Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • Raspberry Restoration

    As I continue to study God’s Word, I understand that what I once only recognized as non-fictional words on a page are – in reality – real life instructions for how we should be living our lives today. The Bible isn’t just a history book. It’s a handbook.

    I finished Jeremiah and moved onto Ezekiel. I am not quite finished with it, but I’ll recap what I’ve studied so far.

    Jeremiah and Ezekiel were both prophets, and both of these Books recall the same events – just from different perspectives. While Jeremiah delivered God’s messages from inside Judah/Jerusalem prior to and during the nation’s collapse, Ezekiel’s story is told to people who were already displaced in Babylon.

    As a reader, I needed both. If I had only read Jeremiah, I’d have only understood the weight of warning. If I had only read Ezekiel, I’d have only understood the structure of judgment and hope. But together, I got a full, emotional, spiritual picture.

    I don’t know if I should admit this, and perhaps someone more “woke” than me will correct me, but I don’t believe that everything that happens to us is God’s will. While we generally, as a society, subscribe to the idea of fate and that “all things happen for a reason,” that is only partially true, in my opinion. Some things happen because, as my dad says, “We ain’t got the sense God gave a goose.”

    God gave His people free will, and they used it so haphazardly that poor leadership, pride, and idolatry broke down the very foundation upon which God had built them. God didn’t “want” two nations. It was not His “will” that His people divide into separate nations. He also didn’t want His people to worship other gods or be so selfish/prideful or stray so far from what they knew was truth.

    But if God had forced Israel to remain unified after Solomon died…

    If He had spared Judah from ruin after they had wandered…

    If He had slapped wrists but kept the foundation of His people intact instead of allowing every consequence to play out fully…

    …then restoration would not have been as meaningful.

    Jeremiah revealed that God takes sin and its consequences seriously. But Ezekiel revealed that God is committed to restoration beyond what people deserve.

    But here’s the clincher – transformation has to happen *before* restoration can happen. And because we are so hard-headed and set in our ways, our “truths,” our feelings, I think God knows that sometimes He has to let us do it wrong and fall apart before we reach a place so desperate that our foundations are completely destroyed. And that’s where He does His best work.

    When my kids were little, if they misbehaved around their Mamaw, she would have them put their noses in a corner while she talked to them about respect, obedience, etc. And when they’d make comments to me about how silly that punishment was, I’d explain to them that the “corner” was the punishment, but the punishment wasn’t the only purpose of the corner. The corner (1) removed the kids from the setting of the behavior, so as to eliminate the temptation to continue that behavior; and (2) staring into a blank wall, with no distractions, no toys, no tv, gave the kids time to think and reflect on what they’d done wrong.

    So God put Judah’s nose in the corner. He removed them from the place where the disobedience occurred. And He stripped them of everything so that all they had left was time to reflect and time to talk to Him. Exile was not just “punishment.” It was a place of reflection and work. God didn’t wait until Judah wasn’t broken anymore. God’s miracle was found while His people were still suffering. “I will gather you…I will cleanse you…I will give you a new heart…”

    And He killed so many birds with that stone. Not only did He keep His covenant with His people, but He showed other nations who He was – the One, True God. And on top of that, the two nations were, once again, united as one (Ezekiel Chapter 37), as God had always intended. Every consequence…every fracture…rebuilt under one, stronger foundation, so that His people, after years of division and disobedience and wandering, were made completely whole.

    As I have struggled to understand why I am in this particular season…as I have prayed to God for (and been actively denied) deliverance…and even as I have expressed anger/frustration toward Him for “allowing” the loneliness, the shame, the tears…the Holy Spirit has continued to (1) sit with me; (2) comfort me; and (3) speak the same message – “The miracle you seek lies inside the work you are doing.”

    And it’s probably not just coincidence that I’ve been reading about how Judah – in all of its disobedience and wandering – had to do the same work…not the kind of work where they had to try harder or do more, but the kind of work that required a different mindset – total surrender, total commitment, and total obedience. And it was in that surrender, commitment and obedience that God restored them and gave them back even more than they lost.

    The Book of Ezekiel has reminded me that putting metaphorical duct tape on our own destructive patterns will only work for so long. The Lord wants us to be transformed, from the inside out, and from the bottom up, in such a way that even other people will see Him in us. And in the same way Judah experienced God in the middle of consequence, true transformation happens when our foundations are broken.

    By whatever means necessary, the Lord wants us to be whole, *especially* if we have specifically prayed for it like I have. And if making us whole requires Him to “put us in the corner” or to use a jackhammer on our foundations or to strip us of all tangible comforts, then that’s exactly what He’ll do – not because He wants us to hurt, but because doing all of those things puts us in a state of vulnerability necessary for transformation.

    If you are in your transformation season – if you are lonely, if you are hurting, if you are in your feels, if you are learning and enduring – hang on. He didn’t abandon you. Restoration is coming.

  • Raspberry Self Care

    I’m going down my self-made list of words that are generally used incorrectly these days.

    Today’s vocabulary word: Self-care.

    I think we’ve watered down its meaning. Somewhere along the way, self-care became synonymous with indulgence.

    Bubble baths.
    Face masks.
    Mani / Pedis.
    Online shopping.

    And there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing any of those things.

    But honestly, most real self-care is less glamorous than that.

    It’s not about indulgence. It’s about maintenance.

    Not escape.
    Not avoidance.

    Maintenance.

    It’s taking care of yourself in ways that support stability – not just temporary comfort.

    Sometimes self-care is just going to bed. Not staying up doom-scrolling. Not emotionally spiraling until 2 a.m. Just…sleeping. Recovering.

    Sometimes it’s cleaning the kitchen. Not because a spotless house fixes your life, but because your environment affects your mind more than you realize. There is something regulating about caring for your space in the middle of internal chaos.

    Sometimes it’s telling the truth. Not avoiding the issue. No numbing it. Not distracting yourself from it. Actually acknowledging that something is hurting you, that something is unhealthy, and that something needs to change. Honesty is self-care, too.

    Sometimes self-care is discipline. Going to therapy, setting the boundary, sticking to the budget, taking the walk, logging off, not returning the text. Discipline, now, protects future peace.

    Sometimes it’s not reacting, because not every emotion needs expression.

    Sometimes it’s simply saying, “No.” Not because you’re selfish, but because constantly over-extending yourself creates resentment, burnout, and emotional instability. You cannot continuously abandon yourself and call it kindness.

    Real self-care isn’t usually flashy. It’s repetitive. Quiet. Ordinary. And sometimes even inconvenient.

    It’s not always about feeling good immediately. It’s about caring for yourself in a way that supports the life you actually want long-term.

    Bubble baths are nice. Candles are nice. Little treats are nice. But genuinely caring for yourself is executed best by taking responsibility for your own life. That’s the kind of care that changes a person, slowly, from the inside out.

  • Raspberry Parameters

    People talk about “boundaries” constantly these days.

    “Set boundaries.”
    “Protect your peace.”
    “Cut people off.”

    I can empathize with the heart behind those phrases, but I don’t think boundaries are always defined – or used – appropriately. That term has been oversimplified, like setting a boundary is magic.

    In my experience, sometimes we can express a boundary clearly, and the situation remains exactly the same.

    And that’s when being “woke” is no longer helpful.

    First, what is a boundary? It’s not controlling another person. It’s not, “You must change.” It is, “This is what I will do in response.” Boundaries are about governing yourself, not managing someone else.

    Second, how can we know when a boundary is necessary? The answer is different for everyone, so I’ll share a few of my own criteria:

    • Resentment is building constantly;
    • I feel repeatedly emotionally depleted;
    • I continue to abandon my own needs;
    • The same issue continues without resolution;
    • I start to react instead of staying grounded; or
    • I am tolerating what is actively harming my stability.

    For me, a boundary becomes necessary when continuing “as-is” begins damaging my emotional health, integrity, or ability to function well.

    Thirdly, boundaries are not punishments. The motive behind a healthy boundary is not revenge, or the silent treatment, or manipulation, or attempts to “teach someone a lesson.” A healthy boundary is clarity. It says, “I cannot continue engaging this way without consequence to my well-being.”

    But the hardest part is when nothing changes. And it’s painful. I have only effectively set two healthy boundaries in my entire life. I communicated clearly, I explained calmly, I stated my needs honestly. And the other parties still didn’t change. They didn’t hear me. And they didn’t meet the need.

    And to be honest, I think it was because I was the one setting the boundary. Had it been anyone else, the boundary would’ve been understood.

    And that reality hurts.

    But boundaries cannot force emotional immaturity or empathy or effort. And they can’t force someone to prioritize the same things that I prioritize. That’s just the difficult truth. Sometimes boundaries reveal more than just this issue. Sometimes they reveal the limits of the relationship itself.

    When I set my very first boundary almost 10 months ago, the other person left. And when I set the second, my character was attacked – not to my face, but to people in my life, now, that I truly love.

    So what do we do when the boundary changes nothing?

    Answer: We stop waiting for the other person to create peace for us.

    Instead, we begin deciding what we can realistically control now.

    In Boundary Scenario Number 1, I couldn’t control the fact that I was left. And in Boundary Scenario Number 2, I couldn’t control the other person’s mouth.

    But in each scenario, I can control my participation, my exposure, my expectations, my emotional investment, and my responses.

    The hard truth is that sometimes circumstances stay the same. Sometimes the relationship doesn’t transform overnight. The coparenting doesn’t suddenly become easy. The other person doesn’t become who you hoped they would become.

    And at that point, the work becomes internal.

    I think TikTok-Pop-Culture Therapy tends to portray boundaries as exits.

    But the healthiest boundaries are quieter than that.

    Less contact. Different expectations. Less emotional chasing. More acceptance. More regulation.

    Sometimes the boundary is, “I will no longer destroy my own peace trying to force this situation to become something it’s not.” And when we think about it that way, boundaries are less about controlling circumstances and more about remaining emotionally intact inside of difficult circumstances. That’s much harder, but much healthier.

    Setting a boundary does not guarantee change. Sometimes it reveals change wasn’t in your control to begin with. And I know as much as anyone how discouraging that can be. But there is also something freeing about that. Because once I stopped trying to control everyone else, I had enough energy to take care of myself.

  • Stimulated Raspberry

    I don’t love the word “trigger.”

    Emotional triggers are real. But I think the word is overused (or used entirely incorrectly), misunderstood, and weaponized.

    Somewhere, at some point, society started treating triggers like permission. Permission to lash out. To avoid accountability. To demand that everyone else emotionally accommodate us at all times.

    And I don’t agree with that.

    There are absolutely things that emotionally affect me more deeply than they affect other people. And to be fair, almost everything affects me more deeply than others.

    I’m an overthinker by nature. My impulses are rooted in emotion.

    But the important thing to note is that my triggers may explain my emotional reaction, but they do not excuse my behavior. My triggers are ultimately my responsibility.

    So on this journey to discover my identity, I have started tracking patterns in my own behaviors and reactions – not just what hurts me – but why – and then marking specific guidelines within each trigger, so that there is a plan to handle them – in a much healthier way – when they arise.

    1. Feeling rejected or unchosen. This one probably hurts the deepest. Feeling left out, overlooked, emotionally replaced. In taps directly into old insecurities that quickly make me spiral, and I automatically and impulsively jump to questions like, “What is wrong with me?” and “What did I do to deserve this?” So now, I remind myself that someone else’s choice is not a measurement of my worth. And I no longer make impulsive decisions just to soothe the feeling of rejection.
    2. Feeling misunderstood. I hate being misrepresented, especially when people reduce me to my mistakes, or one label, or one version of my story. And I used to obsess over correcting perceptions. But now I ask myself whether or not clarification will actually create peace. And the answer is usually, “No.” I can’t control how I’m perceived. And that still hurts, but there is a rational side of my brain – somewhere up there – that reminds me that not every misunderstanding requires a defense.
    3. Loss of control. I like predictability. Clarity. Structure. When things feel uncertain, my anxiety rises quickly. But controlling other people or outcomes is an impossible task. So now I focus on regulating myself – through routine, through prayer, and through presence.
    4. Feeling unappreciated after over-extending. There are two issues here, and the combination used to create resentment in me. If I gave a lot and didn’t feel acknowledged, I became emotional dynamite. So this is where I now question my motives. I pay closer attention to whether I’m giving freely or giving with unspoken expectations attached…because that distinction matters.
    5. Criticism and judgment. Especially criticism that confirms my worst fears about myself. Those moments can still sting deeply. Presently, I try to separate conviction from shame. Sometimes criticism is useful, but sometimes it’s projection. Not every opinion deserves equal emotional authority.
    6. Emotional distance. Silence, withdrawal, coldness. They poke insecurity in me. But I meant what I said – I don’t chase anymore – and that includes reassurance. Distance is still crushing, but now I sit in the discomfort, in an “exposure therapy” kind of way.
    7. Feeling helpless. When I can’t fix something, solve something, or improve something immediately, I become overwhelmed. These days, I try to intentionally shift my focus to something that I can control. Sometimes the stain on the carpet. Sometimes how much water I drink. Sometimes how many chapters I read. Something that helps me appreciate autonomy.

    Triggers are information. They’re not commands. They reveal wounds, fears, patterns…areas that still need healing. But they do not get to dictate how I behave.

    I do not expect other people to babysit my emotions anymore. People are going to disagree, misunderstand, leave, criticize, and disappoint me. That’s life. And while kindness matters, emotional maturity requires learning how to regulate ourselves instead of demanding that the world constantly rearrange itself around our sensitivities.

    I still get triggered. I still feel all of it. But instead of using those moments as excuses, I try to use them as invitations…to pause…to reflect…to respond differently than I once would’ve. Because growth doesn’t mean being emotionless. It’s just becoming responsible with your emotions.

  • Selective Raspberry

    I am honest about myself these days to recognize that, sometimes, I was the problem.

    I wasn’t trying to be. But in the middle of chaos, there used to be this deep need/impulse to address everything. Every disagreement. Every accusation. Every misunderstanding. Every perceived slight.

    If something bothered me, I reacted. If something hurt me, I confronted. If someone misunderstood me, I explained.

    And I thought that made me strong. But looking back, I think a lot of it was just anxiety.

    Not everything requires a response. That’s been hard for me to learn. Because when you’re emotional, sensitive, and deeply self-aware, everything “feels” important – every shift in tone, every indirect comment, every rumor. And if you’re not careful, you can spend your entire life emotionally responding to things that were never meant to have authority over you.

    As I’ve slowly but surely increased my focus, I understand now that addressing everything creates more chaos, not less. Not every thought needs to be spoken. Not every offense needs confrontation. Not every misunderstanding needs clarification. Picking every battle keeps conflict alive longer than it was meant to live. Sometimes peace requires restraint.

    There was a time that I thought silence was weakness. I had difficulty learning the differences between shrinkage and intentional unresponsiveness, because I know what it feels like to shrink, too.

    I’m a strange raspberry.

    Often times, the battles I fought were based upon principle, a need to be right, or, at its root, an overwhelming urge to justify my decisions.

    On the other hand, when I was intimidated, or ashamed, or afraid, I ducked. I silenced my needs, I suppressed my feelings, I cried in private, and I made myself smaller so as not to inconvenience anyone else.

    So while shrinking was a decision made out of fear of rejection or conflict or being “too much,” over-explaining and over-defending occurred when I felt harshly, outwardly criticized.

    The obstacle still remains – learning the difference between suppressing myself and regulating myself. Between abandoning my voice and choosing peace intentionally.

    The trick is rooted in one word: discernment.

    Silence is not always weakness, and in fact, taking the high road – while it doesn’t have the same immediate effect as a quick verbal jab or a stabbing shift in blame – reveals a level of self-control I didn’t think I had. To take a step back and look at a situation and recognize, “This doesn’t deserve my energy.”

    And that’s exactly what I try to do now. I’ve learned to ask different questions.

    Will addressing this actually help? Will it create understanding or more noise? Am I responding from wisdom or emotion? Do I want peace or do I want the last word?

    There is a motive behind every response. And when I learned to identify the motive, my responses – or lack thereof – evolved.

    Some things don’t need to be fixed in real time. It’s easy to give into the urgency that is associated with discomfort. But some things settle on their own. Some misunderstandings fade. Some emotions calm down. And some answers reveal themselves with time. Not everything requires immediate intervention.

    I do not subscribe to the majority view of “protecting my peace.” I don’t think most people even know what that really means. It’s not about cutting people off, blocking socials, and then posting quotes that suit your agenda or match your opinion. That’s not “protecting” anything. That’s justification. Protection does not necessarily mean “shut out everyone who disagrees with you.”

    I protect my peace a little differently. Not by avoiding life. And not by shutting people out. I’m simply more selective about what I engage with emotionally.

    I no longer feel obligated to defend myself constantly or explain every decision or respond to every opinion. Some things – some people – simply do not deserve access to my nervous system anymore.

    I still believe in communication. I believe in healthy confrontation when necessary. And I am learning to set boundaries in a productive way. But I don’t confuse emotional urgency with wisdom anymore, because maturity is learning what actually deserves my attention. And sometimes growth looks less like speaking and more like being grounded enough, in myself, to walk away.

    I don’t address everything anymore. Not because I don’t notice. Not because I don’t care. Not because I’m emotionally detached. But because peace – the right kind – has become more important to me than constant reaction. And it’s changed my life more than I initially anticipated.

  • Get to Know Raspberry

    My son got a book for me for Mother’s Day called, “Mom, I want to hear your Story.”

    He knows me well. I love “homework.”

    I thought it would be a fun idea to blog some of the answers to the questions in the book, maybe as a way to reveal more about myself without having to come up with my own rhetoric.

    1. What is your birthdate? July 10, 1987.
    2. What was your name at birth? Megan LeAnne Smith.
    3. Were you named after a relative or someone else of significance? I never could tell if my Daddy was joking, but he said that I was named after a little girl that my Gran (his mom) used to babysit. Whether or not that was true, my middle name is made up of two names – Lee, after my great grandmother on Mom’s side and my Uncle Dan on Daddy’s side – and Anne. Ann is my mom’s middle name.
    4. In what city were you born? Somerset, Kentucky.
    5. How old were you when you started walking? My baby book says I was 10 months.
    6. How old were your parents when you were born? My dad was 21 (almost 22), and my mom was 19 (almost 20).
    7. What notable events occurred in the year you were born? I know the stock market crashed in October of that year. Aretha Franklin was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame – the first ever female to do so. And the world population reached 5 billion.
    8. What song was at the top of the Billboard charts? “Alone” by Heart.
    9. What were the prices of:
      • A loaf of bread – 55 cents.
      • A gallon of milk – $2.28.
      • A cup of coffee – at a diner or store, between 50 and 75 cents.
      • A dozen eggs – 65 cents.
      • A new home, on average – $92,000.00.
      • A stamp – 24 cents.
      • A new car – $10,300.00.
      • A gallon of gas – $1.00, on average.
      • A movie ticket – $3.42, again, on average.
    10. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Chocolate. Butter pecan is a close second.
    11. How do you like your coffee? With just sweetened creamer.
    12. If you could live anywhere in the world for a year with all expenses paid, where would you choose? A cabin in the mountains of Tennessee, away from everybody.
    13. How do you like your eggs? Over medium – I like runny yolk but NOT runny white. Ewe.
    14. What is your shoe size? Between a 7 and 8, depending on the shoe.
    15. What superpower would you choose for yourself? Invisibility.
    16. Do you have any allergies? Nope.
    17. What is your biggest fear? Dying alone.
    18. What would you order as your last meal? A filet, medium rare.
    19. Have you ever broken a bone? I broke my ankle in 2016 by tripping over a microphone cord at a karaoke bar.
    20. What is your favorite flower or plant? White lilies.
    21. How would you describe yourself as a teenager? Sad. But I hid it well. Insecure. Smart-mouthed. A little lost. But also relatively popular and book smart.
    22. How did you dress and style your hair during your teens? I spent the early 2000s in high school, so…low rise flare jeans, American Eagle shirts, Old Navy flip flops. I wore my hair down and curled and parted on the side.
    23. Did you hang out with a group or just a few close friends? Are you still close with any of them? I think a lot of people knew me, or knew of me, in high school. My friend “group” consisted of about 4 people – Christina, Scott, Tate, and Kristin. I am friends with Christina and Scott on Facebook, but I haven’t seen or talked to Take or Kristin since high school.
    24. Describe a typical Friday or Saturday night during your high school years. I was in marching band. So Friday nights in the fall were for football games, and Saturday nights in the fall were for marching competitions. If it wasn’t marching season, I spend those nights working. I didn’t really go out much – I wasn’t allowed. When I turned 16, Daddy let me “car date” one night a week, and that was usually on a Friday.
    25. Did you have a curfew? On date nights, I had to be home by 10. Otherwise, I had to be home right after work, and the restaurant closed at 9.
    26. What were your grades like? Always honor roll. It was expected.
    27. Did you have a favorite subject and a least favorite? I enjoyed English and history. I loathed biology and calculus.

    I’ll stop there. I may do more of these as I complete pages in the book.

  • Raspberry Trigger Warnings

    Mother’s Day came.

    And instead of feeling celebrated, I felt heavy.

    And that’s not the version of a holiday that most people post about. You know, the pictures that contain flowers and brunch and smiles and gratitude.

    Don’t get me wrong – I put on the happy face and took some of those, too.

    But there’s another version of this day that doesn’t make the highlight reels. Because it’s not glamorous or happy. In this version, moms sit with their thoughts longer than we want. And we realize that everything we’ve lost is also emphasized on this holiday.

    I spent most of last weekend sitting on the couch, crying. I didn’t feel proud or accomplished. I thougth about all the things I wish I could change. All the things I should’ve done differently. I didn’t feel like celebrating. I was reflecting. And reflection can hurt.

    There was about half a day when I thought, “It might be easier if I just wasn’t here.”

    I didn’t want to feel the way that I felt. The regret. The loneliness. The distance. The heaviness. It was a lot to sit in.

    But I promised myself, under deep conviction, that I wouldn’t run from discomfort.

    So I stayed. It hurt. But at least it was honest.

    Sometimes motherhood isn’t what we imagine. It doesn’t look like closeness or celebration. Sometimes we just show up quietly, love from a distance, and hold space for things we can’t fix.

    And that version deserves acknowledgement, too.

    But even in the middle of those emotions, I know that nothing is permanent. The sadness, while intense, shifts eventually. And the fact that I feel so deeply means I still care deeply.

    I put on a smile and went to church with my boys. I cried during the service. I took pictures afterwards. My family went to lunch. And I didn’t fall apart, even though I didn’t “feel” much like honoring myself.

    But maybe the fact that I got through it without following through on those thoughts that tried to convince me to disappear is progress in some way. To sit in grief is brave. And to not allow that grief to ruin a day that can be made good for other people is even braver.

  • Raspberry Won’t

    “It’s the way I won’t…”

    That’s how I know I”m changing.

    My life doesn’t look dramatically different, and I haven’t suddenly become perfect. I still struggle.

    But there are things in my life I will not do anymore.

    1. I will not match your energy. The snark. The bad-mouthing. The gossip and other ugly language. The tug of war over minutiae. You can keep all of that to yourself. Over there.
    2. I won’t run. If it creates relief instead of reflection, I probably won’t do it. I’m sitting in my emotions and letting the Lord use them to stabilize me. It’s not easy. But escaping pain and healing it are not the same thing.
    3. I won’t react. I still feel all of it. The urge is still there. But I don’t make decisions anymore without seeking His guidance first. I will respond to you when I hear from Him.
    4. I won’t abandon or erase myself. No matter what I have done, I am still here because I am valuable. Somewhere. Some way. My voice matters, too. The Lord requires us to live in peace insofar as it is possible, but if the only way I can avoid an argument is to shrink, then the foundation of that relationship wasn’t healthy in the first place. I will calmly, strategically, and politely, speak my mind when it is necessary.
    5. I won’t chase. Confusion isn’t chemistry. If you don’t want me to be a part of your life, that is okay, and I totally get it. If my absence brings you peace, I will absolutely stay away and wish you well. But do not expect that I will follow. Those days are over. No graveling, no begging, no tentativeness. If you’d like to leave me, you have my blessing. And you can also live with that decision, because if you ever return – of your own free will – you will not find the same version of me. She won’t be cruel or unforgiving. But she also won’t depend on you to define her purpose.
    6. I won’t hold grudges. There is nothing you can do to me that is more important what what He did FOR me. Our Creator holds our destinies. Do what you feel like you need to do, and then see how it plays out. I’ll be over here – sitting, worshipping, and growing.

    I thought once that growth meant becoming someone completely new.

    Now it feels more like restraint. Wisdom. Awareness. Like intentionally choosing a path that does not repeat what was once automatic. Not because temptation disappeared, but because my response to that temptation has been combative.

  • Raspberry Endurance

    Sometimes I wonder who I’d be if I wasn’t always enduring.

    If my choices had been better.
    If my circumstances had been lighter.
    Simpler.
    Less complicated.

    If I hadn’t spent so much time navigating consequences, emotions, relationships, and the weight of my own decisions.

    Who would I be if I wasn’t always in the middle of something?

    Sometimes I picture her.

    The version of me who made better choices earlier.
    Who didn’t have to learn everything the hard way.
    Who didn’t carry so much history.

    She seems…

    …more confident…
    …more stable…
    …more free…
    …less burdened…
    …less exhausted…
    …less ashamed.

    And I had to stop. Because as much as I can imagine her, I don’t actually know her.

    I only know this version of me. The one who has had to endure.

    And that’s not glamorous. It hasn’t felt like strength. It has looked like sitting in consequence, living in regret, processing things I haven’t wanted to face, and choosing not to run when running has been easy for so many years.

    It’s been slow. Ugly. Uncomfortable.

    But it has changed me. Not in ways that are obvious to everyone else, but in ways I can feel.

    I think more carefully now. I intentionally decide not to react to people who want to see me break. And I understand things I didn’t understand before.

    Awareness changes everything.

    I didn’t set out to become this version of myself. I didn’t want to learn everything this way. But here I am…not escaping, not numbing, not pretending. And I don’t know if a less complicated version of me would be wiser, or more grounded, or more honest. But I do know that endurance has shaped me in ways that comfort never could.

    So I’m learning to stop comparing myself to someone who never existed, and instead, I have started trying to understand the one who does. And hopefully, someday, I won’t still wonder who I’d be if I wasn’t always enduring, because eventually, I will see who I ultimately fought to become intentionally.

  • Raspberry Chutes

    I spiraled yesterday.

    I received two notifications on my phone.

    Not back-to-back, but congruently enough that I was affected.

    And I don’t even know why.

    The first notification was essentially an assertion of blame. I was made aware of a couple of things that were, apparently, my “fault.”

    My reflexes caused me to trip. Over accusation. Over what read as judgment. “Look how much harm you’ve caused.” And then a couple of details about someone I try not to think about anymore.

    As if my entire identity was wrapped up in this one or two line correspondence.

    I didn’t outwardly react. I didn’t respond. I didn’t defend. I didn’t even cry.

    Not at first.

    But I also didn’t block the sender, or mute future notifications. And that was my first mistake.

    Not long after that – because I didn’t react to the first, I suppose – I received another.

    No blame this time. Instead, a boastful haiku, of sorts, about how that very same person – who was so destitute and broken in the first notification – is simultaneously much better off without me. Circumstantially. Financially.

    And that second notification is what sent me over the edge.

    For the past 9 months, I have sort of felt like the living embodiment of a game piece on a board of Chutes and Ladders. I slowly press ahead – one dice roll and one block at a time – occasionally favored with a ladder on my landing space.

    I have relied on those ladders. Epiphanies. Clarification. Noticeable advancement. Something that catches my eye when I scan for evidence of worthiness, after all this time and energy.

    But there were no ladders yesterday. Just one long, devastating chute, swirling in mockery, to remind me of my mistakes, of my inferiority, of the hopelessness I am destined to find if I ever actually reach the finish line of this game.

    Here’s an interesting factoid: Just because we commit to change doesn’t mean that change is linear, and it certainly doesn’t mean that circumstances don’t interrupt the adjustments we are trying to make.

    So I want to be the type of person that isn’t offended when other people throw my past in my face. I want to be so settled in who I am, now, that I am unbothered by the opinions of other people.

    So far, no luck. Only chutes.

    I can resist the urge to outwardly react. I can ignore “in theory.” But my thoughts still straddle the fence between the knee-jerk reactions of Old Me and what I am trying to make those thoughts do now – which is basically dissolve with intention.

    “And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” Ephesians 4:23-24

    Nine months. Nine excruciating months of trying to take my thoughts captive. Nine months of honest, daily surrender. Forcing myself into exposure therapy. Sitting in sadness, loneliness, overthinking. Crying while folding laundry, because responsibilities don’t pause for breakdowns. Consistently and fervently praying, worshipping, reading…

    …all to land on a chute.

    Upon receipt of that second notification – which was received while I was still processing the first – my brain immediately switched back to autopilot.

    I am a terrible person. Everyone leaves me because I’m not worth a stay. And when they leave, they are all blessed. I am broken. I am the problem. I am irreversibly doomed.

    And as my thoughts gave in to the urge to berate me, I froze. No reading. No praying. No journaling. No chores. I didn’t even take a shower yesterday. Instead, I just accepted the fate I’d decided was inevitable in my mind. Because if notifications like that still wreck me after nine months of work, I am obviously not fixable.

    I think I made a list, a couple of months ago, of tangible, trackable changes I have made that “prove” that the work I am doing is paying off.

    But there was no such proof yesterday. Just reflexes and rumination and regret. I tossed and turned in bed until 1 a.m., reminding myself that I had wasted the day, until my own insults prompted exhaustion.

    And I woke up this morning, early, because I had a doctor’s appointment, still settled on last night’s offenses. I showered, almost involuntarily, and then applied just enough face and hair product to, while in public, avoid the comment, “You look tired.”

    As I left the house, I made a silent vow to myself: You will get through this day without falling apart.

    My 6 a.m. doctor’s appointment ended at 7. I grabbed an iced coffee before returning home, where I spent about an hour straightening up the house. I started a load of laundry, scrubbed the kitchen counters, washed the coffee pot, fluffed the living room pillows, and unboxed some packages I received in the mail yesterday. I placed an online grocery order. And I purchased for myself a Kindle for “Mother’s Day,” although I’d have probably ordered it regardless.

    I sipped my iced coffee while I worked. I made small talk with my husband. I snuggled the puppy.

    And as I received supplemental phone alerts this afternoon, I deleted them and blocked the sender – without overthinking the idea of a block button, and without clicking on the contents of the information that was sent to me. And while I do not generally equate “blocking” to boundaries, I felt it necessary this time, because I do not trust that I can “will” the restraint necessary to reject additional invitations to take a very low, very avoided-for-the-last-nine-months road…

    …because if yesterday provided any data, at all, as to my progress, there is obviously still evidence that certain areas of my past are still sensitive subjects.

    But today? Today I didn’t settle into that sensitivity. I paused…just long enough to make a better choice.

    And perhaps that’s exactly where growth happens…somewhere in the space between “thinking” and “doing.”