Why I Hate People

It's official. I said this blog was coming, so now it is. The "Why I Hate People" blog. I recognize that "hate" is a strong word, but if I used the word "disappointed" you may think me self-righteous, so frankly, that's why I'm not using THAT word.

Given the title, obviously, this blog will state some things that are negative, so if you're sensitive in heart, perhaps you ought to hit that little "X" in the corner of the screen and YouTube some more kitten videos, because after writing this, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Because I don't hate kittens. I don't hate babies. I don't even hate vegetables. But very often I DO hate people. People can be downright terrible.

My mother, bless her heart, has a history of falling down. It's some nerve thing in her leg, she thinks, but it's the reason I encourage her not to lose too much weight. She hasn't broken anything severely, yet, but I know if she were skin and bones and continued to fall as much as she does, it wouldn't be long before it was the hip fracture that did her in. (I make her sound terribly old. She's not old. She has an active job as a physical therapist, and travels the world for fun in her free time. She just keeps tripping herself up!)

Yesterday, walking independently down a busy road, without her cell phone, mind, my mother took another fall. "Face-planted" she describes it, a good mile away from home. She fell, rolled over, and sat, convinced she may have broken her patella, due to the pain she was feeling. Eventually she dragged herself to her feet, and, tears streaming down her face, walked/dragged herself the mile back home. "It was ugly," she reported.

This happened on a busy road. Hundreds of cars streaming past, and not a one of them stopped. Psychologically, this can be explained through Bystander Effect, but it still sucks, because it was MY mother, and no one cared enough to see if she was alright, or if they could drive her back home.

I understand that people have fears about helping strangers. I get that. I, myself, have been burned from helping others - ever since that one time I picked up a woman near the bank, who asked if I could give her a lift to the hospital. Of course, sweet old me, I picked her up and drove her there. She then proceeded to ask for money from me, to pay her copay. I gave her money, she got out of my car, and then, before I'd even driven away, started walking back towards the bank.

 I get that helping strangers can be hard. It can be risky. But a stranger who face-plants it in front of you? A stranger who is literally crying and limping down the road? She's obviously not manipulating anybody. Why don't you help her? What's the worst thing that happens? She snaps at you, because she's in pain, and tells you that she's fine, and doesn't need your stinkin' help? She takes you up on the offer to drive her home, and then decides that she might need to go to the hospital instead, and it takes an hour of your time out of a busy Saturday?

And you know, it's not just Bystander Effect that makes me hate people. I hate people because they're manipulative. It's the people who are your "friends" who try to make you buy the things that will make you live longer, get skinnier, run faster - but really all it is they're selling you is salt water, overpriced vitamins, and mint oil bandaids - all overpriced, to line their pyramid scheme pockets. (Sorry, multi-marketing plan.) If I get one more group invitation to a jewelry "party," I just might go, and verbally rake the crap out of them.

I hate people because they don't have integrity. They say they're one thing, and believe a certain way, but they don't act on it. It's the politicians, and the "religious" people who say, "We'll stop abortion," or "Love one another," but then never politically DO anything, or in the religious scenario, find new and interesting ways to despise their neighbor - be it calling them perverts, socialists, mocking or saying they "deserve" their misfortunes, or putting their own preferences above the needs of others, because they believe that they alone are "right."

I hate people because the only things people care about are the things that are "popular." Truth doesn't matter, anymore, if it will make you uncomfortable, unpopular, disadvantaged, or hindered from what YOU want, in any way. You can be your own god, in determining what is right, and what is wrong, because you WANT it that way. Like the toddler that bold-faced tells their mother that yes, they will have ice cream for dinner, they are WRONG, but insist that because they said it, it is fact. We have stopped looking for truths where we used to find them, but now look to ourselves to be our own judges.

So maybe the word IS "disappointed." I'm disappointed in people. People have so much potential, and to study the lives of people who have made a difference to humanity only proves this. But I feel that people have lost even that - the desire to make a positive difference. What matters now is "me," and what "I" want. We close our eyes to everyone else. I'm disappointed in people.

And that's why I want to be a dog. Because dogs are awesome.

Marriage and Courtship in LDS Culture

Recently, due to a late night at work, graveyard shift style, I decided I would create a survey. A masterful survey. A survey about Marriage and Courtship in LDS Culture. Because I was curious about many things! The following is my best summary of what I discovered:

I have 50 people take my survey, which I realize, is not a large amount, especially considering as one of them was me, and one of them was my husband. So I'll delete him, outside of percentages, and, for all intents and purposes, 49 people took my survey.

The first question was "At what age were you married to your current spouse?"
6% = 16-19
68% = 20-24
20% = 24-29
6% = 30+

Interesting other tidbits about age variations? Those who dated and were engaged for the longest amount of time were in the 20-24 category.

My second question: "What was your highest level of education at the time of your marriage?"
70% = Some College
26% = College Graduate
2% = High School
2% = "Other." (Even I'm not too sure what that means...)

Third question: "Where did you attend school?"
Let's be honest. I was looking for age at time of marriage, and specific school enrollments, but found some other fun information.
33% of BYU participants met in their Single's Ward.
30% of BYUI participants met at school.
37% of those who went to school out of state met through a Mutual Friend, while 62% met through either a Single's Ward, or another Church function.

My fourth and fifth questions were about activity in the church of both participant and their spouse, at the time of their marriage. 96% were active at the time of their marriage, which made those two questions slightly inconclusive, for me.

Likewise with question number 6: "Where were you married?"
94% = LDS Temple
6% = Other Venue
(Those Mormons. Predictable.)

Question Seven: "How did you meet your current spouse?"
26% = LDS Single's Ward
16% = Church - Other
20% = School
8% = Online Dating
20% = Mutual Friend / Blind Date
2% = Work
8% = Other

Who'd have guessed that people actually do get married through their Single's Wards!?

Eight: "How long did you date your spouse before you were engaged?"
Longest Response: 72 months
Shortest Response: 3 weeks
Mean: 8.8 months
Median: 5 months
Mode: 4 months

Nine: "How long were you engaged to your spouse before you were married?"
Longest Response: 18 months
Shortest Response: 3 weeks
Mean: 4.65 months
Median: 2 months
Mode: 3 months

Question ten was significantly more complicated. Again, I was looking for trends. I labeled out several different events that happen in your average relationship:
Held Hands, First Kiss, First Sexual Encounter, First Date, Sexual Intercourse, "Making Out", Became "Official" (Boyfriend and Girlfriend), and Marriage.
Then I asked people to rate in which order those events happened in their relationship:
On Average, things generally happen in the following order:

First Date
Held Hands
First Kiss followed closely by
Became "Official"
"Making Out"
Marriage followed closely by
First Sexual Encounter
Sexual Intercourse

When I say that things "follow closely," I don't mean in time, like, "I got married, and within an hour, I had my first sexual encounter." I don't mean that. This data means that,

About 52% (ish - I'm looking at a graph) of the time, after making out, the next step in a relationship, for people, is getting married. About 48% of the time, after making out, the next step in a relationship, for people, is having your first sexual experience.

34% of individuals in my study stated they had a sexual experience with their spouse before marriage. The greatest predictor of having a sexual experience prior to marriage? I'm not sure I can figure that out, cause when I try to punch numbers, it looks like the highest predictor is actually Becoming "Official." So... ???
Of those 34%, 88% were still married in an LDS Temple. 5% of those with sexual encounters were with non-members - so they wouldn't have gotten married in the temple in the first place, if that makes sense.

Obviously, with a lot of data, there are many more conclusions and interesting statistics to be found.
If you're interested in getting an answer to a specific question, please feel free to comment, and I will do my best to get the data to you! (For example, "I attended BYU. What percentage of BYU students get married after 24?") (40%).

Till my next crazy graveyard shift of curiosity.

Another Late Night

It's another late night at my graveyard shift job. This is where I usually get to blogging my good stuff. So here I am.

But what to blog about? Should I blog about the Utah Coalition Against Pornography Conference I attended today? About how any kind of social change in that arena has to take place through the federal government, and about how that frustrates me, and discourages me about the lack of backbone and moral fiber in our legal systems and society?

Or should I blog about the police officer who refused to shoot a man in Ohio, who he would have been completely justified in shooting - as the man was attempting a suicide-by-cop? Should I blog about how I get frustrated with all the biased media hooks, how they report the news that sells, rather than the news that matters?

Or should I blog about the "Hookers for Hillary" post Nathan found, which tells of a group of hookers in Nevada willing to offer some "additional services" for you if you'll vote for Hillary Clinton? (Starting to wonder if voting should be a right...)

But you know what? No. I don't want to talk about these things. These things are good pieces, but not tonight.

Tonight I want to talk about the painting that hangs over my desk, in my office, at work.

I've never really had a desk, or an office before. Back during one of my internships, I had a tiny table by the window, which barely had room for my knees to fit underneath, with a binder and a laptop on top. At the hospital, there were three of us crammed in a broom closet - hardly a private "office."

Now that I work at a care center, however... I have an office! I have two file cabinets and a massive wooden "power" desk. I have room for a chair, for my mini fridge, for a stack of my favorite psychology books. I have SO MUCH SPACE, it's remarkable! I have a diploma on the wall, two calendars, and two paintings.

But this one... This one's my favorite thing...

This hangs directly over my head, every day. Some beautiful... place... with two geese... I love it.

I've looked at those geese, the fenced balcony to the left, and wondered what inspired this artist to paint such a fantastic piece. Was he walking, one day, admiring God's winged creations, and thought, "Why yes. I should put those in a brown-toned Italian Villa."

Inspiring. Truly inspiring.

The blues, the browns, the flirtatious hints of red. You awe me, painter. You awe me. The beauty of this masterpiece is truly to be found in it's simplicity.

So let's be honest, that's really all I have to say about that.

The Secret Life

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is one of my favorite movies in the entire world. But seriously. Do you know it?

Walter Mitty is a boring guy who works his job at Life Magazine, developing photos. His life is so boring, that his imagination is vivid and wild. He imagines rescuing dogs from burning buildings, getting into epic street battles with his boss, and, of course, imagines himself the brave explorer with a Spanish accent, who woos the woman he has a crush on, in the office, with his roughness and his very own poetry falcon. Trailer

This is obviously not Walter Mitty's life, and yet, it is. These are the things he wished he had, the things he wished he was. In every one of his imaginations, we are shown a glimpse of Walter's goals, dreams, and the things he hopes for, the things he values.

What it must be like, to have such a secret life! (Not the kind where you have a second house in Montana, with a second family that your first family knows nothing about...) But a secret life! A secret world inside of your head! But... I wonder if we actually don't.

Though I've never imagined myself a mountaineer with a poetry falcon, I've done my fair share of imagining. I've rescued kids from terrible situations in epic fashion. I've befriended bikers, worked as a secret service agent, even had super powers. But I'm not even sure that the only secret lives we can live are the ones we live in our own imaginations, or in Montana.

I think most people have secrets about themselves, different sides of themselves, that others aren't aware of, because you don't necessarily show them. 

My first year of college, a friend of mine from high school was going through a crisis, and was talking to me - she wasn't sure what she should do about some such situation or other. It was obvious to me that what she needed was God's help. I told her, simply, that God would answer her prayers, if she asked Him what she should do, and I bore my testimony of prayer, and of God's love. Her reply has stuck with me. "I didn't realize you were so spiritual." We'd been friends for years, literally, but it was a side of me she hadn't had opportunity to see before.

The other night, working a graveyard shift, my BFF and boss, Karen, was staying late. She invited me into her office to watch a hilarious video - we watched it on repeat five or six times, laughing till there were tears. My co-worker, that I've worked with every other weekend for the last seven months or so, wandered into the office to see what all the laughing was about, and remarked, "This is a side of you I've never seen before, Grace." 

If you know me, you know I'm spiritual, you know I love to laugh. But all my coworker knew of Grace was that she was the quiet one, who sat in her chair struggling to keep her eyes open, wrote Sunday School lessons, or late night blog posts. The graveyard Grace rarely laughs. She's pretty serious. She's super tired. So he didn't know the laughing me.

What do we not know about people, from the faces they portray where we see them most? To assume that people are only what you see of them is akin to a baby's understanding of object permanence - other people only exist when you can see them.

This struck home to me, the other day, when Nathan and I were driving up to Salt Lake, to sign our new apartment lease. My husband used the word "ethos." 

He had to define it for me! I had no clue what he was talking about! Ethos? Apparently it's an Aristotle argumentative appeal to authority, or credibility of the author. And Nathan threw it out there, in our discussion, like he was using the word "strawberries." He just knew what it meant, and assumed I did too. Ethos!

Pondering on Ethos and my husband, I wondered how many people really know what Nathan's like. My husband can be quiet around people he doesn't know well, and so I wondered! How many people know that my husband is just as opinionated as I am, catches logical fallacies as fast as any master of debate, and wants to be a writer? How many people know that he was a genius at robotics in high school, and has done his fair share of studying architecture and design? How many people see his non-confrontational, often quiet demeanor, and make assumptions about him? How many people hear he's a CNA, and they stop right there. (There's nothing wrong with being a CNA, either. Heaven forbid. It just means that he likes to help people, too, in addition to being a smarty-pants!) 

How many people hear I'm a social worker, and make assumptions about what THAT means? Maybe they assume I'm an extrovert, or that I live to kidnap people's babies. I wonder how many people hear I'm a Mormon, and assume I'm going to be judgmental, or ignorant about the world and the different people in it. Maybe I'm digging a hole for myself, but I have to believe that people are more than any word you may use to define them. I have to believe that people are more than any given moment or belief.

If your cashier is slow, one day, and it irritates you, do you just see them as a slow person, or do you recognize that this person actually exists outside of this cash register, and outside of this Wal-Mart? Do you know anything about this person, how their day is going? Do you know what they are going home to, what that looks like? 

Perhaps I wonder about Secret Lives today because I'm starting a new job tomorrow, and I wonder what face they will see. Will I be Grace, the social worker, who is quite serious, painfully shy, terrified of the new job, or will I be Grace, the social worker, who loves people, who loves to laugh, who does her job, but does it with a smile on her face? I don't know. I don't know who I'll be tomorrow, how I'll feel, or which "life" I'll slip into. But I want to make tomorrow's life an honest one. After all, the life they see tomorrow may very well be the one they assume is ALL of me. First impressions stick. 

But maybe they shouldn't, so much. People are a wide assortment of feelings, experiences, thoughts, and beliefs. If they made a movie about your "secret life," what would we learn about you? What would you learn about me?  

Feminism and the Patriarchy

Sometimes I call Nathan "The Patriarchy." And then we wrestle, so that I can say I've fought the patriarchy. But he always wins. Not surprising.

I'm a feminist. I always have been. Which is scary, as so many conservative Christians are quite adamantly anti-feminist, and I would consider myself one of those, too. But, as I figure it, if people really knew what feminism was, they might find themselves feminists too.

The feminist agenda you hear about in the news is, more often than not, either liberal feminist, or radical feminist agenda. Did you know, though, that there are other types of feminists? And I, myself, am neither radical, and mostly not liberal, either.

Radical feminists want to do away with gender entirely. They think the family system itself is sexist. They're the ones who coined the term "patriarchy." They think men and traditional relationships are the cause of their oppression.

Liberal feminists believe that equal rights can be changed through law, and legal reform - they lean towards equality and "sameness" with men - I should be able to be a firefighter too! They also think women should be "liberated" in having abortions, etc.  However, they're also anti sexual harassment, etc, which is, for the most part, where I fall into this category.

There are other beliefs, about feminism, often overlapping, but a third category, where I relate the most, is called Cultural Feminism.

Cultural feminists believe that there ARE differences between men and women, and that those differences are essential. Instead of trying to be more like men, cultural feminists value the gentle kindness that women are more predisposed towards - not so interested in capitalism, which is all about competition. (They also believe that if the government were run by women, who behaved like your stereotypical women, the world might be a better place. And I can't disagree with that, because I've never seen it done. The Matriarchy?) They value relationships, cooperation, interdependence, sharing, peace, etc. They're usually not political, and just like to make changes individually, on their own.

So though some feminists are off their rocker, wanting to grow babies in technological bubbles, so that they don't have to feel like an oppressed woman with a uterus, some people are just feminists because they believe that you shouldn't abuse women, or assume you're better than them, because women have strengths too! In a religious sense, men and women are partners - opposites which complete each other, as a whole. Feminists merely state that we, as humans, need to remember this equality. Even though your CEO isn't a woman, and your wife stays at home with the kids while you bring home paychecks, you're not better than her. That's called feminism.

And so I'm a feminist. (I know, I know. You shouldn't sell your daughters as sex slaves, beat and rape your wives whenever you want to, etc. Her feelings are important too.) I'm a feminist.

So when my husband came back from his Priesthood meeting tonight, he told me about the talks they had given. And lets be honest, I got jealous, but mostly just confused.

How come Women's Conference was all about family, with soothing sentiments that, "You are daughters of God." and "You are vital to God's plan," and "Families are so important." where the men got talks about "Raise the Bar." "If you're still single - stop it!" "Fulfill your home teaching callings." "Stop worrying about looking religious - and actually just be a good person."

I'm getting pretty jealous that the men get talks, in their meeting, about things they can improve on, where women are just given comfort - not so much specific directions for improvement. Is it because women are less accountable, so aren't given detailed direction on how to improve? Or is it just because husbands, as presiders, are supposed to be passing this information down the line, helping their own families, by their own revelation and understanding of specific needs, know what to work on?

I imagine its the second. But what do you do when your husband doesn't lead?

We discussed this in depth.

Nathan hypothesized that, perhaps, sometimes men don't lead their families like they should because they hear so much of this radical/liberal feminist agenda, and they feel that, if they were to ever tell their wife, "Hey, you know, maybe you shouldn't wear that." or "Hey, you know, I think you're wrong, there." that they might be accused of being "the patriarchy," and just oppressing their wives. OR perhaps men just hear too much of women complaining about men!

How many women, do you know, who bash on men, or their husbands? (Plenty, here.) "He's lazy." "He doesn't understand anything." "I don't trust him." "Men don't do anything!" "Men are stupid." "Men are all in it for themselves." I hate to say it, but if people were saying that stuff about me, I probably wouldn't correct them in anything, or feel any reason to lead them, either! I'd be scared to try, when they so obviously dislike me!

But I think it's a vicious cycle, too. Because why are women complaining? Because the men aren't leading. Women get to resenting that the men aren't doing this that or the other, so she feels like she's got to pick up all the slack, gets mad at him, yells at him, or about him, and then he feels like the child in the relationship, and he continues to not lead, because he's scared of her, and she's mad at him for not doing enough, but he's not doing it, because he just wants to make her happy, and he doesn't want her to think he's bossing her around!

What drama!

So here it is, from a feminist. (Not a radical/liberal one, mind. Just a regular feminist.)

Men? We want you to lead. Men? When we complain, it's because we want you to be stronger. We want you to take over things more. We want you to take care of us. So we may be feminists, who are all about equal rights, and we might complain about how treatment of men vs women is unfair, and women aren't treated as well as they should be, but guess what? We still want you to lead. You don't have to run away from that! We want it, even though media pushes it that we women don't need you. We do.

In our culture, you preside in the home. We want you to take that position. We want you to enforce family prayers, family scripture reading. We want you to be the one who disciplines the kids too, who has the difficult conversations with family, who budgets, and reminds your wife when, perhaps, what she's saying or doing is wrong.

There's a reason men are given all the good stuff, in General Conference. It's because they're supposed to share it with their families, in the way their family needs it. But if you can't talk to your wife, how are you supposed to share it?

Feminists. I am one, but they've also screwed us over. All the loud ones, on the news, that is, tell men they can't correct women - it's not their right or place. But it's simply not true. We need you to talk to us honestly. You know just as much as we do, if not more, sometimes. We need you to talk to us, share with us your insights. Correct us as needed, and we'll do the same. Because we're a team.

When I tell you black and brown don't match, it's not culturally frowned on, but when you tell me that I shouldn't watch Married at First Sight, because it mocks the sanctity of marriage, I can ignore your counsel, and just assume you don't know anything? Not so.

Women, respect your husbands, and listen to them, which, by your nature, you're not always predisposed to do. Husbands, love your wives, and never be afraid to lead them closer to God.

Don't know if this blog post makes any sense, but it was my thoughts, tonight.

A Good Defense

I've been thinking about "Defense" today. I started the morning off with reading a news article about Curt Shilling, a famous baseball player who, when his daughter was being sexually harassed online, stood up for her - (by writing a blog post) - shaming those who were blatantly disgusting in their harassment, and encouraging anyone who knew those people - he named names - to give them a piece of their mind.

Aside from reminding me of a post I wrote on #YesAllWomen awhile back, on how it is up to men to change the harassment of women, this article touched me because of this father's profound sense of responsibility to defend his daughter, at any cost.

It got me thinking about defense. When have I been defended? When have I NOT? What happened after that? Who are we responsible to defend? How can we defend? In what circumstances? A lot of questions, needless to say.

In thinking about it, I realized that, throughout my life, there have been different sources of "defense."

Obviously, as a child, my parents defended me. In middle school, I was being bullied on the bus. It was because I had short hair. Some dude, who thought he was terribly clever, funny, and was getting a real power trip out of it, thought it was hilarious to loudly and rudely proclaim me a lesbian. If someone sat next to me, he made comments, came to loud conclusions, etc. He was loud, obnoxious, and rude. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I don't sit back and tolerate things well. I told him just what I thought of him, how wrong he was, and how "mature" bullying made him look, but, because he was a bully, my defending myself did nothing for me.

After a few months of this bullying, I finally told my mom. THE NEXT DAY, she took time off work to drive me to school, let me go to class on my own, walked into the principal's office, and THREATENED TO KILL HER. "My daughter is being bullied on the bus," she had explained. "And, as the principal, if you don't do anything about this, I will kill you." I want you to imagine being backed into a corner by this short, fierce, Australian woman, who is threatening to kill you. Honestly, I'm not sure how my mother intended to follow through on that threat, as she is a very honest, religious person, but the threat was made, and I know my mom would have followed through if she had to!

And it worked. The principal had the fear of God put into her, the boy, somehow, I still don't know,punished, and never spoke to me on the bus again, and, for the last year of my middle school experience, the principal knew me by name, was always smiling at me, and was overly dramatic about knowing how she could help me in any way she could. I think she sincerely believed my mother would kill her.

I didn't always have the luxury of family close by, to help defend me with all my minor struggles. So I had the opportunity to try and learn how to know and respect myself, as well as defend myself, appropriately - whether that was telling the teacher that, no, my answer to the test question was TOTALLY right, and I'd write a 5-page essay to prove it, all the way to using weaponry against entitled, grabby beggars I had the misfortune of dating. (My weapon of choice was a chess set to the groin. It worked quite well, thank you.) Now, it's organizing against our apartment management when they charge us fees for services they don't provide, etc. (We totally just won that whole petition/certified letter/talk to a lawyer at BYU thing, just a few days ago! I'm still stoked!) I learned to defend myself.

Unfortunately, you CAN'T always defend yourself. I've been in situations where I've felt completely and utterly swamped, incapable of doing anything, or saying anything that would stop a harmful occurrence from taking place, that hurt me, or affected me in a real way. I couldn't stop it, and maybe mom wasn't there, right then, to make everything better. Family, those close relationships, or even your own strength of will IS NOT ALWAYS ENOUGH to defend you. You are "defense-less."

People need defending every single day. Just look at the news! How many cases have you heard of, where some kid was abused by his parents, some baby was abandoned in a garbage can, or on the side of the road? How many kids live in houses where they have to walk through animal feces, to move in between rooms? How many kids go hungry because mom is too stoned to go out and buy them food? How many of mom's boyfriends are shaking their babies, throwing puppies off balconies? How many kids?

Let's leave kids and move on, to older. The rate of teenage suicides/attempts/suicidality is disgusting. It's increasing. In the crisis office at the hospital, there is a constant undercurrent of, "Not another one." "Not a teenager." "He's ELEVEN??" "This is ridiculous!" How many cases of suicide have been in the news, lately, because some kid was bullied? So many! So many kids feel alone. And how many of teens are being taken advantage of, because they think it's socially required to send nude selfies? How many of them sit alone at school, eat alone? How many have no friends, and no support from their parents? Some HAVE support from their parents, but still fall into trouble, to the point that their parents despair, "I'm taking him, and I'm running away with him to northern Canada, and keeping him in a box, where this doesn't happen, anymore!" (That's a quote.) And who helps this mom?

How many adults are defenseless? How many adults look at the world, and can't find their place in it? How many can't afford insurances, or healthcare, who live out of their cars because they're uneducated, and their minimum wage job and mental illness prevent them from keeping an apartment? How many elderly women fall down in their homes, can't get up, and aren't missed, so they aren't discovered for days, until they've starved to death and died, very much alone and in pain? (Okay, let's be honest, this DOES happen, but probably not as much as I think it does, as personally, that's my number one fear on how I'm going to go.) But how many are abused in nursing homes, or at least forgotten?

Defense. Where are the cheerleaders when you need them?

Who plays defense? Honestly, it should be all of us. If you see something wrong, you do something about it. Is it uncomfortable to play defense? Sometimes. Is it, necessarily, what you want to do at that moment? Probably not. It's terribly inconvenient to have to "do something." Do it anyway.

Am I saying you can solve all the world's problems? Heal all the broken hearts? Feed all the homeless? Absolutely not. That's crazy-making. But you can definitely do something within your immediate range of influence. You can be the defense. You can protect someone. You can help someone in desperate need. (This isn't meant to be political, but sometimes it's as easy as, "You can VOTE!")

Maybe the defense someone needs is for you to speak up, advocate for them, tell someone off, offer a shoulder to cry on. Maybe the defense is organizing committees, groups, or just pointing someone in the right direction. I don't know! But I don't think you can err, too seriously, on the side of doing "too much." (Don't neglect your family or your own mental health. Enough said.) Help people. Do something. Defend them with passion.

There are amazing examples of defenders among us, that we can learn from. Curt Schilling, Mother Theresa! (It's always Mother Theresa.) Nelson Mandela, Emma Watson, Jackson Katz, Rebecca Hosking! Honestly, the list is as long as it is diverse, and for all different kinds of reasons! (Defending their family, the poor, the needy, the abused, the ANIMALS.)

But there is one defender who tops the list, who proclaimed Himself to be even, "a father to the fatherless," "a defense," "a shelter." Christ. He loves us. He has defended us, and He will defend us always, when we are right, and when we need Him. If you follow His example of defending others, you will never go wrong. In defense, Christ was brave, loving, and willing to sacrifice everything. Literally, everything.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a talk, once, at BYU. One simple story that he tells has alwaysgiven me the strength to press on, even when defending people feels like it is too much, or too costly, or too tiring.

"An old Arabic legend," he says, "tells of a rider finding a spindly sparrow lying on its back in the middle of the road. He dismounted and asked the sparrow why his feet were in the air.
Replied the sparrow, "I heard the heavens were going to fall today."
"And I suppose you think your puny bird legs can hold up the whole universe?" laughed the horseman.
"Perhaps not," said the sparrow with conviction, "but one does whatever one can.""

I think in our loud, and evil world, what we need more of is defenders - people willing to take stands, risk personal discomfort, and do what is best in the name of others. We have enough excusers - people who take the easy way out by saying, "Well, it's not THAT bad." or "It really won't make a difference in the long run."

We need defenders. We need people who address the issues. We need people to stand up for the innocent, and the people who are looking for help, comfort, support, and assistance.

I'm starting to look forward with optimism for the future. You can always find the bad in the world, but the lines are being drawn in the sand. "Good" and "evil" are becoming clearer, more easy to discern. And so it is in times like this, in times of certainty in moral grounds, that we CAN take stands of defense, and should. STRONG defense. With so much wrong, we need so much more good to oppose it. And even if you feel that all you have are some puny legs, those puny legs are just what we need to keep the sky from falling.

Lies My Depression Told Me

I've been debating on if I want to write this blog, or not, for the past couple of months, in truth. In one way, I think it will be helpful. I think it will validate others who may have similar feelings or experiences, or even questions. The downside, I've worried, is that people will feel this is some self-serving stunt, on my part, to get attention and gain sympathies. Fortunately or unfortunately, you pick, I decided that I feel passionately enough about it to not care what people think. I've found that my blogs, in the most unlikely of places, have a track record of helping people. I hope that this one, too, might help somebody.

Depression. I have it. So do a lot of people. It's actually pretty common.

(Hyperbole and a Half really describes it best. See picture.)

I've had Depression since high school, by my reckoning. I was easily upset, then. The littlest things would trigger me into a downward spiral of anger, bitterness, and loneliness. It could have nothing to do with my life, and have no affect on me at all, and it would depress the crap out of me. I felt completely unloved, much of the time. I felt quite alone, hated, and quite useless. College was a little better, the mission a little harder, and I still struggle with it today.

Throughout my life I've been told by friends, strangers, clergy, myself, that because I have Depression, I am:

• Selfish
• Weak
• Not keeping the commandments
• Not praying enough
• Just being dramatic
• Don't have faith
• Making excuses

Et cetera, et cetera. The first time I was prescribed an anti-depressant I cried in front of the doctor. I was so horrified, so embarrassed by the tears streaming down my face, and how quickly they had come. I had just told the man I was Depressed, and was instantly overcome with self-loathing and shame. He was more than happy to write the anti-depressant prescription. But because of my shame, I took one pill and stopped. 

I told myself it was my fault. I told myself it was because I was unmanageable. I was being dramatic, and if I'd just pray to God, more, I wouldn't feel this way. As a social work major, it was easy for me to say that Depression was a chemical imbalance, and has a biological root. It was easy to say, but for me, no, I was different. My Depression was a sign of my weak and flawed character. So if I could only do more, only be better, only be less selfish, I would be fine. God's grace was there to help my weaknesses, right? I only had to believe, and the Depression would go away. 

On the mission, I drove myself nuts. I was Depressed because I wasn't putting my full effort into the work. Every time I didn't have the enthusiasm to do a good, hard 30-minute workout in the morning, the natural result HAD to be Depression. I knew it. I had failed Him. I wasn't doing everything I could do. I snapped at my companion - I was going to Hell. I disliked a zone leader - surely I shouldn't be happy. How could such a hateful, horrible person ever deserve anything better? We didn't make our goals. I overslept on my lunchtime nap. I broke down in tears, sobbing hysterically, one morning, and I didn't know why - surely I didn't have the faith the Savior required of one of His servants. 

I got on an anti-depressant on the mission. It cost my family $90 a month. I couldn't do that to them. Not when it was just an issue of my faith. After a couple months on the anti-depressant, I quit it, again, and, in learned helplessness fashion, resigned myself to the work. Get up even when you don't feel like it. Put on your shoes. Kick your butt out the door and just do it. Exact obedience would show evidence of my faith, and my Depression would be healed, would it not? I couldn't make anyone else pay for weaknesses. $90 a month? I could just grow the faith I needed, for $90 a month, and cure myself that way. But we stayed too long at dinner appointments, regularly going over one hour. Each time, I beat myself up over it. Obviously I wasn't obedient enough. I was failing God.

I got back home from my mission two years ago, but even now, sometimes I still tell myself lies about my Depression - I didn't cook dinner like I said I was going to - I have a complete inability to care for and love my husband, by not cooking like I said I was going to. Why does he even love me? I'm just his trial. I am a trial. I am disobedient, because I didn't pray this morning - why should God love me, or bless me? I made someone upset - I deserve all the hate I receive, and it only makes sense that I am ignored, and have no one to talk to. Ultimately, all of my friends will leave me. This is inevitable. It has already begun. "What proof do you have otherwise?" I've debated anti-depressants again, off and on for the last two years. I've started and quit them repeatedly. (I'm a social worker. I know how bad that is, so don't tell me.) Eventually being on an anti-depressant just started causing me severe anxiety and panic attacks - so not worth it. 

I'm at a really good place right now, though, without anti-depressants - which is no easy task, and not something I'd necessarily recommend for everyone. I've worked hard to be where I am now. Not in the "work hard" way I thought I could do it, on my mission, though. No amount of "hard work" could help my Depression. Beating myself up like that only ever made it worse. But how do I do it? How am I doing better, now? Now, I've done it with sympathy and love for myself. 

Some days you don't cook. Screw it. Who cares? Some days you just feel like crying. Well you should do it, then! Don't judge yourself for it. So it's irrational and crazy to cry for no reason? That's okay. Accept yourself for who you are, and just cry it out. You are struggling, but you are an amazing person. You are strong, you are loving. You work hard, you care about doing what's right. Your heart is in such a good place, and you don't deserve a single minute of sitting around judging and hating yourself for who you are. You've done enough of that already. Love yourself. 

Depression. I have it. It kicks my butt, sometimes. 

BUT... (And that's a really big but) - It doesn't have to. 

My Depression has only as much power as I give it. The more I shirk away from being honest with myself and my emotions, the worse it gets. But when I can sit down, look at my heart and label the emotion - "Today I feel like I should maybe rot in Hell, I'm so worthless." - then I can do something about it. I can love myself as God loves me. All those lies I told myself, for years, were not God's words. God has done nothing but love me. And I need to learn to love myself too. It doesn't help to blame myself or hate myself for how I feel, just as it doesn't help to blame anyone else either. 

As I say in the "Relaxation Activity" for one of the groups I run, "Notice any areas of discomfort or pain you may feel. Be aware of that discomfort - it is neither good nor bad. Just be aware of it, and move on." (It's a group for people with chronic conditions. That's why we talk about pain.) 

The World Health Organization has a fantastic video on YouTube. Since discovering it, I've found that it helps me, in forming a mental picture. Black Dog - (Not the Led Zeppelin Song, though that's an awesome ringtone.)

"I have a black dog," it starts. "and his name is Depression." Everyone has their own black dog, it continues. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some sneak up on you, while some just sit on your chest and stare you in the face. Some are trained to your command, and some are far from it. 

Become aware of your "black dogs." Train them, tame them, teach them to heel. ("Heal." That's clever wording. See what they did there?) 

There's nothing you could do so wrong that would make you "deserve" Depression. Is it normal to be sad sometimes? Absolutely. Are you weak for it? Are you selfish? Is it just a sign that you're not praying enough? Not at all. Do not beat yourself up needlessly. 

God loves you. So often, with Depression, I think the secret lies in loving yourself. It's hard! A therapist and I discussed, once, how to teach someone that they are loved. I don't think you can. No amount of saying, "I love you." is going to make someone believe it. It never worked for me. The only way you can teach someone who feels that they are unlovable that they ARE lovable is by loving them. They have to learn through experience that they are loved. 

And if you have Depression, you can start with yourself. Instead of hating yourself, putting yourself down, or judging yourself, give yourself a hug. Love yourself. Imagine yourself back at a time when you felt you WERE worthy of love. Maybe that's when you were a child. I don't know. Imagine yourself as that child, and imagine putting that child down with all the negativity you are putting yourself down with right now, and stop it. You don't deserve it. You never have, and you never will deserve that kind of loathing. No one is perfect. You make mistakes. Should I hate you for them? No. Even if you killed my child, (on accident), I shouldn't hate you. Forgiveness is SO real, and it starts with yourself. 

So that was a lot of Depression STUFF. I guess, in summary, Depression is real. But it should never be something you destroy yourself with, as so many who suffer with it are prone to do. Don't believe the lies it tells you about yourself, or even the lies that misguided, well-intentioned others tell you about what Depression is. You're not weak. You're not being selfish. Trust me, it doesn't reflect on the level of your faith. But having faith in God, and loving yourself like God loves you, with all of your imperfections, IS the best help there is.