Piece by Piece

I am feeling a lot of frustration right now.

With my PTSD, I really struggle to focus on things. As such, I was feeling really proud of the progress that I made on a puzzle that I got earlier this year. It's not crazy elaborate and it's not thousands of pieces. It's a Charlie Brown winter scene. 

But it's still plenty difficult for me. 

I put the edges together a few weeks ago and separated pieces out into a few little bowls. I've worked on it a teensy bit here and there, but finally sat down and worked on it for about an hour last night. I got all of the characters put fully together. I had a bunch of pieces grouped together on the table in approximately the spots that they would go. I fixed a bit of the edge that had been pulled apart by my toddler at some point. There is a single edge piece missing. Just ignoring it for now and hoping that it shows up at some point.

I was really, really proud of my progress. It wouldn't be a big deal for many, but it was for me.

And then tonight I heard my dad say something to my son about the puzzle and I rushed over to find this:

Pieces on the floor. Pieces on the chair. All of my cute little characters torn apart and the pieces all mixed together. My carefully organized bowls and sections on the table have all been mixed together.

I felt less mad than just... defeated. 

I sat my son down and told him that I had worked very hard on it and reminded him that we have all been telling him not to touch the puzzle. He seemed fully unconcerned. He did help me pick some pieces, but that's about it.

He knows that he wasn't supposed to do what he did, but he doesn't really understand what makes it so bad, so I'm not too mad at him. But I am frustrated. And as I looked at the ruined puzzle, I had this thought;

This is what life feels like a lot of the time.

I feel like puzzle analogies for life are pretty well known. Something about how piece by piece, things come together. Something about not being able to see the bigger picture. Etc.

I don't know that I've ever heard an analogy about a puzzle being fully destroyed though.

So here's mine:

If you've been following my blog for a while, you know that I was in a pretty good place in life after years of struggle when my life fell apart.

I was piecing the puzzle together. For a long time, nothing seemed to be coming together. There were a couple of connected pieces here, a few there, but no more than maybe 5 were put together in any one section. And then things started to come together. I started being able to see the picture. There seemed to be more and more sections with 10+ pieces connected.

And then trauma.

That was a moment when a toddler came along and busted it all apart.

I think that my healing journey has very much felt like this too. I've worked hard to piece things back together after trauma. There are sections that have never been fully restored. Many with missing pieces. But there are also sections that I didn't have together before that I have since brought together.

But occasionally something happens that feels like a toddlernado. 

This time of the year is really hard for me. I had a major trigger day last week and am still struggling on and off now. It feels a bit like some of the sections of the puzzle that I have put back together are being slowly taken apart.

There was a toddlernado when I restarted therapy a few years ago. Ripping open wounds that I thought that healed but hadn't. It felt like progress was lost before any was gained.

There was a toddlernado when I became pregnant with my son. Pregnant brain mixed with PTSD brain was horrendous and a lot of trigger anxiety came back with the rush of hormones.

I guess what I'm saying is that life isn't always just slowly piecing a puzzle together. Sometimes it's starting the puzzle over. Sometimes it's realizing that the picture that you're putting together is a little bit different than you thought. Sometimes it's hoping that that missing piece wasn't eaten by the dog and will still show up at some point.

It can feel tempting to just scrap the puzzle; toss it all back in the box. 

But I'm not going to. I'm taking a break for now, but I'm going to do it all again. Sort through the pieces again. Redo the border. Put characters back together.

And I do have an advantage this time. I've done a lot of it once before, so I have a better idea now of how things look and go together. I was a little bit confused when I was working on it yesterday because the colors look pretty different on the actual puzzle than they do on the box, so I wasn't always sure what part of the puzzle certain pieces went to. Now I do.

So yeah, I'm pretty much starting from scratch. But I know a little bit more now.

Every time there is a toddlernado in my healing, I at least still have the knowledge that I've gained through this messy process. And I know that progress can be made because it has been in the past. 

Honestly, I don't think that I'm going to finish the puzzle of my life during THIS life. I think that there is going to be a lot of starting over. There are going to be more missing pieces and more destroyed sections. 

By the end of this life, I think that it will (hopefully!) be pretty well together. You'll be able to see the picture. I have faith that it will be beautiful. And I have faith that when I am back with my Heavenly Parents and Jesus Christ, They will fill in the missing pieces and we can superglue the puzzle together.

So tonight I'm frustrated. Tonight I'm feeling a bit sad about my silly puzzle. About having to start over. About all of my hard work being indecipherable. 

But I know that it will be okay. I know that I can always start over. 

And I know that my Charlie Brown winter scene will be just as nice when it's finished this time as it would have been last time.

Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ,  there are no trials, sins, or other upsets in life that can make it impossible to put things back together.

So I will always choose to start over. Piece by piece.

And you know what? The closer I look at the destruction, the more I see that maybe it isn't as bad as I feared after all.

An Impossible Choice

 

It's been a while since I've felt like I needed to write without having any idea what I'm supposed to be writing about. But here we are. I even looked through my drafts and the notes on my phone where I have jotted down thoughts for the blog over the years. But nothing is sticking out, so I'm doing what I've done before and just... starting.

******Please be kind and civil in anything that you feel that you need to say to me about this post. This has been very difficult for me to write and I still feel like I haven't done any of this the justice that it deserves. My heart, my very spirit is aching and heavy******

I have very mixed emotions about the events of today. Most of the relevant posts on my timeline are mourning/outraged about Roe v. Wade being overturned. A handful, though, have been jubilant. 

I don't really know how to express how I feel about the subject, mostly because I am unsure of it. I feel like I have conflicting thoughts and emotions. 

On the one hand, I do feel that an unborn baby has every right to live. I can't, in good conscience, condone killing an unborn child. My very being is repulsed by the thought.

On the other hand, I also can't condone forcing a woman to give birth to a child that is threatening her life or was never meant to be in her womb. I am absolutely all for using contraception, but am also aware that rape exists. And that sometimes pregnancies happen even when there was a condom, or birth control, or whatever else in play. 

In the case of an unwanted pregnancy, I huge part of me is screaming "put the baby up for adoption!" But another part of me, the part of me that understands the mental and physical effects of pregnancy and child birth, is tempering that. 

I, personally, cannot comprehend killing an unborn child. 

But I also have never personally been in a situation where it would ever cross my mind to do so. 

My life has never been threatened by the child inside of me. 

I have never carried a child that was not planned for, or even if not planned for, fully welcome.

I have so many friends that struggle with fertility. Friends who would give anything to be able to conceive and carry a child, no matter the cost to mind and body. Friends who would adopt an unwanted baby (or one who's bio parents feel unable to care for) in an instant if they could.

But their struggle does not negate the struggle of women everywhere that are facing an unwanted or dangerous pregnancy.

I am so grateful that I was on Medicaid both through most of my pregnancy and through labor and delivery, because doctor's appointments, birth, and hospital stays are EXPENSIVE. And yet abortion is often free.

I am grateful for the clinics out there whose purpose is to help those that cannot afford healthcare, but there are not enough and they usually don't have all of the necessary resources and staffing.

The changes to a woman's mind and body during and after pregnancy are varied, but often extreme.

For me, my IBS and insomnia worsened. My PTSD worsened, including not only my anxiety and depression, but my ability to focus/remember. Pregnancy brain is very real, and add that on top of a brain injury (which mental/emotional trauma is) and you've got a huge mess. 

I was often in pain and pretty much always in discomfort.

I struggled with bad nausea through my entire pregnancy. My second trimester brought little of the relief that I had come to expect.

My gallbladder quit on me as a result of my pregnancy, so I dealt with extreme pain in that region both during and after pregnancy. Post birth, I had my gallbladder removed and now deal with a huge spike in reflux on a regular basis.

My arms and hands became extremely weak. Lifting a pan to pour out the grease would put me in a ton of pain and I would lose strength before finishing. The strength never fully came back.

I ended up with knee problems for most of the first year of Liam's life.

I'm still struggling with pelvic floor weakness.

I hardly lost any of my pregnancy weight and have by now gained it all back.

And the medical problems that I faced/face are tiny compared to many women that I know.

I know someone who came out of the birth of her son with allergies that she'd never had before that now effect her every day of her life, 9 years later. 

I know women who LOST weight during part or throughout all of their pregnancy.

I know women who have ended up on bedrest for a good chunk of their pregnancy.

I know women that had hyperemesis gravidarum and puked their guts out through their entire pregnancies.

And these are all women that chose to put their bodies through this.

I would struggle to look a woman in the eyes that did not choose this and tell her that she has to continue. And that she has to pay financially, physically, mentally, and emotionally to do so.

With all of that said, I do feel that there are many related areas of society, law, etc that absolutely need to be made into higher priorities.

Children in "the system" need to be better provided and cared for. Adoption needs to be more accessible to those who are choosing to take another person's child into their hearts and homes. Birth control needs to be more readily accessible. Healthcare needs to be more readily accessible. Men need to be held just as responsible for a pregnancy and childcare as women are. A decent paid maternity needs to be standardized. Accessibility to breastfeeding and pumping need improvement. And so many more things than I can think of off the top of my head.

I think that when we think of abortion, we often think of men and women who are being careless and use abortion as birth control because either they don't want the inconvenience of messing with their hormones with a pill or with the quality of sex with a condom. That idea makes my stomach turn. But I feel like I can pretty safely say that it makes most women who have had abortions stomachs turn as well. Because more often than not, that is not why abortion is chosen. 

I really believe that the majority of women that have chosen abortion did not come to the decision easily and did not take the matter lightly. And while some may regret their decision, most probably don't. And even the ones that don't probably hated doing it.

I am eternally grateful that it is not up to me to judge the women who have had, or would be willing to have, an abortion. Because I could never have all of the facts. I could never comprehend the fear and uncertainty that was present. I could never fully understand the circumstances that led to an unwanted pregnancy. I have never been in a situation where I have had to choose between my own well being and the well being of an unborn child. 

I am so incredibly blessed to have grown up in such a way that abortion has never had to be, and never would be, an option for me. Blessed with loving, supportive adults in my life. Blessed with good education. Blessed with the gospel that has helped me to honor the both the sanctity of life and the sacredness of intimacy. Blessed with a body that was able to safely bear my child. Blessed with a life that has never seen the type of sexual assault that would result in a pregnancy that I wasn't ready for. 

Not everyone has been as blessed as I have been.

All in all, do I think that there should be policies put in place to preserve the lives of unborn children? Absolutely. 

But those policies should address not only abortion directly, but everything that goes in to the decision to abort. And the life of the mother, not only whether or not pregnancy/childbirth will directly kill her, but also whether she can mentally, physically, and financially handle pregnancy and childbirth. We should be doing all that we can to set our children/teenagers up for success so that they never have to face this situation. And we should be doing all that we can to support those who do face it. 

And I believe even those who are rejoicing right now should also be mindful of those who are hurting. I believe that we should all have compassion for those who are feeling trapped in their situation. 

If we could all do more for humanity, then maybe we will someday live in a world that sees very few situations where abortion would even be considered.

All of this to say that my heart hurts both for those who have died via abortion, but also for those who have lived through it. It hurts me deeply that our society is struggling so greatly that abortion is even an issue that needs to be so thoroughly discussed. 

I look at my own child and my heart shouts prolife. But I look at the lives of those who would even consider taking the life of an unborn child because that legitimately seems to be the best option to them and another part of me whispers prochoice.

The scriptures say "thou shalt not kill" but also say "mourn with those that mourn" and "comfort those that stand in need of comfort."

I have to believe that there is a way for me to love and care about the life of both an unborn child, and the one who carries them. I can only hope and pray that I figure out how to properly do so in a way that feels acceptable to my heart and soul and to Those who gave us life.

I'm sitting here, terrified of posting this. Feeling like I'm about to bawl. Worrying about what people on every side of this issue will think and say. 

I'm literally not even sending this to my friend to be proofread like I do every single other time I post because I'm so anxious (so please excuse any grammatical/spelling errors).

But all I know is that this is the first time that I have felt so strongly like I needed to write something in a while, and this was the only thing that I felt like needed to be said right now in the midst of so many other important things that I could write about. 

I try very hard to stay out of politics as much as I can. Partially because I often do have a very in-between stance on things, as with this, but also because I absolutely loathe confrontation. And I especially hate the thought of confrontation about a subject that I feel so incredibly unsure about. But I do feel that this is what I was supposed to write about right now.

I am aching to my core for the unwanted souls within the wombs of women everywhere. I am also aching for a world that feels the need for abortion. I am aching for those whose circumstances have made them feel the need for abortion. I am also aching for those who would give anything to be able to carry a child in their womb and in their arms. 

And I am sitting here wondering how my Heavenly Parents feel about what I am feeling and that is only ramping up the anxiety. 

But I'm trying to trust that this is something that I have been prompted to open up about. I am trusting that They know and understand my confusion and fear just as much as they understand the confusion and fear of those that this all effects. 

So now all I can ask you do to is to try your best to be understanding and compassionate too.

Let's Pick Back Up From...

Artwork by Emily Shay

For Easter today, I wanted to share something that happened to me last Sunday. 

But first, a bit of background. For those of you who don't know, I sing. I'm not a professional by any stretch of the imagination, but I have a good voice and have worked hard on my singing abilities throughout my life. 

While my voice is good, my brain can only process so much music theory. I can't sight read. I can approximate, but I mostly learn new songs by listening and going over the piece over and over again. And each time I sing there are things that I have to get used to all over again, even if it's a song that I've sung before. 

The biggest issue for me is being able to follow the accompaniment (I spell that wrong every single time 😅); knowing when to come in, when to end, when to breathe, etc. So when I practice with a pianist, there are many times that one of us will stop and ask to go over a part again. "Let's pick back up from ______". And then we'll practice that a few times until we feel comfortable with it.

Sometimes it's because I got the notes wrong or didn't feel 100% sure about them. Other times it's because I messed up the words, or missed the entrance. But every time, either I or my accompanist will pick a place to pick back up and try again.

With all of that said; last Sunday was our stake Easter devotional. I had asked to perform a song a month or so ago. It took me a while to pick a piece because I was initially hoping to do a duet with my husband, but then we finally decided that that wasn't going to work out, so I decided to sing my favorite song, For Me Alone by Sally DeFord.

I haven't had many opportunities to perform in the last few years since I left BYUI, so I take every chance I can get. It has been especially tricky since moving back to Pennsylvania because there are no accompanists in my ward. As such, I asked a sister from another ward to accompany me for the devotional. But then I was sick for the better part of three weeks, so we never got together to practice.

The week of the performance, I was doing a lot better, but still had some post nasal drip going on in the back of my throat, so singing would sometimes make me cough and sometimes my voice would cut out when I sang. I was trying to decide if I should cancel my performance or if I needed to contact my accompanist to see if we could get together to practice when she texted me and told me that she couldn't play for me after all but had already talked to another pianist who said that she could play for me. 

Through the rest of the week I kept almost cancelling my performance. I was unsure of my voice, and Sunday was going to be a super busy day anyway, so thinking about all that I had to do throughout the day and then going on to perform that evening was a bit daunting. And then when I tried to set up a time to practice, the sister told me that her kids were sick, so she wouldn't be able to meet with me until the day of, before the devotional. I almost backed out. 

But all through the week, every time I picked up my phone to text the pianist and the stake music coordinator to cancel, I kept feeling like I needed to keep the performance. So I did.

I was going, going, going all day and then arrived early to the stake center to meet my pianist for the very first time and practice the song. Practice went well! Luckily I knew this one well enough that I was able to get used to the new accompanist without too much of a problem. It had been a while since I'd sung the song, so there were a few parts that I kind of needed to be reminded of, but overall it was good! 

When I got into the chapel and looked at the program I discovered that I was to be the very last performance of the night. I swear I'm always either the first or the last. I'm never somewhere in the middle. For the Christmas devotional, I was the first, so I suppose it was time. 

I sat through the devotional until it was finally my turn.

The performance was going well; my voice had cut out once, but it wasn't too bad. And then all of a sudden as I was singing the last verse, my brain just shut off on me for a moment. I was looking at the upcoming measure and got confused for a second, thinking that the notes were different than they were or something and I just stopped singing. 

Full stop. 

In the middle of the performance.

That has never happened to me before. I wasn't quite sure what to do. The pianist continued playing for a bit, waiting for me to come back in and I didn't. So she stopped playing.

I didn't feel like I could turn to her and say "let's pick back up from _____", so I took a breath, and then started singing the next line, hoping that I was singing the right notes. After a moment, the pianist came back in and we finished the performance. 

For Me Alone is a very poignant song, essentially saying that even if I were the only person who ever sinned, Christ would have still suffered the Atonement, just for me. 

As happens most of the time when I perform this song, I became emotional at the end. 

I finished the song, gave a nod to the accompanist, and then walked off the stand and right out of the chapel. I was a bit embarrassed, but I left because I was so overcome with the message that I had just shared. I spent most of the rest of the devotional out in the foyer with my two year old, who had been watching me from my dad's arms in the doorway.

After the devotional, I was blown away by how many people came and spoke to me about my performance. Everyone was so kind and complimentary. 

I was embarrassed, but overall proud of how the rest of the performance went, and extremely grateful that I was able to perform at all after all of the craziness of the weeks and hours before.

As I've thought about my performance this week, I have been struck by something. When the music stopped, the accompanist was ready and waiting for me to start singing again. She didn't say anything, she simply waited until I was ready and then picked up where I did.

It seems to me that there are many, many times in our lives that we falter. Where we feel stuck, lost, and confused and not quite sure where to go from here. There are times when we stray from God. But no matter how long we've stopped, Christ is always there with us, waiting for us to use His enabling power. And when we do, He is ready to pick right back up, where we are, and continue leading us to heaven.

He never leaves us. He is a quiet, constant presence. Always there. Always loving. Ever patiently waiting for us to allow Him to lift us up and help us to finish our journey home.

The song that I performed last Sunday ends with these words:

But if I alone had stumbled; if I alone had strayed

If I alone had wandered from the straight and narrow way

If I alone were foolish; if I alone were frail

If I alone had faltered when the power of hell assailed

If I alone bore guilt for which my all could never atone

He would have come for me

For me alone

I truly believe that that is the kind of love that Christ has for every single person who has and will ever exist. 

The tricky part is believing that that is the kind of love that He has for me. 

But I believe that He loves me. I believe that He waits patiently for me to pick back up when I fall so that He can brush me off, take me by the hand, and lead me to my personal salvation.

This Easter, I hope that this story will serve as a reminder to you that the magnificent Being who rose again on the third day did so for you. And that He would have done it if you were the only one who needed Him to.

He is with you. He loves you. And no matter what you do, no matter how far you may fall, He will be right there with you, silently saying to you, "When you're ready, let's pick back up from..."

Happy Easter everyone!

Also by Emily Shay

Being a Mirabel

I know, I know. There are Encanto posts EVERYWHERE right now. Sorry not sorry for making another one.

I have been slightly obsessed with this movie. It is rare that a movie- especially a kid's movie -hits me so hard in so many different ways. But this one has been a doozy for me and I have been fascinated to learn about all sorts of different nuances to the movie from the way that We Don't Talk About Bruno is written to the colors that the Madrigal's wear. And I have been analyzing the heck out of all of the characters and their relationships to one another. But what I want to talk about today is how I personally relate to characters in the movie and the insights that that has given me into how I feel about myself.

I asked a couple of my siblings recently which sister from Encanto they related to the most and was fairly unsurprised to hear their answers of Louisa and Isabella. But my sister seemed surprised when I told her how much I relate to Mirabel. 

My whole life, I have felt less than. I have never felt that I'm the best at anything. I don't just feel second place, I feel like I'm not even in the running in most aspects of my life. This was very prevalent all through my school-age years. I was never good at sports (except for gymnastics, which I had to quit fairly young because of finances), I couldn't cook, I had a hard time making friends, I wasn't great at acting, I never did very well playing piano, etc. And I always looked up to my sister who seemed to be good at just about everything in my eyes. She was funny, could draw well, was generally good at sports, played the piano sufficiently, was good at cooking, had lots of friends, and had cute handwriting. Beyond her, it seemed that everyone in my family had something. Each of my brothers did sports at one time or another, a couple of them were very imaginative and wrote stories, etc.

I remember many a tear-filled conversation with my mother revolving around me feeling like everyone had a talent except me. She would always tell me that my talent was being compassionate, which like, was great and all, but I couldn't get up on stage and be compassionate for a talent show.

When I was about 12 I finally found something that I was good at; singing. I not only loved singing, but I was actually pretty good at it and only got better when my Mom finally gave in and let me start taking voice lessons. 

I also found that I was pretty good at English. I had always loved reading, but found that I was decent at writing and analyzing books as well.

And then my younger brother started taking piano lessons and pretty much immediately surpassed me in his skill. And then he got into singing and got a lead in my senior musical that I finally got a part in. And he was super smart and was way better than me in English. And he was just generally more likable. I legitimately went from being (middle brother's) sister to being (younger brother's) sister in high school.

And I took AP Music Theory my junior year or high school and it simply did not click with me the way that it clicked with my friends.

And so singing, the one thing that I really felt that I had going for me, didn't feel good enough either.

And English, the other thing that I was pretty good at, wasn't either. 

And I could tell you about how people always thought that I was good with kids, but then met my older brother that is fantastic with them.

Basically I have grown up feeling very much overshadowed by my siblings. And not only them, but my friends, classmates, and pretty much everyone else. 

I remember commenting to a sister in our ward one day about how she seemed to be good at everything. She made some kind of comment about being a jack-of-all-trades, like that was a bad thing. But I realized in that moment that maybe I would never be the best at anything, but I would honestly have loved being a jack-of-all-trades because then I could help out in lots of different ways.

And this is where some of the other Madrigals come in for me. As much as I feel that I relate to Mirabel the most, there is definitely a dash of Louisa and and a pinch of Isabella in there for me. Mostly just a couple of the lines that they sing.

When Louisa sings "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service", it hit me in the gut. And then when Isa sings "What could I do if I just knew it didn't need to be perfect? It just needed to be?"

Let's explore Isabella briefly first.

For as much as I have never felt great at anything, I have been a perfectionist. And, well, being a perfectionist while also feeling like nothing that I ever do is very good at all, let alone "good enough" is kind of the worst feeling in the world. Like I am incapable of not falling short. 

Which, in turn, makes it really hard for me to become good at anything because I struggle to allow myself to do something badly at first. I could be a lot better at the piano than I am right now, but I would get so, so frustrated during practice when I kept making mistakes that I struggled to practice much at all.

I can't become a jack-of-all-trades if I don't, you know, learn any new trades. I tell myself that I don't have to be great at things, just good enough. But I have a hard time allowing myself to get to a "good enough" place without getting irritated and down on myself for not being better.

Now Louisa.

I have related to her the most I think during my mission and then after my ex was arrested (5 years ago yesterday. Isn't that crazy?).

I was constantly sick while I was on my mission, which then led me to constantly feel like I was letting everyone down. My companion, the members of the ward that I was serving in, all of the people in our area that I could have been bringing closer to Christ, and, you know, God Himself. 

If I couldn't be out there serving the Lord, then what good was I?

And then when my ex was arrested, I was doing so poorly in so many different ways. 

And yet, when I started opening up about my struggles, and especially when I first started this blog, I felt like I was genuinely helping people. People saw me as strong (even though I explicitly told them that I would spend way too much time laying on the floor staring at the ceiling) and even inspiring. 

The tragedy of my life was all of a sudden an opportunity to make a real difference in people's lives, and I was pumped about that! I hated what happened to me, but I was so grateful to finally feel like I had something to contribute that maybe no one else could at the time.

But then, as time went on, I seemed to stop seeming strong and inspirational to people. At the beginning, it was impressive to people that I kept pressing forward despite not being able to work a regular job anymore because of my PTSD mixed with chronic illness. But when literal years have passed and that's still the case, it stops being praiseworthy and starts seeming pathetic.

Not that anyone has ever said that to me. But it's what my mind tells me every day. 

You should be doing so much more. You should BE so much more. 

My blog posts have become few and far between and get the smallest fraction of views that they used to. 

I struggle greatly to sit and write them, even though I have ideas swirling around in my mind.

I often feel too weak to exist properly, let alone help anyone. And if I can't help anyone, then why do I exist anyway?

And my mind keeps telling me that I'm a terrible mother, that I'm not a good primary president, that I'm ruining my parents' and brother's lives by living with them in such inadequacy and being so needy. It tells me that I will never, ever be good enough. I will never be strong enough, smart enough, financially well off enough, to be a help to anyone, let alone my own family. 

And I do my best to tell my mind to shove off. And I keep trying to slog forward, even though I feel like I've been falling behind for a long time now. 

And Mirabel gives me hope that someday, my seemingly small and weak efforts will make all the difference to someone. And well, hopefully all the difference for me too.

This post isn't here to make you all pity me and tell me all of the great things that I know that you see in me that I struggle to see in myself. I guess it's just here to say, I suppose it is okay for me to "just be" sometimes. And I know deep down that I am helping people more than I realize. And that I do have intrinsic worth that isn't attached to my accomplishments (or lack thereof). And that trauma doesn't just disappear with a sudden poof of healing. I mean, Abuela is clearly still affected daily by the trauma of losing her Pedro and all of a sudden feeling responsible not only for herself and her infant triplets, but also- because of the miracle that she was given -the entire community of refugees. But even she is eventually able to recognize the weight that she has been unwittingly distributing to her loved ones. 

And I hope that it doesn't take me 50 years to sort through my trauma, but maybe being aware that it is still affecting me so much is the first step.

Okay, honestly, I'm not really sure what the purpose of this post is at all.

I'll end with this though;

I hope that I can press forward with the determination of Mirabel. While she is obviously not perfect, she is such an incredible example to me of humility, empathy, and bravery. She doesn't let being "ordinary" stop her from giving her all to help support those that she loves. She takes what she does have- the ability to persevere no matter what -and rolls with it.

May we all be a little more like Mirabel. May we have the ability to take notice. To look around us and see behind the strength and talent and seeming perfection of others to see people who deserve love simply for being.