#love you love people
By: Rachel Denton
Instagram: rachelmarlene13
Blog:rachelmarlene.com
Twitter: racheldenton13
It was a Friday when I drove to that little coastal corner of Georgia. The highway was bare – the usual. The day’s sky featured an overcast film, the sun opaque and barely there as it faded into the gray.
Disappointment had begun to settle into my heart like a morning fog. It was a cause so simple as cancelled plans with friends, but why did the impact feel so much more?
These days I was running.
I was used to it – a constant dodging and running from something. Why would a young girl with a safe and normal lifestyle need to be on the run? What could possibly be endangering my clean-cut life?
There was something called The Fear.
It hunted me down so frequently. It hid in the shadows in my mind, stalking me. Planning strategic attacks.
That day was one.
Maybe surprisingly, it’s not an aggressor you’d be unfamiliar with. I’ll characterize it a bit better, see if you might know it too?
The Fear (also, Fear Of Missing Out) – being concerned with events (real or perceived) that you won’t partake in, to the point of causing distress and dismay
I’ve a long history with this mental antagonist, and it’s wild – the more conversations I have, the more I hear of the sadly similar attacks on others too. There’s got to be a way we can escape – a way we can live a life free of its unsettling invasions.
The relieving part is – I’ve found a way. I’ve discovered this arsenal of tools we can tap into, set this Fear running for its life.
The same Friday, I was with family. The outside snapshot showed a peaceful red brick home set in the backdrop of a small Southern town – normalcy, comfort. Inside, however, The Fear was really threatening to have its way with me. I reluctantly settled into my quiet weekend, distant from the events my peers would be attending, which unnerved me because oh my, here’s the scary thought again – what will I miss out on?
I tried to suppress the unhelpful assumptions.
I glanced over at my little blonde hair, blue eyed niece reading a book peacefully on the back porch, seated next to me on the couch. Her messily braided hair sat tucked behind her ear and her heart sat stuffed inside her chest, bursting with the virtue of simple, kind grace.
And in just a single second – I thought how good the moment was.
And how content I could be, right here, if I chose to be.
Joy - the ability to savor or appreciate what is before us, around us, in us
That second of contentedness when I looked at her was accompanied by Joy. And that brief flash of Joy was indeed an invitation to see my life.
I felt that this was an invitation that could be nothing at all – if I chose to ignore it – or everything at once.
Caught by the moment, I opened the invitation and let it dance around in my hands for a moment.
The invitation, what it read: Do you want to see what’s here?
Yes.
And at once, so quietly – it wasn’t that my life finally came alive – it was me. I finally came alive.
I could see that my life has always been rich and real and full. The blonde hair, blue eyed girl was so softly radiant that I could have missed how she shined.
When I’m under the authority of Fear, it’s common to walk in those nightmares telling me I’m missing out on something else. Even when I don’t know what that something else ever is. And maybe that’s because I form these illusions in my mind of what life must be like for everyone else who has things I don’t have. And while I wonder what life is like on the other side, I forfeit an invitation and view right before me.
But I’ve got to know and so do you – how might Joy win? How can we keep letting it win?
I think this looks less like a hearty to-do list and more like using something we already have coded into us. The senses. How we smell, taste, feel. This is an invitation to see, after all.
Seeing your life – letting Joy triumph over Fear (The Fear) in your life - feels like this.
Tightening your arms a little bit more around the people you presently have in your circle. The ones sitting across from you at dinner, working next to you in the office, sending you texts to check in on your day.
It tastes like each small bite of the Mexican meal you’re sharing with friends at dinner. (Taco Tuesday, anyone?) The salt on the chips, the zesty bite of cilantro sprinkled on your plate. How unfortunate to gobble through a meal and miss all of those savory moments.
It smells like fresh laundry churning in the dryer and like silver rain on a musky, humid day. Maybe sometimes it just smells like satisfaction with the right now.
The beauty is that it will look, taste, feel, and smell different for all of us. The common denominator, however, will be that we all bask in contentment.
If you still worry, as I do, that The Fear of Missing Out will linger even still, let’s touch on that for a second. To put it frankly, yes – you will miss out.
But aren’t we all? No one can have everything. If you’re a mother, you miss out on the flexibility and freedom of singleness and caring solely for your own schedule. If you’re a celebrity, you miss out on the ability to quietly slip into public without being judged for your outfit, current boyfriend, or facial expression captured in a photo. If you’re a city dweller, you miss out on the quieter rhythms of small town life.
So in the end we have two options. We may be contented what we have. Or we may scroll on our phones, compare, and make a mental checklist of what we do not have – while ignoring that there is always an opportunity cost involved. We will always be forced give up one thing to have another.
This is how Joy can be brighter and louder than The Fear in your life. It’s such a lovely invitation we all have – Do you want to see this?
And because I have tasted how sweet it is, I hope the answer for all of us is an unwavering and resounding
– yes.
Like a typical twenty-something, Rachel is still figuring out a lot about herself, but of course, some things never change: she remains partial to words, hot weather, and late night bowls of cereal.
By: Jessica Willis
I share my story as a way of healing, a way of letting it out and being true to who I am. I do not believe there is any harm in speaking about the pieces of ourselves that we’re proud of or the pieces of ourselves that we’ve struggled with. I wholeheartedly believe that it’s important we share our experience with other people, it not only helps our personal growth but it connects us to others. Our story has the power to heal us as well as heal somebody else because when we share ours; we free ourselves and give other people permission to acknowledge their own story.
Honestly, I find there is a certain catharsis in doing so, a sense of a burden being lifted and it’s freeing. Sharing pieces of me, of who I am, forms some connection with whoever may be reading this at this very moment, and maybe I am helping someone else see how we are all fighting our own battles and maybe my vulnerability can give someone else the strength to get through a difficult situation. By opening myself up and sharing parts that maybe others would hide, I believe it all helps us feel a little less alone in the world.
It has taken me time to get to this point, to get to where I’m realizing that everything that has happened in the past two-ish years has actually happened for my greater good. The postpartum depression, the betrayal and the downfall of my marriage, the secrets, the lies, the denial, the “crazy making,” and the absolute nonsense that I have had to deal with even in the past few months, has all happened for a reason and it has happened because there is something better for me. I have been and I still am being pulled, I am being stretched and I am being expanded beyond belief but it’s all helping me to be more awake, stronger, and more aligned with my soul’s purpose than ever before.
I have always kept going, I have kept moving forward even on my darkest days, even when all I wanted to do was hide in my bed and cry my eyes out. Did I still have those moments, why yes, yes I did and do I still sometimes have those moments, absolutely. Guess what though, that is totally okay. It’s called being human and nobody should ever make you feel shame or guilt for expressing the way you feel or how you choose to heal. When I have those moments of wanting to cry or wanting to scream, I get through it and move on.
The past year and half has been a roller coaster of emotions. It has had its ups and downs, many downs, and because of that, I have grown. I am so much more than what I was before, I am learning who I am and I am so much more accepting of who I am and proud of what I have become. What I am trying to say here is, you can own your story or your story can own you. Nobody can re-write the past but you can influence the next chapter and continue to become the best version of yourself.
Check out Jessica’s Instagram for more beautiful words like these: @hellojessicalauren
By Kinsley Holland
I wish someone would have told me that I was not the only one. I wish I would’ve known that I was not alone in my struggles, alone in my fears, trapped on a deserted island of my shame. And that is why I am telling you, right here. Right now.
When I was on the verge of my teenage years, I began to seriously struggle with the way I would feel when I looked at my body in the mirror. But it was even so much more than that, so much more than just my body- it was my skin, my hair, my nails, my smile, my teeth, my eyebrows. Everything. Though I never succumbed to the temptation of self-harm, I allowed my thoughts full of self-hatred to chip away at the innermost pieces of my being. My soul was crushing under the weight of the anxiety and fits of depressions that I would experience whenever I thought about myself.
One of my most vivid memories of the pain I experienced from all this came when I was playing sand volleyball in my junior year of high school. I showed up to my first practice, wearing what every other girl was wearing, but the lies forming in my head, saying things like, “You’re fat in comparison to these other girls,” “You’re an outsider,” and “What do you even think you’re doing here? You’re not good enough.” I made the excuse to run inside to the bathroom, and for the next ten minutes I struggled to find my breath, as I felt like the lies in my head were going to crush me to pieces. My first anxiety attack came that night, and it was one of the most difficult experiences that far in my life.
And I wish someone would have told me I wasn’t alone in my struggles. So, because I thought I was, I want to remind YOU today that you’re not. You, my friend, never walk alone.
I think when our mental health takes a hit from our own bodies, we feel isolated. We feel as though there has never been someone else in the world like us to have struggled, well, like us. When I was 16, I really began to share my struggles with those around me I was closest to. In my mind, many nights are stained in tears as I just grieved through the loss of my hope, grieved through the loss of my joy. What I heard from the girls with whom I had trusted with my deepest hurts astounded me. They had struggled too. Many of them, at some point in their lives, had dealt with the grip of mental illness, self-hatred, and body image struggles. And the most encouraging thing was that they had made it through. So, I knew that I could make it too.
Today, as I write this, I’m a nineteen-year-old sophomore in college. I love my life. I love my body. I love the quirks God gave me, the crooked smile I flash when I’m too overjoyed to contain my laughter. I love where my life is now because I know where I have been. Don’t be fooled, though. Those thoughts of unworthiness and those feelings of hurt still surface on occasion. They don’t just disappear entirely. But what I have learned is that we’ve been given a community for a reason. We have communities around us to remind us that we are so worth loving, that we are qualified to do the things we dream of, and to remind us we have hope and a future.
Personally, I never had to seek out medical help to get better. I have many friends who have made that decision because it was the best thing for them. The ways in which we’ve gotten better do not make one superior and the other inferior. They just make us different. And I don’t know about you, but I really have learned to like different. I found my hope in a Savior named Jesus who tells me every day that I am worth everything to Him. He tells me that I am beautiful in His sight. “Imago Dei,” meaning “Image of God” in Latin, is the promise that carries me through each hard day. And for me, that kind of love and acceptance I find in Him is enough.
Kinsley’s life changed drastically while she was in college, when she felt God nudging her heart to move to a different city all on her own. Through the love from others and the hope they provided, she began to learn even more fully her worth and the magnitude of her purpose, even in extremely treacherous times. Kinsley finds her joy in Jesus, iced coffee, writing, and running!
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