Honest, hope is a verb, I choose champagne, relationships

But I am grateful for THAT

I am not one to talk about what I am grateful for in the broader sense. I will text friends and write cards and buy coffees and double vodka tonics and constantly try to remind and tell those in my circle that I love them, I am so happy they are in my life, that they’re champions, that I’m proud of them, that I believe in them etc.

But, as I was getting to ready to come and sit and drink a coffee in this bright lovely space today I was thinking about what I really truly am grateful for.

You see, it’s easy for me to be grateful for people and memories and moments and inanimate objects (sparkly water and ice coffee I’m looking at you).

There is something that it is actually incredibly difficult for me to be grateful for:

Myself.

The past month I’ve spent a lot of time beating myself up internally. I’ve spent a lot of time negating who I am and what I’ve done and what I believe. I have spent a lot of headspace telling myself I’m not worth a change, or something new, not enough.

I stood on the porch of my house for about 3 minutes debating and wondering if I should actually come write and put words down.
But, I locked the door and I started moving.

Because, when it comes down to it, I am grateful for myself.

I am grateful for the ability to love fiercely, even to the point of exhaustion because I never question my passion for something or someone.
I am grateful for my inability to be confrontational because it means I am constantly learning how to be better at that very thing.
I am grateful for the fact that I am good at my job. Grateful for the knowledge I have and my ability to be able to relate to parents and kids. I am grateful for my desire to ask questions and my ability to ask for help at work.
I am grateful for my ability to be stubborn. I am grateful for the times wherein it hinders me and helps me. I am grateful for it because it always reminds me that I can do hard things.

I am grateful for my relationship with God even in the moments where I didn’t want it. And my ability to be ok with doubt.
I am grateful for my ability to be friends with so many different types of humans.
I am grateful for my singleness because it has taught me constantly that I am my own person. I am grateful for the ache of my singleness because it reminds me that I desire something I might never have, but inspires me to be stronger than I think I can be.
I am grateful for the fact that I’m a basic white girl. That I love avocado toast and cold brew and not disgusting pumpkin spice lattes.
I am grateful for my extra weight and the curves on my body. I am grateful for how it has taught me to dress for who I am and own what I love.

I am grateful that I know what it feels like when I’m about to have a panic attack. I am grateful that my body and I have come to such a place where I know when it’s about to stop working.

I am grateful for the friendships that have come into my life and my ability to realize I need them.
I am grateful for the friendships I’ve lost. Because even though it sometimes still hurts- I will always remember the ways I grew because of them.
I am grateful for my inabilities because they have in more ways than one led me to where I am.

I am grateful for myself.

Now, this list isn’t all of the things I am grateful for inside of myself.

And you’re probably thinking “Meg, some of these aren’t awesome” and you’re right.

Some of these things that I have listed aren’t probably things to be grateful for. Like, maybe I should lose weight, or get more mentally healthy, maybe I should stop being stubborn or be a better friend.

Maybe.

But here’s a real talk moment: This is who I am today and who I will probably be tomorrow.

But each day I chip away at something and change the story.
Like confrontation: still not great at it, but better than I was 5 years ago.

My anxiety? I still have it but each day I learn the signs more and more and learn what I can do to breathe it out.

The more time we spend hating parts of ourselves; the more likely we will just hate all of ourselves.

I have spent a lot of my life thinking I didn’t need to matter- and if I’m being completely and utterly transparent I still have moments where I feel that. The desire to be invisible and just move the pieces for other people. The desire to blend into the scenery and cheer on from the audience.

I still just sometimes want to sink into the actions and deeds I do for others. Because it’s easier than being known and seen. I would still rather feel your feelings than give up my own.

I would still rather hold your purse of problems than let you sift through my own,
BUT
I’m getting better.
I’d still rather spend my time in the background and I would still rather hold my cards close at hand.
But I’m grateful for the growth I’ve made and the stories I’ve shared and the beliefs I’ve changed about myself and the space I inhabit.

I might not say what I’m grateful for or thankful for again this month- I’ll probably still show it in the purchase of coffee or vodka, handwritten notes, and hugs.

But for myself, here it is a reminder that my life is built on stories and pieces of myself that won’t go away just because I dislike them- but will be nurtured if I choose to see what they’ve done for me.

So as a final question: How are you grateful for the parts of yourself that for which you’ve spent a lifetime being not grateful?

 

Honest, hope is a verb, I choose champagne

I am not too much

A letter to those who feel as if they are too much,

I don’t know where I was, probably in a Van Zandt class in college where she reminded us that women are allowed to take up space. But I remember looking at how I was sitting.
You see, I’ve always been bigger. I’ve had moments where I thought I was big, that now I know I wasn’t.
I’ve always been afraid of physically taking up too much space.

That day though, in the moment, I remember looking at myself and looking at my body language. I was sitting against a wall as close I could be with all my stuff in my tight little area.
And I thought, why am I doing this? There was plenty of space in the classroom, I was at my own table.
I was allowed to take up space.

But, of course, in the back of my mind, I heard I small voice say, “Don’t take up too much space…”.
And the battle continued.

This isn’t about me though. This is for you. The one sitting here reading this. Either a human I know who clicked this link out of kindness or someone who followed the tag I posted.

You are allowed to take up space.

Taking up space looks literally different to everyone.

For instance, long ago I decided I was allowed to take a table by myself at a bar to write. I’m a good customer. I tip well, I order multiple things. I take an appropriate table. I’m kind.

I can take up this space.

You are allowed to take up space.

I’m not saying push yourself on people or sprawl out across a table meant for ten humans.
I’m saying you don’t have to walk around like you don’t matter.

Because, holy hell, you do.

I’m not saying to verbal vomit on a person who clearly doesn’t have the ability to hold your story.

I’m saying to remember that there are people who do.
Feeling you are too much is so hard. It’s a lot of apologizing for existing, it’s choosing to not share an opinion or even offer a suggestion on where to eat.

It’s feeling as if you aren’t allowed to move on to the next because what you leave in your wake would be too much.

Feeling like you are too much makes you feel as if you are not entitled to the space around you.
It’s feeling like every problem you have is something that you must solve alone because you are a broken record.

I want you to know you aren’t alone.
I want you to know I’ve been there.

I’ve spent a lot of my life being told I’m not enough by people and factors around me. I’ve been physically told I’m too much, too sensitive, too depressed, that I’m doing it for attention.

I’ve gotten looks on airplanes from seatmates as I try to lean as far as possible away from the humans around me.
I’ve been told from across a store that something won’t fit me by an employee as I reached up to grab it.
I’ve lost friends over my emotions and been ghosted for my opinions when I choose to share them.

I want you to know you aren’t alone.
I want you to know I’ve been there.
I want you to know, you ARE NOT too much.

And you, human being reading this, whether I know you or not, YOU are allowed to take up space.
With love,
Meg

Honest, hope is a verb

Avocado toast to help me see

I’ve had a busy life the last few weeks (months, years) and yesterday I officiated my second wedding and it was a beautiful ceremony and celebration of two people who love each other an incredible amount.

I can’t tell you the last time I took a moment to write on a Sunday.

My phone is filled with so many notifications of messages and emails and my brain is filled with dates and things I’m supposed to be at and trips I want to take and deadlines and everything in between.
But, today as my body finally allowed me to sleep in a little (8 am) and I decided to save some adulting for tomorrow, I feel a little blurry.

(And, I feel a little stuck- but that’s another story for another day)

Part of that is physically blurry. I sat down in front of my computer screen and adjusted the brightness and moved my body so I wasn’t in the sunlight and I still had to squint to see my screen.

(Katie-shark says I’m tired–she’s probably not wrong)

Even now my vision is coming a little more in to focus, it’s still a little blurry on the outside- but I think that’s a lot more internal.
Have you ever had that happen?
You’re moving and grooving and stressing and even enjoying life but at the end of the day you sit and everything feels a little blurry.
You can’t quite focus and even though you just want to sit and watch a movie that even seems like too much?
You want to dream but that takes too much space.

I want to create but none of my words feel hopeful.
They just feel blurry.

I’m trying to decide what I need to see again.

I think one of the things I need to do is take some advice from my college choir director (but maybe re-frame it a bit), Joni used to always encourage us to choose joy. It didn’t mean you had to be happy all the time or couldn’t have bad days- but it meant to me, to choose good. Choose to see it, feel it, walk in it.

I think that one of the things I need to do is choose joy.

I need to choose what brings me joy, who brings me joy and moments that fill my heart (such as the avocado toast I just devoured and letting my body sleep in).
To me choosing joy is saving my adulting for tomorrow and going to laugh with friends for a couple hours.

To me choosing joy is what is going to save my blurred eyesight.
It’s what’s going to help me cultivate hope.

It’s not about avoiding things that need to be done- it’s about not choosing things and people and events that don’t add to your joy.

We have so much noise in our life. We have so many things telling us what to do, what not to do, what to believe, what to support, what to spend our time, money and voice on.
It gets pretty damn loud.

And, just as loud are the voices that tell us to take care of ourselves.

And to me, it’s in that tension that we find our lives can become a little blurry.

So, today, as I sit here for a few more minutes typing words and figuring out what I need to make my world a little less blurry- I want to ask you that question too: what makes life a little less blurry?

We can do the things friends, we can walk in the tension and dissipate it. We can choose things that bring us light and joy ( even if it’s avocado toast) and we can set the things on the side that don’t bring us cultivate joy.

The Marie Kondo method isn’t just for jeans that are too tight folks.
Let’s step into this week and find the joy, But, more importantly, let’s toss aside the things that don’t add to us, that maybe, just maybe, we don’t actually need.

 

Honest

I think I’m about to yell.

I have a lot of things I’m not saying these days, which honestly is probably shocking to some. I have a lot of things I’m not ready to say or do, even though I should 100% be ready to say them and do them.

I’m realizing that I’m INCREDIBLY good at staying silent.

I’m amazing at suffering in silence and letting myself boil over and then getting more angry than I should.

I’m super talented at knowing what I need but not wanting to vocalizing it at all.

I know, I know why am I saying this?

I’m saying it because I’m realizing more and more that we all have a lot more in common than we give ourselves credit for.

Last week, I posted an Instagram of myself with tears in my eyes, with words saying that I felt a lot of things, but I kept moving.

I posted it because I didn’t want to just hide in my messy room. I wanted to reach out and say, I feel this and if you feel it, it’s okay.

And I was shocked at the response. My comments and messages weren’t filled with pity or sad face emojis at all.

They were filled simply with this:

“I get it.”

I don’t speak up as much as I should. Sometimes it feels as if my words don’t matter or they fall flat.

I don’t write for the accolades.

I write, I speak, I share, because I want other people to know that they are not alone.

And I, myself, want to know I’m not alone.

I want to know that amidst all the words I don’t say, or all the things I don’t yell out over all the noise, that I’m choosing not to vocalize that I’m not alone.

And that too, that moment is to tell you that you aren’t alone in your silence. You aren’t alone in your deciphering of what is or isn’t being said or done.

I think I’m about to get loud. I think I’m about to yell, whether or not someone is listening.

I think I’m going to speak my truth, even when my voice is shaking.

And, I’m terrified.

But, I’m grateful for it because I can almost be 100% positive that I’m not alone in that.

So that, that is why I write.

I just want you to know that you are’t alone. Even if the only other human that feels the things you feel is me.

I’m here.

Sitting in this coffee shop.

About to yell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Honest, hope is a verb, it takes a village, ramblings, tiny human teacher

I am 34

I am 34 and I want you to know I work hard.

I am 34 and I want you to know that my hard work looks different than yours.
I am 34 and I know I probably COULDN’T do your hard work neither could you set foot in mine.
I want you to know that I am someone who deals with mental health issues and with burnout and I still keep showing up.
I want you to know I am 34 and I don’t expect life to be easy.

In actuality I expect that life isn’t easy and that when something good happens than apparently something bad is around the corner.
I am 34 and I’m cynical.

I am 34 and I have lost people I have loved and have been unsure I could love like that again.

I am 34 and I have held the hands of my parents while they were laying in hospital beds and gotten phone calls half a world away that my mom was really sick.

I  am 34 and I spent a week of spring break from teaching changing my mom’s depends.

I want you to know that I’m 34 and I care more deeply for humans than when I was 24.
I want you to know that even though I don’t expect good things I still, as much as I can, expect people to be good.

I am 34 and I don’t expect to get married or have kids.                                                                I am 34 and I wish all the goodness for all of my friends.

(I am 34 and I’m a 2 on the enneagram).
I want you to know that I’m 34 and I have trust issues.
I want you to know that I’m 34 and the words “put on your big girl panties” and “fake it til you make it” have lost their meaning.

Because, I am 34 and I don’t think we should have to tell people to show up- I think they just should.

I am 34 and I love avocado toast and cold brew.
I am 34 and if my paycheck doesn’t meet to the other end I eat cereal 4 nights in a row.
I am 34 and if my paycheck doesn’t meet to the other end but I have a friend that needs dinner and safe place, I would share my cereal.                                                                            I am 34 and even if I didn’t have PTO I would still spend a week volunteering with foster kids.

I am 34 and I was raised in a time that you went to college.
I am 34 and I have a lot of student loans.
I am 34 and I wouldn’t wish away the experience of college.

I am 34 and a preschool teacher and I had to have active shooter training in the event a shooter comes into my classroom with my 15 tiny humans
I am 34 and in the event of an active shooter I will do everything in my power to keep my 15 tiny humans safe (and let’s be completely honest the rest of the tiny humans in the building).
I am 34 and I worry about my nieces and nephews setting foot on their high school and college campuses for the same reason

I am 34 and I am doing my best.

My generation has been taught a lot of things. We’ve been taught to be kind, to strive for our dreams, to care for our fellow man.
We’ve been told over and over that we can have more than the previous generations.
(And that? That is a lot).
We’ve been taught to fight and raise our voices louder and we’ve created platforms to do so.
I don’t know what it’s like to have lived through what the generations prior to me have had to live through. I wouldn’t even be able to fathom.
All I know is what I’ve been given, what I’m dealing with and all I can do is do my best to understand and have compassion and empathy for those with different lives than me.
All I know is that there are people older than me that I can garner knowledge and people older than me that can garner knowledge from me.
All I know it is my job to not only give to those younger than me, but have the ability to listen as well.
I am 34 and I am doing my best.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I will probably try harder.

Honest, hope is a verb, I choose champagne

At last, Sunrise

My favorite track on my favorite instrumental CD (“We were Legends” by Maree Docia) is entitled “At last, Sunrise“.

I listen to it every morning as I walk to work. Sometimes I just repeat that two minute track 5 times. I listen to it as I am walking and writing, at lunch while I’m scrolling through Instagram.
There is just some immense beauty in the chords and the instrumentals. And there is something about the hope of sunrise.

I think part of it too is that I am a cheesy teen drama aficionado (like, as I’m reading this I’m contemplating going home and rewatching Riverdale). BUT in the shows I love like Riverdale and The Vampire Diaries they are so often waiting for the night to end and the sunrise to come.

And when it does, they take a big breath and they walk away from the night into the places the lightening sky touches. When they do, I can just hear the characters saying, “At last (DEAP BREATH COMMA) sunrise.”
I think that a part of the reason I love the cheesy teen supernatural-esque shows it because, I am reminded, eventually sunrise comes. Eventually the sun will come up and shine itself upon all the things that were dark.
What doesn’t happen on those supernatural shows, for the most part, is they never show the clean up the sun brings. On TV all the devastation and gore happens but once the sun comes up the town square is miraculously cleaned off of blood and oh wait the football games tonight- but our quarterback is dead, oh well.
But, in our lives when the sun comes up after a night of turmoil, the relief the sun brings is also matched with the fact the light is shining on the chaos.
Right now, in my life, I feel as if the light is coming and the pinks and the light blues and the purple is filling the sky and as it does I’m starting to see things that happened in the dark.
I think right now, I am choosing to believe that the sunrise is happening in my life. That I am finally developing the space in my life to take a breath and say “At last, sunrise”.

I think that sometimes we have to remember to let the sun come up.

We have to take our black out curtains off of our windows and allow the sun to come up.
And then we have to go feel it on our faces and believe it will stay.

I think we have to choose to face the mess in town square and clean it up and throw a party anyway.
As a people we focus on the negative so often, we focus on the dark and the chaos and we miss the sunrise when it happens. It’s like we put up black out curtains so we can pretend it’s light out when it’s not and then we miss the light.

PEOPLE WE NEED TO STOP MISSING THE LIGHT.

(MEG YOU NEED TO STOP MISSING THE LIGHT).

And when the light comes we need to take a breath and thank it for showing up.
We need to not be afraid of the blood on the pavement (sorry, that’s totally gory, but like shows about vampires are in my brain).
I don’t know where you are in life. I don’t know if you don’t want the light because you don’t want to see what mayhem happened in the dark, I don’t know if your future is so filled with it you got to wear SPF 50.
I don’t know if you’re afraid of it, or don’t believe it’s ever coming again.
I do know though that the sun will rise again. I do know it might shed itself on things you don’t want to think about.
I do know being in the dark changed you and the light might no longer seem safe.
I do know that we need who you are- even the parts that were changed in the dark. And I do know those changes that happened in the dark feel hard to explain. And that the sunrise might not feel welcome in this moment.

And I do know that you can’t tell someone else what their light looks like. You can’t see light for other people. You can remind them to look- but you can’t see it for them.

But I do know the light is coming, it’s turning the sky beautiful colors and we need to take a deep breath and walk forward into it.

IMG_6227
one of my favorite sunrises I’ve ever seen in my life: angkor wat in cambodia

At last, sunrise.

 

 

Honest, I choose champagne, relationships

Damn it, you’re enough.

When I was in college I was in an all women’s chorus for all four years. Hands down, best part of my college experience.

My senior year (cough 2006-2007 cough) I had the privilege and honor of being the president of that beautiful group of women. One of my many jobs that year was that I was in charge of the truck crew- which just meant at concert we unloading and loaded the equipment and then other teams set them up.

The largest pieces of equipment we had were the risers. They were clunky and awkward and heavy. But, they were on wheels and it really wasn’t that hard.

Sometimes, we would have combined events with the concert choir and the orchestra and all the teams for all different ensembles would work together. Now, our choir didn’t have a vice president which was essentially the position that handled set-up, so I being the president, would deal with set up for our choir.

And the concert choir VP Johnny Rocha and I would ALWAYS argue about the fact that he didn’t need us to help with the risers. That the guys had it. (He and I went head to head a lot but that’s another story).

And if anyone knows me, you know that, that is a not a thing that I do well with, because I am highly capable of doing it myself.

I thought of this story today because, yesterday in discussing our upcoming move, I told my friend Benjamin that I might ditch my green chair. It’s so great, but it’s heavy and cumbersome and I don’t necessarily want to haul it up stairs.

He looked at me like I was ridiculous and said, “You know Shawn and I are going to move it up the stairs. It wouldn’t be you”.

(And I’m sure when he reads this he is going to know that I was inwardly- he’ll say outwardly-seething.)

Because, I am a strong independent woman. I can move my own chair up the damn stairs.

Now, I am grateful that I have a really good group of guys  (and gals) in my life. I am so lucky that I have people who watch my back, who don’t think twice about helping me with something, who would fight for me and who make sure I get home safe and that are going to move my cumbersome heavy green chair up the stairs to my bedroom.

But spoiler alert: there might be a day where there isn’t someone to make sure I get home safe, or I might carry a heavy green chair into a new house by myself. OK I know that like honestly in reality this isn’t true because I have an amazing community of humans, but what I’m trying to say is that I might be alone one day in an empty house and be a little more island-y while my friends go home to their families and their own homes.

But, in all of my talk of identity and figuring out my life right now and where I want to go and what I need to do, I am very much coming to terms with the fact that I only feel lonely sometimes and that I can deal with that.

I think we don’t talk enough about the fact that it’s ok to be ok being single. I had to scroll back into 2017 on my blog to find the last blog I wrote on this topic (Don’t call my singleness brave).

I think I don’t like to talk about it because it’s just another thing that the world says I haven’t accomplished. It’s just another thing that says I haven’t reached where I need to be. Now, not that I believe any of that, BUT when someone is yelling at you eventually words are going to break through.

And I’ve reached the point where I’m getting sick of the narrative that is being written about this topic. Especially in regards to single women.

WE ARE NOT LESS THAN IF WE DON’T HAVE A RING.

Whoops, sorry. Let’s do that again:
We are not less than if we don’t have a ring.

Does it always feel good?
Nope.
Does saying “no, I’ll take a separate check” feel like a spotlight is on you?
Yep.
But are we going to be ok?

Hell yah.

I don’t know why I felt so inclined to say these words today. I don’t know if I’m more riled up than not, or if probably more likely, I’m feeling some feels about not being enough based on this topic.
Because, those feelings? They’re normal. It would be weird if I had no emotions in this area of life as I’m mostly surrounded by couples and I’ve been in more weddings than your average human.

I want you to know this about getting out into the dating scene or not. It’s not about not “putting yourself out there”.

It’s not about listening to one story after another after another of people who “stopped looking and then found who they are married too”.

It’s about being who you are.

If who you are is someone who just wants to not be single, I’d encourage to look for the things you are.

If you are someone who hides being some fear, (cough me cough), I encourage you to keep speaking out against the things that battle inside of you and settle into yourself.

If you don’t care but other people care for you- screw them (with kindness obviously).

I want you to know that obviously I’m not writing this from a place of typing this out with a diamond ring on my finger saying “Be enough for yourself, don’t mind me getting blinded by my sparkle”.

I’m writing this from a place of learning to be enough for myself and speaking out that I may have emotions and feelings but that’s what makes me human.

I want you to know, that if you are a single human reading this (or really, honestly any human in any part of life), that you’re enough for yourself. 100%. You are enough for the rest of your life, and you are enough for your friends without another human attached to you. You are enough for the child you might want to adopt and the business you might want to start and the house you want to buy.

You’re enough.

End of story.