A Letter to My Teenage Self

Last year was full of a lot of ups and downs. I had some hard mountains to climb, namely depression, but I feel like I'm on my way back out of the water. Dealing with the emotions associated with depression was probably one of the biggest challenges I've faced, and I have been through a lot in my life. Whether it's because it's something that I've never experienced before and wasn't equipped to deal with or the plain fact that it hit me upside the head out of the blue, I'm not sure. I hope that I can continue to find the strength to keep forging ahead, although the going may get rough. This past year, for many reasons, has taken a lot out of me. 

I decided at the end of 2014, after learning so much more about myself, to combine everything I've learned in a letter to myself as a teenager, imparting wisdom on a girl who could have used it then--hindsight and age are valuable commodities in this life. 

As a teenager, I think, so many of us feel awkward in our own skin, unsure of who we really are, and afraid to stand up for who we are and what we believe in. At least I was. I believe that too many of our teenage girls today feel like this and need to know that they're not alone. 



To myself, as an awkward, shy, unsure, teenage girl:



Life is full of ups and downs. I know it seems like the end of the world when something doesn't turn out the way you plan, but don't worry! It's just life. Take a deep breath and keep going. That old adage "when life gives you lemons..." is true. It's not what happens to you in this life that defines you, it's what you do when adversity faces you. Don't worry; you'll survive. The good things in life seriously outweigh the bad. It doesn't always feel like it, but it's the truth.

You are amazing. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. It doesn't matter if someone doesn't like the clothes you wear, the way you cut your hair, how you take your time and think before you speak, but don't let it bother you! You do not have to change who you are to fit it. Other people will care about who you really are inside, and those are the people who matter. You will have plenty of true, fabulous friends in your life who love you for who you are. They are amazing people; don't worry if it takes awhile to find people who really understand you. It's worth the wait.

Don't be afraid to ask for help. Asking for help doesn't show that you are weak, that you don't know what you're talking about. Getting advice from other people gives you new knowledge and offers new perspectives. Just ask. I know it's scary, but you can't do everything on your own. 

Nothing is wrong with you. You think differently than other people. You don't enjoy being in front of other people; it is work for you. That's okay. You don't have to be like everyone else. Be okay with you--you're perfect just the way you are, no matter what anyone says about who you are.

I know it's hard to not become overwhelmed with life, because life can be overwhelming. Try to take things as they come. One thing at a time, and know that you will get through it. Trust me, you will. It may not be easy, you may not like the outcomes of some things, but you will survive.

Be happy. Do the things that you love and don't worry about what others think of you. If you need to say no to people to do something for you, it's okay! You are important, and your happiness is important. Life is too short not to be happy. 

You are enough. You always have been and you always will be. 

What would you tell your teenage self?


Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday Free Write: Collect

07.20.2017

Five Minute Friday Free Write: Collect


Today I am linking up with Five Minute Friday to do something I haven't done in an extremely long time: Free Write for 5 Minute Friday. 

I have always loved 5 Minute Friday. It gets those writing juices flowing--no editing or worrying about writing the perfect piece. Just raw writing--flowing non-stop--for five minutes. Just set your timer for 5 minutes and see how far you get once the alarm goes off. Seeing where your mind takes you and enjoying others' posts linked to the blog. 

Today for 5 Minute Friday, the topic of the Free Write is COLLECT. Feel free to do your own 5 minute free-write or check out the other community members' free writes! Click below to read them:

GO.

Lately I've been collecting dreams.

Dreams that I've never dared to dream before. 

Dreams that will allow me to

---live without fear.

---live without debt.

---live comfortably with chronic migraines.

---live without choosing only one natural healing appointment each month.

---build myself up.

---become stronger.

---become more confident.

---believe that I can do anything.

---push through anxiety.

---love my tribe hard.

---travel to places that I have only dreamed of.

---support and give-back to my family.

---inspire health and wellness.

---help others.

---change the world.

These dreams

---inspire me.

---move me.

---push me.

---build me up.

---are mine to hold.

These dreams will one day be my reality. 

STOP.

Thank you for reading! If you write a 5 Minute Free-Write on the topic "COLLECT," please add it in the comments below! I'd LOVE to read it!

Love and happiness <3 Holly

The Hardest Journey of My Life

Series: Grief, Strength, Resilience, and Perseverance 

Installment One: The Hardest Journey of My Life

Last week Bjorn and I started going to the gym every day. I typically attend my regular Zumba or dance class while Bjorn jogs on the treadmill and lifts weights; however, this certain day, I had missed the morning Zumba class. I didn't want to end my four day streak of making it to the gym, so I asked Bjorn to come with me. My plan was to simply walk on the treadmill and lift weights if we felt like it afterwards. A little note about me: I HATE walking on the treadmill. Treadmills, running, jogging--those activities are not for me. Once I'm on a treadmill, my mind starts to wander, I've only been on this treadmill for 5 minutes! That's it! I'm done! I can't do this for 40 more!

To combat my wandering mind and to help the treadmill time go by a little faster, I decided to begin a new Audible book that I recently downloaded. I had heard a lot about the book Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant. I hadn't read a lot about the contents of this book, but I had heard a brief snippet about it on the radio once and decided I wanted to give it a go. I was excited to start a new book--after all, school was out for summer and I had lots of time to dive into a new book. Little did I know that this book would affect me in ways I never expected. 

As the book starts, Sheryl begins to tell her story. A tragic story of death and grief. Her story, her pain, her grief---they rang too true to me. Even though it has been nine years since my dad passed away from a rare brain tumor, her story was my story. Her grief was my grief. Her bottom was my bottom. Everything she said slowly brought up my feelings of grief, fear, and hopelessness after my father's death. I felt raw and transported back in time to May 2008 when my dad took his last breath. 

It had been awhile since these feelings surfaced in my being. My eyes began to fill with tears. I breathed deeply to try to allow the tears to pass. I needed to turn the book off, but I couldn't. Sheryl was telling my story in her story. My grief was there on display for all to see; I felt overwhelmingly struck with emotion. Whenever I meet someone who has shared such tragedy in their life, it brings my own grief to the surface. Someone else has been through this too--and it makes me incredibly sad. Knowing that other people in this world have suffered such a deep grief is so difficult. No one should have to feel the extent of this type of grief, but this is life. It is stories like this that remind me that I have gotten through the toughest parts of life--that I can make it through anything. I realize this now, but I did not always see it this way.

In August 2007, my dad was diagnosed with a grade IV glioblastoma multiforme. In other words, my dad was going to die from a rare brain tumor. My dad's doctors had originally believed that the spots on his brain were from his multiple sclerosis (MS) progressing. But with further tests, they discovered that the spots had nothing to do with MS.  The butterfly-shaped brain tumor spread completely across the back of his brain from the left side to the right side. 

I remember the day that I got the call from my sister, Rachael, about the diagnosis. I was teaching, our school year had just started, and I couldn't take off every day that my dad had an appointment. This day I went to school to attend a staff meeting for my department. At the end of the meeting my phone rang. I knew it was Rachael and I had to answer it, so I stepped out of the room. I remember bits and pieces of what she said to me, "It's really bad... It's not MS...They said he has 6 weeks to live..." I don't know how I remained standing. I don't remember hanging up or how I got back into the meeting room. As I entered to get my things to leave, my director and friend stopped me to ask if I was okay. I didn't know what to say. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. My words came out in spurts and stutters. I don't even know what I said. 

Before I knew it, my friends had collected my things. One of them took my car keys and they began to drive me to my mom's house where my dad was. The whole ride I thought to myself about how unreal all of this seemed. I tried to make a deal with God: please God, I will do anything to make this unhappen. This can't be real. Maybe if I didn't go to my mom's house, the whole thing would just disappear and my dad would get better. Nothing you think in moments like this ever makes sense. 

After talking to my mom, my dad's doctors, my sisters, and the good-old internet, I found out that my dad had a diagnosis that was responsible for a 14.6 month average lifespan among patients. As always, it's difficult to believe something so life shattering to be happening to your family, so hope prevailed in the beginning. But once I found out more about his cancer, especially the fact that only 10% of patients live 5 years or longer with the disease, it was hard to allow hope back in. 

I watched my dad's condition deteriorate for 9 months. At times the days felt long and difficult. At times they flew by and I wished for them to slow down so that I could hang on to my dad a little longer. Slowly the reality of his disease hit--by Thanksgiving he could no longer walk and was bed-ridden. A hospital bed was rented and added to the furniture of our living room. His vision began to fade. His tumor was pushing on his optic nerve causing blindness. He could not longer feed himself. He couldn't see his food in front of him. And slowly, his short term memory left. He could not remember what he ate for breakfast, the conversation we had 5 minutes prior, or that he was dying. 

Once he passed away on May 11, 2008, the grief hit hard. I never expected to lose my dad at 26. All the things that he would miss from my life, my sister's lives, and my mom's life hit me head on. He would never see any of us get married. He wouldn't be there to walk us down the aisle. He would never meet his grandchildren. He would never get to retire with my mom. His dog, Bella, would never understand what happened to her grampy. He would never see my youngest sister graduate from college or her Master's program. He never saw me move into my first house. There were so many "never-woulds," and it broke my heart. 

The grief lasted a long time. It took me years to actually begin to feel like myself again, and even then, my anxiety was heightened. Depression reared its ugly head as well, something I had never felt before in my life. This was something as unfamiliar as grief. Trying to navigate such extreme lows was terrifying, draining, and foreign. I struggled for years to right myself. When I felt like I was moving forward, the grief would wash over me like an ocean wave, knocking me to the ground leaving me breathless. Getting through the grief and pain of my dad's death was not easy. Years of ups and downs took their toll on my body, my emotions, and my mental health. 

Nine years later, I am on the other side of my grief. I am still living my life. I am here. I have found my passions in life again. It's hard to say exactly when things took a turn and my joy began to come back again, but it happened. 

I had never really sat back and thought about or reflected on my grief until the day I began to listen to Option B. As a teacher and a business leader, it is so important for me to take my life experiences and figure out how to learn from them and move on to make my life better-- to make me a better teacher and to make me a better business leader. And listening to the first three chapters of this book started the wheels turning. 

At first it may sounds ridiculous, but overcoming my grief by finding strength within myself and the perseverance of my spirit, I have learned that it is possible to grow and learn from even the darkest experiences in our lives. And this book helped me wrap my head around this dark journey in my life and how I can use this experience in future struggles, life adventures, and business ventures. Resilience is needed in all aspects of our lives, but until I began this book, I had not connected the dots to see that I have so much strength within myself that can be used positively in other aspects of my life. 


Coming soon: 

The Similarities Between Grief and Fear: How to Overcome Setbacks in Life and Business

This Is Who I Am...

When asked my profession, I don't think most people understand the reply "I'm an ESL teacher." More understand "I teach English as a Second Language." To that reply, I get the occasional nod. To the latter, I sometimes get a blank stare and then a request to explain more about what I do. 

Sometimes, as in the Kroger checkout line when my teaching badge is still hanging from my shirt, I get lectured. The one that sticks in my head the most: "Those kids should be learning English as their FIRST language! They live in America, for God's sake! I can't believe that's what you do!" To outrageous replies like this, which have been few and far between (thank the Lord!). I have a standard reply that I give that's very calm and collected, factual and straight-forward. Those of you who know me know it takes a great deal to get me riled up about something. 

But what I do, the profession that I choose for my life, is one thing that tugs at my heart strings. It is who I am, and it is not something that I always feel is understood outside the world of education. And at this moment in time and with the state of our country, I feel riled up.

So here it is:

For those of you who don't know exactly what I do, I educate immigrant children.

And I love what I do. 

Every.single.minute.

The students I teach have immigrated to this country in various ways or for various reasons. Some students have been adopted. Other students' families are fleeing war. Some students' families come for their job or to further their education. Some had no jobs, no money, no way to keep their family above water, so they moved here: the land of opportunity. Some students' families have been here for generations, just like mine and many, many of yours. 

It honestly doesn't matter how they got here. I teach them English all the same. I teach them English to be successful in school and to be successful in life. That is my job. Even if it weren't my job and I didn't get paid to do it, I would still be honored to be a part of these families lives and their stories, helping them when and where I can.

You see, it doesn't matter whether these students and their families are Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, Sikh, Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, or non-denominational.  It doesn't matter whether they're from Pakistan, India, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Norway, Kenya, Mexico, or Venezuela. 

These immigrants--these families---are just like us. 

They love, they laugh, they cry, they work, they pray, they get frustrated just like us. 

Their religion doesn't define their humanity. Their homelands do not define their humanity either.

As a member of the human race on this planet, I am standing with my students and their families who are immigrants. I support them and I care about them. I'll be damned if anyone decides that because they are immigrants of a certain faith or homeland that they are not welcome in this country. 

I am American. I believe in American values and I stand with these immigrant families for now and always. 

When Love Has No Place to Go

Ever since my dad passed away almost 9 years ago, the holidays have been different. The first few Christmases were definitely not the same. Of course, I shared Christmas breakfast and lunch with my family. We exchanged presents and ate Christmas cookies. Even though I walked through the motions and traditions of the holidays, they didn't feel the same. I missed my dad; the ache in my heart that started once my dad passed was hard to ignore. 

At 26, I had not expected to lose my dad. The shock of it all gripped me for some time after he passed. Eventually the shock gave way to extreme sadness, missing my fun-loving dad especially at the holidays. Seeing my mom struggle through those first few years was just as difficult and added to the sadness. I was trying to learn how to live my life without my dad, and it wasn't easy. My new normal was one that I had not wanted and accepting it was even harder. 

Nine years later, I still miss my dad with all my heart, but the ache and the pain are not what they used to be. It was so much easier to enjoy the holidays this year: cooking great food, playing with my niece, having a nice drink, anticipating my family opening the gifts I got them, and just relaxing. This was a good holiday. 

As I get older I also believe that it is easier for me because I know my dad is with me. Every day when I wake up, while I'm driving to school, while I'm cooking dinner, I know he's there. I feel him with me every day. It's hard to explain, but I just do. I always have, but as the years have passed, I have gotten used to his new role in my life. My dad's there when I need to vent. He's there when I feel like chatting. He's there just to be there. And I'm okay with that now. 

I recently read a quote that changed my perspective on how I was feeling in my grief process. I can't remember where I saw it, but it really touched me and I'm glad. At the time my dad passed, a lot of things in my life changed and a lot of things in my family's lives changed. We were all in survival mode, so I know I did not get the chance in those first months and years after he passed to grieve the loss of my dad completely. Over the years, I have been able to grieve his loss, and this quote also helps explain why the process was so difficult for me:

I realized this was what I was feeling all along. I had so much love that I wanted to give my dad. I wanted to hug him, to have him walk me down the aisle, to share my new home with him, to just call him and tell him I love him. That was the hardest part to deal with. I had so much love for my dad, and it would just build up inside of me with no where to go. After awhile, I realized that I could send that love to him in other ways.

I talk to my dad in the car, while cooking dinner, and walking the dog. Sometimes I feel his big hugs while we talk, and I can't help but smile. Just thinking about him and picturing his smiling face makes my heart swell. My life without my dad is definitely different, but I've realized that this is the turn my life has taken. I've found other ways to send him love, and it makes me happy. 

On Christmas morning, I closed my eyes and saw my dad with his bed head in his pajamas. His baggy pajama pants a little too short for his six foot one frame. His long white t-shirt had stained with tea on the collar from dribbling his drink while reading the paper. He giggled childishly, shaking the present I handed him trying to see if he could guess what's inside. I laughed. My heart smiled as it always does when I think of him. I sent him my love, he sent me his, and I carried him with me hoping he enjoyed Christmas this year as much as I did. 

To anyone grieving the loss of a loved one through the holidays, you are in my thoughts. Sending you so much love and healing energy. 

Love and happiness <3 Holly