Happy Anniversary, Subdural Hematoma

PSA: your brain is your nerve center. In technical terms, that means it’s kind of a big deal. When your nerve center gets injured, your life will automatically become a lot harder. 100% guaranteed. Simple, ordinary tasks that used to be mindless will now become monumental conquests that you may - or may not - be able to achieve.

One year ago today, a teenage boy who was looking at his phone instead of the road completely changed my life, disrupting my career plans, impacting my ability to function, and rocking my self-worth to the core. His negligent driving left me with a broken brain and an uncertain future.

A year later, my brain is still broken and my future still very uncertain. 

Just a few weeks ago, my neurologist submitted some paperwork on my behalf. Under “prognosis,” he wrote in big bold letters: UNKNOWN, adding that my condition could be permanent. It was like a punch to the gut.

I’m still seeing a physical therapist and speech pathologist twice a week. I still need routine injections in my head. I continue to receive regular massage therapy, chiropractic services, and acupuncture. I am still wondering, wanting, hoping, praying, and pleading with God that my brain will one day heal. 

This is a picture of my brain one month after the accident. The big white line is a subdural hematoma, commonly known as a “brain bleed.” I am lucky that this injury didn’t kill me. The bleed has since reabsorbed, but the impact of the immense force caused by the accident structurally damaged my brain, affecting everything I do. For instance, I had to relearn how to stand in one place without falling over. I am still having to relearn how to visually track between two objects. It is exquisitely difficult. 

TBIs are invisible disabilities. I may look “normal” and “fine,” but simple, ordinary tasks are an immense struggle. Through the constant struggling and intense pain, I often feel discouraged, depressed, and more lonely than I can begin to describe.

But in those moments of darkness and excruciating pain, I have been gently reminded time and time again that I have the world’s greatest support system, a God who loves me and hears my prayers, and a Savior who atoned not only for my sins, but for my heartaches, my headaches, and all of my pain and suffering. With perfect empathy, He loves us all, whether we are at our best, our worst, or somewhere in between. 

I am grateful for an amazing support system. I am grateful for incredible work opportunities that I have been blessed to have during this difficult time in my life. I am grateful for a God who hears my prayers. And I am grateful for the many lessons I have learned through this unexpected curveball. 

Speaking of lessons, please don’t text and drive. And please be good to each other. Make kindness and empathy your default. You never know what someone is going through.

Til’ It Happens to You

Shout out to Lady Gaga, a talented artist and bold activist who, along with Diane Warren, recently wrote, "Till It Happens to You," a song dedicated to victims of sexual violence.

Till it happens to you, you won't know how it feels.

Till it happens to you, it won't be real.

You tell me, hold your head up, hold your head up and be strong.

Cause when you fall, you gotta get up

You gotta get up and move on.

Don’t ever be a victim, I often heard others say. You don’t want to be one of those people. You can either choose to be a victim or you can choose to move on with your life. Shake it off. Forgive. Be the bigger person. Don’t allow yourself to be affected. After all, attitude is everything.

From a young age, I deeply misunderstood and internalized this notion. It taunted me for years, daring me to be accountable not only for my actions, but for the actions of others. I understand the extreme importance of having a good attitude and not allowing your circumstances dictate your life, and I agree with these principles a zillion percent! But there is an enormous difference between playing the victim and being one. I wish I had understood this distinction much sooner.

I never chose to be a victim, but because of the inappropriate actions of others, I became one anyway. And no matter how I tried, I had no idea how to suddenly "not be one." For years, the shameful stigma of victimhood had me thoroughly convinced me that any pain I felt, any lasting consequences I experienced, any trauma I carried, was the result of me not having a good enough attitude, or enough faith, or enough strength to overcome my circumstances.

I get where the “don’t be a victim” thing derives from. Unfortunately, there are those who do choose to be “victims” by unabashedly playing the damsel in distress. Such people are attention-seeking, manipulative, dramatic, obnoxious, and even toxic. We all have [at least] one person in our lives like this, who doesn’t take ownership or accountability for their own actions. Instead, everything is always somebody else’s fault, even when nobody but them is to blame. 

I was always paranoid to be unfairly lumped in with these people. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a burden on anyone. I didn’t want to be some damsel in distress, pathetically waiting for someone to save me. I didn’t want people to think I was weak, immature, or dramatic. I didn’t want any attention. So, I desperately applied the “don’t be a victim” mentality to me. I didn’t-under any circumstances-want to be that girl. I wanted to be courageous and triumphant instead. I mean, life is 10 percent what happens to you, and 90 percent how you respond to it, right? I didn’t want my circumstances to overcome me-I wanted to fiercely conquer them!

As I ashamedly kept my trauma to myself for years, I watched all types of people react to other victims of sexual violence. Such reactions made me want to bury my own pain even deeper.

Are you sure that's what happened? Are you sure it wasn't consensual? I just can't picture him being like that. No way-he would never! You're just being too emotional. You're probably exaggerating. Your perception must be tainted.

Did you see what she was wearing? Of course she was taken advantage of! She was totally asking for it. She’s always been kind of a slut. She probably enjoyed it! She just doesn't want to get in trouble, so she's making up lies. Plus, she can’t handle her liquor. Shouldn't have been so drunk in the first place. What do you expect? 

Here’s a wild idea. Maybe - just MAYBE - we should expect human beings to not rape or assault other human beings. I don’t care if someone is wearing snow pants or a string bikini. I don't care what someone's blood alcohol level is. There’s never an excusable time to assault somebody. Period. End of story. 

While I’ve always had a natural desire and ability to boldly advocate on behalf of others and stick up for the underdogs, for some reason I've always been completely mortified to ever stick up for me. Perhaps my biggest strength is my genuine and deeply felt compassion for other people. But my biggest flaw is that I am not so compassionate to myself. I have always viewed others as capable and resilient. I'm fiercely loyal and supportive to those around me, all while letting myself drown in constant self-doubt and deep inadequacy, inhibiting my ability to draw boundaries and be assertive.

In my quest to be proactive and in charge of the outcome of my life, I attempted a lot of different coping methods to avoid becoming just another ‘helpless victim.’ I prayed a lot. I got medicated. I developed an eating disorder. I missed about 13 years of sleep from insomnia. And the worst part? I got myself stuck in some pretty dangerous relationships. I cringe to admit it even now, but I became a victim again. And again. And again.

The problem was that I refused to admit the problem. In order to actually move forward in a healthy, positive direction, I needed to face my trauma. Only then, would I truly be able to overcome it. But the truth was far too shameful! It was much easier to silently carry my burden alone.

On top of the shame factor and not wanting to seem like I had an ungrateful, negative attitude, I thought I didn't deserve help. People went through WAY worse things! I beat myself up for even being affected and told myself I was fine. People have survived the Holocaust. Darfur. Slavery. Countless wars and natural disasters. Indescribable torture. Horrific crimes. My life was not hard. I’ve been blessed with an amazing family! Incredible friends! The Gospel of Jesus Christ!

Besides, I was messed up now anyway. Dirty. Tainted. A bland, chewed up wad of gum. Who in the hell would want to associate with me if they knew? Who in the hell would still like me? Who in the HELL would have compassion toward me without any bit of judgment? No one. NO. One.

NO ONE! 

It echoed in the back of my mind since I was young, threatening me, taunting me, daring me how devalued I was. And for a long time, I believed every bit of it. Thanks to denial, self-loathing and comparing my experiences to victims of the Holocaust, I could ignore the problem well enough. But ignoring it did not alleviate my pain or help me move on in a productive, positive way. As I finally got brave enough to share fragments of my story, my fear became reality. I was not only disregarded at times; I was blamed, mocked, and judged for being too weak. For being a victim. 

Why didn't you just say no? Did you even try and stop it? What were you wearing? Were you drinking? I mean, boys will be boys. I get hard things happen, but you need to get over it. No point crying about it. Forgive and move on. Be more like Jesus. Turn the other cheek. You don't want to be bitter. Life is supposed to be hard. Maybe you're the problem-you’re too nice. If you weren’t so nice and such a pushover, none of this would have happened. Besides, wasn’t it fun? You enjoyed it a little, right?

Imagine breaking your leg and not seeing a doctor. I mean, why see a doctor for that? Suck it up! Don’t be such a girl! (looking at you, sexist rhetoric) Instead of getting x-rays, crutches and a cast, you decide to live with excruciating pain and a low-functioning limb. Otherwise, people will think you're nothing but a ridiculous, dramatic baby. If you get help, you run the risk of being disbelieved, criticized, or even blamed for your injury. You could be mocked, invalidated, or stigmatized. Now that you think about it, it probably was your fault anyway, so quit moping. If you hadn't done that or looked like that, none of this would’ve happened. So, you live each day with a broken leg, because by living with the pain and not allowing your wound to heal properly, you're at least not being a pathetic victim, right?

I lived with a “broken leg” for decades. My “coping mechanisms” did nothing but exacerbate the problem. I needed a cast and instead used boxes upon boxes of Band-Aids. The silence of keeping it to myself for years grew deafening. 

Eventually, at age 20, I finally confided in a wonderful friend who insisted I tell someone. Thanks to her coaxing, I did just that, and he believed me without the slightest bit of scrutiny. Instead of reacting with disgust, blame, disbelief, or uncomfortable silence, he cried his eyes out and told me how sorry he was for my loss. He said how much he loved me and how I deserved to heal, then gave me the biggest hug a person's ever given in the history of humanity. I love you, Dad. 

His response to the truth I’d suppressed for so long made what I thought would be the hardest conversation of my life one of the most empowering moments I will ever experience. I was believed! I was accepted! And above all, I was heard. For the record, I should never have expected my dad to respond any other way than he did (he's tied with my mom for most compassionate human who's ever lived), but shame has a powerfully disturbing way of convincing you that even those who adore you will find you repulsive and unworthy.

Sometimes all that “life is what you make it” crap can feel so invalidating, especially when you're already doing your best to be a positive person, who tries their hardest to embody gratitude, kindness, humor, and happiness. Because, YES, you can move forward. You can find treatment. YES, you can rise above the odds and come out victorious. 

They do it in the movies all the time.

YES. I one-ZILLION percent believe attitude matters immensely-and you don't have to remain captive to anyone or anything. There are many empowering resources to aid you in your journey of healing. Utilize them! But before you can do ANY of that successfully, the first step is to admit you need help. Only then can you seek the healing you so desperately deserve.

If there was anything I could tell victims of sexual violence, it’s this: Give yourself time and space to mourn your loss. Don’t force yourself to go numb. Be sad, be angry. Feeling pain does not mean you are ungrateful or negative. It doesn't mean you're “playing the victim.” It means you’re human; a human who has been violated in perhaps the worst way a human can be. On some level, you’ve been broken. Be broken. That might sound odd, but allow yourself room to be broken, with the hope-NOT the expectation, but the HOPE-that one day you won't be. Stop feeling like you have to constantly keep glued together. Be broken to those in your life who love every piece of you, no matter how many pieces might be on the floor. As you start to pick up those pieces, hopefully with the help of those you love, you will realize the strength that’s been inside you all along. I also recommend having a wiener dog on call at all times. Just trust me. 

And remember—as tough as you are, bravery doesn’t always look brave. ESPECIALLY to those who have never been in your shoes. Stop being hard on yourself. Comparing yourself to those who have survived worse horrors will not enable you to overcome the ones YOU so badly need to beat. 

You can gain tools to help you cope and move forward effectively. You can learn how to handle triggers and grief so they don’t become permanently debilitating. And by all means, stay positive! But when you’re feeling anything but, let yourself! Having a good attitude doesn’t mean being grateful for trauma or injustice. Having a good attitude means knowing even though you are in critical condition and your pain is unbearable, you still have so much light to shine.

Ashamedly sweeping things under the rug will not get you there. Neither will years of denial. Or anorexia. Or having poor boundaries and allowing yourself to be a punching bag for other people. The silence needs to stop. For years, I let it consume me. For years, I believed I was not worthy. I was convinced I was nothing but a useless, fragile person pretending to be strong.

I was dead wrong about me. So were a lot of other people. I was never useless or fragile. And I was not pretending to be strong. I just was. I just am.

Please don’t mistake my self-discovery as arrogance. I would not be where, or who I am, without God and loads of amazing people in my life I am so beyond blessed to call mine. Thanks to my faith, family, and friends, I’m a much tougher sap than I-and others-often give me credit for.

It takes strength to keep a tender heart from being consumed by cynicism. My empathy and sensitivity for others have allowed me to love profoundly and dare greatly. I am so much more than my experiences, but my experiences have also shaped me into who I am. I was silenced for a long time by fear, but I'm finding my voice again. And good grief, it can be pretty damn loud.  

We can all do a much better job at combatting sexual violence simply by stopping the silence. That doesn't only mean more talking, but also more listening. The way to heal is to connect. The way to overcome trauma is to be heard. 

If there was anything I could say to those who haven’t experienced sexual violence, it’s this: until it happens to you, you DON'T know how it feels. Be compassionate. Show empathy. No need for pity. Pity doesn’t promote healing. Understanding does. Realize that trauma is not resolved simply by having a good attitude. It’s not cured by merely holding your head up and acting strong. Overcoming trauma is a complex process. Remember, there is a big difference between people who play the victim and people who have legitimately been victimized. Don't be so quick to judge the side effects victims of sexual violence are sure to endure or the lingering damage in their lives that may never fully dissipate.

The complexity of sexual trauma is profound and real. Until it happens to you, you DON'T know. You WON'T know. So above all, be kind. I promise that kindness is really not as hard as we sometimes make it.

You tell me it gets better, it gets better in time. 

You say I'll pull myself together, pull it together

You'll be fine

Tell me what the hell do you know

What do you know

Tell me how the hell could you know

How could you know

During all those of years of living with a throbbing, broken leg, I already knew I needed to move forward. That is ALL I ever wanted to do! I only wish I had known I was worthy of doing so sooner. Better late than never, right? 

'Til your world burns and crashes

'Til you're at the end, the end of your rope

'Til you're standing in my shoes

I don't wanna hear a thing from you, from you, from you

'Cause you don't know

Til it happens to you, you won't know how I feel.

Thanks again to Lady Gaga and Diane Warren, for understanding the importance of validating the lifelong consequences of the most victimizing of crimes, and paying tribute to those who have, as well as those who haven't, survived them. 

Be Ye Not Distracted!

The first time I met her I was 15. I had a lukewarm self-esteem, what was about to become a full-blown eating disorder, and a million and one self-doubts that taunted me on the daily. I was scared of never being good enough and carried the burden of trying to make the whole world happy - often at the expense of losing myself in the process.

Her name was Elizabeth Bossard, but everyone called her Boss. Little did I know the first day I entered her eccentric office filled with Mary Engelbright pictures, inspirational sayings and too many teddy bears to count, my life would never be the same. Not only was she the best voice coach around; she was a brilliant, powerful woman with a soft spot for self-doubting underdogs. 

When we met, my voice was timid - both musically and otherwise. I was scared to sing out unless I was in the shower, and even more scared to express my feelings, needs, and boundaries. My insecurities were totally apparent to her, but she wasn’t phased a bit. Polishing diamonds in the rough was her specialty. Despite my blatant anxiety, she knew I was strong; equipped with courage I hadn't yet discovered. She treated me like it the second I met her in a way nobody ever had. She immediately saw the version of me I hadn't become yet - the version I'm still becoming. 

While I’ve always struggled to be self-confident, I've been extremely blessed with an amazing family, incredible friends, a close relationship with God, and WAY more blessings than I can count. But even with an abundance of blessings, we all still have our trials, right? She helped me conquer mine from 15 on, simply by reminding me on the regular that I could.

She knew more about my life than anyone. When she died, a part of me did too. The hole she left is gaping, and without her guidance and encouragement, I'm often more than lost. But I find myself through singing, through speaking up for the underdog, through being kind to others even when it's unfair to be the "bigger person," through trying to be a little more comfortable in my own skin. Going to bat for the underdog and a desire to be kind have always come pretty naturally to me. But being comfortable in my own skin? Yikes! Being an overly apologetic people pleaser made that impossible.

Boss always insisted I was so much more than I ever dared to believe. She lectured me often. “You have a gift to love so big and care so deeply, and I’m so proud of you for that. But, Babe. Why in the world can’t you love you, just a little bit? Why do you let others make you feel so unworthy?! Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. You tell them - dammit! And stop feeling like you’ve got so much to prove! Stop being sorry so much!” This always led to me profusely apologizing. Her eyes twinkled as she rolled them. “Babe. What did I just say? Get over it.” 

In college, I took her 7:45 am public speaking class. Stars filled the dark Idaho sky each morning I trudged from my apartment into below-zero temperatures. Boss warmed things right up, always greeting us in conversational song. She did this regularly - at the grocery store, on campus, you name it. She did it to be funny, to intentionally embarrass people, and because she just didn’t care if anyone thought she was a crazy, old lady singing in the dairy aisle. Her fabulous persona put people at ease, and she didn’t mind if some labeled her as ‘weird’ in the process. She was a one-of-a-kind diva; filled with prowess and poise, but no hint of arrogance. She humbly, but confidently, recognized her strengths. So, she unapologetically shared them; not to show off, but to connect. She was self-assured because her worth did not come from others; she did not share her light to seek acceptance. She only cared about two people’s approval: hers and God’s. And she had both at all times, even with all her hell’s and damns. I’m sure of it.

Just as she lit up the grocery store by her mere presence, she made cold, dreary mornings bright. She enthusiastically dragged us out of our comfort zones to help us gain confidence. Most notably, she facilitated activities so we, without even realizing it, helped each other.

During voice lessons, she always said when you make a mistake, make it big. Don't panic if you stumble or run out of breath. Don’t let a pitchy note derail you. Instead, own it. Mess up! Learn why you messed up. Then fix it! “Panicking in the middle of a mistake, or quitting because you made one, doesn't teach you a damn thing about how to fix it,” she’d always say. She frequently scolded me for fearing failure and dared me to give myself more chances than I ever thought I deserved.

Don’t get it twisted - she wasn’t the type to baby anybody. She had incredibly high expectations she DEMANDED you rise to, often using some stringent tough love. She built you up, not to pat you on the back or put you on a pedestal, but to get you moving! To get you from caterpillar to butterfly. She emphasized that true confidence comes from humbly recognizing all you’ve been given and all you are capable of overcoming. She required you to rise to the challenge of being the best version of you, and to humbly acknowledge that your strengths come from the Big Man Upstairs. If He made you, she always reasoned, you must be pretty great. “So, be GREAT, damnit!” she’d order, like it was a piece of cake. 

Her approach to confidence never condoned arrogance. She was brilliant because she knew she was made of the same stuff as stars, and she gratefully acted like it by continually improving herself while letting her strengths shine. Because why hide your innate, God-given light when you were made to sparkle?

I wasn’t used to sparkling. It was anxiety-inducing that someone might take something I did or said the wrong way, that I would make someone else uncomfortable. At this fear, Boss rolled her eyes and told me to get over it. Perhaps the most important thing she taught me - that I still fail at miserably - is to not give a hoot about what other people think. She was famous for saying: “What others say about you cannot diminish your personal glory as a child of God; it can only distract you. BE YE NOT DISTRACTED!”

She knew I was exceptionally prone to being “distracted,” so she was strategic in drilling this concept into my timid, insecure head. One year, she put me on the program for a collegiate vocal showcase. The campus music department was phenomenal; the student talent equally impressive. This event was for accomplished singers, many trained in opera or theatre. Boss taught both classical and what she termed "popical" approaches to all her students. She wisely expanded my repertoire, while encouraging my passion for songwriting. I was unorthodox compared to her other students. Lucky for me, she embraced unorthodox.

Whenever I performed, I hid behind the piano or my guitar. I belted freely only in the comfort of my shower or Hyundai Elantra. With a few years of technique, I’d grown immensely as a vocalist. But a recital for a bunch of super refined, polished performers? No, thank you. 

Unfortunately for me and my uptight comfort zone, the showcase was never an invitation; it was a command. Like all her students, I was going, whether I wanted to or not. “Isn't this for real singers?” I protested. She scoffed at my squeamish doubt like it was beyond ridiculous. “Well, DUH!” she sang. “That's why you’re on the program, hello!” She rolled her eyes, yet they still smiled. “And Babe, don't forget your guitar,” she added coyly. “But quit hiding behind it, damnit!”

As far as she was concerned, I belonged. As far as I was concerned, my musical career (and ability to show my face on campus) was coming to an end. I'll never forget that experience-it was horrific. No one else remotely resembled what I had to offer - which I felt was nothing but an embarrassing heap of emotions in a stupid, homemade song that sounded a lot cooler when I played it on my bed with no audience. 

At first I stammered, self-conscious and mortified. But my eyes quickly found Boss in the audience, beaming with exuberant pride, insisting I wasn't out of place at all. Her smirk seemed to say: Why do you care so much about their opinions? That isn’t the point! If people are gonna talk, then give them something to talk about! 

In September 2011, an unfortunate incident left my voice literally scarred. My boyfriend of two years had been cheating on me. When I confronted him about it, he threw my cell phone out the window, then grabbed me by the throat and choked me. I screamed for help as he covered my mouth. I’ll never forget that feeling of being literally overpowered, of having my voice forcefully silenced. I’ve blamed myself over and over for the damage this did to my vocal chords. I shouldn't have screamed. My vocal folds were badly injured; imprisoned by tension and trauma, causing ulcers and nodes to develop. The swelling and strain that still remains has left a painful lump in my throat ever since.

For awhile, I tried to sing anyway, which in hindsight was extremely foolish. My pipes needed rest, but my soul longed to sing. It was no use. My range was significantly restricted. At one point, my left chord couldn’t vibrate at all, which caused the doctor alarm. He told me I had to quit teaching preschool right away and that I couldn't sing again until things improved. It’s been about six years since that injury, and I still see a voice therapist weekly. Some days I still feel angry and defeated by the pain.

After that happened, Boss made me take it easy; we talked and ate Dove chocolates in place of vocal lessons. I learned more about my voice during those visits on her living room couch than I ever had before. She said it was long past time I learn to say no and stop trying to please everybody. She taught me that it is not only okay to draw healthy boundaries with people, but it is crucial. She continued to encourage me to not worry so much about things out of my control and she reminded me to like myself more. She reminded me that it's okay to stick up for myself like I stick up for others. And she never stopped telling me to be bold in the face of opposition because according to her, I could “do it, dammit!” Nike had nothing on her.

I didn't believe her generous praise for years. Most days, I still don't. The feeling of someone having total confidence in you when you have none is both humbling and profound. Life-changing, even. Boss patiently continued to help me flourish - in all aspects. She listened to me cry plenty but always told me to shape up when I was selling myself short and needed to rise to the occasion. “Don’t be afraid to speak your truth,” she often said. “You are the writer of your story.”

When she died, my voice somehow felt more broken. My coach, my mentor, my confidante, was gone. She died suddenly, a month before I graduated college. I still have her invitation to my graduation barbecue, still sealed in the envelope. When I took her family a card after she died, my wedding announcement picture was on her front table where it had always been next to a plaque that read, “Friends Are the Family You Choose.” How grateful I am she chose me, along with all the others she so generously adored.

I'm still learning to speak my truth and use my voice like Boss so beautifully taught me to. Often, I’m awfully off key-in more ways than one. But I've realized, even in the last few months, I don't have to be so timid or apologetic, so incessantly worried about pleasing the masses that are utterly impossible to please. I can be bold without apology. I can be brave without self-doubt. And whenever I'm off key-because it happens to the best of us-the show will go on.

I miss Boss every day, and I'm not going to get over it like I know she’d tell me to. I wish I could tell her thanks, for teaching me I belong because I’m good at helping others belong. I'm in law school now, largely thanks to her. I want to be a voice for those who need a bold advocate. A voice for the voiceless. Cheesy, I know. She always made me feel cool for wanting to do that, to be that. Like I could make a difference just by loving people. She has made the biggest difference by loving me. 

My first year of law school helped me find my voice in an unexpected way. The first semester, I felt like I did at the vocal showcase: completely out of place and inadequate. I was so worried about pleasing people, terrified to look stupid, and I exhausted myself from never feeling good enough. I had nightmares about getting called on in class and cared about other’s opinions way too much. I let some toxic, hurtful people who I went out of my way to befriend take advantage of my vulnerabilities. And I let the pressure of the grading curve and cutthroat atmosphere undermine me. In undergrad, straight A’s came easy. Here, my determined efforts and hard work seemed in vain. I survived the semester just fine, but was left depleted.

It was daunting. Everyone else seemed to have loads of legal experience and confidence, and at least one attorney relative to help them out. Not me. I worked with kids with special needs before law school and adored my work with all my soul, but I had no place here. I had a bachelor’s degree in child development, zero legal experience, and I’d never even been in a law firm, except to get divorced. 

Second semester, I thought a lot about what Boss taught me; how I’m kind and smart and capable. How I’m a passionate and strong advocate for others. How I don’t need to let people bring me down or pathetically waste all my energy trying to please the un-pleasable. I remembered that hitting a few bad notes doesn’t mean I should give up, but instead, move forward with determination to do better. Because why be mediocre when you can sparkle, right?

One day in my criminal law class we read a child advocacy case, and for the first time in law school -seven months in - I remembered why I came here. I came here because I want to speak up for those who society underestimates and disregards. I came here because I have a gift and passion for championing the underdogs. I came here because I have so much to learn, but also so much to offer! That day it finally clicked: I was worthy to be here as much as anybody else. And I wasn’t all the sudden worthy; I’d been worthy all along. So, be worthy! I thought. Somewhere in heaven right at that moment a certain voice teacher was gloating. 

I’ve never dared run the risk of being confident, but I realized that I finally needed to “get over it.” Quietly, but boldly, I decided to rise from the ashes and finally believe in the version of me Boss always saw me being.

Thanks to her wisdom that still teaches me daily, I finally had the courage to stop being a punching bag for people - obviously without being unkind, but also without being sorry. My grades improved immensely because I finally accepted that I had something to offer as much as the next student. I didn’t suddenly think so highly of myself - not at all! Instead, I humbly remembered whose opinion of me matters. Every day second semester, I asked for God’s help in enabling me to succeed. I was gently reminded there is more to life than law school, but also encouraged to do my best. My hard work, my deliberate effort to be comfortable in my own skin, and my five zillion prayers paid off. My grades, my first legal job, and more importantly, my relationships with others, made me proud. I finally refused to be a doormat for the wrong people, and focused on the amazing ones I am so blessed to have, instead.

Y’all, Boss was right. About everything. But especially this: what others say about you or how others treat you cannot dull your shine. So, step up to the plate, get out of your cocoon, acknowledge the divine being within you, and BECOME!

Boss, I cannot possibly express my gratitude for all you’ve done for me, so I promise to keep singing when I can and looking out for all the underdogs. Thanks for instantaneously believing in a 15-year old underdog and for deliberately and patiently giving her the chance over and over and over to be heard, even when she was barely brave enough to whisper. 

By physically losing my voice, I found the one that’s been inside me all along. Somehow, Boss was right that first day I walked into her office those many years ago. My unorthodox, inadequate voice is so much braver and bigger and more worthy of being heard than I could have ever imagined. And I'm [almost] not even sorry about it. 

So, y’all, please learn this lesson much faster than I did: BE YE NOT DISTRACTED! What others say about you, or how others treat you, CANNOT diminish your personal glory as a child of God. And maybe you don’t believe in Him like Boss and I do. But, at least trust me on this: you are made of the same stuff as stars. So, sparkle. Shine. Be great. Be glorious! Hell, sing in the hallways. The grocery store. The law firm conference room.

And really give them something to talk about.

Love Thy Freaking Neighbor

Let’s get one thing straight right now: I'm not a huge fan of self-righteous people. Maybe that makes me self-righteous for not being thrilled about the self-righteous. I don't know. 

Righteous people? I'm a big fan. Note that righteous is not an adjective exclusively for religious folks. Anyone can be a righteous human being! Righteous is synonymous with noble, ethical, good, honorable, decent, principled, upstanding. Whether you're a person with deep religious convictions that you strive to live or you're simply a good person regardless of any religious affiliation, then please keep doing your thing. I do not expect anyone to be perfect, as that would be incredibly hypocritical of me, not to mention disappointing. But if you're doing your part to be a nice human, I am genuinely a huge fan. Or in the words of the leader of the Free World, "Yuuuuge fan."

Anyway. 

I happen to be one of those religious types, who I hope is also a decent human. Because I’m well-aware that being a religious person does not automatically equate to being a "righteous" one.

I was super blessed to have been raised by parents, who were (and are) righteous, in every sense of the word. My entire existence, they have taught me to be good. They still do. Their wisdom and insight has blessed my life immensely, and their devotion to what they believe is commendable to say the least. In part because of their devotion to their religion, and because my parents are just good people regardless, they have taught me all sorts of lessons, largely by example, even when they didn't realize I was paying any attention. 

They always encouraged me to sit by the person who was sitting alone. They are both great examples of looking out for the underdogs. They encouraged turning the other cheek when people were less than polite, and they taught me to pray to God before I was in preschool. My relationship with Him has been the biggest part of my life and the biggest influence on who I am trying to be. Emphasis on trying. My parents never forced anything, but instead have fostered my faith by living it so well themselves. They have taught me the importance of being like Jesus and what that actually looks like. But, spoiler alert - I have eons to go before I am anything remotely like Him. So please, don't hold that against me. 

One funny thing my Mom has frequently said since I was a little girl has always stuck with me. She is known for excitedly shouting, almost in a singing or catchy jingle sort of way, this specific phrase. Anytime I complain about someone being rude or in the wrong, anytime I get frustrated, anytime I have the sass turned up a little too high, my momma responded with her famous slogan: "Kindness begins with....."

And then one of my siblings or I was supposed to race to finish the sentence with, "ME!" 

Not only was this fun as a kid, and still fun as an adult, because who doesn't like yelling the word "me" at the top of their lungs?  But this lesson that she still reminds me to learn taught me that being kind is valuable. Being kind trumps being right. Being kind trumps being prideful. Being kind trumps being rude. Being kind trumps being judgmental. Being kind even trumps being important. If you get my drift. 

Now, you might prioritize kindness differently than that. That's just the way I see it and I cannot speak for anybody else. But spoiler alert: I'm going to anyway.

One thing that has really bummed me out lately has been watching people that I love and respect share all sorts of hate-filled things in the name of "Christianity" that are not even remotely aligned with true Christianity. It seems that a few folks have forgotten to live the 11th Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Be a Hateful, Self-Righteous Idiot. 

I am not suggesting that Christians are the only type of people who may tend to exhibit symptoms of self-righteousness. There are good eggs and rotten apples in every religion, culture, neighborhood, socioeconomic status, or professional occupation. Close-mindedness is not only evident in the Bible thumpers on the far right. Close-mindedness goes ALL directions, and I am well-aware that the pendulum can swing both ways.

But lately, I've been extra disturbed and saddened by some of my fellow Christians sharing hate-filled rhetoric. And that's not the worst part - the worst part is that they actually believe they are taking the moral high ground. It's sick and twisted and I'm SO over it. 

I know that sharing my feelings probably won't change anyone's mind, but I must say that I do not condone the way many people have chosen to treat others, using the scriptures as an excuse. I would love to know one thing: how on earth is acting like a jerk the same thing as being like Jesus? I must have missed that Sunday School lesson...

People can be so close-minded and condescending, and in the name of religion no less. Now, I can't eliminate this problem, and I've probably inadvertently contributed to it myself before because I am so far from perfect and there is always room for improvement. So, excuse my self-righteous sermon on kindness because here it goes.

Enthusiastically wanting to kick people out of our country solely on the fact they are not white or "American" or Christian, is NOT Christian. Wanting to tear children apart from their parents is NOT Christian. 

Treating others as less than yourself because they don't speak English, because they wear different clothes, because their skin color is a few shades darker than yours, because they get married differently than you do, or pray differently than you do, or don't pray at all - those things should all be COMPLETELY irrelevant points in how we decide to treat people. We should just treat people with kindness because they are PEOPLE. 

The thing that KILLS ME and literally EATS ME UP INSIDE, SO MUCH THAT I FEEL A NEED TO DRAMATICALLY KEEP CAPS LOCK ON JUST TO MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR - is that not only can people be obnoxiously, hateful idiots, but THEY CAN BE OBNOXIOUSLY, HATEFUL IDIOTS IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST. 

If you're going to use the Bible to back up your bigotry, you obviously missed the point. While the Old Testament has some pretty intense stories, the New Testament is by far my favorite part of the Bible. 

If you've read the New Testament, then you understand that the entire mission of Christ's life and ministry was to LOVE. And He didn't just love a select group of people. Nope. He loved ALL people EQUALLY. He particularly demonstrated why it was important to love those who were "different," those society views as "lesser," because God loves them JUST the same. Christ didn't hang out with the popular, fancy people. He fished with fishermen. He blessed little children. He administered to those who were crippled or inflicted by diseases. He advocated for sinners and forgave their offenses, teaching others the importance of not casting stones. Yes, he never condoned sin or wickedness. BUT He loved and loves the sinners, because hello?! Aren't we ALL sinners?

The parable of the Good Samaritan illustrates Christ's teachings beautifully. The man known as the Good Samaritan helped a stranger on the side of the road who had been robbed, beat up, and essentially ignored by several other men passing by. One key thing about this story: the Good Samaritan's kindness was culturally unacceptable because the stranded man was a Jew, and the Jews and Samaritans were not huge fans of each other. But the Samaritan man cared more about being kind than he cared about tradition or prejudice. He did the right thing because it was right. He went against a stereotype only to receive no glory or accolades. He didn't do it for the accolades. He spent his own money and his own time on a stranger, a stranger that he had been taught to disregard. But he didn't. Because kindness began with him. 

And it begins with all of us, if we simply decide that it does. Yet, how many of us have passed by others who are suffering without offering them any compassion or encouragement or even good manners? How many of us are too busy? Too self-centered? Too "good" to help someone that isn't as important as we think we are? 

Why is it that we place ourselves above others and think that because we are a certain religion or color or culture, we are better than those who are not like us? Because, fun fact: Jesus Christ was a Jew from the Middle East. He wasn't white. He wasn't blonde. He didn't speak English. And He was even a refugee. 

Just throwing that out there. 

I'd like to mention that I have friends, family, and associates on both sides of the aisle; some staunch Republicans, some diehard Democrats, and everything in between. The stereotype that all Republicans are a bunch of racist, sexist, xenophobic, deer huntin', tobacco spittin' uneducated, country bumpkins who beat their wives and don't share their cake is often untrue. And the stereotype that liberals are a bunch of Godless, arrogant, pompous, immoral sleaze bags who love to murder babies and freedom all while hugging trees is also incredibly inaccurate. 

We all know at least one person who fits each stereotype. Trust me. I grew up in the reddest county in the country where the 2nd Amendment is taught before the alphabet. I am well-acquainted with the bleak reality of stereotypes. But don't forget to thoughtfully evaluate your own snap judgments of others because some idiot(s) may have ruined it for the rest of the group. 

Yes, some of those conservative, white trash, gun-slingin' rednecks can be so kind and so loving and all be darned, so can those snooty booty, arrogant hippie liberals. Amazing, isn't it? 

Politics aside, I'm not saying that to be a good Christian you have to adopt 52 Muslim refugees and wear a "Nasty Woman" shirt to church. Although, both of those things sound really fun. Maybe add them to your bucket list. 

I'm just saying that to be a good Christian, you DO have to be nice. Or at least be TRYING to be. None of us are perfect, but if you profess to be a follower of  Jesus Christ, then let your light shine by being kind to others. Isn't that the whole point of the Gospel? It isn't to force your beliefs on others, it isn't to condemn anybody to hell, and it isn't to judge everyone else's sins when you have your own repenting to do. The point of the Gospel is to treat other people the way that the Savior would. It's a tall order. And trust me, it isn't easy at times. I am not the prime example of how it's done. 

All I'm saying is instead of placing yourself on a pedestal as a good, impressive, noble religious human being, maybe JUST BE ONE!

We've already established that religious people aren't the only ones who elevate themselves on pedestals. I get it, I am well-acquainted with the opposite side of the spectrum and the "open-mindedness" that  is often more closed than my Torts casebook. But I frankly just can't stand watching people use Christianity as a tool to discriminate and mistreat other people. I know it's been going on for years. (I'm looking at you, Crusades.) But it's 2018 and I think it's time we get with the program. 

Under the giant umbrella that is Christianity, there are so many religions. Contrary to popular belief, Mormons are Christians too. The name of our church is the Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints. The Savior is literally the whole point of Mormonism. Because of our belief in Him, we value taking care of the poor and needy; we value the importance of gaining an education; we value the importance of religious freedom for ALL people - including the right to not worship; we value being kind to everybody, period, no matter what; and we value the principle of agency - that men and women are free to choose for themselves whether we agree or disagree. I understand that Mormons, Catholics, Protestants, Baptists, Methodists, Non-Denominational Christians, etc., vary in practice, doctrine, and culture. But for anyone who considers themselves to be a Christian or simply a decent human, isn't being nice the basics? The bare freaking minimum?

It's not as hard as we sometimes make it. If you disagree with someone's religion-great. If you don't like an aspect of how someone lives their life-cool. 

Generally speaking, I don't really care about your opinion. I will [generally] respect it whether it differs from mine or not. If you hate dogs or support white supremacy, then I truly have no clue how to talk to you. Ultimately, I care about how you treat other people. But if you worship or live or think differently than me, fabulous. Isn't that the point and premise of this country? Aren't we supposed to be diverse and not divisive? 

But when you express your stance on an issue by using racial slurs? By insisting that orphans in Aleppo deserve to be blown up because their parents are probably terrorists, and therefore terrorism is in their DNA? Matthew 18:6 teaches us that anyone who harms little children is in for a harsh sentence from the Big Man Upstairs. It would be better for someone who hurts children that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea. For the record. Be careful what you say about any of God's children. #childadvocacysoapbox

How about calling Muslims terrorists? Do you even know anything about what Muslims believe? What about all the white trash terrorists committing "heritage-not-hate" crimes? I took an Islam Studies class at my Mormon college and it was incredibly insightful and enriching to learn about a different religion than my own. Turns out Muslims and Mormons (and all Christians) have a lot more in common than most folks realize. Knowledge is power and ignorance is not bliss. 

How about calling Mexicans rapists? I have one word on that: WRONG. Google Brock Turner's white privilege and his slap on the wrist sentence and get back to me. Just look at all the creepy white people you know. There sure are a lot who like to brag about grabbing women by certain body parts. And a lot who like to assault women with no consequence. But hey, it's just show biz. If you can't think of any creepy white people, I have a list you're welcome to borrow. Also, if you seriously can't think of any at all, maybe it's time for you to self-evaluate. 

Let's discuss presidents of the United States that DON'T brag about sexually assaulting women...I must say that if you were not on the Obama train, fine. I admit that I'm sad for you because I miss that man and Michelle more each and every day, but I concede that you don't have to like him or agree with him. However, it's not okay to be a racist bigot and call our former president derogatory words even though they match perfectly with your Confederate flag bumpersticker. #classy 

Disagreeing? Go for it. Disliking? Sure. Being racist? Being sexist? Being condescendingly CRUEL all while quoting SCRIPTURE??? Come on, y'all. I know we all have our sins. But stick to smoking or drinking or cussing. No need to be disgusting toward your fellow men and women. 

Having strong opinions is fine but when you're sharing them in the name of Christianity, make sure that the way that you are sharing those opinions actually denotes Christianity. 

Nothing about Jesus' life or ministry or love for ALL men AND WOMEN-nothing about HIM ever, ever, EVER excused hate-fueled judgment as "righteousness." Nothing about Him ever allowed racism. Or sexism. Or xenophobia. Nothing about Him ever promoted being rude or conceited or acting better than anybody. 

He - He who was and is PERFECT - was never self-righteous. And when those good old Pharisees were, Christ condemned their behavior. He stood up for a woman who committed adultery; he literally saved her life! He defended the defenseless and emphasized that every single soul is valuable to God. REGARDLESS of what each soul has or hasn't done. 

When I hear people who read the same scriptures as me, mock refugees or make derogatory, uneducated statements about their fellow human beings, my blood literally BOILS. And folks, it takes a LOT for my blood to boil.

Some people justify their hate with good old patriotism. Look, I'm glad to live in America too. But our nation is far from perfect. I mean, we are #1 for gun violence among first world nations, but is that actually something to brag about? Not to mention, our education, healthcare, and justice systems could all use an extreme makeover.

But let's just say our country was perfect. It still would not be acceptable to exhibit all this nastiness at people because they "aren't American." Because they don't speak English that well. Go to Mexico and try to speak Spanish as well as the locals. Best of luck with that. You'll need to know more words than "tacos” and tequila.” 

Aren't we supposed to be a melting pot? Wasn't our country founded by immigrants? Do you think the Native Americans were thrilled  about their home being invaded by a bunch of white, high-maintenance British dudes who fought wars and bickered obnoxiously? At least they brought such a lovely housewarming gift of small pox. I'm no history guru, but I don't remember that the colonists really gave the Native Americans much of a vote on immigration. Unless the Trail of Tears was voted on.... #crickets... Now it's awkward. 

Immigrants who wanted to worship differently-or who didn't want to worship at all is why we have the nation that we have. That is why they crossed the freaking pond! They were sick of being uniformly told how to live their lives and who to pray to. Some of them didn't even like praying! They were so over the Church of England. That's WHY they came! And if it wasn't for that bunch of rebellious, radical immigrant refugees, where would you and I be?

Finally, I want to drive home with a snippet of Mormon history and I hope it resonates with not just people in my church, but everyone else too. 

The early Mormons were literal refugees. They were driven from state to state starting in New York, all the way to the wild, wild west of what is now Utah. I'm still sad they didn't hike a few more miles to California, but whatever. Utah was built by refugees, but before they made it there, many were tarred and feathered, beaten, raped, and killed. They were literally massacred; men, women, and children. The prophet Joseph Smith and several other leaders were repeatedly falsely arrested and imprisoned in deplorable conditions, they were treated violently, and they and their families suffered immensely at the hands of injustice. Why? Because they were different. Because they were new. They were perceived as a threat because they were seen as "infiltrators." With all due respect, who on earth would ever want to infiltrate Missouri? #kansaspride 

Especially in their early history, Mormons were very misunderstood and mistreated as a result of how they worshipped. Others feared the Mormons would outnumber them, take their resources, influence politics, and invade their towns. Sound at all familiar? #merica2018

But there's this super cool guy from history that I've always admired immensely. His name is Alexander Doniphan and he was a nationally renowned lawyer and Missouri politician. He was never a Mormon, but he fought for the constitutional rights of the Mormons, because he was a firm believer in the integrity of the law. For Doniphan, the law trumped being important or cool or popular. He believed in fairness, citing the Constitution as his guide.

Doniphan represented Joseph Smith and other Mormons leaders when they were falsely accused and imprisoned. In 1838, Lillian Boggs, the Missouri governor, specifically ordered Doniphan to kill Joseph Smith for something he did not do. Doniphan was the Brigadier General. He refused to obey this command at the risk of his own life and reputation. He boldly responded: “It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade will march for Liberty at 8:00 tomorrow morning, and if you execute these men I will hold you personally responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.” 

Doniphan advocated for a group of people who were deemed peculiar and unwelcome. He didn't advocate for them because he liked what they believed. He advocated for them because he knew they deserved the same rights and privileges that he had. He advocated for them at the risk of his popularity and prestigious career. Even at the risk of his life! He clearly valued kindness and fairness above being cool. Above being powerful. Above being popular. Above being important. Doniphan valued the law and adhered to it in the strictest degree. 

Later that year in October, Lillian Boggs issued the infamous "Extermination Order", which allowed Missourians to legally murder Mormons and run them out of the state. Despite Doniphan's efforts, and the efforts of many other righteous allies, the early Mormons fled for their lives from Missouri to Illinois. Several years later, the prophet Joseph Smith was murdered and the Mormons were driven all the way to the desert and mountains of Utah, where they started to arrive in 1847. 

I was born in Salt Lake City, Utah because of those refugees and because of the many allies who helped offer them refuge. And as much as I love to make fun of all the awful Utah stereotypes, the hiking in Salt Lake City is pretty phenomenal, especially because I've never had to hike while pulling a handcart. And Utah culture aside, I'm way proud of that part of my heritage. I don't think the early pioneers were perfect human beings. But I think they were some pretty dang good ones. I don't think their history is perfect. I do think they were unjustly persecuted for what they believed and I am grateful for their sacrifice and courage; and the many "good Samaritans" who stood by them in spite of their differences.

In my opinion, Mormons better be the kindest and most compassionate people to all the other "underdogs" out there; all the other people seeking safety and refuge. Mormons better be willing to stick up for all people and whatever they believe. Religious freedom is not exclusive to Christianity. Remember that. 

In the name of Jesus Christ, many people designate our nation as belonging to Him, as belonging to only the people who worship Him. 

In April 2016, in a worldwide semi-annual General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Patrick Keaton stated: "The Savior knows how it feels to be a refugee - He was one. As a young child, Jesus and His family fled to Egypt to escape the murderous swords of Herod And at various points in His ministry, Jesus found Himself threatened and His life in danger, ultimately submitting to the designs of evil men who had plotted His death. Perhaps, then, it is all the more remarkable to us that He repeatedly taught us to love one another, to love as He loves, to love our neighbor as ourselves."

Brother Keaton continued: "We must take a stand against intolerance and advocate respect and understanding across cultures and traditions. Meeting refugee families and hearing their stories with your own ears, and not from a screen or newspaper, will change you...Let us come from our safe places and share with them, from our abundance, hope for a brighter future, faith in God and in our fellowman, and love that sees beyond cultural and ideological difference to the glorious truth that we are ALL children of our Heavenly Father."

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love." (2 Timothy 1:7) 

Shouldn't Christ's believers be the most compassionate? The most willing? The most empathetic? Shouldn't His disciples be the quickest to offer aid and kindness to those who are suffering at the hands of fleeing violence and destruction? Those who are humbly seeking room in the inn?

You can agree with whatever side of the political spectrum you want. But please, do not use the Savior of the World to justify the way that you treat other people, when it is significantly less than polite. That goes for both donkeys and elephants. 

"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (Matthew 25:40)

Okay, y'all. Enough of this sassy calling people to repentance. I need to work out my own salvation. It is my sincere hope and prayer that those of us who profess to be disciples of Jesus Christ will take so very seriously our sacred duty to emulate His love that He has for EVERYONE. 

Because, whether your mom sings this to you on a regular basis or not, kindness begins with... 

YOU.