September Goal Accomplished

Tonight I sketched and took photographic references of a model for my BFA project.

This model has such a beautiful face I am thrilled to be able to include her in my work.

I am really excited about the progress. I have three models: Macie, Tina, and myself. I still need to post a flyer advertising this project. I need at least two other models, so I better act fast.

This is a challenging time for me with everything I'm accomplishing and everything I'm facing, but I must continue forward.

Lately it seems like all I can think of is how I missed this, or forgot that. Tonight I remember my talents.

I have made it to the end of my goal: to blog every day this month. I still want to continue, but may not do it every day, as I can focus more on school. This has been a good way for me to process much of my feelings, especially concerning being honest with myself.

My art and my book are my future.

Pastor Davis's sermon emphasized loving our enemies.

I also feel lik

Make a Joyful Noise Part Two

I have been thinking more about Pastor Davis's sermon.

So many times I have wanted to show more animation when I speak. Far worse, so many times when I desperately needed to speak, I said nothing.

This is going to change.

I know to promote my book, I must learn to speak. Not just to say I wrote a book, or talk about my new experiences, but to deliver my content so skillfully that as soon as I open my mouth, people will stop and listen.

Pastor Davis speaks without any fear. He raises his voice to a level most people only reach when they're at their wits' end, only Pastor Davis is in control. He is joyful. He can shout and yell and you want more!

I want to learn how to speak with that kind of intensity. I have been taught to be meek and quiet. I'm not really that meek, on the inside. In the Biblical sense I want to be meek. Yet some people have looked at me as someone they can take advantage of because I'm so nice and forgiving. They count on my voice staying within a soft, comfortable range or not speaking at all.

Sometimes I think I'm weak. Sometimes I have been weak.

But this is what I say to that:

I got up early on a Sunday to go to a church  by myself, where I am the racial minority, and I enjoyed it!

I wrote a whole memoir about the most difficult challenges of my life, and even though I may not have a big following yet, I sent out a book proposal to an agent anyway, because I know my value!

And I will be returning to the Calvary Baptist Church, because I intend to study all the best speakers I can. I am committed to as much study and practice as it takes for me to effectively speak.

I may have once been one of the meekest people you ever met, but I am becoming one of the strongest voices you'll ever know!

Let God Be Your Example

Yesterday I attended my first Soul Sunday. I said I would write more about the experience and what I learned.

I have been struggling with feelings toward a particular person. I would not call this person an enemy, but he has certainly mistreated me over the years and I am not yet over it. In fact I’m only beginning to really look at it. The emotions can be so overwhelming that part of me wants to try and get even. My neighbor said, "Send him a copy of your book after you're rich and famous and write inside the cover: 'With no help from you.' " Part of me wanted to do just that. Another part didn't. 

Sometimes I wonder if this means I am weak.

The theme of Pastor Davis's sermon was "Learn to do good for those who do evil."

Pastor Davis’s sermon opened with a story about a woman named Dianne Hoffmeyer. She was getting a cup of coffee when two other women in line began to mock her.

"Her hair is nasty."

"She is a whale."

Dianne has recently lost over a hundred and seventy pounds. She could have easily turned around and told these women those numbers and where to go. She could have told them how cruel it is to put down people we don't even know.

Dianne responded by looking at these women, in line for cups of coffee, and saying to the clerk, “Put their drinks . . . on my tab.”

What a way to approach a situation. This is hitting some deep emotions and even deeper realizations for me. Thank you, Pastor Davis and Dianne Hoffmeyer, for reminding me who I am.

Make a Joyful Noise

I thought I would need to leave Utah to do this, but isn't funny how so many amazing new experiences are in our own backyard.

I have always wanted to attend a soulful black church. One where the pastor would shout before his audience, and they would yell back, "Preach it to us!"

My past religion viewed such worship as irreverent. Sometimes when I return to my old church buildings for a relative's baby blessing and hear a really great speaker, I have to remind myself not to applaud.

That suppressed clap has always been inside me. Even as a little girl, I wanted to go to one of these soulful churches I had seen in a few movies. I thought I would have to cross many states and possibly travel time to find what I wanted, but this morning, I fulfilled my dream.

I awoke early to drive to Calvary Baptist Church in Salt Lake City to see Pastor France Davis. My public speaking professor calls him, "The finest public speaker in Utah." He graduated from Berkeley and is the first African American to teach at the University of Utah. He knew Martin Luther King, Jr. and marched by his side.

I arrived at the Calvary Baptist Church at eleven this morning, just on time, yet I didn't need to be in any rush because the sermon didn't start for another hour. I've never been to a church with so much singing! Sometimes I wasn't sure if they were talking or singing, with all the music and the way someone started to talk and then went right back to singing.

Pastor Davis spoke for the final third of the service. When I awoke this morning, I felt the sadness and anxiety I've been trying to fight creep back. I have been praying for help, and I felt that going to this service would not only help me fulfill an assignment and a dream, but give me the answers I need.

That's exactly what happened. I'll be back tomorrow to write about what he said.

I DID IT!!!

Wheew!

I said I would make contact with an agent by the end of this week, and here I am, sending all my information to an agent in California at about 11:50 on a Saturday night.

I have to say it feels SO GOOD to have it sent! I don't know what will happen from here, but I am so proud of taking a step!

For the past two days I worked hard to edit my query letter, polish my sample chapters and finish my book proposal. It was a lot of work, but I am so proud of it. I am surprised by how I feel--I thought I would feel inadequate. I feel so much more professional now that I have a thirty-page package about my book!

As I was sending it, I realized today is the 26th. Twenty-six is a magical number in my book. I was twenty-six years old when I did something new every week for a year. Twenty-six is a year (52 weeks) divided in half. There are twenty-six postures in Bikram yoga. A marathon is 26.2 miles. There are 26.2 chapters in my book.

And today is my niece's birthday! She was born on the twenty-sixth. That is a part of my book. It's important because her birth--exactly a week early--may have saved my life.

I am so grateful to be getting the wheels moving, and for all the people who believe in this book and have given me endless support and love along the way.

Deep breath . . .

Perfectionism Can be Another Word for Fear

It has been hard to get any work done on my book proposal with school in session.

However, I said I would begin contacting agents this week. I am a woman of my word! I made time to work on the proposal today. I know it's not perfect, but my heart says it's time to get the wheels turning!

Perfectionism can be another word for fear.

I fear that people will think I'm not established enough to carry a major book.

But these people are just that . . . people! They had to work their way to success too, and the right agent will recognize my talent, appreciate my hard work, and understand the potential Cutting Free has in this world.

Now back to work on the proposal . . . I'm almost there!

Pretending to be Positive

Pain demands change.

At least, it should. I have a problem of over-enduring pain. When I look back at my life, I endured way too much.

Sometimes I force the positive. For example, when my old car was smoking out of the hood, I tried to tell myself that I could sit in my car until the smoke cooled off and use the time to review my dreams and goals. Really! That's not being positive! It's pretending to be positive to avoid making a change.

I was the same way with people who mistreated me. I became really good at comforting myself but did not work on standing up for myself. I found so many ways to make myself happy to overcompensate rather than simply create healthier boundaries.

I have learned techniques to deal with stonewalling behavior. Perhaps this was a form of standing up for myself. It helped one person open up about why he was treating me so poorly. Some of his experiences have indeed been heartbreaking. But my heart did not deserve to be broken.

Last night I felt very angry. Tonight I feel more sad, yet also self-aware. My main wish is not for other people to change, but for MYSELF to change! A lot of people have taken advantage of my kindness--often without realizing it! I don't want to be this person anymore. I want to be honest about what I'm feeling instead of pretending I'm feeling great.

Sometimes I can be so nice and smiley that it's hard even for me to know I'm not happy. Especially in contrast to my past. When I was a teenager and at my lowest point in life, it was fairly obvious that I wasn't happy. Especially considering the struggle I had with self-harm. (I hid that from most people but certainly couldn't hide that from myself.) Now I have more skills to carry me through life's challenges, yet it is not complete if I'm still enduring more than I have to endure.

After my car accident several years ago, I had an ankle injury that made it too difficult to run. Running is one of my main stress relievers. I had tried to embrace my injuries, thinking, "What a great opportunity to learn to do push-ups and pull-ups instead." And it was. But that didn't mean I wasn't also in pain! It took me a while to see through my own cheerfulness and admit I was suffering. And thank goodness I finally did, because that led me to get help. If I never admitted that I was unhappy I still might not be able to run.

It is important for me to understand the difference between being positive and pretending to be positive. This is especially important right now. If I find a publisher that feels wrong to me, I don't want to ignore those feelings and say, "Well, it doesn't matter! It's a publisher!" It DOES matter if I can do something about it. I have a great inner guidance system, and if there's a problem, the warnings are there for a reason! I want to learn that it's okay to be honest about whatever I feel.

Magic

Something magical is happening this semester.

The first month began so rough--finding out about some health problems, not understanding what classes I needed, feeling delayed on graduation. Anxiety stole my appetite and I could feel my clothes feeling too loose. I kept missing important parts of my assignments. Thoughts of failure ran through my head so much, I considered quitting school.

Somewhere in the past few weeks, a switch has flipped.

Writing about Trauma

Lately I have been thinking about the most emotional parts of my past. The things that still leave a pit in my stomach. The things that I have been trying to push below the surface.

Two years ago, I was so shaken by something that I could hardly get through the day without feeling upset about it. I knew I was about to lose someone. I had no idea how to process what was between us, especially because it had been hidden in my soul for so long.

I blamed myself for everything. Especially in the beginning. The night this came out, I remember lying on my bed, trying to sleep. My skin burned like I was in a tub of acid.

I think I was burdensome to many friends and family members at this time. It felt like I constantly had to talk to someone. Silence felt unnatural. I got to the point where I would record my own voice on my phone several times a day just to keep talking.

I knew what was coming. When the relationship ended I believed I had lost a part of my soul.

Soon after, on New Year's Eve at my sister's house, everything started to change. I started to feel rising energy when I realized the tragedy that had come between me and the person I might have married was the missing link in Cutting Free. When I told my sister I had just made a resolution, she asked, "Is it finishing your book?"

She was right.

Writing about the pain and trauma of my past was the best way I got through this. I would listen to songs that reminded me of this person I lost and let the words and tears come. I felt pushed to write about all the things that were once too painful to even acknowledge.

I had other ways to cope, but none were as powerful as the writing. The pain began to take a new form. It suddenly had meaning.

Today . . .

I realized as I was thinking about that time that the pain in my stomach is no longer there. I never imagined that I would fully get past this. I had once even pleaded with God to let me go back and change this, but of course the answer was, "It doesn't work that way." So I had resigned myself to carrying a ghost.

Recently I had a conversation about it and noticed I didn't feel guilty. It seemed like a major step. But today, I realized the pain in my stomach was gone. The regret, the blame, the feeling that I have ruined my life, was not there anymore. This story will help so many people that even though it caused incredible pain, it has found a place of rest.

I have reached the point that if I could go back in time, I would leave things as they were.

This Week

Although I finished Cutting Free in March and thoroughly edited it since that time, I have been dragging my feet on the next step.

Just as it was time to focus more on it last summer, I started distracting myself.

"I need to go to this workshop first!"

"I need to get completely organized first!"

"I need to finish any artwork from almost a decade ago first!"

Lately I have been feeling depressed, like something has been missing.

My great friend, Julie White, just emailed me her edits of both my query letter and my book proposal. I won't have time to look them over tonight, but just thinking about it wakens my zest for life.

I have been saying this for a while, but this time I mean it:

This week I contact agents.

Streetwalker

Now that I own a car, I'm giving myself permission to share this experience.

This past summer I set a goal to purge myself of clutter. There was a free shredding event in downtown Ogden, where people can dispose of bank statements and other sensitive information. At this time, I needed to take the bus and walk a bit to get there.

I spent several hours the night before sorting through papers. Before taking the bus downtown the next morning, I walked into the grocery store and weighed my paper pile. It was nearly seven pounds.

After dumping that seven-pound pile into the shredding truck, I could feel myself becoming more organized and glowed with progress.

It was eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning when I was walking back to the bus stop to return home. I was on Adams and 27th Street as I passed a man walking the opposite direction. Hoping to radiate some of my happiness, I smiled and said hi. He smiled back and said, "Hi," in a way that eerily sounded just like someone who caused a great deal of pain in Cutting Free. (And I did not hold back from writing about what he did.)

As I walked up the street, the way this stranger said "hi" echoed in my brain. At least it sounded like I made his day, I tried to tell myself. A few minutes later, a car pulled along the road next to me.

Typically when a car pulls to the sidewalk, it either stops, or someone calls out to ask for directions. This car kept moving slowly, following me as I walked.

Finally I walked over to it, seeing the same man in the driver's seat.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked.

I hesitated. Since not owning a car, I had been asked by three other strangers if I wanted a ride, and I had never turned them down. They took me where I needed to go, we had a nice conversation, and I said thank you. This time felt different. It was almost as if there was a black cloud floating over the passenger seat.

"I don't have too far to walk," I began. Then I paused, feeling bad that he was offering me a ride and I was dismissing him. I said, "Well, I guess you could take me up to the bus stop."

He paused and said, "You're not working?"

At first, I thought he was expecting to take me to an office building, not a bus stop. Then there was a moment of bizarre silence between the both of us as I realized what he was really asking.

I said, "No," and my face froze between a smile and disgust. I'm sure I said something like, "Thanks anyway," to hide my discomfort.

I was so grateful when I saw the bus rounding the corner. The whole way home, I couldn't read or listen to my music.

I still couldn't listen to my music when I got off the bus stop and walked the rest of the way home. I couldn't believe it. I was wearing a t-shirt, a pair of capris, and pink running shoes. Nothing screams prostitute like a pair of bright pink sneakers!

I'd say this guy was in his mid-fifties, with graying hair and a slender build. He was very normal looking, but the way he said hi was not normal. Still, I never would have thought that had been on his mind.

In most cases, people take me to be friendly. To me, it was just a smile and a kind greeting. But I have learned there are some people who will misconstrue friendliness for something else.

It is another reminder to always listen to intuition. Rarely has it been so strong that I actually have visual warnings. That black cloud in his car was not completely real, but it was not completely unreal, either. I kept wondering what would happen if I had stepped inside. Would he have just played innocent and dropped me off at the bus stop? Or would he have grown frustrated, taking it as some kind of rejection and deciding I wasn't going to leave so easily.

Better not to know.

I Don't Smoke, but My Car Did

Every time I get out of my new Honda Civic, I think, wow, there's no smoke!

There are some things in life you shouldn't get used to. Like having smoke come out of the hood of your car. My 1998 Dodge Stratus had a power steering fluid leak that seeped through the hose and burned off from the heat of the engine.

That car eventually caught on fire. I've had car mechanics tell me power steering fluid wouldn't cause a fire as it's not a flammable fluid, but who knows. Regardless, it was time for it to go.

I was ready to let it go, too. A family member really wanted me to hold onto my Stratus for as long as possible. He believed a power steering stop leak fluid would solve the problem, or that we should at least try it for a while to see if it worked. At times, it did appear to be working. I also came from a place of lack, thinking it was better to hold onto my car as long as I could than to have car payments for a new one.

Then my car broke down right in front of Weber State--the exact spot where I had a car accident three years earlier--and the mechanic said if I fixed the other issues to get the car running again, he could clean off all the crud on the engine and it shouldn't smoke anymore. The engine didn't look that dirty to me. I didn't really want to go through with it, but I talked myself into thinking, Okay, if this can work . . .

I drove my car back from the auto shop trying to feel hopeful. About a mile later, my car started smoking worse than it ever had. It was so bad, I had to pull into the Smith's parking lot to escape from the cloud of smoke and my growing embarrassment. I am shocked that no one started honking at me, as it looked like my car was seriously overheating.

After my car cooled down a bit, it didn't smoke as much. Whatever the mechanic sprayed into the engine probably left a residue that was also burning off with the still-present leak, which never stopped smoking.

It was so frustrating that I actually felt relieved a few months later when my car started on fire.

I'm sure most of you don't get out of your cars and think, "Wow! I can breathe!" But for me, this is something I think of every time at this point. It is a lesson for me to listen to what feels right, to not settle for less or focus on lack, and to patiently put aside voices of authority when they do not ring with my own inner truth.

It is so nice to be a normal driver again!

Led to Help

I was driving downtown today and had a feeling to pull into the library parking lot. I figured I would walk through the nearby park.

I didn't know it at the time but a friend of mine was in the parking lot. He is not a good friend, but someone I see around the library from time to time. The last time I saw him, he was worried about a friend of his and said he had a really bad feeling.

He had walked into the parking lot this afternoon because he was hoping that somehow he would run into me. When I saw him, he said, "Hi, Holly. My friend is dead."

I spent some time walking around with him at the park. I told him, "Think about the spark that your friend had, and all the ways he made you smile, and do everything you can to extend that feeling to others. Look for every opportunity you have to give. It doesn't matter if you are volunteering or helping a neighbor or bettering yourself, which also betters the world. Just look at this as a tremendous opportunity for you to grow and I promise you that in another year, you will be so grateful for where you will be."

I also told him to remember that he was not alone. I said, "Think about how you needed someone to talk to and hoped you would run into me, and then I drove right into the parking lot at that moment." I don't think I am there to be his counselor, but considering that this was a day after he found out about his friend's death, I believe I was led there to help him.

F.E.A.R.

I just read something I wrote a few years ago and it reminded me that I need not fear what I long to do, especially when I have already conquered this fear before:

"The last thing I ever expected to do was become a climber.  

It seemed as far out of reach for me as wrestling crocodiles.  A big reason climbing felt so intimidating is my lack of upper-body strength, a common issue for many women.  

I am working to develop my upper body.  In the process of learning to do a regular push-up all the way do the ground, I lower myself until I’m eight inches above the ground; as far as pull-ups, I can lift myself about an inch—in other words, I pretty much hang there.  Without even being able to do a full push-up or pull-up, how could I possibly climb a rock wall?  

What I am learning is rock climbing depends more on technique than upper-body strength.  While the arms and back are occasionally needed to "muscle up" the rock, the arms should primarily be used for balance.  It is the legs which should be depended on for strength.  

I will continue to develop my upper-body strength, but I do not need to avoid climbing in the meantime."

It's time to take my own advice. There is a rock climbing wall in the WSU gym and I haven't been there in years. The fear has crept back in again. But that's not the feeling that deserves my attention!

As this is my last semester in school, I want to take advantage of that rock wall while I still have the chance. I will make some time and face the fear again.

The Worst Swimmer in Class

I have a couple major challenges while swimming.

Putting my head under the water and learning how to breathe in the pool have been me biggest challenges. For the past two classes, I've been wearing swimming goggles and that has made a world of difference. I likely made the incorrect decision to lift my head up since I learned the basics of swimming as a little girl. Wearing the swim goggles and seeing underwater has been like entering a new world.

There are a lot of amazing swimmers in this class! I'm amazed by their "sprint" (I don't know if that's an appropriate swimming term) and the ease which they move underwater. But there is something that amazes me more than these speedy swimmers.

There is a girl named Gabby who shares my lane. She didn't even want to step in on the first day of class. She said she hated it and was going to drop the class. On the second day of swimming, I didn't see her there. But today she came again, with the expression, "What the crap am I doing here."

We were supposed to start class working on our kicks, and Pepper told us to use a paddle board so we wouldn't be using our arms. Gabby looked down the swim lane and hugged her paddle board, saying she needed to ask Pepper a question before she could go. I had made two laps and noticed Gabby still had not moved. So I told her I would go with her and we would just go a little distance.

She agreed to go with me, and there was a slight look of relief and even wonder when we got going. By the time we got out to about the five foot depth, her expression started to look stressed, so I asked her if she wanted to go back and she happily turned around.

When we were changing in the locker room after class, she said she was the worst student in class and felt so embarrassed. I told her to think of all the people afraid of the water. They wouldn't even be showing up to a pool, let alone a swimming class! 

"That makes me feel better," she said.

I am so glad Gabby decided to return to class. Something about her smile is so comforting to me and I love having her there. I have been that person who is absolutely terrified (it was a rock climbing class for me), so it is interesting to see this from another perspective.

Maybe Gabby once nearly drowned. Or maybe she watched Jaws one too many times and now believes he can show up in swimming pools, but regardless of her fear, she came back to class.

I am so excited to see where she will be in another thirteen weeks.

Free Will

"Do we really have free will?"

My public speaking professor asked this question today. He referenced the book, Free Will by Sam Harris, which according my professor suggests that because we are hardwired to follow certain paths, we really don't have free will.

It makes me think of some of the most painful parts of my life, where I froze up in terror. I have had counselors tell me that a lot of my reaction had to do with the way my brain was wired. They told me in extreme stress people either flight, fight, or freeze. It certainly felt, in those traumatic moments, that I was frozen to the point that I lacked free will.

I have not read Free Will and do not even know how accurate my professor's description of it is, so until I do, I cannot have an educated opinion on the book, yet my professor's question got me thinking. I have been in some of the worst imaginable situations, and I said and did nothing. It was as though I was not even in my body, but a distant observer.

My biggest challenge in life has been learning to trust in myself rather than freezing in fear. Some might say I was hardwired to be obedient. When my professor went to his computer to play a video of a speech for the class, I noticed the projection screen was still rolled up. I could pull it down for him, but he hadn't asked me to do that and it seemed too awkward to stand up in the middle of class. I decided to stand up and move the screen down anyway, trusting my own authority to do so.

I have always believed that no matter what the circumstances, people can chose to change. I have listened to Emotional Intelligence on audio book three or four times, and this introduced me to the term neuroplasticity, meaning the brain can and does change. As painful as my experiences of freezing up have been, I do not feel victim to them. I feel they exist as my greatest teachers. In contrast, the experience of standing up in the middle of class feels so empowering, and the more I do this, the more I can rewire my own brain, not to freeze, or even be limited to fight or flight, but to be calm and act in the exact way I feel is best.

Cutting Free talks about all the traumatic situations where I froze up, but not without counterexamples where I acted completely differently than I even knew I could.

I have free will.

A Special Thank You

I had to take a moment to thank a very special friend.

Seven years ago, we met as coworkers. I felt drawn to her like she was a long-lost aunt. She was very pretty but didn't know it. She was too busy complimenting everyone else. She was a cheerleader for everyone she came across. On Halloween, she walked into the store with a cowgirl hat and a sparkly "Miss Ogden Blue" sash proudly across her chest.

I was doing all I could to fight the urge to return to self-harm. While she didn't know about my struggle at the time, just as no one else did, she could see the positive things I was doing. She would encourage me with  my running and my artwork. She wanted me to get out of my comfort zone. And when I decided to do something new every week for a year, she not only believed in me, but asked me to join her for a new experience that proved to be one of the most entertaining and insightful of the entire book.

After I finished my adventurous year, a mutual friend started a writer's club as part of her senior project. Our group would have disbanded if this friend did not become our leader. She made sure our group met on a monthly basis, and the Wasatch Writer's Club kept me accountable for and energized about my manuscript.

She showed up at my art shows and races. She became a student of my painting classes. And when I wanted to call my book, "Your Expansion Zone," (which another student said sounded like what happened to his waistline during the holidays) she immediately said, "What about calling your book Cutting Free?"

She helped me design web pages and tighten my chapters. She told me to never give up on my work.

She recently read my entire manuscript. She did this so she could help write the back cover.

Your belief in me has been amazing. Thank you so much, Julie White, for providing me with the support and friendship I needed to see this through. I could not have done this without you.

DARE

When I first started digging deeper into Cutting Free, I was terrified of alienating my readers. One of the most revealing parts of my book is sharing my religious background's defining moment.

Recently a good friend of mine asked if she could help me write the back cover for my book. This is not just any friend. She is someone who helped with my writing from the very beginning and even participated in some of the biggest new experiences. It was a bit scary handing over the manuscript, especially to someone who is in the book! But I cannot turn down this generous help.

My friend read the whole manuscript last week during a stay in sunny St. George, Utah. Thanks to her, I now have an excellent description for the back cover.

When she returned the manuscript to me last night, she said how funny it was to read about herself through my eyes. She also wanted to know more about a particular chapter that delved into my Mormon history. Although we have been friends for six years, she either didn't know that much about my past, or I may have unconsciously kept it from her. She is a very devout Latter-day Saint.

This chapter started when a friend and coworker challenged me with a new experience: a package with DARE written in bold, black letters. I waited to open it until the date specified on the package. When I finally opened it, I had to laugh, because I had guessed exactly what it was.

The Book of Mormon would be an excellent new experience for me, if I had not read it twice already. I thanked my friend for the dare, but didn't tell him I was actually a former Mormon. I didn't want to get into my reason for leaving. When I left Mormonism as a teenager, I never talked to other Mormons--which was virtually everyone I knew--about why. I was afraid I would anger or disappoint them, or even break their hearts.

Last night, when my friend sat in my apartment and asked more about my reason, I felt those feelings resurface. Instead of listening to this fear, I calmly talked to her more about this chapter that divulges my true reason for leaving Mormonism.

I waited for her to counter with why I had been mistaken. Every time someone has asked me why I left, they have told me why my feelings were not valid. This friend listened intently, not showing any signs of wanting to speak. When I was finished, she did have something to say.

My stomach grew tense, as if saying, "Here it comes." She said, "I feel bad that I've known you so long and never asked you about this. I never knew this side of you."

That was it.

I feel so touched by the growing depth in my relationships now that I've written my personal truth without a single apology. I am finding that while I have shocked some people with the book's content, they have shocked me with their receptivity. I have never expressed myself so honestly and openly in anything I have ever created. While that can be terrifying, these early stages of moving toward publication reveal to me that my honest delivery of Cutting Free is one of the best things I have ever done.

Skydiving was the Easy Part

Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend and fellow writer. He said "You've put your heart and soul into this book, as cliche as that might sound." I told him it was true. I jumped out of a plane for my book, and that was the easy part.

As he asked me why that part was comparatively easy, I told him about the relationship in the book, and exactly why it ended.

While living Cutting Free, I met someone I felt was The One. Something came between us, and the biggest challenge I have ever faced was learning that it was not my fault.

My friend listened to my story, being extremely kind and supportive. I really appreciate that, because not everyone felt this way. This situation is not black and white, and there were people who vehemently blamed me for it. A friend of mine had a boyfriend at the time who used to go on a rampage against me. As for my own boyfriend, many of his friends told him to drop me and never speak to me again.

I cried so many tears, even pleading to God to please let me go back in time so I could avoid this event. I felt I had lost my soul.

I struggled with this so much that writing this book was my only way out.

Jumping out a plane was a million times easier than going through this experience. And this book matters so much because it can save people from going through what I did.

The road is getting smoother, though. This conversation was unlike the others I had about it in the past.

It was the first time I talked about this without guilt.

Debate

I have been debating whether I leave my book where it is or add another chapter to the end.

This would be a five-years-later chapter.

It would talk about how my relationship deepens with my mom. I become friends with the girl who caused my car accident. Then my car catches on fire. But the most important thing is I never went back to self-harm. I finished my degree (by December, that is) and am back to running, even after my car accident.

There are a few problems:

It might give the message that achievement equals healing, a message I don't feel is healthy, especially for people struggling with depression or self-harm.

It could feel like I'm trying to show off accomplishments.

No one is going to finish  my book and say, "Wait! What happens five years later!?"

Another issue I realized lately is if I talk about all this in one chapter, there is something missing. These past five years have had their own struggles. It doesn't say anything about my struggle to finish school and the fiasco I had when I moved to Logan, nor does it talk about the challenges I faced as a teacher, or another relationship (or attempt at one) and all its raw challenges. The point is that through all that, I never went back to self-harm. And it would be missed if I tried to gloss over that.

Maybe glossing over the pain of the past five years is exactly what I'm trying to do.

This chapter wouldn't exactly cover that--it's too much. Yet I am still attached to the image of myself running the same 5K that started it all.

On the other hand . . .

I could make it into one of the most interesting "About the Author" pages you ever read.

Or it could be another book.

Cutting Free is too important to be overdone.

What do you think? Please tell me here or on Facebook, either in the post or in a private message.

The Flow

When the idea first struck to do something new every week for a year, I knew I would do it. There was no doubt, no question . . . just perfect faith.

However, that doesn't mean there was never any doubt. Just a few hours later, I thought, "How am I going to do this? I have no plan, and the new year's starting now. Maybe I should spend this year planning and do this next year instead." I count it as the biggest success that I did not listen to that voice. Not only would I have missed out on writing about the incredible things that happened that year, but let's be honest, if I put it off, I probably never would have done it.

Despite the fear of not being able to find new experiences, many of the new experiences found me. People started walking up to me and asking, "How'd you like to do this with me?" (One of these challenges was so scary, I initially said no, but fortunately my friend was persistent.) I also worked at a printing and art store where people consistently brought in flyers for events that tied in perfectly to my book. And the person Cutting Free needed to make a compelling story . . . he walked right in to Ogden Blue.

After I completed my year of new experiences, I started to have anxiety about how I would now turn them into a book. I wrote a journal entry worrying about how many pages it should be, whether to single or double space, and where to even begin. Regardless of the fear, I still started, and then my cousin offered to edit the chapters for me. Before I knew it, a friend of mine started a writer's club as part of her senior project. And more and more flowed into my life.

Now I'm at the point where the manuscript is finished, and I'm building an audience so that when Cutting Free comes out, people will be looking for it. Again, this new level began with lots of anxiety. I had even gone as far as to believe I had failed myself because I hadn't spent more time trying to build an audience while writing the manuscript. I'm not listening to this misguided voice. I have already felt more fulfillment than I expected by revisiting this blog. And I'm sitting in the right classrooms--the magazine article writing class and public speaking class I don't even need for my degree, but because I'm practically finished, I can take them. And the ideas for how I'm going to get the word out fast keep coming to me . . .

Life flows when we commit ourselves and act. The more I do this, the more I realize that while we must act, we never have to strain. It is a lot of work, yet there's nothing we'd rather do. Our works of brilliance take effort and persistence, but because these requirements are directly in line with our deepest truth, the process simply flows.

Swimming!

I don't know a whole lot about swimming. My best friend taught me some of it, but I didn't practice enough and forgot it. So I had to take swimming for my final semester!

I have a wonderful teacher named Pepper. She watches us go up and down the lanes and then gives us feedback. I can tell she's really paying attention. She told me it looks like I'm not afraid of the water, but she can tell I don't like my face in the water, so I should invest in some swim googles. I've never had them before, so I'm excited to see the change that will make.

Pepper said that swimming is great to learn, as swimming is a life skill. "Basketball is not a life skill. It's crazy fun, but no one is going to say, 'Let's play one on one for your life.' " I am so excited for this class. The water has always been healing for me. Going up and down the laps is a little intimidating when there are other people in the lanes--it kind of feels like driving into oncoming traffic. But I will either get used to it or tell someone I need more room (I just realized I could say something while typing this).

I am also excited to learn how to dive, mainly because I'm terrified of diving. I have never gone headfirst into a pool. So I say bring it on!

First Conversation

Do you ever see someone around school or work that you've never really talked to, and all the sudden you connect on a deep level?

That happened to me today. In my final BFA capstone class, called Thesis, I showed a PowerPoint of my previous artwork. Thanks to BFF Power (yes, my best friend literally called me and told me exactly what I needed for this class), I decided to share my big plan.

I hope to make between 5-10 portraits of people who recovered or are recovering from self-harm. After I finished my presentation, I sat back down as most people left to take a break. When I had first walked into class, I sat down next to a girl I have seen around school for the past few years, but never talked to. I had a feeling to sit right by her today.

As others were out getting a drink or stopping at the restroom, this girl told me how much she liked the idea about creating the images of people recovering from self-harm. She told me about some of the people she knew who were currently struggling with this. She had tears in her eyes. I never would have imagined this would be our first conversation. I am loving this class and feel so grateful to be part of all of this.

September Goal

I have now blogged for a week straight.

My goal is to continue every day for the rest of September so it becomes a habit. It keeps me accountable to and conscious of my goals.

I don't think lack of making goals is the problem most of us encounter. It's keeping them. I think the difference between the person who publishes and sells a million copies and the person who only sells a hundred (when they hoped to sell much more) comes down to habit. Which one made it a goal to continually work and persist and which one threw it out there to just see his or her name in print already?

I have a lot of work to do to get this published.

Bus Devotional

This will be the week I have my new car.

It's amazing to think of what it will be like. My last car gave me so many problems that for the past two years--to the date--I didn't feel comfortable driving it. It's a long story of why I kept the car for so long, but it's over now. I can hardly believe what it will be like to go wherever I want to go without anxiety.

Today I decided to make my second visit to a church service I attended last year on my birthday. I am not a religious person, but I still find so much value in different faiths. Plus, it is time to say thank you, and I know something is listening.

On the way there, the bus driver, a cute LDS girl, and myself got into a spiritual conversation. We all felt a closeness to something without identifying it through a church building. It's a meeting house, and a place to gather, but the truth is wherever you go.

Even though I am getting my new car, there will be times when I still take the bus. I do know the routes quite well by now, after all. And sometimes there are these moments of connection.

As I walked to the church building, I passed a toddler sitting on the front steps in a poorer area of Ogden. I said hi and waved, and he just watched me. Then before I was out of view, I turned back and waved again and laughed, and he started waving and laughing.

Psychic Friendships

Thank goodness for the support surrounding me.

Since starting school, I have been debating what to do for my final capstone. I wanted to revisit my stamp portraits, but needed a fresh approach to show my growth as a student.

Then my best friend called me. She had been driving the other day, and the answer randomly popped into her head.

The amazing thing is, we hadn't even been talking about this. She had no idea I was even uncertain about my idea. She simply called and said, "I think you should tie your stamp portraits into your book. Reach out to people who have recovered from self-harm and make stamp portraits of them."

The more we talked about it, the more right it became. Concepts started developing, and with the plan I have now, this upcoming series has taken on a brand new meaning.

It is so amazing how one can feel stuck and someone else hears the answer.

Hallelujah!

March 10, 2015.

That was the date my car caught on fire.

It seems like I would have a new car by now, right? I even have the money to pay for it in cash, although that would make a big dent in my savings.

I have spent the past six months walking everywhere, taking the bus, or getting rides from friends and family. Four times, strangers offered me rides (okay--one of those guys was literally trying to pick me up--but more on that another time!) and I always felt like I could get by.

Then I had to have a conversation with myself and ask, why, exactly, do I want to get by???

I should be thriving.

The truth is I had a load of doubt about myself and the whole car-buying process. I finally decided to take that doubt that's been weighing on me like a bag of sand and dump it right out on the ground. I've had enough of that scarcity thinking.

I bought my new car today. It wasn't even a hassle! I didn't exactly know what to expect, as I've only owned one car my whole life that I bought directly from my dad. I've never even taken cars out for a test drive. But today, after spending some time researching cars online, I found the car.

It seemed to be saying to me, My seats might still be covered in dog hair, but hey, I'm pretty and I'll take you where you wanna go. You've got a platform to build, and I can help you make it happen.

She's a 2005 Honda Civic, well under ten grand with only 93,000 miles. I thought that was pretty low for a ten-year-old car. The selling point for me was how smooth and soft the test drive was. I was used to a car that sounded like a vacuum cleaner and blew smoke in my face.

The dealership still needs to detail her, so I don't have a car quite yet, but after waiting for six months, what's another few days. Tonight will be the last night I walk home from the grocery store trying to carry several heavy bags in my arms.

Better yet, owning a car again means I can get started on my big idea for marketing my book. Even though it's not published yet, I have a plan to get the word out fast (like someone going from walking to driving!) and I can't wait to get started.

Six-word Speech

"Education is reading between the lines."

This is the six-word speech I wrote for public speaking today. What made me proud was what happened as soon as the professor said we needed to move along to our speeches (he loves to talk himself) and sat down. Typically I would stay seated, at least until after he formerly asked to come forward (even then, I might double-check), but the professor's body language seemed to be turning the time over to us, so I stood right up and moved to the podium.

I did find myself falling back on old patterns once I was up there, asking, "We just come on up, right?" It was like I suddenly doubted myself. Clearly I already knew it was okay or I wouldn't have stood up in the first place. Yet that is only a small habit of the past compared to the newer habit of self-confidence I seek to establish.

I really feel self-confidence is, to a great extent, a habit. Habitually being the first to present. Standing up without hesitation. Delivering a speech while making direct eye contact with the class and articulating every word. I know the more I do this, the more second nature it will become.

Too Much Anxiety

Day Three of my last semester and I'm still very anxious.

I wanted to take so many classes in order to learn more skills to help market and support my book. I kept telling myself, "I can take it, just push yourself. Do this, this, and this . . ."

Yet what's the point in trying to do it all if I can't do it well? Here's the funny part: this is my last semester and I only need ONE class to graduate. I wanted to be full time to accept my scholarship, but some people would not even worry about the extra money and just take the one class so it can be done already.

So today I dropped my video class. I wanted to learn how to make awesome videos, but I had a major conflict. There is a jogging class I wanted to take that's at the same time. When I talked to my video professor about this, he looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Jogging? You're thinking of dropping this for a jogging class?"

It does sound a little weird, but here's the reason: I still have one more chapter to write in my book. But I can't write it now because it hasn't happened yet. I started my book with the Beat the New Year 5K. Then I had a car accident that made it difficult to run. I worked very hard to run again, and now I need to prove to myself that I can do this same 5K again. And not just finish the 5K, but run it at my best. I'm at my best when I have structure and support; hence, a class is my best option.

So today I stopped listening to the voices in my head telling me to do it all and also stopped worrying about disappointing my professor. I think I'll send him an email explaining my situation--he still might not understand, but at least I can feel I did my best to communicate with him. I very much look forward to these next few months: finishing the final chapters of the two most intense projects of my life.

My First Speech

I knew I would have it coming to me when the clock tower struck nine as I ran down the concrete stairs.

I was a minute late. Last semester, if I left a half hour before class started, I was able to make it on time. Apparently I need more time now. As soon as I entered the classroom, my professor said I would need to give a one-minute speech on the importance of punctuality.

He may not have been entirely serious, as the two girls who showed up five minutes later never gave speeches, but I went for it, thinking I might as well throw myself out there the first moment I walked in.

I have a fear of speaking. Not just in front of a classroom of twenty-five students, but in most given situations. Last Saturday, I had to build up my confidence just to tell an Arby's employee that he rang up my order incorrectly. I almost said nothing, as speaking up can seem more painful to me than being overcharged a few dollars.

That is why I signed up for a public speaking class. And I discovered today that we will be spending part of class outside beneath the bell tower, orating not just to the class, but to anyone passing by.

It's enough to make students want to drop the class. I don't need it for my degree, after all. Yet I need it for something even bigger than my degree: my book. I need to start speaking about Cutting Free so I can show publishers I mean business. I'm not just going to publish it and "see what happens." I'm going to MAKE this book happen.

So here's to my first day of Principles of Public Speaking. Finding my voice has been the most difficult challenge of my entire life. Most of the tragedies I have suffered stem from this. And that is why my book is so important. It gives a voice to the powerful experiences and will help people find their own.