the road to here

I'm struck by the cumulative effect my one words have had over the years, each somehow building on the one(s) before it. The depth, breadth, and width of what I've gleaned comes with me into each new year, strengthening and expanding the significance of my new word and impacting my experience with it. It kind of boggles my mind how that works...

2010: Risk

My world had just shattered out from under me and I was surrounded by nothing but unknowns. I knew I needed to risk big in the area of active trust. I leaned into intentionally trusting God, others, and myself more—one of the greatest risks of my life.

2011: Look

In a season when I couldn't readily see God's goodness in my life, I knew I had to proactively look for it. A piece of me still trusted (or at least hoped) that He was there, working, and that if I actually opened my eyes to look for Him, I would see Him. And I ended up finding Him in the most wonderfully unexpected places.

2012: Choose

I've learned that, most of the time, I don't have much control over my circumstances. But I do have control over myself. No matter what happens to me, how others treat me, what situation I find myself in, or how out of control things feel, I purposed to focus on the only thing I have control over: how I choose to respond.

2013: Enough

My insecurities tend to convince me that I'm "too little"—that I'm simply not enough—or that I'm "too much"—a burden, an inconvenience. Embracing my enoughness meant learning to silence quiet my insecurities, fears, and expectations. It meant extending more grace to myself and living with more gratitude, recognizing that what (and who) I have, is enough. I am not too little or too much. I am not less than or more than. I am simply enough. And that's all I need to be.

2014: Brave

My lens became this question: How different would things be if I approached each situation, each person, with bravery? My determination to be brave was a choice to embrace who I am, value my own voice, and walk in confidence. Even now, I can still hear Sara Bareilles in my head: "Show me how big your brave is."

2015: Wholehearted

I can blame my decision to be more wholehearted on Brené Brown. (If you haven't read her, you need to.) It was an intentional choice to show up for my own life; to be all-in; to give myself permission to be my real self. I leaned into living and loving with my whole heart.

2016: Badassery

My word this year certainly feels like a divergence from the style and tone of my previous ones. When asked what my word is, I still can't answer with a completely straight face. (Typically served with a side dish of disclaimers.) But it's very much a continuation of this transformative journey my words have taken me on.

But more on that later...

beginning again: on my #oneword365

I finished 2015 much like I did the years before it: seemingly crawling to the finish line, ready to kick the year to the curb. 2015 was challenging in all sorts of ways — some old and expected, others new and unanticipated.

I've seen this gif floating around The Internets:

And it always makes me think: Yep. That pretty much sums up my year.

Heh.

Despite the bumps and bruises, I see good and growth and health in the past twelve months.

I'd chosen one word to focus on all year: wholehearted. And I see the ways I leaned into living more wholeheartedly, even when it was hard and even when it came with serious heartache.

Living and loving wholeheartedly led me back to a therapist's couch, to dig in deep and keep working on the brokenness that is me. It opened my heart to love again, to let people in, to dream about the future like I haven't in years, to cling to hope. It forced me to advocate for myself, to risk vulnerably in relationships, to hold my heart in my hands and extend it to another, without knowing what they might do with it. It's what elbowed me to pursue a new treatment for my heart condition and what nudged me to get back on antidepressants. It's the reason I've cried so much this year; it's also the reason I've laughed so much this year. I've lived and I've loved and I've lost, and I've done it all with more wholeheartedness than ever before.

So even though I've been knocked down a time or two (or twelve), I know I am a whole lot stronger and healthier today than I was a year ago.

And maybe that's the best I can ever hope for out of a year.

Maybe that's more than enough.

We find ourselves here again now, in the beginning moments of a brand new year.

And I can't help but wish there was something magical about January 1st.

I wish that things would be better/different/new simply because we've crossed into 2016. But sadly, life doesn't work that way. Challenges don't begin and end with the calendar; heartsoreness doesn't dissipate at midnight amid the kisses and fireworks and shouts of "Happy New Year!"

If only...

Yet even I, with my jaded cynicism, can admit to there being something significant about the new calendar year.

Even if it's just a placebo effect, there is an undeniable opportunity to start fresh. To begin again. To embrace new mercies. To get up from the mat, brush myself off, and determine to try again.

So that a year from now I can say I'm stronger and healthier than I am today.

I don't start this year with a long list of goals or resolutions — my own history has proven that those don't work for me. I lose sight too quickly, I fall short too fast, I forget my list in 4 weeks (if that), and ultimately end up feeling like a failure.

No lists for me. All I've got in my pocket as I begin this new year is one word.

This year I'm choosing to live with more badassery. It's a continuation of my wholehearted journey — just with more spunk, boldness, and grit. I'm learning to value myself, to figure out what I want and go after it, to not be swayed by others' opinions, to live all-in more deliberately and vulnerably...

Badassery. I'm thrilled/terrified to see where this word leads me and how it shapes me.

To be honest, I've been petrified to even say it out loud on The Interwebs. Because... @$$. And because... judgey people. And because... I care far too much what people think. The irony isn't lost on me: It's taking badassery to declare badassery as my word for the year. So I'm stepping up to the plate.

Oy vey.

The adventure has begun. Here goes...everything.

What about you?

Whether you feel like you're starting 2016 from a position of strength or weakness, only good can come from choosing now to lean into this year with intentionality.

Who do you want to be? What do you want to focus on?

Choose one word and join me on the One Word 365 journey this year.

What's your One Word for 2016?

You can read more about the movement, sign up, and find others
with your word and in your region on the website: OneWord365.com.

 

A version of this post was originally published at A Life Overseas. If you live or have lived abroad, or know someone who does, I think you'll really enjoy this online community. Be sure to check them out!

wholehearted

I'm sitting here thinking about my year. This one. That's almost over. 

And how I set out to be wholehearted.

Yet I find myself at the end of 2015 feeling heavy and sad and dark-cloud-ish, with a heart that's more broken than whole. 

And it makes me feel like I failed big time.

I've already written another post (that I'll share soon, I promise) about the ways I can tell I grew in wholeheartedness. So I know—cognitively—that I can't write it all off as a failure. And yet...

I haven't been able to shake that feeling. 

Ugh.

So I dug back and re-read what I wrote at the start of the year about what I wanted to get out of my One Word 365 journey. 

---

"I'm determining to live more wholeheartedly. To be all-in. To be fully present. I'm committing to give myself permission (and a nudge) to be truly myself. To stick to my guns. To live, write, and speak with integrity (in the fullest sense of the word — with wholeness and completeness in all parts of me).

I'm purposing to show up this year, in every way.

In each situation, in each decision, and with every single person, I want to show up wholeheartedly. Even when that means facing my fears. Or candidly sharing the vulnerabilities of my heart. Or taking a huge risk. Even when that means flying solo. Or saying no. Or standing my ground when I want to run away." 

---

My eyes filled with tears. (Because, me.)

I hadn't read that since January. I'd forgotten how I'd first unpacked the word and everything I wanted to squeeze out of it.

And sitting here now, I can see—in countless ways—how I lived those things out. Certainly not perfectly or always or in any gold-star-deserving ways. But I did.

I'm thankful for those in my life who called out the times they saw I was leaning into wholeheartedness—as well as called me out in the times I needed to be leaning into it. Almost daily, my decisions, words, and actions were influenced by this one word, this choice I made twelve months ago. 

I showed up for my own life this year. 

I lived and loved with my whole heart.

So despite the brokenness my heart feels as 2015 comes to a close, I know I am a stronger, healthier, braver, more loving, and more true woman than I was when it began. 

And that is the opposite of failure. 

:: :: ::
 

I'd love to hear about your One Word 365 journey this year.
Feel free to share in the comments or include a link to your own blog post.

musings from my therapist's couch

I grew up in a church world that taught me that therapy was a sign of weak faith. Because Jesus should be all you need.

And then my life fell apart 7 years ago.

And I discovered just how false — and dangerous — that belief is.

Now I know this much to be true: Jesus is both more than enough and only the beginning, all at the same time.

Now I know that therapy shows strength, not weakness. Because being willing to lean in and do the hard work of healing and growth demands so much more courage than maintaining status quo.

So whether you (like me) routinely find yourself on a therapist's couch or you (also like me) still carry the shame of a faith or family culture that told you you're less-than if you don't have it all together (or at least pretend to), hear me now:

Pursuing help and healing is an act of bravery, strength, and faith.

And you're not alone.

Not now. Not ever.

before & after

I lie in bed, struggling to fall asleep as usual... my mind making to-do lists, worrying over should-haves and shouldn't-haves, wistfully daydreaming about things to look forward to. I suddenly remember my sweater-knit throw blanket, and I can't help but feel giddy that the weather is changing and I can cozy up under it soon. It's just the right weight and color and texture, and it's everything I love about autumn, knit into a blanket. 

Where did I put it? 

My mind starts taking stock of closets and storage spaces, because I can't for the life of me remember where it might be...

And then I realize.

The blanket is just a figment of my imagination — at least in my present life anyway. All those fond, warm memories I have are actually from my previous life: snuggled on the couch in my unheated African home, grateful for the weight and warmth of my charcoal grey blanket considering there's snow on the ground outside. 

You know what that means, don't you?

I haven't seen this blanket in five years, a mere vestige of the life that vanished out from under me. And yet it accosted my memory out of nowhere, as if it were just yesterday that I last burrowed beneath it...

:: :: ::

This isn't new to me.

It happens quite often in fact. 

Countless times I've rummaged through my kitchen cabinets looking for that serving bowl or pancake griddle or muffin tin that only ever existed in my South African kitchen.

:: :: :: 

Clearly my mind plays tricks on me, betraying me with its blending of past and present...

And it happens with more than just my memories.

My homogenized life is made up of so many bits of before and after, then and now, that I often can't see the seams separating any of the parts. Scars and healing, hope and hopelessness, heartache and joy, gain and loss, new and no-more... It's all there, disjointed and fragmented, reminding me that whole looks a lot like stained glass. 

Nothing missing.

Nothing broken. 

The sum of all my many parts.

:: :: ::

So sometimes it means my fuzzy brain betrays me. But it also reminds me that I've lived a lifetime's worth of experiences worth jumbling together.  

I am not before then after. 

I am before and after.