If Something Ends, It’s Only The Start Of A New Chapter

If Something Ends, It’s Only The Start Of A New Chapter

Your life is like a book and we have many, many chapters within it.

I realized something this morning.

After I woke up twenty minutes before my alarm went off, downed a cup of instant coffee, and went running around the lake right outside my neighborhood, I got home and turned the shower faucet to cold. The week was long and stressful and many things took place. They soon will bring unavoidable consequences. Along with brooding over my current situation, a flood of memories from the past arose and overwhelmed me.

There’s no reason why I should have been reliving the past and dwelling on my mistakes. I’m in the shower. Absentmindedly washing my hair, reaching for the conditioner, and I realize, if I could go back and change what happened, I wouldn’t be here right now.

I know we’ve all heard the phrase in some form or another, “If I change the past, everything changes.” It’s the butterfly effect and Ashton Kutcher taught us that going back in an attempt to change the past only ruins the present even more. It’s tempting to imagine how it would be if we got the chance to go back. There are moments that if I changed my behavior, so many circumstances would be different now. If I never left California, would I even be here writing this now?

I should have told my family how I felt. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. Why didn’t I try to keep them together? Why did I give up so easily and leave?

It’s scary to think that we have so much power at any given moment to change our lives completely. One action has the ability to bring on so many life changes. Going back may seem like it’s the perfect way to fix the past and prevent all the pain you felt, but it’s not.

There’s a reason we can’t go back. John Green wrote, “That’s the good thing about pain. It demands to be felt.” Pain is necessary, it prevents us from making the same mistake again, it teaches us, it molds us, we are better from it. Burning yourself with the curling iron is a pain in the neck, literally, but you know to be more careful in the future.

I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. There was a time when all my family felt were tension and distrust, and sometimes I imagine myself returning to that period and acting differently. But, even if I went back trying to fix it, I couldn’t save them on my own.

If I went back and changed what happened, I wouldn’t be here today. Perhaps I would still be somewhere closer to the place I used to call home. Maybe I’d see my family more often. But I wouldn’t have met the people I met these past two years. I wouldn’t of been forced to trust the people I do now and develop long, lasting relationships. And despite how long it took to like where I am and what I’m doing in my life now, I’m happy with the way things are.

The temptation to imagine your life without the pain of the past should be avoided. It only makes you feel like you’re to blame. This pipedream of returning to the past is only a mechanism to deal with bad decisions in the past. In between wiping our eyes during the Fault in Our Stars, we all heard Shailene Woodley say “pain demands to be felt.” Whatever happens will happen. Mistakes happen. Your life is like a book and we have many, many chapters within it.

If something ends, it’s only the start of a new chapter for you.

Cover Image Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wolfkann/15308600299/in/photolist-pjLzwt-9EQYC5-52QLU-sqGzxb-9RxAtN-dV4e28-9nbnDa-fVxsD-nEeSVu-abCUUy-aaUFev-bTKxB4-7jZVwN-arFTqU-9Qd5gw-aZ65jT-6Xwga5-ZG57Hr-dXJjZW-dFtf6N-4tmJEH-o7Z7C4-8zGJJ6-9jLRzy-9jLRsy-6LGbGg-87LKWW-7fz2pM-9rLSHs-sutaX-6bwbhP-9yz8sA-oypofx-4qpFmn-6qhxqh-dP29K2-7CQ7GC-5aYjNH-ekrtSk-9jHM1k-9jLRdW-3EAhUE-9jHMiv-TvqssT-iXeY6v-e8TwRS-ooWbfe-6j58tH-9jLRmd-d1ok5u

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To All The Nurses In The Making

We tell ourselves that one day it'll all pay off, but will it actually?

I bet you’re taking a break from studying right now just to read this, aren’t you? Either at the library with friends or in your dorm room. Wherever you may be, you never get the chance to put your books down, at least that’s how it feels to most of us. It sucks feeling like you’ve chosen the hardest major in the world, especially when you see other students barely spending any time studying or doing school work. The exclamation “You’re still here!” is an all too frequent expression from fellow students after recognizing that you’ve spent 10-plus hours in the library. At first it didn’t seem so bad and you told yourself, “This isn’t so difficult, I can handle it,” but fast-forward a few months and you’re questioning if this is really what you want to do with your life.

You can’t keep track of the amount of mental breakdowns you’ve had, how much coffee you’ve consumed, or how many times you’ve called your mom to tell her that you’re dropping out. Nursing is no joke. Half the time it makes you want to go back and change your major, and the other half reminds you why you want to do this, and that is what gets you through it. The thing about being a nursing major is that despite all the difficult exams, labs and overwhelming hours of studying you do, you know that someday you might be the reason someone lives, and you can’t give up on that purpose. We all have our own reasons why we chose nursing -- everyone in your family is a nurse, it’s something you’ve always wanted to do, you’re good at it, or like me, you want to give back to what was given to you. Regardless of what your reasoning is, we all take the same classes, deal with the same professors, and we all have our moments.

I’ve found that groups of students in the same nursing program are like a big family who are unconditionally supportive of each other and offer advice when it’s needed the most. We think that every other college student around us has it so easy, but we know that is not necessarily true. Every major can prove difficult; we’re just a little harder on ourselves. Whenever you feel overwhelmed with your school work and you want to give up, give yourself a minute to imagine where you’ll be in five years -- somewhere in a hospital, taking vitals, and explaining to a patient that everything will be OK. Everything will be worth what we are going through to get to that exact moment.

Remember that the stress and worry about not getting at least a B+ on your anatomy exam is just a small blip of time in our journey; the hours and dedication suck, and it’s those moments that weed us out. Even our advisors tell us that it’s not easy, and they remind us to come up with a back-up plan. Well, I say that if you truly want to be a nurse one day, you must put in your dedication and hard work, study your ass off, stay organized, and you WILL become the nurse you’ve always wanted to be. Don’t let someone discourage you when they relent about how hard nursing is. Take it as motivation to show them that yeah, it is hard, but you know what, I made it through.

With everything you do, give 110 percent and never give up on yourself. If nursing is something that you can see yourself doing for the rest of your life, stick with it and remember the lives you will be impacting someday.

SEE ALSO: Why Nursing School Is Different Than Any Other Major

Cover Image Credit: Kaylee O'Neal

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How A Podcast About Murder Helped My Mental Health

And a community that sprang forth became my lifeline.


Sometimes I wonder what it's like to live without mental illness.

To wake up in the morning and feel secure in your body, your thoughts, your actions, and your relationships.

I don't have that luxury, and neither do 43.8 million Americans in any given year.

So why is it so easy to convince ourselves that we're alone?

I struggled with mental illness before my childhood trauma, which made me an easy target. The effects of my abuse magnified my genetic predisposition to mental health problems. Members from both sides of my family suffer from some type of mental illness. I would never want to offend any relatives of mine, so I won't disclose the number, but let's just say, it's a lot. As for my ancestors, I know a maternal great-grandfather hit my maternal grandfather, and the wife of the aforementioned great-grandfather was an agoraphobic. She mostly only drank tea and ate toast and was rail thin so it's not hard to reach the conclusion that she had an eating disorder.

I am very fortunate in that I grew up in a family who didn't hide from their mental health issues. My mom realized she had anxiety when she was in her very early 20's and was open about it - which for the 1980's was not common. She is the most genuine person I know, and part of that is because she doesn't pretend everything is always perfect.

So, even though my parents were always supportive through my struggles, pushing me to achieve my best while also assuring me that it was okay to take a mental health day from school from time to time, I still felt like I was the only one in the world that felt the way I did.

I won't bore you with the details, but most of my memories from my childhood have to do with anxiety, depression, food, and body issues. I remember telling my parents I had, "that lonely feeling again." Which, was the feeling of my heart in my stomach - the feeling of isolation and sadness and impending doom - something I still deal with today. One of my first words was "safe." I was convinced my parents would die in a car accident. I was five standing in a mirror calling myself fat, I was ten swearing an Oreo would be the last thing I would ever eat, I was eight hoarding food. I was seven, afraid I would crush the horse I was riding because of my weight. I was 12 the first time I made myself throw up.

Anxiety, depression and eating disorders have been woven into the fabric of my being. And working to untangle those threads is a daily struggle.

I'm a firm believer in therapy and medications if that is what's best for your journey. I don't believe in blanket diagnoses, or one size fits all meds. I was hospitalized three times in high school at an inpatient mental health facility, and for me, it didn't help. The final stay, after attempting suicide, journaling was my vehicle out of the darkest place I had been yet.

"I wrote my way out."

When I was 18, I found my way back to God. Recovering memories of being abused is brutal and with my history of mental illness, I don't know what I would have done if I had uncovered the abuse before June 14, 2017. I truly believe that God's timing is always perfect, and I had reached the point in my life where I was ready to receive my truth.

Two months after recovering the memories, I stumbled across a little Podcast called, My Favorite Murder. At that point, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark had been releasing episodes weekly for a little over a year and a half. I was hooked and binged the catalog of episodes.

Not only did it make me realize my love of true crime, but I found an amazing community of some of the most wonderful people I've never met.

What makes Karen and Georgia's Podcast so special isn't the crime. No, it's them. It's their authenticity, their rawness. Their openness about their struggles with addiction, anxiety, depression, body image issues, and their flaws. It's their championing of survivors of abuse and attacks, their support of women, and their dedication to End the Backlog (there are hundreds of thousands of rape kits untested, this organization helps fight that).

Although their opinions sometimes differ from mine, they've created this beautiful space of inclusiveness on the radical notion that as long as you're kind and respectful, you are welcome.

The main Facebook page has hundreds of thousands of followers and pretty early on, people started making spinoff groups, made up of Murderinos (MFM fans) for specific interests. Like apps, there's an MFM spinoff group for anything. From cat lovers to craft enthusiasts to local groups (heyyyy 'Here's the Thing, 518 Everybody') to religious groups (Looking at you 'Thou Shalt Not Murder!'). I joined the latter two groups and loved the little communities.

But then I thought, "Wow, I would really love to join a group for Survivors of abuse." To my surprise, there wasn't one.

I had reached a point in my healing journey that I needed to talk to people who knew what I was going through.

So, I shoved down my negative self-talk that told me no one would want to join a group I made and created a spinoff group.

And Survivorinos was born.

It's been four months since I clicked "create." In that time, we have almost 450 members and this past month I made three strong women moderators to help keep the community running.

For someone who writes a lot and often has (too much) to say, Survivorinos still has me at a loss for words. I started the group because I needed an outlet to vent things that I couldn't say to my friends or family. I needed to share intimate details of my life with people who understood. And what I found was a monumental revelation to me: so many other people needed the same thing.

This community is filled with nothing but love. In a world filled with negativity and fighting, this little corner of the Internet remains focused on helping their fellow man. The stories are heartbreaking, but the comments are uplifting. Love and prayers are sent, advice is given, and memes and animal pictures are abundant.

Now I can't imagine my life without Survivorinos.

Karen and Georgia say all the time how lucky they feel, that their Podcast has turned into this ever-expanding network of humans caring about one another. But it's us, the listeners, who should be thankful. I know I am. Because they took the leap and started this podcast, I found a group of people I didn't even know I needed.

Stay sexy, and keep destigmatizing mental illness and the effects of abuse.

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