There are times in life when I look around and feel nothing but peace and joy. The storm that rages inside me quiets momentarily. I have discovered these moments in nature. Away from the woes of the world. To sit still and observe. To become one with myself. At these moments I ponder what I am doing with my life and why I am not here all the time. Why I follow the path of society to work and settle, to have a family and stay in one spot of routine, to miss these quiet moments. 

The beauty flowing from nature sings a song to our souls. Its says come, sit, stay a while and breathe. Enjoy the moments and see what I have to offer you. Feel the sand on your feet, the breeze in your hair, the fresh air in your lungs, the heat of the sun on your skin, feel me and I will nourish you. I will fill you with vibrant colors and warmth. I will show you true love and beauty like nothing else can.

Nature allows the mind to ponder and reflect. To ask oneself questions it’s been holding onto and/or hiding. It frees us from our fears and gives us courage to live. Embracing the life cycle presented to us. To live. To see what we already have and what we are missing, but still be content with who we are. The memories of pain and sorrow can flood to the surface to remind us how deep our joy is. Realizing ignorance isn’t bliss- without the knowledge of sorrow this moment of pure joy would mean nothing to us. Contrast is needed.

Just as the city is to nature, sorrow is to joy. Regardless of where we are we can find the nature in the city and the joy in sorrow. We can feel our heart burst with happiness. We are a combination of intricate details. We feel to know true happiness. 


AfghanistanI don’t typically consider myself a bitter person. However, I got a massage the other day and as the masseuse was moving over my body we talked about the knots, tight and swollen parts of my body.  I enjoy the process of learning about myself through my body and others’ eyes. The masseuse explained what each painful body part was associated with for emotions. Muscles hold emotions hence physical healing can equate to emotional healing and vice versa. A lot of what she told me were things I already considered and thought about, but bitterness caught me off guard.

My masseuse suggested I start writing down when I can remember being bitter possibly starting with the first time I can remember. My first instinct was to say I’m not bitter. I have made peace with my life and forgiven, but then I started to think. And here I am.

The first times I really remember being bitter is 5th grade. I was probably bitter before then, but can’t recall. I wanted to play on a competition basketball team and the coach had put a team together without me. I don’t know if it was so much bitterness or simply questioning why they wouldn’t pick me to be on the team. I wanted to play. Eventually I did. Eventually I became really good. Eventually I got over it.

The next time I can recall being bitter is in 7th grade when teenage girls were teenage girls. The typical ‘one day we will speak to you, the next we won’t’ or ‘ we are all friends except with her today’ drama. Again I feel like this exclusion caused more hurt than pain. Pain potentially turned to bitterness. I am friends with many of those same girls and I don’t think this really caused any bitterness or animosity.

Maybe the first time I felt turn bitterness is 8th grade when I kissed a boy for a dollar on the bus. He was pronounced amazing and a stud. I got called a dollar-whore. The double standard of men and women’s roles in society had never been so real or prevalent until that kiss. This is when I learned there is no such thing as equality. I am bitter over this.

The next thing I remember being bitter about is when my best friend convinced me to dump the boy I had been in love with for years. Because she didn’t like him. The next week they were dating. I’m also bitter my first true sexual experience. I was used and discarded by the group of guys I had been really good friends with for years. I was the girl in the group and not one of the guys like I thought.

I remember walking with Amber to meet a guy and some friends during the summer. I looked at her and said please don’t leave me alone with this guy. We had met him the day prior and he scared me. She left me with him within minutes of meeting up with everyone. He took advantage of the situation and raped me. I’m not bitter over the rape. I am bitter over the fact  I asked my friend to stay with me and she abandoned me without any thought or hesitation.

I was bitter as a freshman basketball player when I rarely got to play Varsity. I thought I was better than some of the Varsity girls and I wanted to play.

I remember being bitter that I never fit in with the girls I played ball with. I was never pretty enough, feminine enough, I was never the “it” girl. I wasn’t the girl the boys were interested in.

Being bitter over never getting the recognition I deserved for sports. Always being the person in the background.

I was bitter over how the guys in college treated me. I was never their equal and they would create drama for fun between the girls. I remember putting in hard work and being shit on for it. Come to find out later the guys got away with things by doing the professor’s papers for graduate school.

I am bitter my husband used me. He manipulated the situation and treated me like a bank roll rather than someone important. I always worked harder and did more to help us. I am bitter he died by suicide.

I am bitter that my in-laws got his life insurance and left me with all his/our debt and the cost of his funeral. I am bitter his family treated me like shit and then his grandparents went on a mission. They had the audacity to do his temple work without informing me or getting my permission. I am bitter I am held accountable for his actions. I am bitter I am damaged because of him, I am hurt and cautious.

I am bitter I never meet guys who are interested in me that are what I want. I am tired of being treated like I’m unvalued and unimportant. I am tired of being a peice of ass that hasn’t been loved. I am bitter I have loved endlessly while not being loved back. I am bitter I can give so much of myself to others and receive nothing in return.

I am bitter I have to fight for common sense. That stupid people are allowed to take command and make poor decision without repercussion. I am bitter I am punished for having values and morals.

I am bitter I have to wait patiently and feel incomplete, unwhole.

I am bitter.

Intent to love

I never stood a chance. His charm drew me in like a hot summer day. He could spin a tale leaving you in amazement. His ideas, soft, hard, were endless. The tingling he left in the pit of my stomach when he smiled my way with blue eyes holding a secret only we knew would leave me dizzy for days. I never stood a chance. The truth is- his eyes held secrets only he knew. Secrets unfair to share and leave on anyone.

I had what he wanted. I was so full of dreams and life. I had family full of love and care. A dream he never had. Stability. I never questioned where I belonged because I always belonged. Any group I approached I adapted like a chameleon, full of confidence, as if I had always been one of them. My life was full of possibilities. Thoughts of I couldn’t do something or I would ever fail, never registered in my mind. I was the life he wanted.

There were signs. HUGE, RED SIGNS, but I loved him and I was an endless romantic. I believed in the best of everyone. I had no idea the cruelty of humanity. I think he was happy for a while- to be loved without conditions. However, he didn’t know how to love in return. You can’t love someone else when you don’t love yourself. He tried. God knows, he tried. He couldn’t unlearn years of abandonment and hurt; conditions and pain. He did his best, in moments there was true love. Moments when he held me in his arms and I knew we loved each other. Moments he was my everything and he could love because he saw glimpses of loving himself.

In the end the glimpses weren’t enough to undo the damage that had been done. Moments can’t undo years of wrong. Moments, however, can leave years worth of scarring. Now I live with the pain of ending dreams and knowing how cruel people can be. I can’t see anything but red flags. My guard is up so high, it takes years to tear down and moments to put it back up. I don’t feel safe with people because people are cruel.

Widow vs. Divorced

onewayDSCF4475Alot of people try to empathize and show their support when you are a widow. One of the easiest ways for others to relate is through divorce. While this seems harmless, the feeling of someone trying to compare the death of your loved one to their divorce can feel insulting. People will do this, try to think of it as their best intentions: people are trying their best to relate to you the best they know how. Unless someone has lost their significant other they just can’t.

An analogy that a friend told me was divorce is similar to breaking your arm while being a widow(er) is having an arm amputated. Loss and emotional trauma happen in both situations. While the break might seem minor compared to the amputation, they both have a major impact on life. I’d like to break down differences and things you can expect to have people compare and potentially give you a chance to think about how you could respond to these incidents. Keep in mind that each divorcees and widow(er)s experience is different.


Many divorces end in conflict. Many deaths happen unexpectedly. This difference leaves a different psychological effect. I’m not saying every widow had a happy marriage, but it was ended by death not by a contract. Widows had no negotiations regarding possessions and children. They were left to take care of everything. Regardless, both end up hurt, in pain, and have a feeling of loss. While divorcees might relate to a feeling of loss, it is different because there is still the potential for a rekindling of a relationship with someone who is alive. It is not a contest for who feels pain the most, but there is loss and pain for everyone involved in both situations. Be kind; you know what loss feels like to an extreme level, but that doesn’t give you the right to discount others loss.


Children are affected by both divorce and death. Differences may seem obvious, but some are not. In both situations the child went from dual partnership to single parenthood. While divorced parents may have to pay alimony, split the time with their ex, and live in a specific state due to court decree, widows often feel they have to be both parents. They might feel responsible for finding a suitable “new parent” to help take care of the kids and have a role model. They are now the sole parent and have all child raising decisions. This can be overwhelming and difficult. Also the child might remind the parent of the deceased; thus the relationship can end up more connected to fear of losing the child as well.


There is no chance of touching the deceased again. They are gone. Their physical presence in the world no longer exists. Both Widows and divorcees go through a sense of grief. Everyone responds differently. Some lose weight, others gain weight, some physically stop functioning. Both can suffer from depression and stress. Both take a significant toll on the body.

Getting back out there

Divorcees might be excited to get back out there and start dating, though that is not always the case. Widows usually are a little more cautious. Feelings of guilt and cheating on the deceased are not uncommon. Dating can be very uncomfortable and awkward. However, both haven’t dated in a long time, will struggle, and be awkward for the first little bit. Validate and support each other.

The main point is yes, they are different, but it is unnecessary to need to one up the other. Support and validate each other. Everyone has gone through pain it is not a contest. Just be aware that people will try to compare. When this happens try to understand where they are coming from and have an open minded conversation about each others experience.

God is Cruel

Bodies of PompeiiI looked at my phone and pulled up a note I had written when I first started going to back to church approximately two years ago. The title is My Truths, and the first note simply reads “I do not believe in God, or if he exists he is cruel.” I believe in God, therefore he must be cruel. I have just reasons for believing God to be cruel, though my reason now is very different from what it was– Sometimes the best way to be kind is to be cruel.

Now you might argue God is all loving and kind; therefore, it is impossible for him to be cruel–it does not make sense. Let me stop you there and point out, he sacrificed his son- our brother- in the most excruciating way possible. Jesus suffered. The bible is rot with trials and pain. Constant stories of prophets and people asked to do unimaginable acts that bring much suffering. We are here to suffer. If you say otherwise I want to ask you what puts you above Christ that he may suffer while you do not?

You are probably wondering what someone like me– full of bleak ideas of God– is doing in church. What have I been through, at such a young age–28, to give me such a devastating view of our Father, God? A lot of hurt, pain and suffering. I think if I have been given such a handful at this age I do not want to know catastrophic events I have been prepared for in the future. At the same time- I know I am capable of surviving whatever comes my way and that is key.

The things we suffer force us to grow and become resilient. They strengthen us. Last testimony meeting, I had an individual revelation, per se. As others bore their hearts about how the last year, last month, last week had been the hardest in their lives. I realized the last year has been the easiest I have had in over a decade. The last year has been trivial in the scheme of my life, It has created room for me to breath, process and heal. I have had the opportunity to reflect and approach painful memories.

As I reflect, I realize I have had a very different path from most of you. I have suffered and paid dearly through discrimination, bullying, harassment, physical and mental abuse.  I have been hurt repeatedly. What I have had wrong to this point, is this does not separate me, but gives me more in common with all of you. It allows me to be more empathic and understanding. It allows me to listen without judgement to culture, stigmas, and stereotypes.

What is hard for me to overcome is the anxiety of connections creates for me. I am well aware that I appear intimidating and unapproachable. I use this to my advantage to keep my distance. It has kept me safe from further pain and hurt. However, this last year has allowed me enough wiggle room to slowly open up and create small cautious friendships. I have slowly become less defensive. While I still have a massive wall in place and am very closed off I am slowly allowing others a ladder to see into my safe space.

Where does God come into play? God has allowed me to suffer for my own development. Life was not meant to be easy. If it were, we would have followed Lucifer’s plan of salvation, instead of Christs. We suffer so we may have empathy for others, we may feel joy, and have understanding. We suffer that we know we can overcome the next trial in our life because we have suffered something much worse before and if we have not, when we make it through our future will be easier. He has been cruel to be kind.

It’s Taboo. Period.


This photo by Rupi Kaur (@rupikaur_) was removed from from Instagram because of “Period Blood”

It’s the most hated time for everyone. The New Scarlet Moon. The Monthly Spin Cycle. Nature’s Shark Week. For the single guys reading this, I’m talking about menstruation, PMS. One of the most taboo subjects in male society after mammograms and the “women poop too” conversation.

Having been there, I understand the apprehension. Guys don’t have the bodily monthly maintenance that women do (probably explains why we change the oil on our trucks). Looking back it doesn’t make sense why men, and society in general, view periods as such a frightening and taboo subject.

PeriodRecently, periods have become more mainstream. Tampon and Midol commercials are more prevalent, especially when you watch lifetime or gossip girl, sitcoms address it more, and Facebook abounds with memes about heroic guys buying tampons and chocolate for their significant others (single guys take note; if/when you get a girlfriend and she’s on her period, buy her Midol, tampons, and her favorite pastry. It’ll give you more credit than buying flowers “just because”). While the popularization and familiarization of periods is a good start, the stereotypical response from men is revulsion and vile. In part because it’s humorous to do so based upon pop-culture and the reaction of our mothers when Tampax promotes their structurally superior product on TV. It’s as if we’ve conditioned ourselves as a society to view PMS as embarrassing, therefore we sweep the “problem” under the rag- I mean rug. Like masturbating and pooping, all women menstruate.

What is it that makes uterine blood so revolting, that conversations about it are considered rude and inappropriate? Take it a step further, what is it that scares some guys shitless? It’s blood. It happens. Who gives a shit?

Please comment if you have any Taboo Period moments you would like to share.

If you appreciated this it was contributed by my dear friend Matt from

I’m a Slut

 I have sex. I have sex, a lot. I think the general term for me is slut. You might as well add in Bitch too. I get called a lot of names now that I think about it… Whore.Skank. Dirty ho.Tramp. and the list goes on. I fully admit when I was younger it use to bother me; now it just makes me laugh. Society and expectations: a guy can sleep around for days and its “good job, bro.” Me, I sleep with one guy before I’m married and it’s a scandal. I suppose if there’s a scandal it would behoove me to give everyone something outside the ordinary to talk about, right?

Really there isn’t a scandal here. I just enjoy sex and I’m a girl, therefore I have sex. A lot of sex. I sleep with a handful of guys. I am not “in love” with any of them. I simply enjoy having their hard cock pounding inside of me until I orgasm. There is something spectacular about having my muscles contract and losing control in the moment without a care in the world. Call me a sinner, but when I have an itch, I scratch.

You must think something is wrong with me. I must have been sexually abused or molested. Was I raped? I must have had an abusive relationship or be addicted to drugs. The answer to all of these is no. The no is probably why I love sex so much. I chose to lose my virginity when I wanted, with the guy I wanted. He was sweet and gentle. A month later I slept with someone else and my sexual prowess grew from there. Where had this amazing feeling been? There were so many sensations I didn’t know about or hadn’t had. I wanted to know and explore every crevice of sex. My mind always reeling from the last encounter. Ok, maybe that was an exaggeration. I haven’t always had mind-blowing sex. Some partners blow. I did however learn that every new person I slept with did something different and the more people I slept with the more I learned and experienced.

Maybe I am a dirty tramp, but I love what I’m doing and I’m not looking for your acceptance anyway. I don’t need your approval. So while you are busy judging me right now. I am cock deep in bliss. You haven’t even crossed my mind. No, I’m not sad and depressed the guy I slept with last night didn’t call me back or want a relationship- hell, I didn’t even give him my real name or my number. I’m not the girl who wants to settle down. I’m the girl you call for a good time. Actually, I call you at 2 in the morning for the good time. Or if you’re a girl and you’re reading this I’m the person you wish you could be, but too confined by your own fears and social judgment to say “Fuck it; I’m going to do what I want because I enjoy”