The End of the Beginning

I feel all sorts of feelings posting this, but it's something that should be shared.
This is the end of "In Which, I Write."
This will be the last post on this blog. But it will not be the last blog post I make. My blog is not ending, it is just switching locations.
If you would like to read more of what I have written, you can find all new and old writings at shaughnessygreene.wordpress.com
There are a few reasons that I have decided to make this switch. The Biggest one being I wanted a new format.
I hope that you continue to follow my writings and catch up on my thoughts and notes at the new site.  But even if you don't, I hope you have gained something from listening to the ramblings that I've posted over the last year.
I appreciate you.

With Love,
Shaughnessy

Playing the Waiting Game

"Wait for the Lord; Be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" -Psalm 27:14

I'm not a naturally patient person.
Just trying to be honest, I'm not very good at being patient.
I like to get things done.
I like to initiate.
And I like to not have a to-do list hanging over my head.
In short, I'm very bad at waiting.
And I don't just mean for the big and exciting things, although those are really hard to hold on for, but for everything.
If I make plans to go see a movie with somebody over the weekend, it will take every ounce of inner-strength I've got to keep me from googling the ending before we go.
If my mom tells me that she's making my favorite meal for dinner, I'll spend my whole day watching the clock, until suppertime.
When I start a new book, I'll read the first chapter, then the last page, then the rest of the book just because I can't wait for the conclusion.
Waiting is something that I'm just not naturally talented at.
And so, when I realized that somehow I had slipped into a season of waiting, I yelled and screamed and got angry with God (because I know better than Him, right?)


When I graduated high school, I had no clue where I was supposed to be going.
I had gotten accepted into  three different schools (one of them being a school I had wanted to go to since I was a little girl), I had been accepted onto a three month missions trip to Thailand, and I was being interview for a spot in a Master's Commission in England (which I was convinced was for me).
And I had no idea which of these paths was the one I was being called down.
So I did what anybody, trying to live a Godly life does, in times of decision making, I prayed.
I prayed more often than I had ever prayed before.
And the prayers I was praying were desperate, long-winded, and deeper than I had ever gone with God.
And the more I prayed the less I felt called to any of the options I had laying out before me.
And so I did what everybody in my life warned me against doing, I declined all of these options, picked up more hours at the Daycare I was employed by, and trusted that when the right thing came along I would recognize it.
Thus, I entered into a year-long period of waiting.

I was anticipating something better to come my way, instead of trying to thrive with the situations I was in.
Instead of using my singleness as a chance to grow in Christ and learn more about myself, I was anticipating  my next relationship to start.
Instead of using my time working full-time as a teacher to grow in my discipleship with God and save money for my future, I was anticipating the start of college.
Instead of using my time living at home as a way to grow more with my parents and siblings, I was anticipated the day I could move out.
Like I said, I'm not naturally patient.
And living a happy life in the past year of waiting has been extremely hard.
I did't want to let myself be happy.
I didn't want to be comfortable with my waiting.
I didn't want to let God move in my life.
I didn't want to grow.
And yet, despite me being adimately against it all, it still all happened.
In the past year, I've grown as a person.
I've grown  as a family member.
And I've grown in my relationship with Christ.

My time in the waiting season isn't over.
There's still a lot of things I'm waiting on.
I still haven't started college.
I still am single.
I still live with my parents.
But the waiting isn't agonizing anymore.
I'm not constantly looking around for the next thing.

In fact, I think I've turned from "waiting for the next thing" to "thriving where I'm planted".

I've built up my savings account.
I've never been more involved in my church family.
I've become closer to my natural family.
I've grown as a youth group leader.
I've receive a couple promotions.
And I've built a stronger relationship with God than I've ever had before.

My season of waiting hasn't been very easy.
In fact, it's been very hard for me to do.
Playing the waiting game has been a hard chapter of my life.
But it's been a very worthwhile chapter of my life.
It's been a chapter that's taught me a lot about myself and about God.
It's been a chapter I needed.
And it's been a chapter that, looking back, I wouldn't trade for anything.

An 18 Months Difference

I have a brother who happens to be 18 months my junior.
There is an 18 month difference in our ages, grades, experiences, friend groups, and lives.
18 months. That's it.
An 18 month difference, between myself and my favorite guy.
And those 18 months seem like such a small thing, when writing about them on a blog that I'm not even sure anybody reads.
Or when I'm acting as a youth leader at the youth group he attends.
Or when he and his friends ask me to coach their soccer team.
Or when I think about the fact that I just graduated last year, and he's going to be graduating next year.
But then there are times when it feels like the biggest difference in the world.
Like when I drive a 90 minute round trip to pick him up from his SAT testing.
Or when my parents are gone for the evening so I make dinner for him.
Or when I think about the fact that he's never had a job and when I was his age I was working full time at a place I'd been employed by since I was 15.
An 18 month difference.

Sometimes I think about those 18 months.
About what my parents must have been going through at the time they had him.
 Because, when my little brother was born I was going through treatment for cancer.
His birthday is his birthday, because my parents had to pick a day that didn't conflict with my treatment schedule, so they induced him around my schedule.
He was named after one of my doctors.
And he spent a huge part of his younger years following me through hospitals and treatment centers.
And sometimes I feel like he's been following me ever since.

Because it's hard to be so close in age and not always be following each other around.
We've always been in the same Sunday school classes.
We've played on the same soccer teams.
We've created imaginary games and worlds together.
We've gone to the same High School at the same time.
We've had the same friends.

And yet, despite all of the things that we do that are exactly the same, I still feel responsible for him.
I still feel like I'm supposed to be an example for him.
I still feel like I'm supposed to watch over him, and protect him from things I know will harm him.
I still feel like I'm supposed to drive him places, and treat him to a movie, and buy him dinner.
I still feel like I'm supposed to give him life advice, and tell him what to do, and help him with things.
I still feel like I'm supposed to jump in between him and anyone that wants to do him wrong.
And maybe I'm the only one. Maybe that's not something all older sisters feel, maybe it's only because we are so close in age that I feel so responsible for him.

Or maybe, these feelings would be worse if I was way older.
Maybe if I was already in my mid-to-late twenties and living on my own I feel even worse because I wouldn't be around him all the time.
Maybe some of these feelings are less because of my brother and me, and more because my family has gone through so much in the past several years.
Maybe I wouldn't be so protective over him, if there hadn't had been so many things to protect him from.
Maybe if I hadn't gotten so hurt so many times in so many different ways, I wouldn't care as much if he did.
Maybe, Maybe, Maybe....

I live my life in the perpetual world of Maybes.
Maybes and What ifs and Almosts, are what I spend most of my time thinking about.
From big things to small things.
Maybe I should have slowed down a little bit on that turn.
What if I had saved more of my paycheck?
I guess I almost made it.
I live my life in the perpetual land of these thoughts.

And a lot of those thoughts are about my wonderful younger brother.
Don't get me wrong, I love him.
And I love that he and I are so close in age, because there's a lot of good that comes with it.
Like the times when he will sing along to Uptown Funk or Nikki Minaj with me windows down and the radio at full volume, whenever we drive anywhere.
Or the times when I make pop culture references around my parents and he's the only one that understands.
Or the times, like tonight, when I have to pack for a theme day at a camp and have nothing that fits the theme, so he gives me a shirt to wear.
Or the times when we are hanging out at the county fair with some friends, and he sees somebody look at me creepily, so he comes up and put his arm around my shoulders until the guy walks away (Or when he doesn't tell me that this is why he put his arms around my shoulders until after we got home, because he knew I'd probably freak out).
So all-in-all, my younger brother being a not-that-much-younger-brother is a bigger blessing than it is anything else.

Being his older sister, by 18 months, greatly enriches my life, and I honestly don't think I'd have been able to make it through some of the things I've gone through without him.
And even if he sometimes gets on my nerves,
Like when he tries to convince me that I need to do half of his chores, because two weeks ago when I was in another state, he did it all by himself.
Or when he tells mom the name of the boy I have a crush on, so my mom starts constantly asking me if the guy's asked me out yet.
Or when he's driving my car, and break checks while I'm in the back seat.
Or when he comes into my room and lays on my bed without asking.
The list could continue for eternity, because my younger brother is super annoying.
But he's a lot of other things too.
He's kind.
He's compassionate.
He's comical.
He's humble.
He's patient.
He's energetic.
He's a hard-worker.
He's determined.
He's an upstanding young man of God.
And I couldn't be more proud to be his 18 months older sister.

My 18 month younger brother and I at church a few weeks ago.

What is Beauty?

 The following piece is a spoken word poem I wrote and performed for a Fine Arts Performance in 2014.  Warning: In the following piece harsh topics are addressed (i.e. self-harm, eating disorders, suicide, bullying, self-hate, etc..) If any of those subjects are sensitive areas for you, or something that might trigger you, I would encourage you to forgo reading this post. Thank you!




Ever since I was a child,
I allowed other's words to define me.
And the harshness of their tones,
Erased my concepts of reality.
Unplanned pregnancy, Unwanted-Daughter,
Cancer-kid, God-Healed.
I was always somebody's relative,
Somebody's miracle,
Somebody's answered prayer,
And never somebody.

And adolescence didn't fix this,
But adolescence changed this.
I was no longer know by my experiences,
But rather, By my appearances.
Fat, Pale, Freckly, Crooked-eyes, Broad-shoulders,
Wide-hips, "I can see your veins through your skin", Translucent.

And the harsher and harder the words became,
The more ways I looked for to numb the pain.
And the heavier and heavier each meal became.
And the lighter and lighter the number on the scales became.
And the easier and easier the self-inflicted pain became.

Foundation never covers the scars in the way you think it should.
Did you know they turn brown, before they turn white?
Of corse, it all depends where on your body,
You plant your garden of self-hate.
My mother always said I had a green thumb.

And it wasn't until One night, at sixteen years old,
I sat, crying, on my bedroom floor,
Trying to ignore,
The voices, from the bottles of pills, and the blades,
And they promised to forever take away this pain,
When I heard a whisper, clear as day.
And He had important things to say.

"Daughter, I know you hear all these things telling you,
You're not pretty, You're not lovely, You're not worthy.
Daughter, they're just not true.
I made this life especially for you.
So you have to hold on.
You've tasted all of the bad and none of My good.
Daughter, I have miraculous things waiting for you.
So Give It Time."

And I realized that night that I can't let others' words define me.
Yes, I'm the cancer-kid.
Yes, I have wide hips.
Yes, you can see my veins through my skin.

But I learned that night, That others' words don't define me.
His words define me.
And He says that I am the
Epitome of Beauty.

Things to do when the depression tries to sneak back in.

1. Pamper yourself. Take a hot bath. Add bubbles or bath bombs or essentials oils or whatever you like. Do a face mask, homemade or store bought it doesn't matter. Let the opening and cleaning out of your pores, open up and clean out you soul.  Do a hair mask, and pray that the strengthening of the cells coming from your head can strengthen that thoughts it produces as well.  

2. Read sappy poetry.  Put yourself in the writers mind. Find something in the lines that you can relate to. Pretend that the sad breakup the poet is creating art about is the breakup of your emotions from your body.  That the way they write about getting through heartbreak is about getting through a bad mental day. Keep reading until you find something that inspires you to keep going. 

3. Eat fresh oranges. Or a smoothie. Or flavored water made with fresh fruit.  Consume something that makes you feel good about your health, but don't weigh yourself. Because no matter how much weight you've lost it won't be enough on days like today.  

4. Watch your favorite comedy.  Let the crappy jokes with perfect timing take your mind off of the crappy disease with crappy timing.  Let yourself laugh. Let yourself be taken to a reality that doesn't have sadness or anger or bitterness. A place with only happy. Pretend you live there for a while. 

5. Create something.  A poem, a painting, a promise to your best friend that you'll tell them when you get bad days. Create a masterpiece full of purpose and promise for your future.  Knit, or bake, or sew something.  Do something that makes you feel creative and talented.  Put your pain to good use, so that other people can look at your art for inspiration on their bad days.  

SAVING

 

There was a girl once, a legend she was.

With fire and passion she lived and she loved,

But passion and fade and fires burn out.

And so she was left, another fallen relic of what once could’ve been.

And when the monsters came in she lost the fight,

She lived her life in the middle of a never ending night

 

This is the part of our story where the prince should arrive,

Noble stead and ability to save her, his supplies.

But ‘twas not the case for this precious girl,

She had no prince nor king who could rescue her,

So she sat alone one night on her bedroom floor.

With a bottle of pills that seemed like a cure.

 

But drug cocktails made from medicine cabinet leftovers

Can’t fix what’s broken on the inside of her.

This is not the average fairy tale;

No apples pumpkins or spinning wheels.

 

 

This is not the story of a lost little girl who finds love and a new home.

There is nothing romantic about the heartbreak she housed.

The part of the story that becomes poetic, is not the pain.

But the way she choose to end the eternal game.

On the carpeted floor of her private place,

She prepared to leave, gone without a trace.

 

 

Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

She looked at the picture of her siblings, ready to say goodbye.

But the words wouldn’t come, and the tears slowly faded.

She looked in the mirror and realized she was jaded.

She slowly stood and looked herself in the eye,

And with a revelation said “I don’t want to die”

 

And she doesn’t know how it happened, but she’s not sad anymore.

One day the sunrise just made her smile again. 

 

 

Happy?

“Are you happy?” is a hard question to answer.

In general, yes. I’m grand. My life has never been better.

I’ve got good grades, awesome friends, and a family some would kill for. 

This town may be small, but it knows me, 

I’ve got a life here. A future. I’ve got everything to live for. 

But I wish I could tell you about the days when I’m not happy, 

How sometimes this house doesn’t feel like a home

And this town feels like a daydream.

I wish I could tell you about the days 

Those ones where I can’t find myself in the mirror

Or feel myself beneath the hot shower water.

I wish I could talk to you about the days 

Where I am not happy.

But it’s easier to say I’m better now

Than to tell you that some days are still really hard to get through

Dear Mom, from your (almost) adult daughter.

Dear Mom, 

When it comes to the genetic lottery, there's no way to deny that I lucked out; Between my wonderful siblings, my fantastic father, and extended family that is always fun to be around I am very blessed. But I think one of my favorite parts about my family is you.  My amazing, caring, sweet, beautiful, adorkable mama. And I wanted to take a minute to say thank you.  

Thank you for teaching me.  Thank you for all the wonderful things you taught me. How to knit and how to read. How to drive and how to make mashed potatoes. Thank you for teaching me how to pray and that Christian music isn't always boring.  Thank you for being patient when I didn't want to learn, and for being ecstatic when I finally understood. Thank you for all the other life lesson you've taught me in the past nineteen years that I'm sure I never gave you proper credit for.  And thank you for continuing to teach me now and forever.  

Thank you for being loud.  Thank you for showing me ever since I was young that I didn't need to be quiet to be a lady. Thank you for sharing your opinions. Thank you for always being the loudest laughter in the room. Thank you for teaching me inadvertently ever since I was young how to use my voice. Also thank you for teaching me that just because you can stay quiet, doesn't mean you should.  

Thank you for letting me win. Thank you for picking your battles when it came to raising me. Thank you for not calling me out when I cheated at board games with my siblings and you were the only one who saw. Thank you for finally forgoing your house wide ban on skinny jeans when I begged and pleaded about it at 15. Thank you for not giving me the fifth degree whenever I want to go out with my friends. Thank you for all the times you've ever said "you're an adult do what you want". Thank you for listening to me when I was trying to convince you to let me get another piercing and for showing me that if I do my research and have good reasons and presentation skills, I can change a persons mind.  Thank you for all the little battles you've ignored throughout my life, because you didn't want to have a fight.  

Thank you for letting me be a daddy's girl.  Or a big brother's girl, or a sister's girl, or a friend's girl, or anybody else's girl.  Basically, thank you for never showing me any bitterness when I choose somebody else over you. Thank you for not showing me any ill will when I completely ignored you in order to spend time with other people.  Thank you for graciously letting me make my choices, and for still being there when I (always) came back. 

Thank you for always answering your phone. From when  I was little and called you from a friends house in the middle of the night because I just wanted to come home. Or when I was sixteen and was crying in my bedroom over my "best-friend break-up" and texted you while you were just downstairs. Or a few weeks ago when I went to Florida by myself to see my sister and called you at 9am on your busiest workday of the week, because I didn't want to come home and I needed a reminder of why I should. Or all the times I text you with little stupid questions that I should probably know the answer to.  Thank you for always answering the phone.  Thank you for always picking up the phone and for never showing annoyance at the constant question asking. 

Basically Mom, thank you for being you. Thank you for being a constant in my life when so many things have gone crazy, and for showing me how to never give up hope.  

Love, 

Your (almost) adult daughter. 

P.S. Thank you for giving me some of your looks. I know you had no say in the matter, but I love looking in the mirror and seeing your freckles on my face. 

Somedays I forget to miss you

I have four siblings. Three brothers and a sister. Yeah, I have quite a few step siblings as well, but for the purpose of what I want to write about today, I have four siblings. Four siblings who all somehow are bigger and taller than me, despite the fact that only three of them are actually older than me. 

Boy, girl, boy, girl, boy. 

My parents got the perfect deal. If you overlook the fact that they had five kids within seven years, and for the expanse of their twenties there was always somebody in diapers or pull-ups. Not the way I want to spend my twenties, but my parents pulled through. 

One side effect of so many children in such little time, is that we were all always on top of each other.  The biggest age-gap between any of us is the three years between my sister, Jenna, and our second brother in the line, Brayden (the brother immediately before me). Other than those two the rest of us all have less than two years between us. 

Another side effect of so many children in such little time, is that my siblings are my best friends. And for some time in my life, they were my only real friends.  I am close with my siblings.  I talk to them. I laugh with them. I spend time with them. I am friends with them. 

Early this year (February), my only sister, Jenna, got married (to an incredible man) and moved to Florida. With no return date. Saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. My sister and I, even if we didn't always get along, were close.  We talked. When things happened and I need comfort or guidance I would go to her and vis versa. 

And then she moved to Florida. Saying goodbye to her hurt, and moving on and living without her hurt. And for a while there was a constant ache, I was continuously missing her. I would write down the little things that I wanted to tell her on our next phone date. Funny stories from school, or something that happened at church, or a joke one of my friends told me. I actively missed her, all the time. It was always present. 

And then one day I heard a funny joke and I didn't write it down to tell her. And then there were days and eventually weeks between our texting conversations. 

And when a cool thing happened at youth group, I texted my best friend, not my sister. 

And eventually one day, the active ache, the constant missing her, the never ending reminder that she moved, wasn't there anymore. 

I still missed my sister, but it wasn't constant. I could laugh without looking around for her. 

And eventually, my new normal wasn't new. It was just normal. 

The family pictures that were just me and the brothers, didn't seem like a puzzle with a missing piece anymore. And I stopped checking to make sure there was food without chocolate. 

And now, six months later, I forgot to even tell my sister that I had to go to urgent care this week.  

I go about my life. Work, friends, church, family, babysitting, volunteering, and if I think of it I'll text my sister. But there are Somedays when I don't realize that this hasn't always been my normal. I don't realize that something's missing. I don't remember that I used to share this queen size bed with somebody. And I forget that I used to have to eat the chocolate out of somebody's cookies. I forget. Until something happens. Until she calls me. Until somebody asks me how she is. Until I go to a restaurant and see her favorite food on the menu. Until she posts something on Instagram about missing me, and then I feel a little bit guilty. Because for that day, until that moment, I forgot to miss her. 

My siblings and I, August 2014.

10 things I wish I could tell my 15 year old self.

1) she's not a good person for you to be friends with, and you're going to learn that soon. But not before you get your heart broken. 

2) when he tells you he loves you, don't lie and say it back.  He doesn't deserve to be lied to, and you don't deserve to live in that lie.

3) eat something. Please. 

4) it sucks that he's not even in the same state for your birthday. It does. But, that is the type of anger that hurts you more than others. So move on. 

5) forgive her. And forgive yourself. Because people don't come back from the dead, and you can't spend the rest of your life angry that you got what she didn't. 

6) just because your parents or a teacher tell you something does not mean it is fact.  Learn to question everything. Even the things that go with your gut instinct. Do research and reading. If nothing else, you know how to defend your believes when somebody wants to argue. 

7) you're 15. Sex doesn't matter. Stop acting like your better than others just because you haven't "done it". You haven't, others have.  Move on. 

8) spend more times with your cousins.  Don't wait to learn the same lesson twice.  Reach out now while you still have time to. 

9) there is no reason you have to keep in touch with people who suck out your happiness.  Cut off the rotten fruits of your old friendships. 

10) right now you are at a low point. You're really not liking 15.  And I'm sorry to say it, but 16 is even worse. You're going to need to find something to hold onto.  Something to keep going for.  You're going to hit rock bottom, and then try to rebuild your life.  While keeping your whole struggle a secret. But you're going to succeed. And you're  going to create a whole new you. A you of badass haircuts, and stiletto heals, red lipstick, and leather jackets. You're  going to become passionate in a way nobody has seen you be before. You're going to stop holding your tongue. You're going to learn to speak in a manor that demands others respect.  Your life is going to burn to the ground.  But your going to rise like a Phoenix from the ashes.  

Friday Night

Tonight’s Friday night.

I made it through a year without you.

It was the hardest year of my life,

But I did it.

And I learned something because of it.

But Friday nights still get to me,

Because I know that if you were still in my life,

We’d have plans together tonight.

We’d have a sleepover at your house,

Like we always did.

We’d stay up all night talking.

We’d listen to each other complain about our families.

Despite the fact that they were in the rooms next to us.

And what a pair we were,

The “golden child”, that hated her sister,

Because she wasn’t as popular as you.

And the “average girl”,

Growing up in a family full of unremarkable talent,

Just trying to find her own passion.

I made new friends this year,

But it’s not the same.

I can’t speak candidly to them,

Like I always did with you.

They don’t know what I’m going to say before I say it,

Like you always did with me.

They don’t sing the Winnie-the-pooh theme song with me at 1am,

Like we always did with each other,

Despite the fact that everybody else in the house was asleep.

My new friends don’t understand my past,

Like you always did.

They’ve never seen the house I grew up in,

You helped me pack it up to move.

I love them,

And they are good people,

But you were family,

You were my extra sister,

And my new friends and I aren’t that close.

I kinda doubt we ever will be.

In the past year,

I’ve grown as a person.

I’ve changed,

I stopped letting others dictate my choices.

I started doing what I like.

I got another piercing,

I cut 2 feet off my hair,

I stopped taking Spanish.

I’ve had a good year,

But it’s been hard.

And Friday nights are always the hardest.

The night before the last day of senior year

Tomorrow is my last day of high school.
One more final, and I will have achieved everything that I've spent the last four years working towards.
This is the part where I'm supposed to be overjoyed or have some amazing emotional advice for all those who don't believe that senior year will go by as quickly as it does.
And I really want to be able to say to that I am celebrating the last school night I will ever have, by reminiscing with my amazing friends and revising for my government final tomorrow. But the truth is I've spent the last thirty minutes texting my best friend Mady in tears, because I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be done. I'm not ready to never see my friends and teachers again. And I'm not ready to move on from the person that my high school experience has made me into.
I really wish that I could have that moment in movies when the girl gets to talk to herself from the past. I want thirty seconds with the person I was when I walked through the doors of McCutcheon for the first time.
I wish I could tell her how much she would grow and change.
I wish I could warn her how many friends she'd loose.
I wish I could talk to her about how many times the adults around her would fail her.
But life is funny, in that you don't get the lesson until you deal with the heartache.
So I degrees.
I've never been good at organization.
In fact, there are a hundred things I'm not very good at.
Cooking, sewing, running, hula-hoops, science, etc....
The list goes on and on.
But one thing I have always had a knack for is my words.
I like to write. I like to express myself through words.
I think words have a power that none of us can master through any other way.
But I can't find a word for the feeling in my chest right now.
But whatever it is, it's making breathing a little difficult.