What's up, mah homies? Thanks for all the "Get Betters." I'm pretty sure that you are all the reason I'm not puking today. At least I like to think so.
So I like to keep it real with you guys. I don't like to pretend like my life is perfect (it's not), I don't want to come across as if I don't have a care in the world (I do), and I don't want to come across as "fake" on this here blog.
I hate being serious and talking about serious stuff because, let's face it - I'm anythingbut serious 99.9% of the time.
But I want you guys to know who I really am, and why I am the way that I am. This is not intended to cause debate - this is my opinion, and you all are just as entitled to yours. I am not judging anyone with this post, it's simply all of my thoughts and an experience put down on "paper."
Once upon a time, I was getting ready to go to college. I didn't want to be the stereotypical Molly Mormon and go to BYU at 18, get married at 19, and drop out to fulfill my life long dream of being a wife and a mother (keep in mind this is my 18-year-old self thinking these thoughts). So instead of high-tailing it to Utah, Idaho, or Hawaii like virtually every other Mormon youth, I headed up north to the University of Nebraska.
I went to church once. I hated it. I felt like lots of people there were either weird, judgmental, pushy, or a combination of all three.
I discovered that I reallyliked to party. I went out every Friday and Saturday night, and sometimes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Instead of being the stereotypical Mormon, I had become the stereotypical sorority girl. Except, ya know, the part where you dress like a skank, act all slutty, and are part of a sorority (I realize not every sorority girl is like this, sheesh). So... I guess I just partied. A lot.
I hated going to church, I hid from "the Mormons" anytime they tried to come "bring me back to the fold." I always knew I'd get back there eventually, I just thought to myself, eh. I can go back to church whenever I want - I can't party like this forever.
Fast Forward a year and a half. I got an internship in Germany. I moved out here all by myself. I lived in the armpit of Frankfurt (aka Offenbach am Main). I had no friends, my coworkers weren't exactly open or inviting. I called my mom in tears, telling her that I hated it here and that I was ready to come home. Good ole Mom. She told me to go to church. I protested and went a couple more weeks being miserable.
Then one fateful Sunday, I decided to do it. I hated it, I felt so alone and awkward, and I was about ready to say "screw it" again when I met someone who turned out to be a sort of lifesaver. Sure, he was cute and tall, but that was not what it was all about. He invited me to go to church activities, and I met more people that I actually enjoyed spending time with. I began to look forward to church.
When I got back to the states, I decided to go to church again, and it wasn't half bad. I kept partying, but I figured, I'll stop eventually - at least I'm making an effort here. Eventually something totally awful happened one night when I was smashed. That was the point at which I kicked myself in the effing face, and said,
After that night... I never had another drink. I got a heck of a lot better about swearing (I used to curse like a sailor), and a month later... I met the man that I would spend forever with. I changed. With a ton of help from God, and a ton of help from others, I changed.
I spent more time on my knees pouring out my soul in those 8 months that I was trying to get better than I ever had before. It was a long and excruciatingly painful process, and I wanted to give up more than once, but I didn't. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. If I'm perfectly honest here, it sucked. Hardcore. But then... I was happy. For the first time in a couple of years, I was happy with who I was and where I was.
The moral of the story is this: Change is possible.
I have had people belittle me and judge me for the things that I've done. Some have even gone so far as to say that I haven't really changed, that I'm putting on a show, and that eventually I'll go back to the way I was. They've told me that I'm an awful person, and that it doesn't matter how much I try, I will never be worthy of the man to whom I am married. They have told me that people don't change.
I beg to differ. If you don't believe me, look at who I was then, and who I have become.