Say More: At Last She Writes It
No. 21 | August 2024
*A message from our curator
Every two weeks I get the amazing opportunity of curating “Say More” and deciding on a loose theme to give direction and meaning to each issue. Some themes are more obvious than others, but I felt that the theme for this issue could use a short commentary. I hope this will help you realize the power of the theme and how it works within this week’s issue.
As I read through each of the following pieces, I was struck with how intimate, intense and vulnerable they all are. I stepped away from each piece thankful that the author had invited me into their world, trusted me with their story and let me know more about them. It made me remember that if I saw one of them on the street, at my meeting house, at school drop off, I would have no idea of the complexity of their private life. In an existence now run by social media where each moment can be carefully curated and presented, I think it’s easy to forget a fundamental truth of the world: life is messy. Love, goodness, and joy are all inherent in this human life. So too are grief, mundanity, and disappointment.
In the day to day rush of our lives, we often switch off our compassion and curiosity in favor of assumptions and judgment. Let’s not forget that we can never know what is truly going on in the lives of others unless we are willing to be vulnerable and curious ourselves.
-Blakelee
A Day in the Life
by Brianna
You are startled awake by the frustrated whimpers
of a hungry infant—as you lift him in to your arms, you peer through the cracks between the curtain panels to see the street lights still on, untouched by the sunrise. In a state of muffled wakefulness you pull your phone close to your face, squinting to see if any important emails have come through, even though you are not involved in anything that would lead to receiving an important email. You drift between dreams and wakefulness until your husband stirs, notices that you are awake, and begins to caress your legs, grasping for bare flesh despite your winter sleepwear. You pull away, which only makes him press his body against you harder, so you allow him to awaken you with the sharpness of unease.
You lay the baby down when your older child enters the room, demanding television, cereal, a bath, and your focused attention on his current interest. You send him off with something to keep him busy so you can stumble through your cluttered house, picking up random bits of the night before: wrappers from your husband’s late-night snacking, a diaper thrown in the vicinity of the bathroom trash, clothing abandoned by the shower door. As your eldest vies for your attention again you offer him a bowl of sugar disguised as food with a promise of playing together soon, even though you know that “soon” will likely be hours from now. You pull on clothes that no longer fit and avoid the mirror.
You watch your husband come down the stairs after having spent time reading, studying, and preparing his mind for the day—you resent him for it. He leaves to go for the run he can’t get through the day without, and you drink a glass of caffeinated water to muster the energy to do the dishes. You remember when you had time to exercise. “That was nice,” you think, knowing that even if you did have time now, you wouldn’t have the energy.
The baby cries again. And again. Each time you set him down you get a few steps of one task done—eat four raisins. Wipe up one cereal spill. Put on the toddler's left sock. Scrape mac & cheese from two dining room chairs. You put in one headphone and listen to late night television monologues, just in case you talk to someone who comments on current events and need to make a witty remark. Then you switch to cleaning videos, hoping the sounds of others’ hard work will motivate you. It doesn’t.
While you feed the baby you scroll through articles about being a more present mother, tuning out your child’s impressive description of sea creatures and their habitats. You recognize the irony, but you don’t put down your phone—you just try to interject noncommittal noises when he pauses to take a breath. Part of you knows you are searching for any spark of connection, but you push that down. Ten minutes later you feel guilty. You offer to read him a book, but he screams no and cries. You give in and allow him to watch YouTube videos instead.
You are sure you were accomplishing something important, but you can’t remember what it was.
You need to soothe some of your guilt, so you talk to your baby, singing him little songs as you fold laundry at the speed of molasses on a cold day. He smiles up at you. You begin to cry, because you know you aren’t giving him the attention he deserves. You try to turn off the older one’s television show, but he cries so hard that you give him five more minutes, which somehow morphs into forty five. You are sure you were accomplishing something important, but you can’t remember what it was.
In a brief moment of courage you message a friend about something trivial to try to get a conversation going to combat the monotony of the day. Later that same friend tells you that they don’t consider you as a friend, just as a neighbor. You pretend to appreciate their honesty, but you know that you will dwell on every moment you’ve ever spent with them, spiraling in lonely self-pity for days. “I shouldn’t have friends,” you try reminding yourself. It doesn’t help.
After lunch you scarf down your toddler’s leftovers along with whatever random food is fastest. You think about how to cook dinner while you eat chicken nuggets and apple peels, and drink another round of caffeine, even though it doesn’t seem to be making you less tired. You watch as your baby naps against you with soft snuffles and your child shows you the household objects he’s repurposed to be dinosaurs with complex-sounding names. You stop yourself from thinking about how much you wish he would go nap too. He yells again, trying to get your attention. You blink. What were you thinking about?
It takes you hours to muster the energy to pack everything to leave: snacks, diapers, library books to be returned. Standing by the door your toddler begs to never leave the house again, saying he only wants to watch tv and nothing else. You wish the same, so you unpack the bags. You didn’t want anyone to see you in public anyway.
The baby cuddles with you on the couch as you make the obligatory phone call to your parents, during which you will surely play up the briefest moments of activity you’ve had in the past few days. You try to show them your children, but the baby needs to nurse again. You apologize and hang up. The tv gets turned on again so you can reinsert your headphones. You listen to a television show you’ve seen four times. The characters care about each other, and you allow yourself, for a brief moment, to imagine what it would be like to have a best friend to confide in or a cool friend to convince you to try new things. Reality snaps back when you realize you need to start supper soon. The meat is only partially unthawed.
Dinner is a cycle of repetitive motions. Chop, wash, bake, sauté, you remember what your husband said about you not caring enough about the family’s health as you roast an extra vegetable, then make a box of mac & cheese because you know everything else you give your toddler will end up in the garbage bin. He begs you to come play when you are elbow deep in suds. You apologize until he finally walks away.
The day fogs over for a bit, and then you are cleaning the table. Halfway through you pick up the baby and decide you don’t want to clean any more. The pile of dishes grows larger in your mind until it seems too daunting to even begin. You step over piles of toys instead of putting them away. You remember that time your husband complained about you leaving piles of laundry on the bed in the evening, but you do nothing about it. He will complain either way.
Your son gives you a sticky kiss goodnight, and you hold him close as you try to transfer all your love to him through osmosis. Does he feel it? You hope so.
He’ll be home any minute, so you try to eliminate things you know bother him, like unneeded lights being turned on or food being left on the stove. You convince your toddler to do an art project so your husband can see you being a “good mom.” He doesn’t notice. He wants to know what you’ve done today. You look around. “Not much, really” you say. He ambles up to the shower. You’re jealous again because your body is covered in crusted milk and toddler snot that you long to wash off, but does it really matter when you’ll just get dirty a few hours later? You spend a moment gazing in to your baby’s eyes, and you marvel at the complete trust he has in you.
Dinner round two is on the table and you try to wrestle your toddler in to pajamas while your husband eats and reads gardening articles. You remember in the middle of a bedtime story that you promised you’d work on something for the band and send it off today—you lose your spot on the page, and the toddler reminds you what you were saying (he’s read the book with you every day for a week). You’ll send the email with your artwork to the band director at 12:33 am, when you remember again.
Your son gives you a sticky kiss goodnight, and you hold him close as you try to transfer all your love to him through osmosis. Does he feel it? You hope so.
After things are in their proper places your husband wants to spend time together, so you sit on the couch and listen as he talks about shopping for a new car. You nod. He tells you not to sit so far away from him. The baby nurses. Your husband tries to feel you up at the same time. You pretend you need to go to the bathroom instead of asking him to stop.
You catch your reflection in the mirror now. “Is that me?” you wonder as you notice the dull look in your eyes. “Am I doing this right?”
Later, when it’s finally time to sleep, you find yourself scrambling to find something to read or listen to until you drift off. You don’t want to be left alone in your mind to dwell on uncomfortable things. By the time you fall asleep it’ll only be a few hours until it all begins again.
Time Trial
by Erin Gong
Depression and Joy
by Francesca Georgi
TW: Depression, suicidal ideation
I have had depression since about age 14.
Depression isn’t easy for anyone, but mine is actively suicidal a good portion of the time. In my mid to late twenties, I was desperate for help and tried switching my medications, which didn’t help, so I kept switching and switching because I just needed to find the right combination. I didn’t even care anymore about feeling happy, I just wanted to not feel the same internal battle I always did. It’s pretty scary to only know what you don’t want, instead of what you do want.
Eventually, I was put on a medication that seemed to make a difference. The suicidal ideation was gradually decreasing, and after several months I didn’t have many suicidal urges anymore. Then I gradually became numb. Pretty soon after that, I would find myself sitting on the couch, literally only watching my kids, and no drive to get up or do anything. I didn’t have hobbies, I didn’t have friends, I didn’t even have a personality. I was truly numb. And that came as a relief to me; it felt like my emotional life was put on hold. I had literally been praying for a coma because I couldn’t bear feeling this way anymore, and then I got as close to a coma as you can get and still be conscious. Finally, I was feeling some peace.
After several months went by, people began to ask me if I was okay. It was funny to me that finally being “okay” was scary to other people, because I couldn’t see how much my life had diminished. I had a routine med checkup with my doctor, in which he suggested maybe I should look at decreasing the dosage or switch entirely. I was terrified. I had finally found some way to not be fighting this invisible force in my head 24/7, and now people wanted me to give that up? That seemed insane and dangerous.
On the way home from the doctor I cried in my car. I started yelling at God while I was driving, how could God do this to me? In the middle of yelling, I felt a very strong voice in my head. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t soft, it was just full of strength. The voice said to me, “Men are that they might have joy.” I wish I could say that stopped me cold and I developed a new strength that allowed me to become the next Wonder Woman, but that isn’t how it worked for me. I didn’t even skip a beat and the yelling changed tactics. “You want me to feel joy? Why did you put this curse in my head? Why am I fighting for a life I’m not even sure I want? I’ve been fighting for so long BECAUSE I WAS TOLD TO that I don’t even know if being happy is a possibility for me, let alone joy! What more do you want from me? I have NOTHING left to give!”
There was no answer.
A few weeks later, I decided to let the doctor change my medication. I gradually began to feel again, and the suicidal ideation came back. But this time, my small miracle finally came. Mixed in with all my depression and anger, there began to be moments of joy. I wasn’t usually happy, and I came to understand the difference between happiness and joy. I still don’t know if I could articulate the difference between the two, but the understanding is growing in my psyche.
Here I am, years later, and I’m still fighting. My depression has been so bad I’ve tried more medications than I can count. I have a chart to keep track. I’ve tried ketamine treatments. I’ve had ECT recommended. I’m continuously in therapy. I’ve done more for my depression than most other people I know, and I’m still not okay. But now, I have some hope. I’ve given up for now on a dream of not dealing with depression anymore, but I’ve also given up on the idea that I’ll never feel anything good again. I do feel joy now. The highs are not yet as high as the lows, but there are moments when the sound of the laughter of my children stops me cold, and laughter comes from me too. There are times when I see the pride in my husband’s eyes as he realizes how far our family as come, and I feel pride too. There are days when I smile as much or more than I cry.
I’m not experiencing all the joy I imagined as a child when I first learned that scripture, and I’m becoming more okay with that. But…I am experiencing joy. And I’m immeasurably grateful for the moments when I can feel that joy I came here for, and it’s okay if joy is not the only thing I feel. That small sentence saved my life, but not in a way that I anticipated. It saved my life because I actually live my life now. I don’t regret yelling at God, and I do it more often than I should probably admit. But I can’t regret it, because it allowed me to see that God comes to me where I am, as I am. I didn’t need to be perfect or even okay for God to intervene. I needed to be vulnerable and honest, and in that there is joy.
“Joy is not necessarily the absence of suffering, it is the presence of God.”
—Sam Storms
Mother
by Jill Wen
Wade In
by Jessica Salter
*note from the editor
This piece was originally given as a talk in sacrament meeting and the author was kind enough to share her notes with us.
I’m sure we’ve all heard the phrase “nobody likes a know-it-all.”
This typically refers to someone who has a tendency to bulldoze others with their knowledge about this, that, and everything in between. The trouble with know-it-alls is that since they already know everything, it’s difficult for them to learn anything...let alone listen to what other people have to share. In our church culture it has become commonplace when we bear our testimonies to use the word “know”...I know the church is true, I know Joseph Smith was a prophet, I know, I know, I know...and all beyond the shadow of a doubt, of course.
Today I’d like to offer a different approach. Somewhere along the way, knowing and faith have blurred and become interchangeable. You see, despite what the primary song says, “Faith is knowing the sun will rise, lighting each new day...,” faith is not knowing. It’s believing, and that’s an important distinction to make. In fact, you might argue that once we come to a place of knowing we are no longer practicing faith at all. Faith is humble, it’s hopeful, it’s soft and malleable. Knowing, on the other hand, can be rigid or even brittle.
Some may say that doubt is the opposite of faith, but I disagree. I think they go hand-in-hand. They’re different sides of the same coin. Doubt, if we allow it, can fuel faith while knowing extinguishes it. Can you believe if you’ve never doubted?
There is great value in cultivating malleable faith versus clinging to rigid knowing. But how do we do it, and what is the payoff? In a nutshell: flexible faith buys us longevity, spiritual resilience, and the ability to become Christlike. What it requires is the willingness to wade into the cold, uncomfortable waters of doubt and “mourn with those that mourn.” This might look like sitting with things that are complicated, foreign, or just plain ugly. For some of us, we don’t have the option of wading in at our own pace, we’re just shoved right in...whether by the circumstances we are born into, or the unpredictable changes that are an innate part of mortal life.
Latter-day Saint writer David Doyal said:
“Being Christlike is more important than ordinances. All the saving ordinances can be performed for an individual in a few hours, but it takes a lifetime to become the kind of person who can abide celestial glory...ordinances can be added later.”
One of Christ’s main objectives during His mortal ministry was to understand people. This is illustrated by His labor in the Garden of Gethsemane in which He “descended below all things” and thus “comprehended all things.” He did this because he loves us. So, in order to love our neighbor, we should work to understand them. It’s not difficult to love people whose lives, narratives, and choices reflect our own. What mere mortal doesn’t love an echo chamber that validates them? Christlike love is work—it wasn’t easy or comfortable for Jesus so it’s more than understandable that it won’t be easy or comfortable for us.
A couple years ago LDS Charities posted a Brene Brown quote on their Instagram that said:
“In order to empathize with someone’s experience, you must be willing to believe them as they see it, and not how you imagine their experience to be”.
This is particularly relevant, I think, to people who leave the Church or struggle to keep showing up—I am guilty of inserting my know-it-all-ness into other people’s experiences instead of acting from a place of curiosity. I remember once in high school turning around in my seat and chastising a boy in my seminary class for lacking enthusiasm. “What’s your problem?!,” I jabbed at him. Of course it was my job as the seminary class president to get down to the bottom of his “bad attitude”...except it wasn’t. I had no idea what he was going through and why he seemed so downtrodden and unenthused to be there. That’s become all the clearer with age and experience. Often we are quick to dismiss people whose feet, and heavy broken hearts, lead them away from the Church as though there is never any valid reason to distance oneself from the institution. This is simply not true. People who have left the Church are my people. People that I love, and respect. People who are thoughtful and intelligent. No one needs us to look down on them from a place of self-righteous pity, or to form unearned opinions about “what happened.” Whenever we talk about people who have left the Church or don’t fit the status quo, we should keep in mind that there are members of our congregation that have parents, siblings, and spouses who have left the Church. As someone whose family has undergone many transitions in the past few years, I can attest that no one, and no family, wants to feel like a project, or the hot topic in ward council. It’s amazing how often just listening to someone and trying to understand them can be healing rather than trying to convince them that they have no reason to feel betrayed, misled, or traumatized. Why can listening with an earnest attempt to understand feel so hard in this regard? Well, my theory is that when we have spent (for most of us here, probably) our entire lives in the Church and have made all of our major life decisions based on its teachings, it can be frightening to look at things that are ugly, or disappointing about the Church and/or its leaders (but what if I catch what they have!). So we have a tendency to wall up instead. I speak from experience.
The trouble is, we cannot practice Christlike love without actively working to understand other people, and in this case that requires looking squarely in the face the ways in which the institution and its leaders have failed and wounded people past and present, particularly those on the margins. I wonder if when we fixate on defending the Church more than caring for its people we are engaging in institutional worship, and thus a form of idolatry... The creation that our heavenly parents cherish the very most is their spirit children, not an organization. People matter more than institutions.
In his 2013 conference talk Come, Join With Us, Elder Uchtdorf said:
“...To be perfectly frank, there have been times when members or leaders in the Church have made mistakes. There have been things said or done that were not in harmony with our values, principles, or doctrine.”
I heard it said once that Catholicism teaches that the Pope is infallible, but no one believes it. And Mormonism teaches that the prophet and apostles are not infallible, but no one believes it. Do we believe our own stuff? Elder Holland said: “Imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with”...the problem then, I believe, is the pedestalization of Church leaders and the institutional church. When we truly reconcile with the fact that Church leaders are just as messy as we are and filter God’s teachings through their smudged, human lenses, we actually inoculate ourselves spiritually. This is what I mean by developing longevity and spiritual resilience. When we learn about weird or difficult Church history, or teachings or institutional failings, we will have the ability to sit in the discomfort of it, rather than deflect it (which can lead to becoming spiritually complacent and numb to the suffering of others, OR having our brittle testimony crumble all together.) There is value in malleability.
Revelation is ongoing, and anyone who has been around long enough can tell you that the Church and its teachings are ever evolving.
Last year during a BYU faculty meeting in which we were discussing spiritually strengthening students, one of my colleagues raised her hand and shared that she had a student tell her that nothing had made her question her faith more than the Church history class she had taken (to be clear, my colleague wasn’t suggesting that there was something amiss with the Church history class, so much as sharing data). I found that fascinating...I still think about it often...what does that mean? What does that imply? I don’t have a perfectly articulated conclusion, I did however raise my hand and chime in that there is, perhaps, value in building spiritual resilience. Should students not brush up against things that challenge their world view and encourage them to engage in a spiritual and intellectual wrestle, particularly at a university level? It made me think that our cultural tendency to avoid taboo or difficult topics was really starting to backfire. After all, what will get students to look up from their phones faster during a lecture than saying “today we’ll be discussing post manifesto polygamy?”
In 1969, while addressing the BYU student body in a lecture titled An Eternal Quest-- Freedom of the Mind, Apostle Hugh B. Brown said:
“...more thinking is the antidote for the evils that spring from wrong thinking.” He continues:
“Revealed insights should leave us stricken with the knowledge of how little we really know. It should never lead to an emotional arrogance based upon a false assumption that we somehow have all the answers—that we in fact have a corner on truth. For we do not.”
Revelation is ongoing, and anyone who has been around long enough can tell you that the Church and its teachings are ever evolving. Is the Church the same as it was ten years ago? No. What about 30, 40, 50 years ago? Most certainly not.
I was interested to learn that Joseph Smith originally published the 13 Articles of Faith, with some reluctance, in a letter responding to a curious newspaper editor. Joseph was leery of creeds and never intended the articles to represent the totality of Latter-day Saint belief. He said:
“The most prominent point of difference in sentiment between the Latter-day Saints and sectarians, was that the latter were all circumscribed by some particular creed which deprived its members the privilege of believing anything not contained therein. Whereas the Latter-day Saints had no creed, but are ready to believe all true principles that exist as they are made manifest from time to time”.
All of the Articles of Faith (save one, which begins with “We claim”) begin with “We believe,” not “We know.” Sometimes I wonder if Joseph would find the modern day Church to be overly dogmatic. I can’t know for sure, but it’s clear from his writings that he deeply valued the idea of ongoing revelation and the freedom to practice spiritual imagination. There is much value in having a wide variety of beliefs, perspectives, and gifts represented in our church community.
It’s not just valuable, actually, it’s essential. In chapter 12 of first Corinthians, Paul teaches us that just as a body needs all its parts and their varying functions, the Body of Christ needs all its members:
13 For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body
4 Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.
5 And there are differences of administrations, but the same Lord.
6 And there are diversities of operations, but it is the same God which worketh all in all.
14 For the body is not one member, but many.
The members of the Church are not supposed to be the same. We should not write off our own contributions, either. Paul continues:
15 If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body?
16 And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body; is it therefore not of the body?
17 If the whole body were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling?
18 But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. There is a need for diversity and it is not in our jurisdiction to decide who is valuable and necessary, and who is not.
21 And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.
Carol F. McConkie said:
"The gospel of Jesus Christ does not marginalize people. People marginalize people. If we are going to build the kingdom of God on earth, we need everyone to come."
We need all the parts of the Body of Christ. Everyone, regardless of their level of belief, the way they dress, their hot take on social issues, their political affiliations, or what they post on TikTok should feel embraced and included in our congregation.
Don’t just watch them from the shores of certainty, or worse, holler things at them like, “Have you thought about kicking your legs?! Kick your legs!..Have you ever heard of the doggy paddle?!”
While teaching the Nephites about the sacrament in 3 Nephi, Jesus teaches us:
22 And behold, ye shall ameet together oft; and ye shall not forbid any person from coming unto you when ye shall meet together, but suffer them that they may come unto you and forbid them not;
23 But ye shall pray for them, and shall not cast them out; and if it so be that they come unto you oft ye shall pray for them unto the Father, in my name.
Wards are meant to be messy group projects that give us the opportunity to grow by requiring us to rub elbows and serve with people we might not otherwise associate with. Jesus continues:
32 Nevertheless, ye shall not cast them out of your synagogues, or your places of worship, for unto such shall ye continue to minister; for ye know not but what they will return and repent, and come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I shall heal them; and ye shall be the means of bringing salvation unto them.
The structure of the Church is meant to give us the opportunity to develop Christlike love and curiosity. It should be a reminder that everyone is in need of Christ’s atonement and grace. Each of us are complex with different temperaments and experiences that influence our perspectives. I heard an allegory once that depicts this nicely—there are two people looking at an elephant. One person is sitting up in a tree and the other on the ground. They are experiencing the same elephant differently. They could dismiss and cancel out each other’s descriptions of the elephant (“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s not what I see”) or, if they are humble and curious, they can gain a more expansive view of the elephant through someone else’s eyes (Whoa. I didn’t know!...I couldn’t see that from here). This all circles back to laying down our know-it-all-ness and seeking to understand one another. We can handle complexity and paradox.
We can honor one another’s church-caused pain. We can have the humility to respect each other’s agency without making it all about us, as well as have faith in each person’s ability to receive personal revelation.
Ask questions. Be brave. Build spiritual resilience. Show up for those treading cold water. Don’t just watch them from the shores of certainty, or worse, holler things at them like, “Have you thought about kicking your legs?! Kick your legs!..Have you ever heard of the doggy paddle?!”
Wade in.
There is a quote by the late Chieko Okazaki who served as the first counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency that I have always loved. She said:
“Be spiritually independent enough that your relationship with the Savior doesn't depend on your circumstances or on what other people say and do. Have the spiritual independence to be a Mormon—the best Mormon you can—in your own way. Not the bishop's way. Not the Relief Society president's way. Your way.”
I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if the Church is true (and honestly, it doesn’t keep me up at night). But I do believe in the good news of Christ’s atonement which fills me with hope that through Him, our brokenness and the infuriating unfairness of the world can be remedied. That we can start again, and again, and again. I have felt the intercession of our heavenly parents throughout my life and I believe that they see each of us in context. I believe that our heavenly parents are offering us the benefit of the doubt, and not only should we take it, we should offer it to others.
Contributors:
Brianna
I am a reader, a mother, and a lover of all things soul-stirring. I have two, soon to be three, children. Since joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints ten years ago, I have found great solace in the hymns and lessons taught to children, with whom I identify most strongly.
Erin Gong
I am a creative problem solver, learning to sit still. I’ve spent the last 20 years easing out of the more traditional LDS tenets I grew up with, and at the same time enjoying a delightfully roundabout career—starting as a grant writer for children’s museums, then a consultant for non-profits, then Silicon Valley data scientist, and now a senior manager in tech. I live in Salt Lake City with my spouse and three children. I love to help other women discover their options to pursue a meaningful career, nurture their passions, and have a family.
Francesca Georgi
I am a wife and mother in Utah Valley, but like all women, I’m so much more than that! I’m empathetic (sometimes to a fault), eager to devour new information and ideas, and driven. I believe books are meant to be read in one sitting, mostly because I can’t put books down. As a survivor from multiple traumatic experiences, I understand how complex life can be, and I’m grateful to learn how to let go and find my path by wandering, rather than intention-led force. When asked to say something interesting about myself, I can’t ever think of anything, so I give something boring instead. It’s usually that I put on sock shoe, sock shoe, and eat all the non marshmallow part of Lucky Charms first. Life is too boring to not end with marshmallows.
Jill Wen
I’m a (newly) full time mom, full time business analyst, and part time enjoyer of writing. I’ve been on a spiritual journey the last two years and am finding peace and insight through yoga, fasting, writing, and keeping my heart open to new perspectives and ideas from everyone around me. I recently realized I’ve always been a bit of a feminist and now I have more courage to share my truths and hopefully help others feel that they can share theirs as well.
Jessica Salter
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Brianna: You could have been writing my story after baby no 2.
Just sending love your way.
And - to anyone who is still in the thick of it - see a doctor if it's available. Hormones are a killer when they are out of whack. There is no shame in buying store-bought brain chemicals if your body isn't making them.
And - it's also just REALLY REALLY REALLY hard to raise babies. Our church talks like it's all sunshine and rainbows and fulfilling. It wasn't for me. It was pretty horrible no matter how much I pretended it was good. My kids are grown. They turned out wonderfully. I got better.
Jessica: From your writing to God's Ears... or please... just to SO MANY MORE MEMBERS ears. If this could be read from every pulpit instead of messages from the 1st pres. talking about how children shouldn't take up time in testimony meeting (how long ago was that - and so glad my ward ignored it) and all the other controlling points they send out.
Sending love your way too.
Oh, my goodness. This RESONATED. Thank you for sharing these perspectives.