The best post I will ever post in all of posting-dom

If you're my facebook friend you know that I HAVE A NEPHEW!!!!!
His name is William Scott Bennit. Let me show you the first pic I ever saw of him and then I will tell you a story filled with pictures.

Here's a part of the story. Two weeks ago I was reading before sleep and got a phone call at 10:30 from my brother-in-law, which was odd b/c it was so late. I'd had this feeling for a week or so, but I didn't wanna say anything to anyone, but I didn't wanna say anything b/c you know...
Brian told me to hang on a sec so that he could get Julie Rae on the line. Then they went back and forth about who was gonna tell me. At this point I'm thinking to myself JUST TELL ME THAT I HAVE A NIBLING, ALREADY!! Somehow I knew.
Julie told me that I had a nephew, that he was 8lbs 8 oz and 20 inches long. I'm sobbing so hard that I'm gasping for breath, I'm like HYPER. VENTILATING.
Why? might you ask. My sister wasn't pregnant. She and Brian have had fertility issues in their 8 years of marriage. So this was a zero to 100 deal. She's the only sibling that's married, and the other three of us do as Mormons do and don't do anything before marriage.

I got to meet him the next day.

SO. MUCH. ANTICIPATION.

I had totally lost it at this point. How could I not? I love him so much.

Because he's the best.

I went from not being an aunt to meeting my nephew in a 14 hr span.

William is Brian's middle name. Scott is after my brother and Brian's brother, Brent Scott, who passed away two years ago. Bennit is my mom's dad's name.


Julie and Brian have had so much heartache that they only told a few people that they'd been selected by the birth parents--not even their siblings knew. Here's the kicker: THEY found out 18 days before William was born. The birth parents wanted to be sure. William was born about three weeks before the estimated birth date, too. Although the doctors are positive that the date was wrong b/c he shows signs of being full term.

William with his momma.

More pictures you say? Here we go:

William going home.

William and a binky!

A couple of Fridays William got to go home with his parents, and I got to go over that night to hang out with him again. There were three of us (now FOUR!) in Georgia, so I'm kinda spoiled with my William time.

When he's fussing a bit all you have to do is rub a couple of fingers across his forehead and he calms right down. It's like magic.

Wait! You want videos? I can provide.

That was the first video I ever took of him. We were chilling in the nursery at the hospital.

Oh? You wanna see him yawn? OK.

I think that maybe that's enough for one blog post. I'm sure I will post about how I got to babysit him a few days later and will share the poopsplosion story.


OK, one last picture:

I love him so much.

unless you're a ballerina

Tonight I decided to do a hard thing that I'd been avoiding and it reminded me of something else.

A couple of weeks back I drew a couple of pictures for a letter that I sent my cousin in the MTC to try and help make my point clear about decisions we make in life. I was trying to say that sometimes we think of big decisions being HUGE but we forget all that leads up to those decisions. So I used 1st Nephi 8 as my example:

The iron rod is continuous. We can make decisions one after another, even if they're our own decisions and not blatant THUS-SHALL-IT-BE ones from the Spirit. The mucky river is much farther away than we sometimes feel. On top of that, if we make a choice that isn't the best, the iron rod is closer to us than is the stupid misery river. 

I've realized in my life that sometimes I think of these "big" decisions and see abysses at the edge of some faith cliff. I mean, what if I don't jump far enough? My long jumping skills aren't legendary at all.

I forget all of the the seemingly inconsequential choices that I've made that have led me to the spot I'm in and how I was able to make those decisions. I forget how when I made a less-than-stellar choice, I was able to correct course. I forget how Heavenly Father has never seen me make a sketchier choice without offering me a hint on how to get back to a better path.
I'm like AHHHHH!!!! CHASMS!!!!!!

But, no, life isn't really like that, even if it feels that way--and sometimes it feels that way a lot. Sometimes I think that the "walking into the darkness" kind of faith is actually just believing that there isn't actually a chasm beneath me. Oh! this totally reminds me of that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.


Anyway, I don't think we have to leap chasms, per se. But I think if you're a ballerina, you could probably do it just fine:

Suprised that I feel like

I'm not gonna lie, I'm really surprised that I feel like I should share this. I don't quite know how to present it, so I'm hoping it's not too disjointed. This post will probably end up touching on a lot of different topics that I've mentioned before on my blog and on Facebook.

I've had a few realizations and paradigm shifts in the last while that have really changed the way I view my body, myself and the topic of modesty. If you've seen my posts on facebook and the links I've shared, my opinions on modesty are obviously strong. I've decided to describe at least part of the reason why, and I'm not gonna hold back.

When I was a teenager I wore lots of baggy clothing. Part of the reason why is that it was lazily comfortable. Another reason is that I was ashamed of my body. I felt awkward (I mean, what teenager doesn't). But my breasts weren't small and they weren't huge, but I didn't like them b/c maybe attention could be drawn to them. They were sexual and we were supposed to cover that up. With this comes the whole hogwash of "Sisters help the brothers," and all of that nonsense. My body was daily betraying me, so I wore shirts two sizes too big. I didn't understand how to be feminine and I thought that if I were too feminine it'd be sinful anyway.

When I went on my mission at age 21 it was the first time that I got a wardrobe that was more form fitting. It's kinda hard to get away from that as a missionary that's supposed to look representable. No more XL t-shirts and baggy jeans and khakis.

If you've read my blog since last September, you know that my mission trainer molested me. Part of her grooming involved making fun of my breasts, focusing on them. She was a woman, so it didn't compute that it could be a "bad" thing. She'd reword hymns in Portuguese to make fun of them. She'd tell me that Brazilian men wouldn't be interested in them b/c they were all about the butt. She was fascinated by them and it was one of her main focuses in the abuse.

The reason why I explained all of that is that it'll make sense when I say that if I hated my breasts and body before my mission, it was nothing compared to after. If only I'd had a smaller chest, she wouldn't have been interested. It was my fault. My stupid breasts. Without being fully aware of what I was doing and certainly not understanding why, I started physically harming my breasts. I don't know when it started. It was sometime in the middle of the last decade I think. But I have some scars. sometimes what I did wouldn't leave scars b/c I never went very deep, but sometimes scars were inevitable. I even have scars from where my sensitive skin reacted to the bandaids that I was using to help the wounds heal.

I have scars in a couple of other places where she would commonly molest me, as well, and I particularly hated those parts of my body, too. None of this is visible no matter what clothing I wear. But the hatred and disgust for these parts of my body didn't hold a candle to the animus that I felt for my breasts.

I had been taught proper shame for my body by society, school and religion. Well--not the proper way my religion should be taught, but the cultural way things were passed on.

Years ago I had a roommate that told me that I should wear V-necks. At first I was terrified b/c what if I showed off too much? Terrible things had already happened. But she was like, "You'll look great in them!" I trusted her. I now have a multitude of V-necks because I gained confidence in my body thru her confidence in my body.

Obviously things really tanked a couple of Novembers ago when I realized what had happened to me. My utterly disgusting, revolting body, breasts. Being a feminine woman is part of my problem. I shouldn't be. I should hide myself.

Scottie gave me a blessing two Christmases ago that I call my second patriarchal blessing. In it I was told to glory in my womanhood, to essentially not be afraid of it and I was like, I don't get that at all. o_O

I do now. The more I've healed emotionally, the more I've healed physically. Sometimes I dress more feminine now b/c I like it. It's part of me. Sometimes I wear cargo shorts and a t-shirt and a ball cap b/c that's me, too. I wear makeup. I experiment with it. I am utterly NOT ashamed of my décolletage. I wear clothes that emphasize my cleavage and other attributes of my body.

So what changed? I love my body. My body isn't something to be ashamed of. It isn't something I should cover for the sake of others. It isn't the reason why I was molested.

Yesterday on facebook a good friend asked me what my personal definition of modesty was. I thought for a sec and this is what I wrote:

How would I personally define modesty? hmmm, well, first I need to say that it's taken me a while to really understand it and the biggest step was learning to love my body the way it is. I'm pretty normal body-wise and I'm actually really grateful for that. The second step in my understanding was to not be afraid or ashamed of being feminine. I know that this isn't a step for everyone, but it is/was for me. In this regard I realized that wearing clothing that accentuated my features wasn't immodest, but was simply flattering. Wearing clothing that emphasized my décolletage wasn't immodest. I was confusing a shame of my feminine body parts with modesty.

So I would say that I now understand modesty to be a person wearing clothes with no shame of their body. I naturally would cover my body with more fabric than someone else would, b/c that's me. But that doesn't make me more "modest."

 I think modesty at its strongest and most essential is about self appreciation and love.

I know that this post is long and I covered some rough stuff in my life. But these realizations are so important to me. Once I realized what I was doing to my breasts and body, attacking it, and why I was doing it, I began to heal. I haven't gouged my breasts or hurt them in any way in four or five months. It's the longest stretch, I think, since it started happening. I'm not saying that I'm magically cured, because things like this can be cyclical. But I feel better.

On Monday Therapist asked me about my body and I told her that I loved it, even with the scars. The scars now show me how far I've come.
I truly do love my body.

lucky in the grand scheme of stuff

This afternoon I was thinking about how lucky I am in the grand scheme of things. I mean, something absolutely shitty happened to me on my mission that messed me up incredibly and slowly dragged me down over the years. But once I realized what happened and started telling people and looking for help, I've never been denied it. In fact, EVERYONE has been loving and supportive. No one has ever doubted me, it's always been an immediate jump to belief and support. When I've needed something or have finally admitted that I'm not doing well, family and/or friends have jumped to me to support me.

How many people in my situation can say that? How many people in my situation get told the fault is theirs? How many people get rumors spread about them? Seriously, how many people end up dealing with stuff that is potentially more mentally and emotionally damaging than the sexual abuse/assault/rape they suffered.

But I have felt nothing but love and support--love and support that has been so overwhelming at times I've dropped to my knees.

I was chatting with Heavenly Father about this earlier. I think my question was a bit rhetorical, b/c I haven't received an answer yet. Maybe it's too early in the game for the answer. All I know is the support and outpouring of love that I've felt, even from people commenting on this blog that I don't personally know, have lifted me so high, have been a gentle upward push helping me get past one painful moment after another.

I don't know why I'm so lucky, but there's no way to express my gratitude about this. Here's a linguist saying that words in any of the languages I know are completely inadequate to describe what the unwavering support has done for my once broken and now healing soul

Three things

that I've learned in the last 18 months of my recovery:

• We are more worthy than we realize.
• We are more loved than we realize.
• Heavenly Father is a dad.

Pecking Order of Survival

Someone asked me last week of Therapist had a timeline of when I'd be able to function more freely mentally for schoolwork and whatnot. I wish that I'd said that I'm actually ahead of schedule. Truth is that I will always be right where I need to be, even if that current place sucks. I mean, what else could I be doing?
About a day after I got that question, this piece from The Onion slid thru my tumblr dashboard. I found it very fitting. I showed it to Therapist, who loved it.

I don't really know how to do more than I'm doing. My schoolwork is not up to my standard. School is about survival right now, not success. I didn't envision my doctorate playing out like this. It's hard not to feel pathetic or weak. One friend pointed out that I'm doing awesome in character growth, in healing. Another friend said that I deserve a silver medal for all that I'm doing (I don't like yellow gold). Silver is my favorite.

I actually believe that this is true, which is big for me, of course. Unfortunately it's not gonna play out that way academically.

But I sit down and ask myself what's more important, my health or a college class? Previously I would've just sacrificed everything else for the grade. I can't do that anymore--like I am physically and mentally incapable of that option.

So I listen to Adele, Jackson Browne, The Avett Brothers, my friend's music to calm me down. I listen to Daft Punk's Tron when I simply can't think anymore. I paint. I write. I draw. I watch baseball. I talk to friends.

I deal weekly lately with various forms of panic attacks. Daily with anxiety now. Last Wednesday I hugged my dad goodbye as he's at Fort Benning now getting ready for a 5-month Red Cross stint in Afghanistan. I'll tell you just how well I'm doing about that. September 16, you need to come RIGHT NOW.

A friend suggested that I need a milestone for each of the 5 months that he's gone, something to look forward to. One will definitely be a Braves-Mets game in Atlanta. I've never seen my favorite team play in person. Maybe this will happen twice.


So I am left asking myself daily what's more important? What can I do today? How can I survive today? How can I thrive today? What can be just enough?

Sometimes I feel like saying eff everything. Some days I want a hardship withdrawal from life. Other days I feel like I might just make it.

What usually wins out is the idea that on the crappy days, another really good one will come soon and it'll be awesome and I will love it and I will be so happy.

I'm grateful for those happy days. I'm grateful for how they carry me thru the sucky days. I'm grateful for music. I'm grateful for friends and family. I'm grateful that my dad will most likely not leave the base for the 5 months he's in Afghanistan. I'm grateful for baseball and how it calms my soul. I'm grateful for sunlight that buoys me up. I'm grateful for art. I'm grateful for school b/c I would've collapsed without it over the last 18 months. I can't believe it's been a year and a half since I realized that I was molested.

I really am grateful for life. It's odd how much I do like life considering everything, I guess. Maybe it's not odd. I've had more wonderful by far than I've had terrible. I'm grateful for that, too.

Not Firsts During Spring Break

Going to the Lincoln Memorial

Going to the Jefferson Memorial

Going to the FDR Memorial

Chilling with Eleanor

Touching the ground where an ancestor would have been
Listening to Harry Potter audiobooks while driving on an interstate
Calling my grandma all excited because of some family history something that I found
Seeing the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights and Constitution
Going to the National Gallery

El Greco

Falling in love with 14th century Italian art

 

Paulus

Feeling transported by art

Seeing a da Vinci

Seeing a Rafael

Adoring Salvador Dalí's Last Supper
Feeling grateful for the brave people that have gone before me

Soldier at the Vietnam Memorial

Getting a sunburn/tan on my left arm from driving with the window down
Returning to get another look at a triptych

Hanging out with Chris

Laughing myself sick with my cousin Katie
Reminding myself that my cousins are the best cousins
Being reminded of why I love Jefferson's words

Feeling overwhelmed at a battlefield

Union cemetery at Marye's Heights, Fredericksburg

Statue erected by New Jersey vets at the Bloody Angle

Bloody Angle from a Union viewpoint

Closing my eyes just to listen and feel at a spot where an ancestor had been

Beaver Dam Lutheran Cemetery in NC, next to the plot of land where a church once stood where my ancestors worshiped

Williams Township, PA

East Angle, Spotsylvania Battlefield, VA

Prying myself away from someplace because I know that I have to leave
Correcting a random stranger about a fact of our country's history
Staring in awe at Lincoln, thinking of all he did

Reading the Gettysburg Address

Cemetery Hill, Gettysburg

Rereading the Gettysburg Address

Lincoln Memorial, DC

Taking pictures of wacko license plates

Hand Cart? Votes on whether or not the driver is Mormon?

Seeing someone touch a name at the Vietnam Memorial
Feeling my heart hurt at the Vietnam Memorial

Tearing up at a spot where one of my ancestors stood
Singing along loudly with my music in various languages
Eating pie (cheesecake) on π day

Firsts from Spring Break

Off the top of my head these are the firsts from my spring break:

Was in/drove in West Virginia and Delaware.
Ate pheasant.
Ate goober pea soup.
Ate pickled watermelon rind.
Went to Gettysburg, and pretty much everything I did there was a first since I'd never been there. It was powerful.

Little Round Top

Pickett's Charge, which effectively ended the Battle of Gettysburg and paved the way for the eventual Confederate loss.

The only monument to peace at Gettysburg

Went on a ghost tour (in Gettysburg).

Weeping Angel (not really, but I saw it on the ghost tour.)

Drove on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Gor.

Geous.

Went to a cemetery where an ancestor was buried (that isn't Spanish Fork Cemetery).

Beaver Dam Lutheran Cemetery

Christian Mauney, born 1741

Drove in Pennsylvania (I was on a train going thru once in 1997).
Went to a Pennsylvania township (where an ancestor lived). Grabbed some earth.

Willaims Township right across the river from New Jersey. The majority of this township is still quiet farmland. **love**

Ate Burmese food.
Ate Ethiopian food.
Saw the White House in real life.

Obama was even there. {SQUEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLL}

Went to the Martin Luther King, Jr. exhibit.
Saw the WWII Memorial.
Went to the Hirshhorn. Fell in love with Barbara Kruger.
Saw some Ai Weiwei.
Ate a pretzel in DC.

Ate a second pretzel in DC.
Walked to the Capitol Building and Supreme Court.
Went to the University of Maryland.
Drank Gettysburg sarsaparilla.
Went to Fredericksburg and walked thru the Union cemetery at the Marye's Heights.

Went to Spotsylvania battlefield, specifically the Bloody Angle or Mule Shoe.

Stood on the spot where an ancestor was taken prisoner of war.

The rolls in the dirt are the original earthworks that the South (and probably my 3X great grandpa) built to protect themselves at the battle.

Got some earth from the spot where he was taken prisoner of war.

Taken about 200 yards looking back at the spot where he was taken prisoner of war at the East Angle. If he had been at the Bloody Angle, he most likely would've died.

Ate crawfish.
Went to Petersburg.

Reconstruction from the Petersburg driving tour.

Saw the crater.

The collapsed earth where the Pennsylvania coal miners explosion went off.

The entrance to the tunnel that the Pennsylvania regiment full of coal miners built. They lit the fuse underground and created the crater about 150 yards away. It's crazy how close the armies were on the battlefields for days, weeks and months at a time.

Stood at the spot of the last major southern charge of the Civil War. 

Union Fort Stedman that was attacked by Lee's soldiers about a week before the final surrender. It was the last major attack by Lee's troops.

The spot where the Confederates fought back a Maine regiment that set off from Fort Stedman in the distance. The southerners also set off from this point when they took the fort.

Walked along a picket line where the South had built a wooden fence. (It was probably against the rules.)

I walked right in the middle of the picket line markers. The white sea shells mark the path.

Built a leprechaun trap.

Honey was poured into the jar and put on the lid. The leprechaun would jump on the clothespin releasing the thread, which would drop the lid. The honey would make it stick. Thus the honey-loving leprechaun would be trapped. I heard, though, that the leprechaun was too smart for it and it didn't work.

Visited a cousin at their university. (I was surprised that this was a first.)

Katie's going to be in Bulgaria by fall!

Went to the Cheerwine factory, which wasn't fascinating or anything, but was a pilgrimage, nonetheless.

I know there are more, so I'll keep adding when I remember.