the extrovert problem

There's no doubt I'm an extrovert. I find myself unbelievably energized at parties and I'm utterly bored when I sit in my bed alone. I'm a nonstop talker and question asker, but lately I've been wondering: out of all the questions I've asked, what have i really learned? See, I've figured out (and yeah, this is obvious) that to learn and understand you have to really listen; being a good friend and showing you care about others is allowing them to be heard and understood. And I think listening is an issue many extroverts, mostly myself, have a problem with. I can talk for hours, but the moment many people start talking to me, I easily find myself bored and not listening to them. That's terrible! I know that I want to listen and understand the deepest parts of others, but I find myself immediately thinking of what I have to say back or what I could do to fix it, but in reality, it isn't about me. Even more so, when I talk a lot and know I'm not being heard, it hurts. Meanwhile I'm literally doing the same thing to a lot of people. (Don't get me wrong - many people have nothing interesting to say). Regardless, knowing I'm not listening to others bothers me, so recently I decided to just, well, shut the hell up. This has proven to be very hard.
While I've been shutting up, though, I've noticed all the little things I used to say that really just didn't matter. It was only about me being in the conversation instead of me hearing the directions or understanding what I should be doing. Being quiet as also allowed me to observe, which is always a beautiful thing as I've noticed many things others do not. Somehow I've created my own little secrets with myself. I often feel the need to say things to other people, and most of the time I do, but I'm focused on trying to enjoy the silence and be invested in the listening and the observing. The next step is learning how to quiet my oh so talkative mind.
artfully yours

happiness

As the year comes slowly to a close, I'm finding it more and more important to reflect on one of the most influential years of my life. This time last year I was depressed (and still am, but now I understand it), and in February of this year I was in the hospital on suicide watch. Even as I look back and remember feeling superbly disappointed in myself, waking up in a hospital bed being told I overdosed on Xanax was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. In the most cliché of ways, it was an eye-opener. I wouldn't say I "found myself," (because, really, who ever does in one week?) but I started to understand the complexities of me. All my life I was afraid of failure and afraid to disappoint others around me, but somehow my biggest failure became my biggest success.

My family prided me in being the golden child in comparison to my cousins (considering I'm an only child), and so I felt the need to give them something to be proud about. Apparently this also meant I had to never fail at any task ever and completely understand any task ever, which, as we all know, is nearly impossible. The me in that hospital bed had literally failed everything: failed being in control, failed staying sober, failed making my mom happy, failed myself, but most importantly, I had failed in killing myself. In that, I understood what my family knew and what I had forgotten: I was worthy.

The golden child title was never really brought on by the smarts or the mistakes I never made, it was brought on by the fact that I was a golden ray of sunshine. I was worthy of feeling the happiness I brought to others. And in my biggest failure, my darkest day, my pitch black rock bottom, I needed to be a golden ray of sunshine once more. Not just for the ones I loved, but for myself. I could no longer be the only one unable to feel the sun caressing my skin and I could no longer stuff down the sunshine inside of myself with anxious thoughts and depressed feelings. I wanted more than a stiff bed with crinkly sheets. I wanted more than plastic tray meals and nurses checking in on me 24/7. I wanted the independence happiness seems to bring the people around me. So, I embarked on my own little "Journey to Happiness," and promised myself that I would be positive in my search for it. 

It's been about 10 months since I started this journey, and I've found many things along the way. My biggest finding? It isn't a journey to happiness, it's a journey with happiness. I have no idea where I'm going, but I'm going which ever way happily. My heart is open and my sun is shining, so therefore I know I'm ready, and I know I can handle anything that comes my way. My resilience not to fail allowed me to turn my resilience toward staying joyful. Is it hard? Of course. I will always have days where I won't feel happy, but that's part of life. As of now, my happy and joyful days are greatly exceeding the dark days, but that's because I shine the most on my happiest days, allowing me to focus on them easily. 

Despite the dark days I have, I can never go back to being the girl in the hospital. Once I got out and my feet felt the solid ground beneath me, I could finally feel the sun against my skin, my heart bursting with joy, and my understanding that everything would be perfectly fine. 

artfully yours. 

new years resolutions

A cliché post, but to be honest, I've never been one to care about being cliché. This is a post, obviously, about New Years resolutions. It's only December 14th, but I'm a girl who plans. I've always found it upsetting how others can never follow through with their resolutions, and I suppose I'm also the same way, but that's because I can't remember the last time I even made a New Years resolution. In my world, they were just for people unsatisfied with their lives and trying to hang on to a sliver of hope that could possibly be happiness. Very, obviously cynical, but what can you do. My resolutions are centered around routine. I don't mean the unhealthy ones; I want to wake up in the morning, fix my coffee, do some yoga, and just feel good. Then, I want to go to get in some comfy socks (hopefully my feet won't be as disgusting as they are right now), a comfy sweater, drink some tea while reading a book, and go to bed. I think I'm finding it extremely hard to assimilate into the college lifestyle considering it feels I don't really have an area of my own, but I've decided that maybe instead I could have routines of my own. Stuff that I do just for myself. Over the years, people would tell me how spontaneous and crazy I am, and I used to be proud and happy to be "that girl who does anything." But now I don't really want to. I want some routine in my life, because that's what makes life cozy. Don't get me wrong, though, I want to travel and see the world, but I would also love to come home to a really good book and a cup of tea in my favorite mug (which I'll hopefully make myself at the ceramic studio). There's something about routines. There are so many things hard to control in life, but the one thing I can control is myself. So I'm looking forward to New Year's and the new year, new me (yes - that's a meme) and I plan to stick with it. I hope you are, too.
artfully yours
P.S. I realize my existential college student voice has wavered a bit in this post, but I never claimed every single thought in my ever-moving brain was a deep one. :)

vulnerability

I'm anything but a closed book, which is why I have no trouble announcing that it took me a long time to find a therapist I felt a connection with. I'm not sure what went into the environment to create a perfect breeding ground for conversation between us, but I do remember the first thing she showed me was Brené Brown's TEDtalk on vulnerability. Like I said, I'm not necessarily a closed book, but I am definitely one that skirts just along the edge of almost creating an emotional connection with its readers. When I watched the video, however, I found myself completely agreeing with her take on vulnerability being powerful; it's what stems emotional connections. After that moment, I started to incorporate vulnerability into my life. I won't lie to you: it's hard to be emotionally out there. As you begin to open up, the throat seems to close and an analysis on the person's eye squinting, eyebrow furrowing, and mouth moving becomes an informational overload. What does it mean? What will they say? How will they react? For me, all these things seem to happen in the span of 5 seconds while vulnerability tries to tumble out of my mouth and into the ears of my closed-off victims.

So as the weeks went on and I found myself feeling freer, I began to wonder: why? Why are we all so closed off from one another? We each come into this world as vulnerable as ever: naked, wet, and screaming. Emotions are plastered on our faces for everyone to see; even more so, in that moment we are held by loved ones and called beautiful. Throughout our baby years, we express every emotion we feel in that second: hunger, anger, sadness, happiness, hurt, confusion; but when we continue to grow our faces seem to be perpetually stuck on three basic emotions: happy, sad, angry. What about joy, pride, understanding, love, pain, guilt, sorrow, confusion, misunderstanding, terror, acceptance, amusement, astonishment, courageousness? For every, "I'm okay," we tell to others, there is a wide array of emotions we're really feeling. At what point did it become the norm to push others behind closed doors and pretend nothing is really happening? Are we not all somehow searching for a connection to others? Even more, a connection to ourselves? When does faking it for others become faking ourselves? 

We're trained to see vulnerability as a weakness, but there are deep crevices of vulnerability that allow for connection between others. The bond of friendship isn't made with superficial lies of being okay, they're made during late-night sleepovers and games of Never Have I Ever. No real relationship was built on the basis of, "Yeah, I'm okay."

We pay therapists to sit and talk with us and consider it a place to pour out our hearts, but are our friends not able to listen and understand? Is it the advice we get from our therapists that help or is it the feeling of unloading the burdens on our back that help us feel so relieved? We walk around with hunched shoulders and plastic smiles, but the sanctuaries in which all we do is spill out our deepest fears and our worst regrets are the same places that fester vulnerability, create connections, and present truths in which we find ourselves. Perhaps we could all use a little vulnerability. 

artfully yours.  

here we are

Well, here I am. After many years of contemplating starting a blog, I've finally done it. I haven't even posted my first thought and somehow, it feels good. I started this blog, mainly, for two reasons: 1. because I can; and 2. because I want to. It will generally consist of my thoughts considering my mind only quiets in the sanctuary of busy work.

It's funny. My first post and I'm already finding myself at a loss for words. I can think as often as I want, but once the medium comes into play my fingers are suddenly disconnected from my brain, or perhaps I am too quick to worry about the way my words will roll off the tongue or if they will hold the same sense of beauty I apply to them in my head. Regardless, I am determined to continue on the road of "a blogger" and cannot wait to look back at the words I put out for the world to see (even if that world consists only of my boyfriend and best friend). 

artfully yours.