Kicking Fear in the Face--My Messy Beautiful

By Amy

I am so freakin excited to be part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project! This project celebrates the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback.  (PS...the book is fabulous.)

I love Momastery.  Glennon's goal of getting women to be real with each other, to support and encourage each other is what we strive for here at Swag on Momma!  There's too much on-the-surface perfection out there, and too little opening of hearts.  We are all a little broken and a little messy, but life is still beautiful!  Here's me opening my heart to you about my journey to overcome anxiety...my messy beautiful.


*This is a pic of me trying on my cousin's wedding dress...it kinda freaked me out to be wearing that.

Sometimes I struggle with fear.  Real fear.  The kind that paralyzes you and keeps you from your daily functions.  And the tricky thing about fear?  It likes to sneak up on me.  I'll be happily sailing along in life, for weeks, even months...then it will silently creep in.  Buta I always recognize it, cause one thing never changes: it always whispers to me, "You're not good enough."

Growing up, I was very outgoing and happy, involved in the Show Choir, Newspaper staff, leadership in my Church youth group, and co-president of the art club.  I spoke my mind, I loved people, and I probably seemed pretty confident.  Basically, I didn't seem like the kind of girl who was scared.  Now, I wasn't a fearful person in general...in fact, I specifically remember standing up to the guy who was the most powerful super jock in the school when he was being a jerk to a girl in our class.  (I might have said, "Guess what.  You are NOT that hot." which was maybe not the kindest way to handle it.)  I also sang a lead role in the high school musical with lots of solos...I was shaking scared, but I knew I could do it--and I did!

However, there were other times when fear overwhelmed me.

First, I feared math.  Lame, huh?  After years of struggling, my vague dislike for the subject became deeper and more intense.  I excelled in other subjects and was talented in art and choir--but when I was in a math room, the only way I saw myself was STUPID.  I asked myself again and again, "Why the heck can't I figure this out and everyone else can!? What is wrong with me?" During my junior year, it became full-blown anxiety--I couldn't even think clearly enough to try to hear, let alone follow the teacher's explanation.  I'd sit, drowning in my rising terror, filling my lined paper with drawings to keep from crying in class.  During work time, I'd try to ask the teacher for help, but I would inevitably get scolded for drawing and daydreaming.  I couldn't explain that I was only trying to cope with the churning pit of fear in my stomach and the tears that were always waiting just below the surface.  Math filled me with shame--it taught me that I wasn't smart enough.

My other big fear was dating/relationships.  In high school, I secretly crushed on SO many guys, but as soon as I was asked out on a date, I would panic.  Bad.  I didn't even have a reason to be so afraid--I never had any scarring experience to justify my terror.  But as the friend of many beautiful, flirty, outgoing girls who made guys drool, I just generally felt less-than.  Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not funny enough, not flirty enough...just not enough.  And after years of reiterating that to myself, I became irrationally afraid of being paired off with one boy, even just for a 3 hour-long-date, because surely he would quickly become bored of my company, and wish he was with any other girl.  So I avoided dating.  It was safer.  I would never have to face rejection from a boy.  I had lots of really good guy friends that I was comfortable with, but as soon as any of them started acting "weird" (if any boy complimented me or showed any interest) I would run.  Even if I liked him; especially if I liked him!

Once, I heard an older boy said I was cute.  Later, I saw him coming towards me while I was wandering through the halls during class.

 The hall was empty--just he and I.  Walking toward each other.

And I was about to DIE.  My stomach was climbing up my throat, my arms were going numb, and my mind was...non-functioning.

In my panic I stuck my head in a locker.  And, no, not my locker.  I still remember being horrified at myself, rooting around like I was looking for my Biology notebook in some stranger's un-locked locker, willing that boy to walk past without noticing me.  Oy.

In college, it grew worse--I would have full-on panic attacks when I was asked out.  Anxiety was keeping me from any serious relationships, though I had many amazing guy friends and had a ton of fun at school.  The problem was, I really wanted to someday find a guy who would more than "like" me.  I wanted someone to "cherish" me.  I don't know how I got stuck on this word, but that's what I wanted.  And we would get married, have a family, and laugh and enjoy a happy, simple, awesome life together.  Not that I ever acted like I wanted to love and be loved.  But, in reality, I longed for someone to love me best in the whole world.  I literally wept when Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe FINALLY ended up together.  I sighed in ecstasy in every Jane Austen book and movie.

But you can't exactly get married without dating anyone. (and...being a mail order bride didn't seem like a smart option.)

This fear was a mountain in front of me that I couldn't seem to climb.  And after a while, I stopped trying.  I literally planned something for every Friday and Saturday evening of the entire semester, so that when I was asked out, I could just say, "Oh I'm sorry, I already have plans that night."

It seemed like a good strategy, although some would judge me as being cruel to the poor boys who had scraped up the courage to ask me out.

But, I couldn't very well tell them, "Actually, no thanks, because I'll get so emotionally worked up from now until then, that I'll fight nausea and dread every day, and then the day of our date, my IBS and churning stomach will cause explosive diarrhea for hours. And then I'll cry and have one of my roommates call and cancel with you. Now, I need to function for the rest of this week--I have classes and homework, so lets both avoid some suffering by agreeing that you should not ask me out."  

I didn't think that would go over well.

So I continued to avoid facing the fear.

At the age of 21, I decided to serve a mission for my church.  As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (aka Mormon) many young people go on missions--I had always wanted to go and serve others, and hopefully help bring others closer to Christ.  After agonizing over the choice for a year (since I did not want to be going just for a convenient way to avoid dating and relationships for a year and a half) I was finally still enough to recognize and feel God's approval for my decision.

While serving a year and a half mission for my church, I learned a lot about facing fears.  As a 22 year old, I discussed religion with trained Ministers and Preachers, I faced off drunk dudes on the street, and I invited people to learn more about Christ who looked like they wanted to punt me over a fence.  Plus, I was far away from my family and home that entire time...quite a stretching experience for me!  I got to see and help others overcome HUGE struggles.  They taught me that, "Oh heck yes, people can do hard things."  During this time, the Lord was my one and only lifeline.  I was forced to face fears on a constant basis.  And, I was surviving!  I started BELIEVING what God had always been telling me...that I was His daughter with infinite worth.  That I was Enough.  Enough for Him to send His perfect Son to die for me.  I truly came to know that Christ would lift me and help me face any trial, any struggle and yes, ANY fear.

And I was so freaking sick of letting it control my life.  In fact, I was ready to kick fear right in the face and knock out some teeth.

When I got home I had a truly solid faith that with Heavenly Father's help I could accomplish anything, even DATING.  I wasn't about to let fear rob me of my goals and my future.

God knows me well--He sent me Patrick three weeks after I got home, when I was still in my peak of faith and gutsy-ness.  But it still was terrifying.  I prayed a heckofalot while starting to date my husband.  But, I didn't retreat!  It was a miracle!  I knew how good and fun and hilarious and kind this short, bald guy was (I never anticipated loving a guy with no hair! haha!) and OH, how I wanted to be brave!  I knew he was worth facing the fear.

God kept me moving forward, often reassuring me that He was with me.  I was always kind of waiting for the day that Patrick would see that I wasn't enough and then stop liking me.  But, he never did.  And he got a pretty realistic picture of my craziness!  I was such a weirdo and seriously awkward most of the time we dated.  Example: the first time we held hands, he actually held my fist, while I covered up my face in my jacket collar.  I told him to let go--he laughed and told me to relax--we'd been together everyday for a month...It was time to start holding hands!  A few months later, he attempted to kiss me two different times, but I flat out refused.  I knew I loved him and wanted to marry him, but...I was the oldest girl in the world with virgin lips!  What if I sucked at kissing!?!?  A few weeks later, it took ONE HOUR of coaxing before our actual first kiss, while he sat all leaned over from the diver's seat with me huddled against the car door on the passenger side, muttering crap like, "Let's just forget about it, ok?!"...hahaha...I can't believe his patience!  And, it turned out that I liked kissing once I got used to it!  I *ahem* REALLY like it.  On June 19, 2010 we were married.  Life is not perfect, but it is really happy and oh-so-good!

It was a relief to overcome the dating anxiety.  Nowadays, I am so much better at controlling my response to fear.  I still face the normal day-to-day insecurities, like everyone.  But, now and then, when I feel anxiety start to pull me under, I have to realise that once again, I've been listening and believing that old familiar whisper, "You're not good enough."  So over and over, I have to choose faith instead of fear.  I have to trust that God will be by my side, even when bad things happen.  There's beauty and joy and happiness in life, if I can choose to see it.  He can magnify my meager efforts.  Even if I am just hanging on for dear life, I am still enough.  I am His.

I had to choose faith as a newlywed when we struggled with adjusting to life as a couple.

I had to chose faith as a freshly graduated, shakin-in-my-boots first-year High school Art teacher.

I had to choose faith when I was in labor and my baby's heartbeat kept dropping, and I felt wild with panic...My mind cycled these two phrases over and over: "Faith not fear!" and "Father, please keep my baby safe!"  And, after lots of pushing, he arrived, cone-headed, swollen, and safe.

And I really had to choose faith in the first few weeks after his birth.  I was a wreck.  My babe had reflux, couldn't breastfeed, and cried and cried and cried.  So did I.  I felt myself once again sinking under fear and hopelessness...drowning in despair.  I didn't know what I was doing and I was so lonely in my house all day with this little person who was so angry.  His cries sounded in my mind like "You're a failure.  So much for a motherly instinct.  You can't even take care of a baby.  You really aren't good enough."  Over and over I pleaded for relief, and slowly, just like Christ lifted Peter from the waters of the sea, He lifted me.  When I struggled to find happiness, I had to earnestly CHOOSE to see the good.  I tried to recognize and focus on the beautiful moments I did have with my infant.   I forced myself to reach out to people and to go on walks.  I started this blog!  I vented and cried to my loving husband who helped as much as he could while both working full-time and going to school full-time.  And, we got through!  My son's reflux chilled out and I found my momma groove.  And we love our stinker so much!

And now, expecting baby numero dos, I have to choose faith.  A few months ago, I developed an extensive blood-clot in my leg and ended up spending a couple days in the hospital with a bright purple, enormous leg.  And now, I have to give myself blood-thinner shots twice a day for the rest of my pregnancy.  It sucks...but, it's ok.  Every time I get ready to give myself the shot, I look fear right in the face and say, "No.  You will not win.  I will do whatever it takes to keep myself and my unborn child healthy. "

And when I feel like a crappy mom cause I get frustrated with my toddler, I have to forgive myself, keep trying my best, and trust that the grace of God will make up the rest.  And when I see family and friends that I love struggle with illness, depression, addiction, disappointment, and trials, I start to feel crushing worry for them...but, I have to trust that they are in God's care.  I can reach out, serve, and love, but it's not in my power to save them--they already have a Savior!

I am not going to let fear dictate my choices and life.  And though I'm far from perfect at this and I have weak times, I'm trying.  And that is what our Father asks.  With His help, I am enough.

And you know what I truly believe?  YOU are enough, too.  You deserve a life full of joy.  YOU are worth everything.  I know that, because every one of us is His beloved and cherished child.  We're not perfect, but we are striving everyday.  The daily efforts are shaping us and helping us become more like the Savior.  And His grace will make our meager efforts enough.

Friends, whatever your hurdles, whatever you fear, remember, that with God's help, with loving family and friends, with courage, YOU can overcome.  Choose to live in faith.  Take risks for worthwhile goals.  Do things that you love, even if you aren't a pro.  And love.  Life will be SO much more full than if you spend your days cowering in the shadow of fear.  We can choose faith and send fear packing...after all, perfect love casteth out all fear.

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PS. How about you?  Have you ever dealt with anxiety?  What do you fear?  What do you do to fight the fear?  I'd love to hear. :)

Also, if you are new here at SOM, Welcome!!!  This is a place where we share stories, tips, ideas, and laugh our heads off!   It's a lot of fun...We'd love to have you join the party! :)  (Psst, that means you should go click the little "Like" or "Join this Site" buttons...don't be shy!)

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Young

By Amber
Introduced by Amy 

Amber and I were acquaintances in high school, then became good friends when we sang by each other in choir. (WOO WOO, altos!)  Amber was so cool: she was beautiful, friendly, kind, a dang good singer, and...really she was just more mature than most of us.  Not in a boring way--no, she just didn't get caught up in stupid high school drama.  I really liked that about her.  When I found out that she is the oldest in her family her maturity made sense; she probably helped in her home a lot growing up.  When I heard that Amber got married, I was like, "Dang!" cause I still felt young and SHE was in the grade below me!  But, I knew, if anyone could be a wife and mom at our age, Amber could. 

I saw her later when a few friends and I got together to preform a song in church back in our hometown; she was just as cool, fun, and pretty as ever--she was just a mom now too! 

I really appreciate Amber bravely opening up and telling her story, especially when many in society look down on those who marry young.  But as Amber said, you got to do what feels right no matter what others think!  She's still wise beyond her years.
-Amy

20 years young.  That’s how old I was when my husband and I decided to start our family.

I was even younger when we got married.  18 years and 6 months young to be exact.  What’s even more crazy, is that I didn’t think I was ‘that young’ at the time.  You hear people say all the time that when you fall in love, you just know.  I had no idea what they really meant, but after being on ONE date with my husband, a mere week after high school graduation, I knew I had caught the love bug.  We were married 6 months after our first date.

I could tell that a lot of people were stand-offish about me getting married at my age, but I didn’t even care.

Some friends could only say, 'Wow. You’re getting married?'  I would just smile and exclaim, 'YES! I’m SO excited!'

And I was.  I had never been happier.

Fast forward a year and a half, just a little after my 20th birthday.

One day after I got home from work, I decided to pee on yet another one of those silly sticks (I had gone through many in the 3-4 months prior), and my heart stopped.  And then it started racing at 100 miles per hour.  It was positive!  Was I seeing things?  No, it really was there!  We were pregnant!  I couldn’t contain my excitement and called my hubs right away.  The first thing he said was, "Are you sure? Try not to get too excited, okay?"

Don’t get excited? Ya right. Being a mom was the only thing I had ever wanted to be, and now it was happening.  Fast forward again to 4 weeks later. (I swear… those weeks you have to wait until you go to your first prenatal checkup are killer!)  My poor hubby had gotten a stomach bug and said he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make it to the appointment.  Honestly, I was a little disappointed.

Luckily, my awesome mom was able to get off work early and come with me.  I was so nervous with butterflies that I couldn’t even think straight.  At that time, my doctor’s office was in the hospital, and well, I got lost.  So lost, that they had to send a nurse out to find me.  Haha.  Seriously, I was a mess!

Well, we finally got back and it was time for the ultrasound.  I actually remember not wanting to look at the screen thinking I would jinx myself or something.  Then then I heard it.  It was a sweet, beautiful, perfect sound.  I looked over and there ‘it’ was.  My baby.  Our baby.  All I could do was smile because I think if I had actually tried to say anything, I would have started blubbering uncontrollably.

The following months rushed by and soon we were getting ready to meet our baby boy a week before his due date.  I had went in for a regular checkup, and after running some tests, my doctor throws the door open and says, "We need to induce you now. Which hospital did you want to deliver at so we can tell them you are on your way?" After 24 hours of labor and a long horrible hour of hard pushing, we was finally here!

I remember the pure joy I felt when my doctor placed him on my belly.  I wanted to kiss him and hold him and never let him go.  The pure happiness and joy that I felt when I had got married had multiplied by a million.

Although I was ‘young’ according to the outside worlds’ standards, I never felt too young or overwhelmed by having to grow up so fast.  I’m not trying to say that I was supermom and say that I never got tired or never cried, but I truly felt that being a mom was what I was meant to do.  That’s what kept me going through all of the continuous feedings and endless crying, and I wouldn’t change any of it for all of the riches in the world.

Our little guy is now 5 years old and now has a 2 year old sister, so I’m definitely not ‘young’ anymore.

People still get a shocked look on their face when we tell them how young we were when we got married and started having kids, but when you know it’s right for YOU, just go with it.

Everyone is different.  For others it may not be right to marry young--that's ok too!

My philosophy: don’t let others get you down for your decisions, and don’t judge others for theirs. :)
 - Amber

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Thanks, Amber!  Isn't she cool?  I am amazed by how she does what she feels is right, and doesn't let the criticizers sway her.  She amazes me too, cause I was needed a lot more time than her to grow up before I was ready to get married!  I still felt young and unprepared when I had a baby, and I had 6 years on her! :)  But, that's probably every first-time mom, regardless of age.  Things are much better now, but, oh, that first night home from the hospital...YIKES. That was a cold dose of reality for me!  Ha!

How about you?  How old were you when you got married or started a family?  Did others question your choice if you were young?  If you were older, did you get pressure from others, for NOT being married?  We'd love to hear from you. :)

PS. Google reader croaked, so be sure to follow SOM on Bloglovin', Feedly, or what ever you use to hear more awesome stories from ladies just like you!  (Wondering how?  Just click the link two sentences above and sign up for a Bloglovin account, or click the happy little button up at the top of this blog!  I just switched over to Bloglovin, myself...it was pretty simple and painless, thank goodness.)  

Also, please show your love and support, by "liking" Swag on momma on Facebook.  (Oh, look at that! There's also a handy little button for that too, up on the side of the blog! :)   ALL are welcome to join the par-TAY!  THANK YOU, FRIENDS!

And, last of all, if you'd like to share a story here, please do!  I'll love you forever! :)   Check out the button (It says, "wanna contribute?") on the side of the blog for details.  I'm excited to hear from you! :)
-Amy

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From Hell to Heaven: Giving Love a Second Chance

By Kendra
Introduced by Amy

Kendra and I were both Art Ed majors at college, and we were hired by the school to teach a beginning art class for college students.  Teaching with Kendra was a breeze: she was easy-going and kind, and we worked easily together.  I didn't know at the time, but she was going through some really rough stuff.  Several times, I did notice that she seemed lost in her thoughts and distant...but she hid her trouble well.  It wasn't until later, at our graduation, I noticed on the grad program that her last name was different.  I wondered what had happened and if she was alright...but, I didn't want to pry, plus, it was not a good time for questions, with family and friends all around.  It was so fun to see her again and take pictures in our caps and gowns.  After that day, I kept worrying about my friend, but didn't know if she wanted to talk about what had happened.  

Fast forward about a year and a half.  I was teaching art at a jr. high and high school, hugely pregnant, and hugely worried.  I loved my job, but soon realized that I was too overwhelmed to manage a sub during my maternity leave then continue teaching after I had a baby (which turned out to be SO good, cause Hayden was not an easy baby).  However I didn't want to leave my school in the lurch.  I'd been praying about the situation for a while, then one day Kendra came to my mind.  I contacted her, not knowing if she had a teaching job already or even if she lived in Idaho any more.  And, miracle: she had a job, but wanted a different one, and she lived close enough to make it work!  She interviewed, was hired, and saved me!  While I was packing my stuff in the classroom, she came to set up.  Then, I asked her about her divorce.  She told me her story, and I was so relieved to know that, in the end, my friend was so happy!  She deserves it.  I asked her to share this with you, knowing that you would feel inspired too.

This may seem like a strange post for Valentines day, but we all know that true love is much more than roses and chocolate (though they're nice!).  Healthy, real-life love is not perfect, it takes effort from both sides, compromise, and patience...but it can be wonderful, fulfilling, and amazing--and real love is always worth whatever effort and patience it takes to find and then keep. 

So, if you hate Valentines day (because you have been hurt and now feel like love is a lost cause) this story is for you.   Or, if you're celebrating this day with the one you love--this story is for you, too!  I know it made me appreciate the love that I have, and I hugged my husband, Patrick, a little tighter after reading this.  And for those who are single and full of hope for love in your future, read this...Kendra's road was SO hard, but like she found: real love is worth the journey!

Thank you Kendra for opening your heart to us.
-Amy

I’m divorced. 

It used to be my scarlet letter, a brand that I thought everyone could see the minute they met me. That’s the funny thing about guilt; it lingers for a long time until one day you decide it isn't worth keeping around. 

I can testify that love and time truly does heal broken hearts. In my mind, the completion of my divorce marked the beginning of a life sentence of guilt and shame. I knew everyone was secretly thinking the worst about me and I didn't blame them. I was a failure. I had failed at keeping my marriage together and making my husband love me. I could physically feel the pain and heartache. I still remember crying to a point where I felt hollowed out, empty, devoid of life, a miserable shell. 

There was a point in my engagement where I knew what I was doing was wrong. However, pride would not allow me to go through the humiliation of calling off a wedding. I’d heard of people making marriages work all the time; I convinced myself that we would do just that. I smiled and drowned myself in flowers, lace, and tulle to muffle out the sickness and nagging doubt. My wedding was beautiful, everything I’d dreamed it to be. We married in an LDS temple. If you don’t know, Mormons take marriage very seriously. To sum it up simply, civil marriages are performed for time only, meaning the couple is together for their time on this earth ("Till death do us part"). However, our belief is that temple marriages are for time and eternity and families can be together forever. It’s a very permanent, serious, and sacred thing. 

There was a point in our honeymoon that I remember distinctly. I looked at him and realized I had marriage a stranger. If I was a good writer I would be able to succinctly describe to you the emptiness and loneliness of that marriage. To sum it up it in one word: silence. I feel I should capitalize that word. It felt like a proper noun. I think the loudest silences are those that are filled with everything that has been said—said wrong, said thousands of times. It happens when fighting becomes the condition rather than the exception and the only option is a silent retreat. Silence happens when voices are hoarse, trust breaks down, and communication dies. Our neighbors could never look me in the eye. I knew our relationship was sick. I was depressed, on the verge of suicidal. We met with bishops and counselors. I prayed, cried, prayed, and cried. I did what was right for me: I stepped out. 

My parents knew little of what was taking place and my heart swells with love when I think of how they stepped up, their hearts breaking as well, to help me in my time of crisis. There is a special place in heaven for my parents. Going home was like a breath of fresh air. 

I am not going to pretend that it wasn't the worst time in my life. However, I knew that my Savior loved me beyond my understanding. I was his daughter and he would take care of me. I know that if He had told me to stay and work it out, it would have worked. He has the power to heal broken and sometimes seemingly irreparable things, but in the case of my marriage it wasn't to be. 

I left my ex-husband NEVER wanting to get married again. I would be happy being alone and never having someone hurt me like that again. I was bitter towards men. Bitter for having hopes, dreams, wishes, thoughts smashed and destroyed by someone that I thought loved me. Bitter for becoming a tool not a wife. Bitter for all the promises of blissful marriage that I'd been promised that I'd never had a glimpse of. Simply, I was a big hateful mess. 

My Savior knows me well. It wasn't a week after I moved into a new apartment that I met a boy at a church activity. I remember that first night he wouldn't stop staring at me from across the gym. I need a friend badly and he seemed to be up for the job. I word vomited all over that poor man. All my secrets, fears, and dirty laundry, all the terrible, awful things I thought about myself were flung into his face. I dared him to stay around; I encouraged him to run away. That angelic man stayed. He and Heavenly Father worked together to help me make sense of the whole mess. He reminded me of what hope was. He helped soften my heart to feel love again. I stopped living with the “what if” and started living with the “what now?” I decided to stop hating myself. 

Every night since that first talk I have thanked Heavenly Father for him and I plan on doing so for the rest of eternity. 

Love can surprise us all. The people in our lives are there for a reason. You may not have a significant other, but take joy in having a friend or family member that cares. Dave was my best friend before I ever saw him in a romantic light. Falling in love surprised us both. 

We got married little over a year ago in the Idaho Falls Temple. When I was told that together we were creating an eternal family, I have never been so happy. I am not going to say that I didn’t have a few qualms about getting married for the second time. But imaging my life without Dave was scarier than anything I’d experienced before. I have not been disappointed. Our marriage is a blessing. Every day we laugh. Every day we say “I love you” and mean it. Every day he reminds me how special I am to him. And my favorite part is the talking, there is no foreboding silences. We plan a future. That may not seem like that big of a deal, but when your only experience with marriage is trying to get through the day without a fight, it’s refreshing to know that you have a definite future with someone. There are no doubts. 

I’m head over heels in love with my husband. He is wonderful, kind, and caring. He listens. He doesn’t judge. He loves me unconditionally. And when he looks at me, I know that to him I am worth more than the greatest treasures in the world. There is not an ounce of disapproval from him. Everyone deserves to be looked at this way. 

I have always felt weird saying that I am grateful for my divorce, but I’m not sure I would appreciate the intricate details of an amazing marriage without having gone through hell. When I look at what Dave and I have, the heartache to get to this point seems completely worth it. There is always pain in life. Divorce hurts. As do other sufferings. I made some wrong choices. I felt a lot of hurt. I felt hopeless, worthless, and miserable. However, there is always hope. There is always someone who loves you and willing to show you the way. I learned to love myself, to find strength, to pray and listen, and to trust more fully. Be thankful for where you are in your journey and for those in your life that love you. 

Today I am completely whole.

-Kendra

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You Had Me at "Shut Up."

 By Kristina

Jordan and I met in Sunday School. It was incredibly romantic and tenderly sweet. I was teaching the class, and it was the first Sunday of the semester. Everyone was new, and excited to meet each other. The menfolk were on the prowl for perspectives. Jordan was definitely a part of that. I had made a general comment or two about calming and quieting down. For the most part, it worked. The only person who didn't listen was some punk of a guy sitting in the back row, chatting it up with anything in a skirt. It was irritating. I started my lesson anyway, thinking this guy would get the clue. But he didn't. And it was infuriating. 
Finally, I'd had enough. I pointed to him all the way in the back and said, "Hey you. What's your name?" 
"Jordan." he replied with a grin. He was sure I was into him (or so I believe.) 
"Jordan." I replied. "Shut up." 

And with that, I went back to teaching my lesson. That smirk was long gone, and my sweet husband now admits to going home and asking his roommates, "What was up that teacher's butt??" 

Classy, I know. 

Somehow, we transitioned from that introduction, to a few months later waiting for appointments and chatting. Chatting lead to pizza, pizza lead to dates, dates lead to smooching. And now, almost three years later, it's all lead to marriage, and a baby, and a house. And a dog. We must never forget the dog, no matter how cute said baby is. 

Our first picture together.

The day of our first kiss..(after showers of course.)

And if that isn't the love story of the century, I don't know what is.

-Kristina 

Check out Kristina's Intro and first SOM post: "Breaking into the Baby-Making Business"

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Our Rediculous (But Lovely) Love Story

-By Amy

 *source: Alyssa Ballou Photography (Patrick's sister...isn't this pic amazing?! Thank you, Alyssa!)

Now you know that all through high school, I avoided dating (read about that here), though I secretly I liked A LOT of boys.  In college, it grew worse-I would have full-on panic attacks when I was asked out.  Anxiety was keeping me from any serious relationships, though I had many amazing guy friends and had a ton of fun at school.  

The problem was, I really wanted to someday find a guy who would more than "like" me.  I wanted someone to "cherish" me.  I don't know how I got stuck on this word, but that's what I wanted.  And we would get married, have a family, and laugh and enjoy a happy, simple, awesome life together.  Not that I ever acted like I wanted to love and be loved...I openly mocked all things cheesy and lovey-dovey.  (Jane Austen movies don't count...they are FAR from silly or cheesy.)  But, here's the catch: you can't exactly get married without dating anyone. (and...being a mail order bride didn't seem like a smart option.) 

I was just so afraid.

While serving a year and a half mission for my church, I learned a lot about facing fears.  I mean, at the young age of 22, I discussed religion with trained Ministers and Preachers, I faced off drunk dudes on the street, and I invited people to learn more about Christ who looked like they wanted to punt me over a fence.   Plus, I was away from my family that whole time...quite a stretching experience for me!  When I got home I knew that it was time to face the fear, and I knew that with Heavenly Father's help I could accomplish anything, even DATING.

So, three weeks after returning, I was back at college.  Walking into my new apartment, feeling nervous, excited and determined not to act like an awkward, recently returned missionary (picture me as Smalls on the Sandlot muttering to myself..."Don't be a goofus, Don't be a GOOFUS!"), I met my new roommate, Whitney, and her friend Patrick.  Honestly, that first meeting is not very memorable to me; I had a lot on my mind (buying books, picking a room, starting classes, etc).  I do remember the second time I saw Patrick.  There were lots of people over that Sunday evening, and for a few minutes he and I talked about our missions.  While we talked, I remember getting a brief, but strong feeling that he was a good person and that I could trust him.  I could just tell.  I immediately thought, "Ok...that was random," and thought nothing more of it.

Patrick hung around our apartment all the time with Whitney.  Funny--she was the best friend of the girl he was writing while she served her mission in Africa.  Whitney and Patrick had become good friends while he liked her best friend, so now he hung out with her while avoiding dating, patiently awaiting her friend's return.  

Patrick, Whitney and I! 

I saw him all the time and we became good friends.  It was so fun to be around him and we talked about our missions all the time, cause that is ALL I could talk about. (Come on, I had just gotten home--what do you expect?!)  Over time we started talking about more than just our missions.  We talked about our families, about our classes, who we liked, and everything else.  But all of this was with Whitney and my other roomies around. Whenever my roommates left the room, I would peace-out too.  Even though he was just my friend, it was still scary for me to be around a boy alone. 

After a while, I started to notice how often I thought about him or wondered when he would come over to our apartment--but I brushed it off.  We were just really good friends, right?  I loved to be around him.  He was chill and cool.  We both liked to dance, and he had some SKILLS.  A white guy who was good at Hip Hop?  Impressive.  We were both into music--I love to sing--he could play the guitar AND piano...double swoon.  (BOYS, a word of advice...learn to play the piano or the guitar and use these shamelessly on the girl you want to woo.  She will be wooed.)   

Plus, I think I was in denial because I was afraid, and he was just SO different than what I had in mind as my "type".  I had told my friends and roomies in the past that what I looked for in a guy, as far as looks went, was height and hair.  He had to be tall and he had to have GREAT hair. (I'm sure those who know Patrick are laughing right now.)  And...well, Patrick was barely 2 inches taller than me and...bald.  I'm not talking thinning, I mean...bald.  Also, he was 2 years younger than me, and I wanted to marry a guy a bit older than me, just about to finish school so we would graduate around the same time. 

But, on the other hand, he fit every other characteristic that I wanted, and those were the important ones.  He was fun, considerate, smart, hard-working, he didn't flirt with girls and lead them on just for kicks (oooh...that was my pet peeve.) and I knew he was a good person who cared about following God.  Most of all, he was kind.  He looked to other people's needs and tried to help however he could, whether that was giving someone a ride, helping a stranger change their tire, or explaining a math problem.  He really listened and cared about people. 

The moment I realized 100% that I liked Patrick, my roomies and I were having a Nacho Libre party.  It was my idea, (I LOVE that movie...don't hate!) and I invited a boy from one of my classes (I told you I was still in denial about Patrick) who had asked me on a date--YIKES.  I wasn't ready for a date yet, so I deflected by asking him to the party that my roommates and I were having (then went home and informed my roommates that we were having a party...ha).  He was tall, good-looking, and had lots of hair.    

So, before hair-boy got to the party, I was a nervous psycho.  And...horror, we couldn't get the DVD player hooked up.  Of course, Patrick was there, and he was working on the DVD situation.  He ran back, not once, but twice to his apartment to get different cords to try.  I watched him on the floor in front of the tv, muttering about the stupid cords, trying to help us get our party started.  It was pretty funny and so nice that he was working so hard.  Then, all of a sudden, I thought, "I think I love that guy."  

WHAT?!

I couldn't believe I had just thought that!  Where the crap did that come from?  We were just friends!  Right?  I sat in stunned silence, trying to sort through the weirdness in my mind. Then I realized that I really didn't care if hair-boy came.  Actually, I kind of hoped he wouldn't.  But then he did.  

As we all watched the movie, I kept eyeing Patrick, wishing I was next to him, my thoughts a jumbled, frenzied mess: "Does he like me, too?  OH, please like me too!  I think he glanced this way....Wait, you floosy, he's got a flippin' missionary!  And she is Whitney's best friend!  What do I do?  Should I tell him?  Oh my gosh, I am going to puke."  This whole time I was trying to act normal and attentive to the guy I had invited, trying to make the appropriate responses as he flirted with me.  Poor guy, I just wanted him to go away so I could think.

The night ended and I didn't puke.  I didn't tell anyone about liking Patrick, but--oh blessed day--I did find out that one of my roommates asked him if he liked me (she had been getting suspicious) and he told her that he did.  (I found out later that he got PRETTY jealous at the Nacho Libre party seeing me with hair-boy and that's when he realized how much he liked me...haha, good ol' jealousy...thank you hair-boy!)  I was ecstatic.  And, freakin' terrified.  I had always liked from afar, and I had NEVER had a boyfriend.  I didn't know what happened when the liking was mutual!  What was I supposed to do next?

I managed to act halfway normal around him, keeping my feelings for him hidden.  It seemed that realizing I liked him suddenly made me notice 100 times more how much I did!  I was seeing him new...and he was so cute--especially his bright blue eyes (man, I am laughing at my cheesiness as I write this, but it is true!  I was stinkin' nuts about him!)  But I still didn't know what to do.  I actually lost close to 5 lbs during this time.  I was so worried I actually felt nauseated, making it really hard to eat!  (Ha--that changed when we started dating...I mean, that boy can COOK!)

A few days later, while Patrick was at my apartment, I was seeking advice from my roommates and telling them about a guy who liked me, but I just wanted to be friends, and he took my friendliness to mean that I was interested.  Patrick was listening in to this story; he was being super quiet, then abruptly he said that he had to go, and left.  I wondered why?  Then one of my roommates asked me privately in her room if I told that story as a message to him.  "OH GREAT." I thought, "I like this guy SO much and now he thinks that I just like him as a friend because of that stupid story."  It was crazy because he believed the complete opposite of what was true; I actually liked him SO much.  And I was crushed.  I thought I had blew my chance, that he now thought of me as a jerk who leads guys on.  

I started bawling--on my roommates bed--blubbering like some fool.  I couldn't stand it.  I couldn't lose HIM!  He was so fun and good and kind and...perfect.  Not really perfect, but... ya know, perfect for me.  And, it felt so different from any other time I had liked a guy.  

I spent a sleepless night, freaking out and praying for peace and guidance.  Then I realized at, like 3 am, that I had to talk to him.  I literally felt compelled, in a way I never had, that I had to make a move.  I understood that if I chose him, then I was going to have to be brave--more brave than I had EVER been--and I had to talk to him to fix this situation.  And...OHHH boy, was I scared.  But, I knew that Patrick was worth facing the fear.  I just stared up in the dark thinking about him, trying to grow the courage I would need the next day.  I planned out what to do and say, then, satisfied, I fell asleep, asking God, "Please, just don't let Patrick think I'm a jerk."

The next day, I confessed to Whitney, who laughed and wasn't mad, as I had worried.  She handed me her phone, and with trembling hands, I called him.  In a rush I said, "This is Amy, will you meet me on the bottom floor of the art building tonight at 11:00?"  He said he would and I hung up.

That evening, as I worked on my painting, eyeing the clock the whole time, I was FREAKING OUT.  For real.  I was trying to control the rising terror inside of my body.  Remember this was ALL new to me.  My mouth was dry, my hands were shaking, (my painting looked like crap, by the way...) Because I was about to explode, I rambled out the whole story to my art buddy.  He told me to buck up and quit being chicken--I'm paraphrasing.  So at 10:59, I glanced at my friend, he gave me a thumbs up while laughing at my pale face, and I started down the three flights of stairs.  

Each step echoed in the stair well as I stepped down...one. at. a. time.  I kept getting slower and slower, but I willed my feet to keep going.  With every step I repeated those words like a mantra,  "He's worth facing the fear." and then prayed, "Please, Heavenly Father, don't let me puke."  My head hurt SO bad and my stomach churned.  But I knew I had given him the wrong idea, and I needed to fix this.  At the bottom, I saw him waiting and I said, "Follow me."  We got in my car and began to drive on the country roads outside of Rexburg.

We talked and I calmed down.  He was just Patrick!  And he was my friend.  And...I decided not to bring anything up.  

And then, with that darn straightforwardness of his, he said, "So, why did you want me to meet you?"  I took a breath and said, "I need to apologize to you."  Then, he looked sick.  I blurted out, "That story, it..uh..wasn't some kind of subliminal message.  Ok?"  After a pause he said, "I don't want to be like that guy."  And I told him that he wouldn't be, but that he needed to be patient with me.  And he told me he didn't mind being patient.  And I don't think I looked at him that whole car ride until that moment.  He had a big smile on his face.  Gosh, my heart was going to explode.  I was elated and on the edge of passing out.  (Good thing I had pulled over by then in front of his complex.)

Then I said, "But I don't want you to hug me." (real smooth, huh?)  He laughed and got out of the car, waving as he walked to his apartment.

When I got home, I was shaking from all the tension in my body.  I flopped on my bed and screamed into my pillow for probably a full two minutes.  Whitney just kept laughing and laughing.  I stopped, and she asked how it went.  And..I started screaming into my pillow again.  I had just done THE boldest thing I had ever done.  In my life.  

So, after that, we kept hanging out and I was so awkward I literally couldn't look at him or sit next to him for a while.  He was SO patient.  And I prayed for courage every day.  Literally.  

While dating, when I could finally let him put his arm around me.

The weird thing was, it wasn't commitment I was scared of--I already knew I wanted to marry him--but I was SUPER scared of all the physical stuff.  I mean, come on, I had never had a boyfriend, so of course I was v.l. (virgin lips) and felt like the average middle schooler had more experience than me.  Also, the old fears would start bugging me: what if he stops liking me?  What if gets tired of me?  What if it ends up that I'm not pretty enough, funny enough, or good enough?  What if he gets tired of being patient and starts liking someone else?  

But he didn't.  And every time I got worried, he reassured me again. 

Holy cow, was I an idiot in love.  I couldn't think straight.  And the tallest man with the fullest head of hair could have walked up to me and proposed and I would have said, "Get away, fool.  You're not Patrick."  I loved him so much.  But, it was still scary to go against the way I'd thought and acted for years, so he had to help me take baby steps.

First we went on a date.  Then, after a month of seeing each other every day, we finally held hands.  (Ok, he held on to my fist while I freaked out.)  

And then, a month after that, I told him I loved him.  With a stocking cap pulled over my entire head.  Yep, down past my chin.  And I threatened to get out of the car if he tried to kiss me.  

Then, a month after that, we kissed for the first time after an hour (no exaggeration) of me huddled up on my side of the car saying, "I just can't.  I just can't.  Let's just forget about it, ok?"  But, he wouldn't let me.  My Patty-man had the perfect amount of persistence and patience.  

Shoot, after I got used to that, I liked all that physical stuff.  Haha! 

At times I would get worried and think, "Did I make the right choice here?"  But, I knew that God had helped me from the very beginning to know that I was safe with him.  And it wasn't Heavenly Father saying, "Here is the man you are to marry.  Now marry him."  No, it was my choice.  I chose him, and thank goodness, I felt God's approval.  

So, he proposed, I almost passed out, and after being silent for 5 mintues, I squeaked out a yes.  

And we got married.

What a crazy miracle.  I, Amy, the freaked-out, scared of relationships, avoider-of-dates, am now married...and I have a baby, too!  Sometimes I see people from high school and they say, "Wow, you are married!  How did that happen?"  Haha...yep, it blows me away too.  

Our first married Hallwoeen...Gangstas...Ohhh yeah.

Our two-year Anniversary!  And some Blow-your-mind-delicious cake...

And, I love Patrick.  Our life and relationship has bumps like everyone's, but it just keeps getting better.   We laugh so much and I still love to talk to him, and just be with him.  When he holds me, I feel Heaven, ya know?  Like, I finally understand what it means to be compelety understood and loved despite my flaws; I feel....cherished.  I know everything will always work out.  We will work through anything and support each other forever.  

With our brand new baber, Hayden. *source: Alyssa Ballou Photography

I feel so dang lucky, so blessed, and even now, some days I look at him or cuddle up with him and our sweet little baby and think, "I get THIS?  This is for me?"  I can barely believe it.

Christmas Morning!  And, Hayden eating his hand.

My sweet little fam.  *source: Sherie McDaniel (my sister...thanks Sher Bear! Ha!)

So that's our story.  I know it was long, but it means so much to me, and I wanted to share it, cause there are others who feel hopeless or like failures, whether in love, school, their careers...or in any other part of life.  But, it's not true.  I remember being convinced in the deepest time of my anxiety that I was un-lovable.  But, that was not faith speaking, just fear.  

And I don't know how each of your lives will progress, but keep hoping and trying and facing fears.  You gotta start moving forward and keep moving, doing all that you can do.  

Don't let fear paralyze you.

Cause for the best things in life--it's worth facing the fear.  

-Amy

P.S. At some point while we were dating, he wrote the girl on her mission to let her know that he was dating me.  I always worry about the one who got hurt in every love story, but it all ended well, cause she's happily married now, too!  

P.P.S. Ok, now it's YOUR turn to spill:  Were (are) you scared to date/get married?  What were (are) your fears?  If you've overcome them, how did you do it?  I would really love to hear from you.

P.P.P.S.  I must admit I feel a little exposed sharing this story.  Your comments would be appreciated, so I don't feel like I just spilled my guts into an empty room.  Thanks, friends! 

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My Dysfunctional Love Past

By Amy

Being February--in the spirit of Valentines Day and all--Next week will be the week of sharing ridiculous love stories here on SOM.  But, before we get to all the LUV, I feel the need to tell you about the sordid (ha!) details of my love history. 

In the beginning, I liked one boy at a time, for long periods of time.  But, I NEVER wanted anyone to know, especially the boy I liked. 

I am the second from the left.  See, those glasses doomed me to grow into an awkward person. 

I liked one boy from kindergarten to 5th grade (and to prove I didn't like him, I beat the crap out of him daily on the playground until 3rd grade...but it's ok, I've apologized, he's graciously forgiven me, we are both happily married--so that proves I didn't permanently scar him, right?).  Then, I liked a new boy all through middle school (I didn't beat up this kid, but I avoided him like he had the plague...and leprosy...all the while adoring him from a distance).

Then I hit Jr. High and High school.  

And went boy crazy.  

But, here's the kicker, I don't think anyone knew!  I still NEVER wanted anyone to know who I liked, so played this "boy-basher" role.  Here's the logic: If everyone thought I valued cute boys as scum-of-the-earth, then the thought wouldn't cross their mind that I might super-like one of them; hence no teasing, no awkwardness, no stupid situations.  I would never have to face rejection from a boy...I wouldn't have to worry about not being good enough, not pretty enough, funny enough, flirty enough, etc for a boy to like me.  So, I projected a perfect, "I couldn't care less" attitude.  

But, in my head, I was boy-crazy.  People who knew me then, may not believe it, but it is true.  Here's a sample of the boys I liked:

The sarcastic, funny boys that I was friends with, but always secretly hoped that they would like me back; the older jock; the boy in choir who had A VOICE; the older brother of my friend who was worshiped by the general population of females; the dark, brooding boys in my art classes who designed tattoos; the shy, sweet boys who made me melt; the nerdy but witty boys who no girls appreciated...And don't forget the infinite number of boys who stood in awkward awe of my beautiful friends, who joked around with me or begged for any information: "Does she like me?" 

I should clarify, I had lots of really good guy friends that I was comfortable with, but as soon as any of them started acting "weird" (if any boy complimented me or showed any interest) I would run.  Even if I liked him; especially if I liked him!  

Once, I heard an older boy said I was cute.  Later, I saw him coming towards me while I was wandering though the halls during class (I remember doing that a lot...hmmm). 

The hall was empty--just he and I.  

Walking toward each other.  

I was about to DIE.  My stomach was climbing up my throat, my arms were going numb, and my mind was...non-functioning.

In my panic I stuck my head in a locker.  And, no, not my locker.  I still remember being horrified at myself, rooting around like I was looking for my math notebook in some stranger's un-locked locker, willing that boy to walk past without noticing me.  Yeah, pathetic.  And highly awkward.  

This is a pic from my study abroad trip to Europe.  My friends and I met an Australian guy who worked at the hostel we stayed at.  My friends thought I should get a pic with him.  I am blushing.  And HIGHLY uncomfortable.  Can you tell?  HAha..

I had several crushes in college.  But, by this time of weird relationship avoidance, I had some major anxiety about dating, and I would get physically sick if a guy asked me out.  So, I kept up the long-distance liking.  The main guy I liked in college was Bobby.  (Bobby, if you ever read this, just take this as a compliment and don't be weird-ed out.)  He was a really cool guy, kind of quiet, nice, and funny.  I probably spoke to him a total of ten times, though I was around him a lot.  We were in the same ward at church.  Once I heard he wanted to ask me on a date; I walked around stunned--half ecstatic that he knew I existed and half afraid that he would actually would ask me out.  I was convinced that if he did, I would just tip over dead.  He never did, so I escaped a tragic and early death.

Well, at least SOMEONE is more awkward with boys than me.  This is my sister, Sherie's, hilarious daughter, Livi, being Junice from SNL for Halloween.  WHAT?!  You don't know who Junice is? Check out it out HERE.

And...this is freakin' embarrassing, but since I'm laying everything out here on the table (er...screen), I will share the poem I wrote on Valentines Day 2005, about Bobby.  And, it's pretty much a work of literary genius, so...enjoy:

I have a new hobby, it's thinking about you, Bobby. 
I watch for you daily in the Taylor lobby. 
I like you better than buttered corn on the cobby. 
To spend time with you, Hey, I'd quite my jobby!
So, you be my Mufasa, and I'll be your Sarabi. 
What do you say, Will you be mine, Bobby?  

Stunning poem, right?  I never gave it to him.  (HA...Thank goodness...it's super creepy.)  But my roommates and I laughed pretty hard.

There was only one boy in high school or college who I liked and was able to function around; I felt safe with him.  He was smart and kind, quiet, but fun, wholesome and good.  I  admired and looked up to him.  We went to a dance together in high school, and he liked me too, in a very non-obvious way (his friends told me he did...so jr, high, I know!)  He came to the musical I sang a few solos in.  My heart skipped several beats as I stood on stage singing, when I saw him sneak into the back row of our tiny high school theater.   We were never actually boyfriend/girlfriend (I didn't want that in high school) but we stayed good friends through college.  We wrote each other during the time that we both served as missionaries for our church, and I appreciated his letters.  They were encouraging and uplifting and made me laugh.  Now and then I wondered, "Will I marry him?" And then, right before I came home, he told me he was moving away to go to graduate school the week before my return.   When I read that sentence, I was a little sad, but I remember calmly thinking, "Well, that's that.  If we were going to get married, it would have worked out."  I realize now that it wasn't real "I'm in LOVE" love; it was more admiration and friendship mixed with a crush.  But I'll always be grateful to him for his friendship and for helping me see that I could like someone without flipping out.

So no, I didn't marry him.  We went separate ways, and I went back to college, determined to stop acting like a crazy person, and to date like a civilized human being.

When two people THIS awkward meet, it's gotta be love.  Haha, don't we look 14?

But how, you ask, did I go from a terrified, anxiety-ridden relationship avoider to meeting, dating, then marrying the Amazing Patrick Graham?  

That, my friends, is my favorite story.  Read his debut in the second half of my love saga here!  

-Amy

P.S. Ummmm....Please don't ask me for specifics of who these crushes were. 

P.P.S. People who knew me in High School, did I seem as crazy as I think I was? 

P.P.P.S. Did YOU do anything crazy around any of your crushes?  Yes?  Please Tell!  I LOVE awkward stories.  HA!

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