The Girl in the Porcelain Doll

college, friendship, God, illness, life, love

If I had a dollar for every time someone commended me on being “strong”, I’d be a very rich woman.

In our society, being strong means balancing everything and everyone without breaking a sweat.

It means sleep deprivation and a borderline serious addiction to coffee.

It means meeting deadlines, no matter the cost to your sanity; or relationships.

It means not falling apart when you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sometimes I feel like a girl trapped inside a porcelain doll. I can feel myself beginning to crack; trying to escape this emotional prison, but I patch myself up time and again, for the fear that if I shatter, who will be there to pick up the pieces?

If I fall apart, who will hold the others together?

If I’m not Superwoman, who’s going to save the day?

But I’m not Superwoman.

I’m just a woman.

Sometimes, I just can’t withstand the pressure.

Sometimes, those few little cracks happen in the right places, and I can’t tape them back together; I shatter.

Sometimes, I’m PMSing with a stomach bug, missing deadlines, can’t clean my apartment, don’t have energy for love or friendship, and go through a great loss.

The mind is a fragile, terrifying, beautiful place. It is the entirety of you; it is the seat of your soul.

My mind is frazzled. My mind is tired of hiding emotions that I push aside because, “I just don’t have time to fall apart right now.”

My soul is tired. It’s tired of straining to hold up the mask .

My mouth is weary. It cannot utter the words, “I’m fine,” one more time.

So this is me being honest. This is me falling apart. This is me crying out the tears that have been burning a whole sitting in my stomach. This is me pouring out the emotions that have turned to bile and started to poison my heart.

This is me breaking free from my porcelain frame.

This is being strong.

 

 

 

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24 Hours

family, life, love

We are all at once alive in one day,

and we die in one day.

Our entire lives can change in one day,

or they can stay the same in that same amount of time.

Within those 24 hours we have the power to love, hurt, give life, or take it away.

Everyday is a new step into the inevitable. Into the unknown. Into existence.

Each day is a gift–a fragile, finicky gift.

Life is not guaranteed, and a good one is not promised.

We must do our best to make the hours, minutes, and seconds count.

From the time you breath your first breath in this life,

until the day you breath your last,

you are a part of this world;

you are alive.

So why don’t you go out and make the most of it,

because today can be your day.

Be quick though,

the clock is ticking,

and time stops for no one.

Why Father’s Day Isn’t Just For Fathers

college, family, life

A very long time ago, I lost my father to ALS. It was a couple of months before my third birthday– he had gotten sick just before my first. I was so young that I really don’t have any memories of him. Some would say it’s easier since I don’t know what I’m missing, but that’s not true. I’m very aware of what I’ve missed, but also what I’ve gained.

When I was in kindergarten we had a Father’s Day breakfast. As all of my friends’ dads showed up I started to finally get it: My dad wasn’t coming. I wasn’t going to show him my picture I drew or take him to my favorite slide on the playground. I became aware of my father’s absence that day. But even though I didn’t have my dad there to share pancakes with, I wasn’t alone. My amazing mom showed up to be with me. She was the only mom there, but that didn’t faze her, nothing really does.

After that day I had some pretty hard years. I knew there was nothing to miss of a man I couldn’t remember, and yet I missed everything. I wanted him at my recitals, and to teach me how to fish or play golf (his favorite sport). I wanted us to watch football together on Sundays, and for him to be the rock I sought out on my worst days. I didn’t even know what he sounded like. Even though I had many people to tell me how much he loved me and how proud he would be of me, it wasn’t him saying those things.

It cut pretty deep for a while, and led me to look for father figures in some not good places. But then one day I looked around me and saw all the men and women I had been blessed with.

I did learn to fish and play golf and I did have someone to come to my recitals and watch football with. I also had someone who taught me how to cook. Who made sure I had everything I wanted on my Christmas list. Who picked me up when I fell down, and taught me how much worth I have in this world. I had someone who was proud of me, and never let me forget it. I had many “someones” and they all stepped up to give me the daddy I so desperately desired.

I’ve come a long way since kindergarten. It still hits me sometimes though. That he didn’t get to see me graduate high school or torment my first boyfriend, that he won’t walk me down the aisle or cry when he holds his grandchild. But in those moments I remember who will be there and who has been there for me, and I am grateful.

Oh and I did finally find some old home movies. Everyone was right, he really did love me and would be very proud.