You might not like this, but you don't have to. It's mine.

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” -Anne Lamott

I once told the man that I love as more of a disclaimer than anything that I would never stay anywhere that I didn’t feel wanted. I still believe in that. After spending too many years being the type of person who allowed the wrong people to remain in my life, I learned that I actually had the power to see myself to the door and exit that storyline. And that’s a rule that I’ve followed ever since.

Some might call this cowardice. Others may deem it fearful retreat. That’s fine, but I call it strength. Because most times it’s much harder to take the exit than it is to stay. From what I’ve learned, staying is taking the comfortable route. Leaving takes courage. Leaving is a risk. Leaving is frightening. But sometimes, leaving is the only way to protect your soul.

I’ve left a lot more storylines in the last few years than I care to count, because they aren’t pleasant memories. Taking myself out of those situations was a series of choices that tore the stranger I was becoming into pieces that I didn’t like or recognize. But those were vital choices. It was the only way for me to rid myself of the heaviness that was causing me to sink. It was the only way to rebuild, rediscover and piece myself back together.

“Our prime purpose in life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” - Dalai Lama

I exited particular storylines because the characters in them had become hurtful and harmful and toxic. People are bound to hurt you, sure, but they certainly don’t have the right to destroy you. Life is far too short to let other people ruin your happiness and steal your joy.  You have the power to not let them drive you to the point of destruction. You’re not bound to anyone who doesn’t show you love. You don’t owe anything to anyone who doesn’t want you.

In my case, I left because I no longer felt wanted.  And, truthfully, these exits are some of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” -Maya Angelou

I’ve walked away from friends and even members of my own bloodline for the simple reason that I finally saw who they really were. I walked away for reasons that I saw, or at least sensed, all along. But I had held onto the hope that these things would change or, at the very least, fade over time. It was naïve of me to expect this. I knew that. But I had hope, nonetheless. That hope was in vain, as I have come to learn.

When people show no signs of changing, you are not required to stick by them if they no longer even vaguely resemble the person you once cared for. When people only feed you negativity, deceit and thoughtlessness, you have every right to walk away. It is each of our own responsibilities to protect and guard our souls. You do not have to stand by people who seem only to hurt you.

It’s up to us and it was up to me to make that difficult judgment call when people revealed their true self.

Let the people who shine light onto you live in your life. Let all the rest pass when their dark shadow falls on you. Gently guide them to the door. And, if you must, push.

Falling for nice guys

I started writing this nearly nine months ago. Things have changed considerably since then. That said, this one took a turn I did not expect, but a turn I seriously hoped for when I got the notion to write it out.

I've fallen for a nice guy, maybe for the first time ever. And he's the single greatest, kindest and most interesting man I've met in a very, very long time. If not ever.

I fell for him a little out of nowhere. One second I was the token single girl who was adamantly and happily independent, the next I had fallen head over heels for this guy who made me laugh and was a little bit awkward and incredibly cool all at the same time.

Not only that, but he was sweet in the most sincere way. He remembered things about me that I hadn't even realized I had told him. He swept me off my feet without needing to pull any tricks from a playbook. He didn't drop any lines or make any attempted smooth moves. He had no romantic agenda. He was simply himself in the most honest way and I couldn't help but find that refreshing.

He intrigued me with his eccentricities. He floored me with his candor. He wooed me with his humility. He comforted me with his earnestness.

He was passionate about music, books, and art in such a purist way. He shared my appreciation for the vintage, timeless, and quaint. He had a spirit that drew me in and made me feel effortlessly and instantly connected. He had a presence that calmed my near constant anxiety. He was simple in the most attractive way, but also fiercely interesting. He was a book I couldn't stop reading.

And he still is. After eight months (and then some... And, yes, I realize that isn't very long at all) of having the great blessing of being able to call him mine, he is still all of these things and so very much more. His kindness and pure adoration for me fill my world with so much love and disgustingly blissful joy daily. His presence calms and comforts me more than anything I've ever experienced.

He knows that I'm messy, erratic, chronically anxious, insecure, and made of 100% chaos and he still loves and accepts me for all of those things. He never suppresses an opportunity to tell me that he thinks I'm beautiful, especially when I'm barefaced and wild haired. He tells me that I'm impressive and smart and talented and admirable, even when I feel as though I am the complete opposite of all of these things.

He melts into my world so perfectly. He likes my crazy, sometimes dysfunctional, but oh-so-fun family. And they really like him, too. I adore his parents and can play with the boys (at least, I've been able to keep up, so far). We've spent time with each other's friends and have yet to find any real speed bumps in that department. And (I never in a million years thought I would ever find myself saying this) I love his cat, and she seems to be a pretty big fan of me, too. And if you know this man of mine, you know how big of a deal this is.

He's a perfect gentleman, a brilliant musician, a hyper-supportive ally, a steadfast confidant, a reliable copilot, a diligent sous chef. But most of all, he's a faithful partner.

My life is fuller and brighter and more exciting because he's a part of it. He has, without even trying I'm sure, brought out the most lively and vibrant parts of me. He draws out the things that make me feel the most alive. I don't know how, but he does it. And I'm so glad he has because I have never felt more myself and more comfortable and uninhibited being as such. Furthermore, he makes me a better person, by osmosis it seems. His utter concern and consideration for others inspires and challenges me to alter my own attitude toward the people around me. And that's something I desperately need.

He's not perfect and neither am I. We understand that neither of us will ever be perfect and we will have our own quirks and rough edges. But we know that those are beautiful, too. And, so far, he's done an unbelievable job of loving all of my insufferable flaws.

When I stop to realize this—all of this—it blows me away and I can't help but think how insanely glad I am that I was finally smart enough to fall for the nice guy.

I don't know where this is going or how things will play out. All I know is this man stole my heart and I'm obsessed with loving him. This is one book I don't ever want to put down.

So, if I can offer any piece of advice, it's this: Fall for the nice guy. He'll love you better than anyone ever could.

Growing different.

"Change" isn't a state. It can't be called that. It's perpetual, not episodic. It's not a shiny, clean elevator with controllable buttons that allow you to stop on whatever floor you please, walk around a bit, enjoy the view and then hop back on and resume your trip at your leisure.

It's a tree with spreading roots that you're blind to and constant growth that you wouldn't notice if you just stood there and stared at it for a moment or two. But if you paid close enough attention, you'd realize that it keeps getting taller, the trunk grows wider, the leaves grow thicker, fall off and then grow anew all over again. You'd realize that it is not the same this moment as it was the last, although it's nearly impossible to see it growing and changing with a naked eye.

This is how I believe human change occurs. And it happens differently in every individual human being. We grow up. We grow out of things. We grow into things. But each and every one of us grows differently. We learn life differently. We see the world differently. We feel emotions differently, experience trials and triumphs differently, form ideas and beliefs differently.

Because we're different. It's simple, really. But this process of changing and growing differently makes life difficult. Wildly interesting, but difficult. While it is caused by growth and progress, it also sometimes results in loss and pain.

You often find yourself (because, honestly, it's even difficult to notice change in yourself until you hit some sort of metaphorical life wall) suddenly falling out of old habits and looking for a new groove to settle into and becoming disinterested in formerly beloved past times and instead searching for a new outlet.

This is the paragraph in this chapter at which I find myself. And it's both a good and a bad place to be. I wouldn't say I'm unhappy, no. I couldn't possibly say that. I'm happy. I'm just at a weird spot.

My life has kind of all been falling together rather recently. I officially have a college degree. I'm newly somewhat settled in a job that is actually real and pays in currency that is not comparable to Monopoly money. I just moved into a new, much more adult-friendly apartment with my roommate. I'm in a loving, committed, healthy relationship with a man with whom I continue to grow more and more in love daily.

I am at a great place. I'm in the very beginning stages of becoming a real life grown up. And as scary (and expensive...seriously) as that may be, it's a necessary thing. But I'm not ready to stop here and settle in. That just doesn't sit right with me. I'm not ready to stand still.

I'm ready for even more change (and maybe that makes me greedy... I'll save that tangent for later). I'm aware that this may not make everyone around me happy. But I think that's a point that I've hit in this era of my existence. I've made the conscious decision to stop allowing myself to be anyone's personal doormat. I've decided that complacency isn't a good color on me and I'm not going to wear it anymore. I've decided to start making my own choices instead of letting people who are allegedly higher tier human beings than myself make them for me. I've decided to actually start utilizing my own voice, because I can't live my entire life letting other people and other forces shape my life and my future.

And I think the moment I made the decision to reject a life of complacency was the exact moment when I realized that I've, yet again, started to grow differently.

Over the past year, it feels as though I've grown into my own soul. I've formed much stronger opinions about things that are important to me. I've started defending my beliefs on things more fervently (although, that is still a giant work in progress). I've put more effort into not allowing others to dictate who I'm going to be. And it's been a challenge.

I've watched rifts form in some relationships. That's a consequence that I've found to be common in periods of apparent and transformative change. Because, as humans, we're dynamic. We have the capability and tendency to change in such a forceful way, and any kind of force causes a subsequent reaction. And sometimes it's not always a reaction you want. But it's a worthy risk.

People change. Because they're people. But they don't always grow at the same time in the same way. They grow differently. You can either embrace that change and accept them in their growth, despite your differences, or you can not. Either way, they're going to keep growing.

So, that's where I am.

The Fall of Falling Apart

Let's just take an in depth look at the hot mess that was my first semester of my senior year in college. Well, okay, maybe not THAT in depth. You don't need to know every grueling detail of my chaotic life. But allow me to give you a look inside the 4 months worth of roller coaster rides that I recently had the privilege of living out.

Historically, I have not had the best luck with senior years, so this story feels quite familiar. The story of this particular year goes something like this:

These 4 months started out a little bit cloudy, but it didn't seem like any cause for panic in the beginning. It was harmless. I would be staying with some of my closest friends for a little while until my roommate found a job, was able to move back and we found our own place. We had lived together before, so it shouldn't be too difficult.

Well, this might be the case in an ideal scenario. However, this story doesn't exactly pan out that way.

I'll save you every painstaking detail of the next few months. All I will say is that I didn't want to be there. I knew I was an inconvenience and I was doing everything within my power and abilities to get out of there. But it's hard when you're vehicle-less and even the combination of your new job that came about a month into this time period and your decent existing savings won't support the rent required for even the tiniest studio apartment in Orange County.

But I had to be there. I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere that made it feasible to get to school and work without severely inconveniencing someone else or draining my bank account. So I stayed, against their desires and my own.

This period of time, which spanned two months almost exactly, was characterized by a lot of anxiety-filled, sleepless, tearful nights. I was stressed out beyond belief, I was depressed, I was terrified, I wasn't eating, and I was completely exhausted. I looked like all of those things and no amount of makeup was able to cover that up, no matter how hard I tried.

I was a mess, to put it simply. I was sleeping on a couch, living out of a suitcase, and staying in an apartment that I couldn't even call home. At this point, the only bright spots were that I had a paying job that wasn't completely horrible, I was working at a paper with a staff of people that I was actually really starting to grow fond of, and I had the dullest glimmer of hope that things would turn around soon.

My best friend, who I had lived with for the past two years had graduated in the spring but was trying tirelessly to find a job in the area so that we could find and afford a place to live together. But it was taking longer than either of us had anticipated. She came down for interviews and each time we were hopeful, but we were usually left disappointed when the call finally came.

I would be lying if I said that none of this phased me on a social level. This wasn't something I was proud of. In fact, I was utterly ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone I knew, especially those friends who were new to my story that I was essentially homeless and sleeping on a couch with no car and no way out.

I reached out to the few close friends who knew what was going on to see if they knew anyone looking for a temporary roommate or renting out a room that I could occupy for the time being. But every seemingly hopeful possibility came up short.

As I was growing closer to new people, I found it harder than usual to open up to them because of my "predicament." There was no way they would understand and they would be brutal with their judgments if they ever found out. I couldn't handle that. So I just kept quiet.

I was building relationships with these people based on half truths. Many of them knew where I was "living," but under what circumstances they knew nothing of.

And then, there were the new men who had come into my life. And yes, men as in plural. This was never my intention, but being as I am and having finally gotten my "groove" back after what was literally years, my flirtatious nature had been turned on full blast. Maybe I was compensating for all of the other less than enticing aspects of my life. Therefore me being nice got misconstrued as me being interested. So that made another mess for me to clean up. But I'll get back to that in a bit. 

Fortunately, things started to turn around in October. After many, many fervent prayers, I was finally getting some of them answered. God was providing exactly when and how I needed most. A car with my name on it surfaced. My best friend found that job she had been looking for and almost simultaneously we found a place of our own that was available less than a week later. Everything was finally falling into place and I might have actually cried tears of joy. Honestly, I probably did but just didn't notice through my numbness. 

So everything was turning out as it was supposed to. I was finally going to be able to live a normal life again and it genuinely felt like I was starting over. And, at that point, that was the only thing that would mend the wounds of the previous months. A fresh start. A clean slate. A chance to begin again. So I did, weird as that may be in the middle of a semester. 

I got my life back and I slowly started to put all of the tiny little pieces where they belonged and things started to feel like they had a sense of order again. I gradually started to feel less and less insane. 

But then work slowed down, and I started to panic. The bills came in, and I panicked some more. Then work sped up, and I started to stress. Then midterms. And deadlines. And closing shifts. And boys who wanted more from me than I could offer. And finals. 

I was strapped in every sense of the word: financially, mentally, psychologically, time-wise, and energy-wise. I was juggling everything, and then some. I was officially an adult, and it sure as hell felt like it. 

So, any logical person could look at my daily schedule and say "That girl is insane, she doesn't even have time to breathe." Because, yes, I was still taking a full course load and attempting to be the president of a nationally recognized organization, on top of everything else. So, obviously, relationships or anything of a committal nature were absolutely out of the question. Unfortunately, that message didn't exactly translate well to the men I was trying to steer in the opposite direction. 

So, yes. There was that. And I think anyone who has ever read any of my personal entries is tired of hearing about this part, so I will do all parties a favor and just leave it at this: It was complicated. It got messy. I probably screwed up. A lot. The end. 

I all but lost my mind in the midst of the chaos. But I survived, which is honestly a miracle worked by Jesus Himself, because I don't know how I managed to walk out of this last semester alive and fully intact. But I did. And I swear I'm better for it. 

I learned some of the hardest lessons of my life in the past several months. It was rough, but I suppose it was a series of lessons I needed to learn. 

So here I am now. I have a home and a car to call my own, both of which I am paying for with my own paycheck from a job that I don't completely despise. I get to live with my best friend again. I miraculously passed all of my classes. I became a real journalist. And, maybe most importantly, I became a real adult.

And here's a bonus: To quote myself, I once said that I would "never be a size 2." Well, guess what, kids? After a semester of nearly crippling stress, an unceasing work schedule, no breaks or downtime, combined with being the poster child for "broke college student," I accidentally lost 10 pounds. I am now a size 2. This is not something I'm proud of, but I guess I'm embracing it. I have unintentionally and reluctantly brought "Hammer pants" back from the dead. 

However, I'm a changed woman and that's all a girl can ever hope for, really. 

This has been my retrospective of my senior year thus far. I'm praying that spring will be much, much more merciful. But if not, bring it on. I'm pretty sure I can handle it. 

The power of saying no

Remember that time you should have just said no and walked away? You know which time I'm referring to, don't you? We all have at least one. We are all haunted by it. Those times when you said yes when you should have said no will leave you with a bad taste in your mouth and a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach that never quite goes away. That's a little thing the masses like to call regret. It's a tangible emotional nuisance that's impossible to ignore.

Regret is an unfamiliar notion to me. I can list on one hand the things that I truly regret. Most of the things on that list have been the result of something I have done in the last year. And in each of those situations, a great deal of regret and unsettling sensations in the pit of my stomach could have been avoided if I had just said "no."

In hindsight, I know that I should have said no. I should have turned around. I should have walked away. But instead, I walked right into a brick wall held together by bad decisions and poor judgment calls. I said yes when my gut feeling told me to do the opposite. I let my choices be guided by all the wrong motivators and I paid the price.

More often than not, I was completely conscious of the fact that I did not, in fact, want to be in these situations. On the contrary, many times it was absolutely the last place I wanted to be. But I stupidly, albeit unintentionally, said to myself "I'm here and it's already gone this far, so there's no turning back now." But I knew, then and now, that this was absolutely, positively not true. It would have only taken one second, one word, and a tiny bit of courage and self-respect to say "Actually, no. This isn't what I want. I have to go." I could have changed everything if I would have just refused to give in to the coward within me and instead embraced the woman with dignity and unshakeable self-respect that I know myself to be.

Sure, I was going through some tough times during most of these moments and maybe the things I was doing brought me comfort or some sort of twisted self-validation, but that's nowhere near a valid excuse for behaving the way that I did.

In short, I screwed up. But I'm still here. I'm still standing. And I can still say that I can count my regrets on one hand. Because despite all the poor decisions I've made, I have somehow been able to drag myself out of them, sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes gasping for air, and sometimes feeling completely disoriented.

But I have overcome, nonetheless. And from these mistakes and horrible choices, I've learned and I've grown. I have learned that, yes, you can kiss a few frogs now and then (as my mother likes to encourage me to do), but don't settle for them and certainly don't cry over them when they're gone. I have learned not to accept anything less than extraordinary, whether it's a job, your education, your relationships, an apology, you name it. If it's not exactly what you want and if it doesn't make you happy, leave it behind and keep looking. I have learned to ask for what I want and clarify what I don't. And I've learned to do this with unyielding decisiveness.

Finally, and most importantly, I adapted the ability to say no and embrace the power of that ability. That one seemingly tiny word has the strength to move even the most intimidating of mountains.

Now that I've learned my lessons, I find myself saying no more than ever before. It may just be the best thing I have ever done for myself.

Girls just wanna have fun. I'm no exception.

I like my coffee black, my whiskey neat, and my hands and heart free. So sue me.

I'm not a girl that likes being tied down. I don't like limits, or boundaries, or chains. I don't like being told that I can't. I don't like being restricted. But I think that's natural.

I'm a free spirit in most ways. I can be a little reserved given the right circumstances, but I'm innately the kind of girl who goes wherever the wind blows her. I take whatever life gives me and I run with it. As fast as I possibly can.

I have no fear of falling, unless it's in love. That may be the one thing that truly shakes me to my core. Just the thought of being thrown into that whirlwind of emotions gives me the sensation that I'm slowly and gradually being suffocated.

I'm just not a relationship girl. Honestly, I never really have been. The idea of commitment has always made me flee immediately.

Of course, I've had my fair share of relationships. But they either were short lived or long distance, which kept the men I dated always at arms length, just as I liked them. They were never close enough for long enough to ever become the "real deal."

And, yes, I've been in love, too. Once. It happened at a point in my life when I needed that kind of closeness, stability, and support. And then that time was over. And so was that relationship. It was a time of desperation and utter weakness. It was what I needed at the moment, not forever.

I'm the kind of girl who, really, just wants to have fun. I'm too consumed with my own dreams and aspirations and goals to get caught up in romance. My work has always been my biggest commitment. I become married to it. I'm career minded. It's just who I am. And a man just doesn't quite work into that equation.

Yes, I love men. Of course, I do. But I love them for a moment or from afar. Where they can't touch me or distract me or control me.

Maybe one day I'll walk down an aisle sprinkled with rose petals in a white dress. Maybe, but not any time in the near future. I'm too young for that. I could change my mind. I know that. However, for right now, my mind is made up. This girl just wants to run free. Is that so wrong?

Bent, broken, and burned

I like people who are damaged; people who have been broken down and torn apart. I like people who don't have it all together. Maybe it's because I like knowing that I'm not the only one who needs fixing. And maybe it's also because I like to be the one doing the fixing.

Perfect people bore me and annoy me and mostly make me want to scratch my eyes out. And, of course, I know that there is really no such thing as a perfect person. I simply just can't relate to those who have had the world handed to them on a platinum platter. And honestly, I see that as a good thing.

Granted, I know that my life is not necessarily one that would be deemed underprivileged by any reasonable standards. However, I've worked for everything that I have. Because I've had to. Because I don't want to be anyone's charity case. Because I can't stand those people who expect the world and everything brilliant in it to be delivered to them in a Tiffany's box. And because I never want to be one of them.

Anyone who has known me long enough to coax me to open up even slightly is aware of how broken a person I am at my core. I'm not going to try to hide that. I'm not one to pretend that everything is rainbows and butterflies when it isn't.

Yes, I'm probably one of the most bubbly and resilient people, maybe ever, but that's because I've been punched in the gut by defeat and disappointment and dejection. So I know when to appreciate the good times when they roll through.

But, my dark side, especially lately, has been making its presence known. And I'm smart enough and old enough to know that suppressing that part of myself is unhealthy. So here it is. Here I am.

I'm broken and beaten down. And that's okay. Because broken people are my favorite people. We're bonded by our hardships. We're kindred spirits. And we're blissful in our brokenness together.