Perfect Love Casteth out all Fear

I want to share with you a very personal experience. Not because I am proud of it . . . but because I am tired of the shame that I feel when I have experienced it, and hope that this visual can help you understand a little more about the voice in your own head, and the dark trap it can feel like.

This pregnancy has been a big struggle for me. I know I talked about it briefly a few posts back, but I want to get a little more real with you about some of the battles I have been fighting. The battle of “Am I enough?” has been a silent one for me for a long time. I have shared with all of you the times in the past when I have had to face that deamon, but I wanted to describe ways in which it still tries to show up now.

Being enough isn’t just a one-time battle, but a lifetime pursuit.

Every day we will face triggers—reminders of trauma from the past—that try to take us to our weakest points. Sometimes we will feel armed and ready for them, other times they will shake us to our core. Fear of inadequacy is not always a fight we will be prepared to win.

For the first time in months, this week I finally felt pretty good. I went out and bought maternity clothes—so I would stop trying to squeeze into my old pants and feel depressed when they didn’t fit. A few weeks back I had discovered I was low on iron and it was really messing with my emotions—and that was finally leveling out. Morning sickness had faded away, and I had stopped dry heaving every time I walked into a room. I had overcome a lot of the triggers that had come up during the early months of my pregnancy—I talked about a few posts back—I was feeling ready to embrace this changing body and just enjoy the miracle that was growing inside of me. Life was feeling pretty good.

I couldn’t wait for my doctor’s appointment—and hear that reassuring sound of the baby’s heart beat. Everything went smoothly, until my doctor stepped right onto the landmine that I had thought I had covered pretty well. She looked up from her chart and said, “My only concern is . . . you have gained a lot more weight then we want you to at this point.” I looked over at Scott with a get me out of here look on my face. I tried to hold back the tears as I listened to her remind me of the “healthy choices” I should be making.

By the time I got to my car I wasn’t really embarrassed and ashamed of my body any more—I was just pissed. Angry that a fear I had been working through for weeks now had voice again. I said a little prayer, “Heavenly Father, I see what he is trying to do. Get me all worked up about my changing body and lose my focus on the things that really matter. I know what I can do to help my body and my baby be healthy, please help me stay focused and not let this fear creep back in and make me lose track of the progress I have made in working through this truma and help me to be able to see pregnancy as the blessing that it is. A few extra pounds—I don’t care about that—I just want a healthy baby.”

The night went on. We put up all of our Christmas trees and had fun decorating the house. Morning came and I got all ready in one of my new maternity sweaters. Everything fit, and I actually felt pretty in my own skin. I walked into the kitchen where Kaleeya was sitting at the bar. She looked at me and in the sweetest little voice said, “Wow, Mom! You don’t even look pregnant in that shirt, you just look fat!” A meaningful complement I am sure, sunk deep into my heart . . . where it met the little voice that spoke even louder than it had for months, “You aren’t enough—Scott isn’t going to love you with that disgusting body.”

My soul sunk low—believing every fearful word in my head. I got the kids off to school and as I walked in my house and shut the door, I burst into tears. Every fear—all the dark memories of the past—surrounded me. I felt trapped. For a split second I was taken back to a moment when I was sitting in the bathtub almost 8 years ago.  Tytus was just a few weeks old. I had already started to feel the tension and knew that something wasn’t right. Emmett came walking into the bathroom. After weeks of wondering what was wrong whenever he was around, I had come to the conclusion he didn’t want me because of my just had a baby body. All I needed in that moment was for him to look over and tell me I was beautiful, but instead he looked into the mirror, checked himself out for a few minutes and then announced he was heading out.

The fear came back as strong as it had been that day, and in the few weeks that followed. Chaos is what followed. Murder. Truth of affairs. A life turned upside down. Somehow my little mind was just sure, it all started with a changing body—a body too fat to love.

And there it was again—this toxic feeling of wondering if I was going to be enough.

I changed my clothes, got in my car and drove to the only place I know where pure darkness cannot follow. As I sat in the chapel at the temple I opened up a set of scriptures to a random page. I looked down in the middle of the page and there was a scripture I know well.

“For perfect love casteth out all fear”. Tears filled my eyes as I was taken back to another memory—the day I had to write Emmett’s funeral. In all my anger, and fear, and shame, and guilt, and humiliation . . . that was the only scripture or quote I read that felt worthy of being on the bottom of the program. Everything else seemed like a sham—in that moment, those were the only words I could believe.

So again those words spoke to me. As I sat there I tried to picture perfect love. All I could see was the Savior. He is perfect love. He is the only one who can take it all away. The fear, the pain, the unknown, the uncomfortable, the guilt, the anger, all the ‘I am not enough’s, the grief—losing a loved one, or losing a relationship you cherish . . . He has the power to carry it away and bring peace. He has angels standing around us daily ready to go on errands, just for us. To take away the darkness we feel trapped in, and to help Him carry in the light.

With that truth, no amount of fear can take us down. We have to remember we only have one enemy, and his goal is to bring us fear—to remind us often that we are not enough—it is never from God.

We all have scars. Instead of shaming the parts of us we think make us not enough, I was reminded that—because of Him—I have the power to love me, which makes me even more capable of loving those around me. I have the gift to heal after divorce, abuse, infidelity and murder. I have a healthy body capable of creating life. I have a strong spirit and a trusting heart. Because of Him, I have the power that can help me find my truths, over and over again. I can move forward. I have the ability to let go of the pain of losing a relationship with a stepdaughter I adore. I have the chance to forgive the people who have hurt me in my life. Because of Him, I can be forgiven when I have forgotten who I am. I am capable of anything. I am worthy of fighting for.

Because of Him, we can overcome. Because of Him, we can feel light. Because of Him we can one day feel perfect love. And because of Him . . . perfect love casteth out all fear.  

Here we are 13 weeks. We will find out December 20th if it is a boy or girl. What do you think?

Trauma Healing Challenge: Day 2

The importance of exercise and connecting to our body. Getting moving doesn't require a gym membership or a personal trainer. Stepping outside of fear to tell our bodies we are in charge...not it. Setting goals. More energy. Establishing routines. Another step to finding you again.

Head over to YouTube to find all the videos in a playlist! 

Success: our final destination

Success. What does it look like? To some it is finally buying a dream car; to others it is landing the perfect job. For every person in the world, reaching success looks differently. Our beliefs on what success could—or should—be stem from a few different sources.

1. Your upbringing. How your parent’s succeeded, or failed to succeed. How they spoke about others who were “successful” in their eyes. How they received you when you did something well, how love was given or with held when you failed. All of these factors play a role in what you view success to be, and what you strive for.

2. Your self-image. The view you have of yourself can play into when and how you will view yourself as successful. Those who have confidence and find worth at a low paying, hard to do job, will most likely still see themselves as valuable at a higher end job. Those who don’t see themselves as successful at the things they are doing, and are always striving to find success at a later date, will most likely never feel successful even when they have reached their goals. Cars, houses, jobs, relationships will never feel satisfying and the next best thing will evenaully come around to replace what originally was viewed as success.  It is all about perception. That’s not to say we can’t have goals and ambitions, but if we can’t find joy in life now . . . it will be harder to find then.

3. Your relationships. What energy do you put into relationships with those around you? What importance do you put on their well-being? How selfish are you? Do you love to get love back, or do you love to see another being be loved? The view you have on relationships and their importance in your life, can play a role on your view of what success should or could be.

4. Your personality. For a more laid back personality, success could be viewed differently than a person who is a little more tightly wound. A perfectionist verses a person less concerned with details. All of these biologically engrained and learned personality traits can play in to the way we ideal what success should be.

5. Your environment. Who do you surround yourself with? What do your friends view success to be? What environments do you feel comfortable in? How do you feel around people you view as “successful”? Do you feel more successful when around someone you feel better than in some way? Do you have encouragement from your surroundings, or do they bring you down? How do you perceive others view of you? Do you compliment others who have found success? Do you struggle with jealousy or hatred? Do you hold on to the past or fear the future? Do you live within your means? Do you hold onto “stuff” or do you keep your space clean and fresh? All of these can play a role in the energy that is around you while setting goals and viewing future success.

6. Your thoughts. Do you think negatively about yourself and others? Do you let your thoughts spiral out of your control when fear kicks in? Can you determine a truth from a lie in your own mind? Do you ask others for approval, or do you have confidence in decisions? Do you like yourself? Do you believe in yourself? Do you trust others? Do you trust yourself? Do you trust God? Your thoughts and beliefs can help to shape, or misshape your view of success.

So what is success? If it isn’t a destination that can be defined by anyone—for everyone—why do we keep spending our years feeling like we have failed at getting there?

Why do so many people keep wishing for the next big thing to bring them happiness and validate a fear or belief that they are not successful without it?—because it is a lie. “Success” is the fish you will never catch. Its goal is to keep you so busy striving for it, that you miss the things that make you successful right now.

We all succeed in our own way. While one woman is out conquering the world in her career, another is a mother changing diapers at home. While one man is making millions in a high-rise penthouse, another is pinching pennies to feed his children in a trailer. Both have found success—just in a different way. But to say one is more successful for all the numbers they have gained, is forgetting that those numbers cannot last forever.

I know a few people who I would say are my hero’s of success—and there is no dollar amount to why. My grandma would feed—what felt like a hundred of—us every holiday, never complaining about the cost or the time—but always giving unconditional love. My mom had five kids of her own and took on seven more with a second marriage. Through all of her ups and downs in life, I never once heard her complain or lose faith in God. To me, they have made it . . . to “success”. They have learned how to love.

And we all have an example who showed what true success looks like. He came to earth—as we all did—with a very unique mission and purpose. His story is one of a poor man who spent his days serving others. He served because He loved. He died, because He cared. He could see what we can’t—but lived as we can.

So success. What is it? It would seem—as we all get cloudy on our definition of when one will reach the success they have worked their life for—we might have all had it all wrong. Success is finding your connection to God, and the reason He sent you here to earth. Success is leaving a great legacy for your family, by the way you show them how to love. Success is being you and finding joy along the way. 

If I have said it once, I will say it again a thousand times. We have to put our family first. The dark clouds are just going to keep getting darker. Keep fighting. The light is going to get dim—at times—don’t let it burn out.

Success—true success—at the end of this thing we call life will not be measured in numbers and dollar signs, it will not be obtained by a dream house or a dream car. It will be achieved by living a dream life. Make memories. Laugh. Find joy—in the stuff that is real . . . the relationships you will take with you.

“I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it's not the answer.” Jim Carrey

Our greatest honor

This morning I got my kids off to school. I cleaned up my house for a few minutes, and then went into my office, wrote in my journal, and did ten minutes of sit ups and push ups. I got on my computer to get some work done for my January conference coming up in Arizona—opened up my email to see a few new emails from Bailey stating boldly she finally decided what to do her debate paper about: Why Guns should be Illegal. Accompanied with a graph that showed the percentage of murders by weapon—guns being the greatest source of wrongful deaths.

An all too familiar feeling took over my body. My heart started racing and my breathing felt heavy. I looked around the room—in slow motion—as I could feel my body racing back in time. Images, thoughts, fears, anger, sorrow . . . the usual wave of triggered emotions engulfed me within seconds.

I haven’t sobbed so hard in a long time. First of all . . . for the pride that swelled for my brave daughter as I knew this decision must be part of her healing process, but second for the fears and insecurities that beckoned inside of me. For a few minutes at my desk I felt like a failure—reality of my children’s childhood blaring at me across a screen. Thoughts began beating me down—You didn’t protect them from this. You are a joke of a person. Clearly you haven’t survived anything if your daughter still hurts this much. You let them hurt. You can’t fix this. You are a pathetic loser, and not even a real mom. If you had been a better wife none of this would have happened to them—they wouldn’t have to spend the rest of their life hating guns, and trying to figure out how they can fix this world you ruined for them.

For a minute I let the thoughts have their voice in my head. I felt confused and panicked and alone. I felt trapped, and dark and full of fear. Tears kept on coming as I whirled through the facts that proved all of those thoughts true.

And then all the sudden I realized something—they were all lies. I said a small prayer and begged for angels to come take the darkness from my mind. I closed my eyes and pictured what I know grace to be—a Savior who loves us and holds us through our struggles, a brother who never leaves us alone, a friend who understand ALL of our pain, and a partner who stands by our side—I knew more than anything I needed Him in that moment. And guess what? Within minutes the fog faded, I opened my eyes, and stood up and walked out of my office. Not just feeling ok, but feeling strong. I felt confident and proud of my daughter who was fighting just like me.

Grace in action. He promised us He died for all of our pain . . . but how come in those moments we almost always forget that promise?

Moms. We do so much. We hurt for our babies, we cry for their pain. We plead for their peace. In a small little baby fraction of a way we know how powerful the Savior’s job must be—not just for a few—but for all of us.

I have talked to thousands of moms about the battles they face. This post is dedicated to those moms in this world who never stop fighting.

First I want to start by talking about a few of the fights that I—and other moms—have battled. These phrases are direct quotes from moms who have been there.

Survival mode. (Also known as denial)

No progression. Stuck. Frozen. But not debilitated. Fake it until you make it. When the damn breaks it is hell...cause that pain comes oozing out. Shakes, upset stomach...constant companion. Hard to eat, or to stop eating.  Hard to find joy in anything . . . but try purposefully to remain neutral on bad things as to not upset the fear that is keeping you alive. (I lived in this mode until long after the trial)

“This is reality” mode: when everything you thought would bring happiness is over—or finally yours—but you are still hurting. Closure isn't in your vocabulary. Everything seems harder than in survival mode, because your fog of denial has been lifted—this is reality. Debilitating fears. Panic attacks. Hard time. Constantly overwhelmed. Harder to fake your smiles. Not even surviving . . . just breathing.

Fighter mode: when every life trial that comes feels so overwhelming that you literally have to fight every day for your life. Something goes wrong every day. Feel like you are constantly overcoming something hard and looking to its end for relief . . . only to find that another trial comes to replace it. Feel like the universe is against you. No rest. Sitting at the window looking into the dark. Feeling unsafe wherever you are. Always on guard.

“Too Overwhelmed so I avoid” mode: Even the simplest of task—like the thought of helping a child with homework can shut you down and make you want to scream . . . or run away. Pretending to be in the bathroom for long stretches of time, seeing everyone else’s perfect lives. Wondering why you didn’t get the life you deserved. Kids watched a movie all day. House is destroyed all the time. No order. Just chaos. Kids out of control, won’t listen. Always fighting with siblings. Turn to addictions: working out, shopping, eating, social media . . . just to avoid the overwhelmed feeling of the lists you need to complete. But the more you avoid the lists . . . the more overwhelmed guilt engulfs you. This cycle is one of the craziest, because until you stop it—on purpose—it takes over your life. But you usually can’t even see you are in it, because those avoidance tactics feel so much easier than facing the battles.

Ok, these are just some of the stories I have heard, or felt in my own life, when it comes to parenting through struggles. Some of these woman say they have no reason to be dealing with this stuff—AKA no huge trauma that brought on these struggles—so what we are going to clear up first and foremost is that thought, because even just thinking that your battles aren’t worthy fights causes more guilt that ultimately creates more failures in our homes. The idea that your struggles can’t be as real as someone who has been through a traumatic event is absolutely not true. Each person’s dark fogs are as real for them as they are for anyone else.

So here is the deal . . . we all suck sometimes—some of those sucky parenting moments are “justified” because of the life experiences we have been handed . . . but whether we are aware of why we are triggered—with overwhelm and anxiety—or not . . . it is happening, or will happen at some point along the way.

So this post—though I could spend seventy years writing about the failures that I justified because of the failure I perceived as my life—is to empower us moms to not just fight the battles in survival mode. . . but to fight them with intention. Make a plan against the enemy who wants us to spend this life avoiding—not doing anything “bad”—but forgetting where we are going to make the most impact, or seeing where we already have.

We have the power to undo the damage that Satan does to our minds and our souls. We are not worthless; we are more powerful than we even know. He wants us to forget it every day—don’t let him. We have to fight through the fog.

So let me break this down for a second.

We have to start every day with a plan. Write down a few goals you want to accomplish. Do something every morning to get spiritually centered, because when mommies are off . . . aint no one going to have a good day.

For me this looks like: writing a letter to God, listening to an uplifting talk or inspirational video, uplifting music (my favorite is Paul Cardall’s Pandora station) at least ten minutes of some sort of exercise (even if it is dancing around with your newborn in your arms) and a morning prayer. I know the physical part doesn’t seem like it goes with spiritually centering yourself . . . but it is what engages your body to be able to get centered on where God needs you to be each day . . . here on earth. Healthy food, drinking more water, living within your means, getting out of debt, and cleansing your surroundings are other ways we can show God we are taking care of the vessels He has placed us in to fulfill our mission. (I will cover a few of these in some later posts)

So once you feel connected to God, and to the earth . . . you can better be able to figure out what your day is to look like for Him. Visualize the connection—vertically up to Him and down to this earth. (Horizontal connections keep us in the fog . . . ex: depending on other people’s approval before doing anything, addictions we use to avoid life, waiting around for a new outfit to make you feel pretty enough to find your confidence) And that part about also being connected to the earth—it is where we are and the place we have to be to find our purpose and mission. We can spend all day trying to get close to God, but if we don’t allow ourselves to be content in the path we are on . . . we will continue to avoid the inspiration He tries to send us.

So this is the first step—always—when overcoming the fog. NO other person can take it away, just Christ. That is what grace is—it is His mission alone to carry us through and help us fight our way through our battles. Notice I didn’t say OUT of our battles . . . because if we don’t work through them, they will only come back stronger. We have to feel and allow ourselves to be vulnerable to really heal and overcome the hardships and triggers in our lives.  

Ok, so now we have the first step. With the fog cleared we can find our center, and in our center we can find our mission and purpose each and every day. When we know who we are and why we came here—we are powerful. As mothers, as wives, as friends . . . in all the roles we play. So that is why Satan wants us to forget. Our greatest battle we will ever fight is to keep remembering our truths.

So here is the truth: I want more than anything in the world to be the wife and mother I believe I can be. I want to be patient and loving. I want to teach my kids how to physically and spiritually find their way. I don’t want to let them use any excuses of their past to ever live under their full potential. I want to teach them to be respectful and kind, and how to tell the truth. I want them to be loyal. I want them to know they have good inside of them. I want them to one day see—as I am still fighting to do—that we don’t have to be afraid of guns. I want them to be proud of the men and woman they are going to grow up to be. I want them to always remember me as a mother who took the time to listen, who made the most of every moment and who wasn’t afraid of the dark. I want them to know how to find the light in their lives, and remember the miracles that we have seen. I want them to grow up to be warriors, who never give up or give in. I want to keep my promises, and show them how to do the same. I want to teach them how to stand, because their story has so much good in it. I want them to be proud that the one consistent in their lives is Christ. I hope that each and every day I show them how to live like Him.

We are going to make mistakes moms. We are going to stumble and fall, and some moments are going to hurt. But we aren’t alone. I know from the bottom of my soul we have a Creator who made us to be just the way we are, and sent His Son to live and die for us. Grace is for us too, in those moments when life feels like it is letting us down—again. Your story is beautiful, you just have to fight to remember why.

They won’t remember the perfect pictures, they won’t remember if their socks matched or if your kitchen floor was always mopped and the food was always hot . . . they will remember your smile, your warm embrace when they were scared, your bright eyes that told them they were safe, and your soft hands that wiped their tears. 

We cannot take away all their pain, but we—with the Savior—can show them how to win. The real failure will not have anything to do with the awards we did not recieve, or the sites we did not see . . . it will be if our babies grow up without us because we were so wrapped up in waiting for something more.

You are there. Live in this moment, today. And do it on purpose. No regrets. What they will remember most is the easiest to do, but also the easiest to forget . . .

You are doing a great job. Don’t you dare give up. Put down those phones and laugh like you have never laughed before. Not because everything is finally how you thought it should have been . . . but because it is exactly where you were born to be. Motherhood is the greatest work we will ever do. The world might fail to recognize all the sacrifices you have made, but God has seen EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.



P.S...
(I got on here to write some recipes, requested by a few of you on Instagram Story. Apparently I got a little distracted. I will work on those in the morning, also a post on my mommy store I shared on Instagram Story!! Thank you for always encouraging me in the little things. If you have read my first book, you know that cooking used to be a HUGE trigger for me. It has been fun to get back to finding passion in it again. I will be honored to share those recipes and ideas on here! Thank you so much for asking. 

Be the Light

As I was about to stand up to speak last Friday at A Reason to Stand I was praying for a miracle. For weeks, every time I had gone to prepare what I was going to say my mind had drawn a blank. Even on the drive to Ogden I had little come to me—as I usually do—on what I was supposed to say.

I had spent hundreds of hours interviewing prospective presenters, typing up the programs, reserving the location, and collecting everything we needed to make the weekend a success . . . but I couldn’t even prepare for my own talk.

It is a little nerve racking emailing presenters to get their stuff together when I myself felt unprepared, but I continued to feel a void of thoughts whenever I would try to piece together my speech.

On Friday, as I stood to begin, my mind was filled with memories . . .

When I was about 9 years old I tried out for a play. I spent hours practicing my song and preparing my monolog. I was prepared. I got up in front of the judges and gave it my all. I sang with all my heart and had plenty of attitude as I belted out my memorized monologue.

The main judge didn’t say much—as I finished the last words—but looked at me with curious eyes. He asked, “Ashlee, do you have a cold or something?” I answered with truth. I said, “No. I feel great. You?” Then he said something that would echo in my mind for years to come. He said, “You are a beautiful little girl, but your voice . . . you sound like a smoker.”

Nine years old. It had taken all the courage I had to go and try out with all my anxious-to-be-a-star friends. I didn’t like to perform. I didn’t care about being on a stage. I just wanted to be with my friends. I had a hard enough time finding my confidence to even walk through the door that day . . . and now I had been put down for something I could not change.

Bitterness entered my heart in a way I had never felt it before. A feeling that nagged at me during my parents divorce the year before, settled in my mind again as a new found truth. I wasn’t good enough.  I wasn’t good enough for him to just merely compliment me on what I did do. I wasn’t even good enough for him to sit quiet and just let me walk out the door with my continued hope that I would be chosen.

I didn’t make any of the parts . . . apparently they were looking for a little girl—who didn’t sound like she had just smoked a joint—to play the main role.

I remember from then on, anytime I was asked to sing or perform on stage I said no. I was happy to be a back up singer or in a large choir, but my days of singing solos would forever be done. I no longer saw my gift to sing as a blessing—I heard my voice as curse. A few times I remember watching old home videos and hearing my “smoker's voice”. In my embarrassment I would turn it off.

Little did that judge know, all those years ago, the impact his words would have on me. He probably hasn’t thought twice about asking a little 9 year old girl if she had a cold, or even remember being the bearer of the fact that her voice was raspier than most.

The very voice I have been able to use to share about the truths I have learned is the same voice that has almost always tried to stop me from speaking on a stage at all.

As I shared that story I thought about all the times I have been that judge. How many people have walked around with silent scars because of something I said . . . or didn’t say when they needed it the most?

We cannot wait around for others to come and make us feel whole, but we can seek out opportunities to be just that for someone else. It was on that stage last Friday that I was taught a truth even greater than the feeling of being enough for myself and my God. I thought of all the times when I have stepped outside my need to feel like I am enough and help someone else know that they are.

Healing doesn’t come just from acknowledging the truth that we are enough the way we are. True healing comes from using the gift of empathy to help someone else feel complete.

I remember a girl long ago who was different. She didn’t have light hair like me and my friends. She didn’t wear the same size jeans—like we all did. She was way taller than any of us. She just didn’t fit in . . . and even if she would have tried, we wouldn’t have let her.

One day at a girls camp, we had just spent the hour in our cabin rummaging through this girl's stuff, taking pictures of ourselves in her clothes and making fun of everything in her bag. I walked out of the cabin to go to the bathrooms. I could hear someone a little deeper in the woods . . . it sounded like crying. As I got closer, I found it was her. At first I was worried she had seen what we had been doing—and I was going to be in trouble—but as I found a tree to hide behind and listened to her sobs I was overcome with remorse for the pain I had caused. She was crying . . . because of me.

From then on I was this girl's friend—but not because I was a good person and helped her when no one else would—because I had seen her pain. I had felt what she was feeling. She wanted to be part, even though she was different. And so did I. The pain and fear I had felt as I rummaged through her bag . . . trying to be part of the other girls—she had to feel all alone in the middle of the woods.

I learned a valuable lesson that day as a little fourteen year old girl. Everyone wants to feel part of something. Even the ones who pretend they just want to be left alone . . . still feel the desire to be seen.

We all have fears. We have all felt abandoned at one time or another. We have all waited around for someone else to make us feel whole . . . but the truth is, until we can see that desire in someone else and help them complete that emptiness . . . ours will continue to weigh us down.  

I know people came on Friday to hear about a story. I could have told them dramatic tales about a gun, or three people’s decisions. I could have told them about a fear that took over me for 2 years. It would have been easy to speak about a night that left me at the crossroads from hell . . . stranded and abandoned and humiliated. But this time was very different. I had no desire to talk about the pain—because it is starting to be a distant memory. Most days, I am starting to feel whole.

I know my life is never going to be the same, and there will be triggers that I cannot control . . . but I can finally see beauty. Every single day. Not in the way the world defines glamour and looks. I see beauty in the imperfect past that is mine. I see beauty in the uniqueness of being me, and I see beauty on the broken paths that have lead me here.

The murder trial didn’t help me heal, because I was sitting silently dwelling on how hard things had been for me. Just as the courts had labeled me—I was a victim. That week after court had ended when I was able to bless the life of someone else in the back of a grocery store . . . that is when I could step outside the pain and see the beauty. (Post: Send Someone)

Beauty in life doesn’t come from the time we spend being victims. It comes from helping other victims find the way out of their struggles and pains and showing them how to survive. We become survivors as we break the chains of victimhood.

So maybe your journey has you labeled as a victim. Maybe your pain has been so magnificent you can hardly see past it. Maybe the world has reminded you of your “smokers voice” in every aspect of your being. Maybe you are told every night—by someone you love—that you aren’t enough for them.

The way out is not dwelling on it until you are blue in the face—trust me . . . I have tried. The way out is by leaving it behind. Like those twins I have written about. Both locked in their closet and beaten as kids. One chose to be defined by those moments and lose sight of himself, and the other knew in that moment he was worth so much more. We can let it define us, and who we think we are, or we can use those moments we feel like we have been beaten and locked in a closet to reach up, and hold our hands out. (Post: More than Broken)

We all have something that makes us unique—something that no matter how hard we try . . . will always be with us. For some of us, that is a past that has hurt. For others, it a “smokers voice” that has held us back from playing the lead role in our own life.

What if we lived in a world that wasn’t about molds and perfection? What if we celebrated our differences and helped people see their worth through what made them stand out? Are we all supposed to look the same, sound the same, and be the same? Were we all meant to follow the same journeys and live the same lives? Or were we made to shine through our differences?

Some things in this life we can change. Our hair, our clothes, our friends, the way we treat other people. But there are some things—no matter how hard we try—that will always be the same. We can never change the past. We cannot control other people’s choices. We cannot make someone love us. We cannot force others to help us feel seen.

I am finally in a place in my life that I can laugh about my smoker’s voice. I don’t give it any thought that I didn’t make the lead role in a play twenty-three years ago. I will never change my “smoker voice”, and that is ok. I am me. To find the strength to be unique is seeing that God makes no mistakes. He didn’t create us to all be the same. He sent us down to shine.

So smoker's voice and all, I  . . . Ashlee Ann Birk . . . am beautiful. And so are you. Just the way you are. Get up every morning. Spend a minute highlighting your features in a way that makes you feel physically beautiful. Take one last look in that mirror. Then look away and use those same eyes to search for something broken that needs to be told how beautiful they are. Don’t get stuck in your victimhood. It is a trap. Spend your days surviving the past by finding the broken and unseen.

I wish I could say there was an easier way. I wish I could say that once we forced our husbands to say everything perfectly, and in the way we needed . . . we would find happiness. I wish I could say there was a magic pill to swallow to make us that handsome prince our wife says she deserves. But the truth is . . . no one else can define who we are. Only we can decide to see ourselves as beautiful. Only we can change our view from one that looks inward and around searching for others to complete us—to one that looks up and asks God to lead us to one of His children who isn’t able to see at all.

We won’t be seen, until we use our eyes to see. Listen for the smoker's voices who are silently pleading for reassurance that they are enough. Even the ones who may act like they don’t care—want to feel like they belong.

We all belong to the same family. Religion, skin color, race, hair color, eye color, and the continent on which we live may make us believe we are different or better than another. But we are all sons and daughters of a creator. And He sees our uniqueness as the beauty that makes us who we are.

This weekend, L. Jay told a story about a woman he had recently met in Nicaragua. She had little to nothing to her name. She had a tent with one small table. She had the bare ingredients to make only her tamales. When the interpreter talked to her she looked out at the large group of Americans and said, “Why did God put you in America and give you so much more than me? Does he love you more than me?” Silence fell upon the group; they didn't know how to answer her. After a moment she replied to her own question, “Because God knew I didn't need MORE to be happy.”

We have been given much. And because of our blessings, we have so much we can give. There are faces everywhere just waiting to be noticed. Look around, with those beautiful eyes and find them. Some may be in the walls of your own home, others are on an island thousands of miles away. But we are all the same—unique souls hoping to find happiness inside our own skin.

Broken things mend; shattered hearts heal. Use your voice—even if it is a smokers voice—to help them find their way. Be the light that helps others to see . . .and pretty soon you yourself will 

shine !!!

In Case you missed theses beautiful ladies in Ogden!!