The Swamp

Not on my game

Thoughts floating

Mental swamp

Every thought takes twice the energy

Slow going.

How does one trek through a swamp?

Where does one learn how to swamp-hike?

It’s exhausting.

An energy drain.

It would be so much easier to just sit down in the swamp

To wait until the swamp dries out

To wait for the dry soil to return

Yet assignments and responsibilities are calling

Calling from the other side of the swamp

Calling impatiently for me to just finish

Don’t they see that there is a massive swamp between?

Don’t they see that “just doing it” requires more energy than I have?

Don’t they see that the slog is pulling me down with every step I try to take?

So long Prince Charming

This is my declaration.

I do not want Prince Charming.
I do not want to be rescued,
or found.
I do not want to be admired, fawned over, praised,
or respected for my extraordinary beauty.
I do not want to hear how I am already beautiful
even though I don't have the right curves, right clothing, right skin, or right BMI.


Because Prince Charming implies
that I must be the princess of the fairy tale.
Because being rescued implies
that I was in harm's path.
Because being found implies
that I was lost.
Because being admired for my beauty implies
that I am my looks.
Because saying that I'm beautiful despite my lack of rightness implies
that there is a standard of beauty.


I am not the fairy tale princess.
(I do more than sleep, sing, and look pretty)
I am not in harm's path.
(I am also capable of getting out of harm's way if by chance I ever am)
I am not lost.
(I am taking the scenic route)
I am not my looks.
(I am a fully embodied human)
I am not less than a standard.
(I am me)


So, don't tell me how hot I am.
Don't tell me how sexy my body is.
Don't tell me that I'm the princess.
Don't tell me that you're Prince Charming.
Don't tell me.

Because I'm not gonna be listening.



** Edited on 13 March 2014: picture and formatting added**

Overflow: When tears become words

I am raw and broken.
I am a boat tossed in the sea.
Waterlogged and splitting, falling
apart as fiber after fiber
comes undone.

I can't continue, not without losing
the essence of who I am.
What do I do?
Do I surrender to the process?
Do I let myself be unmade in the
hope of being remade in a more
complete and whole way?
What do I do when what I thought
was my purpose is
no longer my purpose?

We talk about our desire to be
real, authentic, intentional.
But what do we do when the realness
is too much, when the unpolished
and ugliness of real overwhelms our persons?

Real requires time spent with the
pain and unpleasant as well as the
joyous and thought-provoking.
Real see the dissonances within living.
But what do we do when Real gets
too real?

I want to pull the mask up.
I want to pull away from Real.
Because...
Real is hard.
Real is brokenness.
Real is raw.

a memorial and thankfulness

Today marks one year since I started treatment for my Graves' Disease. Since that day in Seattle, Washington, I have gone through a lot of changes. Physical changes like my thyroid levels normalizing, the thyroid eye disease going into remission, and losing 75% of the weight I had gained over the course of my year from hell. Psychosocial changes like climbing out of the deep pit of depression and anxiety that the disease had brought, being aware of the fragility of life, pursuing my friends once again, and discovering that I am a creative and metaphorical woman. There are so many other ways that I have grown and changed in the last 365 days and I just know there will continue to be more and more changes as I continue on the road to full physical, mental, and spiritual health.

At Legacy this morning, Brant talked about making memorials, physical reminders of where I have been and what God has brought me through. So here is a little something that I wrote about my year from hell this evening.

I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made!
It is because of you that I can praise you today!
You alone are the reason I can sing and dance!
You walked with me, holding my hand until I couldn't walk anymore.
And when I crumbled to the ground, unable to take another step,
you picked me up and carried me through the worst of the desert storm.
You carried me whispering that you had me and to rest in your arms.
You didn't leave me in the desert with the wind howling,
the dust swirling about, and the thunder and lightening hovering overhead.
No, you didn't leave me.
You lovingly took me in your arms, pressed my head to your chest,
whispered, "I've got you. Rest now." and started walking,
while the storm raged on.