tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89617705319836460012024-03-13T00:07:37.914-04:00Growing Older, Growing Up?You know, if there's a feeling of being half totally excited, and half completely ready to panic, then that's how I feel about growing up.Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-2434194032792317012020-02-22T22:24:00.000-05:002020-02-22T22:24:29.546-05:00A Day in the Life <div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">*Warning: If you are currently struggling with an eating disorder, content may be triggering. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Alarm goes off: a moment of beautiful, peaceful, unawareness. Then it hits. You stand up and pray you make it to the bathroom before you completely black out. You use the bathroom and try not to notice how dark your urine is. And then its time to get undressed in front of the mirror and pinch every inch of skin obsessively. Now the moment you've been waiting for since yesterday morning. You step on the scale. Not one scale, not two scales, but three scales, to triple check your weight. This number will make or break your day. You hold your breath and hope on, furiously scribbling the number in your notebook of weights that dates 5 years back. You step off and head to the closet, looking for your baggiest clothes that will hide your body. No, these make me look lumpy, you think. So you change, 8 times. Then you head to the kitchen and opening the fridge, staring longingly at the sparse amount of food, knowing that you have to wait until after a certain time to eat because your head has made so many rules. So you pour a black coffee and add a splash of cream. "This will make my dietitian proud!" You think to yourself. And then as you are putting the creamer away, the nutrition facts stare you in the face. It's not that you don't already know the calorie content of the entire grocery store, but the number seems more daunting than usual today. So you pour the coffee down the sink and reach for a sugar free energy drink. You go out and run errands, which includes picking up more diet pills and another pair of fuzzy socks because you can't seem to stay warm anymore. Your phone is buzzing. Friends asking to go out to lunch. Your head starts swimming. You hadn't planned on eating lunch, but you can't keep blowing people off. You sit in your car and you cry because you are hungry and tired and you miss your friends, but your head will not allow you to break the rules. So you go home and sit on your couch until the magic hour when you are allowed to eat. You strategically pick out the lowest calorie item and take 20 minutes to plate it and touch it and smell it and look at it. You take a picture of it to send to your dietitian. You log it in your MyFitnessPal account. You do everything but actually eat it. An hour of sitting at the table staring at a rice cake passes. You take a bite and walk away. Your mind and your body are exhausted at this point, so you throw on 2 pairs of pants and 2 sweatshirts and crawl into bed, hoping to fall asleep before your mind starts racing. An hour later you wake up with horrible cramping in your stomach. Hunger. "I know how to fix this!" you say, as you lace up your running shoes and head into the 99 degree summer heat. "2 miles? That's not enough? 3 miles? That's an odd number. 4? Okay!" But you do not have the energy to run, so you power walk for 4 miles until the thoughts and feelings all disappear. You come home and you shower. Only showers are no. Longer enjoyable because any time that you have to acknowledge that you have a body is painful. So you jump in and out, wrap up, and call it a day. You climb in to bed and weep, knowing that there is no end in sight. This is who you are now. And this is who you will always be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">This was a day in the life. This was my story for years and years. And I am not "recovered" by any means, but I also know that this? This is not who I am. Eating disorders are a living hell that I would not wish on my worst enemy. They suck the life from every part of you and leave you feeling like a shell of the person you once were. But guess what? That person is still in there? And they just need a speck of hope, someone to listen to their story, someone to say "I'm sorry" or "Me too". I am learning that healing can look like a lot of different things. Sometimes all you can do is make it through the day, and that's okay. All I know is, "no giving up allowed." </span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-11986795430171609792019-07-03T22:05:00.002-04:002019-07-03T22:05:38.491-04:00Hello, 30!<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Here I am, standing on the edge of a decade I wasn't even sure I was going to make it to at times. </span><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">These past 30 years have been filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, laughter and tears.</span><i style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"> Perhaps more magnified in this past year</i><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><b>I've learned a lot</b> in my 20's. </span><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I've </span><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">learned</span><span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"> that some friends come into our lives for a season, to bring us laughter and joy and lessons. And just because it's only a season does not make it any less valuable. I've learned that feelings cannot hurt you, but the things you do to avoid feeling? That can hurt. I've learned that just because you have needs, that does not make you needy. I've learned that it was never about the weight. I've learned that a good book and puppy cuddles are just as good, if not better, than a night out. With that, I've learned that owning a dog is a lot of work and I wouldn't trade my sweetest girl for a million dollars. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><b>I've also made some mistakes.</b> I've eaten too little, stayed up too late, overslept, been selfish in relationships, and put myself aside for the sake of other people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I've met some of the most beautiful, strong souls, and I've seen the ugly and bad and dark side of things. I've kept in touch with friends from elementary school and I've moved cities and started a new life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">In my 20's, I graduated undergrad, moved cities, got my CNA, got a job, graduated nursing school, passed the NCLEX, got my dream nursing job, got a dog, and bought a house. <i>It's easy to forget how much you've accomplished or where you've come from when life comes so fast sometimes. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">In my 30's, I want a family. Saying that out loud and putting that out there feels very vulnerable and scary, because what if it doesn't happen. But I can't change what my heart wants. So I want a family. And a house with a yard. And to pay off my car. And a second dog. And to travel. And to be okay with taking up space. And to feel joy more days than sorrow. And to laugh and feel sunshine and soak in the first days of fall and decorate the house for Christmas and visit friends in Arizona and Texas and Alaska<i>. I want to eat more ice cream.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to make decisions for myself. I want to make my happiness a priority. I want to want recovery for myself instead of for everyone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">In my 30's, I want to leave behind self doubt. I want to leave behind hopelessness and fear of the unknown. I want to leave the numbers behind. I want to leave behind the idea that I am not good enough. I want to leave behind the feeling of being too much and not enough all at the same time. I want to leave behind the feelings of unworthiness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">In my 20's a seed was planted. And in my late 20's that seed was buried in dirt. In my 30's, <b>I want to bloom.</b> </span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-1385051447083159702019-06-19T23:56:00.000-04:002019-06-20T00:00:02.397-04:00Sympathy vs. Empathy <div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sympathy versus empathy. Now, I'm no Brene Brown, so if you want to learn about this topic for real, I HIGHLY recommend going to YouTube and typing in Brene Brown. She's got some great TED Talks and also a cute little animated video (here ya go: <a href="https://youtu.be/1Evwgu369Jw">https://youtu.be/1Evwgu369Jw</a>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">But anyways.<b> Sympathy versus empathy.</b> They both serve great purpose and I think they are both necessary to truly connect with another person. Some people tend to be naturally more empathetic than others, and some people are really good at being sympathetic and showing up in those times of need. To me, the best way to describe it is this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"><b>Me</b>: I'm having a hard day and I'm really emotional and I feel like I just can't get off the bathroom floor. It's too hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"><b>Sympathetic</b>: I'm sorry you're sitting on the bathroom floor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"><b>Empathetic</b>: I'm sorry you're sitting on the bathroom floor. Can I come sit with you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes we need the sympathy. When something goes wrong you don't necessarily want the cashier at the grocery store or your kinda weird coworker offering to come sit on your floor (<i>although I have great coworkers who have become friends, and I'm sure there are plenty of empathetic cashiers</i>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">But empathy? The willingness to crawl through the muck with you? The ability to say 'I've been where you've been in some way, shape, or form, and I am here with you now." <b>That is everything. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">A few key points about empathy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">1. Empathy fuels connections. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">2. Empathy is feeling WITH people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">3. Empathy is a vulnerable choice to connect with someone on a deep emotional level. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">4. Empathy never starts with "at least". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes empathy is uncomfortable. You have to go back and remember a time when you were on the bathroom floor or when you felt...(insert emotion here), and that is uncomfy for sure. But as<strike> the all knowing, ever wise</strike> Brene Brown said, <i>"rarely can a response make something better. What makes something better is connection." </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">*sympathy vs. empathy pictures I painted whilst sitting on the bathroom floor*</span></div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-40583335974682088592019-06-09T17:59:00.001-04:002019-06-09T18:00:51.002-04:00Life's Tunnels. <div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I'm currently sitting in an airport, after a weekend of coming the closest I've come to following a meal plan in a long time.<b><i> I will not cry in an airport. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">This weekend I had a quick trip to visit my best friend and her 2 girls. It was a great weekend and I never feel more like my true self than when I am with old friends and sweet children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Big cities are fun and there's lots of sights and things to do. There's also a lot of tunnels. I swear my Uber driver took every tunnel in the surrounding area. I always think to myself, "<i>Oh a tunnel! This will be fun!</i>" (Because I am 5 years old). You get in the tunnel and it's dark and kind of feels like another world. It's fine for the first minute. Then I panic. I'm closed in, I'm stuck, there's no light, and I can't get out. I'm as far in as I am out and that terrifies me. Here's the thing, I could turn around- go back. But then I'd have to start all over again. Getting where I'm going would take twice as long and I'd eventually have to go through the tunnel. I could also freeze. (That's my personal favorite). I could just stop in my tracks, not moving forward, not moving backward. Just frozen in the middle. This is problematic because, while you aren't going backwards, you're definitely not moving forward, and you are stuck in the in-between, which can feel dark and scary and confusing. Really, the best way to get through the scary tunnel situation? Through. Through the dark and stuck and scary. Just close your eyes, breathe, and keep going. "The only was out is through." Cliche? Yes. Terrifying? Yes. True? Also yes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Easy? No. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">This reminds me so much of where I am in recovery right now. To be honest, a lot of times I find myself running back to where I came from, doing everything I can to avoid the tunnel. The discomfort. The feelings. Sometimes I get brave and push through, often getting frozen and stuck in the middle. I've been through the tunnel. I can think of a time I was through the tunnel, on the other side. There was so much more light. And there was still some dark. I got scared and went backwards through the tunnel. I think every time you successfully make it through the tunnel, the tunnel becomes a little shorter, a little less scary. The tunnel is scary, but familiar, so I find myself trying to rest in the tunnel. Just a little bit longer, then I'll choose. Then I'll move. And then eventually life comes along. Move or be moved, you cannot stay in the tunnel. And that's a lesson I'm working on now. </span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-26668884922147380252019-05-05T20:15:00.000-04:002019-05-05T20:15:05.631-04:00#MyRecoveryLetter#MyRecoveryLetter is supposed to be a letter to myself, or my ED, or a support person who has helped me through the process. One thing I wish I had as someone who is very new to the recovery process is a letter from someone else navigating the ups and downs of recovery. So this is for them. And for me.<br />
Dear brave, scared, beautiful you,<br />
The you that has just begun the recovery journey as is still nervous to even consider the word “recovery”. Welcome to this rollercoaster of a journey.<br />
First of all, what is recovery? To me recovery is not perfectly following a meal plan or showing up to every appointment with a smile and an Ensure. Recovery is not waking up and loving your body and not thinking twice before getting dressed. Recovery is honestly not even about the food at all. Sure, those are good goals and things to work towards, but let’s start small. To me recovery is about showing up. Showing up to appointments when you are tired and don’t want to feel or think or talk or listen. Showing up to the table, even if it’s to cry through a dinner or snack. Showing up for your life, because your eating disorder has taken so much life away from you, you might not even recognize what life you have left. Showing up for yourself. Because there are going to be many people along the way to cheer you on and push you in the direction of recovery. And ultimately you have to recover for you. Not your mom or your sister or your boyfriend or your therapist. You have to show up, hands open, willing for YOU. And if that isn’t one of the hardest parts, then I don’t know what is.<br />
What does recovery look like? Feeling, healing, and “meal”ing. Recovery is not a straight line (which. Is the biggest bummer for those of us who like when things are black and white). There are days when you feel on top of the world and days when you feel like you’re in an endless pit of darkness. And sometimes these aren’t even days, but moments. I’ve heard that eventually it evens out and the emotions become a little less extreme. I’ll keep you updated.<br />
What if I mess up? What if it’s not perfect? What if I disappoint everyone? Is it still okay to miss my ED?<br />
Great questions! And when I work through the answers, I will let you know.<br />
All I know for right now is that wherever you are is okay. My last (and most favorite) therapist helped me to realize that we all grow at our own pace. It’s not a race, it’s not a contest. It’s your life. And as long as you are moving, you are learning and growing.<br />
So my best recovery advice? Let’s all be a little more like snails. Growing and moving at our own pace, going inside our shells when we get scared, but always coming back out and moving forward. Snails see the beauty in every inch and always come home to themselves. Those are my recovery goals, simple as that.<br />
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Couldn’t end my recovery letter without thanking Mara who hasn’t given up on me in 6 years. Karen who gave endless hugs. Liz and Erin who helped me to save my own life. Julianna who made sure I had a place to go and refused to give up on me. Mary Slate who always listened, even when I was being irrational. And Rachel. Who taught me so many things. But mainly that I am a person with a life that is worth saving and worth living. Who taught me the skills and stood beside me and cheered me on while I took steps to save my own damn life.<br />
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-19424273796335759782019-03-27T00:07:00.001-04:002019-03-27T00:07:21.069-04:00Late night reflections <div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Things I Miss:</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-bananagrams. Anywhere. At any given time.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-puzzles. Minus the 2000 piece Christmas puzzle that turned into recovery</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-changing the white board every night</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Art Ellen rolling her eyes at me. Always. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-decorating for Christmas with roommate #2</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-staying up late laughing so loud with roommate #1</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-random outbursts of Pretty Woman</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-nightly forbidden hugs</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Furqan quoting Jerry McGuire to me during every single session</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-John Mayer in the bathroom every morning</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Emily yelling SHARPS when someone dropped a pen</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Decorating Rigsbee for Christmas</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Doom and Henry and 4am and Hobbs</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-helping Anna since it was always her first day</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the dog park across the street</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Home Alone 2. Yes. I even miss that. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the song from the end credits of Rio</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the tiny spoon</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-ramekins </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-skkkkkrrtt</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-RO-DBT, MedEd with Joe</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Fun fects on Foster</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-talking about space noodles more than any group of people ever should</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Nutella puppy chow</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-patio time</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-literally anything with Rachel, even when she made me cry, aka ALWAYS</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-spa night</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-ice packs at the ready</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Planet Fitness commercials on New Years and the reactions that followed</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-scheduled nap time, specifically on Rigsbee</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the rare Stella appearance</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Maggie and Lindsay and Darby and Jaeda and Camila and all of the great TA's.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the overusage of the word AND.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Mandie's hippie outfits, Jillians scarves, Michelle's animal prints, Brianna's Lilly.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-JP and flannel Friday's</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-being able to freely cry. Anywhere. At any time.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-being around the most encouraging group of people I have ever met</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Things I Don't Miss:</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-meal coaching</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-eggs</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the feeling of impending doom when your whole team is in one room</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-experiential dietetics</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-table games</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-increases</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-increases from dietitians who aren't even your dietician</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-dessert snack, aka banana pudding</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-someone else flushing my toilet</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-COS-DBT</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Veritas shake</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Phosphorus powder</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-0400 vitals, although I do miss Donna's yellwhisper </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Community meetings to discuss video games</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the great unit sweep of 2k19 where all of our boots were taken</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-cold showers. In stalls. With other people around.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-hairy shower drains</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-that damn NG tube and the sound of the pump</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the phrase "mindful" and "validate" </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-weekends without passes</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-excessive online shopping</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-Boost</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-moving rooms 5 times</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the one salt packet rule</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-the one cup of coffee rule</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-being told to sit down</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-having the emotional stability of a 2 year old</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">-being anxious all the time</span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-69925659358370730922019-03-23T23:06:00.000-04:002019-03-23T23:06:18.696-04:00PruningThis might not make sense to anyone else, but bare with me. When I was a kid my dad planted a wisteria vine on the trellis in our backyard. It was beautiful and super green and grew these beautiful purple blossoms every year. It provided beauty and some shade. It had a purpose. Then, after a few years, the wisteria vines kept growing. It was still beautiful. Slightly overgrown, very green, but still pretty. Then over time, as we were sitting on the back deck, we noticed little sprouts coming through the wood floor. Then on the other side of the house, across the deck. Sprouts. Wisteria sprouts coming through the wood and growing and breaking things. Eventually the vines of the wisteria grew through the metal chains of the porch swing, making it completely lose function, reliability, and strength. Yes, it was still beautiful, but it was out of control. Recently my dad tore down the wisteria. I remember feeling sad because it looked bare, and I knew I’d miss the pretty purple blooms. But for the sake of the porch and the house, it needed to go. It needed a fresh start.<br />
That’s kind of how I feel about my eating disorder. It felt beautiful at first. It had a purpose and a function and I could still see that. The beauty and function outweighed the negatives. And then it didn’t. Then it grew out of control. And while it may have appeared one way on the outside, it was tearing apart everything inside of me. So I’ve spent the last few years, and in particular the last 7 months, tearing down those vines. Pruning. Starting over. And yes, there are days when I miss the “beauty” and “function”, but I know in the long run it would have never worked. So while new beginnings are scary and sad and not always pretty, sometimes they are the most necessary. <br />
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-56017664389765182732019-03-01T23:10:00.002-05:002019-03-01T23:10:43.051-05:00209 days<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I walk in the front door and tears immediately spill down my face. It's like a time capsule. For 7 months, <b>209 days</b>, nothing here has changed. In fact, the only thing that dates the passing of time are the medical bills and mail piled up on the kitchen table. I wipe the tears and walk towards the kitchen. The color is different. Is this where the forks always went? I cringe as I think of all of the times spent opening the empty pantry with a hungry stomach, hoping to find something to fill me up without making me bigger. I shutter when I look at the fridge. Memories of diet sodas, energy drinks, alcohol, and low fat yogurt that would sustain me for days. <i>Moving on</i>. My cute red couch. The couch I napped on multiple times a day while my dog jumped on me to go play. The couch that called to my depression and drew me in for hours at a time. <i>Moving on</i>. I head towards the bedroom and hold my breath like a monster is going to jump out at me. I open the door. A perfectly made bed. Flowers and fresh sheets. I exhale. But only for a minute. The pink 5 pound weights sitting on my dresser call to me. I rush over and open the dresser drawer, knowing what I would find and hoping for a miracle. No such luck. A drawer full of laxatives, diet pills, and a blood pressure cuff, so that I could make sure I was still alive sometimes. <i>Moving on</i>. I open the closet. I know I shouldn't. I know I was told to wait. But I can't. I open the closet. Cat and Jack children's clothing hangs from the closet racks. All clothes that fit me 7 months ago. Each clothing item with its very own past memory. Not going there. Not tonight. At the end of my house tour, I sit on the bathroom floor. 209 days gone. My eating disorder hell perfectly preserved within these 4 walls. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><b>But things have changed</b>. I smile when I listen to my friends talk about their new house, or starting or a family, or the new drama at work. I smile because I am reminded that for the past 209 days, life has gone on. Part of that terrifies me. A life that has moved on without me. Friends and work and life that didn't pause for 209 days. But then I smile. <b><i>I did not pause for 209 days.</i></b> I have grown and stretched and cried and laughed and made new friends and set boundaries and had honest and deep and fun conversations. I have decorated hospital windows for Christmas and passed out Valentines to new friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Home is here. And home is good and will be good. Change will happen and it will be scary. But not changing would be scarier. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Home is here and I'm okay. </span></div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-19054553014612233712019-02-25T20:44:00.001-05:002019-02-25T20:44:46.040-05:00Happy, Healthy, Peaceful, Safe<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">On August 8th of this past year, I packed up my stuff, left my job, and entered residential treatment for the 3rd time. <i>Third time's a charm, that's what they say.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">2 more treatment centers, and 190-something days later, here I am. Still fighting every single day. <b>Still showing up.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">When I first started the process this time, back in August, I met some friends who have changed my life. There are lots of people like that on this journey and I wish I had time to go in to detail about all of them. I remember my 2nd day at Carolina House, the first time I heard A's mantra. <b><i>"May you be happy, may you be healthy, may you be peaceful, may you be safe."</i></b> She said this with her eyes shut and with such conviction. Granted, at this time we were lowering a mouse named Mr. Whiskers into a small dirt hole, but that's beside the point. Those words stuck with me. And I heard them repeated over and over again during my time in treatment. At first they were words for other people, for the frogs and spiders that had fallen victim to the house cat. But soon, I began to internalize them and wish them for myself. <i>After all, isn't that what we all long for?</i> To feel happy, healthy, peaceful, and safe. Isn't that honestly what this whole journey has been about for me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Fast forward 7 months and I've found and am still seeking some of those things. I'm WAY happier than I was when this journey began. Physically, I am MUCH healthier than I was 7 months ago. I don't think I realized how truly sick I was at the time. As far as peace and safety, I am working on those. I'm working on feeling peaceful and safe in my own body. I'm working on trusting others to help me create safe space and internal peace. All of these things are continuous works in progress. No one is ever done searching for happiness, health, peace, or safety. I'm learning that it's all part of the process. I'm also learning to be thankful for the people along the way who have helped guide me to this place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I'm thankful for the girls who first muttered this mantra. I'm thankful for the sweet spots and the mouse funerals and joy in the very ordinary moments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">May you be <b><i>happy</i></b>. May you be <b><i>healthy.</i></b> May you be <b><i>peaceful</i></b>. May you be <b><i>safe</i></b>. <i>And May you find your tribe who helps you with all of these things. </i></span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-71104840760633578142018-04-04T19:00:00.000-04:002018-04-04T19:25:51.200-04:00Walgreens. <div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I have a strange association with my local Walgreens. I didn’t realize it until today, but I do. As I drove in to the parking lot, my palms got sweaty, my heart began to race. What the heck, Brooke? It’s a Walgreens. It’s the Walgreens you’ve been to twice before to print out pictures before you left for Indiana...oh. Oh shit. You see, I’ve been to Indiana for treatment twice and both times a large packing priority of mine was physical pictures from home, since we can’t have phones or social media. I remember the past 2 years stopping at Walgreens to print out these physical memories to take with me. A tiny piece of home I clung to when my world felt like it was being tipped upside down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Today is different. Today I printed out pictures of me in my new home. I printed out 2 copies to send to the staff at Selah House to show them my progress. They have been there for my lows, I figured they might want to see a high for once. And while I still have bad moments and hard days, I’m currently feeling extra thankful that I’m mailing these pictures to Indiana instead of hand delivering them! </span><br />
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-35766108307725061692017-06-12T20:27:00.000-04:002017-06-12T20:33:10.087-04:00One Year Later...<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><i>One year ago today</i> I said goodbye to my family and friends and hopped on a plane to the middle of nowhere Indiana all by myself. I was scared but mainly I was tired. Too tired to grasp the concept of what was about to happen in my life. <i>One year ago </i>I stayed in a hotel room in the middle of Anderson, Indiana and cried myself to sleep, hoping the next day would bring relief. <i>One year ago</i> I was picked up by a complete stranger and driven to a house where I would spend the next 6 weeks fighting my eating disorder. I remember a lot about my time at Selah house. I remember the hot pink vitals gowns and the blind weights, cereal Wednesdays and four caffeine Fridays. I remember crying over a chicken sandwich and rejoicing over a completed plate. I remember 4th of July spent in the art room and my birthday spent in tears. I remember the tornado closet and the barn and the table games and the bathroom lines at 2:00am. And the night sweats. Ew I remember the night sweats. I remember laughing with my Selah Sisters and crying with the counselors. I learned a lot this past year. I've learned about myself and my friends and family, I've learned more about God's promises and my faith. Here's a short list of some of the things I have learned this past year. </span></div>
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<li style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Recovery is <b>NOT </b>a straight line. It's more of a roller coaster of successes and setbacks. Find people to love you through every stage. </span></li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><i>People need people</i>. I 100% could not have done this past year alone. </span></li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";"><b>Let love in. This might be the biggest thing I learned. I can give freely with no problems, but when it comes to receiving, I seem to have a very hard time. Because of this, I've often found myself struggling to accept that God could love me in my mess. And yet the amazing RC's at Selah showed me a small glimpse of Gods love. While I was at Selah I was tired and terrified and cranky and full and uncomfortable in so many ways. I cried and complained and moaned and cried and cried and cried more than any one person over the age of 2 should do. I essentially threw daily temper tantrums. And what was I met with? Hugs. Numerous hugs. And support and words of affirmation and notes and prayers and true, genuine love during a time when I felt so hard to love. I like to imagine that's just a small glimpse of how God sees us. There is nothing we can do or say that can separate us from the love of God.</b> </span></li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Be kind. You never know what battle people are facing. I was so lucky to hear so many girls amazing stories of courage and bravery and resilience. These girls started as strangers and ended as sisters and I feel so lucky to have shared a little bedroom and a dining room table and countless giggles and tears with these amazing ladies. </span></li>
<li style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Lastly, always give thanks. I could not have made it through those 6 weeks and this entire past year without the love and kindness and tough love of Lori, Chanda, Shari, Mallory, Sarah Madison, Hayley, Kat, Tia, Katie, Rachel, Marcy, Z, Kadee, Todd, Shelby, Jess, Kristen, Sara, Chris Z., Alicia, Mel, Ann, Julie, Brooke, and Dr. Foreman, and all the Selah staff (including the horses!). To my Selah sisters, Hill, Lu, Jac, Muriel, Christine, Leeda, Becca, Michelle, Karie, Tina, Jackie, and Katherine: thank you for being my sisters during such a difficult transition in my life. Thank you for the porch chats and the prayers and listening and loving and laughing and crying with me. To my parents, thanks for letting me go and for listening to me cry on our nightly phone calls. And to my friends and family who have continued to support me in my ups and downs this past year. I'm forever grateful for your constant love, even when it's tough, and support. </span></li>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-29927769573212266142017-05-06T16:00:00.001-04:002017-05-06T16:00:12.824-04:00Nurses Week 2017<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Happy Nurses Week 2017 to all my fellow nurse friends! Being a nurse is the best and worst and hardest and most rewarding job possible. I go to work everyday in awe of the strength of both my coworkers and my patients. Now, I've only been a nurse for 3 years, & somehow it feels like I've been doing this my whole life. That being said, I think there comes a point in every nursing career where a switch is flipped and you change as a nurse and as a person. For me that moment came last summer, when I was on the other side of the nurse/patient relationship. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">A little under a year ago, I packed up and shipped off to Indiana for 6 weeks of treatment for an eating disorder that was slowly consuming my life. I was terrified to be so far from home and know no one. And yet as the big white van pulled up to the beautiful house, the first person to greet me wasn't a therapist or nutritionist or counselor, but a nurse. A nurse who held me as I shook and cried. A nurse that patiently waited for me to get vitals and a blind weight every morning. A nurse who took me to the bathroom and gave me my meds and answered my same silly questions everyday. It was the nurses who held my hand during panic attacks on the back porch. It was the nurses who assured me each morning that the scale was not my enemy. It was the nurses who kept an eye on my vitals and labs and kept me safe. It was also the nurses who cried with me and laughed with me and sat in the kitchen with me when meals felt too overwhelming. It was the nurses who were some of my biggest advocates. Every day for 6 weeks, a nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up in the morning and the last person I saw before bed at night. It was Erin who stayed awake the night of the tornado and it was Mel who played bananagrams with me on the porch. It was Michele who blended oils for relaxation and Julie who ate and prayed and did puzzles with me. And it was nurse Brooke who made my 6 weeks possible. It was Brooke who was there day in and day out. It was Brooke who was the perfect mixture of goofy and sassy and sweet and serious. Brooke ate meals with me and rejoiced in my successes and helped walk me through my failures. I specifically remember one day after I had a pass. I had made a mistake and was horribly embarrassed and ashamed. Brooke was the first person to talk to me. She did not yell or lecture or judge. She simply loved me through the process. Which is really all anyone can ask. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">So this nurses week, as a nurse and as a former patient, I really want to try to be more like nurse Brooke in my nursing practice. I want my kids to know I'm cheering them on no matter what. I want them to know I care, no matter what. I want them to know there's no failures or losses, only lessons and growth. I want to remember that as a nurse I have the potential to have a very large impact in someone's life at a time when they are most vulnerable. And I want my patients to know that although I can't always "fix" them, I can always love them through the process. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">So happy nurses week to all of the amazing nurses I'm blessed to work with and all of the incredible nurses who loved me through my process. </span><img src="webkit-fake-url://d72f7c6e-50ae-47ae-833a-a6a8726a4220/imagejpeg" /></div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-80640115006411463532017-02-26T18:11:00.001-05:002017-02-26T18:11:37.330-05:00Dear EDIn honor of <b>#NEDAweek</b>, here is something I found from an old journal entry that I wanted to share:<br /><br />July 25, 2012<br />
"Dear ED-<br />
Hello, it's me-Brooke. I know you know me. We know each other very well. In fact, most of the time I can't tell us apart. We have such a strange relationship. I want to keep you around but I don't want you to control my head. I'm scared to let you go because I don't know who I am without you. I thought we were friends, but I'm finding out that you lie to me. I've always relied heavily on my feelings and been easily swayed by my emotions, but that's where you live. You live in my feelings and emotions and twist them into lies. Do you know how hard that is for me? I don't know how to not trust my emotions which means I don't know how to not trust you. I want to want you gone, but I'm scared of life without you. Doesn't make much sense, does it? I'm sad of life with you, but scared of life without you. I guess that makes me stuck."<br />
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Thankfully, 5 years later, I can say that I am in a different place. I have experienced who I am without ED. I have experienced tastes and glimpses of true freedom. I've become unstuck. And while recovery isn't linear, as Shauna Niequist says, "<i><b>We don't arrive. But we can become. And that's the most hopeful thing I can think of.</b></i>"<br />
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<br />Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-22994115270556022052017-02-26T13:08:00.002-05:002017-02-26T13:08:40.017-05:00NEDA week 2k17<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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February 26<sup>th</sup>-March 4<sup>th</sup>, 2017. It’s officially<b> #NEDAweek</b>.
I’ve had so many conflicting thoughts about posting about this, but the theme
of this years NEDA week is “It’s Time to Talk About It”, so here I am. Did you know that at
least 30 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder
in the U.S.? Did you know that eating disorders are more common than green
eyes? It’s definitely time to talk about it. But why are we so afraid to talk
about it? It’s a topic that brings about a lot of shame and hard emotions. However,
Brene Brown says that shame cannot survive being spoken. So yes, it’s time to
talk about it. Because we all have a story and all of our stories are valuable.
We all have things we are good at and things we struggle with and things that
make our hearts smile and things that make us weep. And that’s the beauty of
life. (Disclaimer: Recovery is one big Brene Brown quote). Anyways…Brene Brown
also so wisely said, “the irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult
stories to appear more whole or more acceptable. But our wholeness, even our
wholeheartedness, actually depends on the integration of all of our
experiences.” Isn’t this so scary and so true? Being vulnerable is so hard. We
refrain from telling our stories for fear of critique and judgement. And yet
isn’t that when we feel the closest and most connected to others? When they are
open and raw and honest and emotional with their stories and experiences. We
are all works in progress and we are all in this life together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So this NEDA week, even if you don’t struggle with an eating disorder,
there are still ways to be participate. <b><i>Be open and honest with your story, ask
for help when you need it, take time to relax and take care of yourself, eat a
healthy breakfast, exercise because you love your body, get off the scale,
smile at yourself, really listen to others as they share their life
experiences, embrace your story and know that you are exactly who and where you
are supposed to be, and love well, including yourself. </i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-39532103713861226452016-12-24T20:27:00.000-05:002016-12-24T20:27:38.304-05:00The Thrill of Hope
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“<i>The thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices…”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A line from my favorite Christmas song. I listen to this
song on repeat all year round and not until recently has it struck me how
beautiful that line is. The <b>THRILL of HOPE</b>. It reminds me of when I was a kid
on Christmas Eve. Never had I had such a hope, an excitement, a joy, a thrill…that
the next day would bring magic and presents and laughter and joy. I would have
such hope that the next day would be the best day, that sometimes I would have
trouble sleeping at night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When is the last time you felt that childlike hope?
Now as I’m older, I still hope; I just hope for different things now. I hope
for peace and for joy and for laughter and health. I hope for feelings and
memories and experiences rather than things. And ultimately, like Psalm 33:20
says, “we wait in hope for the Lord”. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What
would it look like if I carried that same thrill of hope I had as a child with
me now? And why don’t we? Yes, life might have dealt us some hard cards and the
things that were once magical, like Santa, no longer have the same magic. But
there are so many things to still be hopeful for. So this Christmas, my hope is
that you hope. And that you never give up the thrill of hope. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Merry Christmas, friends. </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-13363276029137167482016-12-19T16:13:00.000-05:002016-12-19T16:13:00.905-05:00Little Reminders...<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Walter Turncoat"; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
The Cost</h3>
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A while ago I was given the following assignment:</div>
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"Please write a letter to an adolescent girl who is struggling with body image concerns about the costs associated with pursuing the thin ideal..."<br />The assignment was daunting and overwhelming and I don't like writing off of prompt. However, I was told to look at a picture of my younger self and think of what I wanted to say to her. Putting it into that perspective allowed the words to flow. The holidays can be a stressful time, and with the New Year and all of the resolutions that follow, I want to share the letter, for all of the young girls. And older women. And boys. And humans in general. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Dear little me- That feeling in the pit of your stomach and on the back of your neck when you're called on in class or asked to participate? That is anxiety. And you will face anxiety provoking situations for the rest of your life. The key is to participate in life anyways. You can't stand on the sidelines and wait for the feeling to pass, because avoidance only gives power to the anxiety. So dress up for spirit week, participate in field day, speak up. I know you don't like people looking at you and I know that you're very aware of your body. Body awareness is not always a bad thing-as long as your remember that you are more than your body. Appreciate your body for as long as you can. Be aware that you have a body and that it's capable of many things. You may grow up hearing "oh you're so tiny, so cute, so little". And you might be. But you are so much more than that.<br />You are a culmination of many things. You are made up of your memories and experiences, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. You are made up of your favorite foods and the songs you like to sing and your plans for the future. You are the light that shines in your eyes when you get excited about something. You are made up of your favorite subject in school and your intelligence that helps you to understand these things. You are a child of Christ and you are made up of so many wonderful things.<br />There are also so many things that you are not. You are not your pants size, or the number on a scale, or the amount of money in your bank account. You are more than the number of friends you have or the sports you play.<br />I know this may sound very easy right now, but it does get harder. Appreciate your family for all they do for you, and understand and realize that they are not perfect, and neither are you. So as life throws you challenges, face them head on. But please. Hold yourself to a standard of grace, not perfection. Because there is no such thing as perfect and the pursuit of the unattainable comes at a high price. When trying to become "perfect", you may lose yourself and lose control. I know you may feel like you can handle it and like you have it all under control, and you might, for a little while. But in the pursuit of trying to become someone you're not, you will lose friends and time and happiness and money. And eventually the thing you so desire to control will end up controlling you. </div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-76987708836467315322016-11-12T21:17:00.000-05:002016-11-12T21:19:35.091-05:00Yeses and Nos. <br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Happy November, yall. Can you believe the year is almost
over? (<i>Thank God</i>). This month I am learning to put the NO in <b>No</b>vember. Too
often, we try to please everyone, help everyone, do everything, <i>and it turns
out to be at our own expense</i>. I’m sure we all can think of a time we said yes
to something we really didn’t want to. We all do it. And it’s okay. Sometimes
we have to say yes to ourselves before we can say yes to others. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b><i>5 months ago today I said the biggest yes of my life and
entered the doors of Selah House.</i></b> In saying yes, I also had to say my biggest
nos. I said no to my job. I said no to my friends. To my family. To my dog. To
my responsibilities. To my phone and e-mail and texts and social media. I said
no to friend’s weddings and people’s birthdays. I said no to summer vacation
plans. And as hard as it was, in saying all of these no’s, for the first time
in a long time, I was saying yes to myself. <b>To life and courage and happiness
and freedom.</b> I was saying yes to myself so I could come home and say fuller and
more whole hearted yeses to my friends and family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">What I didn’t realize is that I didn’t just have to say yes
to myself on June 13</span><sup><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: "calibri";">. Saying yes to myself is something that has
to happen again and again every single day. Outside of the Selah bubble, there
is real life and there is responsibilities and jobs and people asking you a
million different things. And if you want to be able to fully engage in life
and make your yeses count, you have to first say yes to yourself. And sometimes
saying yes to yourself means saying no to others. And at first it feels
horribly selfish and wrong, <i>especially if you’re a people pleaser like me</i>.
However, I have learned that in taking care of yourself, you are able to make
your yeses and no’s mean more to others. You are able to more freely give and
to say yes without obligation and no without guilt. So one of the biggest
lessons I learned this summer is this:<b> That love you keep trying to give
everyone else? You actually have to practice it on yourself first.</b> Because as
they say, “<i>you can’t pour from an empty cup</i>.”</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-86982533629128864152016-09-14T19:08:00.000-04:002016-09-14T19:08:47.894-04:00Present Over Perfect
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be present. To be fully in a moment. To be intentional
with my time and my decisions. That has been a goal of mine these past few
months. But I never thought about how perfectionism tied into the idea of being
present until I started reading 'Present Over Perfect' by Shauna Niequist. The
cover itself says, “Leaving behind frantic for a simpler, more soulful way of
living.” Sign me up! At one part, the book states: </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Sink deeply into the world
as it stands. Breathe in the smell of rain and the scuff of leaves as they
scrape across driveways on windy nights. This is where life is, not in some
imaginary, photo-shopped dreamland. Here. Now. You, just as you are. Me, just as
I am. This world, just as it is. This is the good stuff. This is the best stuff
there is. Perfect has nothing on truly, completely, wide-eyed, open-souled
present.”</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> We get so caught up in the idea of perfect, we lose focus of who we
are and what we are doing. In the quest to be perfect, we forget to be <i>present</i>.
These past few months I’ve tried to worry less about how my hair looks or if I’m
saying the right thing or when my next appointment is and more on being fully
where I am in the moment. It changes everything. It’s like wearing glasses for
the first time. You become more aware, of yourself, of others, of your
surroundings and thoughts and behaviors and feelings. It looks a lot like random
smiles walking to the mailbox or tears in the middle of a workout class. It
looks like feeling deeply and trusting emotions and active listening, to myself
and to others. It’s midnight journaling and deep breathing and vulnerable phone
calls to friends. It’s a whole new world when you choose to focus on the
present, in all of its beauty and mess, rather than the false idea of
perfection and the ‘shoulds’. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-56770367845394668532016-09-02T14:20:00.001-04:002016-09-02T14:20:49.509-04:00Selah
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">So often as a society we value busyness and a full
schedule. We have silent contests with our friends and family to see who is the
busiest, who has the least amount of downtime, who is the most tired. I admit
that I have been a part of this silent contest for far too long. We value busyness
because we confuse it with accomplishments. However, you can accomplish so much
more when you take a minute to pause and rest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I learned that lesson this summer at Selah House.
Selah literally means “an invitation to pause and rest.” I wouldn’t say I had a
particularly restful summer, but I learned to value of true rest. Rest that can
only be found in the Lord. I found that down times have always been a source of
anxiety for me. Free time allows me to rest, however, I rest in myself and get
stuck in my head, and it ends up being very unrestful. However, Psalm 37:7
calls us to rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him. There is something so
freeing about resting in the Lord. It’s the ultimate rest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">This summer, we
frequently listened to the song “Breathe” by Jonny Diaz. One of the lines in
the song says “</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Breathe, just breathe. Come and rest at My feet and be, just be.
Let your weary spirit rest. Lay down what’s good and find what’s best. Just
breathe.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Lay down what’s good and find what’s best. Lay
down our busy schedules full of appointments and fun things and obligations.
Find true rest in Jesus. I “accomplished” so much this summer, personally. I
took a pause, and time to reflect, and in those 6 weeks, I put the value of “busyness”
aside and allowed myself to rest. I did not feel lazy. I did not feel weak. I
felt renewed and full and I had time to learn so much about myself and about
others and about God. </span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">So as the school year
starts up and we all find ourselves in the scramble of busy, remember that God
has given us Selah- an invitation to pause and rest. And finding true rest in
Him in enough to replenish our souls and strengthen us for the year ahead! </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-60795750787168183402016-08-09T21:35:00.001-04:002016-08-09T21:35:09.565-04:00Why I Chose Change.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>“And the day came when the risk to remain in a tight bud was more
painful than the risk it took to blossom.”</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have always liked this quote, but it’s never resonated with me quite
as much as it does now. Change is not my favorite thing. It never has been and
it probably never will be. But sometimes change is good and sometimes change is
everything. I’m learning that lesson, like I learn everything else, slowly. So,
metaphorically, I think of before treatment as being in a tight bud. Closed
off, taking up the least amount of space possible, walling myself off from the
rest of the world. It was familiar and routine and I thought it felt safe. But
in reality, sadness, fear, loneliness, rigid rules, and self-hate were what I
was feeling, and it got to a point where my feelings no longer felt safe. It
came to a point where I had a choice to make. I could stay in ‘comfort zone’,
which wasn’t very comfortable and continue to live my life out of fear and
sadness. Or I could take a risk and choose to do something different with my
life. I could choose to bloom. My comfortable tight bud all of the sudden
started feeling claustrophobic. I felt trapped in myself. So I made the
decision to take a leap of faith, and what a leap it was. During treatment, I
was in a greenhouse with perfect conditions to loosen my bud and bloom. There
were definitely growing pains, and sometimes I had to have my petals pried
open. And as I began to open up, I felt things I hadn’t felt in a long time. I
felt hope. I felt unconditional love. I felt joy and laughter and friendship. I
felt what it was like to be taken care of. I also felt vulnerable and scared
and shame and fear. But most importantly, I felt. I allowed myself to have
feelings and I felt alive. If I had remained in my tight bud, I never would
have felt these things. I may never have felt such deep shame and vulnerability
and fear, but I would have never felt such immense love and hope. So I guess
the reason I chose to change was to feel again. In my tight bud I felt stuck in
things like sadness, rules, loneliness, and self-hate. And because I was afraid
to bloom, I was unable to experience the full range of emotion. The good and
the bad. The fear and the hope. The sadness and the joy. The loneliness and the
laughter. My “blooming” process has not been easy and I would not say that I am
fully bloomed (although, are any of us ever?), but I am in the process. I am feeling.
And like a flower with its petals spread open to the wind, rain, sun, and
storms, I am open and vulnerable and willing and scared and excited. Because I
made a choice and I chose to change. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i><b>“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that
they may have life, and have it to the full.” –John 10:10</b></i></span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-54225251472330898942016-05-01T16:51:00.005-04:002016-05-01T16:51:56.626-04:00"And if not..."
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hope is a tricky thing. We are called to have hope despite
circumstances. We are told that hope is the only thing stronger than fear; that
it is the anchor of the soul. And so on good days and bad, we cling to hope.
Hope is good. <em>Until the very thing we hope for falls short</em>. They say, “hope
deferred makes the heart sick.” Really what they mean is, ‘when you don’t get
the thing you hope for, your world feels like it’s crashing down around you and
nothing will ever be okay again’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now this might seem like a tangent, but stick with me. The other day I
was eating a chocolate chip granola bar. My sweet pup stood at my feet and
cried and whined and looked at me with sheer desperation. She wanted that
granola bar very badly. Those of you who know me know that I love my dog more
than anything else, and I have a tendency to spoil her. It hurt me to not be
able to share with her and to see her look so betrayed when I finished off the
last tasty bite. And yet, I know that chocolate makes dogs very sick. I am
withholding from her because I love her. Not because I’m mean and greedy and
like to see her disappointed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I often wonder if it is the same with humans. We hope, beg, and pray for
what we want and what we think is best for us. And when we don’t get what we
hope for, it’s easy to believe that God is unjust or life is unfair, and to run
to a corner with our tail between our legs and wave our white flag. But what if
God is withholding the thing we so hope for because He knows it’s not good for
us and He loves us. What if we could trust that deferred hope might be the
greatest act of love? </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other day I was feeling especially anxious. The first thing that
popped into my head was, “And if not, He is still good” (Daniel 3:18). So let’s
continue to be brave enough and vulnerable enough to have hope, even if that
means risking hurting our hearts. <em>Because in the hope, and even the deferred
hope, there is so much opportunity to experience God’s love. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-88881550455327642812016-03-21T16:49:00.002-04:002016-03-21T16:50:32.752-04:00Dancing Like Nobody's Watching<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Last night I went to a concert at a church in Burlington. The performers were amazing, but what struck me the most was the young girl in the front row...</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">To the <em>(maybe 13 year old)</em> girl at the concert, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You don’t know me, and that’s okay. You were sitting in the
front row at the concert last night and I couldn’t help but notice you. Not
because of your long, beautiful pony tail, or pretty pink shirt. But because of
your<strong> joy</strong> and <strong>reckless abandon</strong>. You sat in the front row and you sang and danced
and clapped and laughed to your heart’s desire. I never once saw you look
around or pay much attention to your surroundings. You didn’t spend all night
checking Facebook or Instagram or texting with someone. You danced and sang and
participated and took pictures to capture such a joyous night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dear girl, don’t ever lose your sense of self, because your self is beautiful.
Don’t ever stop dancing to look around. Don’t ever stop singing for fear that
someone might hear you. Don’t ever stop laughing in an attempt to shrink
yourself down. <em>We were created to experience such joy</em>, and I’m not sure where
or when we learned to censor ourselves in order to fit in. But sweet girl, what
a beautiful reminder to live in the moment and experience the joy as it comes.
And to really experience it, wholly and with every ounce of our beings, no
matter what anyone else says or thinks or does. At some point in life, someone
may tell you you’re too loud or too outspoken or too big or too dramatic. But
the truth is, <strong><em>you are never too much and you are always enough</em></strong>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-6240873926900010662016-02-16T19:59:00.000-05:002016-02-16T19:59:10.266-05:00Comparison is the thief of joy.
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I grew up in dance, so a lot of my memories occur in a room
with mirrored walls. It's not a foreign concept to me and it's not something I
ever thought twice about as a young dancer. Fast forward 10 years and my
relationship with the mirror is <em>very</em> different. I have a very funny
relationship with the mirror, like many girls do. I try my best to avoid it all
together, but when I do use it to look at an outfit or put on my makeup, I tend
to get stuck. I find myself staring at a reflection that may or may not
actually match what others see. Some days I can brush it off and move on. And
some days I find myself sitting in the floor in front of my full length mirror
weeping with frustration. I went through a period where I was obsessed with my
distorted reflection. I'd catch myself staring at the reflection in store
windows as I'd jog by or in the rear view mirror of my car. I followed myself
everywhere I went.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently I've been enjoying exercising at Pure Barre. It has been so good for me and has helped me to appreciate my body for what it can do. The
room at Pure Barre is set up a lot like a dance class and has ballet bars…and
<strong>mirrored walls</strong>. Most classes I'm able to secure my spot in the back of the room
farthest from the mirror, which is the perfect spot for me. It allows me to
focus on myself and block out distractions. During class I find a spot on the
floor to focus on and occasionally check the mirrors to make adjustments to my
form. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Today </strong>I decided to face the dreaded mirror wall and make eye
contact with myself during class. I think I spent about 45 out of the 55 minute
class comparing myself to the other girls and thinking terribly mean things
about myself. I honestly don't think I focused on my actual workout at all. I
walked away feeling <em>defeated and deflated</em>. I love my 55 minutes of Pure Barre
and usually walk away feeling stronger and with a sense of accomplishment. How
could I let the mirror steal that from me? <em><strong>How could I, once again, let
comparison steal my joy?</strong></em> How often do we let our opinions of ourselves detract
from being present? More often than I’d like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So tomorrow, as I return to my next class, I will resume my
spot in the back of the room and focus on moving my body and appreciating it
for its strength and resiliency. I will spend those 55 minutes blocking out the
negativity and stressors of the day. And I will walk away with a sense of accomplishment
and strength. Because I deserve at least those 55 minutes, and <em>I refuse to let
comparison steal my joy!<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-51086310359074655132016-02-14T08:37:00.001-05:002016-02-14T08:37:19.033-05:00The Valentines Day when I almost got abandoned...
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Valentines day has never been my favorite holiday. For the
most part, it’s a reminder that I’m <strong>very </strong>single. Superficially, it’s a reminder
that I have no one to buy me flowers or chocolates, but deep down, I think
Valentines day is actually hard because <em>love is a hard emotion</em>. We were created
on this earth from love to give love and be loved. And on a day that celebrates
being loved by a significant other, it’s hard to remember that there are other
ways to be loved. However, since Valentines day of 2009, I have been reminded
that love shows itself in funny ways. <em>Let me paint you the picture:<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was my sophomore year in college and I was struggling
physically, mentally, and emotionally. My friends stood by me, prayed over me,
and held my hand through so many difficult days and nights. By February of that
year, things were not getting better and my support system was at the end of
their rope. So with projects, papers, and commitments looming overhead, 3
friends dropped everything they had, packed bags, and put me in a car to drive
me to Brevard, NC to find some hope. At the time, I remember feeling blindsided
and scared and confused and angry and exhausted <em>(in hindsight, I laugh at the
pit stops at Chick-fil-a for a computer plug in or the house tours from Sadie).</em>
Their master plan didn’t work out, but that’s really not what mattered in the
moment. In the moment I was reminded that love comes in so many forms, whether
it be from a significant other or from best friends who drop everything to show
they care. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One year after the Brevard incident, we got an e-mail from
one of the friends. This is what it read:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A year ago today, four girls dropped everything they were
doing, took off work, skipped class, neglected homework, gave up plans, packed
up their stuff and got into a car on its way to Brevard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of us made sacrifices that Friday
afternoon, knowing that while we would have to deal the consequences later,
none of them would compare to the love we had for one girl and the desire each
of us had to do whatever it would take to help her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those 24 hours, I think each of us
realized what it really meant <strong><em>to love and be loved and what it meant to have
friends who really cared for each other, more than any one girl could do in her
own strength, through God who cares for us more than we will ever be able to
fathom.</em></strong> This trip is one that will stay on our hearts for a lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A time when we laughed and cried, prayed to
God in thanksgiving and in fear, seeking direction and purpose for what we were
doing. Here's to learning what love really is on a Valentine's Day that was maybe
not ideal but one where God really showed us His abounding love and how to
overflow that onto others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here's to the
pain that each of us felt for each other, for the things we were going through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here's to the sacrifices we made, sacrifices
that some might have called irresponsible, but sacrifices we knew were out of a
care so deep none of us could even describe it, not then, not now.”</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So every year, on Valentines day, when all couples are
reminiscing about their relationships, I take a moment to remember how my
friends kidnapped me, drove me to the mountains, and threatened to abandon me
with a hippie named Sadie. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In all seriousness, I make sure to read these words every year on this
date. To remind myself of how far I have come. And to remind myself what love
can look like if you let it in. I am forever thankful and forever changed by a group of friends who helped remind me that I was worth loving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8961770531983646001.post-26427313768207979552016-01-26T17:48:00.002-05:002016-01-26T17:48:44.855-05:00Welcome to the rest of your life.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was younger, I had a picture in my head of what my life would
look like when I was older. Now that I am older, <em>my life is nothing like I
imagined.</em> I imagined that by 26, I’d be happily married, or at least engaged,
with the thought of children on the not-so-far horizon. And yet, I’m 26 and the
closest thing I have to a relationship is my dog. I definitely thought I’d have
my life a little more together than this. I was talking about this with someone
today and this is how the conversation went:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;">M: Is this something you want to be doing for the rest of your life?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">B: No. I don’t<span style="color: red;"> think</span> so…<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">M: So why are you doing it now?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">B: Well, uhhh, umm, I don’t know. I wanna be doing it now. I guess.
Maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue;">M: Well, the rest of your life is right now. What are you waiting for?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red;">B:<strong> Ugh.</strong></span> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s something you hear all the time, but it really hit me
hard today. The rest of your life is <strong>right now</strong>. There’s no before and after.
There’s no waiting for the perfect moment. Life is happening right now and when
we deny ourselves of living in the moment, we deny ourselves of the best
possible future version of ourselves. It’s human nature, or at least <em>MY</em> nature,
to procrastinate and rationalize (<em>I could get a gold medal for rationalizing</em>). “I’m
tired today, I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m busy this week, but maybe I’ll start next
week. There’s a lot going on in my life right now, so it’s not a good time.”
All excuses that put things off. We can continue to put things off, but to be
completely honest, that doesn’t really help anything. There will never be a
perfect moment and if it’s something really hard that I’m putting off, it’s
gonna be hard now and it’s gonna be hard later. But there is beauty (and a lot of anxiety and fear) in doing
something hard and coming out on the other side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ultimately, we are not promised tomorrow. So don’t let “the
rest of your life” start after you lose a few more pounds or have a little more
time or get a little more rest. Whether it’s what I want it to look like or
not, <em>it’s my life and it’s happening right now.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Brookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05756826479269637807noreply@blogger.com0