Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • A Raspberry Doormat

    For a very long time, I thought being easygoing was a virtue. I thought accommodating meant mature. I thought absorbing discomfort meant loving well.

    What I didn’t realize was how often I prioritized others’ comfort over my own safety, clarity, and peace. I thought that’s what kindness required of me.

    Someone I love very much snapped at me today. Unprovoked.

    And because I can’t allow an unfortunate event to occur without thinking it to death, here I sit, at 9 p.m. on a Wednesday evening, trying to figure out how I became someone people believe can be run over emotionally.

    1. I confused empathy with endurance. I believed that understanding someone meant tolerating everything. And it doesn’t. Empathy does not require self-erasure.
    2. I mistook flexibility for obligation. Just because I can bend does not mean I should. Adaptability is a skill, but it’s not an expectation others get to place on me.
    3. I absorbed emotions that weren’t mine to carry. Other people’s anger. Disappointment. Their stress. I picked it all up like it was my responsibility to fix. And it wasn’t.
    4. I over-explained to keep the peace. I narrated my needs carefully, softly (at first) and endlessly, hoping it would prevent conflict. It rarely did. It just left me lost and exhausted.
    5. Other times, I stayed quiet to avoid being “difficult.” I have smoothed so many things over at my own expense so that I didn’t come across as “too much.” I laughed off or excused away so many of my own hurt feelings that I lost a big chunk of what was actually important to me. Silence felt safer than losing someone.
    6. I accepted bread crumbs because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I told myself things were fine when they weren’t, because wanting more felt like I was asking for too much. But it wasn’t too much. It was honesty.
    7. I confused patience with permission. Waiting longer for someone to treat me right or to get his/her own act together didn’t make things better. It just trained people in what I would tolerate.
    8. I believed love meant limitless access. But love without boundaries isn’t connection – it’s depletion.
    9. I equated discomfort with growth. Some discomfort is growing pains. On the flip side, sometimes discomfort is a warning. And learning the difference changed everything.
    10. I thought that saying “no” was cruel. It’s not, though. It’s clarity. It’s self-respect. And sometimes it is the most loving thing I can do, especially for myself.

    What I know now is that being kind doesn’t require keeping my mouth shut. Being loving doesn’t require self-abandonment. Being understanding doesn’t mean being endlessly absorbent.

    I’m still compassionate. I still care so deeply.

    I’m just no longer available to be walked on in the name of being “kind” or “easy going” or “nonjudgmental” or “understanding.”

    And honestly? This version of me is healthier. Stronger. She possesses more clarity and stands firmer in her boundaries.

    Here I stand.

  • Unremarkable Raspberry

    None of the below will make it into a bio.

    They won’t come up in icebreaking exercises or “get to know me” klatches.

    There is no “fun fact” energy here.

    And yet this is the stuff that actually makes me me.

    1. I need a moment to settle into most things. New rooms. New conversations. New days. I don’t arrive fully formed. I need to warm up.
    2. I function best when I know what to expect (and what is expected of me). It’s not about control, a thing of which I have often been accused (even by myself). But warnings help my nervous system stop scanning for danger, even in everyday-life-type circumstances. A cereal aisle. A church pew. A “We need to talk” text message.
    3. I care about tone more than anything. What people mean matters more to me than how perfectly they say it. Delivery is everything. So is kindness.
    4. I notice small shifts. Energy changes, mood changes, pace changes. It’s not drama. It is information I cannot unsee.
    5. I function better when mornings are gentle. Abruptness sticks with me all day. Slow starts are like preventative care to me.
    6. I need reassurance sometimes. Not constantly. Not desperately. But not disingenuously either. I need just enough to stay grounded.
    7. I am steadier than I look. I feel deeply. But I don’t collapse, even when I want to. Having survived every terrible thing meant to destroy me (yes, even terrible situations I created for myself), God’s grace, I believe, has seen me through. He has given me the gift of resilience. And that resilience can be quiet.
    8. I prefer honesty that isn’t harsh. The truth doesn’t need sharp edges to be real. Kindness does not dilute honesty.
    9. I am more observant than expressive, at least at first. I listen more than I speak. That can sometimes be misread as disinterest. But it’s not. It’s just wading waters.
    10. I am learning to trust that being “ordinary” is not a flaw. Granted, my career has developed itself into something pretty extraordinary. But the rest of my life is quiet. In fact, most people’s lives are small, repetitive and unremarkable. That doesn’t make my life, or yours, unimportant.

    Closing thoughts – these traits aren’t exciting. They don’t sparkle. They’re structural.

    They explain how I move through the world. What I need to feel safe. Why certain things matter to me more than others.

    Unremarkable. But crucial.

  • Competent Raspberry

    I have proof.

    Actual documented evidence.

    Emails sent. Texts exchanged. Problems solved. Days survived.

    And yet, somehow, my brain decides, periodically, that none of it counts.

    How does that even happen?

    1. I treat every new challenge like it’s my first day on Earth. Past experience? Irrelevant. Surely this obstacle will be the one that ends me.
    2. I discount success because it felt hard. If solving a problem required stress, effort, or learning, I assume it doesn’t qualify as competence, as if “easy” is the only acceptable metric.
    3. I assume good outcomes were luck. Timing. Kind people. A one-off fluke. Definitely not ability.
    4. I remember feedback selectively. Because criticism sticks like glue and praise travels right over my head like it was never meant for me.
    5. I raise the bar immediately after clearing it. Like the issue I just overcame was fine, but I need to think about why it doesn’t really count going forward. Facepalm.
    6. I compare my behind-the-scenes to other people’s highlight reels. A classic mistake. I know better. I do it anyway.
    7. I forget how many things I figured out without instructions. No roadmap. No manual. Not even a lot of advice. Just me and my phone, Googling, or watching a YouTube tutorial, and making it work.
    8. I confuse “still learning” with “not capable.” I think we all have this idea in our minds of what it means to be an adult, or by what age we should have an accomplished career, bought a house, or [insert adult thing here]. But being “in progress” in certain areas of my life does not erase things I already know.
    9. I overlook quiet achievements. I am really quick to shame myself when I don’t get credit, yet I neglect to give myself credit when I have overcome certain obstacles, big or little. I have mastered the art of homemade blueberry muffins. I talk to attorneys (technically even my bosses) like I am their equal, and I’ve done it so much that my input and my voice actually mean something to them. I am a fast reader. I learned how to use tampons all on my own. I cut my own bangs now with ease. Not everything I am good at is loud, impressive or visible. But that doesn’t make those things less real.
    10. I underestimate myself by default. It’s not because I am incapable. Or incompetent. It’s because self-doubt can be louder than receipts sometimes.

    Competence and a sense of accomplishment don’t always announce themselves. Those things accumulate quietly by showing up, learning, and being resilient. These days I practice by looking at the evidence, even when my brain tries to pretend that evidence is missing.

    Did you know you have survived every single thing meant to destroy you? That thing that’s whipping your physical body, mental health, or emotional stamina is another thing you’ll survive, too.

    Happy Tuesday to you.

  • The Raspberry Feels

    I have been accused by more than one person of being “too” emotional. Kind of ironic, since my opinion is that those people maintained the emotional maturity of a pencil eraser. Nevertheless, I let it bother me for a long time.

    Not anymore.

    I have come to realize that while other people may believe that being sensitive or emotional look like overreaction or dramatization on the outside, for those of us who have those qualities, there are valid reasons for it.

    1. I react strongly to things about which (or to people about whom) I care. It’s not an overreaction. It’s an investment. To be accused of caring too much is not an insult. It only means that the person making that accusation cares very little.
    2. I notice emotional shifts quickly. I sense changes in tone, mood, and energy. The Bible calls it discernment. And that awareness can feel intense – but it’s not imaginary.
    3. I feel things fully, not halfway. When I am happy, it shows. When I am sad, it settles in. The range of emotions I experience is not a liability. It’s depth.
    4. I need time to process experiences. I don’t (and will never) move on immediately because I don’t skim past things or people. Reflection takes time. And this is not an indulgence. It’s digestion.
    5. I empathize before I evaluate. My instinct is to understand how something feels before deciding what it means. And that is not a weakness. It just means I care. And I am done apologizing for it.
    6. I’m deeply affected by atmosphere. Crowds. Tension. Joy. Quiet. I absorb the room. And yes, that makes me sensitive, but sensitivity isn’t fragility. It’s responsiveness.
    7. I express what’s happening inside. Naming feelings tends to appear dramatic to people who don’t do it – or to people who lack any sort of empathy (these are typically people who also play victim in every bad circumstance of their own lives). Clarity is often louder (and better) than silence. If I don’t have anyone to talk to about my feelings, I write them down. Journals are sometimes the only outlet we get.
    8. I value authenticity over detachment. I would rather feel awkwardly honest than numb. I disagree with the whole premise of detachment. If anything is worth doing, it is worth doing passionately. That is a preference, not a problem.
    9. I don’t compartmentalize easily. Life overlaps. Emotions do not, and are not meant to stay in neat containers. And that’s okay. How disingenuous to have a bad day at work and come home to pretend things are fine. People who compartmentalize their lives are incredibly detached from reality, and since I disagree with the premise of detachment, I couldn’t possibly agree with compartmentalization.
    10. I am learning to trust my emotional volume. I am figuring out that just because something is vivid does not mean it is excessive. Some experiences deserve full color.

    May this post serve as a quiet reminder to myself to feel all the things, because it makes me who I am, and there is nothing wrong with who I am, even if other people don’t agree with the way I feel things, or the way I handle things because I feel them.

    May this post also serve as a public notice that feeling deeply does not mean you’re “too much.” It means you’re present, engaged, and paying attention. People who have genuine intentions will not be afraid of this part of you. They’ll actually welcome it, because honestly? The world could use more “feelers.”

    I hope you have had an amazing Monday.

  • Raspberry Forgiveness

    Just because you made mistakes in the past – even the recent past – does not mean you are stuck there forever.

    Life is not a straight line. Neither is growth.

    We all carry chapters in the novel of our lives of which we feel shame – when our actions didn’t align with our values.

    And now that you see those mistakes with clearer eyes, you wonder if changing makes you a hypocrite.

    It doesn’t.

    You are allowed, at any point in your journey, to decide that you want to change. Your core values, your convictions, your circle of friends, your priorities. You can change jobs, churches, cars, houses. You can all of the sudden decide that conserving water really matters to you and skip showers.

    An honest human being looks back on who he once was, sees his flaws, missteps, and poor behavior – whether he messed up once or a thousand times – whether it’s a one-off screw-up or a pattern of stumbles over the same darn bad habit over and over and over – and decide that that part or those parts of you do not define you anymore.

    Boom. Switch gears. Rearrange. Re-center.

    And what people in your life – or people that used to be in your life – tend to forget – is that that kind of growth – the kind that finally chooses to break those habits – takes a lot of courage…especially if you’ve lost a lot in the interim.

    But the courage to face your past without running away, without hiding, without shrinking the truth – the bravery to put in the time – to isolate, to focus, to push forward after everything you’ve lost – that’s not a declaration contradictory to your past. That’s a testament to your strength.

    And it can be very difficult to block out the noise of judgment and buckle down to get it done. In fact, that noise can be a major setback, because people often mistake growth – which is never linear – for inconsistency. They may look at you/your patterns and see a person who once did harm or held harmful views. And if you are actively fighting against those things NOW, those people might label you a hypocrite.

    But true hypocrisy exists when a person pretends to change without actually putting in that work.

    I’ll admit to being a hypocrite. As someone who learned incorrectly that I needed to “earn” love, not only did I look for it in all the wrong places and people, but I also accepted bread crumbs of affection from people around whom I could never be myself. People who expect more grace from me than they ever extended to me. People who spend very little time worried about my feelings and a great deal of time judging the worst parts of me.

    And that is their prerogative.

    (Changing who you are cannot be for or about anybody else. If so, it won’t stick.)

    Your past, your transgressions – big or small – repeated or singular – are part of your story, but not your whole story. Those chapters are dark ones. But they’re not the entire book.

    Holding yourself captive, through guilt and shame, for your past errors – that robs you of your present power and your future potential.

    You deserve the freedom to evolve – beyond your mistakes – without constantly being judged by what you once were – even if what you once were was only yesterday.

    You want a hint? The voice that condemns you for your past is often the same voice that fears change. It’s the voice that challenges fixed perception.

    But advocating against what you’ve done wrong? That displays a deep sense of self-awareness that many never reach. You’ve looked inside. You’ve recognized the harm. And you’ve chosen a different path.

    That is not hypocrisy – it’s growth made visible. And it’s part of your testimony – a beacon of hope to others who struggle with their own pasts. You become living proof that change is possible.

    So do not let other people use your history (yes, even recent history) as a weapon against your present truth. While their skepticism comes from a place of doubt, it may also come from an unwillingness to accept that people can change. It can also highlight areas of their lives that need to evolve.

    And growth? Phew. It’s messy. You’ll trip over mistakes along the way. You’ll fall back into old patterns. You’ll have a bad day and revert back to former ways of thinking.

    That doesn’t erase your progress. Each step you take forward, no matter how small, contributes to the person you are becoming. And while it is uncomfortable for those who are really trying, it is evidence that you are alive, learning, and striving to be better.

    Your past is not a prison – EVEN IF OTHERS WANT TO KEEP YOU THERE. The past is simply a teacher. Every mistake, every wrong turn, and every bad habit – they’re opportunities to gain wisdom and compassion. And when you own your past without shame, you disarm those who try to use it against you.

    It takes a great deal of humility to admit wrongdoing, and even greater humility to fight against it afterward. And that’s not weakness. That’s power. It’s power to redefine yourself and your values. It’s power to influence others by showing that change is not only possible, but sometimes necessary.

    Your journey is unique. Your growth will look different from everyone else’s. As I have already said, comparison is the thief of joy, so don’t compare your path to the paths of others. And don’t let others dictate how your growth should look. Those whose opinions really matter will recognize your growth and support you. Those who judge you by your past do not understand the complexity of being human (except those people always seem to justify their own mistakes – funny how that works). Others’ inability to accept your change says more about their emotional/mental limitations than about your character. Remember that. It’s important.

    Growth also means forgiving yourself. And this is the most tedious part of my personal journey. It has required that I accept my imperfections without losing sight of what I’m worth. And if I’m being honest, my mistakes and the patterns therein don’t exude “worthiness.” Slowly turning into someone I didn’t like anymore made me feel pretty lousy, and with nowhere to turn, I just accepted the most damaged parts of myself as truth. And I became trapped in guilt and shame.

    The sincerity of your efforts and the consistency of your actions over time are the only things that matter. You are not defined by the worst things you’ve done. You’re defined by the best things you choose to do now. And in a world so quick to assign labels – and so slow to forgive – your growth goes against the grain. It rebels against the idea that people are fixed and unchangeable.

    So straighten your shoulders. Deep breaths. And let your growth be a light for others – a light that influences their own growth. Choosing to make changes – making that commitment to yourself once and for all – is one of the most profound declarations of freedom anyone can make. Your past may have shaped you – but that’s not the end of the story.

    Focus on doing the next right thing, no matter how small. And one day you will look back and see a path of transformation – not just a trail of mistakes. You’ll see a journey marked not by where you fell, but by how you rose. Growth is not just about who you were – or even who you are now – it’s about who you become. In growth, you find your truest, most powerful self.

  • Purpose in the Raspberry Failure

    You know who actually breaks my heart in the Bible?

    Peter.

    Not when he cut the soldier’s ear off. Not when he walked on water and started sinking. Not when he was swearing he’d never leave.

    But the moment that gets me is when Jesus looked at him after the denial.

    When he failed publicly…
    Repeatedly…
    In one night…

    We love Peter the preacher. The Peter that said, “On this rock I’ll build my church.” But nobody really sits with the embarrassed Peter. The one who folded under pressure. The one who said, “I don’t know Him” – not once. Not twice. But three times.

    The one whose mouth betrayed his heart.

    What tears me up is that a lot of us know what it feels like to love God and still disappoint Him. We may mean well, and we still mess up. We may be sincere in our minds and still fall short in our hearts. And some of us may even be running to avoid the conviction that comes with knowingly-made bad decisions.

    Peter didn’t deny Jesus because he stopped believing. He denied Jesus because fear got louder than his faith.

    And before we judge him how many times have we been him?

    And even in all of my wrong choices, I didn’t stop loving God. I was just quiet when it really mattered. Complacent when it counted.

    I didn’t boldly walk away from the Lord or renounce Him out loud. I just blended in when standing alone made me uncomfortable. I didn’t renounce Him out loud.

    And that’s the part nobody preaches about.

    It can be easy to talk about the loud failures that come from rebellious people who “know better but don’t do better.”

    But Peter failed up close. He was still near Jesus. Still following Him. Still watching it unfold.

    And that kind of failure is harder to believe. Because you can’t blame that on ignorance or distance or not knowing better. Peter knew Him. He walked with Him. He saw the miracles. And still denied Him.

    That has really messed with my head. It has made me question my purpose, my sense of direction, and my calling. It has decreased my level of confidence and devalued what little credibility I may still have.

    Reading that story has made me wonder how God can still use me after I willingly chose incorrectly for so long.

    And the part we often skip is that Jesus didn’t confront Peter immediately. He let Peter sit with his decision for a minute. And that is still the case today. Sometimes God doesn’t rush to correct you because He’s letting conviction do the work.

    But after the resurrection, after the victory, after the glory, Jesus asked Peter one question: “Do you love me?” Not “Why did you deny me?” Not “How could you embarrass me?” Not even “Can I still trust you?”

    “Do you love me?” Three times. The same number of times that Peter denied Him.

    Jesus wasn’t trying to shame Peter. Jesus was restoring Peter at the point of his failure.

    And here’s the kicker…

    Jesus didn’t take away Peter’s calling. He refined it. He didn’t disqualify Peter or replace Peter. He recommissioned Peter.

    Jesus still trusted Peter, which tells me that God is not intimidated by our moments of weakness. He takes our stupidity into account when assigning our purpose.

    At times I have thought that I’m done because I failed under pressure, or because I ran when things were hard, or because I knew better and still messed up.

    But those failures didn’t cancel my assignment. My failures are part of the fulfillment of my assignment.

    Peter became the great leader he was because he knew what it felt like to fall and still be loved by the Lord. He could preach grace because it was given to him when he needed it.

    Please stop to consider that the things you are ashamed of are the very things God plans to anoint. Maybe the moment in your life that you believe disqualified you is the humbling experience you needed to fully commit. Maybe running from conviction is a part of your own testimony that will win others to the Kingdom.

    To my readers – never think you are unsalvageable.

    I mean…look what He did for Peter.

  • Raspberry’s Top Fives

    In trying to solidify and/or accept more of who I am, I was challenged to make a list of favorites.

    Obligatory lists incoming.

    Also, please consider this an invitation to share your own favorites. Maybe we have some common interests, or, alternatively, maybe we can learn something from each other.

    Movies:

    1. Pretty Woman – I know every word, every Easter egg. Did you all know that in the original script, Julia Roberts was supposed to get shot in the street and Richard Gere was supposed to throw her $3k on the ground next to her and just leave her there? Not very romantic.
    2. The Accountant 2. Yes, the second one. I watched them both and the sequel is better.
    3. Wicked. Both of them. I never got so many chill bumps listening to a witch sing. (Be on the lookout for a synopsis of this movie. I took thorough mental notes.)
    4. Lincoln Lawyer. Matthew McConaughey outdid himself.
    5. A Walk to Remember. It’s the second movie I remember watching in theaters, and the first movie I remember seeing with friends only. I was in middle school. I’m showing my age. Cried through the whole thing.

    Honorable mentions – Liar, Liar; Legally Blonde.

    TV Series:

    1. Friends. Watched on repeat.
    2. Lincoln Lawyer. Yep, the TV show, too. Doesn’t Neve Campbell get better looking as she ages?
    3. The Big Bang Theory. What is not to love about this one? Everybody has that one autistic friend. And if you don’t, you’re probably the autistic one.
    4. The Vampire Diaries. Specifically seasons 1 through 4. It’s the only love triangle on which I couldn’t have an opinion because I love both of the brothers so much, for different reasons.
    5. Dawson’s Creek. Now this one was easy. Team Pacey forever. How has Joshua Jackson been my type for two decades?

    Honorable mentions – Criminal Minds; Whose Line is it Anyway?; Pretty Little Lies.

    Bands/Song Artists:

    1. Justin Timberlake. Also my type since I was about 13 years old.
    2. NSYNC. That’s not cheating.
    3. Kelly Clarkson. That woman can sing the phone book.
    4. Xania Monet. I found her on TikTok and I’ve been listening to her stuff for a few months. She can blow, too.
    5. Mercy Me. When I need a good cry.

    Honorable mentions – Israel Houghton (and the New Breed); Backstreet Boys.

    Books:

    1. The Bible, which truly is the answer key to all of life’s questions. I set a goal to finish it in 6 months, and I’m getting there.
    2. The Scarlet Letter. It could be rewritten in 2025 vernacular, as my memoir.
    3. The Glass Castle. Jeanette Walls is a word magician. I love – LOVE – this book.
    4. Native Son. I read it my junior year of high school and probably need to read it again. But the themes of this novel will be forever relevant.
    5. Look for Thee by Moonlight. An easy-to-read vampire book. Notwithstanding some references to what would be considered pedophilia in 2025, it’s a good one. And really – it’s not that different (age gap wise) than Twilight.

    Honorable mentions – The Boxcar Children (the nostalgia); The Crucible (give me a group of women blamed for everything any day).

    Possessions:

    1. Ozzy. To be fair, I don’t consider him a “possession” – he’s my little puppy son, but for the purposes of this post, he is definitely prized.
    2. My living room quilt. It was on my bed, and when I upgraded, this quilt became my lovey. When I’m napping on the couch, watching TV, or blogging, like now, I become a quilt burrito.
    3. My typewriter’s tray. My mom has had one for years. I didn’t even knew what hers was (the name of it or what it did). I just knew she housed her little knick-knacks on hers. Come to find out, it is a tray that used to hold letter stamps at a printing press. I found one on Etsy and it was gifted to me. Mine isn’t in as good a shape as my mom’s, but I love it.
    4. The awesome possum. Someone I love very much bought me this silly rubber possum because she knows rodents aren’t my cup of tea. But I named him Chester and he hangs out at my desk, blocking the webcam. I guess I consider him a favorite because he makes me laugh.
    5. My bathtub. Let me tell you something. Baths are my JAM. My tub is huge, the water scalding. I could sit in that thing for hours.

    Honorable mentions – My headphones. I am always wearing them. And they hold a charge for weeks – not an exaggeration.

    Things I Collect:

    1. Miniatures. The aforementioned typewriter’s tray contains tiny things that make me smile.
    2. Drinkware. Stanleys and coffee mugs. I have bookoos and there is no end to my impulse buying in sight. I think there are probably a dozen Stanleys in my cupboard and just as many coffee mugs.
    3. Sweatshirts. I like keeping my house at a cool 68 degrees, just so I can put on a sweatshirt to stay warm. And that doesn’t even begin to crack the surface of what a walking contradiction I can be.
    4. Office supplies. Planners. Pens. Bullet journals. Calendars. I write everything down, usually twice, to try to convince myself that it makes me whole.
    5. Nails. I have a laundry hamper full of press-ons. I’m currently sporting a glossy sage color but will likely switch to red toward the middle of the week.

    Honorable mentions – Leggings/Yoga pants; reading glasses.

    Drinks:

    1. Dr. Pepper. My nemesis. To be fair, I haven’t had many in the last few months. It’s an addiction I fight daily.
    2. Sweet tea. I am a respectable Southerner.
    3. Water with lemon. I’ve been drinking a lot of that lately. Hydration is always encouraged.
    4. Coffee. Iced on Sunday mornings. Hot otherwise. With Wal-mart brand French vanilla creamer.
    5. Purple Powerade Zero. It’s what I’ve been drinking in between waters.

    Honorable mentions – Lemonade (yum); Dulcis wine, though I haven’t had any in a while. I am not sure how I feel about drinking alcohol anymore, so I’ve been avoiding it while I figure that out. But I did find it locally after searching for months, as a non-wine lover, I do enjoy it – both the red and the white.

    Foods:

    1. Steak. Filet. Medium rare.
    2. Sushi. Nothing raw, but when is crab and cream cheese not the best combination ever?
    3. Caesar salad. My son and I share a love of this one.
    4. Pasta. Any kind. Just give me the carbs!
    5. Seafood boil. The place I enjoyed going locally burned down. There is a place in New Orleans called Fiery Crab and I can’t wait to go again.

    Honorable mentions – French fries.

    Dessert (yes, sugar gets its own category):

    1. Chocolate milkshakes. To be clear, I like vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup blended into a milkshake. I will drink, but do not prefer chocolate ice cream liquefied.
    2. Marshmallow Peeps. I am not sure when I decided I enjoyed them, but I imagine it wasn’t long after I discovered that no one else really does, which means I don’t have to share. More for me.
    3. Cheesecake. When in doubt, get the cheesecake.
    4. Caramel apples. There’s an ice cream shop about 20 minutes from me that sells them in the fall. Expensive. Worth every penny.
    5. Chocolate chip cookies. I’m no snob. I don’t think I’ve tried one I didn’t like. My favorite, though, are the ones from American Cookie Company.

    Honorable mentions – Lemon cake; banana pudding (my mom’s is my favorite).

    Places:

    1. My bed. It’s so comfy. And I’m looking forward to bed time tonight because I just put freshly washed sheets on it. I am unreasonably excited.
    2. The mountains. Crisp weather. Front porch. Coffee. A view.
    3. The movies. I don’t think popcorn, candy, and a comfy chair require much of an explanation.
    4. Church. Enter feeling defeated. Leave with hope. I love our church.
    5. My bath. It is worth mentioning again, yes.

    Honorable mentions – My car, where I am usually alone. It is a good place to think, to pray, to cry, to process.

    Things About Myself:

    1. I give more grace to others than I have ever received. I could write an entire post about this, and I might, someday. For now, though, I’ll stand firmly here.
    2. My make up routine. I don’t keep up with the newest trends. But I like what I like, and I’ve perfected the ritual that suits me.
    3. My handwriting. I receive frequent compliments, which is why I include it.
    4. I’m not confrontational. I’ll cry in private later, but I’m not typically one to start a fight. I’ll keep my mouth closed until it hurts.
    5. I’m generous. I have been blessed with a really good job, and I’m happy to give even more these days. The downside? People take advantage. But that’s their demon, not mine.

    Honorable mentions – My work ethic. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t work my hiney off to get here. I am blessed, yes, but I have also earned my spot.

    Bible Verses:

    1. Proverbs 3:5-6. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, leaning not unto your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” A gentle reminder to pray before making any decision.
    2. 2 Corinthians 7:9. “Yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended and so you were not harmed in any way by us.” While the Lord does not like for His people to be sad, He can use our sadness to teach us things and draw us closer to Him. I am grateful for that, these days more than ever.
    3. Matthew 6:34. “Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” The Lord holds the future. It is human nature to be concerned, to make plans, and to think we have things figured out. But ultimate peace is found when we learn to let go…and let God.
    4. Judges 16:28-30. “Then Samson prayed to the Lord, ‘Sovereign Lord, remember me. Please, God, strengthen me just once more, and let me with one blow get revenge on the Philistines for my two eyes.’ Then Samson reached toward the two central pillars on which the temple stood. Bracing himself against them, his right hand on the one and his left hand on the other, Samson said, ‘Let me die with the Philistines!’ Then he pushed with all his might, and down came the temple on the rulers and all the people in it. Thus he killed many more when he died than while he lived.” Samson got himself into quite a bit of trouble. He made a lot of mistakes. But he learned, and he gave God what he had left. I relate to Samson in a lot of ways. The Lord can have what is left of me.
    5. Revelation 21:4. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” I look forward to a day with no more pain.

    Honorable mentions – 2 Corinthians 5:21. “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” It’s just a summation of why we exist and why our Father sacrificed His only Son. This is the verse I use as motivation to keep going.

    I have this thickness in the back of my throat that has rendered my voice that of a pre-pubescent boy. I took some Decadron three days ago and I haven’t slept. Fortunately, I feel myself crashing, so off I go to one of my favorite places, for puppy snuggles and hopefully some snoring. I can’t wait to fall asleep.

    Thank you for being here.

  • Real Life Raspberry

    “Comparison is the thief of joy.” – Theodore Roosevelt

    This quote is easily said. Rolls off of the tongue.

    And it’s easy to understand. The implications that come with the quote are across-the-board accepted. It’s as if he knew what everyone was thinking.

    Ole Teddy became the youngest President, at age 42. So to me it seems like it would be easy for him to say such a thing – because people were probably comparing themselves to HIM. And while he was criticized for being a believer of racial hierarchy, for being aggressive and somewhat egotistical, even his critics probably had to admit that he was at least successful.

    I wonder, if Teddy existed today, how much truer he would find his statement. In an era where Instagram exists. In a time when it’s easy to open a phone and watch other people flourish, reach their goals, spending money out of their seemingly overflowing bank accounts.

    I often look at the lives of people who are or once were in my life. I scroll through social media occasionally and observe the smiles.

    “Oh, look – Sally got a new car. Why does she deserve a new car? She just got one last year and wrecked it. She must have good auto insurance.”

    Funny thing is – she posted a picture of the car. Not a picture of the bill.

    “Look how grown Susan’s kids are now. And they all got together on Thanksgiving. Wow, it’s almost like her kids forgot that Susan snorted cocaine for the better part of their childhood. Why does she get to have a relationship with her kids?”

    But what Susan didn’t post was the $20,000.00 rehab charge, or the texts full of ultimatums from her kids that said, “If you don’t stop, we won’t talk.”

    “Wow, Kelly and Brad are still together. Didn’t he cheat on her, like, 10 times?!?! Where is her backbone?”

    But what isn’t shown is the number of nights Kelly spent on her knees in a closet somewhere, asking God if she should walk away…or try harder.

    My point – we often compare the details of our lives to the highlights of others’. And it’s convenient to post our own highlights so that other people don’t know that we are sad. Or lonely. Or scared. Or broke or broken.

    When I decided to start this blog, I remember making a silent promise to myself that I would be raw, real, and genuine – even if it hurt. And for those of you reading this, who think, “She must really have it together,” I can’t tell you how far that is from the truth.

    So here is the truth…or at least…the truth right now:

    I woke up at 6 a.m. with the worst indigestion I have had in my entire life. I didn’t go back to sleep until nearly 8 a.m., and I missed church because I wanted extra rest. [Insert guilt here.]

    I fed my son McDonald’s for lunch because I didn’t feel like cooking or even getting dressed to go out.

    And right now, it’s 4 p.m., and I’m sitting on the couch on my laptop while two loads of laundry that need folding stare back at me, wrinkled and cold now. I’m half-listening to what is playing on YouTube on the t.v., Steven Furtick, because I’m feeling pretty lousy today. It’s cold outside. It’s cold inside.

    There are dirty dishes in the sink, the bed is unmade, one of my nails just fell off.

    I make more money now than I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I have more money than I’ve ever had…but I don’t want to log in for work tomorrow. I’m discouraged.

    There are two other people in this house, and I sit here fighting tears because I’ve never felt more lonely or less worthy of love or affection or affirmation. The grace upon which others rely to get through a day is the same grace that – right now – in this moment – I do not feel I deserve.

    I’m a little different than other people.

    I don’t want people to see my “highlights.”

    I don’t want people to see me at all.

    I’m convinced that I’m too broken, too insecure, too unworthy, and unusable. I pray for direction, and the answer doesn’t come. So I must not be a good listener – or worse – I’m not worth listening to.

    So I pray harder. Cry more. Try to do better. I fill my day with as many tasks as possible and ignore the fact that I can barely breathe sometimes. I stay off of my phone so I can avoid watching others’ highlights, because, as Teddy reminds us even a century later…

    “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

  • Some Truths about Raspberry

    As I’ve said before, sometimes I ask Chat GPT to give me guidance as to what I need to be writing. I did so moments ago, and I was met with the following:

    “10 Gentle Truths I’m Learning About Who I Am.”

    Yikes.

    As someone who tends to be more critical of myself than of others, this may be a little more challenging than I’d have initially preferred, especially because it’s 11 p.m. and I’ve had a relatively busy day. Church, where there were lots of tears. Lunch. A movie with my son. A full scrub down of the house, which, truthfully didn’t take as long as anticipated, but it was a chore, nonetheless. Then prayer journal, bullet journal, packing my son’s lunch, and about 4 loads of laundry.

    It is somewhat interesting to me that I was given this specific blog prompt, because this morning at church, the sermon was about our identity in Christ.

    Don’t get me wrong – it has been a good day. And with purpose, I decided I would snuggle into bed with my laptop. The problem with this intention? Severe Writer’s Block.

    Gentle truths? Hm. Let’s see where this goes.

    (I don’t brainstorm or outline these posts, in case you were wondering.)

    1. I am definitely a night owl. Not a morning person. Not even an afternoon person. I like my sleep. But if you catch me at about 7 or 8 p.m., you’re likely to find me doing something productive – cleaning, meal prep, planning my next day, helping with homework. I hit my peak. And you have me from then until about midnight, at which point I find the nearest pillow and crash.
    2. I have lost people who meant the world to me. And here I am – still making it. My track record for overcoming really difficult things is: Me – all of them; All of them – 0. I am still an avid overthinker, so sometimes I have to remind myself of it, and sometimes it can be hard for me to focus on what is good because there is some bad. But I am learning to count things in my favor. And I’ve survived it all so far, praise the Lord.
    3. I lack certain discipline that I “should” have – as a grown woman. I used to say I wasn’t motivated. But I don’t think that the things I don’t do have much to do with motivation. I think I’ve grown so accustomed to impulsivity, and what “feels good” right now – mostly because I’ve been chasing my own self-worth for 20 years – that I forget that it is discipline that actually gets things done. So for now, I am relying on the Lord to remind me of who I am and focusing a lot less on “noise” that could ever reassure me. The bottom line is that what others say and think – even if once true – well, it means a lot less these days.
    4. I would prefer to eat 8 snacks a day instead of 3 meals. What does that make me? A snacking machine? Don’t worry – the snacks aren’t always bad for me. On a related note, I just bought myself the tiniest little cucumbers for lunches this week, and I’m really excited to try them.
    5. I am a not-on-purpose self mutilator. Let me tell you what I have done this week. For one, I clipped all the skin off of my fingertips. I’ve told you all about this before, but when the skin on my fingers gets dry, I clip it off. I’ve been doing it for years. It doesn’t hurt, and I don’t want it to hurt. But I’ve been told it is a form of mutilation. Secondly, the temperature has dropped about 20 degrees where I am. That makes my skin dry. I have scratched my legs bloody this evening, just trying to relieve the itch. I’m telling you all this, knowing full well I need to find some lotion. But it’s too late now. I’ve already done it.
    6. I think I have finally accepted the fact that I’m introverted. I used to battle it. I used to try to change it. Not anymore. It’s just who I am. And it’s not a bad thing.
    7. I know entirely too much about serial killers. Just an observation. But that also means I can pretty much review any case file and solve a crime. It’s true.
    8. I learned that I can cook all of the sides for one Thanksgiving dinner, plus two desserts, in about 2 hours if I don’t take breaks. This year, I made mashed potatoes, corn, butter beans, deviled eggs, broccoli casserole, peach cobbler, and peanut butter cheesecake (which was a “no bake” recipe, to be fair). Tip – put everything in a disposable aluminum pan. Your dishwasher will thank you.
    9. I learned this a long time ago, but it was reaffirmed this week – I don’t drink enough water. I shall remedy that this upcoming week. And just to piggyback on that, I also learned that I own too many Stanleys. I’ve been giving those bad boys out like candy.
    10. And lastly, I learned that I can no longer wear bras with wires. Ouch.

    Wherever you are – whatever you’re doing – however you’re coping – I hope you each have an amazing week. I hope the Lord blesses you and protects you and keeps you safe.

    Side note – I am not good at much, but I can pray. If you have a prayer request, please shoot me a message, or comment, or email. I would love to pray for/with you.

  • An Overthinking Raspberry

    Did you know it is actually a sin to overthink? As I grow in the Word, I’m finding out that once we give a situation to God, the only way to exercise trust in His answer is to stop worrying. The Bible even tells us not to be anxious or worry. It is a command. “Do not worry about tomorrow – for tomorrow will worry about itself…”

    If I am being brutally honest with myself, I have to be reminded, when I’m in my darkest moments, and in my deepest worry, that the opposite of faith is anxiety.

    And do you want to know the funniest part? Most of the things I worry about don’t even matter. I used to think that worrying about something prioritized it in my mind. I used to think that worrying was a way of controlling a situation.

    Nope.

    Worrying gives me something to do. But it doesn’t fix a thing.

    And while I know I can rely on God’s grace to carry me through moments of anxiety, I am learning that the whole “Let go and let God” is a real thing. And looking back, I could’ve saved myself a lot of gray hairs, sleepless nights, and tears, had I actually taken that to heart.

    Maybe these will serve as reminders to you. Or maybe they’re just reminders for me. Either way, below is a list of things I have resolved to no longer worry over.

    1. What people think about me – I used to worry about what people thought. I used to strive for perfection. I used to want the approval of others. I wanted to be liked. And I used to jump to my own defense when accused. I am no longer interested in that. The people who believe I have something to prove are just as flawed, just as broken, and some seem even less self-aware or willing to admit their own imperfections. So I don’t know why I ever bothered to mask who I really am, or strive to be better than “just me.” Those who have been critical of me are not the best example of…well…anything. And while I still catch myself occasionally wanting to clap back, I realize that I have already apologized to them, and I’m already forgiven by Him. I’m committed to accepting all of the blessings that other people don’t think I deserve.
    2. What I wear – I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I work from home. And I have a really REALLY well-paying job, and I am really good at it. I consider it an(other) answered prayer. But since my work does not require much travel or in-office presentation, I am welcome to roll out of bed, throw on my comfiest sweats, and plug away. My collection of sweatshirts has grown. I love my bedroom slippers. And I embrace the messy bun.
    3. Gossip – having been both the victim and the villain of it, I can say for certain that it benefits no one. Being nosy, saying hurtful things at someone else’s expense (even if they are “true”), or just participating in idle chatter? It reeks of immaturity, unfaithfulness, and lack of success in the lives of those who do it. I am no longer interested.
    4. Being a “yes” girl. I used to go along with things, agree to things, agree to pay for things, just to make other people happy. Not now. If I don’t want to do it, I’m not going to. I’m quickly approaching 40. I don’t care who gets upset about my hard nos. And no, it doesn’t make me difficult or hard to get along with. You’re more than welcome to do your thing. I just don’t want to be a part of it, and I’m not going to worry myself sick anymore over what other people want me to do.
    5. Keeping up with the newest music trends. I am a well-rounded listener. I grew up listening to Journey and Chicago and Fleetwood Mac. I fell in love with boy bands in the 90s. I love country, hip hop, some rock. My Spotify account would confuse the population at large. If I hear a song and I like it, I add it. If not, I move on. And I’m proud to say I have passed that onto my son, who plays guitar and loves many of the same artists that I do, along with some I do not know. We are not individuals if we all listen to the same things.
    6. Comparison. I know all too well how exhausting it can be to be around someone who has to be right about everything, who has never made a mistake, who puts one opinion over another. It’s exhausting. Life is hard. I hope we all make it. And truthfully, if we all counted our own blessings instead of worrying about what other people have that we want that we don’t have (I’ve confused myself just typing that), we would probably be better off anyway.
    7. Long lines. I will leave and order online so fast…
    8. Losing people. I have lost people that meant the world to me. And they valued me so little that they walked out of my life. And you know what? I survived. I made it. And I’m actually better off. I have more free time, more “me” time, more money, a lot less stress and sense of obligation, and even though I grieve those who have left – even though I understand why they left – and even though losing people has been my fault at times – I’m okay, and I will no longer be manipulated or challenged to accommodate people who not once reciprocated. Nothing I could’ve done would’ve made a bit of difference. I was blessed with a graceful, forgiving spirit. Others were not. And that’s okay, too.
    9. Arguing. I am not 100% “there” yet but I care a lot less about it these days. After way too many debates about truth v. opinion, fact v. fiction, feelings v. logic, I just don’t have the energy to fight anymore. Also, I don’t care. If you think the sky is green, if you think 2+2=5, it does. On a more personal note, if you think I’m a bad person, crazy, ugly, you’re right. Life became a lot easier when I figured out how to accept my flaws along with my good qualities. And when others don’t recognize the good, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It means those people are determined to misunderstand me. But I’m not going to argue about it. Think what you want. Tell your friends. Away – far away – from me.
    10. Keeping up with the Joneses. I make more money than most people in my profession. Amazing job, phenomenal health insurance, a bonus every year. I am incredibly blessed. But I’ll be darned if I’m going to let anyone, ever again, even societal standards, dictate what I need and don’t need, or what I should or should not have. Life is about so much more than “stuff.” I am learning to love my uncluttered, simple, clean, quiet life.

    Maybe pain created all of this. Maybe my own mistakes created this. I like to think that the Lord gave me a sense of self-awareness recently, and boy, oh, boy – it has put my whole life into perspective. And I’m grateful.

    I’ll touch base with you guys next week. I’m going thrift shopping tomorrow. Maybe I’ll show you guys my treasures.