Once I was a Beehive...

I went and saw Once I was a Beehive with my mom tonight.  And the water works were a flowing free tonight. The movie reminded me so much of my time as a young woman "stuck" at girls camp after girls camp, after flipping girls camp. So if on the surface it seems like girls camp was a torture device my parents used on me, why did the movie touch me so?

Upon reflection, I realize I could identify in some way with all of the girls in the movie.  Honestly, think most of us can. I have been the annoying goody-two-shoes trying to prove my self as the most righteous girl there all while trying to please my mother.  I have been the one singing the loudest, and also the one giving other girls dirty looks for singing obnoxiously  loud to camp songs. I have sneaked things to camp that I know I shouldn't have (can any one say Gen-1 Ipod shuffle?) and I have helped other girls hide their own contraband. I have been overly excited to go to camp, and I have also dreaded the week long imprisonment in the backwoods of Utah.  I have felt the need to direct my younger sister in the ways of the camp, and also need some encouragement myself.  So it seems fitting the silly, one dimensional mormon girl stereotypes have seem to struck  a chord, because in reality, none of us are one dimensional, and we have all played different roles in our dysfunctional ward family at one time or another.  

So many old memories were brought up in the movie, making me think about things that I haven't in a while.  First the tent  assignments.  I camped with the same girls all the years of girls camp.  To this day I can hear them giggling, and sharing their insights about life late at night, as we huddled up in our moon lit tent.  So, to you, Lyndi, Karen, Tara, and Karina, thank you for being my sisters through camp.

   

The next memory was probably one of the closest parallel to the plot of the movie was when the girls tents collapsed in the rain.  I think it was when I was a Mia Maid, that the Beehive's tent collapsed in the middle of the night under the weight of the rain.  Who ever designed a flat top tent was not thinking ahead.  The moment forever remember was the sound of the screams as the  tent engulfed the girls and they were swallowed up in the abyss.  Sorry to any of those girls who might be reading this now, your pain undoubtedly brought joy to a great number of us, and hopefully you can look back now and see how truly iconic, yet hilarious that moment really was.

In that movie there were some girls who were a little more than just the stereotypes, and had some serious trials going on in their lives.  As they went to camp, those trials didn't go a way, and the struggles they face came with them in to the mountains.  The leaders there were not really all the equipped to handle all of those girls struggles.  Even the old wise camp director lost her cool at one point. I really like that aspect to the movie. It was very impressive to me that even though those women were always way in over their head through out the whole camp trip, they still pressed on. The leaders wanted to be enough for those girls and wanted to give them all the best experience they could.  Did the leaders fall flat? Yes. But were their hearts earnestly trying to do right by the young women whose physical, emotional, and spiritual well being had been placed in their care? Yes.

 It is amazing to me to realize that my hind sight is 20/20. My leaders growing up were just like that. They could handle some of the problems, but other problems were just to big for them. But at the end of the day, I know now that they really did love me.

I hope by now you realize that I was a difficult young woman.  I was moody. I belittled my fellow young women and leaders  constantly.  I was arrogant and sharp-tonged.  I was down right mean sometimes. I remember one camp year in particular, I was asked to go clean the bathroom for what felt like that thousandth time that week. I just straight up said no. I think it might have been to Sis. Laboa. She threatened me that if I didn't have an attitude change they would send me home early. I am pretty sure I laughed at her and told her to go ahead, because that would mean I won, all I wanted was to go home.  Looking back now, I really didn't, I just wanted someone to realize I was in pain. Thanks Sis Laboa, for not sending me home even though I probably deserved to be sent home.

 For the most part I feel like my time as a teenager can be summed up as my "dark years". But I had moments of light that shined through.  Like the time the stake organized a nature walk all about the First Vision during camp. We had quiet time afterwords and were told to find a quiet spot somewhere just off the trail. We were encouraged to read the First Vision story and pray to find confirmation if Joseph Smith really did see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.  I was the last girl out there that day, the others had all found their way back to the campsite  and a couple leaders waited for me back on the trail.  I prayed so hard that day for confirmation.  I wanted light, and I  received it. As I quietly walked back to the trail, Sis. Simmons was their to greet me with one of the biggest hugs I have  ever had and she held me as we both cried. I don't know if she remembers that moment, but I do, and I always will remember the love and warmth I felt that day.

I had a lot of big problems that I couldn't handle, and my young woman's leaders couldn't handle.  It wasn't until I was an adult and had a touch of life experience that I was able to figure it all out and deal with it all.  I used to look back and hate my time as a young woman, and hate all my leaders.  I felt like they should have seen me drowning in the dark and murky waters and they should have saved me.  That wasn't really fair to them.  After finally finding light for myself, I realized that I wouldn't let anyone help me back then, and no one can save someone who doesn't want to be saved. 

 But now I can look back and know that the friends that I made loved me for being me, more than any of my school friends did.  And looking back, I know my leaders loved me, and prayed for me, and tried to help me in all they ways they could.  I can look back now and see that they really did save me.  How much harder would those years have been if those leaders didn't look out for me?  What if no one called to see if I was coming to mutual. What if Sis Siefert never agreed to have long talks into the night with me when I need some love and guidance? What if no one called me out on my bad attitude. What if I didn't have all those  extra prayers, lessons, hugs, and endless smiles in my life? Would I be where I am today? Would I even be here? I know I wouldn't. 

  So I wish, and hope that those leaders know that I finally can fully return their love and support.  Thank you to the people who made up my young woman years. As it turns out, you were all who I needed.

In closing I come back to the movie. It ended the way any girls camp ever ends. With a testimony meeting. After a week of  high peaks and low valleys, we all came together to share how we felt and what we had learned. It never ceases to amaze me how, at the end of the weeks, up in the mountains-so close to our Heavenly Father-the spirit found a way to soften even the hardest of hearts.  Those hours spent, sharing around the campfire were some of the strongest moments my testimony had as a teenager.  I felt love I had closed my self off to. I felt a sense of family when I had turned my back to it. I felt light even though I was literally and figuratively surrounded in darkness.

Thank you to those who impacted my camp life.  I hope you know I think of you all with warmth in my heart and a smile on my face.  And I am thankful that, once, I was a Beehive too. 

1 in 4

I really like statistics and they implications they have on my life. So there are roughly 318.2 million people in the United States.  According to the website www.howmanyofme.com there are 52 people in this country that have the same name as me.  So 1 out of 16,319,230 people in the US will have the exact same name as myself.  It is likely I won’t ever meet another person with the same name. 

Let’s look at some other stats that maybe put some phobias in perspective.  How about roller coasters? There is an amusement park near to where I live and it has this old roller coaster called Colossus that breaks down all the time.  I have seen people get stuck upside down on the ride because it stopped working mid loop-dee-loop.  I do not ever ride that coaster.  This ride is one of their more popular rides…I just don’t get it.  I don’t think anyone has ever died on the ride, it just has a lot of glitches.  I have a 1 in 300,000,000 chance, in the world, of dying on a roller coaster.  And I will not get on that roller coaster, the risk is too great in my mind. 

 Are you afraid of lightening?  I work at a pool and the way we treat people in water when there is lightening leads me to believe that we should all fear lightening.  Yet only 1 out of every 1,428,571 people, in the world, will die from lightening. Yet we still don’t let people swim when there is lightening. These are examples of things that are most likely not going to kill me, yet are things I steer clear of anyways. 

 What if we look at things that are more likely to kill/harm me but I still engage in anyways.  These stats are for the United States, as reported on www.ncs.org. Guess who owns a dog?  This girl.  I have a 1 in 103,798 chance of being killed by a dog.  Guess who eats food, everyday?  This girl.  I have a 1 in 3,649 chance of choking to death.   Guess who drives a car, almost daily?  This girl.  I have a 1 in 112 chance of dying in that car.

 

So to really understand stats like this I will try to explain to you what those numbers really mean.  If I want to ride a roller coaster, and want to know if I will die on that roller coaster, I am going to put 299,999,999 black pebbles in a big bag and 1 white pebble in that same bag and shake them all up.  Then, without looking, I will pick one pebble out of the bag. If it is black I live.  If I get that one white pebble, I die.  Yeah, I most likely will live.  But 300 million is still too big of a number to comprehend.  So let us try with one of the smaller numbers shall we.  Can you picture 112 of something?  Anything really.  How about a hundred piece puzzle.  It is a green puzzle with one spot of red.  Each piece is green, but one piece has a red dot on it.  Every time you get into a motor vehicle you shake up those puzzle pieces and pull one out and hope it doesn’t have a red dot on it.  Every time you get into a car you take this gamble.   It is all a little sobering is it?

 

How about if your odds for something was 1 in 4.  Four pebbles, three black, one white.  Would you stick your hand in that bag and play your odds?  If I spread out a deck of 52 cards and told you to pick one and you are safe as long as it isn’t a heart, how would you feel? Nervous, scared, like your stomach is going to come out of your butt?  Maybe, maybe not, I mean you still have 3 other options that are safe.  Three black pebbles.  Three other suits.  75% chance of success is actually really high.  If you have a 75% chance of success I hope you take it.  In fact, most of you, like myself, do take this chance and win repeatedly. 

 

So what is this mystical 1in 4 chance that I take all of the time?  Every woman has a 1 in 4 chance of being sexually abused at some point in her life.  So every time I walk out to my car at the same time as the other late night gym goer, or I spend an awkward tense moment in an elevator with a complete stranger, I am putting my hand in a bag that only holds four pebbles and praying for the best. 

 If I believed that the risk was too high, much like I do when it comes to rickety old roller coasters, I would never be able to leave my bedroom.  That goes for all women out there.  And an amazing thing about it as well is that a lot of women have pulled out the white pebble and they continue on, facing each new day clutching her bag in hope that she will never see that white pebble again. 

Another way you could view this chance game is to walk into a crowded room of women.  Have them count off in fours. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four and so on.  Every person who said a four is a victim.  They are the one in four.  As our friends in District 12 would say, “the odds are never in our favor.”

 

I bring this up not to upset people, but to make people aware.  My sister would tell you I am the most “radical feminist” she has ever met, and I actually think that is sad.  I am a far cry from a radical feminist.  I will never burn my bra.  I want to, someday, be a stay at home wife and mother. I know that, physically speaking, I will never be as strong as my male counterpart.  Yet I want equality and justice.  I want to be paid just as much as a man.  I want to run for political office and not be called a ball buster when I run against or disagree with a man.  I do not want to be told what I should wear.  I do not want to have to go all “Wolverine” with my keys when I walk to my car after dark.  I don’t want to have to be told to keep the house locked up when I am home alone in the middle of the day.  I don’t want to have to draw pebbles out of a bag every time I am alone with a man. 

 

These are real problems and statistics I face every day.  A tag on twitter, #yesallwomen, has recently become very popular trying to raise awareness about this issue.  Some of the things people have posted just break my heart, but pretty much all of them are true. Yes, all women walk quickly to her car after dark with a her keys between her fingers, bag tucked in tight, head held high and will quickly scan her backseat before getting in.  Yes, all women know that when a man cat calls you, the best thing to do if you are alone is to ignore it and get to safety as quick as possible whether it is in your car or the closest shop.  Yes, all women know that her high heels make her butt and legs look good and can help with a confidence boost, but it does not give anyone permission to touch her.  Yes, all women know that if you are going to a party or bar it is best to have a secure ride home and a safety plan, but that doesn’t mean she should have to bring her own bottled water and cover all her skin head to toe to be safe.  And yes, all women know that posting things on the internet about her “radical feminist ideals” can jeopardize her current and future career. 

 

There are a lot of things wrong with this world, and I can’t fix them all, especially with just one blog post where I rant about my feelings.  But maybe, just maybe, if we open up our dialog and talk more about what is wrong, like what people are doing with #yesallwomen, then changes will come.  We won’t be embarrassed to share when we are scared or feel like we are being treated unfairly.  Remember, people don’t know what they don’t know and they can’t change it either.  So speak up and let it be known that I am tired of being afraid and I am tired of gambling with my life.  Big changes need to be made and it is possible if we start with small steps. 

 

Moving forward

Sometimes I have a harder time than I let on.  It is really hard for me to talk about my problems, or let the gravity of situations sit on other people.  Often times I will smile or laugh when telling someone things about me that really make me want to cry.  I am incongruent like that, and I am working on that.

But maybe I should back track a little and better introduce this post.  I was recently overly inspired by a friend of mine who found the courage to write and share a very personal post.  I am so thankful for her.  She has given me courage to write about something that I have been putting off.  (Click here to go to her blog)

I recently decided to take a time out from life and make some much needed changes.  I am very blessed to have an opportunity to do this, and I realize that most people don’t get a chance to do this.  I tried to drop off the face of the earth and spend all my time and energy in healing myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  Like a lot of people in their early twenties, I was just kind of bopping around, not really settling or committing to anything in means of a future.  I had just been doing whatever came my way and trying to figure out what I wanted from life.  The difference between myself and many other young adults was that I was sick, and had been for a while.  Instead of getting help, I had chosen to ignore everything my body, mind, and spirit were trying to tell me.  I was ultimately running on empty and had been doing so for quite some time.  I was ready to crash and I knew it was going to be soon, so I mustered the last amount of strength I could find and reached out to get help.  A slew of new friends made from some of the most amazing people ever and an uncountable number of doctor visits later, I had my reset button hit and now I am home and I am trying to rebuild.

 

Some of you know the whole story here.  Some of you just know that I disappeared for a few months.  Some of you, honestly, didn’t even notice I was missing, which is okay.  But I am not really here to talk to you all about the finer details of my personal life (ironic statement, seeing as I am sharing it here on the internet) but I am dying to share with you some of the wisdom I have gained.

 

First, everyone has undisputed, unconditional worth just be being a person.  There is nothing you can do to rid yourself of this worth, and there is nothing you can do to earn this worth.  It is just there. Think about it.  Would you ever look at an infant and say, “This is a worthless person.  What do they do? Eat, sleep, poop, and cry. They have done nothing to have any worth.” No.  They have worth just because they are born.  I think some would argue, and even make some good cases, that you can lose your worth, and I do not agree with them.  People have done some horrible things, but they are still living, breathing, feeling humans.  It is not my job to pass judgment, and I am glad that it never will be.  All I know is that I do not have the right to take their worth from them, not that I could if I wanted to.  So with all this said and learned, when I am feeling my lowest and completely and utterly worthless, I still have worth.  This has been one of the hardest things I have had to learn, and I think is hard for a lot of people.  I still am struggling and don’t know when I will be able to not have to constantly be working on this.  So today I remind myself that I have infinite worth and I fight to believe it.

 

Second, you are never alone.  Not matter how much you isolate, how many bridges you try to burn, how many lies you tell, and how tough you think your exterior is, people will still love you.  You cannot control or change people’s emotions and feelings.  You can hurt them and cause them pain and leave them behind in your wake of prideful wreckage, but they will still love you.  And when you fall, they will be there to pick you back up.  Someone will cry with you while you admit to yourself, them and God that you need help.  Someone will hold you tight so you do not fall completely apart.  Someone will always be wondering how you are doing, even if you do not want them to.  And when it feels like you are completely alone, your Heavenly Father is always there for you.  I know I have some friends and loved ones who do not share my same beliefs but that is okay, because I know that if you ask, you can get the kind of comfort I have received from my loving Heavenly Father.  He knows all of our struggles, and he wants us to get help and be comforted, all we have to do is ask. 

 

Last (for now), you will always be able to overcome whatever comes your way.  As I write this there is a tiny little voice in my head that is saying, “Yeah right.” That voice is an expletive word. Just saying.  Some times in the midst of your trials it seems like there will be no tomorrow.  Sometimes you want to lay in bed with blanket over your head and never resurface. Sometimes pain so immense will almost crush your chest as you gasp for breath.  But even through all of that, tomorrow will come, you have to get out of bed (even if it is only for the bathroom), and you will breathe with ease again.  Overcoming will never be easy or simple, but if you want to overcome, you will.  Victory is waiting for those who want it, work for it, and fight for it.

That is all I have for now, and this post is already too long, so I leave you with one last words of wisdom from Tony Robbins:

“Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of Change.”

So how bad do you want to change?  I wanted to change pretty badly.   And some days I have to remind myself multiple times that I want to change.  Change is slow and sometimes painful, but I know I will come out on top.  Life is too short to simply get by, it was made for thriving. 

Goodbyes are hard...

Today is a sad day.  My oldest, dearest friend is being deployed to Afghanistan.  My awesome big brother is at it again.  Being a hero.  So I write a post dedicated to how awesome he truly is.

He was my very first friend.  We two started out life thick as thieves.  We were each other’s first playmates and co-conspirator.  He even cut my hair while my poor young mother tried to get a shower with two toddlers at home. 

We were both blessed with over active imaginations.  There was never a dull moment with the two of us.  The number of made up games we played were endless.  Movie Theater, trampoline world, roller blade land, pioneers indians and aliens (so naming games were not our forte) were some of my favorites. 

Through the years we grew and developed.  I became a little mom, always trying to control everyone, and Mike stayed a free spirit who was willing to please.  We made a great pair. 

As we entered high school we grew apart, but it was okay.  We had different life paths at the time and our goals were vastly different.  But none of that really mattered, because I still looked up to him and I know he cared for me.  Two instances stand out to me during those years. 

First would be a day we had a fire mishap at school.  I was a sophomore, he a senior, and he had the hardship/pleasure of driving us to and from school every day.  That day the fire alarm went off during the last class of the day (should I mention that for some unknown reason, kids at my school would light things on fire and throw them into the garbage cans…backpacks, posters, you know, whatever a teenager wanted…*que music* memories of Copper Hills….).  It was a cold day and the school could not send us outside so they tried to usher us into the large gym.  Hahahahaha, yea right.  You and I both know that everyone darted for the door to the parking lot, fighting to get to their cars before they were caught by the crazy hall monitors and vice principals who knew this assault was coming.  Well I was a quiet, pushover (literally) during these days (I did not get cool until college, I know, hard to believe).   Even though my brother and I were not all that close these days, we still had this sibling telepathy thing going on.  There was no way we were staying in that gym.  Long story short (way too late for that) I was shoved and pushed down in the mayhem.  Not only did I fall, but a very rude man-child saw me trying to get up and chose to push me back down rather than try and be a decent human being and help me up (oh high school).  By the time I got outside my brother had the car running pulled up to the curb waiting for me (that’s right kids, no texting needed, we just knew this unspoken plan).  When he saw the tears rolling down my face he jumped out the car and jogged to me.  I remember him asking if I was okay. When I told him what had happened there was a charge in him that I had seen before, he was ready for a fight.  “Where is he? Who is he? Do you see him?”  My big brother hero was ready to beat the crap out of some kid for being a total jerk.  I convinced him to just get in the car and go home (lucky for the random man-child).  It was one of those moments that I knew, without of a doubt, that he is on my side.  He has got my back, and I can always count on him to protect me. 

The second lovely high school memory was after he had graduated and I was senior.  He had recently joined the army but had not yet left for basic.  We were on much better terms these days than in the previous story.  I had been sick the last couple of days, but being the overly excelled person I was, I went to school.  It was like the worst day of my high school career.  I did not even go to class, I just laid sad and pathetic on the band room floor for the whole morning.  You know when you get a really high fever and you get the shivers and if feels like you will never get warm again?  Yeah, I was there.  People would see me and just lay their coats on me because they felt so bad.  Finally a couple of friends arranged to drive me home.  I got home and called my mom, tears streaming down my face and wrapped in every blanket I could find.  Well she called my brother to come over and check on me.  He got there and was very much in over his head.  There is not much maternal instinct in a 19 year old boy, but he felt bad for me.  After calling my mom he was instructioned to get me some ibprophin and water.  Well I was freezing and tangled beyond hope in a million blankets.  So he just dropped the pill in my mouth and tried to pour water in my mouth but he missed.  Yeah, he spilled cold water all over my face.  I lost it.  I just started bawling.  Poor, poor Mike.  He was just trying to help, and I was not mad at him, I was just done.  He ran and got a towel and tried to clean me up.  He then sat on the end of the bed and stayed with me until my mom came home and took over for him.   He was just so sweet and caring and he did all he could which was just giving me his time.  He is amazing. 

So now I have to say goodbye for a second time.  For the second time he leaves to a war zone.  This amazing, loving person, who is needed and wanted at home is leaving.  The pain of him going is like a physical, unrelenting pressure on my chest.  Sometimes I feel like I cannot even breathe I am so sad. 

Can I just share that I hate war?  Nothing political. No agendas.  I just hate war.  I do not think anyone really does like war, but I just do not feel like we say it enough.  I hate war.  If I had a say, no political official can take office until they read or re-read All Quiet on the Western Front and have to write a ten page paper analyzing the effects of war on young men and their families.  I think that assignment would prevent unnecessary pain. 

I think of a poem penned by Konstantin Josef Jireček and later adapted by Vietnam soldiers that has recently struck a chord with me:

We the unwilling,

Led by the unqualified,

To kill the unfortunate,

Die for the ungrateful.

We have done so much,

With so little,

For so long,

We are now qualified to do anything,

With nothing.

The poem can be interpreted by a many number of ways.  For me it is saying that our brave young men, are fighting for a country that does not understand their sacrifice.  These young men, who are just starting to live and have so much to learn and experience, are fighting a fight they did not chose because they believe they have something to fight for.  These amazing, resourceful, young, young men are paying the ultimate price, not only with their physical lives but also with their emotional and spiritual lives. 

So much pain.  So much suffering.  All seemingly unnecessary. 

Good bye my sweet, dear brother.  May God be with you until we meet again.  

A little wisdom gained from life.

At 23, I feel like my life mantra is taken straight from Pocahontas: "You'll learn things you never knew you never knew."  I love that statement.  No matter how much I know, learn, or experience, there will always be things I do not know, but also there is so much to life that I will never even fathom.  Like, my mind is barely able to keep from exploding as I try to think of something that I do not even know exists.  Maybe the head ache is from trying to do the impossible. 

All this being said, I do not think anyone, myself included, should ever underestimate the knowledge and life experience they do have.  We each have already done the hardest thing we have ever done to date.  Yeah, think that through.  Imagine the hardest, deepest, saddest, loneliest, most soul crushing moment of your life, and then take a deep breath.  That moment has already passed.  You survived it.  Now, do not misread me and think that I am saying nothing worse than those moments will ever happen, because they will, and they just might knock you off your feet.  Just remember everything you have learned up to this point and let all that life carry you through the next chapter. 

Introduction finished and background knowledge now activated I would like to share with you a gem I have gained and relearned over and over again.  You ready for this?  Never let anyone let their pain belittle your pain and make you feel guilty for having feelings.  Profound?  Maybe. Ground breaking? Not really.  But let us talk our way through that statement.

Pretend something bad has happened to you, so you feel grief.  It is your right, as a human being, to feel that grief.  Grief is a very personal experience and it is yours to experience.  However, when something bad happens it rarely happens to only one person.  The ripple affect of tragedy knows no end.  That is something to keep in mind while you grieve; there are still other people grieving. And an unfortunate step of grief is anger.  You have the right to be angry and so do others. 

Anger is a fickle thing isn't it?  Anger is full of passion and drive.  It has motives and plans of attack.  No one ever sat idly by while being truly angry.  And for that reason, many people ride the anger train in the journey of grief for all it is worth.  Have you ever been so angry you see red or taste metal?  I remember once during one of my later semesters of college getting so angry while studying for a physiology test that I could name and picture every reaction happening in my body; from the change in hormone levels, the muscle tissue contraction, and my change in blood pressure all leading to a 'fight' reaction (it was a very effective study technique). 

Anger makes ugly things happen.  Ugly, seemingly unforgivable, things happen.  People, in their grief, will do horrible things out of pure selfish anger.  These things can make you feel like crap.  Your grief will multiply and become harder to bare, because those who share your pain would rather tear you down than grieve with you.  And worst case scenario, they make you feel guilty for feeling bad.  That is truly the worst feeling in the world.  Feeling horrible, than feeling guilty, than trying to hide your pain is a sucky situation.  You are being forced out of your stages of grief.  You will never heal if you cannot freely grieve. 

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened to me.  I am one who internalizes EVERYTHING.  I feel everyone's emotions right along with them.  When I was younger I would have to leave the room when something embarrassing or sad happened on T.V. because I was feeling all the same things as the character.  It is something about me that I treasure because I am able to be empathetic towards others.  On the flip side, it often times makes me more vulnerable.  I have had to learn, and continually re-learn, that it is okay to feel bad.  It is okay to cry, scream, laugh, curl up into a ball and close off to the world for an hour, and even eat a pint of ice cream, because I am not a robot.  If others try to belittle my pain, or mock me for my tears it is okay because they do not get to dictate how I feel.  Only I can decide how I feel, and I have every right to feel my feelings!!!

Please, please, do not let other people drag you down further.  If you are sad, cry.  If you are exhausted, take a mid-day nap.  If you are elated, sing at the top of your lungs.  If you are angry, scream until you are blue in the face.  You are entitled to feelings.  Have I said that enough yet?  Just one more time to be clear.  You are a human being and it is only normal to have feelings and you should embrace them! 

But a moment to address the antithesis of all of this.  You do not have any right, ever, to deride someone else's pain.  I am not saying you are required to take ownership of anyone's pain. In fact, unless you have directly caused the personal injury to that person, you should not ever take ownership or feel responsible for anyone's pain.  If you and someone you know have suffered some terrible tragedy, do not make the mistake of thinking that your grief is greater. It is not your place to rank hardships.

 Remember the words of Sis. Marjorie Hinckley: "Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I love you all.

Cadavers, Museums and Bones, oh my!

*As originally published in 2011*

So even though I say I have an idea for a new blog in my last blog doesn't actually mean I will ever do any of those posts. Like today I think I will blog a little bit about cadavers, museums and bones. Believe it or not, these are some of my favorite subjects. I am about to finish up a degree in Anthropology and I would love nothing more than to work in a museum someday and specialize in human remains. I have about three years experience in museums as well as osteological (human bones), mummified, and cadaver experience. I understand that this is an odd set of skills and experiences to put on a resume, but hey, someone has to do it!

This might actually be a bit of a rant today because I am extremely pissed at the medical community as a whole. You see, in anthropology/archaeology, we are taught and drilled over and over how to respectfully study and document human remains. There are rules for handling the remains, documenting/photographing/drawing remains, and storing remains. If you name it, there is a rule, whether written or not, somewhere out there in the anthropological world for human remains. And, of course, this is the way it should be. The remains are actual people who deserve actual respect regardless if they are individuals who donated their body's to science or if they are 5000 year old individuals happened upon during a hike in the Alps (more on the Kenniwick man in a later post).

On the flip side, in the medical community students are taught that cadavers are empty shells who are used for practice. Rather make a mistake on a dead guy than one who would like to wake up when you finish with them. Even thought this reasoning is valid, it still really bothers me. The other day when I was working in a cadaver lab, my lab instructor came in and dropped her book on one of the cadavers as if it were a table under the body bag and not a person. I was mortified! Then she continued to mix up the skulls and mandibles until reuniting the correct skull with the correct mandible was next to impossible. By the time my lab time was finished I was through the roof. Her behavior was unquestionable wrong, not to mention the fact that she only behaved this way because that is how she was taught by her lab instructor.

I really feel very strongly about the need for a more anthropological approach to medicine. If we cannot understand a persons culture and appreciate their worth as an individual (even after death) then I feel all is lost. We cannot remove the humanistic side to studying humans with out grave affects.

I do understand that some people have a hard time with human remains. I have also know several people who cannot deal with remains unless they emotionally and (arguably) humanisticly detach themselves from the remains. But these types of jobs are not for everyone because of this.

I am not going to lie. The first time I worked with human remains was in a museum setting and when I was done I went home and cried for hours. It was a small child and I was simply performing a routine check to make sure nothing had gone wrong with the remains while in a transitioning stage at the museum. I laid in bed and sobbed for this child. This child was removed from her original resting place, was removed from her parents and family, and this child had died so young. The next morning I went into the museum with a prayer in my heart and faced the remains again. This time I did not have such an emotional reaction but rather I was able to work and still keep the realization that this was a person who lived a life and had people who loved them and I should show them all the respect I would want for myself and my loved ones.

Your first time is hard, but you learn to handle each situation handed to you. For those who cannot do so should seriously consider another profession.

The little moments....

     So it is currently 11:30 pm, two days before my sister's wedding.  We just spent the last two hours putting curlers in her hair and doing a body wrap, a process we will repeat tomorrow night.  And it was great.

    We have been running around all day since 9 am, and we are slap happy, to say the least.  After sufficiently getting all of my sister and the surrounding carpet wet with the squirt bottle I used to do her hair, she was freezing.  Unfortunately for her, we needed to do the body wrap, which just so happens to be a rather cold activity.

    So, in case you have never done a body wrap, or you have no idea what I am even talking about, let me give you the 'skinny' (horrible pun intended).  The jest of it is you use your choice of some witch-doctor lotion/oil/gel and rub it all over your desired body area, in our case her mid-section, and then you wrap said section in plastic wrap as tight as you can, then you follow up with a tight wrap in ace bandages, all of this unpleasantness is then slept in for the night. The point is to make you shed water weight and tighten up the area wrapped.  Should I mention I do not really believe this works all that great and I don't support this endeavored for anyone. 

     Needless to say, rubbing cold jelly on your tummy at roughly 11 pm with wet hair and hardly any clothes on is not the best of experiences.  I would also like to remind you all that we are at the end stages of exhaustion flirting with delirium.  Put all of these ridiculous factors together and we have one heck of a situation.  We got the giggles.  Like, tears running down my face, weirdo noises from my sister, no breathing, giggles. 

    As we tried to regain enough composure to finish the task at hand a wave of melancholy overcame me.  She is getting married in two days.  My baby sister will no longer be my baby sister.  Our ridiculous  days are numbered.  Our roads are diverging and it is an end of a defining chapter of our lives.  While yes, there are so many happy, positive things that lay ahead, saying goodbye to the past is still hard.  I love her.  We fight like cats and dogs but I love her, because we have all of the little moments that individually mean nothing at all, but has a compilation mean everything.  Breakfast chats before work, Dr. Phil after school, baking fails and triumphs, missing scarfs and hairspray, fights over nothing, and late night giggles will no longer define our relationship. 

    So as I prep and go over my duties as maid of honor for the millionth time I pause for a moment.  I pause to say goodbye and to let that little bit of pain surface and be acknowledged so I can truly celebrate in the next couple of days all the good that is going to come.