1/28/THOUGHTS

 The last 9 months have been difficult. Unexpectedly losing my wonderful dad, (the man who taught me valuable life lessons-loved me unconditionally-was always there to listen, help, & love, the man who was proud to have me as a daughter-the man I was quite fond of) has been hard and then be blindsided by trauma that not only left me suffering in pain with this infested injury but put me in a tail-spin of an ocd season that still heavily affects me today.

These last 9 months have been exactly that, 9 months. 9 months of missing my dad tremendously, going through so many "firsts" without him. 9 months of unbearable obsessions, compulsions, and rituals. 9 months of intrusive thoughts, intrusive images, anxiety attacks, and panic attacks. 9 months of hell, still recovering from what has happened and may continue to happen. 9 months of being left on the side of the road, cast out and abandoned by people who I trusted, people who I thought loved and cared for me. No, I was mistaken, or maybe I saw the writing on the wall for years, even most of my life, yet I didn't want to see it. 

My kind and loving heart that has been through so much hidden abuse wants to see those letters transform into something beautiful, like a catipilar becomes something beautiful, enhancing nature's circle of life. Instead, I put myself in the cross fires thinking I could change, fix, or paint over those letters on the wall only to get hit time after time after time. Thinking each time would be different, I'd be able to dodge those bullets, or even better, the bullets wouldn't be aimed at me, traveling 1700 miles per hour. 

These last 9 months have been torture, to say the least, but it has also forced me to see the wall for what it is. Letters forming words, words forming sentences, sentences forming a message, a message surrounded by illustrations. All this in permanent marker with only two options: first, the permanent marker keeps those letters and drawings permanent. Lasting during this lifetime, if not forever. Or second, the permanent ink fades over time with either needing to be touched up or finally retiring it's flawed message and allows the wall to become a new canvas.

Either way, I logically accept this ink with a glimmer of hope that the latter is destined to happen for these individuals, while the inner child thrashes, screams, cries, angry at myself for not changing, fixing, or painting over someone else's masterpiece. And it's just that, someone else's masterpiece. Not one I have to protect, carry the burden of, or take as my own.

I'm confidently holding the art brush as I curate my own mural. A mural full of light, heavenly light of comfort & peace, love, happiness, uplifting mantras, and beauty. Pure, simple, beauty. Art work that will in time transform into a butterfly over and over, again and again as new experiences arise, hardship is defeated, and continue self love. They say cats have 9 lives, they say we have only one life, this mural, this beauty, this butterfly is endless for the better good. 

These last 9 months I have changed. I have transformed myself into my own butterfly after wasting time and energy trying to get others to do the same. I am beauty. Being true beauty that was waiting to be discovered and welcomed. Knowing and hoping this beauty would one day be exposed and influence said circle of life. To be aware of my truth, a higher level of consciousness, aware of my state of wholeness. The wholeness is a foreordained truth, a truth that has no end nor beginning, determined to advance and progress, here to stay and evolve forever. Realizing I've never been damned or broken.

An admirable, wise man brought me to this new perspective on an old misconception. A misconception or story that began when the earth was created and our spirits joined mortality. Why do we believe this misconception? Ignorance, but it's not our fault. Our mortal being, our natural mortal being, a being of mortality instead of immortality, a state in which we don't fully comprehend, makes sense of the emotions through answers we're given. These blinded answers dont allow us to see and understand the fullness, but it doesn't mean we don't feel it and it doesn't mean we can't train ourselves to see it. 

The misconception is us taking face value the concluded answers through mortal reasoning, rationalizing and understanding of emotion and experiences. Our intelligence wants to solve problems and make sense of ourselves even if that means we are believing a misconception. Believing in a story. A story handed down through generations through time. Though through recognizing and desiring to over coming trials allows us to see the true conception and write a new story. To see our own truth and the truest answers. We can rewrite the foretold stories because our state, us, we, start to understand that we are already complete wholeness. The atonement of Jesus Christ has made this fact, truth, fate. Using this atonement brings about our true whole conscience awareness and the best of authors for our future posterity.

I don't know this notion like the back of my hand. It's a new discovered essence. It's complex and hard to wrap my head around fully. It is different than I was raised to believe. However, this is the new story I want to write and become while I complete this mortal life. I want this mural to be seen and felt through my interactions, my life and my children's lives.

I thank my dad for this insight. I wish he could physically be here with me as I learn and grow, building confidence within myself, becoming who I want to be, including starting my own business. EverLiv wasn't a name that just sounded good, EverLiv is the biggest gift my dad could give me. To for ever live, love and be free. To live everly. To be launched forward after being held back for so long.

 

I know my dad is looking at me with a heart full of pride, astonishment, and love. He's proud to call me his, thankful for our eternal bond and anticipating for my future and the influence he had from his legacy and the influence he will have from the other side of the veil. 

I love you, John Dad Simpson 

My tribute to you, Dad

Although my father was unable to beat his brain disease, he was a fighter through and through and lived life to the fullest. Growing up he always taught me that love is forever, to be compassionate, forgive, and serve. He raised me to love God, make the best of circumstances, and be honest and truthful. I will never forget the time he sat on the front room floor full of love and compassion, teaching me the importance of stranger danger after a choice I made earlier that day. He encouraged me to abide by his counsel, to always tell the truth no matter how hard, and expressed I am loved no matter the mistakes I make. I knew from that moment on he was a safe and loving place to confide in, that no matter what life brought, he would be there. I always felt safe when he was around, even when I thought I was failing at life. This theme carried into my adulthood. No matter the ups and downs that I faced, I could always count on him. He had a strong presence, always wanting to be involved, and teasing me to the point of sore cheeks. You could tell him anything and knew that he would never judge you, but instead would give love freely, encourage you to follow your instincts, and trust the Lord. I miss my Dad’s wonderful presence every day, the multiple conversations a week, and his true belief in me. I’m so grateful for the time I had with him.

A Tribute To My Dad 11-1-21

 "A Tribute To My Dad"

Who is that man with the gentle face,

Who in his youth kept a hectic pace,

To provide for his family, all that he could,

Who is that man so giving and good?

Who is that man with the ready smile,

Who always took time to sit for a while?

He was there when his family needed him there.

Who is that man with the gray in his hair?

Who is that man who encouraged us all,

And helped us up when we took a fall,

Spending a lifetime extending his hand,

Who is that kind, compassionate man?

Who is that man who we all adore,

The man who these words of devotion are for?

I’ll tell you with all of the love that I can,

My Dad is that truly exceptional man!

10-28-visiting dad

 You know what is sad? My dad isn’t even buried here. Nope. I come to an empty plot where his name is on a rock to ‘visit’ him at least once a month. It’s hard coming here and not just for reasons you would think, and yet a part of my heart finds healing when I do. 

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It’s hard here because the thoughts and feelings of having him truly gone are at my forefront. It’s hard because I know he isn’t actually buried here, he’s buried in a place that I cannot go yet. It is not safe. The reason pains my soul and haunts me in the night. It’s hard because I see my mom’s name on that rock, next to his, and I’m reminded of the pain and obsessions that come from life as a child, life when my parents separated and later divorced, who my mom became, who my dad married next, and all the family pain that followed/follows all of these life changes. I try so hard to only focus on what’s at hand in this situation, me and my dad. Our love. Our relationship. However, it’s not that simple nor that easy.

They say there is a silver lining in all things. I acknowledge the fact that I have this space close to my home, this space is not shared, there can be healing in this space, and that my dad’s love for me is still here and forever. I’m grateful he knows the truth and I know the truth, even if this knowledge doesn’t wipe away the hurt and suffering.

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So. It’s been hard. The tragedy of losing my father + the traumatic experiences that went on during and after his death + OCD = An amusement park for suffering, sorrow, and obsessive, intrusive thoughts and images. I’ve certainly been busy at work.

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It’s been 194 days since you left this world. How!? Miss you every day, ol man.
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Maybe I can find success in creating my own place.

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#ocd #ocdexposuretherapy #cemetery #ocdisreal #realocd #ocdawareness #therapy #healing #roadtorecovery #ocdrecovery

Oct 2020 Awareness

 The second full week of October is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Awareness week. I have not shared my story, nor have I admitted that this is a struggle of mine. I felt an impression to share this and I didn’t realize (until later) that it just so happens to be the week to raise awareness. I do not believe this to be a coincidence. [[Today is also World Mental Health Day, a reminder that we all need to check with ourselves and loved ones to ensure we are taking care of ourselves. This year has been hectic for multiple reasons and I think it is safe to assume that everyone, in one way or another, has felt it. What are you doing to take care of yourself!?]]

I have written, thought about, and rewritten my thoughts on this matter over and over. I have even thrown my hands in the air and nearly gave up. To be clear, I cannot adequately convey my feelings and thoughts on exactly what I have been through or what has transformed within my soul and I. I will say, however, that I am on the other side of the fence and it is lovely over here. There may be times where I walk along the fence, maybe touch the fence or even sit on the fence; but I am here, on this side and that is what matters. I believe in recovery and I am on my way there. Odds are you or someone you know lives with or has recovered from this disorder. Education yourself on the matter can help you learn how to care for, interact with and mindfully talk with those loved ones that are afflicted.

This term is often casually thrown around. It is often used to describe someone who keeps things neat and tidy or in order, though that is not even the tip of the iceberg for some people; for others that isn’t even a part of their disorder. One might think of Monica from Friends or mOnk when they hear the word OCD, though those characters do not show the severity of this disorder fully. OCD is tricky in the fact that it is heterogeneous, complex, and difficult to understand. Within OCD a person can have multiple subtypes, like me, and creates an onion-like effect.

Through healing, I discovered that Carl Jung was right: “what you resist not only persists but will grow in size.” He also had the idea of Shadow-Integrating, merging both light and darkness, allowing one to let go of pain and allow healing; no longer resisting. This has played a big part in my healing and recovery.

To say I’m grateful for this trial feels a bit stretched, but I am grateful for all that has come of it. I am so thankful for my husband being by my side, loving, supporting, and encouraging me through it all. He also had OCD, though his differs from mine, I’m thankful for a similar understanding, that I can help him and he can help me. And so, together, we build a life that we love which includes overcoming, learning, growing, and loving. Aka-kissing. Anyone that knows me knows that I love to kiss him. Yes, I totally went there!

I’m so grateful for my relationship with my Savior and Heavenly Father. I am thankful for the spiritual experiences this has brought to me, that saved me, kept me going, and brought me closer to Them and my husband and kids. I’m thankful for those who are on the other side of the veil that has been here with me. I believe the atonement can work miracles in our lives. I believe Ether 12:27 “...I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them…’ I believe in personal revelation. I choose to hear HIm and to trust Him. All things that have aided my healing and will continue to do so.