"I'M HOLDING ON TO ALL THE PIECES OF MY HEART'S DEBRIS, TIL IT'S TIME." -PHOEBE RYAN

Re-wiring your brain to think differently than you've been taught your entire life takes time. That's such a blanket statement. "Takes time..." Well, how much time? What if your life was like this or like that? Then how much time? The answer is, I have no fucking idea. But, each time I wipe away a mask from my face, I find another one that I must destroy. Will it ever end? When I first started writing my book, I was a mess. I was angry. I was depressed. Then I became, what I thought was solid, whole, and healed. Through each chapter, each post, I find something else about myself that I either never knew about or thought was gone. But, life is messy and emotions don't make sense. So, I find myself back at square one, often. And I find this infuriating. With each lesson I learn, I feel like maybe I'm there. Maybe I've got it. Just to turn around and find out that I've not got it at all. Two steps forward and one step back. That has been my life.

I find it unfair that the challenges in life are never over. But, then I think about what life would look like without any challenges. I can't imagine I would be anywhere near the same woman had I just skimmed through life and everything worked out just perfectly. But, still, at the same time, I find it frustrating that as soon as I feel like I'm ready to live my own life, life knocks me down. Sometimes I want to feel sorry for myself and think that someone, maybe God, I don't know, has a Vendetta out for me. Maybe he's pissed that I don't believe. And other times I know that everything in life happens for a reason. And that each and every challenge I've overcome, has made me a woman who knows exactly what she wants today. And I do -- I finally do.

When I started my book and then this blog, I wanted to write raw material that others could relate to. I have been through enough and have enough stories to write three books. But, I have been holding back. Hiding from the realness of my life. The truth sounds great until it sounds terrifying. Focusing on the positives and staying present is wonderful, but I started to write because I wanted to tell my story. A story about how a young mom at age 17 had a little girl that she almost gave up for adoption, but decided to keep. And how that little girl was me.

The mask I wear before you today is my fear of unleashing these stories. Who will they hurt? What bridges will they burn? Do I care? Is my perception of these stories correct? Am I being dramatic or unfair? What will happen when people find out that I haven't always been a kind person? That evil, dishonest, manipulative, and hateful person that I've been in my lifetime scares me. The person I've been working to change for years coming to life in my writing is like facing the devil and telling him I don't need him anymore. But, maybe that's what is keeping me from being able to peel away all of my masks. Maybe each story is a mask and with each entry of this blog, I'll be able to let go of it. For good.

I've been through a lot of counseling. Some I was forced into. Some I felt like I just "had to." Some I was experiencing so much PTSD, there was no other option. And other times it was because I felt like I just needed an impartial person to talk to. As someone who now has a Master's degree in Counseling, I realize that I am actually the worst client ever. Even after all I know. Even after all I've learned. I have straight up lie to every counselor I've ever had. "I'm great! Doing awesome! Oh that? Yeah, but I've got it totally under control. I feel amazing. Like I'm headed in the right direction." Ever wonder why we say these things? Why we insist we are fine when we aren't? Only to go home from a counseling session and cry ourselves to sleep, wondering why we didn't talk about all the things we needed to talk about. This front we put on, this mask, is a protection. Because the things we need to talk about are nasty. They are trashy and embarrassing. Saying them out loud makes them real. Brings them to life.

I've pondered how to release these stories. I have thought about starting at birth and working my way up, but that's not how stories enter our brains. Trauma, anger, sadness, depression, anxiety; they always come up at the strangest times. At times that are least convenient, I find myself thinking about the weirdest things. They just pop into my head sometimes. Or, someone will bring something up and I start to work through those thoughts for the next week. I am definitely a self-counselor. I have the skills to counsel, but I find that I use them best on myself. Maybe that's why I went to school for this. Because I can't lie to myself like I can lie to people who don't know me. When I tell a lie to myself, I am immediately challenged. So, I've been counseling myself for a long time. Far before I started to go to school for Psychology.

So, I think that I will write as these things come to me. As I feel the need to tell the story. About two weeks ago, I started to write a story about my first husband. Possibly the most traumatic time in my life. I quit half way through, began to cry, and shut down that post all together. I quickly went back to writing about how I am totally living my life in "acceptance." I've been writing stories that aren't so bad, that I am not ashamed to write down. Shame. What a great word. What a bitch of a feeling. One of my favorite writers, Dr. Brené Brown, writes about shame, vulnerability, and guilt. I was watching a Ted Talk of hers one day and she said that when she began her research, she actually wanted to prove that you don't need to be vulnerable in life. Only to find that her work completely proved her wrong. I highly recommend her work, if you're interested.

Dr. Brené Brown says:

"Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change."

She also says:

"Shame cannot survive being spoken."

So, here I stand at a crossroads. The path of pretending like these words are not aching to get out of me. Lying to myself that I am "fine" and that these things I've been through have not affected me. Or, I can release my shame by speaking it and I can change my life and innovate myself by allowing my vulnerability to not be a negative quality inside of me, but a powerful one. This is, by far, the scariest post I've released. Because I am making a promise to finally let go. And letting go is unfamiliar. And the unfamiliar is terrifying.

Something you might notice about me throughout things I post, is that I love poetry, lyrics, and quotes. I am someone who feels E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. It is both a burden and a blessing. Sometimes I get my ideas for blog posts from things I've watched, like TV shows and movies; or things I've heard, like poetry or songs. When I hear a good poem or a good song, sometimes they just speak to me. I have had a single poetry post on Instagram change my life.

Side note: Another thing you may notice about me is that I exaggerate a lot and say things like "it changed my whole life" or "I thought I was going to die." To be clear, I don't believe that one single Instagram post changed the trajectory of my life and no, I don't think that I will actually, physically die if I ever get to meet Taylor Swift one day. But, just go with it.

Okay, back to being dramatic.

This post (the one that changed my entire life) said this:

"When will you stop running full speed toward brick walls disguised as humans and calling it love?" -Erin Van Vuren (you can follow her on Instagram @papercrumbs, she's one of my favorites..)

Boom. Like a fucking truck, that hit my soul. Ouch. The honesty that my heart felt from reading that. The acceptance I felt from understanding that I am still, very much guilty of doing this. And that it's okay. For now. When will I love myself enough to stop giving my love away to people who do no deserve it? No matter how wonderful I feel right now, and I do.. I am still more than willing to let a man, a relationship, ruin me. Maybe because that's all I've ever seen. Maybe because that's all I've ever experienced. I mean, I stayed with my first husband for as long as I did because there was a part of me that really believed that that is what marriage was supposed to look like. And each relationship continues to prove that theory. But, when am I going to love myself enough to stop that pattern?

Maybe it starts here.