a night to remember.

a song to set the scene // sofia by askjell, iris, aurora

It was just one moment in time.

A pause, all but a breath.

We were all on the dance floor.

There was my sister, looking absolutely radiant in her wedding dress.

Her husband was next to her, dancing with her like they were the only ones in the entire room.

Surrounding me were the closest and most cherished members of my friends and family.

And in the midst of this celebration, I suddenly stopped, and paused for this one moment in time.

As if everyone around me had frozen, I took a look around me and felt pure joy.

It was unfiltered, unobstructed happiness.

It was one night to remember.

It’s been nearly two weeks since my sister’s wedding, and it’s taken me longer than usual to gather my thoughts and feelings.

There are too many!

From that night, from that week, from the months leading up to it.

Especially the months leading up to it.

See, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, my family experienced the sudden passing of our grandpa. Stubborn, he refused a service or a funeral, wanting instead to just go quietly.

Stubborn, I felt it prudent to honor his passing, not just for his sake, but for the loved ones he left behind.

Specifically, I felt it necessary to honor this stage of life: the end.

Especially in such short proximity to what we were about to experience: the beginning.

Specifically: my sister’s new beginning.

So, during my speech at the wedding, I said a few words about the importance of his passing and what it means to those he left behind.

As the season changes outside my window as I write this, I feel the timing of his departure and the closeness to the wedding’s arrival was too important to ignore.

On the heels of death came life, and I realized that lows such as grief do not exist without highs such as love.

To be given the opportunity for all of us to come together and celebrate love, that moment in time felt so compelling to write about because in that moment, I was fully embracing the fragility of this life and what it means to be alive and in love.

That’s why I felt drawn to share the fullness of that pause on the dance floor, and why it meant so much to me.

It was my special moment in time.

Amidst all the stress and chaos of the wedding preparations, and navigating grief with my family, that pause selfishly allowed me to create my own experience and memories, and I was able to hold them close, tenderly.

How precious life is.

How special it is to feel such love and connection to this incredible existence.

And how blessed I feel to have been able to take a pause from it all and just live in that one moment in time.

A huge congratulations to my sister and her new husband. ❤️

It’s okay not to be okay.

a song to set the scene // who you are by jessie j

The other day, I stumbled across a meme.

A meme which hit a little too close to home.

Feeling all too real, I thought of my spot at work where I go to cry.

For me, it’s the water room.

Propped up against a 500 gallon tub of water with the lights off, it is my ultimate safe space.

Having cried there dozens of times before, it was a shock to me then when just the other day, someone found me in there.

In a moment of vulnerability, I was sitting with my knees to my chest, once again crying, when all of a sudden, the door swung upon and in walked the unsuspecting pastry chef.

Surprised to see me (considering the state I was in) I quickly made an attempt at wiping up my snotty face.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

I stopped. Did he just ask this bawling mess on the floor if I was okay?

“Yeah, I’m fine!” I responded too quickly, obviously everything but fine.

He grabbed his cupcake tray, and as he was leaving, said, “Well, if you need anything, let me know.”

The door shut and I sat there, stunned.

Someone just asked me if I was okay. Someone…. actually… cared.

Honestly, it was just the thing I needed to hear because after that interaction, I suddenly felt better.

I felt seen, and noticed, and in that moment, that was apparently all I needed.

And then it got me thinking: why is it such a thing to tell people we’re “okay” when we’re so obviously not? Furthermore, why do we do everything in our power to deny such feelings as being “not okay” ?

In another session that involved me once again crying, I noticed just how often I was being told that I was okay.

I felt agitated by this statement. Caught in the cross-hairs of family drama, there were a lot of things I was feeling, none of which felt okay.

So why are we told to believe such lies?

What I’ve noticed, is that socially speaking, it’s not okay to be not okay. It’s not okay to feel feelings. It’s not okay to cry, even in a safe place at work. It’s not okay to embrace whatever experience you’re having, especially if it might make others feel uncomfortable. And so, to avoid making other people feel disconcerted with how we’re truly feeling, we lie.

We hide, in water rooms at work, we quickly wipe away tears and spit out half truths, like “Yeah, I’m fine!” and bury whatever feelings we’re feeling because we’ve been told, by parents, by friends, by tv, by ourselves that it’s not okay to not be okay.

In a conversation with my counselor, I was telling him about stumbling across a devastating message I had received from a friend months ago. Ending our eight year friendship over text, I had deleted the message almost instantly, aching and hurt. Well, I stumbled across the message the other day on my iMac and a whole slew of feelings came up.

The wound was apparently still tender.

With everyone around me telling me, “It’s okay, move on, stop living in the past,” I once again felt that I wasn’t being authentic to myself by burying these very real feelings.

Not surprisingly, I was told that I was right. That though something happened in the past, my feelings were happening in the present, and they deserved recognition and compassion.

And then he told me the wound might take years to heal.

Buuuuuut that’s another story.

What I realized in all of this was that feelings are normal and they warrant a place to be felt. A safe place, an honest place.

Currently?

I’m not okay.

And that’s the honest truth.

I’m overwhelmed, I'm not taking care of myself, and sometimes, I feel like no matter how much effort I put into I put into making boundaries between work and home, I somehow manage to twist them all together, affecting me and the ones I love.

The pasty chef could obviously tell I was not okay. And it meant the world that he recognized that because it made me realize that maybe if I start being honest about how I’m truly feeling, I can welcome in the care and compassion I really need.

Sometimes, it’s just acknowledgement: that we’re seen and accepted for exactly who we are.

But no one’e gonna know we’re not okay unless we start speaking our truths.

Luckily, this pastry chef saw right through me.