Confession time: I haven’t known how to say everything I need to say. Pretty soon I’ll be rebranding the blog with a stronger focus on social media, writing, and editing. But now and then, I’ll still have some emo to share.
And starting two weeks ago it kept me company at the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference.
Blue Ridge Ready
Since returning, my peeps have been asking me to share stories with them. What was it like? Who did I meet with? Did I pick up new clients? What are my favorite memories? How hard was it to come home this year?
First, let me say this, as I’m sure most, if not all, at Blue Ridge would agree:
It was life changing.
As for the rest of it . . . It’s taken me a week to remember. To be able to talk about it. To share it authentically, and even then I’ve yet to do a complete job.
Because this year at Blue Ridge was a hard one for me. This year, God grabbed me at the beginning and said, “This is where the healing starts.”
When Healing Hurts
Last year, Blue Ridge was new and inviting and full of connections and adventure. This year, some of my peeps couldn’t make it. This year I had the room to myself, and at the end of the busy days, I went into solitude.
From the first night away, I had bouts of anxiety. And I missed the FurFamily. Every few hours I was certain I just needed to pack it up and head home early. But who wants to admit that, at what amounts to a family reunion? These things are supposed to be fun, carefree. Not, “I need a hand to hold just so I know I have someone holding my hand” kind of moments. Right?
And the conference, well, it’s for writers, not whiners. So I sucked it up. Or so I thought. The thing is with me, and if you’ve hung around my blog for any length of time, you already know this: I’m a bit of a crier.
So there I am. At Blue Ridge and I’m overwhelmed with the responsibility to prove that I’m worth the collective efforts it took to get me there. And I want to make the most of it. And I’m afraid of letting people down. And I’m afraid of not gleaning every ounce I’m supposed to. And I’m missing my best friend who I met there last year.
And the hurts and struggles and trials of the last few years that have nothing to do with Blue Ridge or writing, they rise like cackles on the back of my neck. They surface, they grab for my attentions. They fight their way into every waking thought. They don’t even belong at Blue Ridge! But they don’t care. Stupid emotions!
And I feel misunderstood. Forgotten. Put down. Cast aside.
Worthless.
I. Am. A. Fraud.
Cloud of Negativity
Which is exactly what the enemy wants us to think, especially at a place like Blue Ridge, right? We’re not supposed to learn how to write for God, how to bring His message into the world, or think we’re worth the effort.
Right?
Wrong.
As difficult as it is, I celebrate the hard emotions. Sure, they were a distraction. A huge distraction. And when I say huge, well . . . Let me take you to Wednesday morning Group Meeting. Filled with people I know and love, but very few I felt connected to. So in a room of over 400 people, as I sat in the very back row between two of the ones I trust the most, the music starts. The worship music. The open-your-heart-to-God-and-let-it-go music. The it’s-too-painful-to-listen-to music. And for an hour, I cried. I just cried. Through the music, the announcements, the keynote speaker. I couldn’t stop biting my lip as the tears raced. I’m not exaggerating.
It was excruciating. And yet, now . . . I can see beauty coming from it.
I began to glimpse the bigger picture.
Blue Ridge isn’t just about learning to be a better writer. Of course it is that, but not just that. It’s also connections. Not just professional, either.
Me with the Ketchup Man – James L. Rubart
I was lucky enough to meet this guy, James L. Rubart. We’re going to be great friends, and he’s even forgiven me for saying he uses too much ketchup.
Aaron, Alycia and I are now known as “The Sibs”. We’re the siblings who weren’t born to the same family, but Blue Ridge brings us together every year.
The Sibs at Blue Ridge: Molly Jo Realy, Aaron Gansky, Alycia Morales
Blue Ridge is where I was able to meet face to face with some of our loyal Firsts in Fiction podcast viewers. Like Bruce, who took it upon himself to Big Brother me and grab me for prayer whenever we passed in the halls. And get this – one of the last minute conferees came all the way from Australia because he heard about it on the podcast. How’s that for connections?
When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to be all things to all people all the time (I know. You’d think I’d learned that one by now. But hey. Work in progress, here, okay?), when I gave myself permission to fail, it was like giving myself permission to grow. I opted instead to do what I could for myself, not the world at large. Because being better to and for myself is better for the world at large. Yes?
Removing the parameters of perfection opened me. It was okay to tell others “I’m not okay right now.” It was okay to miss a few minutes of class and grab coffee with the Seesta. It was okay to sit in a corner, or in the front row. It was okay to say, “No,” or “Not now,” or just “Catch me later.”
And being not okay made the other things okay. I’d been fighting myself all week, and not paying attention to what was happening. And what was happening was confirmation.
Confirmation that I’m supposed to be there. That what I’m doing for my writing, editing, social media and marketing are spot on. That I’m getting better at what I do. That people believe in me and want to help me on this path. That I have friends-turned-family looking out for me. That I have something to offer.
I took new classes with favorite faculty, made the one-on-one appointments, prayed, connected, ate, hugged, laughed, shared . . . Everything I thought was missing, was actually happening.
The lie was that it was a lie.
Are you tracking with me here? Everything I thought I wanted to happen but felt wasn’t happening, because I was wrapped up in my tears and loneliness and anxiety . . . It was still happening. I just wasn’t experiencing it.
Until Wednesday morning. Naw, I’m not saying it all worked out that quickly. But I am saying on Wednesday morning I found myself surrounded by my peeps. Who kept surrounding me. And in retrospect, they had from the beginning. I just hadn’t noticed.
So here it is, a week later and I’m home. And it’s taken me this week of remembering and processing to realize, I still have so much to unpack.
Was it overwhelming? Yes. Would I do it again? As soon as yesterday. I know I’m not the only one who left the mountaintop and fell into the valley. We’re all gonna help each other back up.
“Next year, at Blue Ridge . . .” (Thank you, Lori.)
This is the song that did me in, Wednesday morning. God uses everything for His good.
“Blessings” by Laura Story. [How cool is her last name?!]
You know me, right? You know when I usually put up a title it has a different or double meaning. So when you read “bad credit” I’m sure you’re thinking, She can’t really mean ‘bad credit’. It must be some trick word usage like ‘bad’ as in ‘sick’ or ‘awesome’ and ‘credit’ like those things that roll at the end of a movie. That’s it. This Girl saw an awesome movie and she’s gonna tell us all about it.
So, while that’s a fantastic interpretation of how my mind works at times, and maybe in the future I’ll use it as such, this post really is about just that: bad credit.
Here’s the not-so-secret secret. I have struggled with debt and bad credit for the better part of the last twenty-five years. Why am I telling you this? Because I recently discovered something awesome:
I am not alone.
For a really long time ~ and by really, I mean really ~ I felt like I was. And it wasn’t until I started to share my story with people outside my family that the fog of shame and self-imposed stigma started to lift.
I felt ugly. I was having screaming matches with the people who love me and who have, for the better part of these years, helped me in some form or another. My self-worth tanked every time the phone identified “Call from Unavailable.” I was jealous when Facebook told me how others ate out and went to movies. Here I was trying to decide between cat food, a gallon of milk, or a little more gas in the car.
Sure, things weren’t always horrific. I had good seasons that included Disneyland passes, trips to the bookstore, and last year’s writing conferences. Every payday I allowed myself a McDonald’s meal and a Starbucks. But those sparkling gems were few and far between.
Most of the time, I was waking up with anxiety. I’m not saying I grew anxious as the day went on. I’m saying, I woke up that way. I would go through bouts of not being able to drink coffee or eat breakfast because my stomach was in tumbles. I unplugged the phone at home just to get some peace and quiet. I was feeling sick, tired, worn out.
I WAS DONE.
There has to be a way out, right? Or was I destined to always feel like this? Do I attract debt? The answer is yes. And no. There were quite a few circumstances out of my control that contributed to my building debt. And there are habits that keep me there.
Unemployment, medical bills from several ~ and by several, I mean twelve ~ car accidents (never my fault, thank you for your concern), and the loss of child support when Dot turned eighteen. All these led steadily to the demise of what I like to call, my free money.
As much as I tightened the belt, I was just in over my head, upside down, sideways, and very, very shaken.
The triggering event was a radio commercial for debt relief. I was amazed at how they knew just what my situation was and how a quick loan would help me immediately.
Is This Thing On?
For about eight seconds I thought of calling. Then I jumped off that horse and put the phone down.
I mean, can you imagine what the interest rate must be on a quick loan with no credit check? [Hint: Way more than I could ever pay back.] And if there’s no credit check, what do they use for collateral? Employment verification, I think. Maybe a vehicle. Well, I certainly wouldn’t want them calling my boss if I was ten minutes late on a payment. Or taking my awesome little putt-putt away. Let’s face it: I’m already late on payments. Shifting debt from one source to another doesn’t alleviate the problem. It just shifts it. That’s why this commercial got my attention.
And then something else got my attention. The realization that I wasn’t the only one who had heard that commercial. I don’t live in a metropolis, and a lot of people don’t listen to the radio. But even so, if just a fraction of the population heard that commercial and thought of calling, how many others must feel there’s no way out from under the debt storm?
You know the old saying. When it rains, it pours. We usually say that when negative things happen. Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could pay attention to the storm of sunshine when it comes? What if, instead of hiding under dark umbrellas, they were fun, bright little things sticking out of our drinks in paradise? Or, turned upside down, and we could use them to collect pennies from heaven?
Every time it rains, it rains pennies from Heaven.
My plan is to share with you in future posts how I am overcoming my debt. I’ll be transparent about what works and doesn’t work for me. No, you don’t get to see my financials. That part is none of your business, but thanks for asking.
I’m also not a debt collector, licensed life coach, credit counselor or financial adviser. So here’s the disclaimer part: Any post relating to getting out of debt or managing money is strictly my personal experience and observances. I share them to let others know
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
I share them to give hope. There’s power in the knowledge that even though it looks like things are getting darker, there’s always some form of light.
There’s still a lighthouse.
Here’s the thing: It does get better. I promise. You can learn different habits, discover hidden treasures, use what you didn’t know were assets.
The Unemployment Cookbook is the blessed result of needing to feed my small family with a small amount of groceries. Little did I know at the time I started creating these changeable recipes that it would start me on the road to self-publishing and turn into a constant seller.
The Unemployment Cookbook, Second Edition
I hope you start to count the sunrises each day, and find lots of pennies on your journey to paying down your debt.
I didn’t mean for this post to be just a teaser, but it’s already pretty long so the next part will have to wait.
I’d love to read comments and questions from you:
Are you struggling with debt?
Do you have any advice that can help others?
What are your thoughts on money?
And if you feel that your debt is going to swallow you whole, if it is consuming the lifeblood from you, please please please talk to someone. It’s okay to be in debt. Nearly everyone is, one way or another. It’s how you treat it, how you take care of it, that matters.
But know this:
Not being able to pay your debts does not make you a failure. It takes a hundred pennies to make a dollar. Start slow. Don’t expect miracles. Your debt didn’t happen overnight. Neither will the solution. Stay the course. And fill that jar.
My Penny Jar
You’ll get there.
Finally, because I thing the world needs more upside down umbrellas and happy songs, I leave you with some snazzy tap dancing. Enjoy.
Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
~Exodus 14:13-14 (NIV)
I suffer from depression. This isn’t something I used to talk about. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of, because I’m still here. But it’s definitely something misunderstood. And most people are afraid and embarrassed about it, whether it’s happened to them or someone they love.
I’m still here. Which means I’m strong enough to get through that one-more-moment that I needed to get through. But what about the next time? Will I be strong enough then?
Being strong hurts. It hurts not having someone else to lean on, to help pick up the pieces of a fractured heart, or scream happiness with. It hurts to be the one, and not have the one.
Do you ever think about the percentage of creative people who deal with depression and other “disorders”? I believe it’s because we feel things much deeper than average people. Artists of any media are particularly susceptible to opening ourselves up to a life that wounds us to the core. Feeling terrible is better than not feeling at all, and feeling it at such a depth makes the creativity that much more powerful.
When I’m affected by the chasms and peaks of life, I see it more broadly than I can express, except through emotion. I find beauty in hurts and puzzles in rays of sunshine.
I feel more deeply and am more confused by the beauties of this life than I can ever begin to explain. I don’t search for the darkness, but neither am I always afraid of it.
I’ve struggled through some horrendous moments and I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t share the details of my story with a lot of people, because I never know how they’ll react.
There’s a certain vulnerability with letting someone have the keys to your destruction, and trusting them enough to not use it against you.
That’s not my saying. I stole that gem of wisdom from my writing mentor.
In the context of a good book, the characters need to be flawed and need to struggle with each other. In the context of life, it’s a lot more complicated, and a lot more unsettling, and doesn’t always wrap up neatly.
Mostly, life is good and I’m okay. But now and then, something, or a collection of somethings, will trigger that stress in me and try as I might, I can’t always “put on a happy face”.
Depression has its own set of rules that unless you’ve been there, you can’t possibly navigate. Well-meaning people have tried to control or change me. They don’t realize it’s not as simple as that.
I’m not discounting the benefits of avoiding triggers and trying to make things better. But depression is an internal event.
Here are just a few gems from people who haven’t been there:
“If you just stopped thinking about it, you’d be happier.”
“Get some rest. Things will be better in the morning.”
“Have you tried vitamins?”
“Doctors don’t know everything. You should see someone else.”
“Medications only make it worse.”
“You need a change of scenery. Why don’t you get out for the day or take a weekend vacation?”
And what I find to be the most hurtful: “You just don’t have enough faith.”
There’s also the struggle to identify a cause. Many times, my depression is provoked by something nameless. It’s a constant presence, in the shadowy corners, just waiting to be recognized. It’s its own thing, caused by nothing and solved by nothing else.
The best a person with depression can sometimes hope for is just to breathe through the moment.
I say again, I’m lucky. Through years of hard work, self observance, and a decent group of friends to support me, I’ve learned to identify my triggers and my solutions.
I’ve learned to monitor my body. If I’m not eating healthy enough or sleeping enough, that can make my thoughts a little less clear. Which makes it hard to filter out the negative thoughts.
I know the difference between having a glass of wine with dinner, and going out to a bar so I don’t have to stay home alone. Self-medicating isn’t just about medicines. It can also be food, TV, thought patterns . . . whatever a person uses to feel better.
I’ve learned that the most important thing I can do is reach out. It’s also the hardest. My depression embarrasses me. I’m a typically joyful, outgoing person. I love nothing more than to be surrounded by people whether it’s church, fellow writers, or even my favorite clients from the day job.
I also don’t like to bring other people down. I don’t want to explain myself or disappoint my friends. I don’t want to hear someone’s outside opinion of what I’m doing wrong. So I keep to myself. Or I hide it behind the fake smiles and the hugs and the I’m-Doing-Fine’s.
And I keep hiding. Until it’s bigger than I can handle. Until something’s gotta give.
“Stop forcing a catastrophe where there’s not even a storm.”
I’m lucky to have friends who have known me long enough to realize my triggers before I sometimes do. Friends who can talk me down from the ledge when I didn’t know I’d even stepped out. And I’m lucky those friends were there for me this weekend.
I wasn’t in physical danger, but I was certainly not in a good place. What I thought was just fatigue and anxiety had combined with, as they pointed out, the exorbitant amount of stress from the last few months until I stopped fighting the triggers. I began barking at people with an unfiltered vocabulary. I broke promises. I was ready to fight almost everyone in my path. And I didn’t care.
Depression can garble thoughts. What I think is right in the moment, isn’t. Who I think is against me, isn’t. But I can’t recognize what’s right, or I don’t want to admit the embarrassment of misunderstanding. Even if it’s fleeting. Even if it’s undeserved. Apologizing for being irrational is a painful and humiliating experience. So I don’t.
I just can’t seem to get this life-thing right. So the depression grows. And I keep it to myself.
My depression comes with its own trust issues. It’s hard to know who to talk to, who to tell what to, and who to listen to. Do they really understand me? Do they have my best interests at heart? Or do they want to “help” me to feel superior about themselves? They’ve not been here, they’ve not had these thoughts. How can they possibly understand.
I tried to read my Bible for that whisper of hope and direction. I just heard the words “Be still.” Which I couldn’t do. I mean, I’m depressed, right? Which means I’m anxious. My legs are bouncing while I’m sitting. Or I’m up, pacing the floor. Or sitting on the bench practicing my steady breathing and hoping not to hyperventilate.
If one more person asks how I’m doing then keeps walking instead of waiting for a real answer, I’m gonna lose it.
I didn’t want to lose it. I had to find a way to fight this. I had to find a way to get back to being me. But I’m afraid to talk to anyone because this is different than who I was ten or twenty years ago. They won’t see that. They’ll just see this and think same ol’ same ol’.
And then I found it. Exodus 14:13-14. Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
Just as God led Moses to the Red Sea, He led me to my shore. He parted the stormy waters so that whatever was threatening them in their future vanished, and He promised that what was troubling them in their past would remain in their past. He didn’t promise them a perfect tomorrow. He just promised them a way out for now.
Stop. Take a breath. You asked for my help, and I’m here. Now. In this moment.
And in that moment, with my trusted friends, I was able to securely reach out and know, it’s gonna be okay. They’re not judging me based on past moments. They’re not judging me at all.
They’re just reaching back.
December 8, 2014
My depression is something I will always have to live with. Most of the times, it’s dormant, hidden, controlled. When it isn’t, I have to learn it’s okay to stop fighting myself and others. I don’t always have to keep this a secret.
And I don’t have to be ashamed.
This weekend I realized I have too much to say. I’ve been quiet for too long. It’s time to be authentic and reach out, so others can reach back.
Tonight I feel just a little less lonely. And I think I’m gonna sleep better than I have for a while.
“Before they call I will answer;
while they are still speaking I will hear.”
I’ve always believed, because God is outside of space and time, that He has already heard the prayers the future me will pray.
For quite a few months last year, I struggled with morning anxiety. Waking up was painful as I was faced with so many unknowns: the deteriorating health of loved ones, incomplete projects, financial instability, family schedules . . . the list goes on and on.
I was unable to really write or even blog. I struggled with what to share and who to share it with.
I continued to pray in moans that only the Holy Spirit could interpret for me, knowing that God had a plan and even though I may not see it, it is good.
My Life Verse ~ Jeremiah 29:11
In retrospect, I can see how everything happens for a reason. In retrospect, I understand that I was getting in my own way.
I found this reminder note in my desk drawer at work and posted it to my private Facebook page, but I want to share it here, too, because, well, quite frankly, it needs to be shared.
December 8, 2014
On the morning of December 8th, 2014… When I was waking every morning with anxiety When I had writers block Before Rick finally went to his heavenly home Before Alex asked for my blessing to marry Hannah Before I was blessed with finances for TWO important writers conferences Before I started grocery shopping for one Before I had health insurance Before I picked up a paying client for media/marketing Before our lives were shaken, stirred, pressed but not crushed, running over … Before all these great and glorious moments, on the morning of December 8, 2014, I had a Heavenly dream. God put His calming hand on my shoulder and spoke to my soul and said, “It’s going to be all right. I hear you, and I’m already working on it.”
I am reminded every moment that God is a personal God, that He cares about every part of my being, that He is making me whole.
He cares about you, too. He’s already heard your prayers. And He’s already working on it.
It’s the last Friday of the month, and the year.
I’ve had my Resolutions in place for over a week now.
A writing schedule. A work schedule. A home schedule.
A food budget. A recipe budget. A home budget. An emergency budget.
I have a plan. I plan… to plan.
Since July, 2011 I sort of flew by the seat of my pants. Until I started working again.
Without child support and only 35 hours a week, my income isn’t that great. But it’s mine. And I’m doing the best I can.
I have never wanted to go on Welfare. I’m frustrated with the stigma that causes. I understand the system isn’t perfect, but nothing ever is. I don’t like the perception that “everyone” on welfare is lazy or taking advantage of others. There is no shame in finding help when it’s vital to existence. But I refuse to burden society with my debts. I’ve always managed to pay my bills… late, past due, those fees add up. But at least I’m the one paying them. And someday soon, it will get better.
We’re going to tighten the belt even more around here. Now that the holiday specials are over, I’m suspending my TV subscription for a few months. That money will go toward paying off the smallest bill in January. So in February, I can take the TV money and the smallest bill money, and put that toward the next smallest bill. After another month, that’s two bills paid off.
If the Fiscal Cliff isn’t as horrid as we’re being scared into thinking, my tax refund should help pay off a few more small debts.
My goal, God willing and the Creek Don’t Rise, is to be nearly debt-free by the end of 2013. The only remaining debts should by my mortgage, car, and student loans.
That’s the plan.
I don’t know how realistic it is. If anything changes, I don’t know how I’ll handle it.
I received four books for Christmas. Dot gave me a wonderful edition of JRR Tolkien’s The Hobbit. It includes maps, has a leather cover, and is pocket size. It’s perfect! The other three are from my brother. Three books on better blogging. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to read! (Another reason the TV won’t be missed.)
I’m making a menu plan for January. That’s a separate post. I was gifted with a $100 gift card for Christmas, and I intend to use it strictly for my food budget. I want to see how long it will last if I plan ahead. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a few snacks. I’m choosing foods that will go a long way: one box of Malt-o-Meal is two weeks’ breakfast for us. My Slow Cooker Ratatouille will feed us for days as a hot dish, pizza topping, and in my Baked Frittata.
I’m going to cut out fast food eating, too. That means no Starbucks in January, and I can’t begin to tell you how I feel about that. I’m only six drinks shy of keeping my Gold Card Status, too. Well, my tastebuds won’t thank me, but my wallet will!
And then there’s the writing. Oh, the writing! Recipes. Dragons. And everything in between. I miss posting daily links at BlogHer’s NaBloPoMo, but I don’t miss my trite, nonsensical postings. With the Cookbook Campaign, the Series with Megan, the Study on the Ten Commandments, and a few other starter projects, my writing plate is overflowing with goodies!
And today is Friday. The last Friday of the month and year. But really… it’s just the Beginning.
Tweet this: Not being able to pay your debts does not make you a failure. #badcredit #credit #debt #countyourpennies @realmojo68
