Tag: mental health

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.

Structure and Flow: Sewing in Two Minds

Like I said in my 2025 So Far Has Been a Creative Slump, I am sharing the projects I’ve hidden away in my closet and the photos buried in my gallery. It’s time to catch up on this blog on what I’ve been sewing, because it’s been a journey of new discoveries.

Go With the Flow

In 2022, Kyle gave me a unique birthday present. He curated a mystery box of fabric for me to do my own “Project Runway” challenge – one of those fabrics was this sheer wheat colored criss-cross fabric. It has lived in my stash ever since. It was a fabric that scared me but intrigued me. It’s a stretch mesh burnout pattern, and for over a year, I was baffled at how to sew it without destroying it.

Even so, after I sewed it into a garment, how would I apply it? Would it be a garment that would be sewn layered on top of an opaque fabric? What would that look like? Should I use a high contrast fabric or something similar in tone? It stumped me. I lived with it a bit more in my stash, and it came with me through the move and into the fall once more. In 2024, after two years, I had an idea – sheer layering. A garment I could wear under or over other pieces to add dimension and disguise the oatmeal color that I was concerned would wash me out.

My decision was to make a shirt. I thought making it a “basic” would provide the most opportunity to style it in my wardrobe. I sewed the delicate fabric with my machine very slowly. I relaxed the tension of the thread and progressed delicately, ready to hand-sew at any moment of panic. It was not terrifying; it was possible.

Structure of a Bodice – Armor

Many years ago, back in 2021 (four years ago, what?!) I crafted a structured dress, based on Lizzie Bennet’s dress, when Charlotte Lucas announces her marriage to Mr. Collins. It was a vest and a skirt, with buttons and a collar. It was ambitious but rubbish, yet a project I can’t stop thinking about how I could have made it better.

Enter this fabric and this bodice shape. It looks like an armor piece made of vintage ditzy flower fabric, lined with muslin. I wanted to reclaim what I learned in 2021, but try again in 2025, since the failure of my early projects made me shrink back to “easy” projects. I’ve made things that have challenged me a little bit, but not a true experiment. Constant growth is painful. Think of your body after consistent workouts, you’re going to hurt. It’s part of the process of getting stronger, and it feels at times like a negative experience. That feeling ground me down. I was tired of the learning experiences that felt more like loss and waste than an expression of crafting and artistry. It’s human, it’s passion, how can we not want the fruit of our labor to produce something good?

I made this dress slowly, over several weeks, while working on other projects, while being sick. It was a slow, steady, careful process to make a dress that would bring me joy from the creation and the wearing. The other thing I had to wrestle with, in this project, was shaking off the demons of my Lizzie Bennet dress. It was a dress I felt pretty in, but that I took a lot of crap for my appearance when I wore it out. It was structured, fitted, and flowy. The waist was not perfectly matched to the small of my waist, due to my lack of tailoring knowledge. This dress prompted a stranger to ask me when I was due, and then doubled down that I looked pregnant. I wasn’t pregnant, so to her, I looked fat. Thanks lady.

It was rude and such a breach of boundaries. Don’t ask random strangers if they are pregnant; wait for them to clearly tell you. It feels like a slap in the face for so many toxic culture reasons, the main one is the unwanted comment on your body with the double standard of “pregnancy being the most beautiful,” but don’t look pregnant, aka don’t be fat, because the zeitgeist is fat-phobic. I got rid of the dress and don’t have any photos saved of the dress; that’s how much this experience ruined the dress for me. I lacked the confidence to brush it off. I didn’t understand my body’s proportions and lines, therefore, I blamed my body and myself for the dress not working, instead of my tailoring skills being the problem.

2025 Style – Layering and Reclaiming

I chose to confront this feminine dress style once again. I knew it would clash with the natural lines of my body. I don’t have an hourglass body shape, which this fit and flare dress calls for. I’ve been scared to wear it, but I am challenging myself to try. I layered the sheer shirt I made in 2024 with this dress and a belt to create balance. It’s going to take time to get comfortable, for sure.

The dress not only has this flowy skirt, but it is fully lined, and the front gathering has been tracked down with stitches to reduce waist bulk. I also added eyelets and lacing at the back of the garment to define the waist, Lastly, I added a belt to my waist, which I don’t enjoy wearing, but the effect of pulling the eye to the waist should reduce unwanted comments, I hope. I like the contrast of these garments together. They have flow and structure. Together they create a complete thought, and in my opinion, look like designs with a point of view, which is what I am aiming for in my designs 2025.

My 2025 So Far Has Been A Creative Slump

I can’t believe it’s May already, I’ve been so busy with our garden project and a follow up project of screening in our back porch, distracted by Joann’s closure and the evil running rampant in our world that I have been on a slow creative trajectory, and its really catching up to me!

Upcycling, Alterations, Mending

As of late, the bulk of my sewing projects have been preservation, updates, or reworking the garment into something new. In mid-winter, I decided to tailor every t-shirt in my closet. This meant I would be hemming every shirt to end above my hip and bringing the end of the sleeve upward, to end higher on my arm, which is more flattering to my vertical line. I’ve had to repair a few garments and mend some older pieces. I’ve also been taking some of my clothes in and tearing them apart to be upcycled into new projects I can’t wait to share. That I thought I already shared. This leads me to the next point: I have a backlog of projects I held back last fall.

The Head Games of Content

I still battle imposter syndrome, and in doing so, last year, feared that I would run out of ideas. So I slowed down my posting to keep these good ideas and projects in the tank for a rainy day, and instead of this giving me the freedom to create and write without pressure this gave my type-B nature and out to avoid writing, because I had the ideas, and so I sat on them and now it is almost a year later, without these projects having their time to shine. Grinding it out on Instagram last year definitely took my focus from me, and then these constant recession fears have kept me in a place of fear, which has stifled my desire to create, in case I can’t buy more materials in the future. I worry too much. Writing for two years, on this site, led me to a sophomoric slump heading into 2025. I lost the urgency to keep going and backslid into complacency and a lack of creativity. I have also transitioned into a slower creative process in hopes of gaining that spark again!

Hand Sewing 2: Electric Boogaloo

When I began sewing in 2020, I did so through sewing by hand through the tutorials of Bernadette Banner. I did this for two years and then acquired my Heavy Duty Singer, which I switched to using exclusively from the end of 2022 through the beginning of 2025. But this year, I am having some struggles with my sewing machine. I love the speed at which you can make things, but I fear that this boost in speed has dampened my craftsmanship.

When I was sewing by hand, I had the time to consider the project and to ponder where the design was going to lead me. With my sewing machine, I have fallen into a bad habit of making without pausing to ponder. I also started designing simpler, easier-to-sew garments for efficiency instead of art. But speaking of efficiency, I don’t think sewing machines are as efficient as we make them out to be. Mine is quite finicky. It eats fabric and thread. I go through the thread considerably quicker using my Singer than I do by hand. I have to rip seams and sew again, many times, because the machine messed up a stitch or skipped stitches altogether, and I’m tired of it. So my machine and I are taking some time apart.

Slow and Steady, A Life of WIPs

And so, here I am months later with a few finished garments, many WIPs, and a better life balance. Including a refreshed creative well. The time spent working outside with Kyle crafting our screened porch, tilling garden beds, painting, upcycling furniture, studying Japanese, drawing, reading, exercising, etc, has been a wonderful way to remember why I love creating. I find knitting to be my happy place. For a week, I barely knitted, and my mind was filled with far more rage without the needles weaving yarn into cloth. I’ve come to a place in my sewing journey where I want to learn and be ambitious again. I’ve filled my closet with good handmade pieces, but I want to create exceptional, one-of-a-kind things.

I have learned that knitting is my favorite mode of creation, and sewing is the freedom to make what I don’t want to buy or can’t find offered. The process is just as important as the final product, as trite as that is, creation and crafting are where we thrive, not consuming. I find moments of calm in working with my hands and feel satisfaction in stepping away to old creative haunts, like painting or gardening. I think the slump was an important part of growing. I hope that you find creative refreshment and know that you are loved. Stay safe out there, these are dangerous times, and know that I care about you all very much.

#71 – Caramel

Luscious, warm, a decadent note that makes a dessert sing in perfect harmony. I used to crave this in candy bars, a Twix, or perhaps a scoop of Bruster’s Chocolate Turtle ice cream.

The Great British Bake Off opened my eyes to Banoffee Pie and the simple luxury of making a caramel without instructions. The process is a beautiful as the finished product. A melting sugar and butter, finished with cream.

The Caramel Macchiato taught me what coffee can do beyond ice cream sundaes and candy confections. It can be comforting, a delight to grab between classes, or an awful first job.

But how does one enjoy something they can not eat? I’ve been stumped on how to recreate this treat since my dairy-free lifestyle began, until I picked up a pint of dairy-free Phish Food from Ben & Jerry’s. It had the marshmallow fluff (which I discovered I could eat again this past winter) and ribbons of soft caramel. Caramel that tasted like the real thing.

I began to search for knowledge on blogs and Reddit until I found a recipe so simple I had to give it a try.

  • 1 can of coconut milk
  • 3/4 cup brown sugar
  • 1/4 tsp kosher salt

It was so simple. Melt the ingredients together on medium-low, then boil and reduce for 20 minutes. Let cool in a glass jar and store in the fridge. I made it last night and it was marvelous!

I found Vanilla Bean Oat Milk ice cream at the store for a sundae, and bam, I was a kid again, making an ice cream sundae with my grandparents on a summer evening.

What is a flavor that takes you home? Is there a food you haven’t had in a while that will comfort you in these trying times? Make it, your inner child will thank you.

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.

Crafting in 2025

To and fro my footsteps roam, upon the miles of white, fluorescent aisle – vast, void, verigated, vexing wanderings. Where to next? Weaving textiles. Fiber miles spin, spun into nothingness. A paywall of digital footprint. Add to cart.

Yesterday, Today, and Forever

Tariffs. Bird Flu. Ragebait. Clickbait. Speculation. Social Media. Everyone has an opinion. Eggs. But you’re telling me no one has a solution? Anger. Tears. Can no one else see the Ha Satan clearly?

Closures. Monopolies. Let’s spiral. Small business. Big business. DOGE. AI. Algorithm, subscription fatigue. The death of personal style. Kindle downloads. Call BookTok, this 1984. The world is full of NPCs. Could you wake up from your main character energy?

Quiet the voices speaking lacking wisdom. Who knows no good deed. I’ve had enough. Power. Riches. They are for fools. Feel a calling, verses come into focus. So perfectly timed. Elohim. YHWH. Passing over. Lent is upon us. Cling to truth.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”

Hebrews 13:8 NIV

#70 – The Cold, Patience, BBC Pride and Prejudice

This winter, it’s wildly beautiful with it’s near constant snow accumulation (uncommon for where I live) and icy drops in temperature where we spent a month or so below 32 Fahrenheit. These rhythms of snow, ice, and cold fronts entering the atmosphere on a Friday and lasting all weekend led to many weeks of waiting, being still, escaping to my Stardew Valley farm. Waiting for the winter to pass, knitting away my boredom.

Time Passing Marked By Candles

We made a balloon arch for my birthday, a Brooklyn 99 high honor, and I decorated the living room with Stardew Valley garlands, making the time lost to snow and ice marked with something to remember.

In this waiting, I’ve had unwelcome house guest of Winter, the lingering cold. I had a troubling cold over Christmas, with sinus pain that kept me awake through the night. I thought it was gone as we entered January but I realize now the cold retreated but hovered in the shadows throughout the long mid-winter until Valentine’s Day when it re-animated and gave me some of the worst congestion, ear-aches, and sinus pain I can remember. I couldn’t lay down without the sinus pressure pain building, I couldn’t sleep. I felt miserable.

The Grim Night

I think the hardest part of feeling sick is the mental part. The patience to do nothing, and let go of the goals in your  mind. It’s boring! There was a few days of utter boredom. Knitting felt like too much, taking naps would trigger the sinus pain, and I remember   feeling useless, empty, and void of joy.

I felt deeply frustrated. Why was I going through a second round of this? Why is this happening to the point that I can’t write, or work on my projects, I can’t even keep up with my share of the housework. How long until I feel normal again?

When we lack health, it is the only thing we crave. It truly is more valuable than money. As I go further into adulthood, I growing in appreciation for the little things like health, a boring day where you feel great, and you tend to forget this feeling looking back on it. It blends with the others, but those ordinary moments are what give us such rich life.

Like those mild days of the year, those 60s or low 70s and sunny days, they blur in the background of the weather extremes, but really those days were probably the most mood boosting of the year.

Shall the Shades of Pemberly Be Thus Polluted?

One of the few things that gave me joy during that week of sickness was BBC’s Pride and Prejudice 1995.

It was my first watch. I’ve read the book and watched the 2005 version, but this series had escaped me. I think I put it off because I though it was a hipster scheme. How could this one be so much better than the 2005 movie? With its soundtrack and cinematography? The hype was real, it’s spectacular.

It’s a series I could watch again, and again, for those nature shots and the beautiful furniture. The costumes are true regency in design, compared to the 2005 version. Each character is flushed out like book and it is simply a treasure. 😍

Nothing Nice to Say

February and January to be honest have been a challenge for me creatively. I haven’t known what to write about without it sounding like I am complaining. There is a lot of crap going in the world and it’s been a struggle for me to keep my eyes fixed on the good.

When I’m in this mood, like I was during our house buying process in May 2024, I struggled to write on here as well. I didn’t want to complain and also didn’t feel inspired because of the distractions. And so, time passes.

In this time I’ve been listening, reflecting. I’ve been enamored by the latest Bible Project series. I’ve been waiting for the final blow for Joann’s which happened. I’ve been researching new sources of yarn and fabric, keeping my eyes and ears open for new brands to fill the void.

I started reading again – beginning with an attempt to re-read Crime and Punishment which I shelved for now after Semyon Zakharovich Marmeladov‘s long rant in the bar. I was feeling too sick at that point to envelope myself in that misery and pivotted to Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim.

I have filled my days with the soundtrack of Aespa, Stray Kids, and Red Velvet. We even started a new K-drama, Crash Landing on You, which I’d like to write about along with Business Proposal and Extraordinary Attorney Woo.

We’re re-watching Only Murders in the Building and laughing our way through Impractical Jokers. All the while I’ve been working on several knitting WIPs that I look forward to sharing! Along with a Mia update, she is one happy bun, and has become a cuddly little friend who desires our company. My heart is full. 🥰

I hope wherever you are in the world, you are feeling healthy, loved and know how much I appreciate you, reader, who spend time with me here. I wish you a lovely weekend!

Editing My Manuscript from 2017

Yes, I finally did it. I found the manuscript and shifted through the 250+ pages to wrangle this story of years past down to a neat 187 single-spaced. It was a mental challenge to revive these characters I knew so well and remember who they were and why they were important to me. More important to me than I think I gave them credit in years past. Saoirse, Kinvara, and Biorn were characters I felt connected to because they were just as lost as I was. They had life toss them about, treading water for meaning in the dramatic family civil war they found themselves in. It mirrored life. It foreshadowed the losses I knew were to come and helped me sort out the mysteries of my own life in an imagined Viking Age Ireland full of shifting alliances and invaders.

After all this time, why now? I have two other novel ideas I want to explore yet I felt unable to write again until Udal Cuain was laid to rest. The leviathan of the past which helped me forward when I was stuck. I believe I needed creative closure. It was a manuscript without an ending. I revised and revised the story in 2018, taking it into darker waters. It became too dark for me to continue as my life was moving from darkness towards the light once again, there were things from history and Irish Celtic culture, as well as Norse culture I was unwilling to interact with anymore.

When I was first working on this project, I was steeped in historical research from my independent study about Early Medieval Ireland and fresh from watching the television show Vikings. It was a time when I was hiding behind a shell, numb from unresolved trauma that I was a shell of myself. Hidden away from my true self, masking and unhealthy. The violence of this show and the research on Irish pagan rituals were something I ignored, even though I cannot think of them without shuttering now. These were things, details I needed to remove from my own writing to find my own peace. Not to censor it but instead to be authentic to who I am. If you want to learn more, this novel will just be a stepping stone for more research because I cannot in good conscience tell a story with such evil and bring that evil to you the reader.

The bulk of my revisions were just that, removing things I no longer felt comfortable with to have the story reflect who I am now.

Being in the present, and seeing through the time how I have found peace in my personal life since writing Udal Cuain in 2017, allowed me to give it an ending. I didn’t know where to leave my characters when I was walking through a season of confusion. I see now that I had to read more of my own story before I could write their story.

Why am I sharing this novel on my blog instead of shopping it around to publish or publishing it as an E-book? I don’t know if this novel is something at this time that I am pleased with as a representation of who I am as a writer. It was a story that I needed to write for myself but not something I felt like it was a story I wanted to have out there for people to rip apart. I don’t feel ready to put it to market so I am sharing it on this blog for you the reader to read if you would like to do so.

Analyzing how I wrote the story and talking through the novel planning process has been more rewarding than seeing it as a published book. It was a process that gave me meaning then and still rewards me now for the things I learned through trying something new. When I started jotting down ideas for Udal Cuain I was a non-fiction writer, preferring essays and historical research as a medium to write, as well as a creative expression like poetry. World building? Not a thing I thought I could do, nor did I think that creating characters and crafting dialogue would be as fun as I thought. If you have an idea, go for it! You will surprise yourself by what the discipline of writing and creating will do for your mind. It’s challenging, confidence-building, and relaxing to escape into a world of your imagination. I believe you can do it!

Thank you, reader, for supporting me and viewing those Udal Cuain novel writing posts. It gave me the encouragement to go back and finish what I started many years ago.

A Shy Girl Goes To The DMV

I’d say this photo, featured above accurately represents how I feel in situations like going to the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) to renew my driver’s license. It’s a blur of moments, faces, government jargon, and touch screens. The big stack of papers signed and passed along in the process of closing on a house is more etched in my brain than the 20 minutes at my local DMV location. There is something about the dull, harsh lighting and bland walls covered in bulletins, electronic screens, and directions. It’s overstimulating and yet underwhelming. It is not a place I feel comfortable in.

This feeling began many years ago during the driver’s permit test process, in a different DMV, equally dull and filled with too many signs and screens. There was always one piece of information I was missing. A document my mom and I forgot, or a process out of order. The test was deceptively easy to study and terrifyingly tricky when taken, and I almost missed too many answers due to the sheer amount of distraction of the dull yet harsh environment.

This time, was one of those such times. Renewing in 2017 was easy, it was a new DMV with friendly people. Renewing in 2021 was an absolute breeze because there was no need to go in for the photo, just click and pay at home. It spoiled me. Renewing this time in 2025 was one of those DMV experiences fraught with tricky trip-ups.

Not surprising for me, it’s been a place I have been thwarted for years, from nervously failing the parallel park portion because I was afraid of my test proctor and his gruff demeanor or forgetting to keep my permit up-to-date and having to renew to test to wait four months for another testing time. The government process is nothing if not inefficient and a war of attrition.

The gauntlet was thrown down. Waiting for Christmas and New Year to pass, I renewed my license online and got stuck in a loop of changing my address. I then could not reach the process to renew anymore, because it was updating my address. So I mailed my renewal and waited. I then received two separate address updates for the license set to expire, but no update on my renewal.

Two weeks passed and I began to anxiously check the internet for a timeline – usually within 15 business days. Oh no, business days…I sent it in the mail on Jan 2, how many days would spend in the USPS system? Then a former president passed, delaying mail service. Was renewing it a month in advance not enough?! We then checked online, showing it had been renewed. Phew! But, when? I received another piece of mail, updating my voter registration automatically, but no temporary license or camera card.

Each day as the mail came, I ran to check it like Ralphie waiting for his Little Orphan Annie secret decoder pen. I began to worry, was my license going to expire waiting for it to show? Was it all going to unravel because of the sluggish pace of the government institution? How was I going to follow behind in my car when my husband’s car went for inspection in February? Was it back to walking for me?

Then one beautiful day I heard the mailbox close with a slam (it’s a very old cast iron mailbox), I scurried from my work room and descended the stairs with the promise of the future in my eyes. My delight was palpable as my hand pulled a DMV envelope from the mailbox. The envelope tore with ease, revealing the temporary license and camera card in my hands. All was saved!

On the next good weather weekend (it’s been a winter of snow squalls) we made our way to the DMV for the last battle left, the camera portion. Now as a shy person, this is the part that still makes me want to recoil. I never liked picture day at school. When a camera is pointed at me I can’t smile normally. I feel like a spotlight bears down upon me, filling me with dread. My smile looks unnatural, sometimes like a grimace if I smile with teeth. If I smile with a closed mouth like I did throughout my braces era, it looks uncomfortable, my shyness written across my face.

Filled with shyness, I sallied forth, pulling my ticket in preparation for a long wait. To my surprise, my number was called immediately and I had to go to a completely separate area, by myself. Something I dread in unfamiliar places. So in a flurry of adrenaline, I went into the photo room and unbeknownst to me went to the wrong side of the table to sit down. The DMV lady shouted at me, my face immediately turning red. Embarrassed and ashamed at my accident, my apologies flowed forth. She continued to scold me in front of the other citizens there to get their photo. It was incredibly awkward.

She was sweet to the other people and continued to speak to me with contempt, even though I continued to apologize for my mistake. I was flustered. Ripping my paperwork and not knowing where to go. Soon the others in front of me were served. It was my time to smile but to be honest, I was so embarrassed and concerned they were going to remove me as a security threat, I knew that wasn’t going to be possible.

Then the weirdest thing happened the lady switched from harsh to calm, saying she needed to yell at me for the camera on the ceiling or she would face consequences. (What? That’s bizarre.) It was tough to trust the nice demeanor, was she going to snap at me again if I made another mistake?

At that point, I was introvert drained from the drama, and wanted to hide. My posture could not hide my internal feelings as I sat down in front of the camera. Flash, the first picture snapped displaying a red-faced blank expression. She offered me a retake and snap, and a turtle-necked miserable-looking photo appeared on screen. I believe she offered me another retake but my mind was far away.

I continued to make mistakes, including selecting Arabic on my screen to fill out a few more things for completion. As she handed me my card, she apologized finally for scaring me, which I appreciated and I wished her a good day. I looked at my ID card and was horrified, the person doesn’t even look like me. The bottom half of the image is stretched out, compared to my photo from 2017 it looks like I aged and let myself go from how distorted the image is from what I saw on the screen.

It was the cherry bomb on top of the 2025 battle: DMV vs. Shy Girl.

I’ve tried to remind myself that what is important is that I did it, I didn’t cry when shouted at, and I didn’t give into my anxiety and bail. I did it and persevered, the bad picture happened but it doesn’t reflect what I actually look like and no one is really going to see it. But dang, what an awful experience! I think why the new picture feels like such a jump scare is it is all my fears wrapped up into one – aging and looking ugly and fat. My culture is obsessed with thinness and beauty. Plastic surgery is becoming normalized and it is sickening how vain we all are becoming. I forgot to do my hair, I didn’t wear foundation just a little eyeliner, and I forgot to gua sha.

The picture was just me and things out of my control like getting scolded, bad lighting, and a stretched image created something without beauty, because beauty is not the goal for the DMV, it is clinical and for the process of identification. It is a stark contrast to the world of filters, good lighting, and curated perfection fed to us in this current age. Seeing that ugly image, rocked my confidence because even though I find my worth in Christ, I still live in this fallen world that equates beauty and youth with virtue and worth. So what happens when life happens and time passes? We become older, we gain weight and no longer look like the size 2 self from our teen years?

Is everything past that point worthless? I realized, as I looked at the image of my expired license and the new one that having the same picture for two renewals, warped my view of how I am aging. The younger version also was far more curated as a coping mechanism. I used to be a stickler for straightening my hair, wearing makeup, jewelry, and food restriction to be in the beauty standard to blend in, like an outer shell. Protective, candy-coated.

But the younger version of myself would have been unable to cope with a stranger yelling at me without crying and shutting down. Any picture of myself I saw as ugly, I had no confidence even at my skinniest. All the things that have happened since 2017 – loss of loved ones, getting shunned by family members, reconnecting with my dad and his family only to get hurt again, losing my place to live, having nowhere to live, and crashing in people’s guest rooms for a few weeks, moving to Georgia and back, subsequent moves out of sketchy landlord situations, my first job, my first layoff in a global pandemic, etc.

It’s been a lot and through that process, I grew character and began to unmask. So what if I don’t look the same as I did in 2017? I thought I looked ugly and fat in my 2017 ID photo and was ashamed. It’s just a photo on a driver’s license card. I like the person God has shaped me to be more now in 2024, than the person who was lost and far from God in 2017. Cheers to growth!

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