A Letter to My Ninth-Grade Self

Dear 14 year old Lauren,

                Hey there. Long time, no see. I’ll be honest – I haven’t thought about you much in the past few years. I’ve always believed that it was more important to keep my eyes towards the future, constantly moving forward. But this year has taught me that sometimes, it’s necessary to glance back at the past. If you’re lucky, you’ll be thrilled with the progress that’s been made and the puzzle pieces that have fallen into place. Most of the time, the road in your rearview mirror will be peppered with smiles and regret. And at the worst, you’ll learn and gain perspective.

                That being said, I have some advice for you. I know, I know, I seem like the last person who should be offering guidance; but believe me, no one knows your future better than I do.

                You’ll walk in on your first day of high school with stars in your bright eyes and a cold, hard knot of apprehension in your belly. You’ll take your seat in homeroom, look around at the faces you’ve known for years, and sigh in relief. You’re back in your comfort zone, and suddenly that deep well of self-confidence that your mother instilled in you doesn’t seem quite so far away.

                Get used to being out of your element. Be prepared to be stripped of everything familiar to you and to be plopped down in the middle of foreignness that will be more frightening and brilliant than anything you’ve ever experienced. The moments you’ll remember most will be the ones that challenged you to branch out beyond what is comfortable.

                You’ll sail through your high school classes with ease. US History? What a breeze. Geometry? No problem. The A’s will keep piling up, because anything less is simply not an option. That perfectionist attitude will be a gnat that constantly buzzes in your ear, reminding you to succeed (or else). There are things going on in your life that you can’t control – but your grades and intelligence are definitely not in that category.

                Prepare for failure. Become comfortable with the idea that not every endeavor will result in a gold star. I can assure you that once you break free from the safe bubble of your hometown, the things that you aren’t great at will seem to completely overwhelm the things that you are talented in. And that’s okay! You will fall on your face more times than you can count – and more importantly, you will get back up every time.

                It won’t take long for you to realize that this is not an ideal world, and people aren’t as nice as you had hoped. You’ll be generous to friends who may not be so kind in return. In response, you’ll cut and trim your list of confidantes down to a select few, and while you’ll keep that smile on your face at all times, you’ll also keep up an impenetrable wall.

                Don’t be afraid to feel. Don’t be so skeptical and cynical that you miss out on someone or something unforgettable. Opening yourself up will never be easy – but it is possible, and it is necessary. I can tell you from experience that the people you least expect will be the ones to surprise you. And those that surprise you will most likely be the ones who will change your life.

                You are going to face things during the next few years that no one should have to endure. As you go from doctor to doctor, your spirit will be strong, but one thought will reverberate in the back of your mind: “This isn't fair.” You’ll grow your hair out long to cover up that straight, pink line that goes down your spine, and whenever anyone asks you how you’re doing, your response will always be the same: “I've been better, but I’m doing alright.”

                It doesn't get easier, but you will get stronger. I wish I could say that I know what lies at the end of this road, but I don’t. What I do know is that one day, we will both look back and find a silver lining. Do not be ashamed of your trials and display your marks with pride; a warrior is always proud of her battle scars. This part of your life will be integrated into your character for as long as you live. Resilience and courage will be so interwoven with your soul that you will hold your chin a little higher with every passing day.

                I know that you have the tendency to get a little stressed out. I know that sometimes, when things aren’t going as planned, you feel like everything is falling apart. I get it. But here’s the thing – as much as this sounds like a bad Hallmark card, you are blessed beyond measure. Take the shades of fastidiousness and ambition off of your eyes every once in a while, and take in the light that surrounds you.

                Hug your family a little tighter. Pray a little longer. Take some time to read that book you’ve always wanted to. When a job needs to be done, do it. Pick up the phone when someone seems to be on your heart. Look around at the slice of heaven you’re in and breathe it all in. Live.

                You won’t regret it. See you soon.

Yours, quite literally,

                19-year old Lauren

A Leap of Faith

To be honest, I don't know why I'm writing this. Or why I'm putting this out for others to read. It's been a long time coming.

Normally, these blog posts come after I've felt some kind of resolution. Another semester at UNC under the belt? I write about how I've grown. A summer that ended too soon? I write about the bittersweet experience of leaving something behind for even greater opportunities. "Hopefully the last" surgery recovery period almost complete? I write about how I've gotten through. Once the curtain has closed and loose ends are tied, I feel satisfied and confident and inspired enough to put things into words and hope that someone reads them. Predictability. It's just my style.

So why write now? When things are the messiest they've been in awhile and I have no clue which way I'm going? I have no idea. But here we are.

Maybe it's because I keep feeling - and feeling, and feeling, and feeling - so many emotions, all at once, overwhelmingly, or sometimes feel nothing at all, and this is the best way for me to process things.

Things like frustration. Frustration at the fact that the road to health I've been on for over four years now doesn't seem to have an end that I can see. Frustration that the treatments never seem to cease, and that each one gets my hopes up, only for them to plummet back to Earth. Frustration because it's been awhile since I've felt God's tangible presence in my life. Frustration that so many people I allow myself to get close to end up disappointing me in some way.

Guilt. Guilt because there are people out there in drastically worse situations that have a better outlook than I do. Guilt stemming from how I always feel the need to be stronger, more optimistic, more determined. Guilt from knowing, deep down, that I've been putting up a wall between myself and God, even though I've denied it.

Restlessness. Like I'm spinning my wheels and going nowhere. Restless, torn between wanting to go out and see the world and never wanting to leave the comfort of my home. Restless and scared that I've yet to set concrete plans for my future.

Fear. Fear that the resolution I so eagerly desire won't come any time soon. Fear that the success I crave is unattainable. Fear that I'll slowly lose touch of myself and become someone so cynical that I won't recognize her.

So why am I displaying the skeletons in my closet when I'd normally do anything but? My closest friends joke around with me and say that I'm "the most unemotional female they've met", in the sense that I always let my head rule over my heart. Yet here I am, writing about the things I'm the most vulnerable about.

Maybe it's because I know how it feels to try and put up a front because it's the socially acceptable thing to do, and I know how many people in my life tend to do the same thing. Maybe it's because I want it to be known that I haven't really been myself lately, but I'm determined to come back.

Because in the midst of all this madness, my life is still peppered with blessings. They come in the form of a friend's phone call, right when I need it the most. Or in a long, tight hug from my sister, right when I'm worried that she's growing up and I'm missing it. In my mother, who heals my broken heart when hers is breaking as well. In my roommate, who can almost always look at me and tell when something's wrong. And in those moments that, like a comet, blind me with how blazingly beautiful and passionate they are, even if they don't last.

I'm not perfect. Through the course of writing this, I almost chickened out and closed the window. I haven't published it yet, so I still might.

I'm far from resolution. I'm far from being able to look back at this and write my usual neat, tidy blog post. In fact, this one is probably as all over the place as I am. But here's the beautiful thing - one day, I WILL be able to. I'll be able to realize how the pieces fell into place. I'll look up to the sky, laugh, and say, "Sorry, God. Shoulda known you had it under control". My testimony, which is currently resembling the composure of this entry, will fall into place, too. And it'll be ready and waiting for someone to hear who's in the middle of their own chaos. It's worth waiting for. It's worth persevering for. And I can't wait!

"It's rarely the easy, comfortable times that God's doing good. Every time God's doing something amazing in my heart, it's when everything is falling around me."

- Mike Donehey, Tenth Avenue North