The people around you are so important when you are in a dark place. This post reminds me of my best friend.
When I cut myself once my best friend saw my scars. He sat me down and told me that if I ever needed to talk he was there for me.
He told me what a good guy I was and told me how important I was to him. He also told me how important it was to him that I was happy and how he judged my girlfriend who didn’t take care of me.
I’m so thankful for having a friend that cares so much about me. He told me how loving I was for everybody and how that always got me hurt. He told me I deserved so much.
When you are in a bad place it shows you which friends are your best friends. Keep them close and don’t let go.💜
This is the hardest lesson I learn everyday.
I can’t show others the way and I can’t tell them how to do it. I can’t help them if they don’t want me to.
It’s hard to watch somebody be in a place you have been before and you can try and help in every way but if they don’t want your help they won’t see it.
Sometimes I see the people around me going through rough moments, that I’ve been through before and I can sit down with them. We talk for hours about things and some of them want my help and they really get better. I can sit down with them and talk about the good things and they see it too. And it really cheers them up.
Let the people help you who want to help.
It’s always better to be a team then by yourself.💜
This might just be the epitome of a relatable post. As a young teenager, I struggled with suicidal thoughts and attempts on a huge scale. I attempted it 3 times and thought about it constantly. The relationship with either set of my parents was not good at all and, in the truest sense, I was alone. My parents totally misidentified my struggle to stay alive as being “disrespectful”. Jeez, how many times have you guys had that word thrown at you when that’s not even close to what was really going on? I was in a paralyzed state of anxiety when I forgot to do the dishes, but my parents just thought I was lazy and that I never listened to them so they would lecture or yell at me so I would “get the point”, which we all knew made everything that I was feeling 100% worse. The problem in all of this is that my parents were ignorant and I was silent, but those go hand-in-hand. I was silent because they were ignorant. Like, how could they not see that depression and anxiety were holding me hostage, I was their daughter after all. What about the mother’s instinct thing? Shouldn’t she be able to tell something was wrong? I don’t know. Honestly, these situations are the worst of the worst. I am going to work my ass off to be understanding to and OBSERVANT of my children. I’m not going to force them to tell me things, but I hope we have an open enough relationship that they want to tell me on their own. If not, then I hope I can pay attention enough to know when not to get upset about their messy room, their dirty laundry, their falling grades, and the stacked up dishes. I can hire a housekeeper, I can’t replace my kids after they’re gone. I wish more parents could see the big picture like this. 💜
If it weren’t already trademarked, I’m sure I would own all of the rights to the saying “My life has been a series of unfortunate events” simply because I say it ALL THE TIME! When people ask me how I would describe my life this is usually how I respond. I don’t mean it in a morbid kind of way, but it’s the truth. I believe that what this says is true and that what happened to me was, in fact, a series of unfortunate events, but also the first steps in a journey of finding my purpose in life. If I hadn’t gone through what I did, I would’ve never created this blog and met all of the amazing people that this blog brought with it. I never would’ve met my fiancé or my counselor. I never would reached this level of strength or wisdom. And…I just wouldn’t be me. As much as people say that you aren’t what happened to you, what happened to you is what makes you who you are. For the first time in my life I’m starting to become proud of who I am, flaws and all. Of course I still want to grow and still NEED to grow in some areas, but I’m at least beginning to appreciate the progress I’ve made and the journey I’m taking through it all.
My parents first separated when I was 13 years old. I was blessed to have quite a few women in my life who reached out to me and asked how I was doing. I remember a particular woman who offered to drive me home after a girls study I had been to. As she drove me back she asked how I was and acknowledged the pain that I was in. She also gave me a tidbit of advice that has stuck with me through the years. To paraphrase, she said: “Be sure to learn all that you’re supposed to in this time. I know it’s hard what you’re going through, but there are lessons to be learned that will be a blessing to you in the future.”
And she was right. The dysfunctional relationship that my parents had taught me what NOT to look for in a relationship and the way that they both changed their lives and chose to love each other no matter what taught me that love isn’t about what you feel, it’s a choice. My marriage is stronger because of the lessons I learned through watching my parents struggle.
So if you’re going through a rough spot, acknowledge the pain you are in. It matters. Whatever the pain is, though, be sure to learn what you need to learn. I promise there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
Xoxo, Cindy 💜
I was fourteen when I attempted suicide the first time. My parents, to this day, don’t believe it. They don’t acknowledge it. And for a long time that stayed with me. They worked too much. No one was there for me. To build into me the idea that I didn’t have to be perfect, that I could acknowledge my broken pieces, that would have meant everything. But no one was there. So I stayed silent. I suffered alone. I disappeared. I was a shallow version of myself for a very long time. It’s taken over a decade to recover. Over a decade to begin to feel whole again. Over a decade to acknowledge that people don’t get to tell me how to feel. They don’t get to determine my story.
There have been a few attempts since then, but most of the time I just think of it. I’ve come up with some very clever ways of how I would do it. It makes me feel like I’m in control. It allows me to hurt a little less to imagine that I can be in control of my own destiny. It feels good to think about when all I feel is numb and question, “Why on earth would I want to continue living this life.”
So, while I am in this place of oblivion, this place where I feel as small as a mouse, I am large. I am often drowning, but I decide if I swim again. I decide to pull myself up and out of the water. I determine my story.
And, you determine yours. Stay strong.
I just made a major cross-country move a few months ago and one of the things I was most excited about was being able to reinvent myself. I had no friends, so I could be who I really wanted to be without the judgement that always held me back at home. However, it seems like all my baggage has just followed me here. I can’t seem to let go of the old me and be who I really want to be. For some reason, feel like I HAVE to be the same scared push-over I was before. Any new person I meet I end up dumping all my issues onto instead of being a new person. I don’t know why, that’s just how it seems. I suppose it’s my OCD raging on, not letting me do the things I want to do. I hate it.
I kinda feel like I’ve missed my shot already, but I know that’s not true. I still have barely gotten to know anyone, there is still time for me to push past my brain and be the real me. I know I can be self-confident, strong, and fun. I just have to let go of the fear of failure and looking stupid. I know I can be enough to accomplish my dreams.
I know I can, I know I can, I know I can.
Xoxo, Cindy 💜