Dream

D-Town

First of all, thank you guys so much for your response to Tuesday’s post. I so appreciate you opening up and sharing your stories with me, for sharing my post, for dropping notes by my desk at work. It was a good day.

I’ve been feeling the urge to share about my life with anxiety and depression for a while, but was trying to discern if I wanted to share for the sake of sharing, or to share for the greater good and to start an open conversation about that topic. To contribute to the idea that it’s okay to talk openly about stuff that’s hard. (AHH IT’S HARD DON’T TALK ABOUT STUFF EVER) But, we should! We’re doing a disservice to ourselves as humans to not explore those deep and complex parts of ourselves and share them. Oh hey! You feel those things too? What a surprise! 

When I finally decided to write that post, I saved it as a draft a week or two before Christmas. I’d scratched the itch to write about it so I didn’t need to post it. When I came back from the holiday, I saw it there. I read it again and it still conveyed accurately what I wanted, so I cleaned it up and scheduled it. That Monday night, I spent an hour or so with my good friend Cait. We started talking about how God gives us these desires to share our lives and ourselves, but we second guess and tell Him no one wants to hear it.

BUT. Jesus does not give us those passions and desires and longings for no reason. Does that mean that every dream or longing or passion or desire we have is going to come to fruition? No. But it does mean that if we humble ourselves before Him and give Him the desires of our hearts, they become the desires of His. And that, y’all, is a really beautiful thing. As Cait and I were talking, I confessed that I don’t trust Jesus enough to fulfill the dreams He’s given me. Ouch.

And that’s one thing I feel like God has been speaking to me since about October. To dream big. Anyone who knows me at all knows I’m a dreamer. I fantasize about the future, about my day, about anything. But I’m a (very) practical dreamer. My dream car? My 2007 Honda Civic. (srsly.) My dream salary? Enough to be 100% independent and to save and give a decent amount.

I specifically remember in one of my work meetings at the end of last year, the chairman felt like he needed to share something. He’s a pastor and pastors a lot of older people. He saw that they all kind of felt like all the dreams they had had come true and they didn’t dream anymore. They didn’t see the need for it. But, he said, God is not done with our dreams. Ever. He gives us new ones.

And. Then. I. Melted. Into. My. Chair. I could’ve sobbed uncontrollably right there. Part of my motivation of moving to Dallas was to become a worship leader. And, (not) surprisingly, when that didn’t happen the moment I moved here I questioned whether or not that was what I was truly supposed to do. I guess I was also mourning my Dallas dream. I’d held it tightly for so many years and it finally came true and it was wonderful and perfect and miraculous, but I didn’t have anything practical to dream about anymore. I spent months wondering and wandering. Thankfully, I had encouragement. I had someone telling me that the spiritual part of my life had been absent for those months and I’d lost my compass, so to speak. I’ll be forever grateful for those words. They reminded me of my dream. My purpose. My calling. Then God told me specifically to dream BIG. Not just to dream. He knows I already do that. But to dream BIG. To not be afraid of those wild and crazy dreams I have deep down. To let them out and give them breath and life. To trust that God is big enough. He is good enough. Because He loves me. And because he never falls off of His throne.

So that’s my word for this year. Well, I have two words: DREAM and BOLD. They go hand in hand, actually. I want to be bold generally and bold specifically in the dreams I have. I just feel that push, you know? Go big or go home, yeah? (Ew, never let me say that again.)

 

Happy 2016, dummies.

What Depression is to Me

How about a super light and airy topic for a Tuesday morning, huh?! Hold on to your $!*$#* hats.

Rainbow

For as long as I can remember I’ve dealt with anxiety. I remember sitting in class in the fourth grade and feeling knots in my stomach and my hair standing on end when I would get called on or when I knew class was almost over or when I knew our whole class was about to leave the room. Once, my friend Hunter that sat across from me, told me that my voice changed when I would get called on in class. Fourth grade me was like wat. I’d find out later that it was because of anxiety.

In middle school, I would obsessively watch the clock and become a nervous wreck waiting for the bell to ring. As soon as it rang, the knots and the chills and the insane thoughts faded out. But 55 minutes later when the next bell was about to ring, they’d be back. (I was never saved by the bell, if you’re wondering.)

In high school, things were milder. The stomach knots and the insane thoughts were there, but by this time I’d acclimated. This was normal for me. Wasn’t it normal for everyone?

I remember being 16. (Doesn’t everyone?) Looking back, there were two major traumas. (Thanks, counseling, for pointing that out!) One, my best friend and I split up. Two, my grandmother being diagnosed with brain cancer. I lost the person that had been my sister for years and was losing someone I loved forever. When my grandmother passed away in October of 2006, I felt a shift. I never really felt myself after that. It was a tragic and horrific loss for my entire family that still hurts. I think that’s when my depression began.

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I didn’t figure out what anxiety was until I was probably 21 or 22. (That small town education, tho.) That I had it? Well, that was an even slower realization. The divorce forced me to find a counselor, and I’m glad it did. I literally could not function day to day because of the rampant anxious thoughts. I had to find someone to talk to or I would explode.

In counseling, it wasn’t like she was helping me through something, per se. She was letting me talk it out. Letting me open up and say things to her that I couldn’t, or didn’t know how to, say to my friends or family. She let me spill myself on the floor in front of her without judgment. It was messy and ugly and I threw up a lot of word vomit. But, like so many things in life, it turned into something beautiful: me. Myself. Finally, I felt like myself again. I could process thoughts and think clearly about things. Life. Love. Whatever. That was spring of 2013.

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It’s March of 2015. I’m dating a guy I fall madly for instantly, as I often do. (Classic amirite?) In July I moved to Dallas. I remember crying almost every day for a week or two because I was alone for the first time in my life. There was no one home when I got there.  Life wasn’t happening in my home without me like I was so accustomed to. Sure, Pepper was there. But she wasn’t watching TV or making dinner or doing dishes when I walked in the door. I’d honestly be creeped out if I walked in and she was doing any of those things. (#nothumbs) I was greeted with silence every day, accompanied by darkness with the time change which made things exponentially worse. Jon, my boyfriend at the time, lived 8 minutes away but was going through his own thing and wasn’t there all the time when I needed him.

I didn’t visit a church until December. Which was a big part of the problem, but I shut myself out. Things got better for a few weeks in July after I acclimated to Dallas, but that thin, grey veil never really went away. In fact, it got darker. Jon eventually moved to Austin for a new job and we split not long after that. This time, I was really alone. He was one of two people I knew when I moved here and now he was gone.

I’m over the breakup now, but the loneliness remains. It’s not that I don’t have friends or someone great I’m dating, it’s depression. And depression makes absolutely no sense. To the person it’s happening to or the people outside of it watching. Depression hits me at the oddest times: in the middle of a happy conversation, during a drink with someone, on a date, lying in bed drifting to sleep, watching a SnapChat story. Suddenly this curtain falls and that’s the end of the act for me. I could easily throw in the towel and call it a day no matter what time it is, but I have to, sometimes literally, force myself to stand up and move. To do something. And slowly, so slowly, that curtain peeks open and I’ll see a bit of light. And that bit of light sustains me and I make it grow. I have to.

A few nights ago a particularly hard curtain fell (no doubt attributed to my NYE shenanigans (HOLLA) and lack of sleep) and I remember talking to Jesus telling him how tired I was. How tired I am of saying how tired I am. How this has been the biggest looming shadow over my entire life. How it’s dictated my moods and decisions and actions forever. And I told Him how afraid I was that I’d feel like this forever. That there would never be a day I didn’t feel that thin, grey veil over me.

And to be honest, I still feel that way. I still get sad randomly. I still feel anxious. But I’m in counseling and I’m learning ways to fight it. I’m spilling myself out on the floor in front of a complete stranger so she can help me figure out how to pour myself back together in a better and healthier way.

Hey yo, it’s okay if you have depression. It took me 25 years to muster the courage to find a counselor. I don’t want to hide it anymore. Talking about it and laughing about it helps me. lol I get sad all the time and cry in random places IT’S SO HILARIOUS. Let’s start a real conversation about it. We shouldn’t have to be afraid to tell people we have depression or anxiety. Or hey, a mixed bag of both. JACKPOT.

 

Here’s to better days for all.

Love you.

How Do You Morning?

Good morning! (Btw, if it’s before 8 AM don’t come to me with that noise. It is not a good morning, yet.) On my drive to work this morning, the sun was pouring in through my car window just right and everything just seemed…fresh. New, even being surrounded by all those cars and people trying to get to work too. It made me sad for all the early mornings I’ve missed out on. Maybe it’s the new bite in the air and the way the leaves are slowly (very slowly) turning brown around here (from the heat?), but this morning got me good.

It got me thinking about how I spend that precious morning time. My friend Cait (incredible human being) wrote a little something on her blog about mornings. And I caught myself this very morning checking Instagram first thing. Heaven forbid I miss a ‘like’ or a comment on one of my photos. Or miss a sale happening in one of my daily emails. *eye roll*

Friday night I had the most restful sleep. At 7:15 Saturday morning I rolled over and woke up to the pinkest light I have ever seen just soaking my windows. It was the weirdest thing! I actually got out of bed to see what was going on and snapped this picture:

Sunrise
Obviously the picture doesn’t do it justice, but it was gorgeous. To think, this happens every morning! And I’m missing it! I quietly promised myself to be more intentional with my mornings. I have the power to set the tone for my entire day. Incredible power. I don’t want to squander that.

 

So here’s to black coffee, sunrises, and getting out of bed. ;*

 

 

xx

A Quarter of a Century

Well, it’s here! The day I turn 25. Pretty anti-climactic, huh? When I was a teenager, I fantasized about who I would be at this age. Older, life together, super cool, established, etc. It’s funny. We make these plans and develop a vision for our future selves, but, at least in my case, they look drastically different from who we are right now. Instead, we live our lives and become the selves we’re meant to be by circumstance, hurts, joys, and just life, man. I still feel like that 14 year old imagining who I’ll be ten years from now at 35. I’ll finally be an adult! I’ll have my life in order! A house! Stacked retirement fund! Worship leader! But the reality is, I live my life and do my best to follow the One guiding my steps and humbly step into the person he’s molding me to be. It’s such a beautifully painful journey.

Beach bummin'

Last year on my 24th birthday I made a very short list of goals to reach by the time I hit 25. I’m happy to report I met them all. Well, except one. (But I mean really, who can save $9,000 in a year on retail salary?)

Fourth of July

Why do I always forget just how much can change in twelve months? September of last year I was dating a guy who turned out to be the living worst and then continued to date a slew of guys that were also kind of the worst. I wouldn’t trade that time, though. In and through that my skin got roughed up and became thicker. I learned to rely on other people. My twenties have just been one hurt after another followed by grace on top of grace and then stacked with indescribable joy on top of joy. (blessings on blessings on blessings amirite) I don’t think I’ll ever not feel like that 14 year old Melody dreaming up visions of her future self.

Cruise wallSister friends!

I don’t want this post to sound like oh, my life is so hard and so sad and blah blah blah because it’s not! I LOVE MY LIFE. I get to live in the coolest city, experience something new every single day, meet new people, work for a non-profit that does some cool stuff, and the list goes on!

Over the last year I saved up and moved to my dream city, bought my dream car, fell in love, ate my weight in chocolate, then lost that weight, become 85% self-sufficient, settled into some serious happiness, and committed to living my own life. Not someone else’s.

Dancin'

I’ll never be the pinnacle of myself. I’ll always be evolving and changing and developing into who I’m supposed to be. And right now, I’m 25 living in Dallas, dating a preeeeetty cool dude, living with the best dog ever in the sweetest apartment ever. What will 26 look like? (OH GOD I’M SO MUCH CLOSER TO 30.)

 

Happy Birthday September babies! Treat yo self.

 

xx

 

Side Note: I should really take some updated selfies. Cruise pics from March are not current, Melody!

My Empty Apartment

In hindsight I probably should’ve posted this before the big apartment tour. But what is this blog but a chronologically irregular account of my life.

I remember the day I moved. I remember the day I went down by myself to pick up my keys. I remember the day my sister, Shelby, and I went down to sign my lease. Every one of those moments inside those days is burned on my heart. Precious moments, man. Precious. Moments.

So many feels! This move happened so fast, but took so long to happen. In one day I had a job and an apartment, and the only reason it took me longer than two weeks to move here was because I was finishing up at my last job. I think I would’ve gone the very next day if I had been prepared. Tears, elation, shock, fear; my head was swimming. I wouldn’t trade those days for anything.Empty storage building

What an absolutely surreal feeling to see my storage unit empty. I took my time sweeping it clean that day. Symbolic of my life over the last two years, I guess. Starting fresh. Rainbow

The day my parents and I picked up the trailer we were using to move, this enormous double rainbow filled the sky. I was reminded of the constant faithfulness of our God and it’s still enough to make me want to cry.

Gasp

Quick selfie as I headed down to pick up my keys. This day. I was so anxious to just be there I filled my car up as much as possible and moved boxes and plastic bins for an hour by myself. This is before I cried like a baby.

Crybaby.

I grabbed my keys from my apartment manager (super cool girl) and headed upstairs for the first time to my place. I remember standing in the “hallway” (where the linen closet, bedroom, and bathroom doors converge) staring at my empty living room and just started crying. I am here, was all I could think. My mind was flooded with all the things that had to happen to get me here and I was overwhelmed with gratefulness. I’ll never ever forget that moment. Sometimes, even now, I have to remind myself of that when I stupidly get jealous of a bigger patio, better kitchen, or different location. I. Love. My. Place. So. Much.

Apartment front

This is the day Shel and I went down to sign my lease. I got a quick (and terrible) video of my empty place and we left to go thrifting. I could’ve stood there all day.

 

This apartment has become my home. A place where I cry, laugh with new friends, cook myself dinner, live. I love living my life here.

 

xx

 

Six Party Dress Ideas Under $75

Birthday!

Happy Monday! I’m currently recovering from a whirlwind weekend trip to New Orleans for my friends’ joint bachelor and bachelorette party. (Post to come! Spoiler Alert: IT WAS FUN.) I spent 18 hours in a car riding and driving from New Orleans to Austin to Waco and then home to Dallas. But! I’m awake, thanks coffee. And since my birthday is in two days (!!!!!!) I thought I’d continue the party mood with a few sweet party dress ideas!

Sleeved floral

ONE. How adorable is this ModCloth dress? This is what I pictured when I thought of twirling around for my 25th. Affordable at only $60!

Fuschia ModCloth

TWO. Sigh. This color. This fuchsia is a pretty sweet transition from summer to fall. And that top detail! $65!

Floral Modcloth

THREE. Another floral, shocker. I like the flare of this one better than the first one, but wish it had pockets! Little bit less expensive at $55.

Tulle Skirt Modcloth

FOUR. How fun is this pink tulle skirt?! This would be so fun to traipse around Dallas in on the weekend. It screams birthday! $50.

Emerald Shop Ruche

FIVE. Before this becomes a ModCloth party, let me present to you this emerald gem. My skin tone and hair color look amazing in jewel tones and this emerald would be a subtle stunner. $49!

Red Shop Ruche

SIX. Ever since I saw Julianne Moore (I think) rocking red with her read hair, I fell in love with the trend. Why can’t redheads wear red?! I love the jewel hue of this red, too. $55.

 

So which one? I mean, they’re obviously all gorgeous and I do need a dress for my friends’ wedding. Which one would you choose?

 

xx