So You’ve Got A Case Of ‘The Funk’…

What it is, what it does, and how to get out of it.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

It’s not that sitting down to write is daunting. It often never is. Rather it is a beacon of transport for myself. An opportunity to reflect on the going-ons of my life. The ability to reach into what is tugging at my heart and begging me to dive deeper.

I’m not the most fluid of writers, I’ll admit that. It doesn’t mean I don’t strive to create more consistency and aspire to write better with every piece I create. I also know that the likelihood that everything I write is at the same level is a weight-bearing form of judgment I do not wish to place on my shoulders. Why add a burden that will only exist if I feed into it? My words can be thought-provoking or they can be surface-level. It depends on the day. They can be research-based, or simply my thoughts dumped on a page.

The most beautiful part of it all though: I accept it, as it is, whole-heartedly and as 100% me.

Not every word is placed with intention but every piece comes from a deeper place in myself. A place that wants nothing more than to share with the world. Not for the validation but for the community. The aspiration for more connection and understanding of both myself and others.

If I could snap my fingers tomorrow and change one thing in the world, it would be allowing every human being to feel internal peace. To have such clarity of mind, that questioning (although important) what they want to do with their lives, who they want to be, where they want to live, and how they want to affect change - all so it wouldn’t be a concern anymore. Having peace of mind would mean bringing to reality the hopes and dreams of people that often go unattained, blocked from fear itself.

Imagine how successful our world would be. Imagine all the things that would be accomplished if we as a species simply felt peace all of the time. Fear is appropriate in certain circumstances, but in a world where only internal peace exists, would fear still live?

I don’t know that it would. Actually, I don’t think it would. I think fear would become obsolete. Internal peace would negate the effects of the existence of fear because people wouldn’t be afraid to reach for that which they wish to attain in life. There would be no questioning how and people would just do.

I also think this would remove violence and hateful crimes from society. Violence is a direct result of shame and fear and cloaking the world in peace would eliminate those with ill-mannered tendencies. The world would essentially be consumed with contentment and proceed forward with care for others.

Maybe…maybe not.

This hypothetical idea would also cure me of the funk. The one that every couple of months rolls in and pulls me down. Am I funking right now? No, not entirely, but I can feel the subtle hints of it rolling in. However, I know what a funk is, and that simple self-awareness allows me the opportunity to stop it before it takes over.

Not 100% foolproof, but at least I have a chance.

A funk is more or less falling into a state of depression, having a lack of motivation, being deprived of inspiration, and feeling blue. You get the point. And if you’ve never been in a funk, I would love to know how you’ve spent your whole life avoiding them. Maybe my naturally inclined depressive state has made me more susceptible to them (which would make sense), but I have had to learn how to navigate them a little differently than some people.

What are the signs?

I wish I could put onto this page your signs, but alas, I cannot, so instead I will share my own.

Typically I can feel myself starting to drop into this sad frame of mind when my energy levels get low. Or I end up hypersensitive to everything around me going off, my spidey senses if you rather. (It’s essentially the same thing.) The boy doesn’t text me back and I go into a spiral. I look at the amount of money I’m making and panic about where my life is at and what I am doing with it. I start to want to do a million different things and explore other avenues in my life. I feel this neuroticism exploding through my mind. Assuming everyone around me is judging me. Hyper insecurity at work and playing way harder than I am ever ready for.

For years I didn’t have a plan when these sensations and feelings started to consume my mind. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to respond or how to shift away from the hurricane of madness rolling up, blowing every conscious thought away. I just let it happen. Uncertain that it was even happening most of the time. Mostly just lost and confused as to what was going on.

It is that feeling of making your bed and then having someone come ruffle the whole thing seconds later. Vile frustration for feeling like work done is useless. This consuming feeling of being obsolete. This inadequacy of everything I do feels subpar. Like there is no winning. There is only the middle of the road and barely getting by.

Then it turns into a straight struggle to allow myself to do anything. My motivation dissipates faster than Thano’s snap. The drive is totally gone. Like someone stole the keys and hid the car. And every time I’m in this state and I sit down to attempt productivity, I am met with nothing. An empty void echoing the never-ending sound of why bother back in my face.

What is a funk?

It’s exhausting to be in this state of mind. It’s more than just feeling obsolete, it is also feeling like there are too many options and that everything feels just out of reach. Life becomes too much. The subtle dip of impossibility rests at the edge of my mind and is ready to reach out and pull me into the darkness. It’s this feeling of drowning when there isn’t even water. Running from a predator that stopped chasing you miles ago. Being punched by an airbag when you’re not even in a car. Burning when no one has even lit a match. The feeling consumes the entire body, poison from the inside out. The mind goes down the hole first and the body follows.

There are two definitions of this phrase that I want to share with you. The Cambridge English Dictionary defines being in a funk as “to be very unhappy and without hope”. Compared to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary places it as a noun and to be in “a state of paralyzing fear or a depressed state of mind.” They also define funk as a “coward”.

I want to take a second to dissect this. Everything I have said thus far is pretty much in line with these definitions, minus the coward (which I don’t love). I’m naturally opposed to incriminating words against other people so not a word I would choose to describe someone who is funking. However, three different dictionaries define the word coward as “a person who lacks courage or is not brave in facing danger, difficulty, pain, or opposition and shows fear or timidity”. (Merriam-Webster, Cambridge, Dictionary.com)

So, I can see why the word was used, however…it also doesn’t make sense. A person going through a funk doesn’t necessarily lack courage or is not brave, but rather is consumed by fear beyond anything else. And if it isn’t fear they are consumed with then it is self-doubt. I believe funking lies on the inside. It’s a mental battle of capability and desired achievement vs what the realistic outcome will be. This always comes back to a pivotal question and doubt for every human: am I enough? will it be enough? have I done enough? This is something we will dive into in a different post but the funk lives here. The depression lives here. The doubt lives here. Lives in this one phrase because we all just want to be enough.

You have to sit in it to move through it

I taught swim lessons for ten years and swam for a long time before that. While my trained distaste for swimming pools increased and I rarely get in them anymore, I have recently gotten back into a bit of swimming to offset the running I am currently unable to do (we love a good injury). I digress...

Let’s talk backstroke for a moment. The stroke where you jump in the pool and push off on your back and then blindly swim to the other end of the pool where you hope to God you don’t smack your head right into the wall. Each stroke has its challenges, but this stroke requires the most trust in self more than any of the others.

There are two common challenges new swimmers have to overcome when they are learning backstroke: trust they won't run into the wall and swim a straight line blind on their back.

From personal experience, there is this constant fear that maybe this time the lane flags are not set the same. Or for some reason, I don’t trust my stroke count from the flags to the wall even though I’ve done it a hundred times. Or I panic and turn over too early having to extend my stroke and breath to hit my flip-turn, leaving me gasping for air when I come up. This is what I call natural fear. The type of fear we need to protect ourselves. It’s logical and appropriate to keep us safe.

I’m going to be honest with you, as a beginner, you will bonk your head several times before you figure out your stroke count. Before you start to trust yourself enough to make it unscathed every time. The head leads, and that can be terrifying. Most people do what they can to avoid physical pain. Some are straight adrenaline junkies. Others, well they have some issues that may need to be diagnosed. When it comes to swimming though, wherever you fall on the spectrum, you learn, like in life, to protect yourself only after having made a mistake once or twice.

New swimmers also tend to end up running into lane lines frequently when they are learning backstroke. A lot of people can adjust and teach their bodies to straighten out, but a lot of these people don’t know what they did. They just did it and they don’t care to know why. The other half don’t figure it out, and keep running into the lane line over and over again. They don’t understand how to fix this quite simple issue. Their subsidized fear prevents them from asking for help or advice and they live in this pattern. There are very few self-taught swimmers or those who learned with not the greatest instruction, who reach for an answer. But I’ll let you in on this simple secret:

It's all in the head.

Much like the funk! Your head could be so slightly off a straight and narrow course that every time, it will take you right to the edge of that lane (or into the person swimming next to you). Adjust your head position, and you will swim a straight line every time. Your laps will naturally get faster and like the aversion of hitting the wall, you will start to trust your body more.

My point is that, like swimming, funking is all in the head. It’s in the position and it is in the mind. It’s subtle shifts that can take us from good to great. That can take us from not possible to unstoppable. But we have to sit in those moments first. We have to move through them to allow ourselves the possibility of getting out. This is how we learn, we experience and we dive deeper, so to speak, to correct the issue and come out swimming stronger on the other side.  

So how do we get out?

Let’s GTFO (or just get out)

Tony Robbins has famously said, “Change your state, change your story”.

Back in 2022 I attended a virtual Tony Robbins conference and had the time of my life. I spent the whole weekend in my room laughing and crying and jumping up and down and singing and screaming. I went through every emotion on the scale and embraced the conference for what it is, a moment to Unleash the Power Within. A moment I was accepting to become a reality for the rest of my life.

This phrase was used continuously throughout the weekend. Before almost every talk they would play vibrant, upbeat music hits and hundreds of screens aired people jumping and dancing around their living rooms.

By the end of the weekend, I had signed up for 1-on-1 coaching sessions. I was matched with a life coach based on a DISC (drive, influence, support, and clarity) assessment which is incredibly informative for the self. If you’ve never done a DISC assessment I do recommend it. I also recommend sharing it with employers so they can better understand you. Of course, everything can be taken with a grain of salt but as I refreshed myself on my own, I was re-astounded to see the accuracy of all the traits I have, positive and in need of greater attention, that I struggle to put into words for others.

My coach and I sat down and talked about some of my weaker points, or points of needed improvement. My lack of drive can be a struggle for me. My depression or funks can also get the better of me more often than not. I was encouraged to change my state when I get into this mode. We discussed different methods I could do from standing up and making my physical body big and saying something positive about myself to dancing around my room. We mostly talked about how my physicality exists when I’m funking and how changing my physical body can help shift me out of it. It works… when I can muster the energy to get into a different physical position that doesn’t include curling into a ball.

My only quip with this particular way out is that sometimes we need to sit in this feeling first. A couple of years ago I was listening to an episode of The Adult Chair with Michelle Chalfant on Spotify and they were talking about how twenty minutes of sitting in sadness can have lasting effects for up to four hours after. So, while it is vitally important to sit in our feelings, it is equally important to shift ourselves out of it as well. Especially if these moods last for days, we may need to take more time to ourselves to figure out the heart of the problem.

We need these two healing techniques in tandem with each other for the most successful outcome.

If you don’t have any of your own methods to get yourself out of a funk, here are a few of mine!

·         Just do it – the errand, chore, assignment, work, the damn thing.

I often find myself forcing myself to do the things I don’t particularly feel like doing because I know that if I don’t do it now, it won't get done or I’ll keep putting it off. When you force yourself to do the things you don’t want to do, it is the physical action that can start to shift the mind out of the funk. Sometimes it can take days of this, but the sense of accomplishment will satisfy the need to feel productive.

·         Meditate/Box Breathing

It’s no secret the health benefits meditation can provide. It is really just a form of development for self-awareness. Diving into 5-minute meditations here or there can impact your ability to connect and figure out what is really going on inside, to get to the heart of the funk. Like meditation, box breathing (inhale, hold, exhale, hold) for counts of 4 centers the mind on something controllable and will calm your nervous system down.

·         Exercise/Dancing

I put more gym time in. Getting up and moving in ways that make me feel good gets me back in my body and out of my head. When I’m in a struggle-state of mind, it usually means I’m too in my head. Movement gets me to focus back on my body which takes the pressure off my tendency to overthink things. Recently running and practicing line dances in my room has been simply the best! Find your physical vice, even if it means forcing your body to move at first.

·         Focus on Your feet

By putting attention on your feet and how they feel in your shoes, your socks, or whatever surface they are on, will pull you back into your body. It is a grounding technique I use when my head starts to fill with foggy air.

·         Write (Get Creative!)

This is my natural form of expression and I love sharing it with other people! This gets my thoughts or whatever is bothering me onto paper. More often than not, when I’m writing these pieces they center me and give me more clarity and perspective on my life and the world around me. Find your own creative freedom to release the funk onto! Whether that is cooking, drawing, painting, pottery, sewing, coloring, etc. Find it, hold it, and use it!

·         Get to a Safe Place/Space

Where would you go if you needed time to yourself? This might be your safe space. This might be the place that helps you process and evaluate what is happening in your life at the moment. I get in my car and drive straight to the beach and then, more often than now no matter what season, I get in the water or just sit and think. Being near water helps bring me back and is healing for me. Maybe for you it’s a park, a certain hiking trail, a coffee shop, the movies, or maybe it’s your living room. If you don’t have one, explore your options! They are everywhere and they are endless.

·         Call Your Friends (That’s What They Are There For)

This one has taken me a long time to figure out because I am so used to doing life on my own. But friends are there to support you. Sometimes you just need to talk through things, even if you don’t want to. Hearing someone who loves you validate your feelings can often yank the funk right out from underneath your feet. Know who you can call and trust they will hold you with empathy and compassion. This is what friends are for.

***

In this day and age, it’s hard to survive if you’re consumed in this dark hole state of mind. The expectation to keep going is often exhausting in and of itself and this places shame around the whole idea of falling into a funk.

It’s not shameful to funk though. I actually believe it is one of the best things that can happen. It is such a beautiful moment and opportunity for growth. We need these moments so that we can continue to move forward. Sometimes I think a funk is simply our mind telling us we need to stop and pause for a moment. To come back to ourselves because we are doing too much or maybe not quite filling ourselves enough.

I hope nothing but the absolute best for you. You deserve the life of your dreams and no one can stop you, not even your funk.

I’m sending you so much love! Keep on dreaming, keep on doing, keep on going. You’ve got this.

Love always,

Riss

Let’s Talk Daddy Issues

How one phrase has been holding us back and breaking us down and we didn’t even know it.

Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

Let’s Deconstruct The Phrase “Daddy Issues”

For as long as I can remember, jokes about “daddy issues” have not only existed in a variety of settings and circumstances but I have participated in making them. Anywhere from “There are my daddy issues showing up” to “She’s got daddy issues”… Always followed by the disturbing ability to laugh it off and accept that this derogatory statement is the reason for her or his or my behavior.

I was sitting on my tan carpeted floor playing with post ideas for the week and in the middle of an episode of Love is Blind, I was sparked by some conversation being had between two individuals just trying to find the love of their lives. Whether one of them mentioned the daddy issues, or I created the verbiage based on what was happening, I don’t remember, but I know it was enough to get me to write it down. So, I did.

This topic isn’t something I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about but it is something that I feel is important to talk about. This phrase is used too lightly and often in passing with full disregard for how it actually impacts people who have experienced to some degree “daddy issues”. So, I did a little research. I wanted to know, where this phrase came from. I could easily deduce that of course, it comes from some form of neglect by the father in a family that impacts a child into their adulthood. Who started it though? is the question that started running through my mind.

Let’s point the finger at Oedipus…

In high school, we read Oedipus (ed-a-pus in case you don’t know the pronunciation), a Greek mythology tragedy. In short, Oedipus is predicted to grow up and kill his father and marry his mother. After hearing the prophecy, King Laius orders one of his servants to kill the baby (who doesn’t). If you’re good at prediction, I’m sure you can see where this is going. Regardless of the King’s attempt, the prophecy rings true after Oedipus kills King Laius in a quarrel and ends up in Thebe’s where his mother resides. A bunch of other things happen like there is a Sphinx who gives a riddle that Oedipus solves so the Sphinx kills herself allowing access to Thebes and is rewarded with the Queen’s (Oedipus’ mom) hand (you can find more of the story in the link below). This tragedy is revealed and Oedipus’s wife, mother, and mother of his children hangs herself and Oedipus exiles himself. (Story of Oedipus)

I sat back reflecting on this story and was thoroughly confused as to how high schoolers are supposed to grasp the intricacies of this tragedy. That and it doesn’t seem to fit the catholic school setting I existed in…so there is that…)

Anywho!

Sigmund Freud actually coined the term Oedipus Complex, so we could say this is where the discussion and definition of “daddy issues” came from.

The Oedipus Complex is defined by dictionary.com as “the complex of emotions aroused in a young child, typically around the age of four, by an unconscious sexual desire for the parent of the opposite sex and wish to exclude the parent of the same sex.” So basically, it is a sexual desire for one of your parents of the opposite sex and feeling like there is a rivalry between the child and the spouse of the same sex. This isn’t isolated to sex, but any intimacy between a child and that parent.

I had heard the term Oedipus Complex before but understanding what it is kind of blew my mind. And actually, this is developed between the ages of 3-5. That’s so young! Freud also believes that this complex is a natural part of development, however. As long as there is a shift between 5-12, or the latency stage, and developmental conflict is resolved, a healthy adult will seemingly emerge. But what interested me more, was the short dive Freud did into the “Father Complex” between 1910-1913 with fellow psychoanalyst Carl Jung.

Wikipedia describes it as “a group of unconscious associations, or strong unconscious impulses–which specifically pertains to the image or archetype of the father.” In other words, it is the desire to appease a father figure in either a positive or negative way, depending on the circumstances. (encyclopedia.com)

The Father Complex stands alone and didn’t last long. It is a spin-off of the Oedipus Complex and Freud didn’t put much thought or effort into it. So while the Father Complex died fast, the concept did not.

So where does that leave us?

So that took my research back into our modern-day lingo. Exploring what we now refer to as “daddy issues”. Hannah Guy, LCSW, owner of Revive Therapy Services in Philadelphia explains “daddy issues” as “Women who had an absent, abusive, or emotionally unavailable father can and do struggle in adult relationships with men…the term…is belittling and minimizes trauma…makes a woman seem somehow perverse or gross for behavior that’s not really her fault.” (Daddy Issues by Peg Rosen)

The way Peg Rosen breaks down this complex issue is that the term itself “typically targets women who are perceived to have dysfunctional relationships with men”. However, her research backs up that what is used in everyday language goes a little deeper. She chalks it up to none other than insecure attachment styles developed in adolescence (or that 5-12 age) oftentimes coming from the influence of both parents to some degree.

So really it’s attachment issues, not daddy issues…

If you haven’t heard of or picked up the book Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel S.F. Heller, it has blown up in the last few years. I actually received this book on a first date, as a birthday gift… A book I knew I would likely read but have still not been able to crack open past the first couple of chapters. While I wish I could throw out quotes from this book, I have not maintained any of the information from the chapters I sporadically read months ago. While this could be a lack of self-growth, I think not because I have spent countless hours reading books like The 8 Rules of Love by Jay Shetty and How Not to Die Alone by Logan Ury as well as self-improvement books like Radical Self-Confidence by Lisa Bilyeu and the well-known Unfu*k Yourself by Gary John Bishop (All books I highly recommend whether you’re looking for love, in love, or just want to grow the love and power within yourself). While I have trained myself to engage when and where I can in the hopes of expanding my emotional intelligence, learning new ideas, and reading about other people’s experiences, the overhype (and unwanted gift) had deterred my initial interest in learning more about this theory and yet here I am, writing about it.

So as science has come to conclude at the moment, “daddy issues”, a term coined by society is not technically correct. It places a derogatory sentence primarily on women who have suffered from emotional neglect, any form of abuse, physical absence, helicopter parenting, substance abuse, and those parents who are too relaxed or who are consistently unreliable. But this isn’t isolated to just women much to society's dismay. Rather, it is common in most people, especially given humanity is far from perfect and parental mess-ups are practically unavoidable.

However, some kids turn out pretty okay, one might even say healthy! It just means that their parents fell on the healthier end of the parenting spectrum providing the security their kids needed and in turn allowing them to develop a secure attachment style, defined by the APA Dictionary of Psychology as “an attachment style that combines a positive internal working model of attachment of oneself, characterized by a view of oneself as worthy of love and a positive internal working model of attachment of others, characterized by the view that others are generally accepting and responsive” (APA Dictionary).

What’s more according to Psychology Today (psychology today) 40% of people have an insecure attachment style while the majority of the population is actually secure. I’m not going to lie, this stat kind of shocked me. I can credit it to my lived experience and the insecurities that some days swallow me whole. Not pleasant, but real nonetheless. Especially given that I make up, although only slightly, the minority. And that even though it is a part of who I am, the self-awareness I have gained over the years has shifted my perspective to recognizing I can slide into a secure attachment style with a little therapy and the continued desire to grow myself through re-parenting, books, podcasts, patience, and a lot of practice.

Daddy Issues Deconstructed? I think so.

I have spent too many years of my life putting myself and others down for having “daddy issues”, using this term as a joke, when it affects more people on deeper levels than sometimes noticed or recognized.

My dad left when I was twelve years old, then came home, then left again. My dad didn’t always make the best choices and put me in compromising situations. But it wasn’t just my dad. My mom also left me in an emotional caretaker position and handling things a tween should not have been expected to manage. In that case, I can also say I have “mommy issues”.

I think it’s safe to say that the elimination of this terminology can actually bring us back to the root of the problems and create peace within every individual who has struggled to some degree with one or both of their parents. Energy goes where we place the attention and as long as we use phrases like “daddy issues”, it will continue to take away from people's potential. This phrase will continue to restrict the individual’s ability to grow out of the trauma experienced by classifying them by something that was far out of their control. It has become a definition for people and a point of quiet lethal judgment.

Whether you are a man or a woman, a girl or a boy, an it or a them…if you have been describing and attributing your faults to your “daddy issues” or “mommy issues”, you are not wrong. But let’s change the language. Let’s reach for a space where we simply just have issues and they don’t need a label that puts down, deflects, and takes away from the experience of the life we have not necessarily had control over. Let’s turn those issues into opportunities.

I let my childhood trauma define my life and who I am for far too long but I have learned that while it makes up a part of me, it does not determine who I am. My life is defined by the actions that follow my words. I can sit in the shame, or I can learn from the lessons. So if “daddy issues” is what we are going to call it, then I will sit on my mountaintop and scream to the world that I’ve got them, because I won’t shelter myself in the shame of them anymore. No one has that power but me.

If you have thoughts on this topic or have your own experience, I would love to know! It is such an incredible space for conversation and I would love to hear your thoughts!

Keep searching, keep growing, and keep writing the definition for your own life. No one else gets to do that for you.

Love always,

Riss

Where In The World Did My Creativity Go?

Photo by Danilo D'Agostino on Unsplash

Over the last year, I have noticed a significant change in my creativity. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t work with kids as consistently as I have for most of my life. Or maybe it has more to do with the structure of the writing I have taken on. Either way, this way or that, it doesn’t matter and I miss it.

I miss being able to produce pieces filled with symbolism. Pieces draped in allegories and crowned with metaphors. Pieces that personify the smallest. I miss painting pictures doused in color, vibrant and alive. I miss my creativity and I don’t know where it went.

Sure, every week, I sit down and write a piece that bleeds from my heart and put it on the page to share with the world in the most vulnerable way I can. But it isn’t quite the same.

The piece I actually wrote for this week, I decided to hold off on. Not for any reason other than I noticed the change in my words and within myself. I can feel myself expanding and shifting into a more analytical mindset while I’m writing and while I love the growth, I also miss the ability to just be myself on the page in all my faults and flaws.

I’ve realized it is a balance between the research part of me and the part of me that loves to just share her thoughts and ideas.

So this week's piece is short because I want you to know that I am bringing my creativity back. I will start dressing these pieces in my heart and soul again and put out more than just a blog.

A blog isn’t everything to me. It’s just a release. An ability to connect to others. That is my entire mission – to create a community where we feel a little less alone. A place where we can validate every feeling whether big or small. Somewhere that is totally, 100% safe.

I’m going on a cruise this week and it’s a Disney Cruise. I’m looking forward to reigniting the inspiration that has fueled most of my life.

As imperfect as this piece is and more a ramble of thoughts, I’m excited to come back with more magic and creativity than I left with.

If you’ve lost some of your magic, go out and find it. Let’s do this together. I promise, I’ve got you.

Love always,

Riss

Plandid or Candid?

A real-life screenshot of my dating profile

My finger hovers above the option to label another photo…with another title…in the hope the man of my dreams is intrigued enough to swipe right.

Every photo used is carefully selected to construct the most interesting, personality-telling, intriguing display of who I am to attract someone who hopefully aligns with me. A profile was created that is purely plandid.

My love life has been a series of learning moments. Trials built into flings. Tests laid out in situationships. Personal growth sprinkled in everywhere in between. Finding myself single at thirty was the last thing I expected.

Why?

I had a plan.

I had planned my whole life to be married by 25 and have kids a year later.

What. A. Plan. What a delusional construct formulated by society and built into the deepest crevasses in my mind. Influencing my mental state based on whether or not my relationship status is in line with societal norms and expectations rather than being given the freedom to discover what I truly want or is important to me.

When I turned thirty, I curled up in bed and sobbed for a solid thirty minutes. The sobbing was followed by one of the biggest panic attacks I had had in a long time. My meltdown was so heavy, it required a nap to recover for the rest of my day—a product of the expectation I had pressed into my heart and soul. Feeling like I let not just myself down, but everyone else around me.

I had grown up engrossed in Disney (a topic I can’t wait to dive into), relishing in the happy ever afters, and waiting for my Prince Charming to come around. When I started writing in middle school, the story that had no ending was a romance that built a beautiful intensity between two characters, but I didn’t know how to end it. I didn’t know where it was going, and I had no idea how to get there. So it just kept going. I found myself being swallowed up by young adult literature where the girl got the guy or the guy finally got the girl. Living in those moments after watching the tension between two characters finally reach its peak. Whether it is a show or book, there is no better feeling than the release when their lips finally meet and the tight strain that has had a grasp on your chest for the last few chapters or episodes dissolves.

This is what our society presents to us. In a multitude of forms. Especially for women, there is this expedited expectation to do it all. To be a career woman and to start a family while you’re young. The pressure to do it all is exhausting and then when you don’t in time, it hurts and is quickly followed by the feeling of being behind. In Japan, if a woman isn’t married by 25-30, they are referred to as “unsold goods” (upworthy.com) This is the kind of pressure that rests on a woman’s shoulders. Then we have the parents who want a better life for their kids and just want them to succeed, but all that pressure places more expectations. The list goes on.

This could also be coupled with my Catholic upbringing. Especially where in the church we are taught a certain level of independence. But in Catholic school, we are taught uniformity. Dress the same and maintain certain dress code criteria to be a model citizen for society. While I could go much deeper on these two things alone, I will also save this because albeit…

My life was not where I wanted it to be (and still isn’t, but is it ever? It’s more fun living in the spontaneity of it all). Hitting this milestone was a hard reality that I wasn’t going to have what I thought I wanted when I wanted it. It was the universe smacking me upside the head reminding me that I have absolutely no control over anything.

So…I surrendered (or at least continually try to).

This may have been the most profound thought I had that day, or had had in a while and it is a beautiful reminder I use to keep me grounded when I find myself floating away mentally.

I had to teach myself to accept a candid life. To embrace the fact that life doesn’t normally go according to plan. Rather things fall in an order based on a variety of things or they fall away leaving room for new opportunities, new moments, and new people.

I had to learn that planning out every detail in my life isn’t realistic and instead accept the beauty of candid living.

I had to accept that when it comes to romantic love, just because we seek it, doesn’t mean it is going to come when we think we are ready. Rather it comes when we are seeking ourselves first. It doesn’t mean it can’t be created, it just will often be forced, unauthentic, and most likely end in a hell of a lot of pain.

I have had to let go of a lot of thoughts that should have been retired long ago. Sometimes it still hurts. Sometimes I feel that pressure laying heavy on my shoulders, compressing my chest to remind me or tell me I am behind. Yet, these are all thoughts that have been built in an expectation I did not create for myself but rather held onto from others because I didn’t know the difference between where I wanted my life to go and where I thought it needed to go.

It isn’t always easy, but I have found myself craving a candid life. Embracing the moment to moment and leaping into the unknown with fear at my side as a partner. It has allowed me to take my foot off the gas pedal and stop trying to move 100 miles per hour. It has granted me space to fill in the blanks with what I want and with what fuels my soul. It honestly offers me relief from the pressure that has been resting in my mind since the day I was born. It has given me so much freedom.

So, where does that leave me now? When I look at the dating profile I have created. When I find my finger hovering over Plandid or Candid, I select candid – candid like the life I was born into and every moment from here on forward.

Never stop loving. Never stop living. And never stop seeking the life that gives you fulfillment beyond your wildest dreams. It’s only a candid moment away.

Love always,

Riss

Marvel Mishap: Have they gone too far?

Photo by Samuel Ramos on Unsplash

I have to admit that this particular style of writing is outside of the realm of my normal tendencies or comfortability. However, I was inspired by my best friend's piece on Ariana Grande, a hot take on the pop princess and whether or not therapy has made a monster of her. Between that, the small conversation between my dad and myself about Marvel in general, and my background in film and theater, it has led me to put thoughts on paper that have been ruminating in my mind for months now.

I am a huge Marvel fan (movies, not comics) developed from my time working on board Disney Cruise Lines. I got to work with various characters and experience Marvel Day at Sea (a magical day filled with tons of characters, incredible shows, and fun all the way around). The magic built behind it built my love for Marvel. Since then I’ve watched every Marvel movie from Iron Man to Endgame a few times. But that is where my investment in the Marvel universe has ended.

After Endgame was released, we lost a beloved cast of familiar heroes we have been watching grow and evolve since Iron Man’s first release in 2008. The ten-year cumulation of films ranged from Iron Man’s witty and sarcastic demeanor to Thor’s outright obliviousness to life creating daft humor. We watched Hulk build a fanbase aching to be on his green team and Black Widow inspire young girls everywhere to come back fighting harder.

Not only was every character cast to near perfection, but the balance between the personalities was sound and believable. The dynamic between the team was strong and clear. They weren’t best friends but they were one team. They had their riffs and at times battled each other like in Captain America Civil War where the team splits in two and we see Spiderman and Ant Man join the cause for the first time in the franchise.

The story lines were easy to follow and keeping track of the growing cast of characters was rather simple.

(If you go back to the beginning today and watch the movies, my recommendation is to watch them in chronological order based on where they fall in the Marvel timeline. It makes following the stories much easier and you don’t miss anything in between.)

Today though, keeping track of the characters has become rather difficult. I still find myself supporting the films in the theaters whether I enjoy them or not because I have to see them through.

My question has now become has Marvel gone too far? Did they take the success of the first few phases of Avengers segments, dive off the deep end, and neglect the idea of quality filmmaking?

I think yes. I think they took to the comics and wanted to implement as much as possible. And while I love the idea of this, they sorely neglected the quality of each series and movie to date. I remember when Shang-Chi and The Legend of The Ten Rings released in 2021. I was so excited to be able to jump back into a familiar space I hadn’t been in two years. I saw the movie at least three times in theaters. (Support your local movie theater friends! There really isn’t anywhere else like it to watch a good movie.) However, with every viewing the excitement wore off and the analytical film student I was trained to be began to creep in. I suddenly went from pure enjoyment to thinking ‘The effects are terrible’. Sorry Marvel, but they are. Comparing the visual effects in this movie to Endgame, which again, had only been released two years earlier, it seemed as though they went backward in time, putting too much into CGI and less on the authenticity and skill that the actors they hire have. It took me out of the entire movie experience. But that wasn’t everything.

The humor…

Marvel is known for its quippy one-liners that leave people quoting films months after the release. This movie felt like it was trying too hard. It felt like the script needed to force the laughs rather than let this new world and new characters naturally build their dynamics and humor.

Some of my favorite Marvel moments are in Thor Ragnorak and Guardians of The Galaxy. There are a million one-liners including Thor’s ‘I told them we were friends, you’re embarrassing me’ line to Korg’s ‘Piss off ghost’. Or Yondu’s ‘I’m Mary Poppins ya’ll’ and Peter Quill’s jab at Rocket calling him a ‘trash panda’ following it up with it’s so much worse than being a raccoon.  

These are two examples where the flow in the comedy was natural between the characters. It is not only genius, but we know the Hulk really only knows to smash and we know Thor loves himself and gives off puppy-like energy for those he also loves. We also know that Yondu knows nothing about the human world other than what Quill has shared with him and Rocket hates just about everything Peter says to him. We know these characters and how they interact with each other. This creates a natural and fluid dynamic without force. Loki and our new favorite Valkyrie even clashed fluidly only ever adding to the storyline but still bringing us into those deeper, darker moments with ease.

Maybe it’s the familiarity of these characters that made it so easy, however, I don’t think so.

If we go back to the beginning, and we look at Tony Stark, we find his sarcastic, proud nature prevalent from the get-go. This could also just be a testament to Robert Downey Jr. and how he chose to portray the character but this was consistent across all of the characters in the first three phases of Marvel films. Each character’s demeanor and attitude are specific from the beginning making each piece of humor shared just a normal interaction between two people, only funny because of the difference’s in their personalities.

When we look at Shang-Chi, the humor felt forced and it hasn’t stopped there. Apart from a few movies still holding our classic Marvel characters, anywhere that new characters have been introduced has felt unnatural. This includes the multitude of mini-series that Marvel has also been releasing on Disney+ to try to keep fans engaged between films.

The idea behind this is great, but what these shows are sorely lacking is quality. From scripting to visual effects to the storyline, most of these have just been letdowns. Wanda Vision and Hawkeye have easily been the only two that I was fully engaged in, excited for the next episode, and believed every second of. Again, these characters had already been developed and it was a further storyline, but the visual world had me captivated the whole time, not questioning where we were or even taking notice of the lack of visual effects on the screen. On top of that, the fighting sequences were believable.

Outside of that I have tried to watch series like Moonknight, Loki, and Ms. Marvel and have failed to make it through each one successfully. For nothing other than being bored. I love Loki as much as the next person, but the show just didn’t do it for me. I got to the end of the first season and didn’t bother to attempt to engage in the second season for lack of interest. If you read Eliana Dockterman’s piece on the decline of Marvel and How Marvel Lost It’s Way with Time magazine, the first thing she says is “It is almost impossible to follow the plot of the first episode of Season 2 of Loki…as someone who has been writing about the Marvel Cinematic Universe for a decade…”

But this is where it gets interesting. They now have all these mini-shows launching, that quite frankly aren’t up to par with the original franchise, however, if you do not watch these series in between the movies coming out, you not only miss information, but pieces of the new movies don’t make sense.

My opinion: Marvel is making too much content.

For one, it is overwhelming as a viewer to keep track and keep up. Two, it makes me disengaged from the films because I’ve lost vital pieces of information along the way. Beyond that, if you do not have an active subscription to Disney+ there are no other (legal) ways to view these various shows. If you enjoy going to see these movies in theaters, I suppose you can just assume you are SOL.

For example, the other night I was watching The Marvels with my dad and while I hadn’t seen the whole Ms. Marvel series, I had watched a couple of episodes and got the gist. I had to attempt to explain to my dad how Ms. Marvel got her powerful bracelet that allowed her to be able to become Ms. Marvel because he hadn’t watched any of the series.

This actually may be the first Marvel movie for me, that I also felt a little out of the loop and had questions that would surely not be answered unless I now choose to sit down and watch a consecutive 8-10 hours of a show I just don’t care to watch. I feel behind and I feel like I can’t catch up. Beyond that, if I do it will feel like a waste of time because the film student in me is so offset by the poor quality that is laid out on the screen.

As much as I love Marvel, I simply can’t be bothered to spend my time that way.

Will I continue to go see every movie in theaters? Yes, I will. Will I struggle to keep up? Most likely. But support the franchise I will because I am a product of this society.

I hope Marvel can find some space and pull back on the insurmountable projects they have undoubtedly overwhelmed themselves with, excited as they may be. I also hope that in doing so, they can redistribute those budgets to the bigger films so that we can get back to the heart of Marvel, the real raw characters that just exist.

And whether you continue on this journey we set out on sixteen years ago or not, may you always come back when that infamous Avenger’s Assemble calls you!

Love always,

Riss

The Day My Dad Left

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

When I was twelve, my dad left home.

On that heart-shattering day, my sisters and I were called into the living room. I can still see our old off-white couch stitched with pastel pink and green flowers. The doors to the playroom open wide. The big boxed TV was nestled in the corner taunting us for a family movie night. The only catch was the film was horror and we were the stars—no one to witness the pain that would inevitably consume the next part of my life.

My mom and dad stood in front of us, both looking guilty. My mom is strong. I mean incredibly strong. I don’t remember if she was crying at the moment. Maybe she was, but maybe she was standing strong for us because she already knew. She had already been let in on the secret she wished she hadn’t discovered.

So we sat there, staring at them waiting for the news and wondering if we were getting another surprise trip to Disney World. Some intuitive part of me knew it couldn’t have been that though because this felt heavy before the words even left their lips. This felt sad. This felt like my world was going to be blown up before it was.

My dad cast his gaze away from us, afraid to look us in the eyes, telling us he was leaving. I think my soul left my body. I watched his words float past me.

‘I’m leaving’/‘Not happy’/‘I still love you’

He cried.

And in the span of a few moments, I was sucked back into my body, consumed with anger and confusion and hurt. Misconstrued logic was consuming my undeveloped mind, filling it with thoughts like ‘I wasn’t good enough’. ‘I wasn’t a good enough reason to stick around’. ‘He didn’t want to be near me’ and more that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

As his words settled, I felt myself on the verge of an explosion. Tears resting on the brink of a damn I hadn’t had time to properly build. I didn’t understand.

I stood up, stared at him, and with every ounce of gusto I had yelled, “I hope you have a great life with that bitch!” I stormed off to my room where I could lock myself in and cry in peace.

That was the first time I ever swore in front of my parents. I watched more pain break across my dad’s face in that second, but what right did he have? He had just destroyed me. I never even had a chance. If that was his decision, then he would have to live with the consequences.

This was the day my dad left but this isn’t the whole story.

When I was eleven my best friend's dad passed away from a rare form of cancer. The devastation in this loss wasn’t just in Greg’s passing. Greg was like a second father to me. His wife was like a second mother. Their kids were like my sisters. Beyond me, our families were best friends. We lived around the corner from each other, went to the same school for some time, and all went to the same church. Our lives were entwined.

The day Greg passed away, I remember Sara calling and how badly I wanted to go be there with her. I wanted to comfort my best friend and also be comforted because it hurt me too. My dad told me no. They had to remove Greg’s body from the house and it wasn’t where he thought I should be.

As the years have passed and conversations with my mom have filled in more detail, I learned the affair started not long after Greg’s passing. My opinion? 100% a trauma bond.

The day my dad walked out the door, I realized I hadn’t just lost Greg, a man who was a father figure in my life, but I was also losing THE father figure in my life. Two dads in one year. That’s a lot of loss for a twelve-year-old girl.

It’s safe to say my relationship with my dad didn’t hold up very well after that. Because of his choices and actions, I lost my best friend too. Seeing her became a painful reminder that she got him and I had nothing.

Suddenly life went from blissfully complicated to just pain. I had to grow up…fast.

I refused to see my dad most weekends he had us, which honestly didn’t matter because he would often bring my sisters home early anyway. He tried. He really did. He didn’t always know what to do but that's a part of being human, we cant possibly. He had opened a box that he didn’t know how to close instead leaving the rest of us to figure it out.

Sometimes I thought about the pain I was causing myself by excommunicating him from my life. But my mind thought it was only fair to punish him for what he had done. Punish him for how he had hurt me, my mom, and my sisters. Eventually I took it upon myself to go into my mind and play a game of operation to remove every good memory I had with him. This would keep me safe. Every time I was carefully tweezing one out, it would catch on a nerve and I felt it sting while I erased our entire relationship. I laid all those memories in a mental box somewhere deep in my mind and brushed them under the rug. Now and then I find them resurfacing, faded in color, but full of feeling.

Over the last seventeen years, my dad and I have been through countless ups and downs. It took me at least thirteen of those years to be able to forgive him. Our relationship is still a work in progress.

The day my dad left altered everything for me. I had to go from being a kid to holding the emotional weight in our family. I watched my mom struggle to hold herself together. I watched my dad come and go on multiple occasions, sometimes sober and sometimes not. I watched my sisters slowly come to understand what had happened.

I was placed in the role of protector and emotional caretaker and so I did everything I thought I needed to, to keep my family safe. No one was there to tell me any different. To explain it wasn’t my responsibility and beyond that, that it wasn’t my fault.

I want to be clear: I love my dad. Complicated as our relationship may be, I am nothing but grateful for him and the life I have been privileged to have.

This is only one piece of my greatest love story. A beginning if you will to the rest of my life and my infatuation with love itself.

I promote love and I love hearing about the depth other people have in their lives – what their greatest love stories are. And yet, I haven’t been able to share my own. Maybe it’s because I’m still writing it. Maybe it’s because I’m nervous. Maybe it’s because if I put it on paper and if I share it with you, there will be judgment. I’m human. I’m not embarrassed of my experiences but sometimes I’m nervous to share them.

As I have so carefully coined this year though, it is my year of doing. Taking action, relishing in the chances, and putting forth everything to risk it all. This year I do. This year I share. This year I create more and build connections with people I never thought possible. I’m stoked for the projects that are coming and I can’t wait to share them with you!

This is the first of many excerpts of my greatest love story. Join me as I dive back into my past and reveal all the darkness that has become my muse for a much lighter and brighter life. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two, or maybe you’ll be able to relate. Maybe it’ll be just what you need to hear or maybe it’ll be a story for you to indulge in when you need a little more hope in your life.

With every piece I’ve learned something about myself and life and this is where I get to give it back to you. My dad may not have known how to handle his situation and may not have had the words to get me through it, but today I can wholeheartedly give them back to myself.

I’ll leave you with this lesson:

The beginning always leads to something greater. Stop looking and start living.

Love Always,

Riss

PSA: I Hate Valentine’s Day (But It’s Not For THe REason You Think)

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

Happy Valentine’s Day you glorious bastards!

That’s not really a me thing to say, but I just wanted to see how it felt (insert proud, awkward smile here). It felt good. I won’t make it a habit, but yes, you are glorious! And on some days probably a bastard but that’s okay. We all have those days!

However, I digress before I have even begun.

I hate this day and let me tell you why.

Once upon a time, there was a little Marissa who dreamed of her prince charming. Doing all the fun things together, like swinging and holding hands. Or skipping through a field of grass. This little Marissa had so much hope for the love of her life she held on to it for dear life. If it was in doll form, it would probably be suffocated that’s how tight of a grip she held.

Yet, we fast forward and at thirty years old, she finds herself still single and loathing the traditional hallmark holiday. Like it’s an extra special reminder that she is still very single, hustling through life, without the warmth of a partner to bring her flowers and say the words ‘I love you’.

Isn’t that sad?

I’m going to be blunt and honest here: It kind of fucking sucks.

In the span of my life, I have had a Valentine a handful of times. The most prominent and memorable one was after I started dating my first boyfriend. I was nineteen years old and I was in my second semester of Sophomore year. I went over to his apartment and on his bed were these beautiful flowers and chocolates. Something I had never had before. I had told him we didn’t have to celebrate and it wasn’t a big deal, but we did. We went out to dinner and he made me feel so incredibly special. It was my first real Valentine’s. It was an explosion of feeling and one I looked forward to every year.

I never asked myself why I pretended like it didn’t matter, though. I never took a step back and reflected on the thoughts that I had adopted to write off this consumerist holiday. This holiday that signifies you’re either loved or you are not. You have someone or you don’t. I never took the time to figure it out.

Over the last few weeks, my defeat in the dating game has felt imminent. Like maybe I am just destined to be single for the rest of my life. That no matter how hard I try, not to make a connection but just to be real with someone that will lead to more, the hopeful romantic in me has started to die and the cynic has started to move back in.

However, none of this is why I hate this Holiday. The reason I hate this holiday is because I want so desperately to celebrate it. I don’t know if anyone else who is single or has ever been single on this holiday has felt this, but for me, it feels like pretending to hate the holiday is easier than accepting that I wish I wasn’t alone for it.

There is an insurmountable pile of shame that lays on my shoulders if I admit that I kind of love the idea of Valentine’s Day. Not because of the gifts and not because the ‘I love you’s’ somehow means more on this day than any other. No, going out to celebrate any time of the year with someone you love is amazing. But something about being able to share in that with the rest of the world at the same time is kind of beautiful.

I won’t call it FOMO, because it’s not. It’s not a fear of missing out when it’s just a blunt honest reality. It exists and I can’t change my relationship status without a partner by my side.

Romantic love is incredible. It’s strong and sometimes fiery. It’s passionate and it’s dull. It’s monotonous and it’s adventure. It’s shared experiences and extreme heartbreak. It’s every feeling and emotion we as humans are blessed to get to experience and hold. Some deep instinctual part of us knows that and longs for it – most of us anyway.

I long for it.

The amount of times I have given up and let go of searching for a partner is twenty-nine to be exact. Twenty-nine men I have dated and gone out with. Twenty-nine men I have shared some moment of life with whether for a few hours or for years. Twenty-nine men I have hoped would lead to something more. Twenty-nine men whose dates and names I could recount for you except for two of them. How do I know? Because the other day when I was sulking about this upcoming holiday, I made a list. (We will dive deeper into all this at a later date.)

Is it pathetic? Maybe. Is it helpful? Not really. Did it make me feel better in the moment? Oh, absolutely not. It actually made me feel worse. Part of me was screaming twenty-nine disappointments and the other part was yelling twenty-nine lessons.

And I wish it was just this holiday that got to me like this, but it isn’t. It’s also New Year’s and Christmas and my birthday and the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving and everything in between. Every holiday I spend alone and watch my friends and family around me sharing it with their partners brings me so much joy for them and so much sadness for myself.

So, I don’t know if you can relate. I don’t know if you have ever felt the feeling of being so helplessly alone that despite the effort and the desire to share life with another person but it just seems so far out of reach, it hurts. It aches. It’s like a quiet throbbing between the heart and head that Tylenol and Advil aren’t strong enough to cure.

I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. I actually really love what it represents whether it is a Hallmark Holiday or not. I am so blessed with all the love in my life: my friends, my family, my cats, my co-workers. I am incredibly grateful.

But if I’m honest, I hate this holiday because I don’t have that one person to share it with. That will embrace it with me simply because life is worth celebrating in any capacity. And even when I feel my hope dying, I will continue to pump it back to life because this is something I want.

If you are alone this holiday or in a relationship where you feel alone regardless of the physical person you are sharing life with, and feeling the effects of being single yet again, I want you to know that while I can’t take the feelings away, I feel them with you.

If you are a friend in a relationship, let your single friends know how much you love them on this capitalized romantic holiday, and do it before they say something first. Let them know how much they matter because I guarantee that no matter how secure they are and how independent, a small part needs to be reminded that they are still loved and thought about by someone else.

And if you’re still in need, you can be my Valentine.

Happy Valentine’s Day you Glorious Bastards.

I love you!

Love Always,

Riss

Confidence: How Do You Hold It, Lose It, and Re-Build It?

Photo by Miguel Bruna

A quiet girl is seated on the backside of her bed, leaning against pillows, staring out into the nothingness of her room. The space she holds is minimal. She is absorbed in what ifs and whys. She often finds herself moving through life alone as if standing in the middle of a road while life zooms past. High school is no different. She keeps to the back of the class when she can, just like she keeps to the back of her bed. She finds safety and security in being able to see everything and everyone in front of her so that she doesn’t miss something.

This girl is afraid to be herself. She has reduced herself to a speck on the social scale and would rather hide than step forward and take up space. She would rather barely exist.  

This girl was me.

She wasn’t always me, but she was me from twelve to about nineteen. Even now, when I find myself engaging with people from that era of my life, I fall back into those quiet patterns of being obsolete and small.

This version of me was afraid to be herself. She was afraid to speak her mind and too afraid of what others would think. This version of me held no confidence.

I was engaged in a conversation with some coworkers about doing activities alone and my brain started piecing together how I got so good at being on my own. I am rather impeccable at doing things by myself. I take myself to the movies, the beach, comedy clubs, bars, coffee shops, restaurants, different gyms, and the list goes on. This skill was learned. It did not come naturally to me. It was like my pre-programmed confidence wiring had short-circuited and I was still waiting for the technician to come fix it.

If we run it back a bit, it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that I started to explore the idea of doing things on my own. One day I took the chance. I stepped outside my comfort zone and edged my way into the confidence zone.

Beyond my personal experience, I started to ask myself a few questions. Where does confidence come from? Why does it sometimes slip away? And how do we keep it?

Where does confidence come from?

Have you ever stopped to think about it? Did it develop over time or have you always just had “it”? That feeling of overwhelming courage to do what you want to do or have thought about doing without a second thought to follow. You were just certain it was right and certain that it wasn’t going to be a mistake.

There is a debate in the world of psychology about the origin of confidence and how it comes to be. Initially, it was thought to be a subjective feeling built by beliefs about the world stemming from experiences and the beliefs of those we grow up around. The only way to access this sense of confidence is through introspection – taking the time to reflect on your own beliefs. If you believe something to be true you are more likely to act in accordance with it (Ott, Masset, and Kepecs 2018).

The most common example used is driving. You come to a T in the road on your way home, a road you have driven so many times before. You know if you go right you will get there and if you go left you will not. Imagine sitting in the car with a friend and they tell you how to get to your house. They say go left. Your thought response might be instant. Absolutely not. You’ve been driving this road your whole life. It’s never been left and that wouldn’t change now. You are confident in your answer and choose the direction you have proven to be right over and over again.

This is statistical quantity. This is the likelihood that a belief is correct based on the constant reinforcement of being correct every time the same decision is made (Ott, Masset, and Kepecs 2018).

Now imagine they are doing construction work on that street and you have to take a detour. To get home you have always gone right, but now you have to go left. You’re less certain of the directions after that since it is not a route you have been taking your whole life. You know the roads to some degree but you’re slower to respond to the following consecutive turns, second-guessing each one in the hopes you remember correctly. You are inherently less confident.

Confidence builds itself into the orbitofrontal cortex, the space in the brain where reward value is represented. Amongst several other areas of the front of the brain, these spaces are key for computing situations and acting in confidence.

Why does confidence sometimes slip away?

Imagine you are at work and you are going to send a fax to a major account for your office. This is one of those accounts that can make or break the company and if they don’t get this document they will lose thousands of dollars. Sending a fax is something you have done hundreds of times. Recently your office acquired a new fax machine, one you have not used yet but since you have used several throughout your work life, you can’t imagine there are any major differences. When you go to send the fax you learn later that you missed a button and the fax didn’t go through. This machine required one extra step you hadn’t learned. You were so confident in the process that there wasn’t a second thought.

Not only does the receiving party lose money, but your office loses the account altogether for the mistake. Your job is on the line and suddenly this simple act you’ve been doing forever is terrifying. Your confidence is gone.

You now double and triple-check whether the fax was sent and follow up with clients multiple times to make sure they received it. You find a small amount of panic holding your body every time you are asked to send a fax.

This can happen in a multitude of ways and when it does, it sucks. This happens when we get overconfident. When we commit so hard to an idea or a practice or a thought that we blind ourselves to any other possibility. We almost start moving through life on autopilot in those areas and that’s where mistakes can happen. That’s where we watch our confidence falter. Once it starts to teeter, it doesn’t take a lot for it to disappear, but it takes a lot to build it up. So…

How do we keep it?

You know those people that are unabashedly themselves. That will make a mistake and frame it as a ‘whatever’ and ‘it’s not a big deal’. Those people that will still stand back up the next day and preach the next thing and just be committed to what they think they know even if they are wrong?

When you’ve been rattled it’s hard to come back from it. It’s hard to maintain an ‘it is what it is’ attitude and move on, especially if that’s not who you have been.

So how do we keep our confidence even when it’s been challenged?

Let’s go back to the fax machine example. The natural reaction for someone with low confidence is to retreat, maybe even quit. But what if in that moment you were able to look your director in the eyes and say “I made a big mistake and I’m so sorry.” Instead of letting the mistake own you, you are owning the mistake. You are releasing the shame of what happened by taking it head-on. This builds confidence.

This is the start of how you become a grounded, confident individual. This one small action of owning it grows your confidence. Next time you go to send a fax, you are going to check and confirm it went through. Then if your office gets a new fax machine, you are going to double-check the instructions on how to send one. You are going to make sure you know because you already made that mistake. Your confidence initially moved into overconfidence and that is where the mistake was made.

Confidence may be built into our DNA or it may be something we can build and learn. We may stumble and fall and lose the confidence we once had due to overconfident moments. We may build it back through repetition and owning our part in where it went wrong.

I believe there is a line with confidence. If we go too far, we jeopardize others. If we don’t give enough, we jeopardize ourselves. But if we fall right into that perfect balance, we can maintain the most important level of confidence. The one where you stand tall, shoulders back, and are totally unabashedly yourself.

Love always,

Riss

Blind Rage: Is It Love or Is It Anger?

Photo by David Underland

What is blind rage? I found several different definitions for this coined terminology ranging from “uncontrollable, psychologically-blinding anger” on Wikipedia to Urban Dictionary definitions  explaining it as “extremely angry that you want to destroy everything that surrounds you without mercy.” I also saw one that defined it as kicking your amygdala into gear for survival narrowing your focus to the predator in front of you.

The most scientific one I found was for Berserker or Blind Rage Syndrome in an abstract written by Armando Simón defining it as “(a) a violent overreaction to physical, verbal, or visual insult, (b) amnesia during the actual period of violence, (c) abnormally great strength, (d) specifically target-oriented violence.” (Abstract)

I want to explore an idea here. I don’t know if love and rage are connected, but I want to enter a world in which they are, so if you don’t mind, walk with me.

Once upon a time several years ago I sat in my room listening to a deranged man berating someone that I love dearly… again. I finally got to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked up the word narcissist and walked myself right into the room. I held my phone out, although he definitely wouldn’t be able to read it from where he was, and told him he needed to look up the word and read up on himself.

Little did I know I was kicking the hornet's nest. I had let the hornets buzz, but now I was taking action. It was time for extermination.

This already pissed-off man turned his insidious anger toward me. He started to yell and get in my face. I wish I could tell you what he said but honestly, I blocked it out. All I really remember was walking into the room, throwing out my accusations (accurate if you ask me), and then being in a position where my mom and sister were trying to pull me away from beating the crap out of this man.

I went into a state of blind rage. I can vaguely recall him telling me to ‘hit him’ and that ‘he has fought bigger girls than me’ and ‘he wasn’t afraid of me’. I can remember him right in my face, his eyes diabolical and crazed. I can remember going in for the punch only to be pulled back. While none of it is totally clear now, there is a fear that settled into my mind in the aftermath. I wasn’t afraid that I was ready to fight to defend myself and the people I love. What scared me was that I could have killed that man at that moment without conscious thought.

I have never been a violent person. As a matter of fact, I dropped a karate class in college because I didn’t like hitting people (and only one person in the class was getting an A but that is beside the point). I had one spar with someone, it terrified me, and I left sobbing. I dropped the class that afternoon. I also have a weird physical intimacy thing where I do not like touching people. I feel uncomfortable showing affection through touch. I will give hugs, but I am rather short on the affectionate side unless it is with a romantic partner (you can ask my sisters and all the cuddles I have denied them over the years).

But at this moment, something came out of me that was simply not who I am to my core. This man had pushed me. This man had pushed me to a state of survival where I could not see anything but him as an enemy and a threat to my family.

So, it poses the question does rage stem from love? Or is it simply a means to survive?

For me, in that moment, I believe it stemmed from love. I needed to protect and eliminate the threat to the people I love the most. While his actions came from a place of control, mine came from a place of care. While his words instigated a fight to prove himself, my body was acting to save.

I think rage can stem from both. In narcissistic people and sociopaths, it is more likely a tactic. A means to an end to get what they want. A form of control. When they don’t feel like they have control they act in physical ways because their words aren’t working. If they can put a person in a state of fear and submission, they are more likely to obtain what they want. I also think they act in calculated decisions and that removes blind anger from the scope of their practice.

It only comes back into play for these people when they accidentally go too far one day because the control they have had over their anger finally reaches a breaking point.

For a long time, I was ashamed about this feeling that I had this one moment in my life. This feeling made me scared of myself - this feeling I have never felt again. I thought I broke. I thought something was wrong with me and I was actually a bad person. I thought that there was evil in me and that it was seeping out. I couldn’t believe that someone who dropped karate for the distaste of harming another individual could be consumed by a violent mental state.

I couldn’t comprehend what had happened and I certainly thought it wasn’t normal.

Turns out I’m wrong.

For one, many people have also had moments like this. I know at least three other people in my life, each one acting from a different state, who have had a moment like this. One from betrayal. One for the love of family. One for self-protection. All because there was a deep sadness and hurt and need to survive. A need to take back the situation and protect those that mean the most to them.

Blind rage is real and it is scary, but it is not isolated and it happens. It doesn’t mean it’s something that happens frequently, and if it does, I would advise you to seek someone who specializes in helping with occurrences like this. If not, and if you don’t know already, I want you to know there is nothing wrong with you! You are, at the end of the day, human. A primal being whose brain has not yet entirely updated to fit the modern times and will occasionally do what it needs to do to survive.

So… is blind rage love or anger? I think it’s love, but you tell me.

Love Always,

Riss

The Dark Side of Love

Photo by Cherry Laithang

I am an optimist, a learned skill that I have sought to obtain and hold close to my heart. A skill that has not been easy to tame because of the challenges and life-altering riddles that have been thrown my way. Still, I choose to find beauty in a glass-half-full world and if you haven’t gathered from my work yet, I love love.

While a lot of the things I have written lately have aired on the side of the darker parts of love. My experiences have reverberated from my heart onto the page to share with those willing to read and yet I want to get into the pieces that I still consider love even if they are painful.

It’s no secret my previous relationship did a number on me however, I still find so much love in it. I know some people will think that it’s probably closer to trauma bonding. Or that there is mass manipulation to the highest degree- and still, I choose to look at that relationship through the eyes of love.

So today, I want to dive into the dark side of love. The love that comes with broken promises while heartbreak runs on repeat. The love that gives everything and gets just enough back to keep you on a hook. The love that defies instincts and has you aching for peace. The love that thrives on insecurity and has you bracing for impact every moment of the day.

This may not be the healthiest version of love and yet, I still believe it is.

Joshua was a lot of things. I could sit here and list off all the angry awful things I have thought about him, but honestly, I have already written that letter and burned it. I have braved the pain and I continue to work on the healing process every single day.

When I fell in love with Joshua, it wasn’t for his games or charm or indication of the size of the package he was carrying in his pants (which between you and me was fine and not very giving if you know what I mean). No. Those things have never impressed me. Those things have never been high on my calling card. It was flattering to be wanted.

The pieces of him I fell in love with were humble and kind. I saw his passion when he picked up garbage off the streets. The way he connected with animals. When he got excited about making a new recipe or letting me into his world of video games. I fell in love with the gentle hugs and small thoughtful gestures. All these little pieces snatched my heart and I let it float safely to the bottom of a jar that he held.

My love for this man was real. My love for him may have been manipulation at play, but the way I felt, was genuine. I saw the heartbreak in the story he told me about his family. I saw the hurt that he felt from some lived experience in his past. I felt the ache in his heart when he spoke about the challenges he had endured. In those moments, I felt it with him. I hadn’t learned how to put up emotional boundaries yet. I hadn’t figured out how to safeguard my heart and my empathy, to feel compassion without taking on someone else’s pain.

So, there was love. There was a lot of it. And in some demented way, I think he had love. Maybe not directly for me rather than for what he was getting out of the situation, but maybe love for him is this way of life he has chosen. Maybe he loves the struggle to some degree. Loves the pain. Loves to want love but doesn’t know how to believe in it. I have no idea.

In the beginning, I gave him the most loving parts of me. I let him pile them in that jar he had, the one holding my heart, sitting on a shelf somewhere in his subconscious mind. All those things I fell in love with were set on display as reminders. Reminders he would set. Like all he had to do was say ‘Hey Marissa, set a reminder for why you love me tomorrow at 9 am.’ So it would be done. It was that easy.

After the first time I found out he cheated on me, which was a devastating night given the history I have with my family. He took a walk and came back with everything I needed to hear to let him stay. I wanted to prove to him that someone in his life could love him even if he made a mistake. I knew then it wasn’t going to be me, but he had owned his mistake. He had said that his relationship with women stems from his relationship with his abusive mother. That he sought attention from women to give himself security that he was, in fact, desirable. That his actions were not a reflection of me, but of himself.

The perfect response. The response I needed to keep him around. So, I did.

That was the last time he owned up to his mistakes like that. Unfortunately for me, my love had become soaked in desperation and I was just trying to hold onto love from him. When he did it again, I wasn’t going to let him go and he knew. He had me figured out.

I was taking a walk on the dark side of love. A love with a one-way road that only led to one place. There was no detouring, there were only strategically placed alternate routes. Routes that led back to the same road. To get off that track, I had to start inside. I had to take back my heart.

I didn’t know how to get it back. The only way off that meticulously paved road was trekking through the mangled forest surrounding me. Somewhere in there, was my heart. As the crazed forest grew, I could feel the light in my life fading.

For years, people had told me that they thought of me as a ray of sunshine. Joshua said it too. After dating him for long enough, I started wearing my ray of sunshine as a façade. A mask decorated in yellow rays that shone to no end. I was desperate to hide the heartbreak I was feeling inside. The loss. The shame.

Joshua saw it though. He saw me breaking.

He never asked if I was okay. He didn’t need to know. I was his and that was what he wanted. I was his bottom line. Someone to support him and pick up the slack when he couldn’t carry his weight. It was dark over there.

On the dark side of love, I didn’t get an “I am your father” moment. There wasn’t a blanket realization that shoved me in the right direction. I had to ease myself out of the darkness just like I had been eased in.

The dark side of love takes. It takes everything. It takes your spirit, your heart, your soul. It takes the goodness and covers it with an (un)welcome mat coated in shame. It takes the feelings of joy and shoves it in a zip-lock baggie, leaving just enough space in the bag to gasp for breath. The dark side of love kicks you when you’re down. It bares all its weight on you so standing up is like trying to lift a car. The dark side of love will touch you and use its hands to beat you down to make you feel like you need the darkness to survive. The dark side of love will always apologize but will still blame you. The dark side of love hurts.

It hurts.

And it is also the hardest thing to break away from.

Once the dark side of love takes hold of your mentality, finding yourself, the person you have always been, is like entering a 5000-yard maze. Somewhere in there, you exist - you live, but the cage that holds you blends into the surroundings and your soul hides in fear of the evil lurking around every corner. To get out we have to brave that first step inside. We have to choose to save ourselves first.

The dark side of love will be there to tempt you out. Will be there to challenge your thoughts and have you second-guessing reality. It will have you thinking about whether your memory is playing games or if it is just the darkness taking hold. It will blind you from that straight path home, the one everyone else can see. The dark side of love will feed on your weakness and target your deepest fears.

The dark side of love can be terrifying. It can be a matter of life and death. But it exists and it is very real.

I have seen many versions and lived through different forms. My relationship with Joshua is only one.

Still, when I sit back and shift my perspective into a different gear, I see that maybe the dark side of love isn’t so dark after all. It’s light, aching to break free. It’s this opportunity to find inner strength you never believed you had to walk away closer to the person you were always meant to be.

I believe we need the dark side of love so that we can see how much light we actually hold.

If you are there, sitting in the darkness, waiting for the light to break, I want you to know it’s already there. Find that sliver first and hold on to it and you’ll be surprised how fast the darkness fades.

Keep on shining you beautiful, beautiful soul. I see your light even when you don’t.

Love Always,

Riss

My Ex is a Con Man

*Please note that in the past I have opted to leave out names for the privacy of those individuals, however, this is my life and my story. I am not insensitive and also I know that we all have a role we play in each other’s lives. Sometimes we are cast as the villain and sometimes the hero. It depends on the stage of life we are in at that moment in time. I take great consideration in the names of the people who do get mentioned out of respect for them and for myself.

My entire life, I have believed that people are inherently good. Despite the various costumes and charades “bad” people put on, there is a reason for it. Something happened to them that hurt them so badly, this is how they learned to survive.

While I still believe that and will always look for the other side first, I have come to realize that at a certain point, it is no longer a built-in habit but a choice to be the way we are every single day.

I have days when I wake up and I am grateful for everyone, everything, and their brother’s sister’s mother. Then there are days I wake up in a fighting mood. That doesn’t mean I’m about to go out and start fighting people. It means I CHOOSE to figure out what the heck is going on that has set off this extreme attitude of aching to cause conflict in my life.

I had a conversation with someone recently, asking about my ex. Asking about how he treated me because there is concern for one of their family members. When this individual reached out, I was honestly skeptical. And then I thought about it, what is the worst that could happen? Worst case I hang up, best case I have an opportunity to help someone and share my experience.

I opted into this conversation. Part of me needed closure, but the bigger part needed to share my knowledge of this hurtful individual.

Oh Joshua, what have you done you fool?

After hearing a bit about her story, internally I was fuming (the details I will leave out because that is theirs to tell when and if they are ready.) There are so many lies that he has been spewing to this family. Mistruths. Added bits and pieces taken away. It’s disgusting. I have never felt more wronged in my life. I was played by a con man.

He manipulated me so badly that it didn’t make sense mentally. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening in my relationship because of the false reality he had created for me.

For the first time in my life, I can openly admit that I was in an abusive relationship. The physical was limited, but the emotional was every single day. Joshua knows how to play the game and he plays it well. Unfortunately for him, his charade will not end in good taste because he picks people with families that care too much.

My story with this con man is much longer than I will be able to write out here but after hearing how he has impacted this new family he wormed himself into, I can’t stay silent any longer.

When I left Maine, where we met, I moved back to the West Coast to surround myself with family and a safe space. Something he doesn’t have. He conned me out of thousands of dollars, which yes, I willingly paid with the intention he would pay me back. He took over my apartment and my space. He threatened to leave me on multiple occasions but, I can see he never would have because that would have put him back out on the streets. He just wanted to create that power dynamic.

Every time we argued, which was rather frequent, it was my fault. It was my fault for wanting to talk. My fault for wanting to have a conversation. It made me dramatic for wanting to understand and be understood. It meant that I wasn’t listening to him and I wasn’t hearing him and I wasn’t respecting him. Those were his vices every single time.

When I finally pulled the trigger on what I had wanted to do for years and spit out the words that would inevitably be his doom, I should have seen the calculations building in his head, but I still didn’t understand this man. I still didn’t understand who he is or what he is. How could I? I was still in it despite being out of it.

We stayed in the same apartment that he couldn’t afford for about a month until it started to get even more toxic. In hindsight, I can tell you that he probably wanted space for himself so he could start looking for his next victim especially, because I wasn’t under his control anymore to an extent. His words became more derogatory. He made home as dark as it could be energetically that I eventually moved in with a friends family that I was so blessed to have in my life.

The entire moveout process was hell.

Joshua yelled at me, calling me all sorts of names that I can’t even remember anymore, and kicked me out of an apartment that I was still paying for. Even when I moved across the country, I continued to track the rent payments because my name was still on the lease.

The bottom line is this, if I removed my name, he would have to reapply. If he reapplied, he wouldn’t be able to stay because he didn’t have sufficient income, he didn’t have a co-signer, and he didn’t have good enough credit. Winner, right? So, in my empathetic mind, staying on the lease was the least I could do.

I’ll tell you, he weaseled another $3000 out of my family because he couldn’t “afford rent”. But those new shoes look nice…The only reason I paid is because I was still attached to the unit and I didn’t want it coming back to bite me in the ass.

From the moment I broke up with him, he tells the story a different way, he was calculating his next move. For one, he knew I still “loved” him because of who I was raised to be. I come from a family of kindness and graciousness, and he knew he could work it to his advantage. All he had to do was keep me on a hook so that he had a place to stay, after all he had spent two years with me so he knew me inside and out.

As soon as I told him that I was taking my name off the lease, he panicked. He freaked out on me and even at thousands of miles away, he reverted back to what a terrible person I was. Trying to manipulate me by saying things like “You said you would come back” and “You just want to put me on the streets”.

My distance and space had made me realize that he was an adult man who lived before me and would either choose to live after me or not. I know it’s dark, but it’s the survival of the fittest babes.

So I worked with the property company to get my name off (a far more complicated process than it needed to be) and he went quiet. He didn’t talk to me. He didn’t talk to the property company. He stopped showing up to work and got fired. He went into a pit of despair.

What he later told me was that he held a gun to his head multiple times but was still too weak to pull the trigger. It’s sad and after I saw him when I went to pick up our cat, I believe it.

The con didn’t end there.

We moved him down to my aunt’s in Virginia where he lived. My mom’s family are some of the most amazing passionate people you will meet. All they want to do is help anyone and everyone that needs it, Joshua included. My aunt tried to help him find work, but nothing stuck or it wasn’t in the field that he wanted. What field is that is my question because frankly, I don’t think he wants to work at all. He wants someone else to bum off of.

One of the conditions of his living there was he had to seek mental help. He was diagnosed with Bipolar, but if I know Joshua, his opposition to medication is profound. Hey, I get it, medication can be numbing and that can’t feel good but that means that without it, we should be searching for alternate options to tune down the parts of us that are a little out of our control. That, he wasn’t willing to do.

It was in the fall that he told my mom and aunt that he got a job at a resort in Montana or South Dakota and was moving. I now know that was 100% not true.

This con man had run his course in my life and unfortunately found someone else who is kind, empathetic, and vulnerable to the desires and wants in her life. A personality he looks for and latches onto.

This story is short. This isn’t even half of it and I’m only one side of it. But today I can say, I dated a con man. A master manipulator. A man lost to the lies he has told himself for far too long.

I hope one-day things change, but more than that I send love and support to the family he is affecting now.

If you can relate. If you are in one of these right now, know that it’s okay. It happens. I was so ashamed of how deep I went with this person that I was terrified to walk away because of how other people would look at me. The truth is, my family and friends, supported me and held me and cared for me. Not a single person pitied me or looked badly at me. They waited for me to rise out of my shame and guilt because that was the only place it was coming from.

One of the biggest lessons I learned in this relationship, is it is okay to be wrong. It’s okay to own it, to hold it, and to accept it with grace and patience. We are all in this world learning one step at a time. As long as we are going forward, we aren’t going back.

I love you all so much and I hope if this is a situation you are in, you find the courage to walk away for yourself because you deserve so much more.

Love Always,

Riss

If you want to hear more about my experience dating a con man and the emotionally abusive relationship I have lived through, let me know! We grow from other people’s experiences as much as our own. And while I don’t believe my story is special, it is unique because no experience is the same <3

A Failing Forward Perspective

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Photo by Randy Tarampi

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” – Samuel Beckett

 There are a lot of things in my life I wish I did better. A lot of things I wish I hadn’t said. A lot of things I wish I hadn’t done. A lot of relationships I could have left behind earlier. A lot of words I could have shared. A lot of apologies and thank yous I could have given.

There is a lot I have failed to do. There is a lot I will fail to do.

And that’s okay.

Failure is one of those words that I have worked to shift into a new perspective for years now.

Growing up, failure was red ink decorating hard work and circling big letters that indicated my intelligence. Failure was met with a pat on the back and a good try when I didn’t win. Failure was everything I ached to get away from because success was the opposite of failure and in my life, there was just failure.

When I watched my parent's marriage fall apart – failure. It meant love had no success rate. Their relationship divulged into anger, resentment, and deep loathing. It taught me a version of success in love that exists, but shouldn’t be modeled.

Failure surrounded me when I watched my sister get her doctorate and master's at twenty-four (so incredibly proud of her), but then look at my life and create comparisons to two entirely different people. Failure is a subtle voice that lingers because, at thirty, I haven’t achieved financial independence and am still alone.

Failure is the hopes and desires my parents have had for me that I have still not met.

Failure can be hard. Painful. Isolating. Dividing. Breaking. Scary. Failure can be a lot of things.

But it can also be hope.

When I first heard Samuel Beckett’s “fail again” quote in a small college performance room, written on a giant whiteboard by our acting coach on the second floor of a building across from Capital Records, I didn’t understand it. In fact, I mentally couldn’t process why anyone would continue to want to fail. Society has so adeptly added negative connotations to the word ‘failure’ that making positive sense of a negative word seemed impossible.

It wasn’t until years after I finally started to put together a new definition of what failure really is and it has shaken everything up for me. (Not always right away, but the shift is positive.)

I have been looking at failure through the lens of disappointment and shame instead of opportunity and growth. I have exacerbated those hurtful feelings by reinforcing the negativity of the word inside my mind.

Even though the shift started to happen, it has still taken a lot of time to and takes a lot of mental power to actively think of failing as positive.

Sara Blakely’s story about failure is one I come back to frequently. If you don’t know who Sara Blakely is, that’s okay because I didn’t either. She is the founder and CEO of Spanx. A woman with a mission to make all women comfortable in their clothes. She also is a major reason I take lessons from my failures.

She grew up sitting around a table with her family every night being asked what they failed at today. The disappointment was never in the failure itself, but in not having something to share. Sara learned at a young age that failure was an opportunity and a chance to learn. It wasn’t something to beat herself up about rather what she could do differently. This offered her perspective into the world most of us weren’t taught.

Her success is built on failure. Steve Jobs success is built on failure. Joe Kudla’s success is built on failure. There is a plethora of people that have succeeded only because they saw failure as a step in the right direction, not a dead end.

While I constantly walk forward and keep working to shift this mindset every single day, I keep in mind that my success is only as wonderful as my biggest failure. But first, I have to be willing to fail. And fail forward we will.

Love Always,

Riss

What’s Her Name?

Photo by Fernando Rodrigues

The voice in my head. The one that tells me my body doesn’t look right. That says that the food I eat expands my waistband two sizes. The one that shames me when I don’t eat and then guilts me when I do - She is vile. She talks me down when I’m trying to climb up. She is the hand that pushes my head underwater while I’m trying to catch a breath of air. She is relentless in her attempt to ruin my image of myself.

If I’m honest, She has done it. She has accomplished what she set out to do.

Until now.

Her voice is loud and bold. She speaks in security, thinking that I will never escape from the cuffs She locked me in long ago. She is everything I never wanted to be, but all I have become.

Every bite of food is filled with guilt. It tears apart my mental state and has me restricting when all I want to do is eat. Every meal skipped is doused in not just mental pain but physical pain, but if I eat, getting it out is the priority. If I don’t sadness consumes me. It’s become a no-win situation.

This voice in my head is persistent.

This voice is rampant.

This voice has my mind locked in an escape room I can’t seem to riddle my way out of. The worst part is knowing that while I have my whole life ahead of me, time is fleeting.

(I don’t think She knows that includes her.)

Sometimes She gets quiet.

Which is nice.

But I don’t trust Her to be gone for long.

It’s like She is not just sitting in the shadows, silently watching, but She is the shadows. Waiting for me to puzzle my way out of one room so that the next is more difficult. She matches my growth in difficulty. She studies me while I heal, then chips at the glue until I feel ten steps backward.

Her eyes are black holes freckled in pain. Her figure is everything I am not. She glows in rejection and smells of desire. Her hair flows in waves of shame and guilt. Her voice sings out my deepest insecurities. She walks in strides leaving hopelessness behind her for the starved, desperate follower to consume. I see my leash as She leads. Everything She is bleeds off Her in unlimited supplies, dissolving into my energy field which is absorbed and redistributed throughout my mind.

She holds my power over my head and laughs while I try to get it back. Jumping to grab it, while She grows. My attempts to shut Her down, build Her up.

Then there are those moments when I ground into myself, and I find Her getting weak. I stop feeding into Her energy. She hates that, so she goes a little harder. Pushes a little deeper and either uproots my energy or starts to dissolve.

The disillusionment of Her presence leaves a gaping open space in my mind, my soul, and my body. A space I often forget to fill. A space She comes back to because it’s accidentally left open for Her.

She is nameless. She just is. She is the kind of power that exists only in a false reality. A reality that if broken would shatter my view of what I have allowed myself to become and the world I have chosen to live in. And then I wonder which is scarier: Living in a world that doesn’t exist or one where She doesn’t exist.

Love Always,

Riss

Spin and PTSD Featuring My Ex

Perfection is nonexistent. Life is built on a learning curve—the little constructs in everyday life that lead us toward a peaceful life, not a perfect life.

A week ago my work team went to take a spin class. Now, if you know me, you know I do not like spin. It goes beyond spin classes though – I do not like bikes. I don’t like riding them outside. I don’t like the electric kind. I don’t like driving next to people who ride them (I’m sorry if that’s you, it’s not you, it’s the bike…I promise). I do not like cycling at all in any form or any space.

Weird… right?

One of the fundamental things we learn to do when we are growing up is to ride a bike. After my training wheels “magically” fell off my first bike, I got a beautiful two-wheeled bike from Santa. It was purple and had these beautiful shimmering purple tassels hanging off the handlebars. I rode it all the time. I rode it to my best friend's house. I rode it to the park. I rode it in circles around our cul-de-sac. I loved my bike.

I cannot pinpoint for you the exact moment I started to detest bicycles. I can’t even give you a range of time. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened. I know that one day I liked them and then I was in college and I was hiking a bike up a giant hill in Pullman, Washington getting kicked by peddles.

So somewhere in there, I subconsciously decided I didn’t like bikes.

It was that simple.

My furry and frustration toward them is unwarranted and a little unhealthy (if I’m being honest).

Until a few years ago when I was invited to a spin class. Now while I wasn’t thrilled about the workout of choice, I was looking forward to the potential of making new friends.

The girl who invited me was acquainted with my ex. We will call him Crab (because Harry Potter references are fun). She was someone who had known him in the Navy and had reconnected with him only a month or so beforehand. I didn’t know her, but I felt a little threatened.

I’ll tell you now, that I had no reason to be, not because I didn’t trust her, but because I didn’t trust him. That and she was/in a happy committed relationship.

My relationship with Crab was a myriad of ups and downs. Bigger downs than the ups could ever equate to. I had found messages to other women multiple times on his phone that left my already deep-rooted trust issues, grounded even further.

Before you come at me for going through his phone, I was insecure and his behavior was aggressive and off. I could have waited for him to come to me about it, but my anxiety was too high and he never would have. He would have lied to me about it over and over again and then somehow manipulate me into believing something was wrong with me.

I do not condone going through another individual's personal device unless warranted. If it comes down to that, there are most likely other issues that need to be addressed - personal or relationship-wise.

I digress.

This friend of his had invited me to a spin class with her and her sister. I said yes – Open to the idea of getting to know this girl better so that my insecurities about their friendship could subside. On the night of the class, however, Crab and I got into a fight. He was mad at me for saying yes and for even thinking about going to the class with her. He felt threatened that I was going to steal his friend from him.

Yes, his friend. I was not allowed to be friends with her until he decided it was okay.

It was an explosive fight, much like the ones we were having every night. It left me in tears. I was scared I was going to lose him because I was trying to build a relationship and get to know someone he valued as a friend. If I walked out that door, I was risking him leaving, which he had threatened to do…again…

By the time I showed up to the class, I realized I booked the wrong one. I was flustered. I was running a few minutes late. I had been sobbing. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know what I was doing. I felt lost and alone.

Fortunately, the woman at the desk helped me to my bike, clipped me in, and got me ready to go.

I made it forty-five minutes through the class. The tenderness from the recent events had me barely holding on. Between the music, the tempo, the volume, and the people the room started to feel small. I could feel the walls closing in around me. My head was spinning more than my legs. My breath was aching for air, desperate to bring life back into my body. My eyes were struggling to hold back the fountain of tears slowly leaking through.

I remember trying to get myself off the bike feeling stuck, with my shoes clipped and locked into the peddles. I ended up unstrapping my feet and getting off. I hustled past the girl at the desk, stopping for just long enough to inform her the shoes were still in the clips. Concern was all I saw in her eyes while a flood of tears fell down my pink, sweaty face. I was embarrassed. I was hurt. I was sad. I was scared.

That was my first spin class.

A heartbreaking moment in my life. A genuine moment in my life. A moment of learning. A moment built in love and sadness.

So when my team went to do, what we call ‘team sweats’, at a local spin studio, I made it thirty minutes before the room started closing in on me, compressing everything in my head and chest.

It’s been two years since that relationship ended, and the effects have lived on.

It doesn’t feel good to admit because I have worked so hard to move through the pain of that relationship. The hurt that came with it. I have worked to make myself better for my faults and my wrongdoings as much as I have worked to let go of the hurtful words, thoughts, and opinions that I started to believe were true.

And still, I have days when moments like that come flooding back in vivid memory, pulling me back to a moment in time that is no longer now.

So, I had a PTSD moment.

The most important thing I did though, was feel. I felt it all. I cried. I did not finish the class to prove to myself I could. I did not worry about what anyone else would think. Instead, I let it move through me.

I was blessed to have a friend who came outside to support me and remind me that these are my feelings and Crab doesn’t get to hold power in my life anymore. I didn’t grow because of him, I grew because I chose to.

Healing takes time. Trauma lives in the body and the smallest thing can set off a memory. Next time you find yourself reliving a painful moment, know that you are not alone. Give yourself space to self-soothe. To cry. To scream. To run. To do whatever you need to do to release that moment and bring the power back to you. These moments are real and they live on and that’s okay.

Love Always,

Riss

Bulimia Nervosa

*trigger warning for anyone struggling with eating disorders

*if you or anyone you know is struggling with eating disorders you can call (866)256-3563 for support.

Imagine standing at the helm of a ship: the sun kissing your skin and the mist of the water balancing the sun’s kiss. The breeze dancing through your hair, wrapping your clothes tighter to your body. Allowing the salty air to caress your nose and sink into your pores.

Take a moment to feel that. To embrace that. To hear the waves and feel the sensations.

Then out of nowhere, it shifts.

The sun falls behind a massive dark cloud. That moment of bliss is ripped from you before you have time to process what is happening.

Rain pelts your skin, washing away the salt, and soaking your body in an unforgiving moment. The waves rock the boat in a series of violent strokes, giving you barely a second to catch yourself before you fall off the front of the ship. Nausea gurgles in the base of your stomach and before you can stop it you feel the remnants of everything good in your body being released.

The sensation is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.

And this is how I would describe those moments when I find myself seated in front of a toilet. Battling for a mind of clarity while the dark clouds hover and settle in.

My experience with eating disorders has been maybe one of the longest relationships I have had (insert uncomfortable laughter here.)

When I reach a point where it feels like the boat is just uncontrollably rocking, pulling me backward 100 steps from the progress I have made, I feel the physical shift in my mentality.

It’s weird. I can recognize when it is happening and feel the spiral start. I watch myself being pulled into this whirlpool. I can see myself clawing at the water to get out of it, but you can't hold water. It doesn’t offer a way to grip and hold onto. It only offers a pull downwards. It sucks you in backward and there is nothing you can do.

Sometimes, and very rarely, I can pause the inevitable. Somehow it always circles back around though. It’s mental gymnastics and that shit gets exhausting. It’s always followed by tears. A moment staring at the girl in the mirror wondering how she got here. Unsure who she even is which makes her feel even more alone. Makes her feel unseen. Makes her invisible.

I won’t tell you this happens frequently. It doesn’t anymore. But when it does, the girl with the smile on the exterior is wearing a mask nearly impenetrable except by those who know her best. Even then, she has become a master at hiding her pain from them too.

Bulimia affects about 1.5% of US females and .5% of men at some point in their life (https://americanaddictioncenters.org/bulimia-treatment). The risks and the physical deterioration that happens in the body range from tooth decay, esophagus rupture, heart damage, prolonged sore throats, and more.

I know all this information. I have read and researched and reached for more knowledge surrounding this topic. I have worked to understand why I do this thing and where it comes from. I have discussed it in therapy. I have tried to comprehend why my self-image is so distorted. Tried to relate and associate what in my life brings it to the forefront.

Yet… I still find myself staring into the hole of a toilet bowl from time to time. My version of escape.

The process makes no sense but it is there. It happens.

Eating disorders affect at least 9% of the population (https://anad.org/eating-disorders-statistics/). Unfortunately, the ability for people to talk about or engage in conversation about them is typically laughed off out of a place of sincere discomfort.

I don’t shy away from this issue that I deal with on a daily basis – whether it’s a mental fight or physical action – one way or the other.

I wonder sometimes what difference it would make if we could talk about it. Discuss this topic more. Bring it to the attention of those around us. Turn the conversation to places of understanding, appropriate questions, and how to broach the subject or address concerns.

Whether you find yourself relating to my specific struggle or you are dealing with a struggle of another kind, I want you to know I love you. I know it’s hard, really hard some days. You are worth more than those thoughts in your head. Those voices screaming. On the days you need a voice to scream back because yours is suddenly gone or distorted:

I’ve got you.

The body is the vessel that holds more than just your food - it holds your soul and you my friend, are far more than your body.

Love always,

Riss

Possibilities

Sometimes I start writing. I sit and stare and try to put myself in the mindset of a person or gender that isn’t me or mine. Not to say that I can’t. I have observed and interacted with a variety of male species that are undoubtedly lived research to where I could build a story with one included as a central narrator. Yet, I find myself stumbling over my words. Uncertain and afraid I will get it wrong.

And while I try to stumble forward from this unfamiliar point of view, I find myself in a state of confusion. Jumping from one story to the next. Character to character. Until I can’t remember which story I am telling. Whom I am telling it to. What I want to say. And who is saying it.

Except, I know that it’s not the problem with the story, but rather the multitude of stories trying to escape and my inability to keep up.

It becomes like a Netflix wheel: Too many options, so I simply don’t finish any.

Maybe that is the reason I have spent years longing to write a book but stalled myself, stopping at short stories. Pieces that could go far beyond where they currently are but sit stagnant because my brain cannot find the ability to extend it further. Knowing it could be great, but leaving it as it is – good enough

I have trialed and failed many times.

Now I have two building in my head. One that will be shared at a later date. One that will be written over long periods of time as I construct and outline a home filled with lessons and the foundation for my life. The other will be rooted in the fictional space of love. The love of friendship. Ripping heartbreaks and happily ever after’s. A story I hope will inspire and continue to transpire. Touching the hearts of those that are able to build a connection with the characters, just love to read, love love, or need somewhere to keep their heart for a moment.

Love is my atmosphere. It is my world. It is everything I live and long for. I believe it is what keeps us going. What keeps us humble. Keeps us safe. Because at the end of the day, we are loved by someone and that is a beautiful thing.

My biggest goal in life is to share more love. I wish that I had the gall to do more sometimes. I have grandiose ideas that I would let color the pavement if the introverted side of me could take those steps.

I will, and it will probably be one of the hardest things I do, but I know the payoff will be greater because I finally gave myself a chance to make my dreams a reality.

Maybe you know the feeling. Maybe what’s love for me is painting or running or playing an instrument or moving up the corporate ladder or starting your own business or the other multitude of things it could be… for you.

I have always lived in a dream world, what I have not done is turned dreams into reality. Maybe for fear that I wouldn’t be able to turn back to the fantasy that once lived in my head and will have to accept the hard realities that come with making a dream a possibility: diluting and dissipating the dream.

But here is where life lies. Where living is.

In those moments of strife and angst, we have hope and accomplishment.

I hope you find your dream. I hope you find the courage to go where you are destined to go. To embrace the faults and trivialities of the dreams you have and make even those beautiful.

So pick up that paintbrush. Go run for five minutes. Buy that keyboard. Have that conversation with your boss. Grab a book to start that business. Go take one step forward.

For me, it starts with words on a page. Every single day. From there…I just take it one step at a time.

I can’t promise each step will get easier, but I can tell you the story you will have to tell because you did will be greater than the seat you sat in staring at the possibilities in front of you.

You are amazing.

You are everything.

Love Always,

Riss

To Be a Healer

My obnoxious positivity rains down on other people like the after showers of fireworks on the 4th of July. I can decorate people in ribbons and flowers, and make them the prime float in a parade made solely for them. One that shines and pulls in spectators within fifty feet. I can make them glow and remind them of their worth and value, even for a moment.

My silence offers freedom for their thoughts to reverberate into the universe. Every word stopped at my ears’ touch. Allowing their feelings, big or small (always relevant) to enter into a space that holds no echo. And the heat of their secrets burns delicately on my skin sending back warmth and safety.

This is the gift of a healer. A listener. A responder. This is a gift given to others free of charge.

And when my body and ears become fully soaked in the release from others, I take on the responsibility that is not mine. Discerning what belongs to me, and what has leeched itself to my soul. Blending with the oil on my skin, seeping into my blood until what is mine and theirs becomes solely mine.

The emotion-weighted vest that drapes over my shoulders feels impossible to shake off.

While I try to give back to myself, I realize the healer within has given and offered too much to others. Forgotten about healing herself. And now the cost is too high.

Free of charge is the minimum, my life is the maximum. The balance is a cost, and yet still worth every penny.

Warning Signs

Fact: love is blind. If you say otherwise, you haven’t been in an unhealthy relationship (and I’m incredibly grateful you haven’t had to experience that!). I’m not talking about Nick and Vanessa Lachey’s social experiment. I’m talking about real nitty gritty tough relationships that teach you a thing or two about yourself. That love is blinding. Like a car in the night with high beams right in your face. That’s what I mean.

We have this innate ability to gloss over what other people notice because we are too busy basking in the glory of who this wonderful person has made themselves out to be. That is until it’s just the two of you and then the mood shifts. The lights dim and the person that was shining is now barely visible. The darkness they bring makes us question our sanity and our reality. The pretty words whispered in the dark and mental manipulation have us stuck, unable to speak honestly to friends and family because we committed to this. Because we said yes. Because we convinced ourselves that everything has to be all right and we’ve made sure everyone else thinks that way too.

The truth is, our friends and family may know already. They may have already addressed this with us. They may have already seen the shift and change in our demeanor, our words, and our actions. and they recognize that this isn’t a healthy change because they know us better than we wish they did at this particular moment in time.

By the time the warning signs are clear to us, it feels too late. it feels like being stuck inside some demented dream where as hard as you try, waking up doesn’t seem to be an option. Instead of admitting to everyone else (who would welcome us back with open arms) and ourselves (the admittedly harder of the two) that we were wrong, we lock the shackles ourselves and toss the key across the room. 

There are a lot of toxic people in this world, and I don’t necessarily blame them to an extent... we as a society are not (generally) taught how to feel, communicate, and live healthy emotional, responsive lives. Especially if you grew up in an unhealthy environment it means your entire learning experience was built in a state of emotional instability fostered by a severe lack of self-awareness. How would you know where to even begin? How would you know if you’re even doing anything wrong? 

Truth: you probably wouldn’t. The knee-jerk reaction to defend yourself when someone approaches you about their feelings as a result of something you did is instinctual, a survival mechanism that continues the cycle of toxicity within your behaviors as well as the relationships you enter into.

Relationships can be amazing for growth – someone comes in and shows us a mirror to expose all the toxic traits we exhibit and is like ‘Wake up mother fucker, you got shit to fix.’

And in reality…healthy or not, we all have things to keep working on and fix. Life is a constant adjustment period

Because in my life experience (in which I have only had the pleasure of experiencing the two most dramatic ends of the spectrum), I believe this can go one of two ways: one partner says ‘Oh yeah, you’re right. let me have a closer look at that mirror. it’s time to make some changes,’ while the other throws themselves a nice pity party and hunkers into a doomsday bunker like the whole world is out to get them. Then they get so comfortable in there that the thought of getting out wouldn’t just be the end of the world, but the end of everything they’ve ever known. Then they would have to admit that they are kind of a shitty person and look themselves in the face… and that’s a scary thought. 

I’m going to be real here: at the end of the day, we have all been a shitty person to someone or about something to some degree. Even if you are the best person in the world, you’ve had to learn and grow in some capacity. The difference is choosing self-awareness vs. choosing to stay stagnant. Sometimes that is what friends are for.

While I have slightly digressed, no one deserves this treatment. If you have been fighting tooth and nail to grow and be a better person every single day in a tough relationship, you have most likely outgrown your partner. Listen to those closest to you. Hear them out.

I cannot say enough how important friends are. They are a solid reason for support because they will see the waiving red flags long before you do. Especially if you are, like me, easily swayed by pretty words and attention from any man who might be willing to give it to you for five minutes. (Yes, I realize that might sound a little pathetic, but it’s true! I’m here to own it and also am 100% working on it.)

My point is that your circle of friends is going to know you. They will start to see your spiral. They will notice your change in behavior before you do. They will see the shift, the distance, or whatever else it may be. They will know something is wrong or off. They will come in as the knight in shining armor to confront you out of love and the safety of you.

Speaking from experience, when my best friend approached me about my ex, while it wasn’t the most graceful of approaches, I disregarded it and we ended up having a full fallout 6 months later. We have happily been reunited since then but that was a stressful time. I couldn’t understand what she saw because I wasn’t looking for it. I also didn’t think I deserved better so instead I justified the actions and behaviors of my then-partner. 

But she saw the change, she saw his possessive nature, and whether we were close or not at that point, she saw a change in me that didn’t feel right. She knew and acknowledged what I couldn’t at that point in my life.

This wasn’t just isolated to friends. My sisters saw it too and they were much more forward about it with me. Again, I was in denial because I just wanted to be loved. I wanted a certain life and I was willing to compromise myself and my happiness for it even when I knew it wasn’t right.

Today I like to think I’m a little more self-aware than that. that if my friends approached me about a situation, I would easily be able to say okay and re-evaluate what was going on in me and in the situation itself.

So, my advice to all those going through it, listen to your friends and family. If you trust them and if they know you, they seriously just want to help and want the best for you. They love you, more than someone who controls and manipulates ever will. They want your freedom while that other person wants you caged. 

There will always be lessons that have to be experienced to truly be learned, and one’s friends and family won’t be able to save you from. While the honesty provided by those closest to you may sometimes hurt, they love you and it will come with grace and care for the person that you are. 

If you are in one of these situations right now, struggling to get through another day. Fighting yourself and the person you love. Searching for hope while watching the security in your life slipping away. If you’ve heard the words from others, and if you have denied them to protect your ego, I want you to know I see you and I feel you. You are on the edge of a new beginning. The first thing you have to do is let go and embrace that it’s going to be okay. The care and self-awareness I hope you one day have for yourself will be carried by those closest to you until then (and I promise, they don’t mind).

12 life tips you forgot you needed (Part 4)

weeks later and we finally made it to part 4. the final pieces of life advice you forgot you needed, maybe never wanted, but found helpful anyway. I can’t wait for you to read the last 4 bits!

4. go forth and fail!

failure may be the most essential thing we have in our lives. without failure, we cease to be able to learn from experience and make strides.

all through school we are taught that an F on a paper or test is detrimental and can determine our ability to succeed in a class. for some people, this means getting held back. for others, it means their desire to strive forward halts and they accept that they are just a D student. and still, for other people, it motivates them to do better, however, I find that those people are few and far between.

we were not taught how to deal with failure. how to accept failure and how to view failure as a valuable asset in our lives.

Sarah Blakely, the founder of Spanx, talks about how her dad would ask her what she failed at every day when growing up. The only disappointment was if she hadn’t failed at anything. he instilled in them and taught them that failure is necessary. that so much can be learned from failing. he turned a negative word into positive action.

so I know this one isn’t easy. it’s rather difficult to even start to accept failure as a positive thing, but take a moment to see how that word makes you feel. does your heart rate increase? do you start to sweat? do you start to feel a little anxiety volcano bubbling at the pit of your stomach?

if any of these are the case, figure out why you feel the way you do about failure and then slowly, start to make the shift. with every failing moment, feel your feelings, and then immediately ask yourself how you can do better next time.

3. it’s not because you don’t want to, you might just not care enough about it

have you ever signed up for a class, started talking to a love interest, or started a new show everyone is raving about but feel your will and desire to keep it going is exhausting?

have you ever thought that maybe you just aren’t that into it? (or them?) and that’s okay?

a year and a half ago, I signed up for an online yoga instructor training so I could be yoga certified. I was excited to get a new certification, create new opportunities, and monetary income. as I made my way through the course, I was fascinated by all the teachings. it was fun to learn the poses. it was fun to do some live classes. it was fun learning new meditation techniques and how to cue. but when it got to the assignments that were due, I had ZERO drive or willpower to do them.

at first, I tried to commit myself to one a week. that felt reasonable. an hour a day should easily have had it done. but then that felt too hard. so, I thought okay, maybe one every two weeks. as this pushed on, I started to feel worse and worse. I started to feel like I was wasting the money I had spent on the program and like I couldn’t follow through with anything. (yes, I got dramatic)

it wasn’t until I had a conversation with my therapist and she said to me:

“Marissa, have you thought that maybe you just don’t want this? It’s okay to not finish everything. sometimes we try things and realize that we aren’t as into them as we thought. that’s okay.”

I looked at her and reminded her that I paid for the course. instantly I realized this was why I felt like I needed to finish it. I paid for it, so I have to finish it. I was able to recognize that as much as I love yoga, I love the practice of it for me rather than teaching it to other people.

this gentle reminder is still so helpful. what’s something that you’ve been trying to complete that your heart just hasn’t been into? take a moment to figure out why.

I want you to know, you don’t have to finish that and it’s okay that maybe, you just don’t care as much as you want to. there will be other things, but the fact that you tried is more than enough.

2. what if everything happens for you?

another rejection letter. another letdown. another heartache. another disappointment weaves its way into your life and you feel like nothing is ever going your way. or if it does, it’s only for a moment before it is ripped from you and you feel like you’re back in the bottom of a hole that feels impossible to get out of.

but what if that rejection letter was an opportunity? what if that letdown was a chance at something new? what if that heartache opened up possibilities? what if all these disappointments were altering your life for the better?

if we change the narrative to what is happening in our lives, it changes our life. we choose the way the story is told. yes, it is a choice. if you want it to be a woe-is-me victim story, then you can have it. but if you choose to see that that thing or person or opportunity wasn’t meant to be in your life. it will change everything.

I applied for a job not long ago as an assistant store manager for Vuori (a wonderful fitness apparel brand I love!). I went through two interviews and was not selected for the job.

at first, I was upset. this was a job I really wanted. the company is amazing, the people were awesome, and the atmosphere was somewhere I could see myself. when I got rejected, I was a little heartbroken.

my initial thought was ‘fuck, this day sucks.’

then, I accepted what was happening and chose to embrace it. in doing so I allowed myself to wallow through the night. tomorrow would be for making strides. I knew that there was a reason I didn’t get that job. it was going to have me taking on too much responsibility, taking away from the work I am aspiring toward.

then I heard this little voice in my head say Everything is Happening FOR You!

it was a moment of clarity that reminded me this wasn’t it. to take a moment and evaluate what was important. to understand the best way I could why this didn’t work out. but I had to start by accepting that this no was an absolute gift.

so next time something in your life doesn’t quite go as planned, unwanted circumstances come up, or an issue arises that catches you by surprise – remind yourself that maybe this is happening for you. maybe there is a lesson you need to learn. maybe there is a deep wound you need to heal. maybe there is something better for you out there.

but only if you change the narrative first.

1. be unapologetically yourself

there is a certain level of expectation to be a civilized person. to act a certain way in public and keep the rest to your home.

what do I say?

BE YOURSELF!

embrace you for who you are.

if you don’t like something about yourself, change it.

and don’t you dare ever apologize for being you. (please apologize if you cause emotional or physical pain to another person!) but we don’t spend enough time embracing our gifts and just being the person we want to be.

this is not an easy process and if you haven’t started it, it takes time. but do one thing every single day that brings you closer to who you are.

I no longer apologize when I run into people at the store. I say pardon me instead and I smile. I no longer hide my smile. I smile more. I no longer say yes to everything that comes my way. instead, I offer a thank you and then move on. I don’t get embarrassed when I dance like a buffoon during my group fitness classes, because that is who I am. I will sing out loud sometimes when I work out because it feels good. I will compliment someone if they look good or are wearing something I like.

these are all small things I love about myself and I have learned to embrace and share through the years.

I believe there is a fear, that if we show people exactly who we want to be, the projected judgment from those closest to us stops us in our tracks. it’s easier to be that person with strangers first. but if the people closest to you care about you, they will support your changes and embrace the better version of you, the you you want to be.

you are a kickass rockstar. you are amazing. and I love who you are right now in this moment!

go forth and just be unapologetically you, because that person is pretty fucking awesome.

I hope some of these life tip reminders resonated with you in some way! you are a glorious gift and have so much to offer.

email me and tell me what you think, what resonated for you, or if you have advice you would like to offer to lovealway.me.love@gmail.com I can’t wait to hear your takeaways and any advice you have for people too.

love always,

            Riss

it’s okay

someone accidentally reminded me recently that it’s okay if life isn’t perfect.

sometimes I get caught up in the flow of what I try to represent and I forget it’s okay to show that I am, yes, also human. I struggle and suffer. there are days when getting up on my feet to get to the next thing feels impossible.

I have moments of doubt about what my life is and where it’s going. I have days where I struggle more heavily with my body image. I spend days questioning if my words are worth anything. days where I am stuck in my head. days where I project all my deepest insecurities onto others. I have days that can just totally suck.

it’s like being in a boxing ring, a place I have never been nor particularly desire to go to. all these heartaches and momentary struggles feel like I’ve been caged in a fight I didn’t ask for. a battle I have already lost but am still expected to keep going. the hits keep coming even when I am on the ground, bleeding, bruised, and broken. I watch the ref circle the ring, pressuring me to stand back up. the crowd chanting words I can’t make out because the ringing in my ears is too loud. I feel the weight of the champion staring me down, eyes glowing, beaming the words I dare you into my soul. and when I connect with that champion, I realize it is my own reflection. my own eyes staring back at me. stronger than I am capable of being right then.

I want to sit here and tell you all the things I do to pull myself out of this state in those moments, but there are some days I simply can’t. those are the days the best thing I can do is curl in a ball and get lost in movies and books. find peace in limited contact and isolation. let go of should’s and could’s and just allow me to be with me. on days like this, I can’t always face myself. so I keep my head down. I allow it to be a recovery day, so I can stand back up tomorrow stronger. fighting in solidarity with the incredible woman standing across from me instead of against her.

we aren’t made perfect. we aren’t made to live on a constant life high. we were made to be just as we are. we are not just intelligent beings, but we are emotional ones too. we have to give ourselves the grace to feel whatever is moving through us or getting back up will never get easier.

it’s okay to not know what to do. it’s okay to feel lost. it’s okay to take time to figure it out. and on those extra hard days, when facing yourself and everyone around you feels impossible, it’s okay to not do a thing.

we don’t stay here forever, but some days, it’s okay.

love always,

            Riss