Progress is Not Linear

I willingly made and ate oatmeal several times.
 And I still dislike it....

“Progress is not linear.”  I believe that.  I have experienced that.  I have seen it to be true in other peoples’ lives.  I am living that. 

This past month, I have eliminated the majority of added sugar in my diet.  I was not overly strict about it and I did not limit fruit or most dairy items.  But I did successfully stay away from all the treats – cake, cookies, chocolate, ice cream, donuts, sugary coffee drinks and cocktails.  I also made some substitutions, like instead of vanilla or key lime yogurt, I had nonfat, plain yogurt.  This was not always easy.  It revealed how much my social life intersects with food and that sometimes making good choices consequently causes other people to experience guilt and shame.  When I would take the kids I nanny to get ice cream, quite frankly, it was not fun to sit and watch them eat it.  And yet, I was surprised how it was not nearly as hard as I thought.  I did not dream about sweet treats or feel the need to have a cheat day.  While making this diet and lifestyle change has not magically transformed my body or melted pounds away, it is a good step toward the healthy life I desire to have.

Evaluating progress is difficult for people like me who tend to view things with an “all-or-nothing” mindset.  I see these self-sabotaging behaviors in myself.  For example, one evening at the gym, I decided to get a smoothie from the gym smoothie bar.  I looked at the different options and picked one that listed various fruits, whey protein powder, and added some greens.  As I took the first sip, I immediately thought “this is too sweet – there must be additional sugar in here.”  At that point, it was too late and I drank it anyway.  Initially, I was upset that I had consumed all this sugar without even intending to.  But then I decided to let myself off the hook.  Drinking that smoothie was not going to harm me (especially given how much sugar I used to eat on a regular basis without thinking twice about it!).  I was still valuing my health by trying to make a healthy, informed decision and this did not mean I couldn’t continue to strive to eliminate sugar.

Another area that I am learning to have grace with myself is with anxiety and worry.  About 6 years ago, I began struggling with anxiety and panic attacks.  At first, I thought that with the right resources in place, I could get a handle on it.  I assumed that once I began counseling or found the right medication combination, I would get progressively better.  That is not what happened.  Things became a lot worse before they got better.  Even then, the “getting better” was not a nice arrow up.  It was more of a curvy, wavy line that kinked in a few spots, but on the whole, was inching upward.  It took many different counseling experiences, visits to various healthcare providers, tinkering with medications (and ultimately, no medication at all), and a lot of patience, grace, and support from family and friends.  Today, I am a lot better.  It is night and day from where I was, and yet I even now, I go to counseling.  Even now, I have days that feel completely overwhelming and out-of-control.  But I have learned that one panic attack or one difficult day does not erase all the steps that have brought me to this better place.

If you are struggling through something, take heart.  Give yourself credit where credit is do.  For the places that you still have a ways to go, let yourself take baby steps.  I have this new practice where at the end of the week, I write down things I am proud of and areas where I have been brave.  That is how I give myself a pep talk to tackle the week ahead.  Maybe I did not do everything I had intended to do.  Maybe I did not make it to the gym the three times I had hoped.  Maybe I missed someone’s birthday or was late responding to a pressing email.  Maybe the laundry is still sitting in the dirty pile on the floor and my car remains unwashed.  But at least for a few moments, I force myself to look at what I was able to do.  I sent out Mother’s Day cards to a lot of incredible women.  I spoke my truth to a friend, even though it was really difficult.  I went to the gym two times and cooked dinner more times than not.  I spent time catching up with a friend who I haven’t talked to in awhile.  I finally wrote a new blog J

Hang in there.  Slowly but surely, you are making progress, my friend, and that is something to be proud of.

Christmas in the Midst of Chaos

It's true.  I love Christmas.  Pretty much all things Christmas.  I am a strong advocate for decorations, and putting your tree up as soon a possible in order to maximize the number of days you get to plug it in and marvel at its beauty....the twinkling lights, the nostalgia of ornaments, the pine tree smell.  I love that baking becomes 110% acceptable the whole month of December.  It's December 9?  Okay, let's bake some cookies!  I love cozying up with a blanket and cup of coffee with a book or a journal.  I love holiday movies and specials, and making crafts and cards.  I love giving gifts and wrapping presents, and those rare moments when you remember EXACTLY the perfect gift to get someone....something you happened across months before, and just happened to remember at just the right time.  I love that the frequency of mail increases, and that even the most digital, technology-forward people will buy postage stamps and send out Christmas cards.

And yet, there is still this underlying reality of our fallen, broken world that even the tastiest cookies and best Christmas music cannot overcome.  I watch a close friend grieve the death of her mom.  I catch just thirty minutes of news at the gym, and can hardly believe this is the world we live in.  My heart breaks for all the people in the hospital, as their loves ones just live moment by moment, a few stories I know, and so many that I do not.  I reflect on my own struggles, a recent recurrence of anxiety, and wondering where I will find the strength and courage to face this reality once more.

My solace and hope has come from observing Advent, and being loved and known by my people.  Advent is a time of preparation, and has been such a fruitful and grounding experience for me.  A daily exercise is reminding myself that this life is not my own, and that my hope cannot be in this world, as it will fail me every time.  To recognize God's orchestration and His coming to dwell among us, and to marvel at the work of His hand, His timing, and His faithfulness.

This passage from Waiting Here for You: An Advent Journey of Hope, resonated with me:

"All of us are waiting n something, often wondering if God has forgotten us.  In your waiting, let the birth of Christ encourage you.  Just because God hasn't come through (as far as you can see), it doesn't mean He has abandoned you.  To Him a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.  This very minute He's working for His glory and for your good.  Though circumstances say otherwise, God is going to come through, on schedule, fulfilling His long-appointed plans for you.  Don't give up before the time is right."

I ask myself, where do these two intersect?  Can I have both - the childlike, lightheaded celebration and wonder and awe that is Christmas, with the current state of affairs in my small community, as well as the global one?  I say yes.  I say yes, because Christ came to Earth exactly for the things that break my heart, and it is still worth celebrating, even two thousand years later.  Sure, there are many new traditions that have nothing to do with the birth of Christ, but getting caught up in legalism seems the worst way to celebrate, and the best way to suck joy and life from the spaces you occupy.

The older I get, the more I cherish this time of year versus Christmas day.  It is not about presents anymore.  It's the time of year when you see a post on Facebook about sending Christmas cards to an 8-year-old girl who was the sole survivor of arson.  It's when you make it a point to bring people together - whether to bake cookies or have a party or exchange gifts.  It's a time to reconnect and to reminisce.  It's about going home, or making a home in exactly the place you are in.  It's a time when there just seems to be some extra I love you's floating about, and a little more compassion.

It's not perfect, and it doesn't always bring out the best in us. I know many people dread this time of year.  But take heart, and don't give up before the time is right.  People living before the coming of Christ waited hundreds of years in great anticipation for His coming.  Maybe this year say no to a few more things, so that you can enjoy the things you say yes to.  Give something to someone you ordinarily would not.  Send a few cards.  Bake some cookies.  Light your favorite candle.  Drive by some lights.  Focus on being present.

May God be near to you this Christmas.

With Love,
Alyssa

Embracing the Seasons

I am overdue for a blog post.  There's nothing like a rainy, blustery day to put on some music and curl up on the couch to write.  It is one of the many blessings of this season of life.  I have every Friday off.  How great is that?  It's not even 10 o'clock and I have whipped up some sugar cookie dough for some fall cookie decorating later with friends.  I have already grabbed myself a nonfat latte, and went to the grocery store.  Not bad, not bad.

If you have had a conversation with me in the past few months, I have probably used the word season numerous times.  Talking about this present season, past seasons, the changing of the seasons to come.  I find a lot of comfort in the entire concept that surrounds seasons.  I love that anticipation of the seasons to come.  I love the memories of seasons that have passed.  And probably most of all, I love that seasons are temporary, but they cycle.  They leave you, but they come back.  Not quite in the same way, but they are not gone forever.  (Although if you live in California, it does seem like summer is lasting forever!!)

I had dinner with a friend of a friend last night.  It was a wonderful unexpected surprise - I got an email from her on Sunday, where she explained she had recently gotten together with my friend, Lindsey.  She wrote:

When she shared about you and your story, I though that I had to meet you.

For me, there really is no higher praise.  I was touched and eager to meet this individual.  And so last night, we exchanged stories over gourmet pizza and bananas foster.  We talked and talked and talked.  We laughed.  We shared the deepest parts of our hearts.  And then as we walked out of the restaurant, we both expressed we knew this was only the beginning.  As I sent my signature "post-hang out text," she replied: I am glad our paths finally collided.

Something came alive in me last night.  Revisiting the past of how Imani came to be, how God has really been doing something big within my heart for a long time....suddenly, the place I am in now (recently quitting my nursing job, moving back to Seattle, nannying again, trying to figure out exactly what I am supposed to be doing)....it didn't seem strange at all.  It seemed predictable.  I found myself thinking, Well of course I left my nursing job.  In nursing school, I questioned whether nursing was the right fit for me, but I continued on because that was the plan.  It was the only plan.  I didn't have a plan B.  There was so much freedom in realizing I am being more true to myself in this season than I have ever been in my life.

She reminded me that who I am is not limited to a nurse, or someone who started a nonprofit.  Those are parts of me, yes, but I am so much more, and to give space and time and energy to those hibernating parts of me is life-giving.  What are the things that I love?  What energizes me?  What do I want to learn?  How do I use the things I am passionate about to love and serve others?  This season is all about answering those questions, and living in spite of knowing all the answers.  Of giving myself permission to not know.

7 Things I Love About Fall

1. The leaves changing on the trees.  We have a big, beautiful tree right in front of our house, and every day, I marvel at the vibrant colors.

2. Cozy.  Cozy everything.  Getting cozy with Ruby watching Inside Out.  Cozy clothes and blankets and making cozy spaces.

3. The crisp air in the morning.

4. Hot beverages.  Okay, let's be honest, I can't remember the last time I ordered a cold beverage....I'm just a hot drink kind of girl.  But they seem to be aplenty during the fall.  And just for the record, I think Pumpkin Spice Lattes are gross.

5. Baking.  Especially things like Harvest Loaf Cake or cookies to put in care packages.

6. Harvest of Hope.  Yes, it is probably the reason my hair is falling out, but I am really excited for it.  I love that Imani events have the feeling of a reunion, a wonderful celebration that brings people together.

7. The decorations.  I am not a big Halloween person, but I do love fall decor.  Pumpkins, leaves, wreaths, candles - yes, please!!

Happy Fall!!

Anxiety.

I thought about various other titles - ones that were not quite as straightforward, ones that seemed to sugarcoat the topic a bit.  But there it is.  Anxiety.  This post is about anxiety, and I do want to give into the guilt about writing that.

It always seemed a bit much to share on the Internet.  The last thing I wanted was more people who meant well, giving me advice via the comment section.  There is something about typing out a thought that makes us think we can say anything, without considering the consequences.  We don't have to see or hear how people on the receiving end react, and as a result, our words can come across in a million ways other than how we intended.

But if we can share our ultrasound pictures, news of a cancer diagnosis, the things that make us laugh, cry, smile, and get angry for all to see, then perhaps this story has a place too.  I am tired of the lie that you must have your life completely together, and that anything less is shameful.  I wish people reacted to mental illness in the same way they react to other illnesses, with prayers, with support, with GoFundMe accounts, with T-shirts.  That would be the true sign that the stigma has been lifted.  We still have a ways to go.

Some of you may be thinking, what is she even talking about??  I want to share a little bit about my own struggles, in the hopes that maybe someone out there needs to hear this.  That maybe someone else can read this and say to themselves, I thought I was the only one.  My friend, you are not alone.  I know that does not fix the problem, and yes, the road is painful and ridden with obstacles.  But there is hope.

When I was in college, I began to have panic attacks.  At first, I did not really know what was going on, and just attributed it to stress.  I attempted to get more sleep, exercise more, and decrease stress levels as best as I could, but my efforts were in vain.  The panic attacks intensified in frequency and quality, to the point where it became difficult to function in the most basic sense.  With the encouragement of a friend, I sought out both medical and psychological help.  Without going into the many details, the three years that followed were incredibly difficult.

I began counseling.  I had a counselor tell me that I was "hurting her heart" and she started crying during the session.  I got a new counselor.  Then it was summer so I had to get another one.  I ended up seeing 5 different individuals, each time having to start at square one, telling my story again, trying to build trust and rapport.  

Therapy alone was not helping the symptoms.  I was having panic attacks almost daily.  Performing basic tasks, like going to class or eating a meal, was becoming difficult, and the people around me were frightened and concerned.  I made the difficult decision to start medication, though I knew it would take weeks to even know if it was effective, and worse, knowing it may get worse before it gets better.  It took about 2 years to find the right drug combination that helped more than it hurt.

As the weeks turned into months, my anxiety gave way to depression.  Constantly feeling like the world was crumbling apart, night after night of panic attacks - the hyperventilating, the chest pain, the nausea, the crippling fears, the thoughts in my head telling me I was not worth it and People would be better off without me.  Eventually, I started cutting - as a physical release of the deep emotional pain.  I was becoming the person I read about in my psychology book.  I was becoming the person I just could never before understand.  I was hitting rock bottom.

In the midst of all this, I was in nursing school.  In a lot of ways, life continued on - just a double life that became almost normal.  It was an awful normal, but somehow, day after day, I trudged along.  I owe a lot of that to my friends.  Patient, loving, grace-filled friends who did not know what to do for me other than love me and be there.  It is hard to express my gratitude to those people who were there, sacrificing their own emotional energy, sleep, study time, to ensure my safety.  To ensure that I had just enough hope to propel me to the next morning.

This is the reality of mental illness.  I never thought it would be me.  Never.  And then it came into my life, and turned my world upside down.  Everything changed.

I really cannot exactly pinpoint how things got better.  It was multi-faceted, what I believe to be a combination of finishing nursing school, starting Imani, getting on medications that helped, and finding a therapist who was really good at what she did.  And the answer to the prayers of many people over a long period of time.  Over time, I no longer needed therapy or medication to function, though I know they are still available should I need them again.  I used to have so much shame about that - being on psych meds, going to therapy.  But it is the reality.  And if I ever hope to see a world without stigma, then I must do my part in being honest and open too.

Things are a lot better three years later, and I am grateful that anxiety is not a part of my daily life.  Yet it is still something I struggle with.  It did not magically disappear, and I still have to face the monster.  Sharing my story has helped.  I still have issues with guilt and shame, but each time I share about it, I take away some of their power.

For whoever needs to hear this, it is okay to not be okay.  It is okay to struggle, even if it has been the same struggle for a long time.  It does not define who you are, but it does shape who you are becoming.  God can redeem it to be a beautiful part of your story.

Waves & Wonderings

I have lost count the number of times I have tried to write this blog.  Normally, I have so much to say, to the point where I mentally write out passages to later transfer to a page.  But I find myself frustrated that I have very little to say.  It is not that things haven’t been happening, or that I am not having a great time here in Kenya.  Yet, this trip is different.  The sights, the sounds, the people – so much is becoming familiar.  In fact, when I share with people that I have been to Kenya five times now, a common response is “now you are a Kenyan.”  Of course, that is pretty far from the truth, but maybe it does shed some light on a transition that is happening.  I think maybe I am transitioning into something new.  I no longer feel like a tourist, and just “seeing” a bunch of things no longer is enough.  I long for deepened relationships.  I long to be part of the solution, and not just another person witnessing the slums.  I want so badly to truly know and understand this community, yet I don’t feel that I am supposed to move here.  It feels a lot like limbo, the in-between.

At the risk of sounding prestigious, it was difficult for me to come to the coast for vacation.  I am not anti-vacation, and going to the coast in California has always been a relaxing and rejuvenating time.  But the sudden change of scenery – from walking through one of the world’s largest slums on Monday, to arriving at a beautiful, oceanfront resort on Tuesday was confusing.  I keep replaying questions in my head – Is this okay?  What would my Kenyans friends think?  Is spending money on massages and snorkeling selfish, when it could be invested in fighting poverty?  If I am enjoying myself, does that mean I don’t care?  I keep thinking – why is it so hard to go back and forth and seemingly effortless when I am at home?  Maybe it is because when I physically come to Kenya, I see my purpose as living out the mission of Imani.  Restore hope through health.  It is difficult to see how sitting here on the beach is fulfilling that mission.

Then I gaze out into the ocean.  Tears welling up in my eyes.  My only response is to say “God I feel you.”  The ocean does that for me.  The crashing waves into the shore.  Over and over again.  Day and night.  Sun and storm.  When I am awake to stare at it in awe, and when I am asleep.  I have struggled with guilt my whole life.  Guilt and shame.  And somehow even in this beautiful, calm, heaven-like place, the emotions that have plagued me over and over strike again. 

The ocean is frightening and inspiring.  Powerful, yet calm.  Intimidating, yet inviting.  Similar to my Heavenly Father, the one who gives and takes away, the author and creator, the beginning and the end.  I think when I am here, in Kenya, I expect to feel a certain way.  To respond to encounters in a certain way.  There is this expectation that the experience is going to be life-changing, the way it has been in the past and some.  That’s a lot of pressure for a trip.  I keep asking, God, what is it that I am supposed to take away from this?  Well, that is the mature version – the questioning normally sounds more like why is this sad thing not making me cry?  Why don’t I have a collection of dramatic and amazing tales to share?  And then I hear myself.  And I question why am I insisting on making this all about me?

I am reading this book about the life of Jesus, and the author is quick to point out the historical and Biblical evidence of his humanity.  He says it much better than this, but in essence – Jesus walked, talked, slept, ate, learned, cried, laughed, got sick, etc.  I guess I have not spent a lot of time thinking about Jesus doing very ordinary things.  I tend to think of Jesus’ life as being one of performing miracles – healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, turning water into wine, multiplying the fish and the bread.  And yet, more than likely, the majority of Jesus’ life was nothing special (at least by our standards).  It was rather ordinary, mundane even.  But it mattered.  There were seasons to his existence, in the same way there are seasons in my own life.

So as the sun sets, and the waves roar on, I thank God for these quiet moments, these ordinary but precious days, and the chance to be still.  To sleep.  To eat.  To laugh.  To gaze.  To stand in wonder and awe.  To watch the tide go out and come back again.  All before my life drastically changes.  These are the days the Lord has made, full of moments – some miraculous, some mundane, but all full of meaning.

Lord, help me to be still and know you are God.

Pushing the Mountains

It's challenging to adequately sum up my experiences thus far in Kenya.  Sure, I can post photos, and tell short anecdotes, but there is just something about being here.  Being with the people.  Laughing together.  Learning from each other.  Sharing a meal.  Hearing stories.  And dreaming big.

Today, Laura and I walked all around Kibera.  You may have heard of Kibera.  It is one of the largest slums - definitely in Africa, and potentially in the entire world.  It is hard to get an exact number of the population, but those living and working there say it is close to 1.5 million people living in around 2.5 square kilometers.  When I was seeking out potential new partner clinics for Imani last year, I did not necessarily have any preference in terms of what slum they operated in.  I was more focused on finding a partner that was passionate about the community they served, provided health services, and was Kenyan born and raised.  I found that in Andrew, and in our partner, Makina Clinic.

Walking around with Andrew is kind of like walking alongside a celebrity.  He knows everyone.  He phone is always ringing.  He speaks to people in their mother tongue, as he knows 7 languages.  I told Laura it was like walking around the slum with Jesus - Andrew's heart for people is so big, and even though he had many opportunities to get out of Kibera, where he was born, he continues to stay and invest.  He is a dreamer, and hearing his passion and vision is contagious.

Today, he said "We (Kenyans) are stubborn.  We push the mountains."

He followed that up with "Alyssa....she is stubborn too."

Pushing the mountains.  What a great picture of what it feels like sometimes - trying to address such monumental issues, sometimes feeling that your efforts carry little to no weight.  There are times I do get discouraged - like when I heard about a cholera outbreak that occurred just a few weeks before I was to come to Kenya.  I felt helpless and defeated.  Sure, you can treat cholera.  With extensive fluid resuscitation, cholera does not have to be a death sentence.  Yet the epidemiology of cholera - where it came from - those issues are much more complicated to address.  Lack of clean water.  High population density.  Little to no sanitation system.  Families of 10 living in a small room.  How can one even begin to address these facts?  How can a small non-profit run by volunteers make a difference?

But I thank God for days like today.  Days were I am refueled, re-energized, and ready to fight.  To dream.  To push the mountain.  I refuse to believe that the situation is hopeless.  Just because I cannot help everyone does not mean I should walk away from the opportunity to help someone.  People matter.  One child rescued from being abandoned in the sewer matters.  One young woman who grew up in the slums, witnessed the horrors of Garissa, and is pursuing nursing matters.  One young man who used to rob people at gunpoint who now helps children with their homework matters.  One widow who now takes ARVs and encourages others to do the same matters.  And supporting those who are here, on the ground, doing this work, is a privilege and an honor.

So I will press on, as I continue to day-by-day discern the calling that God has placed on my life.  I won't give up.  I will push mountains.

Paradox

I find Kenya to be something of a paradox.  It is a place of immense beauty – the greenery, the flowers, the friendly & hospitable people, the spirit of perseverance, the widespread hope.  And yet, it can be a place of despair – the extensive poverty, the wide gap between the have’s and the have not’s, the devastation of disease, the lack of infrastructure, the widows and the orphans.  Just as in America, it is not either or.  It is both.  Good and bad.  Joy and sorrow.  Beautiful and ugly. 

It is my fifth time here.  I still am a foreigner and a tourist by most accounts, and I will always be a mzungu (white person/Westerner).  Yet there are moments when I am acutely aware of how my coming back matters.  My Kiswahili is very minimal, yet even speaking a few words instantly breaks down barriers.  I am better able to recognize and articulate cultural norms, and tend to see more similarities with the Kenyans I meet than differences.  Sometimes I stare at the world on a map and think of how there are so many places in the world that I want to visit.  And then I think how will that ever happen when I am always saving my time and resources for another trip to Kenya.  This is a selfish view, of course – one that is focused more on a bucket list than on God’s calling or building relationships.  Luckily, every time I return to Kenya, God changes my heart, and gives me renewed eyes.  I regain the ability to see His hand at work, and my small role in it. 

 

I realize taking on the mantra “small things, great love” or “dream big” runs the risk of becoming cliché.  Yet I find both of those phrases to be more than just a nice saying or something to put on a T-shirt.  In the grand scheme of things, the work Imani is doing in Kenya is small.  We are not eradicating diseases, alleviating poverty, or providing clean water.  Yet in our few days here, we have witnessed how small things can change the course of one’s life.  One of the boys who was given the task of killing Andrew, the founder/director of Makina clinic, was offered the chance to have a life outside of drugs and violence.  He ended up being our “bouncer,” showed us around Nairobi city centre, and works at the clinic as security.  We met a lady who is one of the home-care clients at Makina.  She is a widow, cares for 8 children, and is HIV+, but has been doing well on ARVs (anti-retrovirals, treatment for HIV) and makes a small income selling groundnuts.  One of the children we met at the Children’s Home was found in a sewer, but is now clothed, fed, and taken care of.  The trajectory of these individuals’ lives, and many others like them, are not small things.  By supporting places like Makina, Imani plays a role in these stories.

I am blessed to be here.  There are challenges, yes, but ones that I will gladly take on to be able to express to our partners and friends that we value the work they do and desire to have a relationship.  Sure, it is not easy to travel all the way over here, to arrange housing and transportation, to become accustomed to the time change, the food, the culture – but it really is the only way to live out the “partnership” part of our mission.  We often say we desire to “come alongside” the Kenyans, and it means something to physically be here.  To stand next to them.  To walk the roads they walk.  To eat the foods they eat.  To laugh together.  To share.  To pray.  To love.

To all of you following this, and to all of those supporting Imani, I say Asanta sana, Kiswahili for “thank you very much.”