with people. The feeling that they are seeing me beyond being happy. But I am terrified that in reality the real Emily is a bit more like Eeyore than I care to admit. I am terrified that if I’m not happy at least a majority of the time that people will eventually tire of being around me and will leave. I am terrified that my sense of self worth is wrapped up in my ability to be “the happy one” and the “strong one” and the listening ear for others. And if I allow myself to be anything but that I will be worthless.

Of course Eeyore had friends in Winnie the Pooh who loved him despite his demeanor. But I struggle to relate to that image because it’s not like you get to witness him falling off his happy pedestal and then still being loved. There were no expectations for him to fail. How does one walk away from the pedestal of needing to be happy to have value to people? 

I know that feeling this way isn’t unique to me. Which is in some ways comforting. And I also recognize that if I have always been able to love people in their Eeyore states that I should be able to accept that other people can love an Eeyore Emily too. But logic doesn’t easily change feelings or fears. And even now I feel obligated to tie this up with a nice, positive and uplifting bow. But sometimes, I haven’t yet found the ribbon to tie things up with yet 🤷‍♀️

Normalizing Mundane

Funny moments, memorable quotes, big life events, the occasional rant or whine, memes... these are the sorts of things that fill our social media feeds and even phone conversations. Right? I'm always a little frustrated when I call someone up and ask them how their life has been, and they have nothing to report. You have things you can share with me! It's okay if you talk to me about the kids or the laundry or what have you! You don't have to have some magical or disastrous event to happen in order to have an excuse to talk to me! 

Something I have been thinking about this week is that I am very grateful for windows into people's mundane moments. I've had the opportunity lately to witness regular moments, or at least have them incorporated into the conversation, of "I'm doing laundry" or "I'm doing the dishes" or "I'm making dinner" or "I'm cleaning the bathroom" or "I'm going to vacuum the floors" or "I'm picking up the clutter" or "I just took a shower." And honestly it's been the best thing. I have never felt great at being a normal functioning adult. I don't have the habits or frame of mind most people seem to have. The mundane "every day tasks" fill me with a sense of apathy or dread and they do not happen every day or even sometimes in a week. It's hard for me to explain. But it's been so helpful to have a model for those things.

It also makes me realize that if I can master those things, then I have the opportunity to be that model for my own kids so that they can have a more successful adult life than I have thus far had. And that the attitude that I take with those things will also affect the attitude that my children have. Can I make doing dishes into something that is a fun, memorable moment my kids can remember, so that there are positive associations with it, and not just "the dreaded chore" ? Can I help them feel a sense of pride for their work? Can I help them feel like the every day is possible, and not just expected? And not just that, but I feel like the opportunities that come up to serve other people in those things turn into moments I can be grateful for, because once again, it becomes a model for my children. If there is one thing that I learned from my mother, it is to serve and help others. My mother has spent most of my adolescent and adult life giving a large amount of her time and energy to serve her friends. And that is definitely one of my strongest priorities. It brings me joy. And I want that for my kids. But I also want all the mundane things for my kids too.

So let's normalize the mundane. Let's normalize finding joy in it. Let's normalize including people in it. Letting the kids see it. Letting your friends help you with it. Or at least letting me help you with it 😉 Because at least for me, I am finding that helping others with the mundane, and witnessing more of the mundane, makes my own mundane feel more possible, and less out of reach. And letting your kids see people serving you? That's a good thing too. It's teaching your kids that it's okay to have help. It's okay to ask for help. And that's something I want my kids to learn too. That it's okay to include people in your mundane... that joy can come from the mundane, and not just the extraordinary. Because at least in my experience, joy often comes from moments shared together, and usually, it’s the little things.

Trauma Language

I came across a meme a week or so back that was talking about the bond between trauma survivors. I've never put it into words quite as succinctly before, but what it said was this:

"One reason why trauma survivors often bond with each other so profoundly--which is different from a "trauma bond"-- is because people who've been through certain things "speak" a different emotional language than the rest of humanity.... and we recognize that "language" when we hear it." 

-Dr. Glenn Patrick Doyle            

The reason why this stood out to me was because only a couple months back I was having a conversation with my husband about the fact that I often struggle to make friends with people who don't have trauma in their past. Whereas I often almost instantly connect with people who do have trauma in their past. It comes easier anyway. I also don't deal with the same anxiety when making new friendships with people who have had trauma versus when attempting to make friends with people who have not. It feels difficult to connect, and I sometimes end up feeling like the relationship is unbalanced. That's not to say that I can't or don't have wholesome relationships with people who haven't experienced trauma. I have some wonderful friendships with people who have led trauma-free lives, my husband included. I'm merely noting a pattern in my life, and there are some who break from that pattern. It just normally takes longer. 

I also want to point out that I have no intention of defining what "trauma" entails, because that looks very different for different people. And trauma is trauma. I don't believe in grading or ranking it. But I like this idea of a unique "language" so to speak because it puts into words something I've thought a lot about before in the past. Although I think... maybe people are capable of learning this language if they care enough to do so. Let me share with you a brief story.

There is a moment that sticks out in my mind very clearly. A friend from work, many years ago said something to me that acknowledged that I had been abused as a child. This wouldn't be all that peculiar, nor do I take any issue with that acknowledgement... except, I had never talked to her about it and there was no reason for her to have known. We had never even hung out outside of work. To make this statement about me so boldly when in truth, we hardly knew each other at all was.... bold and unexpected. After acknowledging she was right, I asked her how she knew. Her response has always stuck out to me.

"Compassion and understanding only come from experience. You are too loving to not have been hurt. People who have been hurt deeply, love deeper" 

Realistically, I've always thought that beyond that, she must have had a gift for observation. A radar for the abused. And on hearing her response, I instantly knew that she herself had experienced trauma, because I have only ever been analyzed that quickly before by people who have that shared experience... But also, part of me has always disagreed with that statement. It didn't sit right. I have found people who have led trauma-free lives who have deep compassion for others. I don't believe that having compassion first necessitates experiencing trauma. It seems to me that what she was recognizing, was not necessarily that I loved deeper or had more compassion, but that I spoke her emotional language. All my life I have found people who have experienced trauma. It has often felt like a sort of innate radar or magnetism. And on multiple occasions, people have come to me to talk about their trauma without even knowing anything about my history. And this idea, that perhaps they recognized a different emotional "language" without even knowing it, and therefore felt safe to share themselves with me, which in turn helped us connect... makes sense. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say "People who have been hurt deeply, love differently."

That said, I am very grateful for the people who have allowed me to develop deep relationships with them, regardless of whatever personal history they may or may not have. It is easy to recognize when someone loves you deeply rather than just casually, in passing, when convenient. And few things are more comforting, to me, than feeling free to be vulnerable.. Freedom to say the things I’m thinking even when they have weight, to ask the questions I’m pondering, even knowing they might provoke a vulnerable moment on either your or my part. Feeling safe to cry. That feels like love. That feels like safety. The trust that they love you as much as you love them is an unquantifiable treasure.

Crossed Paths

I remember in college, feeling very sad that I kept making friends with amazing, sweet, compassionate people. The issue was not the friends that I was making, but rather in that these relationships never seemed to last. I came to the realization that I was often put in the lives of those around me, because I was needed. But as soon as the reason for being needed ended, the relationships seemed to fade every time. Once people no longer need me, they stop seeking me out as a friend. That made me sad. It made me feel disposable. In some ways it made me want to give up on making friends or caring about people. You could say I have some mild abandonment issues ;)

Now, to provide a little backdrop, in my church, members have the option, if desired, to receive a blessing from a priesthood Patriarch, that provides personalized revelation and insight for your life. This blessing is written down and recorded for posterity so that you can reference it for guidance and comfort throughout your life. It's considered sacred and personal, and you're encouraged to keep it private. This isn't because it contains big secrets or anything like that. To me, the reason for that is because you are the only one that is primarily entitled to receive revelation for your own life, and allowing others to read it gives them the opportunity to interpret guidance only you are meant to interpret and apply to your life. That ability to interpret and apply your patriarchal blessing to your life comes as you listen to promptings from the Holy Ghost. And sometimes I can read a line, and get something out of it, but read it again years later and take something entirely different from it. And that's okay because I needed different guidance at different times. So keep that in mind as I share this next part.

Reading through my patriarchal blessing in college, I came across several lines that mentioned my friends and acquaintances, and those stood out at the time of course, because I was feeling sad about friends. One specific phrase regarding these friends and acquaintances was that they would "cross [my] path" which stood out, and put the ensuing lines about my ability to affect their lives into context. In reality, it's not like this felt like new information. As I already said, I had realized that I was put into people's lives for a reason. In some ways it made me feel even more sad, because it felt like further acknowledgement that people would continue to only "cross" my life, and not stay in it. You might say I'm putting too much stock into a single phrase, but it's how I felt at the time, and you can't argue with how I felt. But eventually I came to the conclusion that I would take solace in being able to be an instrument for good, no matter the timeline. And that I couldn't allow the length of time that people stayed in my life to cheapen the worth of having them at all. 

And so, when prompted to love people, I love fast, and I love hard if they'll let me (and if prompted), because I never know how long I'll be able to love them for and I can't waste what time I have. Now, granted, I get to love them as long as I want, whether they still need me to or not. And that love is still there, should they decide that they need me again. And I want those people to feel certain in my willingness to be there for them in any way I can. Every now and then it still means that I feel a little sad when I make a new friend, and there's a grieving process that happens, because it's hard not to feel like I'm "waiting for the other shoe to drop," wondering how long it will be before they'll stop needing me. 

But time and time again, I take solace in Ecclesiastes 3:1, 

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven

There will always be value in loving others, and being there for people in their time of need, and allowing people to love you in your own times of need, regardless of the length of the season. There is value to having purpose in people's lives. And the lessons you learn from those people last a lifetime. And the memories you hold onto can last a lifetime too. And you never know when you might find someone that will stay in your life, and not just cross your path. And we simply can't live life waiting for the other shoe to drop, or worried about what tomorrow will bring. All we can do, is live and love today to the best of our ability.

Sex

Not the first time I’ve broached this subject really, but let’s take another stab for fun. I will do my best to do this respectfully while honoring the intimate privacy of the subject.. but also, bluntly. My opinions are influenced by my religious upbringing, and my life experiences for that matter, but also, my opinions are my own, and we’re allowed to disagree, but I believe there is value for some people in knowing these opinions exist. 

What is the purpose of sex? Obviously there’s more than one way to answer this question. Functionally of course, sex has the ability to make babies. But beyond that, in my opinion, sex serves the purpose of helping spouses grow closer together. You learn to be vulnerable. You learn to feel safe being vulnerable with that person. You trust. You learn to communicate. You learn to communicate even when you feel vulnerable. You learn to seek out the other person’s wants and needs. You learn to express your own wants and needs. You learn to put their needs before your own. You learn it’s okay to expect them to care about your wants and needs. You learn to compromise. You learn to be patient. You learn how to set boundaries. You learn to say yes. You learn to say no. You learn to accept no for an answer. You learn to say please. You learn to say thank you. You learn to agree and you learn to disagree. You try new things together. You fail together. You succeed together. You laugh together. You experience pleasure together. You experience disappointment and hurt together. You learn there are some things as husband and wife that are yours and yours alone. Life happens and it’s not perfect, and you may fight and you may cry and you may dance and you may leap for joy… And afterwards, sex is there for the apologies, for the healing, for the celebrations.

Does this mean that sex happens more often than the 5 times I’ve been pregnant? Yes, yes it does. 

Does this mean that my husband is entitled to my body just because he’s my husband, or because it’s Valentine’s Day or because it’s his birthday, or what have you? Nope, no it does not.

Does this mean that sex should be used as a manipulative weapon to be given and taken away to control my spouse? Nope, no it does not.

Does this mean it’s okay to try new things beyond the standard “missionary position”? Yes, yes it does. 

Does this mean that it’s okay to enjoy sex as often as your personal preferences and life allow? Yes, yes it does. 

Does this mean that we should allow taboo to dictate what is and is not okay within your sex life? No. I would say no it does not. What happens in your sex life should be determined between you and your spouse, and what you both feel comfortable with. But what is considered taboo should not be the deciding factor.

Does this mean that both parties should be able to expect pleasure from their sexual encounters? Yes, yes it does. There’s a natural give and take when it comes to sex. And while it may not always be equal, you need to find balance. Any relationship where one person is always giving or always taking but not vice versa is destined to have its problems. Find balance. 

Does this mean that you should feel free to discuss your sex life with friends / family / neighbors and acquaintances? No, it does not. However, can I put a big caveat here? I believe you should feel free to discuss your sex life with others in so far as you believe it will have a positive impact on either your relationship with your spouse, or the other person’s relationship with their spouse. Those should be the only goals. This should be done carefully, with respect to all parties, and unsolicited advice / information should generally be avoided… but while sex is a partnered activity, we are still individuals. And it is important that we are able to communicate with people when it’s needed. Friends have helped me learn to communicate better with my spouse, and there have been moments when I have felt prompted to share things from my sex life with others to help them on their own journey. There were no graphic details. Nothing crude. No disrespect… just the best intentions to help a friend. And that is wholesome and good.

I hope my friends know that I aim to be a safe person to come to when they have vulnerable or taboo things they wish they could discuss. 

I was once told that “Sex is like a fine wine, it gets better with age.” I don’t really think age has a whole lot to do with it, although some arguments could be made there. Really, it comes down to time. Because it takes time to learn all those lessons that we can learn through that sexy time with our spouse. And even when we think we’ve learned something… there’s usually still room for improvement. 

There’s so much more that could be said here. And perhaps if I’ve failed to include something critical, there can be a follow up post in the future ;)

Loving Flaws

I miss my Addiction Recovery meetings. I miss the convenience of having them close by. I miss the weekly reminder to work on myself. I miss the weekly reminder that I’m not alone. I miss the weekly reminder that even though I sin differently than others, I can still heal like others. I miss the privilege of watching people grow and change for the better. I miss the light in the faces of those feeling buoyed by repentance and the atonement. I think that’s what I miss most. It’s one thing you can’t duplicate on a tiny little zoom call on your phone. The spirit you feel as someone enters the room with the biggest smile on their face because they made it. They’re here to talk about their success this week. Or maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re here to talk about how they screwed up or how things are still hard. But it doesn’t matter because they’re here, and there is peace in that because they know they’re in a room full of people who love and respect them despite everything they’ve done. Sometimes they're even nervous to be there. But you feel a sort of pride for their bravery in coming anyway.

That’s my experience with the Addiction Recovery Program at least. Although it can take some time going before it feels that way. Sometimes you have to learn to love yourself in order to love others. And sometimes you have to learn to love others in order to love yourself. Even surrounded by people whose last names you don’t know, you come to love everyone there. And not only that, but usually you come to love these people knowing almost exclusively just their flaws. You don’t know how good they are at speaking or writing or playing the piano, or whether they’re the president of their class at church, or whether they cook well, or if they’re good at serving others, good with children, or a loving spouse. You don’t know almost any of it. You know they have addictions. You know they struggle. You know they’re trying. You know they failed last week, but they want to try harder this week. But they’re not sure they’ll be any better this week than last. You know they hurt people. You know they betrayed someone. You know they hurt themselves. You know they want to believe in Christ. You know they can be selfish, you know they have lied, you know they have manipulated people, you know they have been unkind, you know they lack self control… But despite all the flaws you know about them, one thing remains in the forefront. They are trying. And sometimes trying looks like failing. But they are trying. 

Sometimes they screw up again because sometimes it feels like the pressure to be better, or the pressure to never mess up again is too much. Sometimes we listen to the little voice on our shoulder that is telling you that you’re not enough, that you never will be, that this is all you’re capable of… and you stop believing you can be any better, and all you’re good for is making the same mistakes. So you fall into the trap of doing it again, or not making any changes, even if it makes things worse. Even if it hurts people or yourself. Again. Because you get stuck in your head. Stuck in the feeling that screwing up makes you “less than.” And you are nothing more than that.

But that's why I love the group. Because you look around at all the other people who have made mistakes. You look around at all the people you have come to love despite all their flaws. 

And you realize that if you are capable of loving them despite their flaws, that other people are capable of loving you despite your flaws. You realize it's okay if people love you. You realize that you deserve to be loved despite your flaws. It's okay to love yourself despite your flaws. And as you learn to love yourself, you become better at loving other people in your life. 

And the cycle continues. 

And you keep repeating the steps. 

And you remember that healing isn't linear,

And imperfection, is the human condition.