Monday, January 13, 2014

"Giving Thanks Everyday"

Giving Thanks, Every Day.

  • Posted on: 28 November 2013
  • By: Ashlyn Alyce Yo...
Thanksgiving looks a little different for everybody, doesn’t it? Maybe you get up early to see your favorite floats on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Maybe you eat a simple meal with immediate family, or an expansive potluck spread with a large gathering of friends and neighbors. Maybe it calls for intermittent napping during an afternoon of football games. Maybe you wear your favorite sweater, and reminisce under dim lamplight, and go to bed early so you have energy for Black Friday shopping.
Or perhaps your holiday doesn’t so closely resemble the ones in the commercials. Maybe you’re alone. Maybe you’re caught in the crossfire of family estrangement. Maybe Thanksgiving is just another day off of work or school, and you don’t have any special plans. Maybe the money, or the time, or the people just aren’t there to warrant any feasting. Maybe all the celebration is, to you, a stressful nightmare you must fake your way through. Maybe the faces that used to make this day meaningful are no longer around your dining room table.
At TWLOHA, whenever a significant holiday rolls around (and for our supporters in the United States, this is usually considered a significant one), we want to remember and include those whose struggles might trump the warmth of tradition. The truth is, this is the case for a great number of people, and it’s important to acknowledge those experiences. But while our observances of Thanksgiving may vary greatly, there is something that unites us today—and that is our very need to give and receive thanks.
Recently, I watched a short TED Talk from a few years ago by a counselor named Laura Trice. In it, she talks about how vital it is to hear and give praise—and yet, people are often very hesitant to ask for it. She says that, sometimes, the most authentic way to express gratitude is to ask people what kind of praise they need to hear, as well as to tell others the areas in which we need more affirmation. This goes against our instincts, right? It’s a challenge in vulnerability. But Trice suggests, “Be honest about the praise that you need to hear. What do you need to hear? … Go home and ask those questions, and then help the people around you.”
Everybody deserves to be both a recipient and a giver of these simple words: “Thank you.”
Whatever your circumstances are today, you can get that cycle of gratitude going in your own life. It doesn’t have to be a holiday; it doesn’t have to take place around an autumnal centerpiece; it doesn’t have to be perfect. Just start saying thank you. For the roof over your head, and the shoes on your feet, and the food on your plate—say thank you. For the counsel you’ve received from a co-worker, a spouse, a therapist—say thank you. For the things people are simply expected to do, day after day, and do well anyway—say thank you. For the phone or the computer you are reading this on—say thank you. For the long-distance friend who somehow always knows when to text you—say thank you. For the book that changed your life, and the pet that is always excited to see you, and the tutoring session from the classmate who owed you nothing, and the unexpected dollars in the tip jar, and the parent who is trying their absolute hardest, and the stranger who said, “No, after you,” and the sun that somehow, no matter what, slowly and gently wakes the world up each morning—say thank you.
Say thank you.
And then, see how that starts coming back around to you—and maybe ask for it from time to time. Don’t be afraid to say, “I’m doing my best here. Did you notice? I’m growing, I’m trying, I’m moving forward—and I’d love your encouragement along the way.”
If you’ve gotten this far into this blog post, we’d also like to say thank you. Thanks for supporting TWLOHA and believing that people can be more, can get better, can work together. We’re grateful you’re a part of this community we talk so much about. And happy thanks-giving.

"Welcome To Midnight"

Welcome to Midnight.

  • Posted on: 17 December 2013
  • By: Jamie Tworkowski
Welcome back to "Welcome to Midnight." The words below were posted two years ago and while i'm proud of what i wrote, i'm more excited about the words that followed—tweets and posts from folks all over the world, people talking about what they hoped to leave behind and what they hoped to find in the new year. Our hope for Year #3 is to see "Welcome to Midnight" continue to grow. We're rolling up our sleeves and doing our best to make it better than ever. We even made a shirt to celebrate!
We would love to hear from you. We would love to hear what this blog and these questions spark in you, what you're wrestling with and what you're excited about as that famous midnight approaches.
 
**********************************************************

Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

The ball drops and fireworks. Resolutions are made.
People scream and people kiss and is it possible to change?
Is it really truly possible to leave the past behind?

Welcome to Midnight.

Another year comes to a close. Another year begins.
With a moment in between.
Why the fuss?
Why the fame and fireworks?
Is it more than hype? More than something else to sell us?
Is there something to this holiday? Something true inside it?
Because isn't there something inside us that aches for change...
Dreams it to be possible...
To let go.
To hold on.
To leave it behind.
To start again.
To be new.
Is it possible?

If you're reading this, if there's air in your lungs, then you're alive today tonight right now.
And who can know how long we have here...
And is it a gift? Was it ever a gift? Did that ever feel true or could that one day feel true?
Are there things to fight to live for?
Moments and people... Weddings and children and all your different dreams...
Love...
Is your life more than just your own?
And are there broken things you were made to fight to fix?
Broken families, broken friends... Injustice.
Will you move for things that matter?

Wouldn't it be nice if change took just a moment?
Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy?
Midnight and we're new. Midnight and the past erased. Midnight and we're free.

It seems to come slow. It seems to be a surgery.
Forgiveness. Healing. Sobriety. Letting go. Starting over.
It seems to happen slowly over time.
One day at a time, the choice made new each morning.
Will you fight?
Will you fight to be healthy?
Will you fight to be free?
Will you fight for your story?
Will you fight to get the help you need?

Change takes more than a moment, but maybe there's also something to this celebration of a moment, something to the way it speaks to us, something to the way we fear it, and dream it to be true. Maybe it's the most honest moment of the year.

It's possible to change.

Welcome to Midnight.

Here's to the possibilities.

Peace to You.
jamie

"I am here because i care."

I Am Here Because I Care.

  • Posted on: 27 December 2013
  • By: Andrea West
I have never known what it feels like to have depression. I have never personally dealt with self-injury. I don’t know what the experience of an anxiety attack really entails. I don’t know what it is like to be a slave to an addiction. I don’t know—but I care.
At the beginning of my internship with TWLOHA, I questioned seriously if I belonged here. How could I do anything to help others if I didn’t know exactly what it was like to walk through a fight within my own mind? It seemed like everyone else I worked with had gone through something so much bigger than them. They could offer firsthand experience and advice to anyone who asked for it. But how could I ask people to seek counseling when I had never walked into a counselor’s office in my life? How could I share in someone else’s pain when I had never felt it to that degree? I felt like I was an outsider to this experience I could never truly understand. And yet, I was here. And I cared about our cause more than anything. There had to be a reason, there had to be a purpose.
We talk a lot about our stories here, almost constantly. I know the stories of each one of my roommates. If you ask them to tell theirs, they know exactly where to start. “This is what I battled, this is how I fought, this is how I got here.” That’s how it goes. I listen, and I listen. But I never consider myself a storyteller, too. I have always assumed I had nothing to speak of—until I thought long and hard about why I am here and why I left everything to devote my life to this cause this fall.
I am a storyteller, because of the characters who share my journey with me. Early in my life, I developed an identity as a listener and a confidant. It was my instinct to leave my heart open and let anyone rest there if they needed to. I approached every relationship with a hunger to learn people. I learned happiness and hope, but I also learned a lot more about pain and fear.
I am thankful for the pain I learned. By being allowed to know the whole of a person, I can take a chance and fight with them. I treasure each wall I have seen broken down. I hold each story I have heard as a part of my own. They are the most delicate and precious gifts I can ever hope to receive. Knowing the truth and honesty of those around me also means they are healing, and they are trusting me to be in their corner. There is nothing in this life I value more than that. Nothing.
My purpose here is to show people that you don’t necessarily have to encounter these issues directly to be involved in the fight against them. You can still show people who are struggling that they need to give others a chance to fight alongside them. You both deserve to know each other, to know what the other is feeling.
For those of you who are afraid of being a burden to others, especially to those who you think might not understand: I urge you to reconsider. Honesty and truth will strengthen your relationships more than silence ever can. A fake smile will never bring you closer to healing than the embrace of a friend. You are giving a gift by writing your story into the stories of others. You are giving them the chance to love you and to learn from that love.
I know what it is like to love someone with depression. I know the feeling of hugging a friend who struggles through self-injury. I know the experience of watching a family member fight through an anxiety attack. I know what it is like to see someone battle with an addiction. I know the pain of hearing that someone I love would try to end his or her own life. But I have also seen people, in each of these situations, embrace and live in recovery. This has made my relationships meaningful, significant, and true. This has made me care about speaking up and breaking walls.
I care. I am here, because I care.
— Andrea, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern

"I am here because i care."

I Am Here Because I Care.

  • Posted on: 27 December 2013
  • By: Andrea West
I have never known what it feels like to have depression. I have never personally dealt with self-injury. I don’t know what the experience of an anxiety attack really entails. I don’t know what it is like to be a slave to an addiction. I don’t know—but I care.
At the beginning of my internship with TWLOHA, I questioned seriously if I belonged here. How could I do anything to help others if I didn’t know exactly what it was like to walk through a fight within my own mind? It seemed like everyone else I worked with had gone through something so much bigger than them. They could offer firsthand experience and advice to anyone who asked for it. But how could I ask people to seek counseling when I had never walked into a counselor’s office in my life? How could I share in someone else’s pain when I had never felt it to that degree? I felt like I was an outsider to this experience I could never truly understand. And yet, I was here. And I cared about our cause more than anything. There had to be a reason, there had to be a purpose.
We talk a lot about our stories here, almost constantly. I know the stories of each one of my roommates. If you ask them to tell theirs, they know exactly where to start. “This is what I battled, this is how I fought, this is how I got here.” That’s how it goes. I listen, and I listen. But I never consider myself a storyteller, too. I have always assumed I had nothing to speak of—until I thought long and hard about why I am here and why I left everything to devote my life to this cause this fall.
I am a storyteller, because of the characters who share my journey with me. Early in my life, I developed an identity as a listener and a confidant. It was my instinct to leave my heart open and let anyone rest there if they needed to. I approached every relationship with a hunger to learn people. I learned happiness and hope, but I also learned a lot more about pain and fear.
I am thankful for the pain I learned. By being allowed to know the whole of a person, I can take a chance and fight with them. I treasure each wall I have seen broken down. I hold each story I have heard as a part of my own. They are the most delicate and precious gifts I can ever hope to receive. Knowing the truth and honesty of those around me also means they are healing, and they are trusting me to be in their corner. There is nothing in this life I value more than that. Nothing.
My purpose here is to show people that you don’t necessarily have to encounter these issues directly to be involved in the fight against them. You can still show people who are struggling that they need to give others a chance to fight alongside them. You both deserve to know each other, to know what the other is feeling.
For those of you who are afraid of being a burden to others, especially to those who you think might not understand: I urge you to reconsider. Honesty and truth will strengthen your relationships more than silence ever can. A fake smile will never bring you closer to healing than the embrace of a friend. You are giving a gift by writing your story into the stories of others. You are giving them the chance to love you and to learn from that love.
I know what it is like to love someone with depression. I know the feeling of hugging a friend who struggles through self-injury. I know the experience of watching a family member fight through an anxiety attack. I know what it is like to see someone battle with an addiction. I know the pain of hearing that someone I love would try to end his or her own life. But I have also seen people, in each of these situations, embrace and live in recovery. This has made my relationships meaningful, significant, and true. This has made me care about speaking up and breaking walls.
I care. I am here, because I care.
— Andrea, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern

Friday, December 27, 2013

*Priorities

When someone bound to the life of a nursing home says that all they really need to live is Church & their family, you really begin to rethink your priorities.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

"The Golden Moments"

The Golden Moments.

  • Posted on: 11 December 2013
  • By: Brandi Mathis
One of my absolute favorite things in the entire world is that time just prior to sunset, when the sun gives everything this deep and warm golden hue. It doesn’t matter what season it is or what is going on in the world, in those brief golden moments, everything looks perfect, and beautiful, and timeless.
These moments stop me in my tracks. They demand my attention in such a way that I can’t help but pause for a minute and be free of the stress and confusion of life. They are moments that follow me wherever I go, moments that make the world seem a little smaller.
As my internship with To Write Love On Her Arms comes to an end, and I begin to look to the next chapter of life, these times become increasingly valuable. This semester has been, in its own way, like one of those golden moments. It has been beautiful, and wonderful, and a much-needed break from the life I was pursuing back in Kansas. It has been a period that required reflection, and meditation, and intentionality.
This semester has been one of the best of my life. Silly fun like visiting all four Disney parks in one day. Seeing manatees and my first lighthouse. Singing loudly and dancing in the car at stop lights. Bonding over family and community dinners. Late night walks to the beach. Sharing in the lives and stories, victories and triumphs of supporters who message us. These are moments that stand out in my mind as some of the happiest I have ever known. Moments I can pinpoint in my memory and say with confidence have changed my perspective on life.
But the entire semester wasn’t always moments of laughter and happiness. There were moments of stress, and pain, and longing. There were nights I spent lying on the floor of the kitchen or the living room of the intern house, crying with conflicting emotions. There was the day I broke down at the office because I had sent important emails to the wrong recipients. There were uncomfortable talks, and reality checks, and the moments of dread as I watched the numbers in my bank account steadily get lower. And most recently, there is the stress of trying to figure out how to return to everyday life—how to make loved ones back home understand how this semester has been much more than just an internship. It has been a season of learning and growing professionally, but even more so, a season of growing personally.
The things I have learned about myself since that first day in late August are immeasurable. I have learned to take breaks when my mind is overwhelmed by the tasks at hand. I’ve learned that it is OK to be vulnerable and ask for help when I need it. I have seen the power of the written word, as it reaches and connects people from all walks of life. But possibly most importantly, I have come to terms with my ongoing battle with depression, and I have made the decision to step back into a counselor’s office in the New Year.
Like those golden moments, this semester was always meant to be temporary. But I forget that. I get completely caught up in the moment, captivated by life. When I pause to admire those golden moments of sunlight, I don’t think about the end, that the sun will set and the world will grow cool and dark. I bask in those moments which seem eternal, and that is how I want this semester to be. But though I am sad to leave, I am also excited and content. I am excited to apply the things I have learned here to my life and relationships back home; I am content because the beauty of these moments is not confined to their brevity. 

"You are ready for this."

You Are Ready For This.

  • Posted on: 5 December 2013
  • By: Jessica Cooney
You don’t have to convince me that change can be scary. I cling to the comfort of tradition. I fall in love with places and people and never feel quite ready to leave them. Major changes in my life have brought uncertainty, questions, and even tears. This part of me is the reason my annual family vacation to Maine is the most important part of my year. It’s the reason I woke up crying on the day of my college graduation. It’s the reason I’m overly sentimental, nostalgic, and always ready to reminisce about the memories I hold so close to my heart.
But there’s another part of me that is never content in the places where I’ve grown so comfortable. This part of me is always searching for something new and exciting. This part of me is the reason I joined my high school indoor track team as a thrower, even though I had never touched a shot put in my life. It’s the reason I studied abroad in Australia. It’s the reason I stepped into a counselor’s office for the first time. It’s the reason I am here in Florida.
I constantly struggle to find balance between these sides. But in the end, I want to grow, learn, and make myself better … so I choose to be uncomfortable.
Six months ago, I graduated from college. I didn’t stop crying for two days. I wasn’t just hesitant to graduate; I was terrified. Endicott College was my home, my friends were my family, and my hobbies and passions were so wrapped up in that campus that I wasn’t sure I could remember who I was outside of it. I was a mess.
As much as I wanted to avoid the discomfort of change, it wasn’t possible. So, after a few days at home, I started to look for my next step. I knew I was going to be uncomfortable either way, so I actively chose to step outside of my comfort zone. I applied for jobs and internships I really wanted, but didn’t think I would ever get.
By what seemed like a miracle at the time, I found myself here, at To Write Love On Her Arms, an internship that perfectly combined the passions I wasn’t sure I’d ever find a way to utilize again. Moving to Florida to live in a house with people I didn’t know was scary, but listening to the side of myself that wanted to be pushed out of my comfort zone was worth it. I learned, once again, that discomfort is where you grow and become better.
So now, six months later, I find myself in a position very similar to the one I was in when I graduated. About to leave behind a place and a group of people I’ve come to love. Completely unsure about what the future holds. Dealing with the real world struggles of finding a job that feels meaningful, and paying off loans, and finding time to see people I care about. Yes, I’m a little scared. It’s definitely uncomfortable, but I am going to use this discomfort to push me toward my next great adventure.
So I challenge you to take your next step with me. Maybe it’s a conversation you need to have or a question you need to ask. Maybe it’s applying for that dream job or internship. Maybe it’s asking for help—or asking someone else if they need help. These things are uncomfortable, but more often than not, they’re worth it.
Step outside of your comfort zone, and you might find hope. You might find healing.
Believe me: You are strong enough. You are ready for this.
—Jessica Cooney
Fall 2013 TWLOHA Intern