Small Victories - My Struggle with Depression

     I knew the day would come where I'd post this on my blog. I just didn't know it'd come so soon. It’s been hard for me to write because I’m being completely open and vulnerable. I’m not writing this to get sympathy but rather to help the people in my life realize that you are not alone…and my “Instagram perfect” life is far from perfect. *takes a deep breathe* Here…we…go…

     Last October, I went on an AMAZING trip to Boston. I stayed with my uncles and explored the city on my own. I stepped out of my comfort zone and loved every minute of my trip. While I did wish someone else came with me, I fell in love with traveling on my own. It felt so freeing. It was a HUGE step into "becoming me" as I did what I wanted, found fun places to eat and explore, and traveled by subway on my own.  It was blissful ten days of my life.

     When I came home from Boston, I noticed a change in me. I had some upsetting things happen in my personal life that just really knocked me down so I assumed it was just a "hard time." I started to feel uncomfortable at church and social events. I felt like I was always crying or getting in my car and driving away from feelings, problems, and sooo maaaany stressors. Life was changing and it was completely out of my control. I pulled away from friends and being social and threw myself into work. I worked all the time, picking up shifts and then in late November, I started working full time. I distracted myself from...myself...and focused on helping those around me. I really "grew" as a tech and loved the confidence I felt at work. I took control during shifts, made a lot of decisions and really stepped into the spotlight. I felt amazing during those eight or nine hours at work…but I’d come home and couldn’t sleep. My mind would pick out the one thing that went wrong, begin to race and race and I couldn’t control these episodes of spiraling thoughts. I felt trapped in my own mind.

 

     Around January and February, I couldn't stand the lack of sunlight and the constant snow. Normally, I love the overcast and snowy weather but at that time, I’d dreaded looking out the window to see snow falling. I started posting on snapchat and instagram my many "coping skills" I was learning at work--some self care activities (getting my nails done, going to the movies, driving up mountains even when it was super snowy and not a good idea, blasting music all the time) and bought myself some stress balls and kinetic sand. I opened up to a few people how I felt but mostly kept to myself again. I took some trips to California and felt the sunlight. I even took a video saying how much I loved the sun! I was doing fine. It's just a rough patch, I said, over and over again in my mind.

Utah Lake "Adventure" Drive

     Then in March, I was hit with a really hard day, my lowest of lows. I woke up feeling hopeless. I didn't want to even go to work, which is where I always felt best. I jumped in my car and starting driving around Utah Lake. I wanted to see the other side of the lake and I kept driving and didn’t stop. Luckily, I ended up going to work. One of my coworkers who came halfway through the shift could tell I was not doing well. She asked if she could do anything for me and I just asked for a hug. The patients saw and "awww"-ed as I walked quickly off the unit so they didn't see me cry. My coworker followed me and asked what was wrong. Through my tears, I stated, "What's the point of all this? What's the point of trying so hard and nothing ever gets better? I just feel so hopeless." As she hugged me, she said, “Megan…you need to see someone. You realize that, right? You need to get help.” I shook my head yes…

     BUT THAT BOTHERED ME. "I don't need help," I said to myself. It's just a hard time. I didn't listen to the people in my life looking out for me. Instead, I listened to the thoughts in my head.

"Maybe therapy wouldn't be so bad."

"But, Megan, you have to be strong."

"You can do this without help."

"You need to be more faithful: pray harder, go to the temple, read your scriptures."

"You are an example to so many people. You can’t break."

"You have always been positive through trials."

"People look to you for your happiness."

“How can you be a therapist if you can’t handle your own mental health?”

"You're fine."

"You can handle this, you're just being a whimp."

"You'd be weak to get help." 

     As you can see, my thoughts spiraled. I'd start with something positive and within minutes, my brain would switch and tell me how it's weak to get help. That night, leaving work, I still felt horrible. I don't know how I got through those four work hours. I got into my car and knew that if I went home, I would sit in my room and cry. I texted a friend and he said I could come over but that he was finishing a paper. I told him I'd wait in my car. I was spiraling pretty bad, so bad that I didn't notice my friend calling me. I was paralyzed with fear and sadness and all these confusing thoughts. I couldn't make them go away, no matter how hard I prayed, distracted myself, and surrounded myself with people.

     I had a lot on my plate at that time and was heading to London in a week. I told myself, after London. “After London…I’ll get help. I’ll make an appointment with a therapist. I’ll figure things out. I’ll be better.”  And London was better. . For seven wonderful busy days, I felt carefree. I woke up excited and felt “back to normal.”  Well, "after London" came. And I was still trying to convince myself that I was fine. I wasn't running into the bathroom to cry at work and I was feeling a bit better...but those post vacation blues hit me hard.

     Again my coworker told me “you have to make an appointment.” She “threatened” me and I ended up making my first therapy appointment. On the way to the appointment, my mind was racing “You don’t need this. You’re fine. It’s just a phase…” and at that point, I had self diagnosed myself with seasonal depression—my worst days were without sun. I was terrified as I walked into the office. But my therapist made me feel at ease. It was just the “get to know you” appointment but those 60 minutes and came with a diagnosis: dysthymia, which according to google is a “mild but long term depression.” While the phrase “long term” scared me, I had a diagnois, an “identity” and that all that mattered.

Self Care: Straight Hair and FroYo

      But the days ahead were far from easy. That first appointment was on April 20^th and three months later, I can finally say that I’m learning more about myself, my mind my triggers, my good days and my bad days. Luckily for me, I got into a doctor pretty quick and the first medication he prescribed did the trick. But the hard days were and are far from over. And I really didn’t like that. Therapy and medication were working but I found myself still hitting some bad days. My therapist told me I was normal and it took me a couple of weeks to realize that she was right. I am normal. I struggle with depression and anxiety but everyone struggles with something. And everyone has bad days, everyone.

I recently found myself talking to someone who was clearly struggling but stated that helping others made them feel better. I asked if she cared about herself and she quickly shook her head no. I realized in that moment how hypocritical I had been. I had been “silently” struggling since October and everyday, I went to work to help others, encouraging them to get help and get better. But it took six months to help myself. And now that I “help myself” daily by medication, bimonthly with therapy and lots of self care techniques, my capacity to care and help others increased beyond my previous capacities…

      

     …which leads me my latest “I-Want-To-Help-The-World” project also known as a new Instagram account called “small victories.” I was talking to my mom the other day about how she needed to get a mantra. I’m a BIG fan of quotes, song lyrics and just words. I’ve recently counseled patients at work that they should create a mantra, a simple phrase you can say over and over to help you throughout this life. If you follow me on any social media site, you know that my mantra is “Sky Above Me, Earth Below Me, Fire Within Me.” My mom and I were talking about how we can find the positives in everyday to which I realized that there are million of small victories every day: something as simple as showering to something more complex such as nailing that job interview. The size of the victory doesn’t matter—the important thing is that they happen.  And I think our world would be better off to notice them.

     

     My on-going experience with depression has led to me to a new Instagram account, @small_victories_  and it's public! I plan to post at least every day my small victories or positive points to my day and I’ll gladly take submissions through private messages or tags on Instagram. If there’s anything our “social media world” needs, it’s more positivity, honesty, and celebration of small victories. 

Body Image

***the following post may be triggering if you've ever dealt with an eating disorder***

"The annoying thing [about CFC] is the techs are either incredibly skinny or fat. Either way, it's triggering because you want to be like the skinny ones and you'd rather die than be a fat one."

I knew what category I was in.

"I was having a panic attack and [a care tech] came up to me and suddenly, instead of worrying about my problems, I was looking at her thighs and thinking, 'This isn't fair. You have a thigh gap. You get to tell me what to do and boost me for not eating.' Tell me what is fair about that."

Ha, at least she doesn't compare my thunder thighs to hers.

"I just think that I have to be perfect in order to be well liked. I have to have the perfect body to get noticed. No one notices personality in a crowded room. They notice the size zeros. They notice the pretty ones. And personality is linked to perfect body, right?"

So, with that logic, one notices my personality because I'm a big girl.

I went to the doctor today, for a new appointment for an old diagnosis (read this blog post here). When he discussed reasons for the visit, he said "macroprolatinoma....vitamin D deficieny....excess weight."

Awesome. So a medical professional just told me I have "excess weight." 

Society sucks.

The patients I work with ask me: How do you have positive body image all the time?

The answer: NO ONE DOES.

And I can accept that answer. I understand that because of societal influences, ads about slimming down, trying to get that bikini body...no one is ever satisfied. I can understand that being underweight and overweight is unhealthy. I can understand that a tight shirt on me makes me uncomfortable and I'd rather wear a baggy sweatshirt because no one will see my rolls. I can see the humor in a post that talks about "all I want is pizza" or "I'm just in a girl in a taco world." I can understand a medical professional being concerned with weight, especially if it's a life threatening situation. But what I don't understand is:

why do we put so much time and energy into reaching this idea of being "perfect?" 

***NEWS FLASH***
THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

I just typed into Google "studies on body image and self esteem." About 818,000 results in .50 seconds. When I looked up Google scholar...about 708,000 results in .12 seconds. AKA about 700,000 results that have been cited in scholarly articles. Are you kidding me? So the research is there. Comments about weight, dieting, exercising--there are 700,000 articles that tell us that this affects body image NEGATIVELY.

I opened up the first one titled: "Obesity stigmatization and coping: Relation to mental health symptoms, body image, and self esteem." The researchers performed two studies. "Study 1...ask[ed] obese people to list stigmatizing situations they had encountered and their ways of coping. Study 2: Obese patients were surveyed about the frequency with which they encountered each form of stigmatization and employed each form of coping." The results are shocking..."Study 2 found that stigmatization is a common experience, and that obese subjects frequently engage in some effort to cope with stigma."

Surprise surprise. Why do you think I see 13 year old girls in treatment for an eating disorder?

Because society is obsessed with weight. A celeb puts on weight?? Tabloids talk. A celeb loses weight? Tabloids talk. We go grocery shopping and walk to check out with all these nasty "scandals" about who wore it best and who has a flat stomach. And it's affecting self esteem in just about everyone.

The voices in my head have been attacking more often lately. A comment like what my doctor said offhandedly, I should be able to brush off, especially from a doctor. But instead, I'm sitting on my bed thinking...even if I changed my eating habits, even if I went on a run, would anything really change?

I'm not writing this post to get sympathy. If anyone comments saying, you're awesome, we love you... I'm writing this post because We Need Change. We need mothers who love their bodies. We need to teach our daughters that it's OK to have ice cream. We need to teach girls to celebrate weight changes when puberty hits. We need to change society. We need to change this idea of "perfection" because guess what? NO ONE IS PERFECT.

Maybe I'm just having a bad day. BUT to be honest, this is something I've thought about for a long time. I think about it A LOT, especially when I see people close to me looking for ways to change their bodies, people close to me skipping meals, people close to me counting calories, obsessively talking about exercise and clean eating.

Some will read this post and say, "Megan's obsessed because she works at CFC." I write this post asking for some change. And yeah, it's a long shot. But I'm happy in my body because it's not worth the stress and time to worry about perfection. Life will pass you by and one day, you'll realize you've wasted a great life worrying about being perfect. Good luck to you.

Second Chances

Every Easter, I read the same talk about that wonderful Sunday many, many years ago. It's called "Sunday Will Come" by Joseph B. Wirthlin. 

I remember the first Easter I read it. I was a junior in college and had a meeting before church. I walked along the BYU campus, noticing the flowers blooming and the birds chirping. I had just read that talk before coming to my meeting and was thinking about how that talk could apply to my everyday life.  When I returned home, my roommates were watching a youtube video, which I think is almost everyone's favorite video. I remember crying while watching it...only to go to church and watch it in Relief Society AND Sunday school, crying again. When I watch this video, I just hear the music and my eyes fill with tears and I remember the first few times I watched it.

Today, in relief society, we watched it again. My eyes fill up with tears as usual, but I paid more attention to the words on the screen. Lucky for me, the question our teacher asked after was, "What are the phases or words that stuck out to you because of Him?"

I raised my hand. "I love when the words 'Despairs becomes hope' come up because I don't know how I could have hope during the hard times in my life."

I'm a pretty hopeful person. I look for ways to turn the bad into good, the struggles into triumphs. My heart fills with joy when some of the adolescents at work tell me that I'm an example of positivity. I like to be happy, I like to laugh, and I like to have fun. It's just in my nature. 

Unfortunately, over the past six months, I've lost sight of that positive person. I have had to work to be positive. There have been many hard days and challenges that I didn't know how to face. I have had my share days filled with never ending tears. If you've followed my blog, you know that I've had some challenging physical trials thus far and I've conquered them in a way that I thought I could handle any challenge thrown my way. But never had I been thrown such emotionally and mentally challenging trials. I didn't know what to do and I've been lost. I've tried many coping skills and while they solve things for a moment or two, the problems, feelings, and heartaches are still there.

I sat there for the rest of relief society pondering, about how I can face these challenges. I was desperate for some revelation on how to get there these hard times. During Sacrament, I pulled up the talk "Sunday Will Come" that I mentioned earlier. Elder Wirthlin is talking about the crucification of Jesus Christ, which happened on what we now call "Good Friday."

"I think that of all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the darkest. But the doom of that day did not endure...

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays. 

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come. No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come."

In the past six months, I've had my share of Fridays. I've had days when I don't want to get out of bed. I've had days that I spend completely alone. I've had days when someone hurts me or I get upset easily. I've had days where I distract myself so much from my problems, I don't know how to cope. I've had days where I drive and drive to get away. I've had days when I don't know how I'm supposed to go on. 

And I've had nights when my pillow is soaked with my tears. I've had nights where I turn on music to drown out the negative voices in my head. I've had nights where I don't want to go to sleep for fear of nightmares. I've had nights where I honestly don't know what tomorrow will bring. I've had nights when I cry out to God and wonder if He's really listening. I've had nights when I ask to take these things away, when I ask for peace. I've had some bad nights.

But, this Easter Sunday, I realized and know that Sunday will come. The worst of days and nights have brought me some hope. They've brought me the knowledge that while I think I've suffered alone, I have never truly been alone. After a sacrament meeting full of hymns and testimonies, I feel rejuvenated. I feel renewed. I feel motivated to go on. I have lost sight of what's truly important and I know that there will be hard days ahead. But I also know that Jesus Christ is my Savior, my Redeemer, my Heavenly Friend. Because Christ died on the cross, He suffered for all the pains, problems, diseases, struggles and feelings we all feel. He knows exactly what everyone is going through and that is an amazing thought.  I can't comprehend it and no one really can. But I know He has felt the pains I feel, He is ready to lift me up and strengthen me, and He is just waiting for me to ask. I do not have to face this life alone, for Christ really did live again. He experiences the worst things of the world on that Friday in order to know how to help us. He died and because of Him, I have second chances, I have a forever family, and I have the ultimate Example to follow.

While Easter has become commercialized with the bunny, gifts, and eggs, I hope we all have taken some time to reflect on the true meaning of Easter: that there was a Man who walked perfectly without sin, who took on all of our sins, in order to save us and give us second chances. 

The Girl With a Rough Life

There is pain in the world. Last Sunday, sitting in church, I couldn't help but cry thinking about all the pain my friends, coworkers, family members and patients at work feel. I have been through some rough times but at this time in my life, I can answer "I'm OK." I'm loving my job, I'm loving the freedom of "just working," not going to school, I have plans for future traveling and life can be a little carefree. But for whatever reason, every year a few days before January 27th, my mind wanders to the start of some of the hardest years of my life to date.

The words echoed over and over again in my mind, and the more I think, the angrier I become. I wish my roommate hadn’t told me the words my exboyfriend commented on my life. The words sound like a broken record going around and around again and again. "Man, she sure has a rough life...she's been through a lot..." I mean, yeah, we all go through hard times. But is that all people know me for? The girl with a lot of trials who's "got it hard?" Is my purpose living on this Earth showing the world that I've been through a lot?

In any case, my life up until college was EASY, all things considering. But these hard times started when my life turned upside down. I’m guessing you think I mean that figuratively. But I mean it literally, when I felt my body being turned over and over …just twice but enough to scar me for a lifetime and start “Megan: The Girl who has A Rough Life.”

The Car Accident- Jan '13    

    I was bored at BYU during my sophomore year of college and this boredom caused me to plan a weekend trip with three of my friends, Lydia, Jonathan, and Cortney to go to Colorado. For the rest of my life, I will always remember what everyone was doing. Lydia, who was driving, adjusted the sun visor because the sun was in her eyes.  Jonathan, in the front seat, was playing Mumford and Sons on his ukulele and couldn't remember the correct lyrics. I was angrily texting a roommate about how frustrating Cortney was being. And Cortney was waking up from his nap and reaching for a banana.

The damage from the car accident

Suddenly, the car jerked.  All sound stopped. I didn't hear anything after the screeching of tires, that ugly screech that leaves behind hideous tire marks on the freeway. Everything went silent.  But with wide eyes, I remember my body turning twice. Rolling. Legs on the ceiling of the car. The car on its side. The car starting to roll once more. Trying to brace myself. Trying to get it to stop. Trying....to hold onto anything. The car stopped with a jolt.  The first sounds I hear again were Lydia's hysterical cries "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."  Jonathan, "is everyone okay?"  Then I hear deep, shallow breathing.  The breaths are trying to bring in deep gulps of air but for some reason, the lungs couldn't fill up.  It is so loud.  I want them to stop.  Then I realize it’s me. And they don’t stop. Lydia is in my face, "Megan, are you okay? Are you hurt? Megan, answer me." She grabs my hand. My tears start while my breathing continues. I can’t get sounds or words out. Cortney is in my face next, pulling on my hair, saying, "She's in shock. Megan, focus. You're okay." Cortney’s hands are in my face again and I realize he's pulling glass out of my hair and away from my eyes. Then, a face in the window. I don't remember the window being rolled down and that's when I realize it's smashed, the glass all over me. The face in window asks again, "Is everyone ok?"  I look at her blankly. Cortney answers for me, "We’re all fine except for her. We need to call an ambulance." Blankets and jackets are thrown on me.

That's when reality snaps. Am ambulance? No. I try again to speak, louder. Nothing comes out. I practically scream “NO” and Cortney looks at me. He moves closer and asks if I can move my feet and my toes. I nod. He calmly and authoritatively explains that we need to call my parents after the ambulance is called. I start to cry. He immediately moves to the middle seat, holds my hand, and comforts me as if I'm a child who awoke from a nightmare. But this isn't a nightmare and my mind is racing. My thoughts go to the worst little words that can destroy you. Why me?

The side I was sitting on

   I calm down. Breathing hurts but I can breathe. My parents are called. I cry more. They promise to fly if anything serious happens at the hospital. I calmly tell Cortney that I won't get in their ambulance unless he comes along. The paramedics arrive, another face in the window.  I firmly as possible inform them that I won’t go to the hospital unless Cortney comes. They aren't listening to me. I practically scream “I. Will. Not. Go. With. You. Unless. Cortney. Comes.”  They calmly agree, while the jaws of life are used to open the door. The plastic hard stretcher comes in the car. Cortney leaves. I can't see Cortney. I panic and the paramedics promise that he's already in the ambulance. A paramedic puts a neck brace on me. I'm cold. It's windy. And I don't have shoes on. I'm lifted into the ambulance. I can't see anything. I just see faces of paramedics who look concerned. There's a tickling in my nose. An oxygen line. Forty eternal minutes later, we’re at the hospital. I see Cortney. He smiles. My first time in a hospital...in the middle of Wyoming.

After another eternal few hours, I am discharged from the emergency room with no broken bones. I thought I was fine, until I walked.  Every step sent shooting pains through my back and neck. Cortney and Lydia help me out of the hospital. We check into a Motel 6 and everyone stares at me as I am helped in bed and handed a subway sandwich.  I feel like screaming.  I can't stand their gazes.  I just want everything to be normal.  We stay overnight in Wyoming and I had the first of many sleepless nights to come, unable to stay asleep, reliving the nightmare.

Back in Utah, I visit a chiropractor who informs me that I have torn ligaments in my neck and the alignment of my back is way off track. Physical therapy, painful massages, and electric treatment to get the alignment of my spine back to normal is the course of action. Not only that, but I can't carry a backpack, I can't walk to campus, nor can I lift a simple gallon of milk. The days ahead are the most painful of my life.

   Four years later and my back and neck ache at the worst of times. I wake up every morning to an ache in my back and sitting for long periods of time kills my tailbone.  But I made it. The worst trial of my life was over…for the most part.  I tried to be that smiling example with courage instead of fear.  I wish I could say that I did.  

The Depressed Gallbladder- June '15

   In January 2015, I discover a sharp pain on the right upper part of my stomach that wouldn’t go away.  It's like having a rock in your shoe—right when I get used to the pain, it goes deeper and shaper.  After months of blood work, ultrasounds, blood work, urine and stool tests, being poked and prodded, the BYU health center doctor calls to inform me that I have binary dyskensia aka a "depressed gallbladder."

HIDA Scan to determine my gallbladder probs

  My stomach drops (or, was that my gallbladder, laughing at my pain?), my world spins, and my eyes start to leak. What in the world even is a gallbladder? And why isn’t it working? And here we go again, another trial. Haven’t I been through enough, physically speaking? Then the questions and fears cloud my mind.  The doctor explains that it wasn’t a very painful process and surgery is an outpatient procedure. Surgery? What surgery? The words on the line are empty and unsympathetic. I am lost. I am alone. And I am speechless.

    And with that news, I head home for the summer. The night before my gallbladder surgery, my mind goes around in circles in complete panic. The first two months of summer, I suppose I was in denial that I would even be having surgery. I don’t sleep a wink. At the surgery center, I walk back into the preparation room and the nurse hands me a hospital gown, tells me to only keep my socks on. They are playing a Michael Bublé Pandora station and the nurse tries to make small talk. She rolls me into the operating room and just like that, I’m waking up in the post-surgery “room,” separated by the walls made of bedsheets. The music is different, more like a punk rock boy band station. Within minutes of waking up, I feel sore and tired, like I just ran a 5k. Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. I can't get the words out and minutes later, I throw up…and then an hour later, I throw up again. The nurses are mad at me, thinking that I had eaten breakfast and informing how dangerous that is. My mom explains that I hadn’t and then I figure out that my digestive system really sucks, because it didn’t digest last night’s dinner. Another hour later, I am finally allowed out to go home…and I feel like I am going to beat this.  

   Recovery didn’t happen overnight—I spent the first few days holding my belly button, as that was where my biggest incision is. Honestly, who knew a belly button could hurt so much? I lived off bagels, Jamba Juice, and baked potatoes. I couldn't get off the couch without help. But a week later, I threw a bridal shower for a high school friend.  I mean, who does that, throws a party a week after surgery?  

Salmonella- November '15

   Then came the next “hard time” that caused my ex-boyfriend to say those words about having a hard time to swirl around in my mind. It’s a normal Wednesday and I come home from the library starving and excited for dinner group. Jordan cooked shish kabobs and the smell was mouth-watering as I dive into the first kabob. After eating the first piece of chicken, I thought it was a little chewy but by the third piece, everyone realizes that the chicken was undercooked and Jordan returns the chicken to the BBQ. I comment to one of my roommates, “Because Jordan is serving us by making us dinner, I’m sure no one will get sick.”

The lovely "transformation Tuesday" to show how sick I was

  Ironically, two days later, I wake up throwing up, with the worse fever I’ve ever experienced in my life. I am bedridden for three days and nothing helps. Shelby takes me to the BYU urgent care and they let me know that I have the flu.
But by Sunday, I am doing worse and Shelby takes me to the E.R. After three hours of tests and IVs, the doctors decide to admit me to the hospital. I'm transported to the hospital, not even allowed out of the bed and a hot doctor wheels me up to the 7th floor. The nurses start changing my IV and settling me in. The visitors start but I still have a crazy fever s I don’t recognize people who come to visit. For three days, I got everything out of my system while roommates, family, friends, and ward members visited me, left me cards, flowers, and brought me necessities I needed to look somewhat acceptable.

   On the day that I was finally going to be discharged from the hospital, my doctor came in, with a slight smile and asked me if I wanted to know why I had been so sick. “Salmonella,” he said, as seriously as possible. I wanted to hit myself in the head. I explained the undercooked chicken situation and he said, “Yup, that’ll do it!” The doctor, nurse, and I made a vow to never eat raw cookie dough and I left the hospital in good spirits. It took a few days to get back to normal, but I have no “life long” complications...except for a fear of undercooked chicken!

  

Tumor- June ‘16

In May 2016, I noticed an occurring pattern and finally started to worry. I hadn’t had a period for over five months. I knew this wasn’t normal but hey, it felt pretty nice not to have the monthly surprise mixed with excruciating cramps. I finally called my mom because I didn’t have healthcare in Utah, saying, “Mom, I think I need to see a doctor.” We make an appointment and I came out to California. The appointments to come were stressful. I got really good with needles and thanks to my hospital stay, I was no longer scared. I was just frustrated when the same phlebotomist couldn’t find my veins. My doctor told me that he was thinking this was caused by one or two things: 1. A tiny tumor on my pituitary gland. 2. PCOS or 3. A Thyroid problem. I was actually hoping for option 2 or 3 because the word tumor terrifies just about anyone.

After finding out the medication was working,
we went to the zoo. LOL, my family.

I’ll always remember that appointment. I tried to keep my composure when the doctor came in. He started off saying that the blood test for my thyroid came back negative (RELIEF) but then he told me that the result for PCOS came back negative. (FEAR) He then told me that yes, the blood test came back positive for my brain. I blinked and said ok but really don't remember much more from the appointment, except for this statement he said in a thick Chinese accent:

"Now remember... Macro is BIIIG, micro is tiny, very very small. We're hopeful because we're catching this early that it's probably a micro benign tumor."

I tried kept my composure as we discussed that I was leaving the state the next day and didn't have plans to come back until middle of July. Basically, my mom talked and I listened. The second the doctor left, I was in pretty much shock and just cried. I immediately again thought WHY ME.

Looking back, yeah, summer was rough. The fear of having something not working in your brain really messes with your mind. However, I am on a medication to shrink the size of the tumor and while I don’t know the size currently, I do know that my periods are regular (and suck, LOL) and my hormone levels are back to normal. Thank goodness for modern medical technology!

But the words that my ex-boyfriend said to my roommate still bother me. “Man, I feel sorry for Megan. She’s had a rough life. She goes through a lot.” These words haunt me at the strangest of times and I can’t figure out why. Okay, so I have been through a lot. I’ve been in a car accident, had my gallbladder taken out, was hospitalized for salmonella, and I have a tumor: four random physical trials without a connection. There’s no link. Maybe that’s just how my cards were played. Maybe I’m being taught a lesson. Maybe we’ll never have answers for the whys. Maybe we need to learn things over and over again.

"every sunset is an opportunity to reset."

I’ve noticed that as time goes on, everyone has trials and pain and most of the time, people don’t talk about them.  They hid behind a perfect smile and a fake attitude. They hid behind their Facebook posts, their Instagram posts, and their videos on snapchat. They say, “I’m good” when you ask how they are. They hid anxiety, depression, eating disorders, abuse, problems, trials, deaths--people hid EVERYTHING. Why aren’t we more brave? Why don’t we tell our stories? Why don’t we share our experiences in order to help others? Why don’t we wipe those perfect smiles off our faces and share in other’s pains, experiences, and tears? Why don’t we show the world what we’re REALLY like instead of trying to be perfect? Why...why...why.

I don’t have any answers. I just feel strongly that my life is meant to be shared. I don’t write about these experiences to share with you my hard problems and to feel your sympathy. I write about these experiences to help me. I write about these experiences to show you that LIFE IS HARD. My perfect Instagram pictures with quotes about how good life is--SOMETIMES that’s not true. Scratch that--most of the time that’s not true. Most of the time, I stub my toe running out the door, makeup smeared from sweating due to running around, grabbing a power bar for lunch and heading off to work, driving recklessly because I’m running late. Most of the time, I fall asleep to Netflix because my dreams scare me. Most of the time, I’M HAPPY because I firmly believe happiness is a choice that I have to wake up everyday and CHOOSE. But sometimes, I cry. I cry about other people’s problems. I cry about other’s pain. I cry when I think that the patients I work with struggle every minute with horrible thoughts and voices in their head. I cry when I worry about my family, my sisters, and how even though we LOOK perfect on Fakebook, we’re far from it. I cry when I think about my Savior Jesus Christ and how He suffered for all my sins and I’m still not perfect.

"sometimes all we have is the past to help us move forward
& sometimes all we could ever do is hope
for a better tomorrow." R.M. Drake

But, ULTIMATELY, I blog for myself. I share these experiences with you so you can join in on my story but so I can understand my life. I can understand that these hard times are given to me to find joy. The joy is never found during the hard time but you better believe that I find them when it’s over. They challenge me. During hard times, I don’t smile through it all ALL THE TIME. Maybe I do in person, at church, at work, while we’re hanging out. But when I’m alone, I’m not this bubbly happy person. AND THAT’S OKAY. Because I’m Megan Christine Williams. Some people think I have a hard life. Some people think I have an easy life. Some people think I’m always happy. But I know the truth of my story and I’m grateful for the opportunity to tell my story. Now you can decided if you have the courage to share your story in any way you want. Or you can decide to keep it to yourself. We all have the choice. As for me, I share because I care and I need to in order to make it day by day. And to change the perception of some who think I’m “Megan-The Girl with a Hard Life.” Instead, I prefer to be “Megan-The Girl who Struggles but Still Finds JOY.”

Striving for Perfection

Looking into my blog-o-sphere history, about two years ago, I was feeling unsure what my future and really wanted to be remembered for something great (you can read that post here). I was turning twenty one and I was lost. I had recently come out of a traumatic relationship which ended in my significant other cheating on me. My self-esteem was low, my purpose in life was lost, and I honestly didn't know who I was. I would now label this "crisis" as my first of many "quarter life crises" to come.

Graduated at age 22

No one tells you what life's going to be like in your 20s. All of the sudden, you leave home, go to college and have to make all these huge decisions. No one tells you that society has forgotten to tell you the clear steps to take during this ambiguous time of life: [the official label is "Emerging Adulthood" but what does that mean?] how we're supposed to act, who were supposed to be, who we're supposed to be with, and oh ya, we're supposed to figure out all that when we're in our 20s. In my younger years, I was taught in countless young women lessons, family traditions, and watching the paths of others to go to BYU, find the one, and become a perfect little housewife. I yearned for that goal and assumed it would happen to me like everyone else. 

I obviously wasn't prepared for how my "real life" has turned out.

This morning, I looked through all the articles and videos that I "save" on Facebook. I stumbled upon one called "Hope Works" through mormon.org. The first video is one by a Tiffany Webster called "The Perfect Lie." She talks about how when she was in Sunday School, her teacher asked the question "where do you see yourself in 15 years?" As she listed the place that she saw herself, I realized that's the place I want to be when I was younger. "Graduated from college, married to the man of my dreams. We'll go backpacking Europe the summer before we have five kids, each spread out two years apart. I'll wake up at five AM, work out for an hour. I'll read my scriptures for thirty minutes, the kids will wake up, and we'll have family prayer before my husband goes off to work..." You get the picture, it's the perfect life. But as Tiffany goes on to explain, that is not how her life turned out. 

I totally get what Tiffany is saying in this video. My life has not turned out to perfect in any sense of the word. But then again maybe that's what life IS all about. The twists and the turns, the curveballs, the trials. The celebrations and milestones. The tragedies and blessings. I mean that's what we agreed upon, during the war in heaven. We were eager to follow our Father in Heaven, while we knew that life would be hard. We knew we'd have a Savior and that we could follow His example and become like him after this life. But, as Tiffany says, "my entire life, I've been taught to be perfect. So how could I try any harder?"

All that being said, why did no one tell me that it's normal to have these "quarter life crises" at age 23? Why did no one tell me that my twenties would be challenging but also the most exciting times of my life? Why did no one tell me that it's okay not to be perfect?

I've had my share of struggles these past two weeks. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't "happy-go-lucky" Megan on my birthday, after my amazing trip to Boston that everyone was dying to hear all about, when I returned back to my job that I love and missed, and why, instead, I just felt tears coming.

Instead of turning to everyone like I normally do (which I still did on some nights), I turned to my Savior. I prayed harder than I can remember, sometimes with tears streaming down my face, sometimes unable to get words out, composing myself, and then losing it again. But I knew during those moments that He was listening. He knew every pain I was feeling, every worry I had, and every discouragement that Satan tells me. I received a blessing that told me that the Savior knows everything I'm feeling. He's been through it all, so now you need to turn to Him. I went to church and got another answer through a poem someone shared over the pulpit, ending with 

"No matter what we go through, When we feel we can’t take more Just stop and think about Jesus Christ, He’s been there before!" 

I talked to a friend, who assured me my prayers would be answered. I went to a FHE where the spiritual thought was exactly what I needed to hear. The next day, I served in the temple and got to spend some minutes alone in the celestial room, where I received comfort. I went to institute where I took copious notes because I couldn't get enough of what the teacher [& the Spirit] was trying to teach me. And then I went to work, where I served a patient because of her inability to see. I talked to her, gained her trust, and even read the questions for her test. 

I've been known to be a pretty positive person and I've been known to live life each day to the fullest. This is not always me. I have days where I'm not strong, happy, nor positive. I have days where I feel like giving up. But why stay that way? While the past two weeks have been hard and I still don't exactly know why there were so hard, I feel blessed. I've been taught by the Greatest Teacher. Instead of the education that Tiffany gives (Me+More=Christlike), she learns that Me + Chirst = More. 

I'm not perfect. I cannot strive for perfection like the "perfect lie" we've been taught from our childhood. It's okay to struggle. It's okay to have days where you feel down. It's okay to take a break from life and watch some netflix to destress. It's okay to strive for perfection but we must remember that is not something we will reach in this life. We must remember our Savior is always there for us, on good and bad days. He gave His life to be the ultimate Comforter, Healer, and Helper. We need His help more than we ever know and I'm grateful that I was taught this through answers to prayers.

Six Lessons Learned During My 22nd Year

Today I looked down at my temple schedule and realized that it's September 20th. Which means my birthday is in ONE MONTH and I will no longer be singing TSwizzle's song 22. I don't find this too sad because I've accidentally been telling people I'm 23 for the last month and according to my mother "it's too early to be lying about your age." Oops.

So, yeah! I'm turning 23 in one month. I realize that age is nothing but a number and I'm really not that old. I haven't been on Earth for every a quarter of century yet!!! But this past year has taught me a lot and I wanted to share that with you, reader of my blog.


1. Always cook your chicken thoroughly. 

Hospital Day One vs. Hospital Day Three

I'm a big believer in sharing food so when I joined a dinner group last year, I was pretty psyched. It was a fun way to get together and eat good food before we all went our own ways to do homework. Until one fateful night when my friend cooked shish kabobs. Being starved, I ate two big bites of chicken that were a bit chewy than normal. I realized it wasn't cook thoroughly but the damage was done. Two days later, I got so sick with a fever, throwing up, chills...it was bad. My nursing roommate took me to urgent care where I had "the flu." HA. Next day, I went to the ER and was admitted to the hospital for the first time in my life. I had a lot of visitors, which was nice. It's time like this that you know who your real friends are, as I had one friend spend the night SITTING in a chair that we didn't know reclined, haha.  Well, three days later, the doc and I vowed we'd never eat cookie dough ever again because I had salmonella! So yes, I'm the one case of salmonella you'll probably ever meet, but now you can scare your children not to eat cookie dough because salmonella is death.

2. Addictions are real.

I've known this all my life but never did I know this more than I do know. Within a matter of days after the new year, I was offered my first "real" job as a psych tech at Center for Change, a rehab home for girls with eating disorders. It's been a roller coaster of emotions, working at a place that can be so challenging but oh so rewarding. I've shared lots of tears and lots of laughs at that place.

the ever popular "feet selfie" from work

And then, when I moved into a new ward, I was asked to be the Addiction Recovery Sunday School teacher. I was told that a lot of ward members attended the close because it focused on the Atonement. Talk about feeling overwhelmed and unqualified!! But in the past seven months, I have learned a lot about addictions and mental health and eating disorders and daily struggles. I have seen people easily "hide" their problems and I've gotten really good at recognizing when people are struggling. My heart breaks when I watch those I love struggle but I also know that there is light at the end of the tunnel through many, many resources: therapy, medications, support groups, coping skills, and religion--mainly the Atonement. I'm a big believer that trials make us stronger. Addictions are real and we all struggle with one thing or another.



3. Go see a doctor if your body isn't working "normally."

right after I found out my tumor was small

For about 5 months after graduating from BYU and not having the handy dandy health center up the corner, I casually told my mom I should probably see a doctor as my body wasn't being "normal." After being a little more firm, I came home and saw a doctor only to find out that I had a small tumor in my pituitary gland that was producing so much prolactin that my body thought I was pregnant. The thoughts that go through your mind when you have a tumor...it was a pretty scary time.

After an MRI, I was lucky and blessed to find out that it was small tumor and treatable with medication. I am now a pro at doing blood work and the phlebotomist in Cali got to know me and my horrible veins pretty well. I learned our bodies are pretty cool and can tell us when something is wrong. Even though I still dislike doctors, GO SEE A DOC if something is wrong, please? Ok, thanks, glad we had this talk. :)

4. When something isn't going right in your life, go to the temple. The temple brings peace.

If we want to get technical, I went through the temple for the first time when I was 21...but two days later, I turned 22. So I'm counting it. Anyway. I. Love. The. Temple. I remember during my interview with the stake president, he asked what I was doing to prepare to go through the temple, as I wasn't getting married or going on a mission. I sat there and said...well I go weekly right now... He smiled and said never let that change.

10.18.15 

The days leading up to me attending the temple for the first time were some of the hardest in my temple. Satan kept trying to remind me of all my mistakes and sins and why I was unworthy to attend. It wasn't like it was a bad week, but finally getting on that flight to go home, I felt so much peace. The day I attended the temple was one of the most peaceful in my life. To be honest, I didn't remember a lot, I only remember the peace and the happiness.

Since being endowed, I have attended the temple (almost) every week and now I get to attend every week as I am a temple worker. I cannot begin to list the blessings that have come from the temple, as a patron or a worker. The temple is the house of God. Every time I attend, regardless of what's going on in my life, the peace and quiet I feel is so real and relaxes my mind.

5. Nature is all around us and can provide peace.

Megan, Party of One, Hiking

Growing up in SoCal, I was at the beach ALL THE TIME. But in Valencia, we don't have mountains. We don't go outside during the summer unless we're headed to the pool or beach. And having lived in Utah for five years now, I realize that nature is all around me. I mean, I always knew that but now I realize how much peace I get from a drive in Provo Canyon or hiking a mountain or going outside for a run at night. I love to hike and I love to see the beauty from nature. Fall is starting and I just can't wait for all the beauty that I can explore! But being in nature, disconnected from the world brings serious peace. During summer, we vacationed at Sequoia and had little to no wifi and absolutely no service at times. It. Was. Great.  We really spent time with each other and had a marvelous time taking in beautiful sights and sounds of Sequoia. When you feel like your life is chaotic, unplug and visit the mountains. It brings so much peace!

6. Live your life as authentically as possible. 

I started this blog post (and this motto) in my mind about a month ago. I was unhappy with life. I felt disconnected and I didn't know why. I was so frustrated. I started reading a book called The Voice of Knowledge "A Guide to Inner Peace" and it honestly changed my life. The book talks about how we each are telling our own story. We're in charge of creating it and we're in charge of taking control. But then we have other people in our lives who are trying to tell their own story and sometimes it doesn't agree with our story. Or people have perceptions of us that doesn't agree with how we see ourselves. Or we have this voice in our head that tells us you're not good enough, you'll never be as thin as you want, you're not even funny.

"This is real, this is me, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be"

I was feeling all these things. I was feeling like no one really knew the real me. And then it clicked. No one CAN know the real me because they only see a perception of me. And if people have thoughts about me that aren't true to my story, THAT'S OK because I know my story and no one else knows it. It's all about being authentic! Live in the moment. Create those moments. Be comfortable in your own skin. It's made all the difference.

One thing that this book talked about that really struck me is that you will always be with yourself for the rest of your life. You will never be "truly alone" so start liking yourself! I take myself out on "dates" all the time and sit there in Yogurtland by myself and I enjoy it! I go on hikes by myself because being alone with myself is relaxing. I go for runs because my body enjoys it and it refreshes my mind.

Since August 27th, I have been living my life as authentically as possible and I'm amazed with the changes I've seen. I met people in my ward and when they laugh at something I say, my mind goes, "See? I told you! You're funny! People like you!" I love going to work because I feel in my element. I can joke around with patients when they want me to but I can also be serious and help when they need it. I can stand in front of a church class full of my peers and teach because the voice of knowledge is quiet. It's no longer telling me negative things. I go for a run and do yoga and meditate because that's the real me. It took me twenty two years to figure out who I am but life is now so exciting Life is way better to take the challenges and changes and chances authentically as possible and not regretting it. In the past 24 days that I've been truly authentic, I cannot think of one instant that I have regretted and that is amazing.

So there you have it, folks. Six major things I've learned. But as with the tagline of this blog, I'm still learning. I'm not perfect. I'm learning every day, making mistakes and loving every minute!