Thursday, August 11, 2016

Lacking in Love

The emotional rollercoaster never lets anyone rest, it seems.

I'm going to spare details and just get right to the chase: Life is interesting, life is strange, life is frustrating. 8/10 you don't get what you want, and on the odd chance that you do, you better be really careful for what you wish for.

However, the other 1/10 times, life works out. And more often than not, this clarity comes over time. They say that hindsight is 20/20 and I am really seeing now that this is true. It sucks, but it is. If I had known that all of this were to happen and that I would eventually feel the way I do right now, then I would have stopped myself ages ago.

But then again, would I really have listened?

Recently my anxiety hit a peak and I found myself feeling extremely stressed, overwhelmed, and depressed. It disturbed me because I got this tattoo that was supposed to be my symbol of strength. That was literally a week ago, and in a week, things have changed so much. Life was not going my way, and in fact it has probably the furthest from what I had ever wanted for myself.

The other night I had a much needed heart to heart with one of my closest and respected friends who is like an older sister to me. We talked for so long about what I was going through and how I was getting frustrated with myself. I was frustrated that time after time, I was finding myself in situations that were reruns of previous ones, particularly that of relationships with guys.

While we had our conversation I was reminded of something that I was told once when I was going through other hard times. God puts these situations in our lives not to make us miserable, but because He wants us to learn something, see from a new perspective, or gain strength from it. When it comes to learning something, most of the time situations can lead to instances of deja vu if we haven't learned from it. With that, my friend latched on to that and asked me what I thought God was trying to tell me.

I thought about this so, so hard, and I didn't get it. I reflected in a whirlwind all of the relationships that I had been, romantic or otherwise, where I had gotten hurt. And I didn't get it. Yes, some things were my fault and my own undoing, but other times, I was the one that got caught in the fire. So what was this lesson that He wanted me to so desperately learn?

She then asked me this: Did I love myself? Could I honestly say that I loved all of myself?

The answer was a solid and resounding no.


All my life I had gone saying the opposite: that I loved every flaw and part of my personality. I got knocked down so many times but continually told myself that I was okay and that I was doing just fine.

But over time, though I was saying all these positive things about myself to the rest of the world, I really wasn't believing it in myself. With every failed relationship, it was more reinforcement to me that I was incapable of love and that I didn't deserve to be loved.

Getting over people, whether it be a friend that you just don't talk to anymore or a guy that you liked for a really long time, is hard. Getting over missed opportunities or life's detours like not getting the job you wanted is hard. Any kind of loss is hard, but if you've done your due diligence, you worked hard and did everything out of love, then what more can you ask for?

(From http://www.doyouyoga.com/15-quotes-to-inspire-self-love-82227/)




This has been one of my biggest character flaws growing up, and recently it has been more rampid than ever. Admittedly I over think things a lot, I tend to go to the absolute negative and blame myself for everything that had happened. Bad things happened to bad people, I would tell myself. And over and over again I would show myself that I was a bad person. I know now that I shouldn't be doing that, and neither should anyone. We need to engage in positive self-talk, not so that we can one day worship ourselves and think of ourselves as better than others, but to remind ourselves that we are here, and that we are trying. And if we are trying our best, then that's all that we - and the world - can really ask for.

I recognize that this is not going to be an overnight change, and that I can't expect myself to automatically begin loving myself once I hit publish on this piece. I am a work in progress, and my life is a beautiful story, and more often than not I forget the real reason as to why I am here.

Do your best and be yourself. Be someone who doesn't just say love, but is and shows love, and finally, keep on fighting the good fight.


Stay awesome,
x R

Thursday, August 04, 2016

INKED // in it for the long haul

Most people that know me know that I'm a pretty safe person. I'm a pretty wimpy person. I'm not good with roller coasters or horror films, I will probably never go sky diving or bungee jumping, and if you had asked me years and years ago, I would have probably said "no" to the possibility of getting a tattoo.

But I guess people change and Rachels get a lot less wimpy. In fact, I would like to think that this particular Rachel, over time, has become pretty bad ass.

30 minutes after the deed was done
And no, I'm not suggesting that I'm going to get a motorbike license and join a cool all female biker gang anytime soon.

Let's go back to the tattoo for a second.

August 3, 2016 will go down in my personal history as a momentous day and a personal victory for me. That's because on this day, I marched proudly into a tattoo parlour downtown, confidently sat down in the chair and didn't flinch until it was over. It's official, friends: Rachel has a tattoo.

Okay, so maybe most of that was embellished. Emma, my friend who accompanied me and served as cheerleader and chief hand holder, would testify that I walked in a nervous manner all the way down. I wearily signed the forms that I was finally of age to sign on my own, and I almost suggested to the tattoo artist that he tape down my arm so that I wouldn't move. It was kind of embarrassing actually. However, I can say for certain that I didn't cry, and that I hung on until the very end.

I now know how I'm going to be like when I have my first born child: I can't stop looking at this beautiful thing on my body.

So what exactly did I do to myself?

On my right wrist, off to the left side, I got a semi-colon that is probably about the size of a quarter. Not overbearingly big, and not so small that it could pass for a ($100, cosmetically added) birth mark. It's prominent and it's important to me.

At this point you're probably asking all the why's: why a semi-colon? Why that location? Why get it now? Why get it at all?

Cool, okay. I love questions. I also love answering them. So:

Why a semi-colon? The explanation is actually twofold, and it works even more now than it did when I first had the idea of this particular tattoo.

When I was in high school, I was first introduced to the proper use of a semi-colon. One of my English teachers lamented how kids these days would use the semi-colon incorrectly in their written work. I made it my personal mission to prove that I knew how to use it. According to The Oatmeal"the most common way to use of the semi-colon is to connect two independent clauses."

About that same time, I had hit a brick wall with my emotions, relationships, and overall well-being. I was depressed, skipping class, getting into fights and arguments, pushing my friends away and consistently anxious. I wanted to run away and just tell people to leave me alone, but I couldn't deal with the silence and my own thoughts. I spent months - years even - pretending like everything was solid, everything was good, everything was awesome. But the people that got the abuse were people that didn't deserve it at all. I tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the school, but with each day I risked falling deeper into my thoughts and having a sudden and angry outburst. Panic attacks were frequent and at one point I couldn't handle the overwhelming emotions. I couldn't handle my pain and I couldn't handle how I was treating people. I couldn't handle myself, and if this was what life was supposed to be for me, I had no choice in my mind but to commit suicide. I had countless thoughts, numerous plans and wills and suicide notes typed up and written out.

But one night while I was brewing in my own demise, I came across this simple device, the semi-colon, in a mental health context. At that time my thoughts were too jumbled to comprehend, so I left it alone. It stuck with me, however, and I would think about it all the time. As I started to get help, I slowly re-integrated myself back into life as I once knew it, with more ups than downs, and realizing that my emotions were okay to have. That bad days come with the good days, and that I shouldn't be ashamed of what I was feeling.

It wasn't until earlier this year that I came face to face with the semi-colon again. This time I fully understood the meaning of it in the context of suicide:

"A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life."
As a writer (or someone that loves writing and takes it very seriously), the use of the semi-colon as a metaphor for my life journey was enlightening to me.

Why that location? You know those pesky ideas that you become so enamoured with that you just can't let go? That was me and this tattoo. Forget my pain tolerance, forget my parents, forget disapproval for a second. This was about me and this tattoo. Once I found out what the semi-colon truly meant, I woke up the next morning looking at my right wrist, and I could see it right there. I put my left index and fourth finger there, as if I was feeling my pulse. The spacing was perfect and it just clicked. From then on, I knew that that was the place it was destined to go.

But why now? 20 seemed like a reasonable age, in part because I was already age of majority (and therefore didn't need my parents to sign anything), and also because it was three years in the making. I knew that this was a life investment and that I couldn't rush into it. When the idea was first conceived at 17, I gave myself a year to think about it and see if it was something that I really wanted to get. Though I didn't think about it constantly, things would remind me of this semi-colon. Over time it became more and more prominent, and as mentioned above, this year proved to be the year that tipped me over the edge. As for date, there really is no significance. I decided to be spontaneous for once: I booked the appointment on a Friday, and the following Wednesday I was walking into the tattoo parlour. The rest is history.

But why get one at all? This is what my parents asked me all the time in the lead up to it actually happening. Is it really necessary to alter your skin in this way? they asked. It's permanent, they said.

Shout out to Oceanne for this amazing photo!

And yes, I am fully aware that I can't go in a week later and ask them to get rid of it. I got it not to spite my parents and not to pretend to be a rebellious and angsty kid. Ultimately this was for me, to serve as a reminder to myself that this was my past and that my future is full of potential. I hit bumps in the road, and even some major sink holes, but I climbed out of them and continued on. It also reminds me that my life will never be perfect and that there will be bad days, but it's my resilience and my faith and support systems that will keep me going.

As well, I wanted to show off that I am proud of my past and where I came from, and to show others that this is something that we need to discuss in our discourse. We're getting there, in the way of Bell Let's Talk day and other campaigns. But stigma still exists and people are still afraid to seek out help because of it. I hope that this small sign can be a sign of solidarity and openness.

Finally, this design also worked out to fit my pain tolerance, my ability to cover it up if needed, as well as it being simplistic if I want to walk around with bare arms.

To conclude, there are so many people I have to thank. Firstly to Mike, the tattoo artist, for being so zen and calm and just a great energy to be around while I got my first tattoo. All the staff at Adrenaline on Granville were just amazing and helpful, so I highly recommend. Emma, for being my chief handholder and the one that pushed me to follow my heart on this one - my gratitude for you runs so deep and I am so honoured to call you a friend. My family, for supporting me through the tattoo even though we may not have seen eye to eye on it at the beginning - thank you for loving me all the same, through my hardships and struggles, and for helping me find help when I can't find it myself. My friends for being my strength and support - I don't know what my life would be without you. And last but not least to my God, thank you for throwing me countless life preservers when I was drowning and keeping me afloat even on the nights when I was too weary to swim. I shunned you and shut you out and cursed your name, and yet you still love me and call me back home to open arms. Glory to you, Lord.

My story is far from being over, and I know that my struggles will still haunt me as life goes on. But knowing that I chose to continue my story instead of end it gives me so much joy and gratitude. I look forward to what is to come and am thankful for the second chance.

stay awesome,
x R