Last summer I went to Flaming Gorge Reservoir with my brother and some of his friends to go cliff jumping. I was so excited to go. I hadn't been camping in quite a few years and that with the combination of cliff jumping (something I'd never done) the anticipation had really been built up.
I remember standing at the edge of one of the smaller cliffs (although not the smallest... :-D) and staring into the water, feeling a slight breeze ripple across my body. It was at that moment that I felt like all the pain, anxiety, fear, anger, and sorrow of the past 4 years of my life hit me. My chest constricted and I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was being consumed by my fear - my fear of the life I had led and also of the life awaiting me. I think I stood there for about 20 minutes as everyone around me was jumping in or heading to even higher cliffs. People were calling to me from the water to jump. For those 20 minutes, I just couldn't let go.
I remember taking a deep breath and stepping back. When I found my way to the surface, I sucked in the fresh air and I knew that in that moment between standing on the cliff and being suspended in the air, the safety of the cliff gone - I had finally let go.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
A Generation of Brokenness
I've been through a lot in the past couple of years and through my work I realize that I show a lot of signs of someone who has been through a trauma. It is hard to feel normal when you are mistrusting of every person you meet (and continue to be so), experience night terrors at the ripe age of 24, deal with at least weekly panic attacks if not more, flashbacks, etc. I find myself asking myself when did this all begin, what things have I dealt with that have caused me to be so "traumatized."
I'd like to blame it on Lane, my first real boyfriend. I was a senior, he was a sophomore. It didn't make a lot of sense for the girl that had spent her whole high school career tearing through this boy and that to fall for a sophomore and to not only fall, but to become so completely dependent on the relationship. I couldn't stand to be without Lane. If I was without him I wasn't complete. I mistrusted him - didn't expect that I could ever be possibly good enough for him. I suffocated him and he broke up with me. I'd like to tell you that it was my "high standards" at the time. He wanted to have sex, I was too scared and ashamed - was the reason that he broke up me with, but the truth of the matter was is it was my own special brand of crazy that drove him away. I'd like to say its because he told me he was going snowboarding and went to a party instead that started my inherent need to mistrust, but that's not where it began.
I'd like to blame it on my ex-husband and to an extent I can. He repeatedly abused my trust and because I was already in such a codependent state upon meeting him - I didn't think I deserved any better. He took advantage of me, was emotionally and somewhat sexually abusive. I was never good enough, never could meet up. Instead of creating these insecurities - they relied on something that was already there.
In the last couple of weeks I've really started to take a good look at myself and stop trying to find answers in these failures of mine. I've honestly decided to look beyond the most obvious answers of me being the way I am and figure out how this all started.
When did I decided that I wasn't worth it, that I couldn't trust myself, that I was somehow less and would always be so?
I'd like to blame my mom. Growing up my mom wasn't and still isn't the most loving person, although in a lot of ways she has come a long way. I mean, she is in her own way. You know how some kid's parents will defend them to the death, their kids couldn't possibly be wrong, bad, anything less than perfect? That wasn't my mom - my mom was always one of the first to point out, suggest that I did something wrong. She didn't tell me she loved me, didn't hug me. I possessed this desire to please her so I go straight A's, hugged her, constantly told her I loved her, how cute she is, I suffocated her and it terrified her. She was dealing with her own imperfections. My mom and I aren't that different. The only difference really is where my mom admits defeat before the battle is over... I refuse to draw back even after it being painfully aware that I've lost and it's pointless to continue.
I'd like to blame my grandma, my mom's mom.
... and I realize that I belong to a generation of brokenness brought on by the inability to be perfect. The inability to cut ourselves some slack, relax, calm down and just enjoy life for what it is.
Where did this start? Well, I have an idea.
I've been taught since I can remember that I was, in fact, NOT good enough. I was so bad that my (heavenly) brother had to die for me and if only I could have been a little less sinful, a little more perfect - he wouldn't have had to suffer so much. I remember hearing a story growing up about what the afterlife would be like. At some point we'd be sitting in a movie theater next to Jesus watching the movie of our life and for every time that it came across something bad that you did (anything from a lie to sexual indiscretion) that scene of our life would be gone, erased... it never happened. They go on to say that if you chanced to catch a glimpse of your movie partner at that moment - you'd see him in extraordinary pain remembering the suffering you had caused him because of that moment.
What constitutes a bad decision? Speaking up to your mom because she was disrespectful to you? Being angry at your husband because he's never home on time? or even standing up for yourself at all because it made the other person feel bad?
Sounds like the perfect recipe to make someone question everything they did or are about to do - become obsessed with doing everything just right. They learn not to trust themselves, compiled on with a constant reminder of your own unworthiness and it is no wonder we turn out the way we do.
I have no idea when I'm going to stop blaming myself that I've disappointed my mother my whole life, that she just couldn't love me; stop blaming myself that my 1st boyfriend felt the need to lie to me because it was the only way he could get away from my suffocation and jealously; stop blaming myself that my ex-husband abused and cheated on me; and stop blaming myself that I to this day feel the after effects of all of my imperfections.
I can't wait for the day that I can look in the mirror, accept the past, and say I am worth it, I am good enough, and I am trustworthy - and I'll never be perfect.
I'd like to blame it on Lane, my first real boyfriend. I was a senior, he was a sophomore. It didn't make a lot of sense for the girl that had spent her whole high school career tearing through this boy and that to fall for a sophomore and to not only fall, but to become so completely dependent on the relationship. I couldn't stand to be without Lane. If I was without him I wasn't complete. I mistrusted him - didn't expect that I could ever be possibly good enough for him. I suffocated him and he broke up with me. I'd like to tell you that it was my "high standards" at the time. He wanted to have sex, I was too scared and ashamed - was the reason that he broke up me with, but the truth of the matter was is it was my own special brand of crazy that drove him away. I'd like to say its because he told me he was going snowboarding and went to a party instead that started my inherent need to mistrust, but that's not where it began.
I'd like to blame it on my ex-husband and to an extent I can. He repeatedly abused my trust and because I was already in such a codependent state upon meeting him - I didn't think I deserved any better. He took advantage of me, was emotionally and somewhat sexually abusive. I was never good enough, never could meet up. Instead of creating these insecurities - they relied on something that was already there.
In the last couple of weeks I've really started to take a good look at myself and stop trying to find answers in these failures of mine. I've honestly decided to look beyond the most obvious answers of me being the way I am and figure out how this all started.
When did I decided that I wasn't worth it, that I couldn't trust myself, that I was somehow less and would always be so?
I'd like to blame my mom. Growing up my mom wasn't and still isn't the most loving person, although in a lot of ways she has come a long way. I mean, she is in her own way. You know how some kid's parents will defend them to the death, their kids couldn't possibly be wrong, bad, anything less than perfect? That wasn't my mom - my mom was always one of the first to point out, suggest that I did something wrong. She didn't tell me she loved me, didn't hug me. I possessed this desire to please her so I go straight A's, hugged her, constantly told her I loved her, how cute she is, I suffocated her and it terrified her. She was dealing with her own imperfections. My mom and I aren't that different. The only difference really is where my mom admits defeat before the battle is over... I refuse to draw back even after it being painfully aware that I've lost and it's pointless to continue.
I'd like to blame my grandma, my mom's mom.
... and I realize that I belong to a generation of brokenness brought on by the inability to be perfect. The inability to cut ourselves some slack, relax, calm down and just enjoy life for what it is.
Where did this start? Well, I have an idea.
I've been taught since I can remember that I was, in fact, NOT good enough. I was so bad that my (heavenly) brother had to die for me and if only I could have been a little less sinful, a little more perfect - he wouldn't have had to suffer so much. I remember hearing a story growing up about what the afterlife would be like. At some point we'd be sitting in a movie theater next to Jesus watching the movie of our life and for every time that it came across something bad that you did (anything from a lie to sexual indiscretion) that scene of our life would be gone, erased... it never happened. They go on to say that if you chanced to catch a glimpse of your movie partner at that moment - you'd see him in extraordinary pain remembering the suffering you had caused him because of that moment.
What constitutes a bad decision? Speaking up to your mom because she was disrespectful to you? Being angry at your husband because he's never home on time? or even standing up for yourself at all because it made the other person feel bad?
Sounds like the perfect recipe to make someone question everything they did or are about to do - become obsessed with doing everything just right. They learn not to trust themselves, compiled on with a constant reminder of your own unworthiness and it is no wonder we turn out the way we do.
I have no idea when I'm going to stop blaming myself that I've disappointed my mother my whole life, that she just couldn't love me; stop blaming myself that my 1st boyfriend felt the need to lie to me because it was the only way he could get away from my suffocation and jealously; stop blaming myself that my ex-husband abused and cheated on me; and stop blaming myself that I to this day feel the after effects of all of my imperfections.
I can't wait for the day that I can look in the mirror, accept the past, and say I am worth it, I am good enough, and I am trustworthy - and I'll never be perfect.
Monday, February 7, 2011
My Standard
A little over a year ago I took a vacation to see my friend in the Pacific Northwest. While there, I took two small sips of wine, trying alcohol for the 1st time. One was cooking wine – and one was some expensive wine that my friend had been given as a gift. Both (to my inexperienced taste buds) were equally terrible, but that's not the point. After drinking those little sips I felt physically ill. I was sure that at any moment God was going to strike me down for the sinner that I was; however, nothing happened. – I was still afraid of alcohol though.
After returning from my vacation, I found this little coffee shop near the hospital I was working at and one day I decided to bring hot chocolate for all of the girls I worked with. While sitting there waiting for my order I glanced at the menu. I avoided looking at the coffee at all because having had hated the smell of coffee my whole life, but the Chai tea on the other hand… that might be something I could handle. I had had herbal tea before, but not black - and I resolved that the next time I picked up hot chocolate for the girls, I was going to get myself some Chai tea. Once I got to work, I very quickly did a Google search about "Why Mormons don't drink coffee," not only did I find out that Mormons drank coffee for quite a while after the WofW was introduced, but up until the mid 1900s there were many Mormon breweries in Utah. That's it, I was justified – and I soon became hooked on my Chai tea.
At this point in my religious journey, I had decided that I wasn't a Mormon and was leaning towards becoming an Evangelical so drinking Chai tea was now acceptable to me. About 2 months after my vacation, I had a short stint where I moved back in with my (now ex) husband and at one point he suggested we buy some beer for the fun of it and to just sit around watching TV, drinking some beer. I was immediately opposed to the idea because he had begun drinking once we separated to escape from the guilt, pain, or whatever it was from what he had done to our marriage. In 3 short weeks it was apparent that things were not going to work out – and in a last ditch effort to try and find some common ground, I bought a 6 pack of Bud Light with Lime, which I ended up drinking 2 bottles of by myself. When I moved out, I threw the beer away despite his insistence that I just leave it there for him if I wasn't going to drink it.
It wasn't until that summer when I went back to the Pacific Northwest that I drank alcohol again – and by this time I decided that if I was going to do it, I was going to do it right. I went to an Irish Pub, had an Appletini (courtesy of JD from Scrubs…) and a Lemon Drop. I also had a sip of Hefferveisen, tried a rum and coke, and went wine tasting in the Applegate Valley. There was no going back now – and no lightening strikes either.
I don't drink a lot, probably about once a month or so – maybe a glass here or there when going out to dinner. I've probably been "drunk" 3 or 4 times, but only once to the point of throwing up… which is an experience I'll never repeat again. I have only ever had 1 hangover and recently haven't even been letting myself get to the point where I am drunk because I don't like feeling slightly nauseated all day the next day.
I have smoked pot once – and I smoke a cigarette from time to time with my boyfriend (less than a pack every… 4 months?). Neither one of us are "addicted."
So my point… I've noticed that when people leave Mormonism (and maybe other religions too) there are usually 3 assumptions that are made about us. The 1st one is that we've done something horrible and are no longer worthy to be members. The 2nd one would be that we have been deeply offended and must remember that "the people aren't perfect, but the church is." The last assumption is that we can no longer live up to the high standards of the LDS church, wanting to live a life of a drunkard, drug addict, porn addict, and be sexually promiscuous. The most popular and the one I get nailed with most because of my "alternative lifestyle" is the latter.
None of these are true about me. I left the church because it simply is not true.
I realize that I have nothing to prove to anybody but myself, but were someone to challenge this I'm sure that I could stop drinking alcohol and never smoke another cigarette. If I were to find myself out of my relationship with my boyfriend I could go back to not having premarital sex and I've never been promiscuous. I would have no problem living up to their so called standards.
You know my problem? My problem is that the LDS church doesn't meet my standard… and what standard could an awful apostate like me possibly have?
I refuse to keep pushing their lies to the back of my brain and ignoring them there. I refuse to treat people like they are less than me because of what they believe, whether that be another religion or simply another sexual orientation. I refuse to pretend to be something I'm not and to believe something that I could never possibly believe.
My standard is integrity.
… and I'd love for someone to prove that because of my (again with the quotes) "alternative lifestyle" I am now a bad person that lacks integrity.
After returning from my vacation, I found this little coffee shop near the hospital I was working at and one day I decided to bring hot chocolate for all of the girls I worked with. While sitting there waiting for my order I glanced at the menu. I avoided looking at the coffee at all because having had hated the smell of coffee my whole life, but the Chai tea on the other hand… that might be something I could handle. I had had herbal tea before, but not black - and I resolved that the next time I picked up hot chocolate for the girls, I was going to get myself some Chai tea. Once I got to work, I very quickly did a Google search about "Why Mormons don't drink coffee," not only did I find out that Mormons drank coffee for quite a while after the WofW was introduced, but up until the mid 1900s there were many Mormon breweries in Utah. That's it, I was justified – and I soon became hooked on my Chai tea.
At this point in my religious journey, I had decided that I wasn't a Mormon and was leaning towards becoming an Evangelical so drinking Chai tea was now acceptable to me. About 2 months after my vacation, I had a short stint where I moved back in with my (now ex) husband and at one point he suggested we buy some beer for the fun of it and to just sit around watching TV, drinking some beer. I was immediately opposed to the idea because he had begun drinking once we separated to escape from the guilt, pain, or whatever it was from what he had done to our marriage. In 3 short weeks it was apparent that things were not going to work out – and in a last ditch effort to try and find some common ground, I bought a 6 pack of Bud Light with Lime, which I ended up drinking 2 bottles of by myself. When I moved out, I threw the beer away despite his insistence that I just leave it there for him if I wasn't going to drink it.
It wasn't until that summer when I went back to the Pacific Northwest that I drank alcohol again – and by this time I decided that if I was going to do it, I was going to do it right. I went to an Irish Pub, had an Appletini (courtesy of JD from Scrubs…) and a Lemon Drop. I also had a sip of Hefferveisen, tried a rum and coke, and went wine tasting in the Applegate Valley. There was no going back now – and no lightening strikes either.
I don't drink a lot, probably about once a month or so – maybe a glass here or there when going out to dinner. I've probably been "drunk" 3 or 4 times, but only once to the point of throwing up… which is an experience I'll never repeat again. I have only ever had 1 hangover and recently haven't even been letting myself get to the point where I am drunk because I don't like feeling slightly nauseated all day the next day.
I have smoked pot once – and I smoke a cigarette from time to time with my boyfriend (less than a pack every… 4 months?). Neither one of us are "addicted."
So my point… I've noticed that when people leave Mormonism (and maybe other religions too) there are usually 3 assumptions that are made about us. The 1st one is that we've done something horrible and are no longer worthy to be members. The 2nd one would be that we have been deeply offended and must remember that "the people aren't perfect, but the church is." The last assumption is that we can no longer live up to the high standards of the LDS church, wanting to live a life of a drunkard, drug addict, porn addict, and be sexually promiscuous. The most popular and the one I get nailed with most because of my "alternative lifestyle" is the latter.
None of these are true about me. I left the church because it simply is not true.
I realize that I have nothing to prove to anybody but myself, but were someone to challenge this I'm sure that I could stop drinking alcohol and never smoke another cigarette. If I were to find myself out of my relationship with my boyfriend I could go back to not having premarital sex and I've never been promiscuous. I would have no problem living up to their so called standards.
You know my problem? My problem is that the LDS church doesn't meet my standard… and what standard could an awful apostate like me possibly have?
I refuse to keep pushing their lies to the back of my brain and ignoring them there. I refuse to treat people like they are less than me because of what they believe, whether that be another religion or simply another sexual orientation. I refuse to pretend to be something I'm not and to believe something that I could never possibly believe.
My standard is integrity.
… and I'd love for someone to prove that because of my (again with the quotes) "alternative lifestyle" I am now a bad person that lacks integrity.
Friday, December 31, 2010
I am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking.
I'm not really sure how this post is going to turn out and I'm feeling rather passionate at the moment... so bear with me.
My best friend is a Christian. There, I said it - and I'm not ashamed of it. In the postmormon/atheist community a lot of people seem to have just as much problem with people accepting their atheism as they do accepting people's beliefs. To this point, I haven't had much of a problem with that. For my parents, for my Christian friend, for millions of people out there - a belief in God is what makes sense to them and until they learn differently nothing you and I say or do is going to change that for them as likewise, them ranting and raving about "just having faith" is going to do nothing for us... or specifically nothing for me.
So I accept it and for the most part try not to disturb it. This is my choice - this may not be yours.
Having said all of that, recently, I went to lunch with my friend and naturally the topic came around to God. In a lot of ways I've done a lot of changing since I last saw my friend - but most of those ways are external. It took me a long time to break down the walls of Mormondom without even believing that those walls actually existed... to break down the walls of believing in God has been much faster in some ways, but is still a process. (As a side note, I am not atheist, I am not theist, I am not deist, and I am not agnostic - I won't define myself to you because I don't have to, what matters is that I am me.) In the last 6 months, I stopped being afraid of the idea of not outwardly being Mormon, outwardly being Christian, or outwardly being religious period. She asked me what I was doing in regard to God. I explained that I was doing nothing and that I wasn't quite sure what I believed as far as God goes and like I did just barely, I explained to her that I couldn't and wouldn't try to define myself to her as far as that went. The subject got around to the new group of friends I've been hanging out with as well as talking about my boyfriend. She seemed to take everything very well.
Today, I got a very thoughtful email from her expressing her concerns for where I was going and what I was doing with my life. This wasn't a surprise and honestly, I love that she cares. I would expect her to care. The caring isn't the problem.
During my separation, I moved back in with my parents for 6 months. In the beginning I was an emotional wreckage - to be honest I don't remember a lot of what happened during this period of my life. I remember the first night sleeping in the spare bedroom on a blowup mattress and in the middle of the night the mattress deflated. My mom heard me struggling with in and came into the room and took over. From there on out, she babied me in a lot of ways, like I have been babied my whole life and in the beginning, I accepted it; however, I did not ask for it. About a month before moving out, my mom was particularly upset at me for something (probably my lack of wanting to clean my room, but that is a post for another day...) and she told me that I needed to stop depending on her and my dad and that I needed to stand on my own 2 feet.
I accepted this - and have since made effort in every aspect of my life to be independent and on a lot of accounts my friends and family try to thwart my efforts.
The best real life example I can come up with is as I was moving out of my parents house I was carrying a dresser out to the moving van with a friend and upon the slightest sign of a struggle, my mom rushed in and took over - didn't help out, took over. Story of my freakin life.
So in this email from my friend today what bothered me was that my friend made the assessment that my disbelief in God had everything to do with my new group of friends and while I love and respect her this fire in my chest just inflamed because she was doing to me EXACTLY what she was accusing of me doing to myself.
Trying to give away my power, my ability to choose.
... and I made an interesting assessment today.
Everybody wants me to be independent, stand on my own 2 feet, but nobody believes that I have the ability to make decisions for myself. I stopped believing in Mormonism because of my ex-husband. I struggle with my belief in God because of my atheist friends. I had sex with my boyfriend because of pressure from my atheist friends.
It's like I don't exist... but God certainly does.
My best friend is a Christian. There, I said it - and I'm not ashamed of it. In the postmormon/atheist community a lot of people seem to have just as much problem with people accepting their atheism as they do accepting people's beliefs. To this point, I haven't had much of a problem with that. For my parents, for my Christian friend, for millions of people out there - a belief in God is what makes sense to them and until they learn differently nothing you and I say or do is going to change that for them as likewise, them ranting and raving about "just having faith" is going to do nothing for us... or specifically nothing for me.
So I accept it and for the most part try not to disturb it. This is my choice - this may not be yours.
Having said all of that, recently, I went to lunch with my friend and naturally the topic came around to God. In a lot of ways I've done a lot of changing since I last saw my friend - but most of those ways are external. It took me a long time to break down the walls of Mormondom without even believing that those walls actually existed... to break down the walls of believing in God has been much faster in some ways, but is still a process. (As a side note, I am not atheist, I am not theist, I am not deist, and I am not agnostic - I won't define myself to you because I don't have to, what matters is that I am me.) In the last 6 months, I stopped being afraid of the idea of not outwardly being Mormon, outwardly being Christian, or outwardly being religious period. She asked me what I was doing in regard to God. I explained that I was doing nothing and that I wasn't quite sure what I believed as far as God goes and like I did just barely, I explained to her that I couldn't and wouldn't try to define myself to her as far as that went. The subject got around to the new group of friends I've been hanging out with as well as talking about my boyfriend. She seemed to take everything very well.
Today, I got a very thoughtful email from her expressing her concerns for where I was going and what I was doing with my life. This wasn't a surprise and honestly, I love that she cares. I would expect her to care. The caring isn't the problem.
During my separation, I moved back in with my parents for 6 months. In the beginning I was an emotional wreckage - to be honest I don't remember a lot of what happened during this period of my life. I remember the first night sleeping in the spare bedroom on a blowup mattress and in the middle of the night the mattress deflated. My mom heard me struggling with in and came into the room and took over. From there on out, she babied me in a lot of ways, like I have been babied my whole life and in the beginning, I accepted it; however, I did not ask for it. About a month before moving out, my mom was particularly upset at me for something (probably my lack of wanting to clean my room, but that is a post for another day...) and she told me that I needed to stop depending on her and my dad and that I needed to stand on my own 2 feet.
I accepted this - and have since made effort in every aspect of my life to be independent and on a lot of accounts my friends and family try to thwart my efforts.
The best real life example I can come up with is as I was moving out of my parents house I was carrying a dresser out to the moving van with a friend and upon the slightest sign of a struggle, my mom rushed in and took over - didn't help out, took over. Story of my freakin life.
So in this email from my friend today what bothered me was that my friend made the assessment that my disbelief in God had everything to do with my new group of friends and while I love and respect her this fire in my chest just inflamed because she was doing to me EXACTLY what she was accusing of me doing to myself.
Trying to give away my power, my ability to choose.
... and I made an interesting assessment today.
Everybody wants me to be independent, stand on my own 2 feet, but nobody believes that I have the ability to make decisions for myself. I stopped believing in Mormonism because of my ex-husband. I struggle with my belief in God because of my atheist friends. I had sex with my boyfriend because of pressure from my atheist friends.
It's like I don't exist... but God certainly does.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
"I guess we thought you were stronger"
The last few days have been rough. My mom seems to be taking a more upfront approach about my disbelief, and I think yesterday if I hadn't been working... I was about to have to go through an intervention.
So what some of you may not know about me is that I like to write poems. Some of them are crap, some of them are juvenile, and some of them are too personal. This is the first one I felt like I could publicly share... so love it or hate it, here it is.
Run down the stairs
into my dungeon
hating the disturbance, the sound
of the shackles
clanging about my wrists.
To me your sigh is much louder
banging on my heart like an explosion
engulfing me in this mist of your disapproval
So I'll breathe you in, fold myself tight
and stop making noise.
I might make some changes at some point, but there is my very rough draft.
So what some of you may not know about me is that I like to write poems. Some of them are crap, some of them are juvenile, and some of them are too personal. This is the first one I felt like I could publicly share... so love it or hate it, here it is.
Run down the stairs
into my dungeon
hating the disturbance, the sound
of the shackles
clanging about my wrists.
To me your sigh is much louder
banging on my heart like an explosion
engulfing me in this mist of your disapproval
So I'll breathe you in, fold myself tight
and stop making noise.
I might make some changes at some point, but there is my very rough draft.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Dear Santa (Dad)
Around Christmas time my parents always ask us kids to give them our lists of what we want for Christmas. A couple of years ago, I decided that a list just wasn't going to cut it and I wrote out a letter to Santa. I explained to Santa that even though I'd been a pain and caused my parents a little heartache (this was the year I met my ex) that I had tried to be a good girl and I thought I still deserved a little something for Christmas. The letter was well received and it became a sort of tradition between my dad and I.
Here is one of his:
Dear Santa Claus,
I have been an extremely good boy this year. I helped my daughter have a great wedding and worked hard to help my son find and get into his very own home. I even buy my kids dinner most every Saturday night! What a great dad!
For these reasons I deserve everything on my Christmas List.
1) A brand new Toyota Camry Hybrid (2008). Prefer a gray exterior with leather interiors. Must have Blue Tooth capabilities, a great stereo system, sun roof, and a GPS system.
2) A new, top of the line Dell Laptop. The fastest, most fully loaded laptop you can find. I really only want this so that my dear sweet wife can have my laptop. She wants it so bad.
3) A top of the line Garmin GPS unit.
4) A finished bathroom and office in my basement. (Thanks for the flat screen last year)
5) Covered patio on the back of the house.
6) New furniture for my TV room.
You might consider some of these gifts to be unreasonably expensive. If so here are a few other options.
1) “The Forgotten Carols” DVD.
2) A BYU sweatshirt, large.
3) The final season of “Star Trek Voyager” on DVD.
4) The final season of “M*A*S*H” on DVD
5) “Remington Steele” on DVD (second season or later)
6) Earphones for my IPOD. The kind that are very soft in the ear.
7) Good warm gloves.
For those things that won’t fit under my tree it is ok to have them in the driveway or attached to the back of the house.
Thanks so much Santa!
To me, it is readily apparent that my dad has a great sense of humor and is incredibly loving by this short, funny letter and just really shows the type of relationship I have with him.
This year I'd like to write a different type of letter to my parents, specifically my dad.
Dear Santa,
I know this past year has been a hard one. A lot of things have changed and you have had to watch your little girl go through a lot. Not to mention what you've had to go through as a direct result, but I need you to know I'm not the same little girl that used to crawl up on your lap and give you Eskimo kisses or the same girl that really only wanted rollerblades or a Pop Star Melody doll for Christmas. I'm not even the same girl that let you follow her on her road trip this last year because you just couldn't let go.
I know it has been hard for you to watch me go through this, to see me making all of these changes and decisions that you don't agree with and decisions that you feel directly affect you. You've done the possible best you could at teaching me how to be a good person and how to live a good life and I have all the respect for you in the world, but it is time now to make my own decisions and my own mistakes.
I wish I could fully explain to you why I don't believe anymore and why I struggle with the idea that there is even a God. In a lot of ways I feel like its me returning the favor and protecting you from things that I know will hurt you. I don't know what is worse, letting you believe that I'm rebelliously throwing away your beliefs and our chance at a forever family - or having you find out that something you've devoted your entire life to is nothing but magical made up stories that cover up a lot of lies. I do know that it is something you would only accept if you were ready for it.
I don't know that you'd believe me if I told you I'd been a good girl this last year, but I have been. I've finally been working on being true to who I am and I know that I've made mistakes, but I also know that I'm a better person because of them. I'm still doing my best to be who you taught me to be and to make you proud.
For Christmas this year all I really want is for you to realize that my decisions and mistakes are not a result of "bad parenting" or any representation of you failing. I would like you to be proud of me no longer being a little girl and taking my steps out into the real world. I would like you to accept me for me and to no longer feel like I have to sensor myself to make you happy. I want you to know that I love and respect you and that sometimes I wish I could make your beliefs fit in my head just so you didn't feel like you had somehow failed me, but I know that wouldn't be living up to who you've taught me to be.
I love you Santa (Daddy).
Your little Sunshine.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Santa is not real... and neither is religion
When I was a little girl and I stopped believing in Santa, I didn't want my parents to know. I was afraid they would be upset with me that I no longer believed something that they had told me to be true since I could remember. This resulted in me "believing" in Santa until I was 11 or 12 and going to much length to have them believe I believed.
One year, there were no presents from Santa.
I remember turning to my mom and asking, "Mom, why didn't Santa come?" She got a panicked look on her face and told me that Santa had come, but he didn't want to take credit for the gifts this year and instead told them to say the gifts were from one of them. I readily agreed, but still wondered why my mom couldn't tell me the truth.
I have struggled with Mormonism for a long time, but mostly lived it out before I went to college. Once at college it was easier to fake. Sure, I went home a lot on the weekends, but I always went back to my apartment "in time for church." My parents never needed to know that I was no longer attending. Later, there was another blip on the radar when I got engaged, but I had a ready made excuse that we weren't getting married in the temple and it wasn't of a "immoral" nature. You see, my ex had been married before me and we would have to wait quite awhile for the temple divorce to go through so naturally a civil marriage only made sense and my parents were more than happy to oblige because we were already having a long engagement... and you know how long engagements lead to premarital sex... :-P We said we'd be sealed later and maybe one day I would have faked it down that road.
The beginning of this year while going through my divorce I set out on a journey to find myself. The problem? I had moved back home and for a little while went to the family ward with my parents. It quickly became apparent to me that this was not the life I wanted to live and that I could no longer fake it anymore.
One morning, I got up early, got dressed and started to head out the door to a Foursquare church in the area. My dad happened to be sitting there on the couch by the door and asked me where I was going. I legitimately needed to go deliver a present for a friend and used that as my excuse. He asked me if I would be back in time for church and I felt the panic spread to my face when I said, "No, probably not."
The next couple of months were full of near misses and confrontations with my parents. I ultimately admitted that I was going to the Foursquare church with my friend's mom, but it was a journey and I gave no solid indication that I wouldn't find my way back to Mormonism.
Once moving in with my brother, things got easier. However, it also became clearer that religion just wasn't for me. My mom asked me to take my brother with me to a single's ward. My mom asked me to take my brother with me to my friend's married ward. All these things I brushed off and instead went hiking on Sundays with my brother. Our own kind of church where nobody asks for my money and nobody tells me how to live my life... and nobody tells me the way they think that I will be happy.
Finally, in October of this year before introducing my new boyfriend (who happens to have a tattoo. GASP!) to my parents my mom asked me just exactly what it was that I was doing, why I was dating a boy with a tattoo, why I was going away from the church, why I was ruining all chance for our "forever family."
... and I looked at her and said, "Mom, Santa Claus isn't real."
Finally some honesty.
One year, there were no presents from Santa.
I remember turning to my mom and asking, "Mom, why didn't Santa come?" She got a panicked look on her face and told me that Santa had come, but he didn't want to take credit for the gifts this year and instead told them to say the gifts were from one of them. I readily agreed, but still wondered why my mom couldn't tell me the truth.
I have struggled with Mormonism for a long time, but mostly lived it out before I went to college. Once at college it was easier to fake. Sure, I went home a lot on the weekends, but I always went back to my apartment "in time for church." My parents never needed to know that I was no longer attending. Later, there was another blip on the radar when I got engaged, but I had a ready made excuse that we weren't getting married in the temple and it wasn't of a "immoral" nature. You see, my ex had been married before me and we would have to wait quite awhile for the temple divorce to go through so naturally a civil marriage only made sense and my parents were more than happy to oblige because we were already having a long engagement... and you know how long engagements lead to premarital sex... :-P We said we'd be sealed later and maybe one day I would have faked it down that road.
The beginning of this year while going through my divorce I set out on a journey to find myself. The problem? I had moved back home and for a little while went to the family ward with my parents. It quickly became apparent to me that this was not the life I wanted to live and that I could no longer fake it anymore.
One morning, I got up early, got dressed and started to head out the door to a Foursquare church in the area. My dad happened to be sitting there on the couch by the door and asked me where I was going. I legitimately needed to go deliver a present for a friend and used that as my excuse. He asked me if I would be back in time for church and I felt the panic spread to my face when I said, "No, probably not."
The next couple of months were full of near misses and confrontations with my parents. I ultimately admitted that I was going to the Foursquare church with my friend's mom, but it was a journey and I gave no solid indication that I wouldn't find my way back to Mormonism.
Once moving in with my brother, things got easier. However, it also became clearer that religion just wasn't for me. My mom asked me to take my brother with me to a single's ward. My mom asked me to take my brother with me to my friend's married ward. All these things I brushed off and instead went hiking on Sundays with my brother. Our own kind of church where nobody asks for my money and nobody tells me how to live my life... and nobody tells me the way they think that I will be happy.
Finally, in October of this year before introducing my new boyfriend (who happens to have a tattoo. GASP!) to my parents my mom asked me just exactly what it was that I was doing, why I was dating a boy with a tattoo, why I was going away from the church, why I was ruining all chance for our "forever family."
... and I looked at her and said, "Mom, Santa Claus isn't real."
Finally some honesty.
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