Rachel L. Saunders's Blog, page 10

Whale and Petunia Life Lessons

When I think about who I am or my purpose, I often end up thinking about the whale and the bowl of petunias in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The ending of that scene isn’t pretty. The whale meets the ground, naively happily because they are still figuring out the big questions of “who am I”, “what’s my purpose in life” and wanted to befriend the ground...the bowl of petunias only thought is, “Oh no, not again.” The first couple questions of the whale are generally what pop into my brain when I’m feeling rather unsure of myself. As I write this, I imagine myself yelling them at the moon, for some reason... They are some basic questions to which I often want answers. Unfortunately, real life isn’t so simple and answering those questions is not an easy task.

Who am I? I’m not my job as a typesetter or designer, though I may enjoy doing either from time to time. I’m not my looks, though I do sometimes like the way I present to the world. I’m not my salary; it’s small though still rather useful. And, I am most definitely not my productivity; I suck at being productive all the time or even part of the time, I also just don’t want to be that productive...

I don’t want to be defined by one thing, or even many things that I may do to either make money or pass the time. I am me. No one else is. But that often doesn’t feel like enough in this world of perfect social media posts and ads that makes you feel like you aren’t doing it right, or aren’t enough. I already struggle so much with feeling like enough, I definitely don’t need more, thank you very much.

Mostly I just want to be me, no labels, no add-ons. Just me. I’ve found that I tend to hide behind things like my job rather than explore who I am beneath all the outer layers. I don’t like to ask myself what I want to do. I should like to know, but, because I often feel worried that there isn’t anything there, I don’t like to face it. The more I push past the outer things that are a part of my identity but not what defines me, the more I am finding I do know what I want. I’ve let fear rule for so long that I had forgotten my dreams and ambitions.

What’s my purpose? Simply put, maybe, to be the best version of myself; to be kind, honest and helpful to others and myself. I can try to define that further by finding a job or an outlet that lets me do all or some of those things. In thinking about where I want my life to take me I’m not sure of the destination, but I know that I will feel more fulfilled along the way if I can be a helper in some small way. In actual practice, this gets more muddled.

Purpose had me stalled for a long time, I’ve felt driven to be more creative, to make more money, to be more something, or to do more. Those are good goals, but as a purpose they kinda suck. They end and you are left aimless until the next thing comes along. I’m honestly not sure if I’m arguing semantics right now, but I just feel that a purpose is so much bigger than your next creation or job. It’s about an overarching direction that may shift, change, and/or grow with you.

There are moments when I’m all excited to ask myself these questions, like the whale, but inevitably there are times that I feel more like the bowl of petunias...Oh no, not again! These last few years my purpose has changed on multiple occasions, not just shifted but drastically altered as I continue to discover myself. There were many bowl-of-petunia moments where I was just not pleased with having to think it through all over again. But, unlike the bowl of petunias, I’m still happy I’ve done all the work, even when it feels terribly unstable. You don’t find out until later that the bowl of petunias has been through some shit...and hasn’t handled it well. Don’t be a bowl of petunias...

We all need purpose in our life, but it’s also something that will never be nailed down at any point in life. Knowing yourself can be just as hard to come by as defining your purpose. Both are things where it’s more about the journey than the destination. You’ll have headings but it will be elusive and sketchy too.

And, if we are sticking with the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, do my answers really mean anything? I mean, we all know that the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42. Just kidding. I’m just a nerd who really enjoyed Douglas Adams’ trilogy of five and saw an opportunity…

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

PS. I found this photo amusingly fitting for this post, not quite the same thing but still relevant.

Congratulations, You’re Sterile!

Congratulations, you’re sterile!

I didn’t realize this until some point later in 2020 that I had been waiting to hear those words for a very long time. Well, not exactly those words...I didn’t actually ever hear those specific words but in the end it’s still a true statement. I’ve been sterile for 6 weeks and some change; it was the best, scariest decision I’ve made for myself in basically my entire life.

Some background for those who haven’t read my previous post ,I Was Meant To Be An Auntie: I had always felt pressure to become a mother, it felt woven through my culture, society and religion. I had people gaslight me when I expressed that maybe I didn’t actually want kids telling me that I’d want them, someday. Truth was, once I dug out all the things everyone else was telling me about womanhood=motherhood I realized that I truly did not want kids. I felt like I couldn’t talk about or celebrate this for a long time. Then I wrote that blog post and fully understood that the community of friends and family in which I find myself today loves me no matter what. And those that truly matter to me had never pressured me into having kids, not once. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And thus began my journey to sterilization. At first I felt like I was being overreactive. I’ve been on birth control for nearly 10 years, it’s technically been working...and yet, nearly every time there was one single tiny, only noticeable-to-me change in my body/cycle I was in a full on panic attack at the slightest possibility of pregnancy. I even had a prayer/mantra to God during those nights I laid awake, stressed out of my mind and stomach in painful knots: please, dear God, no, dear God, no, please, please dear God no, no, no… I will also say something that feels very controversial from my background: I’m pro choice, I considered abortion. I never had to test how I’d actually handle that situation, but I will still stand by my consideration and will not be shamed for it.

We discussed all the options, and it was suggested, what felt like often, that a vasectomy was a good option. It even seemed like THE option, it was such a go-to answer. This only added to my worry that I was overreacting because, if I was honest with myself, that wasn’t good enough. Maybe for others, but I needed to not be able to get pregnant, nothing else would do.

I knew then that I had decided; it was just a matter of availability and finances. In my research I was happy and thrilled to find that female sterilization not only was far more prevalent than I had realized, it was covered under the ACA. Even still I had to wade through all of my baggage of not trusting myself, second guessing, religious dogma and talking myself out of perfectly fine and logical decisions that I later regret talking myself out of...and many other less relevant things as well.

I’m eternally grateful that I never even tried to talk myself out of this. I’ve done a lot of groundwork towards trusting, loving and accepting myself, flaws and all. Once the ball got rolling it all happened quite quickly. I talked to my doctor, she asked all the typical questions: things like, have I discussed this with my partner, how long have I been in my current relationship, etc, etc. She understood right away that I had been thinking about this thoroughly for quite a while. Given my BRCA2 diagnosis along with my previous comments surrounding disinterest in my childbearing years I don’t think she was overly surprised either.

This is when I got some bonus information that was the icing on the cake, as it were. The way they do the procedure now is significantly more effective (the medical field never gives 100% on these things) than the previous methods and it would help reduce my ovarian cancer risk by a bit. See BRCA2 diagnosis for my higher chance of breast and ovarian cancer…

Well it took only about a month and a half before it was my surgery day from when I talked to my doctor. I was so stressed about the BIG changes that this would bring for me, but I never doubted doing it. The aftermath of the surgery was interesting. I was suuuper spacey for nearly a whole week. The mental side of it was far worse than the physical. I had to mentally come to terms with WTF just happened to me and not panic re the fact that my insides had had a whole new experience and I now had, albeit small, cuts that were more than superficial healing on my stomach. The worst physical part of recovery was throwing up two days after surgery, terrifying, in a word, but over quickly.

So, congratulations, I’m sterile! I’m the least likely of my doctor’s patients to get pregnant, I think she said 0.01%. It would have to be a very strange and impossible set of events for me to conceive.

I’m wholeheartedly celebrating having gotten to this point in my life and the people that have lovingly supported me the entire way. The husband and I are very happy to permanently be in this just-us phase of life. We get to grow old together, just the two of us. And, really, we like it this way...unless we can ever afford pets. Fur babies are a thing, right?

Just kidding, I know they are, and my ideal pet situation would be a puppy and a kitten so that they could be the bestest of friends. My life partner is much less enthused about cats than I am, and I’m not so much of a dog person. At some earlier point we determined that I am basically a cat myself, though I have discovered there are certain dogs that I absolutely adore. We’ll sort it out when we get there.

For now it’s just us, and that is enough.

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

My God or Yours?

God has always been a part of my life. Growing up in the Seventh-day Adventist faith that is a given, but who he’s been to me has shifted. Until very recently, I haven’t really felt a connection to him as more than a powerful being that, due to my upbringing, I believed was out there.

God is still in my life, just now as a matter of personal choice and relationship as opposed to convenience of growing up religious. And the God in my life now is a different God than the one I grew up with. My God is Love. But he didn’t always feel that way to me as a kid, teenager, or young adult, though I did have glimpses.

There were these insidious teachings within the faith tradition, or at least the dialect (for lack of a better term), I grew up with. I felt that, sure, God was supposed to love you...but you needed to do a lot of legwork. You were required to suffer, if you were not suffering, were you even godly? Basically, if you were too happy, you were doing life wrong, there always needed to be some sort of underlying discomfort to know you were on the right path. The narrow path.

You couldn’t trust yourself, the world, especially your flesh; pleasure, well that was right out! But, oh, your pastor, or the elders, them you can, and should, trust. The Bible is a good start (being God-breathed and all, it is infallible) but have you read our prophets words, those are even holier (it felt like this with Ellen White on occasion). Everything else will try to lead you astray. Please note that trusting God, technically it was there but it felt shrouded amidst everything you had to distrust.

There was this focus, that seemed quite disingenuous, of needing to LOOK like you were doing it right, looking like a “good” Christian. Also, we, as the Seventh-day Adventist Church, we had THE truth. No questions, no discussion, and a very holier than thou mentality that often bugged me.

And a deeply, weirdly foundational thing, those who worshipped on any day but Saturday, well, they were, maybe not evil, but they had done f*cked up. That was clear. And maybe they shouldn’t be trusted.... Some of my dearest friends are Sunday worshippers, and I’ve come face to face with the fact that they are truly God-fearing and good human beings. Also, let’s be honest, we’ve all done messed up, we are all human.

I may exaggerate a bit, but it was these things combined with many other aspects of my upbringing (both positive and negative) that navigated me towards distrust of myself and the pleasing of others above and before my own needs. The moment I started to take steps towards affirming myself and the importance of my mental and physical health, I really found God.

Not the God I was taught to believe in, though he shares some characteristics, but a God of Love and acceptance. A God that loved me for me and encouraged me to trust myself and to make my own decisions. It still feels weird to write these words because it runs so counter to years of teaching.

But here’s the thing. I read the entire Bible through myself for the very first time a few years back. Somehow that hadn’t been a priority or had fallen through the cracks of my religious education. I don’t know. Reading the words for myself and realizing that they tell a story of human history in a different time and culture, many, cultures, actually. I found that the God of the Bible was first a God of Love. Yes, in the Old Testament he is a very jealous one but the underlying threads pointed to it being because he loved humanity. Further, I don’t believe that the Bible can be infallible, it was inspired by God (God-breathed, if you must) but it is written by fallible humans.

It’s important to note here that I believe that loving someone isn’t all happiness and smooth sailing. The people you love are their own people who make their own decisions. Sometimes love looks like saying something that they don’t want to hear or maybe trying to keep them from hurt themselves. But it is also letting them do what you feel is the wrong thing, even while wishing they wouldn’t. Even while telling them not to do it. Free will comes at a price and, unfortunately, bad things happen to good people. To love someone is not to smother them into submission but allowing them their freedom.

In this I felt cheated by my faith tradition. I felt smothered and pushed into molds I never fit. Put off by strong beliefs that there was ONE way to God, ours. Desperately alone, feeling unable to fit or put on the right show. I was all at once too much and not enough. Never did it feel like I was good enough for the faith. I was pretending at being a devout Christian.

And how could I call myself a Christian when inside I felt no true connection to the God I was supposed to trust. Inside I was panicking at many turns, wondering why my faith was so small, so abstract. Feeling that if only I believed harder that then my faith would grow, if only I suffered just right, then I would become what they wanted me to be. But I didn’t want to be that, deep down, it felt so wrong, too legalistic, lacking in warmth, love and acceptance. I balked at the notion that I must be something I’m not, would never truly be to be accepted by a God that required some level of suffering, always, and happiness and pleasure in tiny, miniscule doses.

I’m still in full on deconstruction mode, and, guess what, I feel God here with me more than I’ve ever felt him. I still have a long way to go in both weeding out the bitter weeds that choke my life, my joy, my pleasure, and my relationship to a loving God and in connecting to this God in a meaningful and deep way. I am trusting myself and my body, something that the faith tradition robbed and cut me off from.

I don’t pretend that my relationship with God will or should look like anyone else's. I don’t go to Church and, frankly, don’t want to. I’d much rather have a small dedicated group of loving and God-fearing people with which I will do life and worship with. My relationship with God is my own and, in my opinion, it’s between me and God. Those beautiful few people in my life that can and do speak into my life have a right to do so but it’s still me and God first and foremost.

I’m trying, at least, and I think God’s got my back.

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

PS. I’ve said this before and I do want to say, again, that despite all of the negatives that I’ve brought up in this post, I don’t, in fact, hate Christianity. I just dislike the legalism, rules lawyering and decentering of God that happens.

I still most closely associate my faith with that of my natal religion, but I am open to worshipping with and accepting other denominations and, gasp, other religions entirely. I am on a journey of many things, a big part of which is welcoming others in spite of my ingrained beliefs so I can grow and learn while bringing things back to God and my important values, reaffirming and/or readjusting.

Finally, I called this post “My God or Yours” to evoke the journey from learning about God to truly believing in God for myself. My God, or higher power, should be mine, not someone else's.

Really a Night Owl

It’s been many years since I’ve truly embraced my night owl. I know I’m more creative, more accepting in the evening and it’s where my light shines brightest. But, it’s been really hard to re-embrace this side of myself because I’ve honed the entirely opposite habit of early rising for a long time.

I fell into the habit of early mornings once I started a production job as a graphic specialist. I was asked to be at work by 7 since most people in the department were in by then, at the latest. It kinda snuck up on me, the fact that I didn’t necessarily mind being up by 6, then 5, and then 4 in the morning.

When I no longer needed to do those early mornings I found myself stuck, up at 4 or 5 am, could not sleep in. Even if I stayed up later, I still woke up early... If I made it to 6 that was a miracle. I also tend to stick to habits like they are life lines and panic if I consider changing them. Change doesn’t come easy for me. I hate even the small change of ordering more of the same skincare product or whatever it is.

Here I am, trying to rekindle my night owl. And with it, continuing to reignite my creativity. I have suspicions that when I didn’t honor my night owl (and my introvert) that I inadvertently started stifling and then killing my creativity. Sure, I love the occasional early morning but I’m not ready to do much with them for at least 2 plus hours after waking. Forcing myself so completely into mornings went counter to my needs.

Nights are where I accept myself, encourage myself to create while forgetting, at least for a little while, the little critic that sits in my head. It’s the only time that I’ve been really, actually writing. And it’s been great...and not so great. I’ve been so stuck in routine and habit that going to bed by or before 9 is 'normal'. I love crawling in bed alongside my husband, though, embracing my night owl has made that impossible to do on any night I wish to stay up to write, or whatever my heart desires. Change is hard, and, if you are someone like me, it’s really hard to take it all happily in stride. Even when you are the one who wants that change.

I feel like a contradiction when this happens. I know I want the change, I know I need the change, but it’s still a change and that terrifies me. I rage against the change I actually want. Sometimes I wonder why I’m so worried about change. I’m sure there are a million reasons, a lot of which probably relates to childhood or formative years somehow, but at the end of the day what matters more is moving forward and giving yourself a whole lot of grace.

We all have our idiosyncrasies. We all have something that will try to knock us off our game. The best thing I’ve found is to accept that it’s there and plan for it. Ignoring something only makes it stronger because it can do anything and you’ll always feel surprised. At least, if you plan for it, you won’t get ambushed.

So it may be only 9:30 (later now) as I am writing and revising this post...but I’m still up and writing and that’s what matters. There is something so magical about staying up late, maybe it’s carry over from being a kid when staying up late was not often encouraged. The times you got to stay up, like actually stay up...man those were special nights! At least they were for me. I also had a mom whose eventual rule was that I must stay in my room after bedtime, what I did or did not do in my room after that was mine to decide. She must have understood that there was no making me sleep if I didn’t want to.

Here’s to embracing all sides of ourselves and the change(s) that may entail. Here’s to all the night owls out there, trying to make things work in a world that tends to encourage early rising. Not everyone can do mornings and that’s OK. And some of us (me!) need to recover/detox from our circumstance/self imposed early mornings.

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

Fear, a Constant Companion

To face fear and excuses head on is, in a word, terrifying. It’s so easy to stay comfortable in a small, tucked away world where nothing ever changes. But, you know what, I’m learning that if I want to feed my creativity I must look to fear and excuses as challenges to be met. I must see them and run headlong towards them. If I want to cultivate a creative life I must embrace that I will never be free of fear or the need to make excuses to leave something out of sight and mind.

Honestly nothing I ever produce will ever be perfect but if it's good enough, that is far better than perfect. Truly, because it means that I will actively push it out into the world and share it. It will be finished, done, good enough.

When things get scary or life gets overwhelming all I want to do is hide from my discomfort. To put a pin in my creative outlet. I’m too anxious, too fearful, too scared. Then I realized that if I stopped creating at every wrong turn and every disaster that I’d never create a thing. I’d be stuck in fear making every excuse to not do that thing that I so often claim I want to do. There would be no truth to me as a creative person, a truth which has been back-burnered for too long by fears.

So, in writing this brief piece I am facing my fear and acknowledging its presence. I am understanding that it will never leave me, it will always be a companion along my creative path. But, it doesn’t need to, or get to, make decisions.

Reading (listening to, technically) Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert was so helpful in showing me the parts of creativity that I’ve been struggling with. Namely, fear that cascades into excuses and self censoring. Because as far as my fear is concerned no one wants or needs to hear my voice, and it’s never OK to want to do something solely for myself. Fear would have me believe that every ounce of creative self expression is unnecessary and frivolous.

But I beg to differ, I need my creative flow, it is a vital part of my happiness. The years of self censorship and depression have shown me that. The more I create, the more I embrace the unstable nature of a creative life, the more vibrant my life becomes. The more I acknowledge fear and do things anyway, the more I live free.

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

Birthdays and Getting Older

Recently I turned 31. My 30s have been much happier than my 20s. Had I known this I wouldn’t have been so unexcited or indifferent about turning 30. Now that I’m 31 the mental health journey is much more of a journey than a slog through the mud.

The beginnings of this journey, in my late 20s, were small, halting and often filled with what felt like mental muck that kept me nearly immobile. I felt like it was going nowhere, and fast. It was a season of patience and waiting that I didn’t take to well but I got there...eventually.

Having a birthday during the Before times had been hit or miss for me. I’ve had great ones with all our friends over to share food, games and, really, life together. I’ve had bad ones with a guy showing up at my house when I had just turned 18 and bringing cake, gifts, and off-brand silly string...it was too much and SO awkward because he was at least 4-5 year older and I had NOT indicated interest, we were friends from my martial arts class at the community center. I will never forget it, though sometimes I wish I could, but the whole story makes for a hilariously awkward conversation piece. Ask me sometime and maybe I’ll tell you the full story.

I should say that as I’ve gotten older the birthdays have gotten much better, though it’s never been a super important day for me above other special days. My philosophy seems to entail that I’m getting older, why is this one day more important than the rest when living life consistently well and happy seems more important. Also I never wanted to be THAT person about my birthday, and especially as I got older I didn’t want to worry SO much about getting or being older. It generally feels the same as the previous number. What’s the big deal?

So this year, in the After times, I was, maybe, rather indifferent about my birthday until I realized that it’d be the perfect time to take care of myself. I’ve been learning how to better take care of myself and set boundaries but I haven’t always been good at taking time off when I need it, let alone for fun.

I decided to go big and take the whole week of my birthday off from work and just get a feel for what I wanted to do with my time when I was in control of my days.

Turns out a bunch of nothing is just what I needed. I made the mistake, though I’m not confident I should label it as such, of buying myself a Switch and then a further decision of buying a platformer game, Hollow Knight, that I’ve had my eye on for years. I was nervous because I’d say I am a casual gamer and often platformers can be rather brutally frustrating. I gave Ori and the Blind Forest a try a while back and rage quit when there didn’t seem to be a way around a particular spot. The game was extremely beautiful, I wanted to love it. But, it wasn’t for me.

Thankfully, Hollow Knight has been challenging but not rage quit material. I think it’s actually been a good exercise in patience and learning a new kind of mindfulness. I have often liked hack and slash type games, meaning that I like to get in there and button mash until I win. Not my best strategy but it has served me well for many years, mostly… Playing this game has taught me to strategize and think more as I play. It’s been really helpful for continuing to fully live every moment. Also the artwork and soundtrack are amazingly beautiful. I actually found the game because of the music, I liked the sound so much that I checked out where it came from.

I spent hours nearly every day of my vacation playing Hollow Knight...and it was awesome!

Back to getting older. I’m not sure that I hate it. And I don’t think that your age has to dictate what you can and can’t do with your life. I feel like I’m living my best life in my 30s while it feels like society is trying to tell me that my best years are over. Screw ‘em, I’ve started to finally find myself, I’m happier and more in tune with life than I ever was before. Why do so many people hate getting older? It’s gonna happen whether you want it to or not, so why not go into it eyes open and allow yourself to age gracefully? You don’t necessarily need to like it but acceptance is a powerful thing.

And before anyone comes at me for saying I’m old at 31, please understand that I’m talking about getting older. I do not think that I am old, though I may joke about being SO old with my friends and family. There is nothing wrong with being aware of the passage of time and understanding your place in it.

So, go forth, accept that we all get older and, maybe, spend less time worrying about birthdays and/or aging and more time engaging with and enjoying life. I know I need to hear that from time to time, too.

with <3

—A Recovering Design Imposter

PS. This year's birthday involved vegan homemade pumpkin scones and a coconut cream tart alongside Indian food takeout. Everdell, a board game, was played while relaxation was maximized. Just me and the husband. ‘Twas a good day!