Show me your wounds, I'll show you mine

I’d been waiting to walk those halls for 5 years. I was in my best dress and wouldn’t have batted an eye if you’d asked me to audition on the spot for the big screen. Once inside, I quickly found a familiar face and darted away from my mother, who was busy checking me in.

Once I reached her, the words just about exploded out of my tiny frame. “Hi, my name is Kirsty. I’m Loren’s little sister.” The kind-eyed woman, who was mid-conversation with another teacher, looked down at me with a warm smile and a laugh. She was obviously caught off guard, but not upset. Not only had I cut into an adult conversation, but I had taken it upon myself to make a formal introduction at 5 years old. Once I had her attention, I did what came most natural to me, I continued to speak until I ran out of breath.

By the time my mom had found my little brunette bob among the 40 other kindergartners, I had already covered the fact that I had one functioning kidney and was just wrapping up the story of her divorce. The idea of privacy never made much sense to me. When I told stories about my life, others smiled or laughed and that was all I ever wanted in return. More times than not, they responded with stories of their own. Another token for my transparency. This was a trick I learned very young… If I show you my wounds, you’ll show me yours.

As one of my favorite artists wrote, “These bruises make for better conversation”.

I’ve always cut past the pleasantries and have rarely been disappointed. We have all been hurt and most people carry trauma everywhere they go. Desperately wanting to hand over the burden and lighten the load or find someone who can connect with their pain. Many will hide this to make “others feel comfortable”. However, I challenge you to ask yourself, “Is the mask protecting you or them?” It can feel easier pushing down our emotions and never allowing others to see past our perfect façade, but who wins in the end? You’re both left accepting that your struggles are meant to be carried alone.

Imagine walking the halls of your high school or streets of your neighborhood with signs above our heads, listing our every insecurity and pain. For the first time, you might see the woman three doors down because you can relate to what she is feeling… The burden of unrealistic expectations as a mother, wife and daughter. You’ve cried yourself to sleep time and time again due to those same pangs of guilt, though all you’ve seen are her smiles and all you’ve felt toward her is jealousy for how easy her life seems.

Those closest to me often say that I create deep relationships at lightning speed and have a way of making others feel comfortable while sharing personal stories. This is not by accident, nor is it any secret. Showing up every day and facing others with our walls down can be difficult, but it can also be beautiful. I am constantly amazed by individuals in my life, by their strength and what they’ve overcome. I am also forgiving, because I’ve taken the time to see their raw and unfiltered self. Always remembering that we are our toughest critics. I can be a better friend, colleague and family member when I promise others a space for open, judgment-free dialogue.

Today, many topics are controversial, and many feelings are overwhelming. This is the time to be open with one another. When you show your heart, imperfect and unscripted, others feel safe doing the same. Think of that ripple effect through our communities and nation. The potential for a tidal wave of understanding and support.

Don’t “love” this, take it to heart

I don’t deserve to feel this way or share these thoughts... Or at least that was my impression until today.

I’m sure we’ve all read a post that goes something like this. “Anxiety and depression do not discriminate.” Maybe we’ve “shared” or “loved” and then carried on with our day. Until we hit the 4th yellow light our way to work late and the car in front of you decides to slam on their breaks, again. Some of us swear, some of us swerve around and few of us wait patiently for the light to turn green. I’d like to think that I am, more times than not, in the latter group. Why? Because I bet it is difficult to slide through a yellow when you lost your brother to someone who ran a red. Do I know that is the driver’s situation? No... But it very well could be and so I wait. 

I’m a 24 year old, white, middle class, healthy, woman. I have supportive family and friends, a wonderful boyfriend, great apartment and a career that I love. I also deal with crippling guilt, anxiety and perfectionist tendencies... Which I’ve dealt with in both healthy and unhealthy ways through my life.

Why am I sharing this? Because until today I didn’t think I had the right to. I am opening myself up to the judgement coming from those of you who feel you are in a worse place, and you very well may be. I see and understand that. However, it’s also possible for someone whose environment and situation are different from yours to be hurting too. Because, simply put, your external factors do not define how you are feeling internally. 

I’ve struggled. I’ve had days where I’ve cry to and from work... Weeks where I can’t seem to escape my brain fog or be present in any situation... Nights where I’ve replayed an incident and beat myself up so many times that I’ve never fallen asleep. But who am I to share this pain or cope so drastically when I’m not dying or homeless or suicidal? I am a young woman who is living and thriving and surviving, all at once. So many of us dance on this line between living our best life and just being alive. 

Know that you’re not alone. Know that your pain is real and it’s alright to not be “okay” for an hour, a morning, a month. Everyone is going through something and we have no way of knowing what that might be. Who are we to determine which levels of pain warrant snapping at a barista or being unprepared for a meeting? Be empathetic toward all, lord knows our world could use that now more than ever. Tomorrow is a fresh start and if you can ease the weight on someone’s chest by smiling or buying their coffee or simply responding to their anger with gentle understanding, do that. 

Doll Faced Insecurities

When I was eight years old, my family took a trip to New York City and I was fortunate enough to have been brought to the American Doll Store. For those of you who have never been an eight year old girl, this was pretty much Disney Land and Christmas wrapped into one. The place has multiple floors with a full selection of dolls, clothing, a salon and even a restaurant where you can eat a meal with your doll. It's fairly elaborate and an absolute dream for most young girls. They have a popular option where you can purchase a look-a-like doll and I was very eager play along! How I remember this working was they gave me a sheet to fill out with all of my characteristics (hair color, eye color, skin color, etc), they created a mini-me doll and sent it to my house. A few weeks after returning from my trip the doll arrived and my mom turned to me puzzled. My "look-a-like" had green eyes, however mine are brown. She thought that they must have made a mistake, but I informed her that I had chosen to make hers green because I thought that I would be prettier that way. At eight years old, instead of getting a doll that looked just like me, I chose to make an "improvement" the first chance that I got.

I would not say that I was an insecure child. From the outside most people who knew me would have thought, and would still think, the complete opposite. I am a very transparent extrovert, which comes across as extremely confident. A trait that used to bother me, but I have learned to embrace. As with most emotions, I truly believe that you can fake it until you make it. Acting confident DOES make you feel more confident. However, that does not mean that I did not grow up with my fair share of insecurities. I have compared myself to my peers, strangers and celebrities my entire life. I remember breaking down in tears at 12 years old because all of my friends were getting boobs and I could have easily still gone topless at the beach. Why I wanted boobs so bad at 12 was simple. The media told me that they were what beautiful women had. Like any young girl, I wanted to fit in and I wanted to be beautiful. I can truly say that when I was little I never thought to myself  "I really hope that I am super smart one day", but I remember crying over this AA cup dilemma multiple times. Am I proud to admit this? No, but few complements are thrown at young girls that do not involve their physical appearance. Despite that truth, I also was not raised to focus on my appearance. I taught myself to use mascara and am the only women in my family who regularly wears heels. All odds were against me to become a "girly girl", but here I am.. Cheetah print and all! I find power and self-love in getting dressed up and smacking some makeup on. No, I am not here today to apologize for that.

Now take that young girl and plug her into 2018. She had a Myspace page through middle school, Facebook through high school and Instagram through college. Her peers idolize doll faced, silicone billionaires and do their best to catch a "like" as strangers mindlessly scroll through thousands of identical posts. Judgement gets hurled at this generation for caring what others think, but can you blame us? Our entire lives have been virtually published and rated by our classmates.. parent's friends.. complete strangers out in the open since we were in our pre-teen most vulnerable age. As if young adults do not have enough to worry about with our bodies changing, acne and hearts breaking, but now they are compared "live" as they sit back and watch.

I have always been someone who is attracted to the energies of others. That experience when talking with someone whose vibe radiates so strong that you feel caffeinated. Authentic connections and soul talks light up my world and make me smile so big that my face hurts.. that is when I feel the most aligned. Those are the hours that never seem wasted, that charge me up for weeks. BUT still.. I fall into the trap. I get into the groove with an old friend discussing photo lighting and good angles and what that girl from high school posted last week.. That shit makes me WILD. My heart actually feels so heavy that I am sick to my stomach after spending an afternoon discussing pointless topics and petty gossip. It's like a tornado that spins by, glittery and aromatic, sucking me in whenever my guard is down.

So what do I do about it? Unfollow people who edit their faces out of their photos? Delete my social media pages? Leave conversations that include topics that weigh me down? Sure, yes.. I've done each one more times than I can count. But also.. those are some of my best friends and the people who support me the most in my life. And this is actually not about them AT ALL. This is all me and my perspective. Just because you have a family member who shares too much on Facebook does not mean that they aren't the best person to turn to for advice and just because your college friend spends hours editing her arms for Instagram does not make her less worthy of your support. This is about radiating the energy you want back and appreciating others for the wonderful ways they impact your life.

Some people look at the girl with a full face of makeup and think.. I just wish she could love herself for who she is. Others look at the one blogging about her insecurities and think why does she need to overshare? I say.. everyone is on their own journey and we are all doing the best we can to laugh and smile as we get there. What looks like a mistake to you, may be the choice that they are most proud of this week.

If I could speak to the little girls growing up in 2018, I would say firstly.. You are are fortunate. This is an exciting and empowering time to be a women. Secondly, no one else is you and that is the value you bring to this world. Find peace and acceptance internally, never allowing the comments of others to impact your self-worth because all the traits you admire can only come from within.

What High School Sports Are Teaching Your Kids About Inequality

Last week I attended the Maine AA Boy's High School Basketball State Championship, a place I really never thought I'd be until I had kids of my own and definitely not the place I expected to be defining my view of inequality.

Before the game, I entertained myself by making small talk with a mother of one of the players on Scarborough's team. She was happy and nervous for her son, as I was for his coach, and after a few minutes of talking she expressed a level of excitement for something much larger than her son's game that night. She shared that her son was a three sport athlete... playing football, lacrosse and basketball most of his life. Though to my recollection he was a strong athlete all-around, she explained that he had always been much more focused on growing his skill in regards to the first two. That he spent countless hours outside of practice, since he was young, perfecting spirals and catching fly balls so that he would stand out among his peers. Where as with basketball, he simply joined because his father was in love with the sport and he could spend another season with his friends, but the passion for improvement was never there.

She said this dedication was most definitely linked to the fact that Scarborough, the town he grew up in, had countless State titles in both football and lacrosse. For years he went to these high school games and watched the older boys, that he grew up playing with, go on to succeed and bring pride to the town. I immediately related to this and couldn't help but realize, as I sat down for the game, that I too chose tennis and cheering as a child because the girls I grew up with had won countless championships before me. In fact, even my parents, wanting me to succeed, encouraged me to join these particular sports because of the success that my school had and therefore the strength of those programs in regards to nurturing my talent.

When the halftime buzzer rang, my mind wandered back to this idea. When I was young, the individuals I most looked up to were women who were confident and successful. I was lucky enough to have a mother who was a Sergeant Major, so the glass ceiling was not a relevant barrier in my young mind. If at 6 years old the sports I chose were so heavily based on the success I could picture for myself at 15 or 16. Then the careers I chose at 16 were most definitely based on the women I knew of having success in particular roles at 30+.

This mother had expressed how amazing it was, to her and the other parents in Scarborough, that the boys basketball team had made it to States that year. Not just because they had worked hard all season, but because all of the children in the stands who were currently in the feeder programs were able to watch the high school kids they looked up to succeed. Her son watched this team lose game after game when he was young and that completely changed the motivation he had for pursuing the sport.

When children look ahead they should able to find a women or man with a background they can relate to pursuing a future that they can aspire to themselves. Women in STEM roles inspire young girls to spend time out of the classroom making robots, it can be as simple as that. Though there are still many industries that do not have all genders and nationalities represented in their top-level positions, there is a way to change that. If you sit today unable to find someone like you in a position that you want, then you have to be that someone for the child behind you. 

Encourage your children to play the sports and pursue the careers where no one like them them has succeeded before. This will not only teach them remarkable life skills, but it could allow them to set a precedent for generations of young minds after them.