Walking in the Darkness

The darkness descends now and again for a host of reason. This darkness isn’t just an absence of light though. It is sticky and clings to me and wraps me up in its suffocating warmth.  It is a familiar place that is awful and comfortable and can sing me into devastation like the sirens in Homer’s Iliad.  The darkness is not a joke, it is not to played with nor is it to be underestimated.  It can swallow the bravest of hearts whole.  It has swallowed me whole in the past.

Loads of therapy has taught me a few things about my darkness (because everyone’s darkness is specialized and seems to change over time). First, my darkness is not always a choice. Secondly, there are things that I can do to shorten the darkness or at least make it not as dark for as long as it lingers. Lastly, my darkness always passes… eventually.  Because of these facts there are things I do when I feel it begin to descend- that I MUST do if I don’t want to sink into it.  I know that, in the beginning, it is a wonderful thing to sink into the maddening darkness.  I have to resist that wonderful feeling or I am fucked.

When the darkness begins I must do what I call “rally the wagons”.  This means any person, thing or task that depletes me of emotional energy is cut off. Some of my relationships must suffer in order for the relationship with myself to stay in tact.  This can be painful for my friends or acquaintances but for me it is absolutely necessary.  I keep the friends who fill me up spiritually, I keep the relationship that allow me to be myself and not have to give of myself and I ignore the relationships that don’t. Some people in my life shift in and out of these rolls. Some stay in them. I am not always aware of how or when this action takes place. It is a survival skill and it happens swiftly and quickly.

When the darkness has completely set in I begin to light my “candles”.  Candles are anything that create light in the darkness and make me get out of bed.  This can include therapy, exercise, recovery and work.  Therapy is a MUST. Exercise is a must and usually has to include some kind of monthly contract at a gym or I don’t go. Recovery means at least 3 meetings a week and if it is dark enough then I hit one just about every day. I must make myself go to work every day, be on time and take shower to do so. When I do all these things I have a chance of not succumbing to the darkness. 

These candles don’t mean that the depression isn’t there. They simply mean that it’s not as bad as could be.  It means that I’m still functioning, not using and maybe I’m even giving back to my community to do it.  Telling people that I’m depressed, communicating my feelings and allowing myself to feel those feelings is like lighting a campfire.  It not only provides light it provides a real sense of warmth and community. It means that I no longer feel a lone, that others are invited to partake in the conversation. Lighting a campfire is scary because it can mean rejection in the midst of my vulnerability. Usually, I find it a necessary part of my process. 

In spite of candles and campfires I usually find that the sticky darkness can linger.  It is annoying and frustrating and it usually represented by a consistent sadness. It means that every time I get out of bed there is a bit of a struggle and that every time my yoga instructor tells me to breathe the response in my head is “Why don’t you go breathe you asshole?!” and it means I cry for no reason and sometimes cry for a reason and sometimes I just cry. It means that I am resistant and even panic when someone needs me in any emotional way. It means that I just will be in the darkness for a bit longer than I’d like. But I remember, all my darknesses up to this point have passed.

In the mean time, I light a few more candles, begin the campfire and allow myself to love me. Eventually the sun will rise and I’ll feel better and I know that candles and campfire will have helped in the process.

What It's Like to Lose

I wrote this well over a week ago now. I couldn't post it then- I suppose it was still too much and I've thought about not posting it now for a host of reasons. But I think it's important for people to know because a lot of people didn't and it's important to share because a lot of people never do. So there it is. I'll post another update in the next few days- where I was last week is not where I am right now.
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I have struggled with writing this. Getting my emotions down has never been a struggle for me, but this time around I’ve had a hard time grasping what it is that I feel.  My heart is numb and my mind seems to fold in on itself. Isolating myself from the world is such an easy way to escape from being honest. As if I’m floating in space and it absorbs my gravity and doesn’t allow my scream to be heard.

In the midst of my second miscarriage I realize now how many other women I know that have suffered through the loss in silence.  Many have never spoken of the loss to their partners let alone put it out in the universe for the world to contemplate.  But here I am with the weight of it and I’ve no idea how else to process it except to do so with the world at large. I can’t be the only one who feels this way and I certainly can’t be the only one who’s able to share it.

I am on my couch snuggling with my dog Todd- who for over a week now will not leave my side when I am home. He is aware of my emotional state more than most of the humans and I am grateful for his consistent warm presence. But while his warmth eases the pain in my heart the pain in my womb remains palpable. The bulk of the contractions and bleeding has eased but my body and mind remain resistant to the idea of trying again- or at least, trying again any time soon. While, what I want more than anything is my own child, the idea of creating another only to lose it breaks my spirit.

While all this has gone on one of my closest friends has given birth, another is five months pregnant and my news feed seems to constantly be filled with other newborn babes. Someone makes a comment about how I should have children and another person unknowingly talks about how great a mom I would be. These are positive things that bring my heart joy and yet I hate them all. They make me angry and it is unfair. I want to be happy for everyone but I fold into self-pity instead, I withdraw and ignore the world and hope they still love me when I come out of my shell. But I swear, if another person tells me “it will happen when it’s meant to” then I will probably kick them in the face.

It is not as though my body has some understanding of cosmic positioning of baby karma and therefore aborts a fetus because it’s not “meant to happen” right now. And if God as you understand him has some hand in the miscarriage of my child while bringing a crack baby into the world at the same time then I’d like to have none of it. No, for me, “meant to” and “god’s plan” just don’t fit into the achingly painful loss of my womb.

So I have no god to blame and the universe isn’t against me and I am left undone. There is no explanation or understanding of it so I am left with the “what ifs” of the future. What if, after this second one I will go through a third? What if my heart can’t take it again? What damage will another do to my relationship with my husband? What if, after months of healing I don’t want to try again because honestly it has crossed my mind? What if... what if he can’t stomach adoption and I can’t stomach the procedures? The fears of uncertainty are overwhelming.

So I take a breath and move forward. I feel the pain and have moments of sobbing and hold onto my husband while trying to let him go so he can breathe for himself. I try to grasp on to what is real, and true and good and lovely.  He is lovely to me. Those who knew of my pregnancy and loss have mostly been lovely. My dog is lovely and my belief that the pain always passes is a relief. It will pass and it will get different. This truth remains blatantly present on the surface of all my emotions- it will change. Nothing remains the same except for that which does. For the moment, my heart aches and so with it I eat cake and tea and wait for it all to pass.

Pardon me While I state my Goals for Rebelling against Theological School Norms....

We're told from the moment we walk into orientation to learn self-care and take care of ourselves. We're told that seminary is going to be hard and difficult and take lots of time. We're told it will be a spiritually life-changing event.  What I have found in my 6 weeks of theological school is that taking care of myself means sacrificing time with school work which means lower grades. That seminary "being hard" means they're making tests super hard in some misguided attempt to make me try harder. And spiritually life changing really translates into spiritually deadening.  The mixed messages and expectations are a joke. I wouldn't call it spiritual formation as much as spiritual destruction mixed in with a healthy dose of emotional disparity with a weekly option for communion.

My senior year in my undergraduate career I did a research paper and project about creating emotional safety within the collegiate sphere.  Thus far, I've found that my school doesn't do a single thing that the research specifies as emotionally satiating. Perhaps there is a person here or there that gives it a go or tries to provide a safe space... but it's a rarity. I find this problematic. I'm going to school not only to learn the facts and theological implications of faith but also to understand how to build people up, create an enviroment of safty and be present for people in my life.  Thus far, school is teaching me how to have an incredibly hectic life, take tests well and build resentments toward "the establishment". 

Let's be honest. I don't do authority well. Never have. And I'm feeling a rush of rebellion coming on. I have two appointments with two professors next week and I fully plan on letting them know that I'm disappointed with them for falling in line with some University model that creates snobby academics instead of conscientious students. In the end, I don't particularly care if my professors like me... I'd much rather they respect me.

I'm sure some of my fellow students will read this and think I've taken things a little to far. That's ok for you to think that. I've come to these decisions, not solely based in opinion, but in research. So I feel ok about it. To be certain, some of my disappointment comes from the HUGE amount of effort it took for me to get back into school and the realization that it is nothing like I hoped. I hoped that school would be challenging, that it would take effort and that it would be hard. I hoped that it would allow me to grow in a myriad of ways.  I guess, in some respects, it IS those things- but the way in which it has presented itself comes off as gross and icky. 

I want to be challenged not disheartened. I want it to take effort not make me a work-aholic with no time for spiritual development. I want it to be hard- not impossible. The ways in which it is teaching me to grow is also much different than expected. So my growth goals for this week:  to speak my truth in a way that my research suggests builds emotional safety-- even if it's uncomfortable for those around me or the people in authority over me. My goal is to have the self-confidence to stay in my truth with or without the support of my peers and my goal is to remember that I have come to Emory with a purpose and goal. That I was called, that I did answer and that I am here. I will not fade into the background of a system that I do not believe is working; instead I will challenge the system to grow and change to the needs of its students. Even if that student is only me.

Last week we had "Reformation Day" on campus because of this dude named Martin Luther. If that guy had the balls to say what he believed based on his research then I guess I can grow a pair and do something about it too. I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself now and make dinner.

Social Justice vs. Evangelism

So I'm a liberal. If you hadn't figured that out about me already then now you do. I am liberal both socially and theologically and it plays a role in how I serve my neighbor, my friends and my recovery community. So anyway, it came up in class earlier this week that perhaps evangelism and social justice were one in the same (or in the least, COULD be one and the same). I like to think that one cannot exist without the other but this standpoint has a lot to do with how you perceive evangelism.

As opposed to many other christians I don't see evangelism as my main purpose or goal. Nor do I want it to be my focus or my goal- at least, in the typical sense.  See, I'm a believer that attraction rather than promotion is a good thing. I want to act in such a way that you are attracted to what I have so that sharing what I have is easy.. the foundation is already set. But if you don't know me, don't know what I have to offer or aren't aware of what I'm about then telling you all my beliefs or understandings doesn't go anywhere.. at least most of the time.  Attraction rather than promotion is basic sales technique- it is why it's easier to sell a house to someone who is referred to me than someone who just shows up at the Keller Williams office.

So what does that mean? First off, it means I don't go around telling people what I think is right or wrong about faith or God. If you want to pray 20 times a day and your God is a doorknob and it works for you and brings peace in your life.. well then... pray to some DoorKnob! Social issues are off limits too (well, most of the time)... wanna have 8 husbands? GO for it. Instead, I take the "Great Commission" and "Loving the Neighbor" and "Attraction rather than Promotion" as a greater philosophy as a whole instead of commandments or ideals to be addressed separately.

On a deeper level, Social Justice and Evangelism end up being one in the same for me.  I cannot evangelize or spread the word of my belief system if I am not acting in that belief system.  If I am not supporting equality, equal marriage, feeding the hungry or clothing the poor or protecting a woman's right to choose then I am not able to spread the word of God. I believe this because I understand social justice to be an active and consistent way to love my neighbor. I can evangelize all day but if I'm not loving my neighbor and if what I or believe doesn't attract my neighbor then the evangelizing is worth nothing.

There are a lot of people who will disagree with me. That's okay! Disagree! I am not asking you to believe the way I do. Nor do I invite you to try and change my mind. I love my perspective. I love knowing that when I hang out with homeless guys or support gay rights then I am participating in some of the most important commands in all known history without making people cringe with sappy modern day christian rhetoric that I find judgy and unloving and hurtful.  It means that my evangelism relies on my actions and not my words. It means that my faith is only as good as my commitment to the commandments. 

Destruction of Skittles: An Open Letter

August 31, 2013

Dear Mars Inc,

I have enjoyed Skittles ever since I can remember. In fact, some of my earliest memories have the reminiscence of tasting the rainbow. As I grew up, Skittles remained a staple of my youth and early twenties.  At the age of 27 I got a life-sized bag of skittles tattooed on my thigh- it is my favorite tattoo. I’m a longtime fan and loyal customer of the Skittles brand.

When I was 17 I remember Skittles introducing the green apple flavor to the bag. I was disheartened and thought they were awful. I was relieved that during that time I was still able to find normal bags and soon Mars Co realized the error of their ways and Skittles returned to the wonderful standard flavor of lime that I had come to know and love.

Starting six or seven months ago I realized that the green apple skittle was again making a comeback. Now I cannot find a single bag of my blessedly wonderful original Skittles. I hope you understand that to me the green apple skittle is tantamount to blasphemy. It is the “New Coke” of the confectionary market and I find it distasteful and heart breaking. You have taken away the glory and wonder of my childhood!

The green apple flavor overpowers the delicate balance of flavor that Skittle offers. It is a distinct palette of sweet rainbow goodness and the green apple Skittle destroys that balance. Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re robbing me of my childhood, my favorite sweet snack and balance of the rainbow that has made it a better life to live. I implore you to cease and desist the making of the green apple flavor and restore the Skittles name back to its original glory!!

This letter is, perhaps, a wee bit dramatic. In all honesty though I am disappointed that Mars, Inc has changed one of my favorite things on the planet.  A once loyal and consistent customer has now not purchased a bag of skittles in nearly a month. I hope that you hear my plea and make a change for the better.

Your Hopeful Customer,

                                                                                     Hannah Reynolds

Getting Back to Good.

There has to be a point in your life when you realize that you no longer have to survive it any longer. You can enjoy it. Live in it. Hang out with it. There has to be a point where you get back to good. I suppose everyone goes through hard times and emotionally gut retching moments. Cancers, diseases, fears, hurts and pains. Emotional scars and night terrors and cravings and the desire to just stop and throw your hands up in the air and scream at the universe that "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE" and eventually the universe hears you and gives you a break. Or perhaps it's just some cosmic luck of chance that things are going ok again or maybe its God. Who knows. But either way, eventually, after a month of two removed from the that thing that tore you down you find that things are getting better again. 

Or maybe its that you start making them better for yourself. I'm not sure. But eventually the emotional outbursts in your car when your brother's favorite song comes on radio decrease, and the fights with the fiance settle, and the horrible night mares subside into dreams of just being late everywhere you go. Your dog cuddles a little more often, the bills get paid with a little more ease, you don't feel like you have to fight the earth's gravity just to smile. You start to dream again of degrees and cars and babies and weddings. You start to bake again. You start to do those things that bring you joy and you aren't so scared that they'll just be ripped away from you again. You start to feel good like you once felt. It seems so long ago since you felt it you're not quite sure if that's what you're even feeling.

That moment when someone you only kinda-sorta know asks you how you're doing and you don't cringe. When you say "good" and you aren't mad at yourself for having to lie just to save a little face and not cry on a stranger's shoulder. When you say "fine" and you realize you mean it and there is a wave of relief in just a simple greeting where you're saying how you're really feeling and not making the person feel uncomfortable with "I'm kind of shitty today actually, how are you?"  

There is the realization that it won't last. That getting back to good will pass and eventually you will get back to shit again. Everything passes. Everything changes. Everything moves. But it is the knowledge that today at least, you woke up feeling ok. You're not afraid of the day or what it might hold, you don't look at tomorrow with dread, you don't think the world is out to get you (at least not today it's not) and you realize... you're back to good. And, while you're far from some incredulous happiness or the ease of not having a speck of anxiety you are good. Good.

The Flood and holding it at Bay

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How does one encapsulate the feelings when they’re already overflowing the cup you have for them to begin with? They’re overwhelming me like a home in a flood and there’s no simple way to contain the damage. It’s like I have to lay out sandbags 4 feet deep around the threshold and cross my fingers.  The probability that it will flood over my walls is good. I’m holding on though and pushing through the rain in some semblance of organization.

My sandbags include regular therapy, meetings, talking to people, friends visiting from in and out of town and eating bread pudding from Whole Foods. All of these things hold the onslaught at bay but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel trapped inside and the storm is still storming and the sand bags won’t last forever. Eventually something will have to give—the storm or me. I’d prefer it to be the storm but time will tell.

I’ve been through rougher storms than this and ones where the flood nearly destroyed the house and what was left looked like tatters. And knowing this helps with perspective but does nothing to ease the stable level of anxiety I have on a consistent basis these days. It does nothing to quell the thunderous fears I have about the future or how I at unease I feel in my own skin. But it does offer perspective—I’ve weathered worse and came out ok on the other side.  There’s an ounce of hope for ya.

Long metaphors and analogies for life aside, I can honestly say I’m just scared. My body has been through hell over the last month and now sick with a cold I just want to throw my hands up in the air. Can I just feel better already? I mean seriously. It’s the worst. Beyond all that between the miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy there comes a host of emotions and add onto that an emergency surgery and meds that don’t let you feel and I’m left feeling stuff and processing emotions from weeks ago. I’m behind on my own emotional processing for heaven’s sake! 

One of the women who messaged me a few weeks ago said that miscarriage is “a unique and confusing pain” and I would have to agree. Not only that, it’s a pain that happens to a lot of women and none of them talk about it publicly. Like if we keep it hushed in the public mind then perhaps then it won’t exist. But it does exist and it sucks and it’s painful and it can have complications and frustrations and fears. I mean, really, what does one do with that type of grief? You’re grieving a thing that didn’t even quite happen and thing that isn’t even a person but should feel like a person but its not because it died. It’s fucking strange and no one talks about it.

And I suppose that is where the flood really comes from—a strange pain that I don’t fully understand.  And now as I wrap up this little diddy I realize the rains seem a little lighter and storm doesn’t seem so overwhelming. It’ll pass and it will get better. Everything changes. So for now I wake up and put my clothes on and go to work and come home and eat and go to meeting and feed my dog and love my fiance and do all the things I'm meant to do and wait for the rain to slow to a drizzle.