OrdinarilyDifferent

JDRF stands for Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, an organization geared towards type 1 diabetes specifically. I first heard about JDRF when I got diagnosed and have been involved with them more heavily since college.

If you are someone you love is impacted by type 1 diabetes, I really encourage you to check them out online. They have different articles and link where you can get information and resources online, but they also have information on what’s going on in your community and people around you who can help support you.

JDRF’s mission is turn turn type one into type none by finding a cure for type 1 diabetes. What’s crazy is I don’t think we’re really that far away either. What once seemed like a dream now seems like it might become a reality. They have a research branch that solely focuses on research that helps prevent, cure, and manage type 1 diabetes.

This past year at the JDRF Gala I got to hang out with bunch of younger kids with type 1 diabetes and it was honestly one of the coolest things I’ve seen. To see them show off their omnipods or talk to each other about their glucose levels and it be normal. And then they would run around because they are normal kids. Part of it was sad, of course, that at such a young age they were discussing their medical history basically and the machine that is keeping them alive, but you also saw what an incredible community that JDRF had built for them. A community where they weren’t different than all their friends around them, but they were the same. They fit in a way that they don’t normally outside of that community.

Plus the parents!!! To get to watch them meet someone who GETS IT! How magical. Type 1 diabetes can bring on a sense of loneliness that is hard to describe. I’ve watched it with my parents and I’ve watched it with other parents who don’t understand why this happened to their child and feel like they’re incompetent because they can’t fix it or don’t know how to make it better or their kid’s numbers aren’t always perfect.

To be in a room with people who understand that you can do everything right, and you still may be too high or too low. To be understood in the struggles of fluctuations and bulky machines being attached to your body. JDRF brings community, and we as human beings, thrive when we’re in community with others.

I’m walking with JDRF on November 16th in Winston Salem and would love your support for this great organization that helps so many people! I’ll be posting a link to donate if you’d like to. Let me know if you have any questions about JDRF or how to connect with someone at JDRF and I’d be more than happy to help.

Talk to you later,

HP

If there’s one thing that people get out of my posts, is that “diabetes” is really not an accurate general term. When people say “diabetes” they are typically referring to type 2 diabetes, which is extremely different than type 1 diabetes. So today, I’m going to tell you why I can eat that cookie.

What we know as Type 2 Diabetes is a metabolic disease caused from a person’s body that has become insulin resistant in most cases. So to break it down a little, when we eat carbs or sugar, our body breaks it down to glucose. As that glucose hits our bloodstream, our blood glucose goes up. Our body wants to stay in homeostasis, so it wants to keep our blood glucose pretty level and within a normal range. To do this our beta cells in our pancreas produce insulin. Insulin brings our blood glucose levels back down. But imagine hitting an empty soda can with a sledgehammer. Eventually, the can will be flat and nothing happens with it is hit. The same thing happens. When we have a dietary lifestyle that is high in sugars and carbs, especially processed sugars and carbs, the receptors get hit so much that they no longer actually receive the insulin to bring our blood glucose levels back down. So then our blood glucose levels remain high, leading to type 2 diabetes. Physical activity also influences type 2 diabetes as activity increases insulin sensitivity, our body’s ability to accept the insulin. A sedentary lifestyle combined with a an unhealthy dietary lifestyle is a double whammy. There is a genetic component to type 2 diabetes, so if it is in your family, I encourage you to have a lifestyle that decreases your chances in developing type 2 diabetes!

On the other hand, type 1 diabetes is an autoimmune disorder where those same beta cells that produce insulin die. The body attacks itself and kills all of the beta cells until there are no more, meaning no more insulin can be produced to bring glucose levels back to normal ranges. This means that the insulin receptors are still good, so as long as the body gets insulin from an external source, it will still be received. Of course, insulin resistance can start to occur in type 1 diabetes if a healthy lifestyle with good dietary habits and good activity levels are not achieved. There is a genetic component to type 1 diabetes, but no one in my family has ever had it, and that’s not uncommon. There’s a lot of research going on right now trying to figure out what exposures lead to a mutation that leads to type 1 diabetes. Some findings see environmental factors, some see that certain viruses or illnesses can trigger it, and some findings suggest that type 1 diabetes is greatly associated with other diseases like thyroid problems or gluten allergies. We ultimately don’t know yet, but we’re figuring it out!

Type 2 diabetes is also referred to as adult-onset diabetes and type 1 is sometimes referred to childhood-onset diabetes. However, I’ve heard some discussion about needing to eliminate this because there is such a drastic increase in the amount of kids with type 2 diabetes.

Hopefully this was somewhat clear and makes even a tiny bit of sense. But I know when I hear “Don’t you have diabetes? Doesn’t that mean you can’t eat _________” I eat more of whatever was said. I turn one cookie to two, one scoop of ice cream to two. So if you’re reading this and you know someone who is type 1, it’s really meaningful to discern which type you’re talking about.

I’m going to go enjoy my cookie now.

Talk with y’all tomorrow,

HP

Last night I got to go to a wedding celebrating two of my good friends that I’ve met while I’ve been at Wake Forest. It was absolutely beautiful and so much fun, if you know who Lexi and Caleb are, you know how easy it is to celebrate them.

I love getting dressed up sometimes and being creative putting my clothes together. I am a strong believer in “look good, feel good, play good,” so I like to love what I’m wearing and feel good in it and have a ton of fun! BUT, picking out clothes with type 1 diabetes is more than just colors and patterns.

Thinking about where I’m going to put my pump is a thought every time I get dressed. It’s a thought before I buy anything in the store and especially online. If I don’t think there’s anywhere to hide my pump, it’s outta the picture. So here’s where I usually keep mine when I’m not just lounging around the house.

I actually went to a wedding back in August and had picked out the midi dress to wear. My plan was to clip my pump to my bra or spandex for the wedding. The day before the wedding, my clip BROKE! I wasn’t at home or even in my home state, so I began to panic about how I was going to deal with my pump and hide it. Quick tip: dress with pockets are great because you can run the pump from under your arm to the pocket and it’s somewhat noticeable but not bad with clear tubing. However, I was trying to figure out how to secure this thing to my body for dancing but also be able to get insulin for dinner without clipping it anywhere. I thought that if I compressed the pump somewhere, it could at least be safe. I really didn’t want to use plastic wrap, but thankfully, I’ve been kickboxing lately and had some wrist wraps in my car. I legitimately put my pump against my chest and used my kickboxing wrist wrap to secure my pump to my body. It worked, but thankfully my new clip was waiting for me at home on Monday.

The easiest place to keep my pump is in the back pocket of my pants. If I’m just going to a dinner or lunch date with my friends and I can wear jeans and a nice top, that’s my go to just so that my pump is hidden but also easily accessible. Most of the time when I pull my pump out, people think it was my phone! Which also, phones haven’t been that thick since the 90s, but I’ll take it. The biggest struggle with this is keeping the tubing under a belt so it doesn’t get caught and then tucked in my pants so that it isn’t poking out weird in my shirt.

When dressing to teach or for a presentation or an interview, I typically wear dress pants. Of note, women’s dress pants are dumb. Plain and simple. The pockets on those things aren’t even real pockets! They are just made to look like pockets but they aren’t functional at. all. So there goes my back pocket idea. For dress pants, I really have two options. I have a clip on the back of my pump, so sometimes depending on the pair of pants, I clip the pump to the front side of my pants with the pump facing my body so it digs into my skin rather than sticking out in front of my pants. This s=isn’t the most comfortable, but I can usually get away with it and no one noticing. Plus again, easy access if necessary. If it’s too uncomfortable to clip my pump on my pants, I pretty much also buy flow shirts so that worst case, I can clip my pump on the front center or not he side of my bra. These places are more comfortable but harder in that the tubing is more difficult to control and it’s not as accessible if you need it for whatever reason.

I’ll be honest. Any type of top that is sheer or tight or cropped gives me anxiety. Not from a body image perspective but from the idea that everyone will see my infusion site and/or my continuous glucose monitor (CGM). I don’t like when people think I’m fragile. And when they can see my diabetes, they stare. Or they’re worried to touch or bump into my sites. So this isn’t even about my pump, but it’s an awareness I have of everyone’s eyes around my and what their eyes are saying.

Dresses and skirts are a whole other beast. I have a rule that if I don’t have pants pockets, one half of my outfit has to be loose and flowy at least. If the top is fitted, the bottom has to be flowy or vice versa. With dresses and skirts I feel like I have 3 options. What I did last night with my flowy dress was I wore some of my soccer sliders/spandex under my dress and just clipped my pump there with the body of the pump facing me. So it was tucked in the spandex. This is optimal to me because I can just pull my dress up and enter my carbs for dinner and cake, and because of the flowy-ness, no one can tell where my pump is. This is more comfortable than the dress pants because well for one, spandex are just more comfortable in general, but also, your girl loves to dance, so my pump isn’t really digging into me at all. Another option is what I described with a top before to hook it on the front or side of my bra. For the same reasons, this is discreet, but not as accessible or easy to get to my pump for insulin or anything else. The last option I have, I actually recently bought a couple of months ago from Medtronic. It’s a garter with a pocket for my pump. So I can put my pump in the pocket and then attach the garter as a whole to my upper thigh and then it’s not noticeable at all! My only problem with this was access and having to go to the bathroom to get to my pump any time I wanted or needed to and I also am still getting used to feeling my pump almost wiggle as I walk and not being nervous that its going to come out, but a great option for hiding the pump!

So there are options, but if you can’t tell here, it’s a decision and a thought process every day. I’m a proud diabetic, but I’m proud when people don’t know I’m diabetic from looking at me. Thinking through al the hacks of how to hide my pump but be able to get to it easily has been a difficult thing. Being incredibly nervous and scared and embarrassed trying to hide it under my prom dress. Or being terrified during my grad school interviews that my pump would go off while attached to my bra during an interview and weirdly and awkwardly hitting the ok button on my chest while the professor talked to me felt like I would get a rejection letter right then and there. I always ask before I go anywhere special if anyone can see my pump before I leave my house. With my tricks, it’s at least 95% of the time a no and my friends ask where it is. But, if you’re struggling with this, let me know. It’s still a struggle and something I hate dealing with, but it can be overcome.

Talk to you tomorrow,

HP

Today is the start of National Diabetes Month and for the next 30 days I’m going to bring you guys with me through my diabetes journey. I want this to be a space where people can ask me questions and I can write my experiences or any answers I have. There’s a lot people who don’t understand diabetes, type 1 diabetes in particular and I want to use these 30 days to bring light to a disease that is normally misunderstood. Some days I may bring you along throughout my day and tell you each thing I had to do for my diabetes, some days I may answer some of your questions, some days I may share some research that has been published, but ultimately, I’m hoping that these posts bring people answers, peace, knowledge, and community.

So for starters… my name is Hannah Parker and I have type 1 diabetes.

When I think back on my childhood, I remember a lot of medical tests and I remember a lot of unanswered questions. I remember having special desserts and special chocolate bars because I could only eat what was sugar free until I was around 8 years old. I remember getting glasses in third grade because I was complaining about my vision getting blurry, but the doctor couldn’t fully diagnose or figure out what was wrong with my eyes. I wasn’t near-sided or far-sided.. I just couldn’t see right. And that continued until I was 16. All my parents knew was that I threw up when I ate sugar when I was younger. I had to go to the doctor all the time but it was always just a virus. I swear there were a couple of years where I had a different test done at UAB every couple of months and all that we would know is that it wasn’t something. It wasn’t gluten or lactose, it wasn’t a bunch of things, but it never had an answer.

The second semester of my sophomore year of high school, I was packing the gallon storage ziplock bags full of food for lunch. Typically included were 2-4 sandwiches, a piece of fruit, some crackers, maybe some gummies, and anything else we had in the house. And I would eat it all. I also played soccer my whole life and it was this season that I felt I was killing myself to improve and running constantly to make my times and I just never could. I had hit a wall. At the end of the year, I got pneumonia. And about a week later, I got mono. As I was recovering from mono, I had serious cravings. We never really ate crazy amounts of sugar or fast food or anything of the such but I would find myself eating an entire can of cinnamon rolls. Or racing to the hibachi place to dive into some fried rice. At some point, my brother and I went to go see my dad in his office and after just a couple of flights of stairs I was extremely winded, despite all of my soccer training. We walked in and my dad lost it about how out of shape I was and I had lost so much weight and what was going on with me. And truth be told, I didn’t realize I had lost so much weight.

I started to get sick again and finally convinced my mom to take me to the doctor. We saw a pediatrician who I had never seen before and I will always thank her for my life. She was the first one who tested me for ketones. As soon as she told my mom and I to go to the hospital because she thought I had type 1 diabetes, I asked if I could have a baked potato before I left. I, like so many others, thought this meant I couldn’t have carbs ever again and I needed one last potato.

We got to the hospital and I remember walking from the parking deck carrying my bag and a blanket and a pillow pet. My mom was scared and kept asking me to hurry so we could get to the emergency room as soon as possible. And I remember looking at some strange red statue and telling myself to just focus on every step. That every time I felt my foot hit the ground, I was one step closer to sitting down.

We made it, of course, but the next couple of days are blurry. I was in and out of it in ICU and would come to it and hear my parents talking sometimes, worried. And I would be so scared to actually wake up and have been another burden on them. I heard my mom one time saying that I would never be able to wear tight clothing, and of course my dad wasn’t mad about that, and in that moment I realized I would never be the same. They didn’t know I could hear them. They didn’t know then or when I could hear them pacing in my room, my mom crying what had she done wrong or what had she missed. My brother moved states away the same day and my parents couldn’t be with him because they were with me.

The hospital is an overwhelming place during diagnosis. I remember waking up one morning inICU before being transferred to a room and I had to give myself my shot of Lantus, long-lasting insulin. I told the nurse I didn’t think I could do it, I hated needles. And I just remember her eyes piercing me, seeing parts of me that I didn’t know existed, and telling me that I could choose to get used to it and live a good life or I could choose to be too scared and I would stay sick and eventually die. I gave myself the shot.

A lot has happened since I got discharged from Children’s in 2012 and I can’t wait to tell you all about it. But today, I’m sitting in my bed with my “artificial pancreas” after doing a kickboxing workout and now working on my IRB for my second study on exercise and type 1 diabetes. So this month let’s recognize what is hard and what is scary, let’s build a stronger community by understanding this disease and knowing how to help and knowing how many people understand, and let’s celebrate the many wins that we each face with our own type 1 diabetes journey.

See you tomorrow,

HP

I’ve spent quite some time reflecting on 2018 and what I’ve realized is that it went nothing like I thought it would. I’ll admit, when 2018 started, I was full of questions – I didn’t know what was coming after graduation, what my next step would be, or where I even wanted it to be. It’s hard to say this year wasn’t how I expected when I didn’t have any expectations, but it sure surpassed anything I could have imagined. This year wasn’t sunshine and daisies all the time, that’s not what I’m saying, but I fell in love with overcast, and even some storms.

I fell in love with representing my school and higher education.

In my last year or so at Berry, I had the opportunity to help make presentations on behalf of the QEP. I had been a part of the pilot class which was being taught by one of my favorite professors, but it was solely a discussion-based class. In the class we were able to write and discuss connections we had made through prompts we were given. Connections about how our education, our work experience, our study abroad trips, anything we had been a part of at Berry, and how they were intertwined. How it all effected our next steps and our long-term goals. I got to vouch for the program and present how much I loved the class to numerous groups of people. I knew I had fallen in love with representing what I believed Berry stood for in terms of educational principles during the SACS accreditation presentation when those in charge of our QEP kept being questioned on how the class could be quantifiably measured. And I couldn’t help but be sad for her because she didn’t understand who Berry was. She didn’t get that sometimes things aren’t quantifiable… and that’s a good thing. I fell in love with representing that and standing for that, believing with my whole heart in an education based on more than my grade in a class or the language I used in a paper, but how it all related to a larger scale picture of my life. I fell in love with seeing how relationships and challenges helped mold what I know I want in my life. I fell in love with seeing how head, heart, and hands encapsulates a way to learn that’s not measured by standardized testing, but by the individual person and their hopes, dreams, and ambitions.

At the end of the final semester, I won the Martha Berry award… how? I’m still not sure. When I got invited to Honor’s Convocation, I saw the Martha Berry award listed as an option and my heart sunk a little thinking of how cool it would be to be picked as having encapsulated Martha Berry’s mission. I didn’t graduate from Berry with a 4.0, I wasn’t even close, so I felt I knew that I wasn’t the student for the award. But that night.. I won the Martha Berry award. And I wasn’t in love with the fact I had won the award, I fell in love with the fact that the award wasn’t chosen based on GPA (it couldn’t have been or I wouldn’t have won). I fell in love with the idea that an institution still values students for what they do and who they are rather than just how well they did on their exams through college.

So when I think about my future and my long term goals, I love the idea of impacting students and providing an education that’s more about building connections and relationships, learning how to balance all the things in life, learning about who the student is themselves more so than asking students to prepare for a single exam so that the institution scores go up. I think the scores will come when students feel they are valued and poured into and that happens when the grade isn’t the ultimate goal. I fell in love with a complex idea of education and how it can impact younger generations.

I fell in love with the lasts.

My biggest fear of 2019 was graduating and leaving Berry College for the last time as a student. I was worried about what was to come and if I would be able to keep up. Somehow I had become successful at Berry, and I worried that in the next stage, I would be disappointing. So while the spring semester was full of different ceremonies, presentations, banquets, dinners, and events that made me thankful for dry shampoo and coffee, it was also a time of putting fun as a top priority. I did things like go out on a weeknight when I had a test the next day, climb to roofs of buildings to watch the sunset, pulled an all nighter (even if it was to finish a project), snuck into a fancy hotel pool at night to drink wine and eat chocolate with my best friend, and I made memories with friends who I’ll have forever. I’m still sad sometimes when I think about the good-byes I said that often felt too short. But each moment was full of gratitude. I fell in love with the relationships I had made and knowing that I had so many people who had turned into family, and that wouldn’t change no matter where I went. The lasts were all dreaded, pushed until the last minute, and they were hard, harder that I wanted or expected, but they were so good. Good because I could tell each person how much they meant to me, give them a hug and squeeze a little tighter, write them a note so they never forget. The lasts gave me meaningful memories that keep reminding me that places like Berry do exist, and the magic is real. I fell in love with the amount of relationships I had made and fell in love with how many hard good-bye’s I had.

I fell in love with Lighthouse.

Lighthouse Family Retreats is the non-profit that I’ve been volunteering with since the summer of 2015. This past summer I got to actually work for them as an intern, and I learned so much more than I ever thought I could. I fell in love with reading daily scripture, thanks to Scott Wade for encouraging us to read Matthew, for dedicating even a few minutes every day solely to the Word and thinking through it, talking through it, living through it. I fell in love with the hard work, the behind the scenes and watching families get to experience the love of Christ through that work. I fell in love with dance parties, face paint with glitter, and spoon trains at the end of the day (IYKYK). I fell in love with the smile on a child’s face seeing the ocean for the first time. I fell in love with watching their eyes grow from being overwhelmed at all the different options of donuts in the mornings. I fell in love with putting up that big white tent, not because it was actually enjoyable to do, but because I knew the magic that was to come. One of my good friends I made at Lighthouse, Chloe Kliment, talked to me at the beach, or as we were laying down to sleep for the night, about her coming up job at North Point and about really making a place for someone, and through her executing that so beautifully at Lighthouse, I fell in love with it too. To intentionally prepare a place for someone to be loved, just for them, so they don’t have to worry about it. Every day we had the choice to do something just a little extra for someone, to put their name on a sign in the sand so they knew their whole family had a place prepared for them, a vegetarian meal option so they didn’t have to buy their own food, games they could play and people for them to play with, and every day I loved watching those things make people smile. And not just a smile to make someone happy, but a smile that comes when you feel your heart skip a beat because you feel so loved. I fell in love with seeing Jesus working every single day, knowing that the work I was doing matters.

I fell in love with Jesus every day.

My goal every day is to fall more in love with Jesus, to let His love surround me and be shining through me to everyone around me. I was hesitant to say this statement because let me tell you, I missed days in my devotional, I didn’t go to church every Sunday and sometimes that was just because I was tired and wanted to have a slow morning and lay in bed, and there were definitely times I was angry and not understanding. But through all the hard times, I found myself holding on to the truth that is Jesus. I found myself holding on as tight as I could to the fact that I know Jesus is my best friend and He wants better for me than I want for myself. It was like being on a roller coaster and closing your eyes feeling life rush around you at a faster pace than you can keep up with and Jesus was the handle bars.. gripping as tightly as possible just to not get lost. I flourished in the times when I was conscious that each person is made in His image and each person has a part of Him in them. I fell in love with trying to find that part – to look at someone who was seemingly impossible at first, but choosing to love them knowing that Jesus loves them, so I should do my best to as well. I fell in love with struggling and/or failing and falling back on my main dude, Jesus, knowing that His plan for me is bigger and better than what I have in my mind. In the times that felt like I was falling down a hole and everything was black, I never lost sight of the light at the end, knowing it was there and I would get there eventually. Trusting with my whole heart that I truly have no idea what is going to happen next and that can be scary, but it’s also so incredibly exciting because I know it’s going to be great even if it’s a season of growth and some pain. I fell in love with putting my heart out for Him at every crossroad, every question, finding comfort in the discomfort. I fell in love with seeking Him in the darkness, praying to Him when I was lonely, closing my eyes at night knowing with my whole being that I am not in control and that’s a beautiful thing.

I fell in love with my life and began to better love myself.

This past year wasn’t perfect. It was really, really hard. There are breakdowns that I remember vividly, and not just a couple, but many. There were times I wasn’t sure I was where I was supposed to be. There were times when I started to lose myself. Times when I cried until nothing else came out. Times when I thought I already hit my prime and it was downhill from there. AND YET. Those times never overcame me. I have finally come to a point this year in my faith that has provided me with this foundation and relationship with Jesus that is unshakeable. And it’s through that I’ve been able to see in the shadows with a light. It’s because of that relationship that I look back on the year as a whole and am full of joy, smiling ear to ear, excited for what’s coming next. I’ve been able to take my past, accept it, and love it for giving me a story that allows me to connect with such a diverse group of peopleI fell in love with things that used to be my greatest fears… I fell in love with building true and lasting relationships with people. I fell in love with being vulnerable, open, and honest. I fell in love with pouring myself into those around me. I fell in love with daily prayer. I fell in love the unknown. Most importantly, I fell in love with giving myself to Jesus every day… and not just pieces of me, but all of me. Every broken piece, every failure, every success, every mistake, and every opportunity. I fell in love with my life, began to better love myself, and began to better love people because I fell in love with my best friend, Jesus.

                I’ve been playing soccer now for about 17-18 years (there’s an ongoing debate on if I was 3 or 4 when I started). The point is though, that’s a long time. That’s basically my entire life. I started watching soccer like the day I was born basically, and grew up at the fields. Dad was coaching or Zac, my older brother, was playing.  That’s just how life was, life was at the soccer fields. Whether I started playing at 3 or 4 years old, I started playing before I was coordinated enough to even run 20 years without tripping over myself.

                17 years is a long time. For parents, it’s like working at one company for 17 years. For other young adults and adolescents, that’s longer than we all went through grade school. For 17 years my life has been soccer. That means that it hasn’t been just playing with a bow in my hair at the park down the street with girls I go to school with. It wasn’t paying $20 for a pair of cleats and kicking the ball as hard as I can. Whether or not my parents liked it or even knew about it, soccer was my #1 priority my whole life. I would get checked out of school for a tournament, I would not do my school assignments until after practice, or not at all if I passed out right after my shower, I thought, dreamt, slept, breathed, loved soccer.

                When we dedicate that much time, energy, and passion into something, it becomes part of our identity. It’s a part of who we are. Part of who I am and who I will always be will be soccer. The teams I played on, the girls I played with, the jerseys I wore, the schools and clubs I represented, and the passion I have in my heart.

                I realized this past year that I put so much of myself and my identity into soccer that that’s where I put my value. I put my value as a player, and as a person, into my playing time, into what my coaches said to me, into what my coaches thought of me, into my last pass or into my last touch on the ball. I put all of my value into things that are temporary. I put my worth  into worldly things and people when those aren’t things that last.

                What I’ve realized is that my value doesn’t come for my coaches or my teammates or even me as a player, but my value comes from Jesus. My playing time doesn’t define my value. My athleticism doesn’t define my value. My coaches comments to me or about me do not give or take away from my value. Whether or not I get 10 minutes or 90 minutes of playing time during a game doesn’t determine how much I am glorifying Jesus. Playing on the field isn’t my one way to glorify Jesus and it has taken me a lifetime to realize that. If I’m not on the field, moping and being sad about it is not glorifying Jesus. But if I can encourage my team and love on them while they’re on the field, I think that’s glorifying Jesus more than sulking because I’m not on the field and they are.

                At the end of the day, I love my team and I want success for my team so much more than I want success for just myself. I believe fully that Jesus places us in the places where we can succeed and the places where we belong. So maybe some games I belong on the field 90 minutes, maybe some games I belong on the field 15 minutes, and maybe some games I belong on the sideline cheering my team on as they put their hearts out on the field.

Either way, no matter what, I am choosing to glorify Jesus instead of trying to glorify myself, on the field, on the sideline, and in every way that I can. I don’t play soccer because my coaches put a passion for the game in me. That passion didn’t come from anyone but myself. I have a passion and a love for this beautiful game because God made me a soccer player. And I just hope that I glorify Him to the best of my abilities in this last season.

Have you ever been in a place to pray and you just can’t get everything out? Have you ever been in a place where you want so badly to just let loose, let everything out, and have it out with God, but you feel yourself contain everything you really want to say and keep it nice and short and sweet?

Well, I have. A lot actually.

I’m not one of those people who sets aside a specific time to pray, I don’t know it feels too formal for me. I tend to find myself talking with God while I’m in the shower or when I first wake up in the morning and reality starts to set in over my dreams or when I’m walking to class. Usually the times in my days when I’m to myself and I have a couple minutes to not think about everything going on around me.

But I don’t know the last time I felt like I had a real conversation with God. I can’t tell you the last time I felt His presence in a time with just myself. And it’s frustrating, ya know? I feel like everyday I come to a point where I realize how alone I feel and how defeated I feel and I want so badly to feel God there with me and I want so badly to just cry to Him and let everything out.

I’ve been so frustrated that I haven’t been able to do so. It’s not like I don’t have those times that I usually talk with Him, it’s not like I don’t have anything to say. But it feels lonely, it feels fake, it feels empty. I find myself everyday asking, “Where are you, God? Am I in the wrong place?”

I’ve written many times before how I’ve realized that I’m pretty good at closing myself off. I’m good at not being attached to the things that hurt me and I’m good at not feeling the things I felt when the damage was done, and I’m pretty good at looking like I have my shit together.

I laugh at myself some mornings, the mornings when I wake up and I’m just not sure if I’m gonna make it, the mornings where I can’t wait to just be back in my bed again, and I go to the Cage and as soon as my client walks in, I feel the smile form across my face, the sweet words spewing out of my mouth, talking about how good things are when they ask how I am.

I’m so good at telling my friends that it’s okay to not be okay, that it’s okay to not have it all together or know what they’re gonna do with their life, or even what to not know what they’re gonna eat for their next meal for that matter. But I’m sure not good at doing it myself.

I mean, honestly, today was the most Monday-ish Monday in the history of Mondays. My weeks starts off pretty early with my first client at 6:30am. I spent my Sunday night trying to perfect some extra credit for Anatomy so no, I didn’t study for my test at 11, no, I didn’t attempt to start my lab due by 1. I got my two morning clients done, got my paper for anatomy printed and BOOM. The storm was in Rome. The power went out campus wide and I had just a few minutes to make it to class on time.. So I had to make a decision. Do I get wet or does my paper get wet? I think you know how this goes. I ended up in my dark anatomy classroom, dripping wet the entire lecture, cramming before my exam. This is just by 9am, so let me just spare you the time and sum it up to the fact that I spent a large amount of time laying on the ground questioning my entire life today.

I’ve been so frustrated with myself for quite a while now, wondering why I don’t feel close to God. Wondering why I feel so distant and wondering if I’m doing something wrong. And though, I wouldn’t necessarily say I was doing something wrong, but I was the one attempting to form this wedge between God and myself.

Unfortunately, I’ve found that it tends to be easier to be vulnerable with people than it is with God sometimes. Not that being vulnerable is ever easy. But I’ve been trying to talk with God like I’m not struggling. Almost like just because I’m a Christian, I feel like I shouldn’t be struggling because I have Christ with me. WRONG. And it’s so easy for me to forget that. Christ PROMISES us struggles and pain and suffering. But He also promises that he’ll be there with us, even in the valley of bones.

Lord,

I want to yell for You. I want to scream for You and then feel You come back to me. I don’t want to just know that You’re there, I want to feel You there. I also want to yell at You. I want to know why everything seems to be crumbling around me. I want to know why I feel so undeserving and defeated all the time. I want to know how to do better, how to be better. I want to find You and feel You every day when I’m dealing with my struggles and when I am losing sight of Hope. I want to know what to do with my life and with my classes and with my friends. I want to know that everything is really going to be okay. I want my friends and family to know how loved they are even when I don’t show it or say it enough. I want to do a good job, the best job I possibly can every single day and I want that to be enough. And I know this is so much to ask for and so many desires, but my heart is heavy and You are my rock. You are the light in my darkness and I’m searching for a bigger and brighter flame. Thank You for relentlessly pursuing me and loving me unconditionally even when I don’t deserve it.

In Your name I pray,

Amen

So this past Fall I started working at a local church in downtown Rome. I was absolutely terrified because I didn’t feel qualified to teach these kids about God. I mean, c’mon. Me? No way. Never in my life would I have thought I would work in a church. But that’s changed a little now. Now as I think back, not only did I never think I’d work in a church, I sure never thought I would LOVE working in a church.

I have never been a part of a youth group until now. The one church I really went to growing up didn’t have a youth group. And the times I went to a different church, I didn’t like the youth group or didn’t feel comfortable with them, or I just wasn’t going to church at all. So being a part of this youth group is a whole new thing for me, a new thing that has severely impacted my life in the most wonderful way. All that being said, I sure have not ever been on a youth trip or retreat.

I’ve been thinking about and anticipating this past weekend for a couple months now. I was nervous. I didn’t know what camp was like, I definitely didn’t know what Jesus camp was like, I’ve only ever been to soccer camp. I didn’t know what my role was going to be or how many kids I’d be in charge of or if it would be fun for me or my youth.

That being said, let’s have a story time. I was in a cabin with my one middle school female youth and we were in a cabin with a couple other youth groups and one adult per other youth group. So I walk into the cabin Saturday night to one adult asleep, one adult at the hospital with one of her girls, one girl screaming she’s a space cadet, one girl crying because she forgot to pack her concealer, one girl singing a random song on Justin Bieber My World 2.0, and one girl asleep on the porch. All after a day of Ecogrounds coffee.

Anyways, so I got in the van with the few of my youth, my boss, and the other youth intern and headed to camp Glisson on Friday afternoon, my heart completely unprepared.

I’ll go ahead and give away that camp was absolutely amazing. The theme of the retreat was seasons, that being seasons of our faith. When I found that part out, I was kind of in awe, and as the weekend went on I felt God’s hand on my shoulder more than I have in a long time. Last week, I wrote a post about being in a season of confusion. AKA WINTER. Hello Hannah!! Here’s God to tell you that you literally wrote an article about the season you’re in and feeling so distant from God but HAHA you’re actually going to camp with your youth to learn all about the vicious winter you’ve been in!!

Winter. I’m not a fan. In any type of way actually. I don’t like being cold and it makes me extra lazy because I don’t want to go out because I don’t want to be cold. I don’t like layering because as soon as you get inside somewhere you’ve got all these articles of clothing to carry around with you. I don’t like feeling distant from God or questioning Him because I don’t feel Him. I don’t like the struggles that lead me to those feelings. But as our amazing speaker preached this weekend, there are three things we must learn about the seasons of our faith:

1. We must know what season we are in
2. We must learn how to be effective in that season
3. We must learn how to be okay in that season

The night that our speaker spoke about the season of Winter, she invited anyone in the audience who was going through a winter, or a rough time in their lives, to come forward to pray with her. Before she finished her sentence, one of our youth was already out of the row, tears streaming out of his poor eyes. The even more amazing part.. it wasn’t me, my boss, or the other youth intern that followed him, it was every other youth that went with him, putting their hands on him, crying with him, praying with him, and just being with him.

Later that night when we got to spend time with just our youth groups, that little boy opened up and told us about his winter. Told us of his pain and his hurt and his confusion and doubt. My heart absolutely broke for him, but boy was I happy I could sit there and tell him he’s not alone. It was so good to see our youth come together for him, being vulnerable and open and reminding us all that we’re going through winter with a whole group of people who love us if we allow them.

Hello, blogging world, it’s been a few months! I actually opened my computer to keep working on a paper for my Intimate Relationships class. Yes, you did read that whole sentence right. Yes, I’m writing a paper while on Spring Break. Yes, I’m in an Intimate Relationships class… I thought it was an area I lacked in and thought I could figure some things out. Anyways, that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing the past few months. Wake up, train clients, class, lunch, class, work and train more clients, workout, dinner, homework, bed, repeat. That cycle doesn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing. Until I realized that it’s been months since I just sat down and talked and hung out with any of my friends. Or until I realized that I had a crazy amount of thoughts in my head that I hadn’t written out. Until I realized I had begun drowning in my thoughts, losing myself as I sank lower and lower. Until I realized how much time I spend not trying to have a mental breakdown. Or until I realized every time I’m doing something, I’m thinking and planning for the next three things I have to do.

Reflecting on my life, especially my years at Berry, I’ve been a pretty successful person overall. For the most part, when I’ve really wanted something and really worked hard for it, I’ve gotten it and I’ve done well with it. Pretty much until this year. Don’t get me wrong, there have been a few things that have really marked success in my life since starting my Junior year, like starting my own research, but it’s really the more basic or fundamental things that have stumped me. Which is just really backwards and I get more frustrated because it just doesn’t make sense.

Let me try to explain.

I’m not angry, I’m not sad, I’m lost. Actually, I don’t know maybe I am angry and maybe I am sad, and maybe I’m even both because truth be told, I just don’t know anymore.

I spent my Fall semester dealing and coping with events that happened at the end of a prior relationship. It was not an easy time and I really feel so thankful for my youth group because they’re smiling faces full of pure joy and love twice a week really pushed me to keep going and pushed me to want to be better for them. I had a great support system at school that kept me from completely losing myself in a battle that I felt I was fighting alone. Most of them had no idea what I was going through, but being surrounded by people with such outflowing love was so helpful. I spent last semester convincing myself, and then believing, that I can’t take responsibility for anyone’s actions or words besides my own. I spent all my emotional energy getting myself to a point of believing that somebody else’s words and how they react, has nothing to do with me or my worth, but more to do with them and who they are, so if they decided to respond in a negative way, it’s not that I’m not good enough or I could’ve done something better, but that was their choice and it tells me more about them than about myself.

So while thinking through all of this, sorting it out, getting a glimpse of the needle buried deep in the haystack, I put this guy, one of my best friends (number 2 to be exact) on the back burner. I denied that he had told me he had feelings for me and I denied to myself that the feelings were mutual because it seemed so unfair to drag him through that haystack to even get a glimpse of the needle. I didn’t think it was something good, to be with someone else when I hadn’t even gotten over what had happened with someone before. So by the time I got to the point of being happy with myself and where I was with my prior relationship and was ready to admit to myself and my best friend that I had been hiding from him and that I knew everything and he wasn’t alone in it, I was too late and he had given someone else a chance who wasn’t going to keep him waiting. I honestly think about it every day and think about how I wish I had done something more.

Okay so yeah, typical girl in college upset because of a boy, no big deal. In the midst of feeling not good enough and like a huge loser from all of that, I had started the second part of Anatomy and Physiology where I had no idea that the untold part of the course was that we would all go crazy trying to figure out how to pass a quiz. My anatomy professor from the Fall passed away from cancer, and the whole department was in shambles trying to find a replacement. So I’ve basically spent the past couple months trying to figure out how to be successful in this class. You know, most people have to figure out how to study or how the professor teaches, etc., right? I’ve done it all, we’ve done it all. The whole class has tried to figure out how to be successful and I still don’t know. I. have. No. idea. Every second I have, I have my anatomy book open or my PowerPoints open, or my notes open, just trying to catch a glimore of success in this class.

I’ve never in my life been trying so hard and not be successful. And the thing is, I don’t know if I’m more unsuccessful because I can’t pass anything in my anatomy class despite hours a day studying and the guy who was my best friends who I fell for won’t even talk to me now, or if I’m more unsuccessful because I’m not enjoying any part of what this life has to offer me right now. I spend every day on the most beautiful campus in the entire world, and I see it as I walk to work and classes, and I see it behind the windows of the Cage. I have the most amazing people in my life who I don’t get to laugh with because I’m so incredibly scared of failure.

I had everything planned. I had my grad schools picked out, the money it would cost, when I would start, when to take the GRE, and now I just don’t know. Kind of like when you go to the store to get dtuff to make a very specific recipe and you get all the way home and unload and you can basically taste the fantastic meal but then you realize you don’t have any butter. So not only do I not know if I CAN do it, but I don’t even know if it’s what I want to do anymore. I’ve thrown my whole being into something that I no longer know if I can handle. Or even if I want to handle anymore. And I tell myself every single day that I know deep down that I’ll be okay and I know deep down that I don’t have to have it all figured out right now or even a year from now. I tell myself every day that I’m not alone, that despite my many flaws and mistakes, that I have a God who loves me more than I could ever imagine and I tell myself that I trust Him.. but do I? If I really, truly trusted Him, I wouldn’t be so scared or so anxious or so confused. But it’s hard to trust somebody who feels so distant. It’s hard to know that God is with me but not feel Him.

I guess I’m in a season of my life where I just don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how to get the things that I think I want. I don’t know what to do or how to feel about losing one of my best friends, I don’t know where to go from here.

The things I do know? I do know that I will be okay and I do know that I will find what I want to do and I will be happy. I do know that as much as I want to know what I want to do with my life, I never want to settle, I want to forever pursue things to make me better. I do know that even when I feel He is so far away, God is with me and He loves me.

Cheers to the unknown.

Have you ever seen a post on social media, probably facebook, twitter, or Instagram, talking about how that person was done caring so much? Some post about how if they cared less, they would get hurt less?

Well, those posts have caught my eye for a long time now. I have this app called Timehop that shows you everyday what you posted on that date in previous years. I’ve noticed a trend in my past self and realized that I was the one posting those things before. I was the one tweeting or sharing that I didn’t want to care any more, that if I cared less I wouldn’t hurt so much, that I should only give to those who give to me.

All of these posts can make total sense though, I can totally see where I was coming from and I can still see why all these people are posting it. If you don’t care about someone and that someone does something bad to you, chances are, it won’t hurt you or effect you because you don’t care about them. If you only give to those who give to you, you’re never in a one-sided relationship. By closing off your heart and only giving it to a select few people, you’re more likely to not have it broken.

In high school, I remember struggling so much with caring “too much.” I hated myself for caring about people who didn’t act like they cared about me. I hated that I gave so much of myself to people who, “didn’t deserve it.” I hated putting myself out there only to get my heart used and torn apart. I didn’t feel like I should be kind or loving to people who were cold and short with me, because “treat people the way you want to be treated,” right?

I see these posts on my Timehop everyday, I see my friends post them everyday, and it just hurts my heart so much. We choose to be rude, cold, or hurtful because we don’t want to be anymore broken and we don’t want to be hurt by the evil in the world. We choose to be a part of it so it doesn’t hurt so much instead of fighting against it.

As Christians, we can argue all we want about specific scripture and what the Bible says about gay marriage and abortion and whatever else. But one thing that is true and solid is that God is Love.

Imagine facing someone that hurt you and instead of yelling at them, telling them that you hope the best for them, that they have a good life, that they are loved. Maybe I’m completely wrong, but if I were that person, it’d make me think a little bit. Why is someone that I hurt being kind to me? What is it about them, what is it in their heart?

All I know is that I’m a much happier person trying to love people in the best way that I can. Yes, it’s still scary sometimes to put myself and my heart out there, but I sure would rather get hurt by trying than be alone and empty by not. Hurt and struggles and bad times are impossible to avoid, but we can choose to still love one another.

So next time you feel like it’d be better to not care anymore, remember that you are human on an Earth where pain is inevitable. Next time you feel like someone doesn’t deserve your time, just know that forgiveness is much lighter than carrying a burden of hate. Next time you get scared to put yourself out there, think about how amazing it could actually be.

Love yourself and Love people.