Who am I: Why I Believe

Yes I know I've been terribly religious lately. Get over it or go else where. If you haven't noticed I tend to work on a theme until I chew my way through it and get bored. Then I move on. This is where we are right now.

I keep trying to figure out what angle to come at this topic by. I feel I need to go into it for reasons I don't know yet exactly but I feel strongly its what I need to write about, tho this post is liable to take a few drafts to get right. 

I believe in God because I know He is there. 

I know it as surely as I know the sun will rise in the east tomorrow and that my Momma loves me. And I know that no matter what happens I cannot deny my sure knowledge. I'd be lying if I did. 

You can say that I was socialized to some sort of group hysteria by my religious upbringing. Please go right ahead and feel what you want. The point of this post isn't to convince anybody or start an argument. I just feel the need to share what I know to be true. 

I was 14 and I was suicidal. I didn't want to die, but I couldn't live like that anymore. The pain, the despair, the total isolation. The body that seemed to have its own mind and I was locked in a cage in the back of my mind watching myself do things and screaming and beating against the bars and I couldn't get out and I couldn't stop and I couldn't be me. 

I had a plan. I was going to write a note and take a whole bottle of pills (probably Tylenol cuz Mom had those giant bottles of them from the discount store) and time it for just about an hour before dinner. So that hopefully I'd be passed out but they could find me before it was too late and .... somehow this would save me. 

They'd taken me to "therapy" with some nut job that saw me like a half dozen times but declared me "well" and that just made me even more hopeless because now therapy hadn't worked. So I had no idea what the solution was, but I couldn't live like this anymore. 

The two things keeping me from enacting the plan were as follows: I was scared to death I would actually die (what if they forgot to get me for dinner, that had never happened but it might!). And if I actually died that would cause 2 problems: 1. It would hurt my parents. I knew it would break their hearts and I couldn't bear that thought. 2. I believed that God would punish me if I took my own life and I couldn't quite justify being miserable for all eternity vs being miserable now. (My opinions on that subject have evolved some since then but that's neither here nor there and probably a really good thing I thought that way at the time...). 

And so there I was, in so much pain I couldn't see straight. I felt powerless and hopeless, and completely and totally alone. 

And I remember one night, one horribly bad night, I was alone in my room and this poster I had on my wall just captivated me. It was a picture of Christ and it was captioned "You are never alone. I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you." 

And I sobbed and I stared at the picture when I could and I started praying. I explained to my Heavenly Father that I had never in my life felt more alone and I just couldn't do this anymore. I had to know if I was alone or not because if I was I couldn't do this anymore and this was going to have to be it. 

And it was then, in truly my darkest hour ever that I suddenly felt peace. I felt love. I felt like I was being wrapped up in a big warm hug and my tears changed from the wracked sobs of grief and pain to tears of joy and happiness. I could keep breathing. I could exist. It was all going to be okay because I was not alone and God loved me. 

It was probably the single most glorious experience of my entire life. 

I could not have felt His presence any more clearly than if a friend walked up and gave me a bear hug right now. From that day on I have never, ever had any doubt that there is a God. That He is a real, personal, living Father in Heaven, who knows, loves and cares about me. 

I was humbled to the core of my soul. Grateful and honored and shocked that somebody like me merited such love. He was REAL and He loved ME. And it was going to be okay. 

And it was... I think it was shortly after that that my gym teacher caught me smashing my head into a locker (if you hit your head hard enough you don't have to feel for a while, that and the other kids thought it was a great party trick) and for some strange reason she was concerned and sent me to the school counselor who listened for a bit and then called the district psychologist who listened for a few hours, who then called my Mom and explained very carefully that if she didn't get me help right now things were going to be bad. And she referred us to some amazing non-quack people - a psychiatrist who got the brain working right (so that THIS neuron fires into THAT receptor likes its supposed when I tell it to and only when I tell it to) and a psychologist who gave me the tools to heal once the brain could even work right. 

I think before that night I was mostly a social conversion. I'd been raised and taught these things by my parents. But since that night, my faith is mine. I believe because I know. 

There are times I wish I could touch a person and make them feel what I feel, because if I could share that feeling it would knock you flat on your butt and you too could know. But thats not how it works and I don't think it would be right even if I could do it.... with knowledge comes accountability.... 

I can list a few dozen other reasons "why I believe" but as I think on them I think what they really are is reasons why I'm grateful I believe. This is the real reason. Its been reinforced, powerfully, many times since that night. But this is the start, the flame that still burns. 

For the record I'm not sure I've shared this with more than one or two people my whole life until now. And yet I feel strongly that now is the right time to share it with the whole internet. This is a little piece of my heart. One of the core pieces that makes me who I am and altered the whole course of my existence. 

Please be kind. This is sacred to me. 

ps - who knew? This is the first draft....

Who Am I? 4

So the other day I decided to do my hair and make up for a girls night out with my 2 crazy aunts (crazy in a GOOD way) and my cousin. I had a great time. And b/c my hair and make up were being shockingly cooperative I came home, touched up the make up a notch or two to high glamour levels and then took a bunch of pictures of myself with my camera (*cough149photoscough*) which sounds so completely self absorbed but I swear thats not what its about.

I'm building a webpage (I know I've been at it FOREVER but we're not discussing that right now m'kay?) and I don't like the headshot I have for it. I'm wearing white and I'm generally of the opinion that I should like, never, ever wear white. Mostly b/c I'm such a glow in the dark mighty whitey that I match the white shirt. So we decided to take 5 million pics of ourselves in the hope that maybe, just maybe, ONE of them would turn out acceptable enough to go on the profile. Yes it is a business, but its an artist business so it can be a bit different.

SO point of this whole shinola is that I posted a selection of these pictures to Facebook to solicit opinions from friends there. And I'll go into their responses in a bit but to my shock and amazement one of my photographer/artists friends (the Amazing Lori) emailed me with one of my photos that she had played with in photoshop.

I'll give you a minute to digest that picture because I was in shock. I was absolutely delighted and thanked her profusely for doing such  sweet thing for me.

And I've spent the last several days staring at this picture trying to wrap my mind around it. Because once upon a time I really did think I was dog ugly. Then we worked our way up to "okay looking" and then "kinda pretty" and we're now generally of the opinion that for the most part I'm pretty. I can look better, maybe even striking if I actually bother w/ make up but "pretty" is pretty much the standard we've decided.

But this amazing photo that she edited for me is beautiful. So beautiful I have to remind myself that the woman in the picture is me. I've never, ever seen an image of myself of any kind that I could unequivocally call beautiful. And so I stare and try to comprehend the idea of "me" and "beautiful" being in the same sentence.

When I say I had "body image issues" that is such a dramatic understatement of who I used to be. I used to literally burst into tears at the sight of myself naked in front of a mirror. Hell, it happened w/ clothes on before.

I had started making fat jokes about myself in high school because if I did it first then the jerks would laugh and not bother to do it for me. Problem was, after a few years, I believed it. And that was amazingly damaging.

But thanks in large part to my husband I stopped the negative self talk (he refuses to hear me say bad things about his wife. lol) and that plus having this man in my life who does nothing but tell me how beautiful I am day in and out for several years now and having a few key conversations with various people about them never ever again saying anything to me about my weight on pain of my never talking to them again (shut up thats a threat not a favor).

I also decided that confidence is sexy. And I also wanted to avoid talking smack about myself in front of the hub, b/c he was the one man who seemed to not mind the fact that I was heavier than I wanted to be and I loved the way that he looked at me and I didn't want to talk him out of it. So that paired w/ the confidence is sexy idea basically lead me to a "fake it til you make it" policy for the last several years.

And shockingly enough - it has worked. I've made amazing strides in my self image. I can look in a mirror with out so much as wincing now. I can occasionally even really like what I see. Its a fragile image, I'm not sure how much it would stand up to abuse before it crumpled. But its there.

But this... Beautiful... this was a step I'd never considered. This picture.... My mother used to tell me when I was in grade school that the other girls were mean because they were jealous. I always chalked that up to "crap your mother has to tell you because she's your mom", but this picture? She may actually be right.

And its lead me to stare and wonder this question more than any other:

Is this what other people see when they look at me? 

And the responses I've gotten from people on Facebook and else where have been overwhelmingly positive. I've never been called sexy before so many times in my life. And I cracked up that I had a couple people comment that the one picture where I left my glasses ON was totally the "sexy librarian" look. Never, ever would have categorized myself that way before.

Its just been interesting and fascinating. And I just keep chasing this thought round and round in my head and staring at the picture trying to reconcile that beautiful woman with my own self identity.

If we're not facebook friends and you'd like to give me your opinion on the pics they're here:

http://s305.photobucket.com/albums/nn218/letmenot/Headshots/

Please keep in mind NONE of those are cropped or retouched in any way so the funky backgrounds and stuff are all super ultra fixable. So just look at the pose and the facial expression etc. Which ones do you like and why?

Who am I? 3

I had a series of bad relationships my junior and senior years of high school. And at the end of the last one I looked back at the pattern and was so scared by what I saw I decided that Ami wasn't allowed to pick her own men for a while. I decided then that I needed to learn how to be okay by myself. Because clearly something was up with me that I was picking men like this to be in a relationship with.

To add perspective I had a leader over my young women's group at church who encouraged us strongly to start a list of qualities we wanted in our eternal companions. And to review our list regularly, particularly at the start and end of a relationship to see how the people we were dating matched up to what we really wanted and to add things we learned that we did or did not want. And to prioritize the items on the list - very important, must have, can't have, would like to have.

And I had followed her advice and began a list and reviewed it regularly. And I think thats a big part of why I decided I shouldn't date for a while because apparently my initial judgement was so radically off base that clearly I wasn't seeing things right. And in hindsight I think that might have something to do with the fact that through most of my youth the single biggest thing a guy could do to get me to like him... was to like me. I felt so amazingly undesirable, so undesirable that wearing a burqa might be doing the world a favor levels of undesireable, that if any man actually wanted me that alone was so very exciting I should find a way to like him back.

Yes I really was messed up in the head. I'm better, but still not perfect.

So I get to college, and have a few injuries that resulted in the end of my dancing days and the resulting depression and comfort eating left me heavier than I had ever been in my life which really was not remotely helpful to myself image especially if you consider the body image issues that run so amazingly rampant in my family and myself in particular.

And the end result was the fear that I was never going to get married because no man could possibly want me because I was fat.

And just to reinforce this concern - my sophomore year I met this guy in a chat room that went to my school and we had some great times talking and decided to meet. His response upon actually meeting me? "Um, you're kinda chubby." I shit you not. Needless to say I was more than slightly devastated and its made me more than slightly gun shy of ever posting pictures of myself online... Especially full body shots. Because while my self image has dramatically improved, its still fragile and I'm not sure how well my fragile new image would survive against attacks of that caliber.

It did however, make me feel like a million bucks when I told this story to a guy friend earlier this year whose response was "Well clearly you can't take him seriously because he obviously had a closed head injury at the time." lol

And as horrible as that sounds it did lead to some good things. Starting with my junior year of college I had some amazing roommates who were extremely good for my self esteem. Diana told me that not only did chubby girls get married too, but that any man that didn't want me because I was fat wasn't the kind of man I would ever want to be with anyways.

That thought in particular was revelatory. It knocked me flat on my butt. I'd never, ever thought of it that way. I'd always heard my mother and her line that "as wonderful as your father is he never would have looked at me if I'd been heavy when we met".

I also started really looking with new eyes at the marriage relationships of the people I knew back home and in my extended family. And let me tell you how much of that was just plain scary. My home ward's relief society used to essentially be a chance for the sisters to get together and bash their husbands. This has thankfully changed but then thats what it was. So when I'd go home for the summer it was scary.

I will never forget one Sunday when the little sister who was in charge of such things got up on her soap box about wanting donations of canned goods for whatever cause she was collecting for now and one of the other sisters said that the problem was that she had this whole bag ready to go and sitting by the door and every Sunday by the time she wrangled her 5 small children into the car for church she'd forget the dang bag at home.

And I in my blissful naivete raised my hand and asked "Why can't you just ask your husband to grab the bag?" And that sister turned to me with eyes full of venom and said "Well clearly YOU don't have a husband." And all I could do was sit there and stare at her slack jawed and think - "Well if thats what its like I don't want one."

It was also about this time that I became aware of a rather remarkable woman by the name of Sheri Dew. If you've never heard her speak you're seriously missing out. Go buy one of her books, they're worth it. She was a counselor in the General Relief Society Presidency at the time (Mormon moment: RS is the women's org of the church. She was one of the ones in charge of the WHOLE thing). She's the president, CEO and spokesperson for Deseret Book. And somewhat unusually for a Mormon female of her age - she has never been married.

And I for one think that Sheri Dew is one of the single coolest people on God's green earth. And so I decided that I only wanted to be married on my terms. I decided if I never did get married that was okay with me because I could just be like Sheri Dew. I decided I would rather be single and happy than married and miserable.

It was amazingly liberating. I was no longer paralyzed by the fear of being alone.

And then I had this amazing bishop and institute teacher (Mormon Moment: Institute is bible study class for college students) who would periodically pepper his lessons w/ dating tips and advice. lol And one of the biggest things I remember him saying was that like attracts like so you have to be what you want. If you have a big long list of these amazing qualities go take a long hard look in the mirror and see how you match up to your list. If you want amazing, be amazing.

That was another dang good piece of advice. It put more control of my situation back into my hands. It gave me something to work on and goals and directions for my personal development. And either way becoming a better person, more like the guy I was seeking on my list, just plain made me happier and more confident.

Who am I? 2

I want to spend some time examining some of the different anecdotes that illustrate principles that I try to live my life by.

I don't want to be the old man in the flood.

The Story:

There a big flood and the old man is sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch and the flood water is lapping the bottom of the porch and the rescue workers come by in a boat and say "Come with us you have to evacuate." And the old man says, "I'm not leaving. I have faith. The Lord will save me."

A while later, the water is now up to the roof of the porch where the old man is now sitting and another boat comes and asks him to leave. And once again he refuses, "I have faith. The Lord will save me."

Finally the old man is perched on top of his chimney and a helicopter comes and says "Come on you HAVE TO GO." And the old man refuses "No! I have faith! The Lord will save me!"

And then the old man drowns and he gets to heaven and asks, "God! I had faith! Why didn't you save me?!" To which the Lord replies:

"I sent you two boats and a helicopter! What more did you want?!"

Which is a humorous way of saying just how important it is to realize help and salvation when the Lord sends it. He may not send it in the way that you want or they way that you think the help should come or be done. But He will send it and you need to be humble enough that you're willing to see things as they are and do what He would have you do.

That the goal anyways. I'm still learning. I still have times when I want the Lord to save me the way I want to be saved. But I hope I can catch on before I drown.
----

Now I know the following will surprise people who have only met me recently but I used to be a door mat. I had like no spine. If you hit me I'd probably apologize for running into your fist. And then I had one of my favorite people in the whole wide world tell me something:

There are people in this world who go around handing out steaming buckets of shit to other people. And they want you to gratefully take that steaming bucket of shit from them, thank them and dump it all over yourself. 

Any time some one tries to make you feel inferior that is a bucket of shit and you don't have to take it. 


And it has taken some doing for me to learn to recognize the buckets quickly. Some are cleverly disguised as high grade manure and some even come with a bow or from people who claim to love you or that you love. But they're still shit buckets. And once you recognize them as such you do not have to take it.

Its empowering. And its liberating. And life just feels a whole helluva lot better when you get good and fast at recognizing those buckets for what they are and rejecting them with as much vigor as if someone did actually try to walk up and dump manure on you.

And the reason it feels so right and so good and you only get better at it is because you have a divine right to protect your own life. And that includes the quality of your life. God wants you to have joy. No where in scripture does He say "lay down and take it". NO!

Nephi LEFT!! For those unfamiliar with the Book of Mormon the story starts with a family who flees Jerusalem at the time of the prophet Jeremiah, just before the city was destroyed and the inhabitants carried away captive to Babylon. The family of Lehi was lead by the Lord, to the coast where they built boats and sailed across the ocean to the Americas where they settled. Of Lehi's children the two oldest (Laman and Lemuel) were wicked and the younger sons were righteous and lead by the 4th brother Nephi.

After the death of Lehi the whole thing comes to a head and Nephi is warned in a vision that if he stays there his brothers will kill him and his family. And so Nephi takes his family and departs into the wilderness. He didn't stay there to die. He took his family and left. And it was the right thing to do. And more than that he made swords and shields and weapons and taught his people how to use them so that they could defend themselves.

If it becomes clear in a situation that a person is not going to stop trying to shovel shit all over me and they won't stop, my choice is to leave. Thats how I turn my cheek. And if they follow I have a right to defend my life.

Since I discovered this principle my life has been immeasurably more joyful. I grow in happiness, confidence and spine with every passing day. I am my own little fire ball now. And I LOVE IT.

And with most people, they usually back down once you point it out. "Wow that was rude!" has an amazing effect. You identified that there was a shit bucket present and refused to accept it. Do it with a smile and they're usually left sputtering an apology.

Try it. Its fun. What shit buckets are people handing out? Are you trying to give any to other people?

Who Am I?

This post is liable to be the start of a whole new series. Because I'm of course egotistical enough to think that "Who am I?" is a very complicated question. I'm heading this direction mostly because I have had occasion recently to look back at who I have been and be shocked and amazed and how much I've changed. I'm a very, very, very different person than I was 10 years ago. And I think in most ways the change has been good. But in some ways I need to stop and reevaluate who it is that I think that I am because now, apparently, some of my assumptions about myself are false.

So a while back Blogger added a new feature to my little dashboard called "Stats"that I have found endlessly fascinating. I can see how many hits my blog has had and when. I can see what posts are the most popular. I can see how people find my blog, what country they're from and what browser they're using. And I've been absolutely floored at the number of page hits I get.

I mean I'm definitely not getting anything huge but its still A LOT more than I thought I was getting (or would EVER get for that matter). And I've had some people follow me publicly that I don't even know. Ditto for my Twitter feed (which is @fleipaper btw). And this plus the strange levels of affection I receive from my crew on Evony has lead me to the VERY strange conclusion that people seem to actually like listening to me talk.

Because part of why I like to blog and twitter is it gives me the chance to run my mouth with out inflicting my talking on anybody. If somebody actually reads what I have to say then its totally self inflicted and I'm not forcing my blathering on some person. Because prior to now with real people I'd feel obligated to stop talking when they show signs of rigor mortis or the like but with this I can talk as much as my little heart desires and if they don't like it they don't have to read it. I think its just FANTASTIC.

And they are! Reading it! At least some of the time. Which means they actually want to hear me talk.

How weird is that??!

I say this is strange because for most of my grade school years I was that kid. The obnoxious one that ALWAYS had her hand in the air (I have impulse control issues) and I know for a fact that for long periods I think most of my classmates were thinking "For the love of all that is HOLY SHUT UP" and I"m moderately confidant that at least a few of my teachers thought the same thing.

I got this message through my thick head some where in middle school and thus began the years of challenge to find a balance. I discovered I had to be doing at least two things at once b/c either I would totally wander off and day dream and miss the whole lesson. Or I'd want to comment on everything. So I needed something to keep my hands busy so the brain could focus on the lesson with out feeling the need to talk and discuss it. In school I spent A LOT of quality time doodling. I learned how to finger spell in sign language so I could spell along with the lecture. I took up calligraphy. In college and church I'd even crochet and cross stitch my way through things.

College was a lot better mostly because the pace was faster. I wouldn't have time to get bored. That was the big problem in grade school. I was BORED. The teacher asked a question and refused to move on until somebody gave the answer. And for some completely retarded reason my fellow class mates decided knowing the answer was not cool and would therefore NOT speak.

So the teacher would stand there and stare until somebody would raise their hands. And ya know what? For me it was a agonizing battle - do I do the unpopular thing and annoy my fellow students and the teacher (who wanted to hear from someone OTHER than me) and give the answer so that we can move on so that I'm not bored or do I just sit there and try to sing songs in my head until somebody else gives in and I can finally learn something else?

I usually tried to limit myself to some arbitrary number - like I'm allowed to answer no more than 2 questions in class today and then space them out so as to help alleviate the pain. Honors classes helped with this A LOT but still college was SO much better because they'd usually move so fast I'm taking notes for all I'm worth and I don't have time to get bored. And they usually don't ask stupid questions either.

I did have the problem in class if I read the book in advance, which I tried to do to keep up but then it would create this problem of, I'd keep up a running commentary under my breath on what I'd like to say if I could raise my hand.

Yes I am a freak of nature and I have Issues. We know.

Usually it worked just fine unless the prof had dang good hearing because I have to sit front and center because I am half deaf. And then some professors would find it more than slightly annoying and I'd really have to watch myself. Or just not read the book in advance so I wasn't anticipating the direction of the conversation and making the connections under my breath.

Which of course created the problem of getting behind. Because I swear I'm either ON the ball or horribly behind. There is no in between. My house is that way too. Either the room is perfect or the room is a disaster area. I don't quite know how that happens but it does.

But I digress because the point here is that for most of my life people were asking where the "OFF" button was to my motor mouth and then I started to have a very peculiar experience in college. When I'd make a comment in a group of people.... they would smile. And laugh. And later even, sometimes, thank me for my thoughts. This was a strange experience.

And now there are people who tell me that they like my blog. And they're rather emphatic about it. I have a guy friend online who describes listening to me rant as "relaxing" and enjoys it. And I wonder what it is exactly that people like so much. Usually when asked I get the response "I like the way you talk."

Which is just perplexing because growing up I got told repeatedly that I "talk funny". And I have no idea what it was I said or how I said it that was so "funny" but I got that all through out my youth. That or they'd declare my an arrogant beotch. That happened more in middle school and early high school.

Which lead to me making jokes about my being fat or dumb because if I made fun of me first then they would laugh and I wouldn't get called a fat arrogant bitch. Which happened. More than once.

The problem was that after several years of being told that, and calling myself that. I started to believe it. I had roughly the self esteem of a gnat and some remarkable door mat like personality characteristics and a nice dose of codependency too.

I really truly believed that I was dumb, or maybe even average intelligence and I just worked hard. I wasn't any smarter than anybody else. I've now determined that is a complete crock of manure. I would say I'm statistically significantly more intelligent than the average population. At least one standard deviation above the norm. I'm not sure if I'd credit myself with more than that but I'm there for sure.

And don't you dare accuse me of being arrogant. I'm still not saying I'm better than anybody. I am saying that I can learn faster than some people. And I don't think that makes me the bees knees or anything its just being aware of my abilities so that I know how best to use them. And also in being aware of how I differ from other people I have better expectations of what other people can and cannot realistically do.

Also, while I might weigh more than I want to, I do think I look good. I like that I have curves. No matter how much weight I lose I will still be SERIOUSLY curvy. And I like it. 


Momma got some junk in the trunk. And she likes it.

I now actually like the shape of my own hind quarters. Do you have any idea how MASSIVE a mental shift that is for me? I used to LITERALLY burst into tears after looking in the mirror. I also think I'm pretty. I never used to think that. I think I'm getting more attractive as I get older. That or I've always been attractive and I'm just now seeing it.

No I don't think I'm all that and a bag of chips. But I do think I've got some good things going for me. Which is a huge, massive, giant change from my teen and young adult years where I was sure I was so ugly I should probably go around with a bag over my head and no man could possibly ever want me or find me attractive because I was so grotesquely fat and I was going to die alone.

No there was no drama there either.

I can go out in public with no make up on and see a mirror and not wince. I do still really want my make up if I'm meeting some one new (the whole "first impressions are most important" thing) or actually if I'm feeling sad or insecure and I need to hide that for some reason. Its like my war paint. With it I can face anything. With out it, we're good for daily living. lol. Used to be I religiously applied it every morning. Not anymore.

And since I think this is approaching novel length now I'll stop for now.