Tag: love

More Reflections, A Year With a Bunny Part Two

One year ago, we adopted Mia from a local rabbit rescue. We knew life would change, but we didn’t consider how much we would change and grow from this experience. These are my reflections on how our little house bunny, Mia, has shaped us in our first year together.

Awareness

Today, I accidentally scared Mia. I came downstairs from working out, with music playing on my phone, distracted and not considering the little bunny, snoozing in a deep sleep. As soon as I looked up from my phone, I was highly aware of what my blissful ignorance hath wrought: ears standing tall, eyes wide, and body tense, ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. Before Mia, I was aware of what startled me, but with Mia and her own sensitive ears, it has challenged me to approach life with an even gentler touch. Today was a day I forgot, but with each passing month, these moments of unawareness are decreasing. Getting used to how aware Mia is of her surroundings was intimidating at first. I remember feeling on edge those first weeks, feeling like I was unable to relax – scared to scare Mia – a bit impossible of a standard!

I’ve learned to be quiet, internally and externally. The desire for quiet, for the little prey animal in our midst, has become a craving for quiet coming from a place inside me. What felt like a burden at first has become a blessing, because the awareness of the sound level, the peaceful environment I wish to create for Mia, has become a goal I desire for my own needs. The awareness of the quiet and the peace is something that I need, that Kyle needs. It’s healthier for us, but in this distracted and noise-polluted world, I don’t know if my awareness was going to attune to this again without Mia.

Structure

Mia has a schedule, possibly wearing a little watch somewhere under all that fur. She hops to her dinner spot around 5 pm, and waits for her breakfast starting at 8 am. She knows what time we should go to bed, with a precision I wish I could stick to. I’m not blessed with a sense of schedule. I tend to drift off course, but Mia is teaching me structure, and her needs are reminding me how comforting a schedule can be. Taking care of her is teaching me more about what I actually need to take care of myself in a healthier way. How is this little bunny so wise, so intuitive? The promise to care for her, every day, is a responsibility that I thought would feel heavy and burdensome, but instead, it is a way I have rediscovered purposeful living. I am grateful.

Letting Go

Detachment from physical things is the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn from living with Mia. Mia loves to chew my stuff. She has chewed holes in sentimental blankets, she has forever changed favorite pieces of furniture, and she will take a chunk out of newly made pieces fresh from my workroom. She doesn’t discriminate from store-bought items either – brand new overalls, my phone case, my Nalgene bottle. This has stressed me out. Mia has chewed the couch, a brand new coffee table hand-built by Kyle, the freshly painted baseboards, slippers, and I’m sure there will be more. I’ve gone through the stages of grief. I’ve had moments of intense frustration and questioning it all. But when I committed to adopting Mia, I told myself that I would remember that people are more important than things, and in this case, people and little furry members of the family.

The Floor is Great

I love sitting on the floor. I have always loved sitting on the floor; it grounds my mind – no pun intended. But dating and spending time at future in-law houses and not wanting to be weird, renting with worn wood floors, and moving into adulthood with busy schedules, changed my life from a cozy floor sitter to work chairs and collapsing into couches at the end of the day. Or sitting at my sewing table in a chair with bad posture. I stopped sitting on the floor. But with a rabbit, they like and need you to be on their level. I believe it is essential for bonding with your rabbit. At the beginning, it was hard. It felt unnatural after a decade of not being on the floor. The floor felt hard, unwelcoming. Even with carpet. But after a few months, I felt comfortable. My hips and back hurt less when I spend time on the floor. A year later, I am back to being a floor dweller. Without Mia, would I have ever gone back? I don’t know, but wow, my body feels more comfortable, younger even.

Slow Down, Be Present

The final thing that my rabbit soulmate has taught me this year is to be present and slow down. Mia is already four; she has an estimated lifespan of 12 years, which is not a lot of time when you really care about someone. I don’t want to miss any more moments with her. Kyle and I celebrated 9 years of marriage this year, 11 years together. Time feels like it is flying, and I want to be more present in my relationship with him. My mom and my stepdad are also getting older, and I want to be more present. Mia is teaching me that. Where I can, when I can make the choice to pause what I am doing to spend time with her, and I challenge myself to do so. That has been a challenge. I tend to hyperfixate on projects, which burn me out, but a difficult bad habit to break.

This year, I have created less, but I am feeling the balance being restored to my life. Without Mia hopping over to spend time with me, who knows if I would be shifting my perspective to a healthier state of mind? I can feel my mind and body feeling less stressed. Mia naps a lot, and that is another piece of the slowing-down puzzle that I am learning to accept without guilt. Rest is important. Rest is necessary. Slowing down is good for us. But we resist, because it’s tough to go against the grain. Rest is seen as lazy, even though our bodies and minds get burnt out. Living with Mia is helping me reset those misconceptions and take better care of myself.

Final Thoughts

I would 100% recommend adopting a rabbit if you have been thinking about it. Adopt any pet, actually, or volunteer at a local animal shelter. Do your research and get involved; it will change your life for the better. Animals are so calming. Mia has helped me open up again, in ways I thought I was closed off for good. It’s helped me understand my neurodivergence, my sensitivity, my trauma. She just gets me. She listens, she is there. She has become a best friend, and don’t we all need more of that in our lives? And what about Mia? Well, I’m honored that we got to provide her with her furever home. She has a big space to zoomie around, endless hay, and pets. She gets to watch TV, explore the couch, and have all her toys and treats to herself. She is the center of attention and trusts us. It’s amazing to know a prey animal trusts you. It challenges you to be the best person you can be.

Apathy and Fear – The Worst Cocktail

It drifts in, like a high pressure system. Clouds stratify, and all seems well. We don’t know that the pallid tone maybe the one that may drain the life from us, until we are as pale as a corpse.

Apathy. The silent assassin that numbs the senses to right and wrong. A comfortable sweater of indifference to our worries, we check out. But it doesn’t just numb us to what hurts us, it numbs us to all things, even joy. Disassociating will not make what is weighing on you better. Choosing to be a part of the background, to escape the foreground and its perils, is not going to rescue your mind from the monsters waging war. Because that is what apathy does, it makes you forget that you are making a choice not to care, and makes you feel like the world is victimizing you, when instead, this path you chose, yourself.

Fear. It’s powerful. It motivates us like nothing else, because no matter what is going right in our life, the looming fear of our mortality and of the inescapable henchman named pain will get us in the end. There is nothing that can change that. It eats at us, not knowing when the bad will come. Fear isolates. Fear keeps us closed off in suburbs. Fear drives a big SUV, that is 6 feet off the ground, in a tank that blocks from view the child you are about to run over. Fear, closes off communities from connection, to protect us from the unknown devil living next door. Paranoia holds us at arms length. The faces we see everyday, can’t be trusted. Fear will keep us safe. Fear is gerrymandering a map to neutralize the unknown, to grasp at the concept of control, before the phantom slips through our fingers. Fear censors history, because it is too weak to look at the failings of our ancestors.

I’ve seen fear and apathy take good people and turn them into feckless sycophants to the current guard. I’ve seen money and security divide us, when connection would save us. And now, I’ve witnessed first hand how easy people are swayed, and it sickens me, even a trusted friend can fall to its charisma. I’ve now seen first hand, the cleverness of fear and apathy to destroy compassion, moral truth, and justice for the chance to be saved. For the sake of the job. Comfort, instead of doing what is right. I always wondered why people in the past let dictators and evil groups turn their necks to ignore genocide and racism, but heck, even those you think are good, will trade it all for a coin. We are fallen, flawed humans, with a penchant for destruction, war, and hate. I don’t want to see another good one fall prey to the evil of the shadows, because they are in pain.

It’s ironic how we have been too arrogant in my culture to believe we could not fall as far as those of the past. We have progressed past those silly people of yore. Too long have ignored the power of an individualistic culture and problematic policies which seek to isolate, and haughtily believed would not get us one day.

Apathy and Fear. Don’t drink from their cup. We must cling to empathy, even on the days the weight of the world feels like it is going to break us in half. It wants to but it can’t because love conquers all things. Fear is a liar. It spends its time creating shadows that loom above, but will always disappear in the light. It’s not easy to care. But it is important that we stay the course in love, in empathy, and refuse let go of ethics. For without those, what do we have other than a mortal bag of bones and a never ending hamster wheel?

#74 – Ain’t That Just the Way

So this week started off amazing. My mom and I began finding a healthy way forward, for real this time. Nothing shoved under the rug to deal with later. No festering. No harsh talk, instead patience, love, realness. It was truly an answer to prayer that I learned, required me to put into action what I was feeling.

I journaled all my raw feelings, and sat with what these words on paper showed me – I wanted more. I wanted realness, and nothing less. We each reaches this point at the same time, and it got better. Over last week, it got much better. Kinder. I even spent time with her on Sunday.

Monday morning though, life decided things were too good. Our family dog, Sully, became extremely sick. He had been dealing with some health issues over the past year, but it fell apart over night. He died on Tuesday. I am heartbroken, but crying together with my mom instead of on own like we did for other big losses.

I think the most challenging part of losing a pet is that sense of home you associate with them. He was my safe place for 14 years, all of my adulthood so far, and his steady love will always be missed.

Have you lost a pet? What helped you heal? I’m going to try to get back on track with writing next week, but yeah, life just keeps getting weirder, everyday.

Letters Of Healing #2 – Letting It Out Is Important Too

I have a bad habit, I’ve acquired over the past few years: I bottle things up so people don’t leave me. Hi, I’m Magz and I have a problem. A two-prong issue, actually, I am not processing my feelings, and I am irrationally concerned about rejection. It’s not good. I was taught to believe by family and society that it was because of divorce, specifically placing the blame on my dad, and to be honest, I believed that for a long time. But that answer leaves all of us who have experienced that or who fear rejection in this weird pseudo-reality of things being out of our control, which doesn’t help. It turns the intensity up all while limiting personal growth. How can you move on if this is baked into your personality, right? I mean, everyone who knows your story will instantly know your flaws – your parent or parents “didn’t love you enough” to stick around. Yeah, this is a toxic bunch of nonsense.

So what has helped me get more clarity on this, honestly, is learning about what makes my mind tick and how I can work with myself to be healthier. For me specifically, learning about neurodivergence, and specifically the possibility of undiagnosed autism or adhd, has helped me understand that there might be more to my penchant for brutal honesty than just being an off-putting person or a bad person. It might be that my brain simply processes differently, yet because I want to fit in – masking, I fall into people-pleasing patterns to “fit in” with those around me. Similar to learning about high-masking autism in females, with adhd, there is a sensitivity to rejection and difficulty with emotional regulation that makes processing the rejection more difficult. I can see these in the ways I have interacted with people throughout my life, especially family members.

I get stuck in these camps of either feeling the need to be brutally honest, especially if I feel an emotional meltdown coming on from bottling everything up, or I clam up and shove it down, no matter how much it hurts to “please” the person. All this does is create a cycle of emotional repression, overwhelm, and meltdown behind the scenes. Loneliness, anger, bitterness, shame, fear of rejection, and pain. This is not what a healthy person looks like.

For too long, I’ve mistaken being “tough” with being healthy. It’s been the one-two punch of finding Elena Carroll’s reflective essays and watching Scrubs for these to start clicking in my brain. I find myself pinballing between being like Dr. Dorian, who lets people like Elliott walk all over him, and Dr. Cox, who shoves it all down and sinks into a pit of loneliness behind the shadows because dealing with my problems makes me feel uncomfortable.

My constant dysfunctional relationship, which gets more unhinged every year, my relationship with my mom is the place where I see all these problematic habits come to the surface. I will bottle something up for a decade, afraid of the confrontation, and then one day I will just explode about something else. To be fair, when I do blow up, it’s usually after my mom has contributed to my anger with a gem of guilt or a little nugget of criticism on some part of my personality. Like recently, I was told she was intentionally withholding her health updates after two concerning ER visits, because I am too “sensitive” to handle anything after I told her it has been scary thinking of being sick because I love her. Yep, I see where I have learned to shove everything down – you can’t be weak and express emotions, that’s for losers.

So where does that leave me? Well, I can either choose Option #1 – be honest about my frustrations and stand up for myself, which comes with consequences, Option #2 – bottle it up and fake a smile, all while my shoulders knit themselves into a stress knot and my jaw clenches like a bear trap, Option #3 – I avoid the relationship for months at a time and pretend like nothing happened. Lately, I’ve been thinking, why can’t I just be honest as it comes, instead of bottling up to the point where I am furious? I don’t live there anymore, there are no consequences for being honest gently, and in the moment that I disagree? That would be healthier, and somehow, over all these years, I forgot how to do this. Because adulthood is lonely. Grief is lonely. Sometimes that fear of rejection and people pleasing is all that you crave just to keep a relationship with a loved one steady, because you miss how easy it was when you were a kid.

I think health, though, might be more important than the illusion of peace, because I have not been managing stress well over the last ten years. My mental health took a toll, and so did my physical health. I’ve stored so much stress in my body, pretending I was happy about things that hurt me because I didn’t want to hear how I was different, not enough like my mom’s family, or weak for being sensitive, or a bad person for getting angry sometimes. I’ve had the same knot at the base of my neck for 5 years, which is not healthy at all. So what am I doing with all these revelations about who I am and what is healthy and what is not? I am slowly shifting through it. I’m taking space and a break from some of my more trying family relationships to get this stress worked out of my body and find my calm again. My husband, friends, and my beloved bun deserve better than for me to let things out of my control take a toll on my mental and physical health. Especially when they are the ones who pick up the pieces when I fall apart.

How do you manage stress? Do you struggle with people pleasing or bottling up emotions? Have people ever told you to change who you are to fit their standards?

Phone Calls in the Smartphone Era

As a Zillennial, on the cusp of both Gen Z and Millennials, my generation(s) have been stereotyped by the older folks as being afraid of phone calls, preferring a text to a voice on the other end of the line. And for a while, I’d say, yeah, I fell into this place of preferring a text as a teenager or chatting online, in my moody, insecure teenagedom, but then the phone call became this novelty of a thing. Calling someone seemed so serious, I became apprehensive if my question or answer was “serious” enough to warrant a call.

I didn’t want to be a burden, which is such a strange upside-down world from childhood, when the phone was the only way to contact your friends. I remember in the days of late elementary school, email being another exciting tool to communicate, like letters, but now email has become an intrusive contact on my smartphone. And maybe, that’s because email felt like real mail, when you could only check it on your window of computer time on the shared family computer. There was a boundary between online and offline. My mind has been marinating on this since watching a Theresa Yea video called, Why the Internet Will Never Be Cool Again.

I’m currently stuck in an endless game of phone tag, which is quite common when I am talking regularly to one of my parents. With my dad, it was a long game of waiting for that perfect window of nothingness. His layover in a city he found boring, I’d keep him company as he complained about life. Entertaining him and supporting him in his time of boredom, because if he were home, he was on the go every single moment. If I needed him, he would usually call me back on a drive home with a small set window for his attention span or horrible service.

My mom, in a similar fashion, gets stuck in these loops going non-stop. Except she answers the phone in loud restaurants, in the car, or at events, just to tell me that she is not available. She will even talk to other people around her, making me wait, or will pass the phone to the people she is with, as if I want to say hi to them when I really just wanted to converse with her about something important.

There is nothing like being on the brink of a panic attack and having your mom pass you to an acquaintance to say hi instead of listening to your crisis. Especially when you called because you thought they were home and available, but really, your loved one is always on the go. Not emotionally available. I hate calling and being met with passive-aggressive pressure to stop talking and let her go, even though she chose to answer the phone and enter into conversation like she was available at first, only to break that illusion as soon as you answer “how you are doing”. Read the room, kid, but honestly, how can I? This is particularly confusing when my parents both let me know how they would prefer me to live closer so I would be more available, but would it matter?

The video call and the text have become two of the most intrusive manners of communication, because a text should be responded to promptly and a video call, in her mind is perfectly normal to answer in a public setting like a restaurant or car without letting me know before I speak, what I believe I am saying in private to a person who is available to talk, to be swiftly gotcha-ed by the fact that I am not alone, and my privacy is not respected. The video call is like a two-edged sword; it is nice to connect with friends and family over long distances, but it is also a tool that hinders connection. It drops in unannounced and forces conversations that should be private to be open to the room.

I crave the dedicated correspondence of my grandma’s era, when she moved to another town, which meant that calling her mom would be categorized as long distance, and so she and her mom wrote letters to each other every day. I haven’t had that kind of connection with my mom since she got remarried, and I miss that feeling of connection, of being heard. It’s something that carried through my Grandma and my Aunt Florence’s generation, my phone calls with them being so intentional and full of connection. It was a visit, a catch-up, and was treated with hard boundaries. The common thread here is the lack of a smartphone.

Phones were still seen as tools to converse, not mini-computers full of distractions. I find this intentionality coming back to conversations I have with my friends; there are boundaries and moments set aside to converse without distractions. We have planned phone calls or dedicated pauses to set aside other tasks to write longer messages, like letters, through messaging apps. It has improved our communication and respect for each other’s time, in a way that I wish I could have with my parents. I just want to connect and not be connected. I want to converse and not call. I want to correspond and not text.

It is all a pipe dream, because this is never going to happen, they are just too enamoured with technology and the endless possibilities of their boomer generation, and the financial leg up that their generation has to be on the go and do things nearly constantly. We live in two different worlds, and that makes me sad.

Easter: A Confrontation of Oppression?

Something I have pondered through this Easter season, thanks to the Bible Project Exodus Way series, is Jesus’ motivation for His mission and how His ministry confronted oppression in the 1st century. Oppression from sin, society, and the corruption of the Jewish leaders, all under foreign occupation. It was a tense atmosphere. That is something I tend to forget. I think that the Pharisees were petty, and Rome was a casual player; instead of Jesus existed in the context of people who wanted to be free.

The Romans were incredibly brutal. If you have watched Gladiator or Gladiator II, there is a temptation to get caught up in the splendors of Rome, but they were a society sustained by oppression. Gladiators were slaves; any immigrants or conquered nations were slaves, there was a strict class divide, and women were not valued. With newborn baby girls and disabled babies being thrown away to animals, off of cliffs, or sold to human traffickers. It was a common practice.

Doesn’t this sound like eugenics and the practices we saw in the extermination plans of genocides? Yep. It’s a cycle of evil and sin that we fall into over and over again. Same ship, different day.

Under Roman occupation, the cross and crucifixion were a common and calculated practice of execution. Men, women, and children could be crucified, usually by the roadside. It was designed to instill fear and was engineered to be a horrific death, and yet Jesus willingly allowed himself to be crucified for us. All of us, His mockers, those scheming against Him, even those Romans.

He came to challenge our understanding of love through the radical expression of it, taking the sin of the entire world – past, present, and future – on His fully human, yet fully God, shoulders – to pay a price we cannot pay for freedom from oppression.

Jesus ministered to everyone in His path, but He sought out those who were abandoned by the society they lived. Jesus healed the sick, the lepers who were kicked out of society and left to live as outcasts, when they needed compassion and care. Those who were disabled were ignored, but Jesus saw them and healed them. He confronted the demons who took up residence inside people and cast the demons out, ending the oppression of their host and restoring peace.

He gave second chances. There were many times throughout His ministry when the disciples and His followers let Him down, yet Jesus forgave them. Even when they denied and abandoned Him, Jesus forgave. Forgiveness confronts the oppression of grudges, vengeance, malice, and bitterness.

Our society is embroiled in grudges, vengeance, and the oppression that comes with unwillingness to forgive. Justice with an iron fist, eye for an eye. That is not what the Bible calls for, even in those Old Testament passages that are brought up to challenge this – the Egyptians were free to join the Passover and be spared from the plague that killed the firstborn, the kingdoms that were in Canaan when the Israelites did it God’s way were conquerered not by violence. God is a just God, a righteous God, and even in the Day of the Lord is not a God of oppression. We are called to forgive, to be reborn in salvation as new creations in Christ, and to give second chances with generosity and love.

The Passover of the Jews was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.  In the temple he found those who were selling oxen and sheep and pigeons, and the money-changers sitting there. And making a whip of cords, he drove them all out of the temple, with the sheep and oxen.

And he poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables.
And he told those who sold the pigeons, “Take these things away; do not make my Father’s house a house of trade.”

His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” So the Jews said to him, “What sign do you show us for doing these things?”

Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”
The Jews then said, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will you raise it up in three days?”

But he was speaking about the temple of his body. When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the Scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.

John 2:13-22 ESV

It’s been a daily struggle for me and the rest of us who have eyes open to the oppression occurring in our midst. I am angry. I want to fight against the pervasive corruption. This Holy Week has been a week of me learning about the El Salvadorian CECOT prison, where there are no second chances ever, hearing that Autism is an “epidemic”, Putin launching missiles during Ukrainian Easter celebrations, and my state’s governor being the target of arson because of his faith.

The ceasefire, which I knew was broken, just fills me with frustration at the ongoing suffering and senseless death. Like the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Romans, the apathy for suffering people and the greed for power and money is the “tale as old as time” plot playing on today. I wish the world would wake up. It’s also the tax deadline here in the United States, and I have to say, I am the least confident I’ve been in my adult life that my taxes are doing anything good for my community.

Especially when social services and disaster relief funding are cut. I want these leaders in my midst, and my fellow citizens who are lukewarm like the church of Laodicea, to stop perpetuating “Christianity” as a form tied up with politics and confront the ways that they are participating in the oppression of others and repent, because this week is about freedom. We are all invited to become a new creation.

True freedom. From who we are, have been, come from, or what we feel we can’t be. It is a transformative second chance of mercy and justice that we have not earned, but is freely given. No corruption or cronyism can take it away, nor can violence or tyranny.

If you are reading this and haven’t experienced this kind of freedom, may I recommend the Chosen, the Bible Project, and the gospel of John first? John is so thematic, and it’s a story that will pull you in. The world is a vampire, but there is hope. Stay strong, friends, and know that you are loved.

Nine O’Clock

I have a standing date each night. I hurry myself to keep the pace if I see the clock begin to click out of my grasp after my shower. Sometimes I feel like doing my skincare is a chore, I’ll skip the lotion on my limbs or let my hair dry as it pleases if I think I am running behind. As the months pass, I feel the wonderful weight of this schedule, something that was a number on a clock face is now an important engagement with my bunny.

It started slowly, maybe a coincidence? After my shower, I’d walk down the stairs to look for Mia. It was a greeting, then it became a moment on the floor. Now, it has grown into a tradition, an expectation that I will get settled and sit on the floor. I can do some things, other petting Mia, but it must be done from the floor. I can play a little Animal Crossing, one-handed, or find a video to play as background ambience. She’s not a fan of K-pop, though she will tolerate a girl group, with impressive vocals only.

I used to coax her over, after I sat on the floor with a little wiggle of my hand. Recently, she’s been waiting for me in the doorway. Her tail wags, her little body binkies when I open the gate, and last night I could barely find a spot on the floor with her zoomies encircling me. With how rocky our start was, did I ever think Mia would greet me with such effervescent joy? No, I truly thought we would have a distant and tense relationship. Instead, last evening, after 30 mins of pets and snuggles, she flopped next to me, waiting for more pets. She is safe here, and I feel the safety in the silence. The contentment of being with her, the love that is felt in her presence, and the tempo she creates to slow down and breathe.

The greatest thing you’ll ever know, as Nat King Cole wrote in his song “Nature Boy,” is just to love and be loved in return. This line is a key theme of Moulin Rouge, and Bowie’s version of this song was my first encounter with is this song. It’s what I think having a bunny is, to love and be loved in return. I feel her love in her morning greeting, no longer greedy for breakfast for pets, but instead trusting me that food will always be there, she runs over to say “Good Morning.” It’s a celebration of another day, another gift of life, and another day spent with the ones we love.

Pop Press, Historical Biases, and the Straw Man of Politics

What is historical bias? As I dove deeper into my historical training, it became the elephant in the room of every class discussion and the turf monster of every thesis. It is where worldview intersects with historical interpretation and constructs an invisible wall between historical accuracy and interpretation in our present.

Even with firsthand accounts or eyewitness testimony of events, personal bias, and interpretation passively or actively weave themselves into the evidence. It is inescapable.

Something that I’ve gleaned, with a better understanding of, has been from listening to Biblical scholars meditate through the Greek and Hebrew translations of the Bible aka primary sources. It is truly an extraordinary work to ponder accounts from the past and sift through the biases we have as moderns to catch a fleeting moment of connection with the past filled with as deep of empathy for their pov as we can.

It is fleeting because the easier and more common way we interact with history is through quick and heavily biased source material.

A thesis-first and evidence-second approach, instead of first studying the evidence and letting it reveal the thesis is how we as humans prefer to communicate. But what we will gain if we let the text talk to us. Letting the text speak is similar to the Socratic method except instead of a conversation with people, you let the sources speak.

This does not translate well to our current pace of consuming information. It is slow and requires patience to study and understand the matter at hand from many angles. Therefore the “pop press” way of disseminating information, like the History Channel so often uses, rises from the ashes once again to the far reaches of TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.

This is not to say that only bad history or bad thesis drafting is a product of social media. I’ve learned wonderful details about a vast array of histories, fashion, language, and culture through these social platforms that I couldn’t have had access to at college, because the experts didn’t exist. Dress History wasn’t even a widely accepted specialty during my time in college. Social Media has provided a platform for niche history lovers to share their passion with a new audience. Social Media also provides a salon of discussion to debunk myths or provide deeper context to a subject that was given the “pop press” treatment.

So why am I writing about this today? I was watching a video from a creator who used to be a fantastic source of fashion and film content, a 2000s historian of girlhood with insightful and researched evidence that let the text speak. The original work was so high caliber that this current slump into heavily biased “historical” fashion videos and content that is just politics loosely veiled as film or fashion-focused, has been a great disappointment to me. The creator is so talented, and to see them be swayed by forces that are in our culture is sad.

Not only a disappointment, but it has shown me how important it is to stay committed to awareness of historical biases and the humble acknowledgment that we can’t talk in absolutes when it comes to interpretation. We have to be open to exploring the sources from many points of view and not let ourselves be mouthpieces of modernity, with the clever out of “victors write history” so what is the point of going deeper.

Victors certainly change history and can try to control its narrative, but history is the story of humanity and is bigger than one group’s manipulation.

For example, in my wheelhouse, I am the descendant of Irish immigrants who were potato farmers in Cork. The Potato Famine was discussed historically as just a blight. Bad luck. Not a big deal. Oh well. The crisis was met with such apathy that Irish clergyman Jonathan Swift, wrote “A Modest Proposal” to draw attention to the British attitude towards the Irish was not unlike the absurdity of his proposal.

But now, we know that this event can be classified as a genocide because the British colonized Ireland for centuries. There was enough food in Ireland until the British stole it and imported it out of their colony of Ireland. The “victors” affect history but their version is not the guaranteed final version forever. They inflict death and destruction but this will not stay in the shadows forever, the light is greater than the dark.

My point is that this summation, “The victors write history” is paltry.

So what started this ramble of historical bias?

A video essay about the history of the Goth aesthetic which had random political bias inserted as fact and a lack of nuance to the conclusions based on a clearly preconceived thesis where evidence was cherry-picked to fill out a video that wasn’t really about Goth style. It was about our Nov 5, 2024 election and unnecessarily put a lot of negativity out into the world instead of talking about the Goth aesthetic.

I believe it’s time that we as a society stop stirring up dissension and casual hate in the name of the political savior. These candidates never save anything. They try their best but they are just humans. Is it worth hating an entire group of people because they hold different views? Never.

No human is perfect, so how can human government create a perfect society? It’s a straw man.

I hope in time, the strong political biases I see swaying storytelling in my culture will sour. Instead, I hope an appetite for deep discussion to understand each side of the coin will spring forth. For truth, for the sake of truth, warts and all. For deeper connection. To understand what people believe and why they believe, with mutual respect, and respect for the biases we hold so that we don’t let our biases keep us from true understanding and continue to fertilize this culture of casual hate I am seeing in 2024.

I hope this post is not too convoluted. I wanted to discuss this without saying what creator I am referring to because it is not them I want to critique but the fallacy they have fallen under and the way they are approaching history, politics, and interpretation of these things without the awareness of their personal bias. It’s creating foolish and unuseful content that reads more as pop press propaganda than well-researched discussion, which is what I think they excel at doing. I believe they are amazing and I want to see their talent shine once again!

Bias is such a difficult thing to wrestle with and I acknowledge that no matter how I tried to check mine at the door, it still persists. I try to hold it loosely and pursue the truth, but I am an imperfect human. 

Thank you, reader, for being here and I hope this was an interesting ramble if nothing else. If I have offended you, I humbly ask for your grace and willingness to love others – enemy or friend, because that is how we will make this world a better place.

Reclaiming the Calm

As I mentioned in The Rewards and Scars of Setting Healthy Boundaries, I am on a journey to let go of the cortisol and tension I have unknowingly stored in my body. I didn’t realize I was doing this, possibly for decades now, because I don’t feel my feelings I bury them, which I’m working on. The only time I think I wasn’t doing this was during my sophomore and junior years in college when I was doing yoga practice, deep breathing, and trying to get to know myself. Which sounds odd, but was a great way to get through a broken heart.

Emotional Unintelligence

The hows and whys of the broken heart are a bit complicated but I was muddling through the after-effects of a situation ship. Why a situation ship? Well, I believe I was doing anything and everything to feel something, because I buried the heartbreak I felt at the end of high school, realizing my dad had missed my entire childhood and turning 18 meant that child support, the only string connecting us was severed. I didn’t know where he was and if I would see him again. It turns out I did see him again and would be moving to the same town as him five years later, another story for another day. Life is wild.

Anyways, coming out of high school the weight of that broken heart was so much I didn’t know what to do with it. There was so much emotion, so much tension and confusion, in my mind and body that I didn’t understand so my brain freaked out and gave me my first taste of anxiety, depression, and panic. It was a lot. During this time I also lost my ability to cry. I went totally numb which was unnerving, but at the time I was happy at least I wasn’t overwhelmed by my emotions anymore. The downside was that I felt nothing.

I’m Chuck Bass

I didn’t like that. I’m a highly sensitive person, an artistic soul, and feeling is how I understand the world around me. I wanted to feel like myself again. Here’s where the mess began – I decided to go into dating in college in this incredibly unhealthy mindset. These casual relationships were doomed from the start. It couldn’t grow into something real because I wasn’t emotionally available. Which opened the door for the worst relationship type in my opinion the situationship. It was the exact opposite of what my personality needs or wants but hey, I couldn’t feel anything so how hurt could I get?

Blown Up Life

Yeah, this blew up in my face. Once I came out of this situationship and this time of emotional numbness, I realized that I had completely blown up my life. Close relationships that I had from high school were not there. I had not invested in good friendships and community in my college life either by not seeking it out or ditching out on friends who could have been healthy supportive people, because I was scared of these friendships. It was a mess. I was so lonely. I had to get to know myself because there was no one else. I also didn’t know myself anymore. Who was this numb person I had been? Who is this new person who feels, but also feels lost and lonely?

There was so much I needed to understand about myself before I could be a good friend again or try dating once more. I didn’t know where I was going, or who I wanted to be as an adult. There was so much change in a short time. It was time to pause, slow down, and spend time doing the work to find this new person within the closed-off shell.

Meeting A Healthier Me

During this time I became independent for the time. I started going to the coffee shop by myself and learned to be okay on my own, which was wild. This is a skill I’ve forgotten how to do. I let myself be alone with my thoughts, it was a rough road to get there. This time alone started with a season of insomnia, where there was no choice but to be by myself, and now I realize spent time alone with God even though I wasn’t focused on this at the time. I discovered new shows like Fruits Basket, Trigun, Firefly, and Vikings. I also began thinking seriously about what I wanted in life with this new scenario. I didn’t end up going to fashion school or doing the Fashion Business major I was supposed to create with my advisor. I found myself drawn to fashion history through the creative sandbox of one cool professor who gave us the freedom to explore our interests.

I also started doing yoga and learning to train my mind and my breathing to keep going when my body and mind were tangled up in knots from the stress and trauma of life. It was the first time I think I was doing exercise for exercise itself not for a job like paint crew or campus mail delivery for the mailroom, which were both pretty physical. My campus was old and full of hills and stairs, so many stairs.

2020s Version of Numb

As life goes on, things repeat. Life changed again and I got busy. I stopped practicing these healthy habits into post-grad and getting married which was dumb on my part. I got healthier but I don’t think I got wiser. So I find myself now relearning how to find healthy balance and healthy habits to rid myself of the tension and wild mind that has trapped me in a prison of my own making.

How do I find my way out? My plan is to reflect and discuss that process here as I go through this journey of self-discovery again because I think this is something we all face and I wish I had known more about emotional health when I was younger. There are a lot of things that kept that from being something I understood. We don’t always have the most emotionally mature parents and I think it’s hard to talk about. I hope you’ll join me on this little adventure.

Kindness in a Heatwave: Light of Life

Today we’re having one of those, I hope, last big temperature swings up into the 90 degrees Fahrenheit for the season. I’ve always struggled in the heat, I get heat-sick pretty easily and feel like I’m in a fog. This is why living in coastal Georgia was never going to work no matter how cool the people were or how beautiful the scenery. But it wasn’t until this summer that I considered what would I do without access to a shower, or a steady supply of clean water to drink?

Light of Life Rescue Mission has opened my eyes to this. This summer the mission, through the leadership of Rev. Jerrel T. Gilliam, has been working to draw attention to the homeless community in Pittsburgh and what they are experiencing in the waves of heat without having the amenities and resources many of us, me included take for granted.

Hope and Love Transform Communities

This mission is based in Pittsburgh, PA. I first learned of the mission through my teachers at school who would lead drives to collect hygiene items and socks to distribute to men experiencing homelessness in our nearby city of Pittsburgh. The mission has now expanded to offer assistance to men, women, and children experiencing homelessness through their Street Outreach Team and shelter locations within the city. The mission started in 1952 as a soup kitchen and has expanded to include a men’s shelter, a food pantry, a women’s and children’s shelter, a recovery place, and a free clothing store.

The mission came again on my radar while watching the Kindness Diaries when host Leon is hosted by a man who is experiencing homelessness, who offers him a place to stay at the mission. How incredible is that? It’s like the widow’s offering.

At the time I was experiencing a time of financial insecurity. I was about to go through a season that could have led to being without a roof over my head. Without the privilege of family members to help me until I could get back on my feet, I’m not sure where I would have been. This season of life changed me dramatically. It changed how I saw the world.

It broke my heart for the members of my community who are not as fortunate to have family and need people to step up into the gap and help. I was determined, that once I got through this period I wanted to support this mission through financial contribution and I have done this. And by supporting this mission, I’ve continued to learn how much kindness and generosity change everything.

Of course, because I am a flawed human I got distracted by work once I was back to being employed and lost a few years in my own world, but thankfully God was relentless in putting this on my heart. I’m grateful for His willingness to not give up on us even when we are unfaithful workers.

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”

Mark 12:41-44 NIV

The simple yet impactful work of the Street Outreach Team to go out daily conduct wellness checks, and distribute water, food, and hygiene items within the homeless encampments in Pittsburgh makes a huge difference. Inviting people back to the mission and doing this every day – this is how we make a difference.

It’s about remembering people who go unseen in our individualistic and capitalist society and showing up for them every day. It shirks the standard, the lie that if you don’t have financial means or stuff you don’t matter.

Yeah, it’s sick. But it is modern society. Actually, it’s always been a part of our societies from Victorian workhouses to the beggars at the gates in the Bible, it’s a human problem to ignore those in our world who need community the most.

We Will Not Be Shaken

When the city of Pittsburgh decided to clear out homeless encampments by force, Light of Life stood up to challenge the approach of the city officials and make them consider the root cause of the problem, the systemic problem, instead of ignoring the problem.

Like many cities around the United States, Pittsburgh is experiencing rising homelessness within the population. Some of this is due to the housing crisis, but also the affordability of housing is changing within the city, and there is an unaddressed drug problem on the rise that is not being dealt with. Addiction and homelessness can go hand in hand, so why not address the addiction problem too?

This is what Light of Life offers at their rescue mission in addition to dignity, community, and a way forward for families and individuals who are struggling to uplift them and equip them for the bright and secure futures they can have. It’s about hope.

I think too often we overlook how much mental health can wreck our lives.

When I was struggling to find steady employment after college, I felt depressed and anxious because I was working hard to find a job but the jobs simply didn’t exist. I was living frugally but I still had to give up my apartment and move back in with my mom because I ran out of money.

I was incredibly depressed during this season and I isolated myself due to my embarrassment when I really needed people to talk to about these feelings to be able to move forward. This is what the work of the Light of Life Rescue Mission aims to do, by challenging the culture, to show up for our neighbors instead of ignoring them in their time of need.

I believe this mindset is what we need in our world, more than ever after the worldwide trauma of 2020, and how that disconnected us all. We need to bring our sense of community back instead of isolating ourselves behind technology or accumulating things to feel little hints of joy. We need each other. We need true joy, hope, love, and peace.

Most importantly, we need to remember that people deserve dignity. To think beyond our little spheres. It’s a daily challenge for me, I get so wrapped up in my stuff, and that’s not what is important. Like remembering that heat waves or cold weather can have severe consequences for those in our communities who are living without. So as the summer sizzles on and we look to the cold ahead, how can we all make a difference for those around us who need support?

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