tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22682501124938798262024-02-20T21:25:48.591-08:00Scarlet To SnowShelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-75725204692493546002024-01-26T11:11:00.000-08:002024-01-26T11:11:50.615-08:00Because I Don’t Understand Anymore. What do you believe? 07.28.2022<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">if human life is what i REALLY care about (and I think we’ve all established that i do)….</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">…and if advocating for all people to have access to the things I have access to and have always had access to my whole life for no other reason than this little one that, as a fetus, I had no control over:</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I was born into my family because my parents had sex without me knowing about it and now I live here in this society/culture. So, in my neighborhood we had food, running water, a pet dog, safe schools, lots of white people, a school system that offered arts & sports and extra curricular activities. We had guidance counselors and dual enrollment opportunities in high school. And Western ethics and Evangelical Christianity were the only tools I had as my basis of morality. My decisions were simply shaped by me being born to two white parents who were also born to (or adopted by—in my dad’s case) two white parents in a middle class small town in Michigan. I didn’t choose my circumstances and the life I was born into, nature did. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I can easily recognize that there are people in this world and in my country and in my own community that are born to VASTLY different circumstances. So, the only way to understand what that would be like is to seek out real life examples of people that are different than me and think of how my definition of morality and ethics might shift…an example of a situation that plays out over and over again in our communities. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And then I imagine voting for a policy that will effectively force a single mother living in poverty to use her body to grow a baby. For the sake of that unborn baby. This woman comes from a long line of generational and racial trauma and poverty and she’s black. Her household income is around $25,000–and she does not have company funded medical benefits (and don’t even think about paid maternity leave). There is limited access to safe & reliable & affordable childcare & safe schools with access to helpful resources in the area where she lives because the houses in her area are not worth as much as a middle class white small town in michigan. Property taxes fund public schools. So, guess who has nicer school districts? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And if she wants to get food for herself and her growing fetus, her job better accommodate for that addition to her life—but it won’t. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So, she tries assistance programs but there are hoops to jump through to get those resources. And that would require a vehicle (but she don’t have one) and paid leave from her job (nope) and she’s currently struggling to feed just herself. She doesn’t have adequate insurance so she compiles medical debt. And even if she gave her baby up for adoption and some family (best case) pays her medical bills…she has persistent incontinence and painful clogged milk ducts and no money to treat any of it. And so…the baby goes to foster care. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Now it’s 2022. And these anti-abortionists have been touting the same shit for years…so why the fuck is our foster care system so broken if you are insisting these babies be born. Why are there areas of such extreme poverty and desperation in our own communities where circumstances like this exist. And you’re worried about forcing a person to carry a baby for none other reason than that kid…must simply be…born? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Did you forget they’re being born into two IMPOSSIBLE situations. Roughly half of foster youth nationwide never even finish high school. 1 in 5 will be homeless after that. And 1 in 4 will be involved in the criminal justice system—within 2 years of aging out or just simply disappearing from the system. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Oh, if father is long gone and has given up rights to the child (4 out of every 10 children are born to a single parent home where the father has left—and it’s not illegal to do that, the law just takes their parental rights away after a period of time). And that happens all of the time. You can abandon and neglect your child as a father without any form of punishment or real compensation to the mother…and you’re worried about this kid being born? So, just assuming she can easily receive child support it and doesn’t have to go to the trouble of going to small claims—oh wait, we’ve already established it would be pretty difficult with no car, no money, no proper childcare or PTO to speak of.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">…even so, child support on average is about $403/month for one kid (assuming a person lives in Michigan). But, she live in poverty. She has medical bills. Childcare. And then the cost of existing as a human in this country. And her circumstances cannot be changed in 9 months. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But it is illegal to abort the fetus. So she has a kid but because of where she lives and what color her skin is…the kid will NEVER have the same opportunities I had. And statistically speaking, they will likely suffer. And how is that fair. Mom suffers physically and fiscally and emotional and mentally just so the fetus comes to term and is born with all the odds in the world against them. So, whose life gets better because of this? …and please don’t tell me her eternal life. We don’t even know if she knows about god or has ever been taken to a church or ever will. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Not to mention, LOOK at how we treat young pregnant women in this country. We literally all sat on our asses and watched a show about children having babies for entertainment. Combine going through puberty and development with unsupportive father figures and unsupportive parents, oh…and take a trig final while you have morning sickness. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So, again, whose life improves? Whose life gets better because this kid is born? The single mother’s? Is the kid’s life better simply because the kid was born? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Or…is it your life that is better if she has this kid? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Because you still get to go to heaven either way but you also don’t have to pay any of her expenses or watch her kid or live in her home or work her job. And if you care for the kid, is it just the fetus? Because that kid’s life is statistically going to be pretty horrible. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">…it’s pretty simple. You live in a reality where having a baby would upset your life quite a bit—as it does—but this situation would not be your reality. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Just because I will never know this theoretical woman’s experiences first hand, what kind of American or Jesus lover would I be if I didn’t fight to end racial disparities and poverty and fight the root cause of these issues. We aren’t <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>taking care of our own citizens. People take care of what fulfills them personally...because that’s what they’ve been taught. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And then they tell people they’ve earned everything they have through hard work. No. You were given your life and your circumstances. Because you were born to a family that made it easier for you. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I want this world to be better and I am willing to give up my own climb to wealth and power and bigger houses and nicer cars to make sure of it. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">How many times this summer did you stress about having to get your lawn mowed? When there are people living in the city you live in that will never come close to owning a lawn mower. Or a lawn. Ever. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And you just tithed 10% of your pay check to that church that people volunteer their time at to direct traffic toward on sundays to a building nicer than all the community centers that serve the homeless in your community. And everyone there looks like they got to church in a late model SUV to BUY their latte at the church cafe to contribute to…more churches and church cafes? While people starve on the streets less than 15 minutes from the front doors. But please tell me how you’re doing the lord’s work.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I have no qualms with people who have a hard time conceiving a reality where a woman would choose to abort a fetus, rather than bring them into the world or (other option) put them into the foster care system that is irrefutably broken.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">But you are not pro-life. You are anti-abortion. And you think it’s your religious duty to vote to prevent murder. But it just doesn’t happen that way. Numbers go up. You hurt our country and humankind by deliberately forcing women/people (and children) to carry a fetus to term when they can’t afford to sustain a pregnancy or another human life and the alternative is just as bad. You take and destroy more lives than you save them. And that’s just a fact. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We cannot stay the same anymore. Look around you—if all your closest friends look the same as you—think similarly and believe the same things as you—if they never correct you or question you or challenge you, how will you ever really know if you’re the one that’s right? If you’re all the smartest people in the room, does that really mean that there is such a huge divide between human beings that we are unwillingly to accept that someone else’s life and family might matter too? …like can you really say that you are just protecting your belief system? Because I don’t understand that anymore. What do you believe? That suddenly everyone is going to become a Christian and be saved from their circumstances and never have an abortion again? How exactly would that happen? What policies should we support?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I cannot say that I would be making the same decisions in any way shape or form…let alone what kind of decisions I’d be even ABLE to make about my reproductive health in that situation. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And that’s assuming I’m straight presenting. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">No one, with ABSOLUTE and full confidence, could ever say they would know what is best for someone else’s life without knowing exactly where they came from and the generations and generations that led to them being in their circumstance. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">If you really care about saving lives and not a tired rhetoric that you only believe because your mom and your pastor told you to, worry about your own life. Don’t have any abortions yourself and you’ll go to heaven. We’ll be busy trying to build the kingdom HERE. Thy will be done. </span></p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-64468403463122290032022-05-09T10:20:00.007-07:002022-05-09T12:09:20.242-07:00help me understand 05.09.2022<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">You love them until they openly reject your rhetoric.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>You love them until it’s hard for you to listen to their opinion because it’s not the same as yours.</span><span> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You follow closely until it requires you to pull the plank from your eye. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You love them with a clause. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You love them “even though they….” </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You<span> love her “we just can’t…”</span><span class="s2"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You love her “but…”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You love her “…despite”</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">What you’re saying is “we love them even though they aren’t worthy of love…” and some of you think this was the message of Jesus. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">That we are to love everyone even though they aren’t worthy of it. So we use this to help us justify our hatred for people. Listen to me. I’ve heard this at dinner tables I’ve sat at:</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">“Well. You know. She has a girlfriend now. But. You know. We are still called to love her even though she’s gay. Ellen is gay, and we love Ellen.”</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">But, Jesus’ message was not this message. It wasn’t the message of “love others even though they are sinners because some sinners are cool and do good things”. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">He said…no one here on earth is worthy of love in the way that our faith has traditionally defined it (with rules and sins and hatred for defiance to the rules and laws of sin) </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">And the message was that all our “sins” are weighed equally. So, we love everyone because everyone here is worth it. PERIOD. There weren’t exceptions to this love. Do you understand? The Jesus I learned about said…fuck your religion. Fuck your theology. Love one another without reservation. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">WE should LOVE People WITHout CONDITIONS. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Unconditional. Agape love. Isn’t this the good news?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">I’m so confused. Where is Jesus? Where is this Jesus you talk about? Where is the Jesus that surrounded himself with the filth of society? With people like me? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is this Jesus? He’s not in your church. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Are we supposed to isolate ourselves from the problems of this world???? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Are we only to be friends with people who align with our own thinking? Are we only to love people who look like us? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is your God? Who is all powerful and all knowing? If he is all powerful how is he contained in that book written by a man in a world we didn’t live in? How can you dare to know YOUR truth is the only truth?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">How can you reject a world where the people were fully cared for?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is this god you spoke of to me who loves us all and befriended the unloved who bucked society’s rules? Where is this Jesus here? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">He’s not in your church. He’s not in your heart. What good are you doing by setting yourself apart from a world that’s growing and learning to love people better than you? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is your Jesus? Where is your growth? Where is your heart? Why are you complicit in this bullshit? What are you fighting for? Love???</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is your compassion and love and where are your eyes at? Where is your resistance to this….idolatry? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lay it down. Like really lay it down. What legacy are you leaving with compliance to this system of “love” on the basis of attendance and your tithe??? What good was ever done by following the status quo??? </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is the idolatry he spoke of. This is the madness Jesus spoke of. Jesus was not a Christian. He was a man. A Jewish man. Who was sick of rules deciding who was taken care of and who was loved. Who was sick of a system profiting off of a perceived salvation. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It feels like the current systems of Christian love have bastardized a man’s legacy in the name of their own comfort and salvation. If we take away your church, if we take away your idea of sin and salvation…what do you have left now? Can you still love people without this and could you go out into the world and love people like Jesus from the Bible? Because it seems like everyone else is doing it better than you. It seems like everyone else is fighting harder than you for the oppressed to be heard. For the broken and sick to be healed. For the hungry to be fed. For the lost to be found. Not the white woman to buy a new house and car in a nice neighborhood and good schools. We shouldn’t thank God for that. We should thank God our circumstances allowed for that and do our best to make sure we fill the cups of others whenever possible. Because we have the means to. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">JESUS FOUGHT FOR THE OPPRESSED. JESUS DIDNT FIGHT FOR THOSE WHO WERE REPRESENTED. He was popular because he went against the churches. The organized. The regulators. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Lay it fucking down. This is your power. This is the power of the Pharisees. The power to control the uncontrolled. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You feel good attending on sundays because it rids you of the guilt you feel for clinging to your possessions and your nice way of living while the underprivileged people that can’t even afford to drive to your church on Sunday suffer because they can’t find something to eat and they aren’t in a different country—THEY ARE ON YOUR CITY STREETS. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Tell me why there are 2 MEGA CHURCHES in Kalamazoo, MI where the head pastors live in absolute luxury but there are still people LINING up for free food at the organizations that try to provide for the hungry and homeless in Kalamazoo. WHERE IS YOUR JESUS. WHERE IS HE. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">WHY is it that these churches in Kalamazoo can open multiple locations. Million dollar facilities on the same streets where I was asked for cash on Saturday night? They can endorse beautiful establishments in the most sought after real estate in the city and staff them but there are still homeless, there are still hungry, there is still gun violence, there is still racism…..HELP ME UNDERSTAND WHERE IS YOUR JESUS. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">I want your Jesus here. I want His Kingdom to come here. I want that Jesus. I want him deeply. I require that Jesus in this world. But I do not see him in the faces of you. I do not see him at your church. I do not feel him in your hearts when I hear you sit around the dinner tables and express your disgust for queer people, and your disgust for a young black mother relying on WIC for her similac, express your disgust for a pregnant woman who is pregnant with her 5th child by a different man because she was the victim of sexual abuse and neglect for most of her life and was never able to understand the meaning of love and the right to choose who touched her body. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">You want to protect your ability to feel better about your life because the current laws and systems support the safety and preservation of the life you enjoy. And heaven forbid you make sacrifices to that life. Because you earned it, damnit. You worked hard for it. And you shouldn’t have to give anything up for the lives of others! What’s that, Jesus? Oh yeah, I LOVE JESUS. He’s my hero. Long live my savior. He saved my life and I am called to be more like him! </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Where is your Jesus. Tell me. Where is your heart for more than the people in your life that look like you. That live like you. That live near you. That talk like you. Where is your love for the people in your city living in filth and poverty and hardship and your version of sin …they’re not at your church. Would Jesus be at your church? God. No. He wouldn’t. Ok?</span></p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-19238726348980787482022-04-25T08:24:00.001-07:002022-04-25T08:24:20.962-07:00forever scarlet 04.23.2022<p> blog/</p><p><br /></p><p>I was having a lovely evening with friends. I didn’t have a corkscrew. So I offered to go drive down the road to buy one. So I did. I went in and bought Chex mix. And I left and got in my car and realized I forgot the corkscrew. I went back in. They don’t have corkscrews. I drove further up the road to a different store. I went in and picked up a bottle of champagne. They didn’t have corkscrews. But the store owner gave me his and told me to bring it back tomorrow. I went to pay for my champagne. I had the wrong card. I went out to my car and got the right one. Drove back to the studio. Walked inside. Realized I forgot the corkscrew in my car. Walked outside and searched my car and realized that it wasn’t in my car. It was in my purse. I went back inside. Sobbing and exhausted because I know that I struggle. I know that. </p><p><br /></p><p>I also know that I have to actively combat the negativity of actually experiencing these things. I will realize the mistake and shame and scold myself for being forgetful and time blind and irresponsible and disrespectful and…bad. </p><p><br /></p><p>It’s frustrating because it feels like I’m actively making choices to move in a forward direction…but then there are days like today that are filled with the constant irritation that I have fucked up…again. </p><p><br /></p><p>The eye rolls. The laughs I get with the stories I tell. The way I cope with humor by telling people about my adventures and they laugh because it’s cute and pathetic and quirky (it’s perceived as my personality and not my ASD/ADHD) and while it’s funny because it’s abnormal and outrageous, I’m actually just exhausted from having to explain why things just take me longer. And why I’m terrible at sarcasm. Why I can only wear a certain kind of sock, why I can’t touch paper, why I have said the word cockroach but meant cactus and McDonald’s when I meant Disneyland, why I sometimes start singing my feelings instead of feeling them, why I hate being touched if I don’t know you well enough, why I get anxious if I see a person in my peripherals, why I can’t understand you unless I’m either closing my eyes, doodling, or watching your mouth move. I hear you but I can’t understand you. This is why anything microfiber makes me want to rip my skin off, why static cling in my hair provokes a wildly uncontrollable urge to rip all of my hair out, why I listen to one song on repeat for up to months at a time, why I can effortlessly memorize raps and lyrics and site accurate statistics concerning topics that I’m passionate about. And why I sometimes have perfect and specific recall about a history subject that I took 6 hours to sit on my couch and learn everything about because I was hyper fixated. It’s also why I cannot memorize my route to work, why unless you are not being absolutely clear, I will not understand what you need. I can sense social cues but I will often adjust my behavior to see if it fixes things because I’m generally in fear of being scolded for being reactive or blunt. But now that I don’t do that, people get offended that I’m so direct when I say “what is it that you need because it feels like you’re trying to communicate something to me?” </p><p><br /></p><p>Remember this: for a person with autism especially, anything other than clear and overt communication is either…you manipulating us into realizing your need because if you aren’t saying it—we don’t know. We just feel insecure because you’re acting strangely. I am HIGHLY and HYPER aware of my environment and sense shifts almost immediately. I just can’t always interpret what that shift means. </p><p><br /></p><p>The moment you assume anything about anyone who you simply are not, you are wrong. The world I live in was designed for the neurotypical (white man) and for those of you out here existing and navigating this space with a brain that runs on overdrive…I salute you. </p><p><br /></p><p>I’m Shelby. I’m 31. I like to lovingly refer to myself as the dumpster fire princess. I do very difficult things and I’ve accomplished things that many people who are neurotypical have. I’m compassionate and quick-witted and empathetic and I’ve heard that I often present as stupid, overwhelming or lost. But I’m just a human with ASD. This means that there are sensory areas in my brain that show more random activity and that my brain has a surplus of synapses between brain cells. Supah mega speedy. </p><p><br /></p><p>I have ADHD. I am not self-diagnosed and, most probably aren’t wondering, but the “squirrel” joke got old 20 years ago. </p><p><br /></p><p>Concretely and exactly, I have a neurodevelopment disorder—that’s a fancy way of saying that there are differences in my brain structure and function that affect my cognition and that it developed during my childhood. </p><p><br /></p><p>It also means that my frontal lobe is smaller than a neurotypical person. That is: memory, planning, motivation, and time perception…in my brain, these things don’t operate in a consistent or predictable way. I have low levels of tonic dopamine, so it is incredibly difficult to maintain motivation and resist distraction. </p><p><br /></p><p>Would you expect a person with no legs to complete a marathon without support or allowances? </p><p><br /></p><p>Would you expect a person with a broken brain to just act like a person with a typical one? Just because our differences and challenges aren’t visibly obvious (and I’m not mentally prepared to discuss autism in adult women and the concept of masking symptoms and how exhausting that is and how it also perpetuates my adhd symptoms), our brains are still exhibiting very tangible and observable differences that affect the overall functionality. Our brains aren’t bleeding or bandaged but you still see the symptoms of a brain different than yours. That’s facts. It’s not a brain that is morally inferior to yours. </p><p><br /></p><p>and I’m just out here practicing patience with myself every day. I know it’s frustrating to be around me sometimes. Imagine how it feels being the one doing the things that we know the world perceives as frustrating. It’s embarrassing and difficult and tiring. We know. We know. We know. We know you’re frustrated. We are too.</p><p><br /></p><p>It’s just time to level with you and maybe we stop talking so much about my symptoms and start talking about the “why” in a morally neutral way. The opposite of your perceived order is not bad. It’s different. I want us all to live without fear or shame. </p><p><br /></p><p>Understand that we do our best to assimilate with amphetamines and iced coffee. But it’s a double edged sword and a constant battle for your normal. </p><p><br /></p><p>Spreading awareness and speaking the truth. Let people live. Be patient. Ask questions. Don’t assume. </p><p><br /></p><p>The world we live in might not be super conducive to prospering in life with ASD/ADHD…but there’s enough space for us. You just have to make room (a little extra room actually because we come with a lot of…just…things and bags and emergency grapefruits and something I like to call “purse advil” and the occasional box of cereal I will eat all week and the items in my pockets and hands that I forgot were there until just now and the shoes I’m carrying because I forgot to put them on and the hairbrush in my purse because I always forget to look in the mirror and the deodorants in every important location I frequent and…just the literal and actual weight of it all). We come with a lot. Just more to love.</p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-42634522501948452182021-07-31T18:04:00.003-07:002021-07-31T18:04:43.372-07:00chameleon 07.10.2021<p> Shelby trying to list off brands of chewing tobacco: </p><p>“YUKON!”</p><p>“TAHOE!”</p><p>“HUSKY!”</p><p>Everyone else, “……grizzly?”</p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-58533397720605014142021-07-12T21:55:00.058-07:002021-07-13T21:36:00.121-07:00WHOMAN “Who’s your human?” 07.12.2021<p>But seriously the feminine/masculine energy concept is so so so very interesting to me. Because it eliminates the traditional concept of biological gender. And it just talks about a human being in an intangible sense. Meaning it’s not about the vessel that holds our being, it’s about the parts of who we are that can’t be explained in a physical sense. The makeup of WHO we are and not WHAT we are.</p><p>A human that was created with two types of…energies (Feminine/Masculine) that express themselves in differing amounts. The more accepted concept of gender identification or the more accepted finite definitions of Femininity vs. Masculinity assume that a human is one or the other but not both. And society determines whether you are one versus the other by only one criterion: the type of sex organs that are on your body. But the reality is that both Feminine and Masculine energy exist within all of us. More often than not, one will express itself more dominantly than the other. When we say things like “he’s a man’s man” or “she’s a girly girl” or “she’s a tom boy” or “he’s a bit feminine” we are actually describing how dominant their Masculinity or Femininity is. Occasionally, they express themselves at similar levels. (This reminds me of this tiktok trend I’m obsessed with called “bi wife energy” where a bisexual wife films their husband in the grocery store and it generally portrays the husband’s exuding an energy that differs from a husband with a straight wife. And it’s true! And I am going to try my best to tell you why I think that is.) </p><p>Here’s a graphic from The Better Me:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGpB2xaKB4IghHRYvN-hiBbWrkQFJrEuZ0vZR021t-4jiRGhyphenhyphenOo7-F3EODgEea-s-ro7HJCh3OEpz7pZGIAEq4F7qBizA9bEyEn2mjEJxdfuGAz7iBluacmdyZrfB6xMrUlHX2z2kKlV2/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGpB2xaKB4IghHRYvN-hiBbWrkQFJrEuZ0vZR021t-4jiRGhyphenhyphenOo7-F3EODgEea-s-ro7HJCh3OEpz7pZGIAEq4F7qBizA9bEyEn2mjEJxdfuGAz7iBluacmdyZrfB6xMrUlHX2z2kKlV2/" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p>The graphic appropriately describes both types of energy. I like that the masculine and feminine descriptors have no bias toward a biologically defined gender. The words aren’t inherently male or female. None of the words in the diagram have discrete negative or positive connotations. The diagram also conveys that the two energies are in balance. <div><p></p><p>I’m asserting that if you’re looking for a person that you are compatible with, there must be a balance of masculine and feminine energy between the two of you. In a fulfilling relationship, a human being would be free to express both their masculine and feminine energy with ease. And the other will feel the same freedom of expression. Nothing feels hidden or unsafe.</p><p>For example, I was married before and completely unhappy. The relationship required me to solely express masculine energy. I felt responsible for everything and I was extremely disciplined. There was absolutely no room for me to express my feminine energy. And for me, I’m in balance if I’m expressing more feminine than masculine. I was wonky and unfulfilled. The marriage failed because I burnt out. I had no time to be creative or supportive. I had no space to reflect and ground. I had no energy left to be nurturing or empathetic. I had no time to be myself. No space to be myself.</p><p>I’m now in a healthy marriage and my partner naturally exudes a masculine energy with a smaller expression of feminine energy. He is notably empathetic and patient and grounded and reflective. Whereas, my character is more closely aligned with a feminine energy with a small dose of expressed masculinity because I am also confident, I tend to seek appreciation, and I have a strong presence. </p><p>Together, we have balance. Yin and yang, y’all.</p><p>The trick here is to live authentically. Who you are is not always what the world perceives you as. Who you are is not defined by another’s perception of you at all. Yet, so many allow their entire identity to hinge upon anybody else’s reality but their own. The goal should never be to change a person’s perception of you. The goal is that how others perceive you and what you REALLY are made of…end up being synonymous. In other words, the you that only you see should also be the you that everyone else sees. </p><p>Because these two energies are going to fight within us trying to confuse “who we are” with “who we want the world to think we are”. The world says we are one or the other and the world also tends to say that the masculine energy is acceptably expressed only by men and that it is more valuable than feminine expression. Feminine energy is only acceptably expressed by a woman. But even though it’s acceptable, it’s less valuable to the society I live in.</p><p>My whole life I’ve loved the color pink and taking care of baby dolls and babies. And I love glittery things. And I love singing at the top of my lungs in my bedroom and throwing on some brightly colored clothes and my sister’s high heels and making up dances and feeling the music. I love the creativity and vibrancy of it. I love how the music and the dancing is a way for me to connect with my emotions and work through them. My senior year of high school, I journaled every single day because I needed space to express my feminine energy by reflecting and grounding. I love that these are creative and vulnerable activities. These things are not bad or unusual. But I grew up thinking that I couldn’t do any of them without some small level of insecurity because the world told me that loving pink and glitter and playing with dolls was for wussies or girls that weren’t tough or strong. I grew up thinking that if I was vulnerable and cried when I was sad, I was not being logical and I lacked confidence and discipline. If I spent time working through my emotions by putting pen to paper or scream singing in the car…I was dramatic and broody. My preferences and forms of expression were not wrong or negative. And even if I were a man, and this was how I expressed myself—it would, at the very least, seem to abnormal to some. Because I would be a man expressing with feminine energy. So, not only am I being measured and perceived as “right” or “wrong” by my ability to act in tandem with my assigned gender and society’s affiliated and appropriate expression of it. But I’m also a bit inhibited because we haven’t valued the feminine as much as we really should.</p><p>If I was logical and confident, I was also intimidating or bitchy. If I was creative or imaginative, I was also illogical and irresponsible. If I had a strong presence, I was annoying and disruptive. If I was responsible and disciplined, I was boring. But if a man is logical and responsible and strong and disciplined—he’s promoted and praised. That’s where the difference lies. </p><p>People’s perception of me was inhibiting my ability to be who I really was. Before I had a choice in the matter, my biological gender was associated with weakness and because my femininity makes up a lot of who I am. I could have ended up stifled and stagnant if I continued to buy into the lie that I must adapt in order to be accepted and valued. I realize now that the Feminine and Masculine do not exist independent of one another. We can be creative and disciplined. We can be logical and vulnerable. We can be both trusting and analytical. </p><p>Think about it this way. Do you know any identical twins (this also works for siblings that aren’t even twins)? Identical twins share the exact same DNA code (siblings get equal amounts of DNA from the same two people). In the more extreme case of twins, all of their physical attributes should be exactly alike. But the kicker is that they have their own distinctive personalities. Even if they are raised in the same home and subjected to the same outside environment. One human being might be more reflective and nurturing and introverted (more feminine) while the other human that has the exact same genetic makeup (sex organs and all) might be described as a more focused and analytical individual (masculine). But if they were finitely assigned to be only female and feminine at birth, we generally would describe that person’s character strictly by the FEMININE traits they are either lacking in or expressing more of. For example, the first biologically female twin might be described as being “a mother hen” or “emotional” (generally feminine descriptors but with a tone that’s somewhat demeaning). The second biologically female twin who is more often described as focused and analytical might be called “boring” or “uptight” because they’re describing their lack of a more dominant feminine expression as being inadequate and unnatural. When they are both perfectly normal… I’m not saying everyone is this narrow minded. But I am saying that the bias likely exists in all of us. I’m an advocate for equity, but I still see that my bias exists within me. And I choose to recognize and fight against it.</p><p>So…we have a world of people living in a constant battle with their natural state of being. The Feminine and the Masculine energies within people are at an imbalance because the world and society have polarized them. You’re one or the other, but can’t be both. Unless you reject the societal norm and choose to walk in who you are as YOU define yourself (and sever the tie between the tangible biological definition of Self that is finite and constrained with the intangible concept of Self that allows for uniqueness and authenticity), you may never experience a world of opportunities and experiences.</p><p>What sucks is that it seems society went even further and assigned some level of morality (good vs. bad) with how closely your biological gender aligns with a Masculine or Feminine energy. It seems like biologically defined females are only acceptably human if they express only feminine energy (but not too much because that’s bad, too). And males are only masculine if they are not effeminate. This assumption that if someone has a penis they cannot also be nurturing and vulnerable…is just wrong. Is it so hard to recognize that these coexist in all of us and should be expressed as such. When both energies are being expressed freely without bias or fear, they make up the whole of us that is truly authentic. </p><p>So when we search for authentic connections, we are just searching for someone that’s equal and opposite energy to us because we know that they will hold space for us to express ourselves. If we all stopped masking and living within confined and dangerous gender expectations, so many more relationships would be harmonious (including the relationship we have with ourselves). But, it seems like we’d rather buy the bigger truck or shop for clothes we don’t need instead of allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and feel feelings. We would rather dissociate than have a good cry. What if we could just do both of those things because we fucking wanted to. I’d love to have a good cry in a nice big truck I just bought. But, in the past, I didn’t allow space to express both energies without fear. I cried when I was alone and felt shame and I bought clothes or things to distract from my real need to process emotion by being vulnerable and reflective. Imagine a world…or don’t. I can’t yet. Because it feels like if you are dominantly Feminine, you are either consciously or unconsciously perceived as weak and if you are dominantly Masculine, you can be seen strong and valued (good vs bad).</p><p>Weak. Strong. Last I checked, weak is not a synonym for creative, supportive, or trusting. Remember when I said that the listed words in that diagram were not characteristically associated with traditional (or outdated or obsolete or junk science) gender descriptors. I also said that none of the words had a discrete connotation. But it’s clear that weak is negative. And strong is positive. They have arguably discrete connotations. In other words…Strong is attractive. Weak is not. Strong is positive. Weak is negative. Strong is valued. Weak is useless. Strong is healthy. Weak is sick. The world has it twisted. The true Self is nuanced. And for whatever reason, society sees Masculine qualities as having more value than Female qualities. So, we either mask and choose to express ourselves unnaturally, which will only foster shallow relationships and a life of complacency or unrest. OR we live authentically and find relationships that allow for full freedom of expression. We are not binary. We are complex and multifaceted beings.</p><p>To sum it up, it’s time to change the narrative. Science is so great for the things that can be explained tangibly. But personalities and expression of Self are quite difficult to define. We can’t hold the divine Feminine in the palm of our hand like we can our organs. So, why do we use our sex organs that we, as humans, could neither control or predict… to be the only factor to play into the very intangible aspects of our being. Isn’t our personality more than our organs? But I have heard men called “pussies” when they are being emotional. And I have heard people describe men and women as ballsy “so they take shit from no one and are extremely effective leaders”. As if having one or the other determines your worth to society. And let’s not even get into the fact that balls happen to be the most sensitive part of the male body and can’t take a beating at all. And our female organs take a beating every month and then stretch to the size of the equator to birth a LIVE CHILD out of and somehow we still call bravery and strength “ballsy”. We might have only one set of sex organs (usually), but we have both types of energy (always). And both are needed and valuable. Similar to the fact that a biologically defined male generally has less estrogen than a female, but they still have estrogen. And those with female anatomy generally have less testosterone than a male, but they still have testosterone. And hormone levels vary from person to person. We will express both and we should seek out the BALANCE. </p><p>It’s so simple, Emily. I’ve found the equation! I’m going to start a dating app. What should I call it? How about…</p><p>WHOMAN</p><p>“Who’s your human?”</p><p>That’s the name of the app and the tag line. </p></div>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-58929442462123110752021-07-10T01:47:00.004-07:002021-07-10T01:47:57.782-07:00What They Should Teach Us In School 7/10/2021<p>Mindfulness and meditation to quiet mind chatter (by doing art or listening to music or moving your body or breath work, etc.). We should learn more about diversity, equity & inclusion and understanding the unconscious bias. And…nutrition for health and wellness and not body mass index. And maybe teaching them how to establish essential values for themselves and how to live by them and how all facets of their life would be affected if they were or were not truly honoring those values. Maybe we stop forcing a freshmen in high school to choose a career pathway…when they are almost 10 years away from their prefrontal cortex being fully developed. So, why don’t we teach people to figure out who they are and invite them to embrace all of it and walk firmly in that before they figure out how they’re going to get a job that has good retirement benefits so they can be comfortable FIFTY years from when they are being asked to contemplate it. I don’t even know what I am gonna eat for dinner, let alone what I’ll be doing just ONE year from now. So many young adults feel like they are lacking real purpose and they’re unhappy. So, if you could teach an adolescent to periodically check in with what drives them and WHY it drives them (essential values)…they’ll feel more fulfilled in the long run because they’ll have a strong awareness of self that allows them to name their emotions, how they’re expressing them, the level of importance, and what the situation calls for in order to realize harmony within all relationships. And maybe then we would have a more capable and confident workforce because they chose a job that fit well with their inherent and known strengths.</p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-29462010746696153532021-07-09T22:55:00.004-07:002021-07-09T22:55:30.980-07:00Sick Of Dave Matthews Band 07.08.2021<p> To Stefani</p><p><br /></p><p>It has taken me so long to get the energy to write this to you. Because nothing felt right and I don’t think I was ready to process all of this. I don’t think any of us ever will be. I know I’m experiencing pain but I also know the pain I feel is just a fraction of the pain that aunt cheryl, uncle Mike, Daddy, Jer, JR, and Mack are feeling. I’m writing this to you because I miss you and I love you and you left us far too soon and I never got to tell you all the memories I cherished growing up with you. To note: saving us when our car broke down, coloring with me, asking me to make you a morning playlist because you were getting sick of Dave Matthews band, when I was 7 I remember you taking me on a ride in your convertible Spyder with the top down on Thanksgiving day in Chicago—simply because I asked you, and shooting hoops with us in the basement for hours and hours. </p><p><br /></p><p>But. Why I’ve finally found the strength to write this is…</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m sitting in my backyard watching tiktoks. And it was this video of a girl just sitting there with some soft music playing. And the sound then prompts her to close her eyes and imagine the younger you running up to the current you to give you a hug. And first of all I was not at all prepared for the waterworks that I experienced…But, second of all, I just had the vision of you, Stef. Because as a kid, I remember seeing you and being so excited to hug you. I thought you were the prettiest lady in all of the land. I told everyone when I was in 1st grade that I wanted to be an eye doctor. You were the best cousin a girl could dream up. </p><p><br /></p><p>Because you always saw us. But, like, in a way that made us feel so special and cared for and known. </p><p><br /></p><p>And, I guess, as an adult, I realize I’ve been trying so hard to emulate the love that you showed me and being that to the little people in my life. i have 4 nieces that absolutely adore their “auntie shelby” when i walk in the door, lots of little hands grab mine and lead me to their next adventure at mimi and peepo’s. i wanted to be their favorite when they walked in a room because of how I felt about you when I was their age. So, I’ve succeeded and I know that now. Especially after watching that video. I’m a total mess as I write this because I am so so grateful for you and all you brought to my life and so many others. This isn’t fair. I’ll never understand it. But I love you so very much. And I will admire all that you are for the rest of my life.</p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-64496587301988882722021-07-09T22:19:00.000-07:002021-07-09T22:19:52.679-07:00Damn you, morality!!!!! 07.10.2021<div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-weight: bold;">J</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">I’ve basically decided that arguing with anyone these days is a complete waste of energy. Everyone has their minds made up already.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"> </span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Lolol. It’s so true. But then I think about me. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And I’m like</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Yo. I changed my mind. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Or…ACTUALLY</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I think of it as I’m living my authentic self. I feel like I’m the same kid I was when I was 5. Like. Before all the hurt and confusion of the world got to me. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Like wow. Humans have free will and we aren’t being moved around by a giant puppeteer?? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">My only qualm with the idea of living as a full authentic self is that authentic self can have problems too. Like I wanted to kill my landlord today but I know I shouldn’t. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Hahahahahaha</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Damn you, morality!!!!!</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I’m only suffering every day because I believed that if I didn’t suffer constantly and agonize over my sins that I would live in the firey pits of hell forever? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">When do you think Christians are going to realize that they’ve just been being selfish by sitting in church and sucking up weird endorphins during the fancy worship and then going home and hating everyone after? And they’ve been selfish because ultimately we (not me presently) only care about saving ourselves from Hell…instead of, I don’t know, just enjoying our lives on earth? And not simplifying the experience as just a prelude to eternity and using that line of thinking to (unsuccessfully) pacify any kind of painful emotion. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Like imagine how great the world would be if we actually just loved and helped one another like Jesus said. And not used an ancient script to help us come to terms with the fact that we are turd humans and since we are, we are going to use this magical textbook to justify why we can be turds. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But we have to pluck words and read them in plain English even though the magical textbook was written for an entirely different context in an entirely different language. But it says women should be silent in church so it’s a sin if you speak up</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But we’re cool with ignoring the weird stuff from Leviticus</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I think I read a passage once that said when a woman gets her period she needs to sit outside </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Ok. But can we do that like at a spa? Outdoor spa?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">It’s real! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And if a dude has a wet dream he has to go out and bury it or something</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But we read some stuff from the New Testament as it’s supposed to be directly applied to 2021 America</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And then hit people upside the head with it and make them feel guilt for things they might not need to feel guilty about</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And I also remember feeling so guilty for never getting through the lineage chapters in the Bible </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And always feeling so confused when people like got excited about reading the same book every day. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I can’t even watch the same movie twice. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I’m not fully deconstructing (maybe decon light) but I think it see the Bible as the story of Jesus and people who read it daily are experiencing God through it</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Oh I’m with you on that. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I love Jesus </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Like I really do. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Because he was human. And he loved people really hard and wide out in the open. And he never changed who he was even when he got shit on over and over. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">That’s the kind of love I want to emulate. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Preach</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">J</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Not the “let’s storm the capital to and push our religion on everyone else by making some weird Christian nation” type of love</span></p>Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-20760651735974473292019-07-18T15:32:00.004-07:002022-04-25T08:26:22.748-07:00They Won't Publish Me<p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-095342f1-7fff-424d-d79d-506ff172728e" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They Won't Publish Me (written in 2019)</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wrote this as a letter to the editor about two months ago knowing that it would never be published. I did send it in, though. Almost for the sake of writing this introduction to say I wasn't published. Made for a decent title, too. I thought maybe they didn't publish due to the controversy, or maybe I'm boring, add to that this is a lot longer than I intended it to be. But, whatever:</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My name is Shelby Dury. In 12 days, I will be 28 years old. I attended Sturgis Public Schools throughout my entire education, save my senior year. I would have graduated from SHS in 2009. I was a straight A student. I was a 2 sport athlete and sang in the choir. I was an athletic trainer. I was in student government, National Honor Society, Spanish National Honor Society, Key Club, and Business Professionals of America. I was in a basement band with my friend Annie who played guitar, I spent most of my free time with my sweet baby brother who was just a toddler. I regularly volunteered in the community at kid’s summer camps, nursing homes, fundraisers, and blood drives. I was the Bleacher Creature (pep club) captain (head up by none other than the perp’s mother). I planned our lip syncs and built our floats every year for homecoming. I had favorite teachers and good friends. Fast forward to now: I am living in Kalamazoo, MI and I am an engineer working in the neurosurgical field. I own and operate a small business that supports non-profits dedicated to lifting the voices of the marginalized in Kalamazoo. I am an anti-racist, an equity activist, and I am using my privilage as a white woman (almost straight 😂…bisexual) to try and have my voice heard to encourage others to listen to the voices of the truly marginalized. Thanks, in part, to the Sturgis Public Schools education I received. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My roots in Sturgis run deep. My mother, father, step father, step mother, grandparents, and much of my extended family are all graduates of Sturgis High School and are still heavily involved in the community in one way or another. Both of my grandparents owned well-respected, humble businesses in town. One set owned a beauty salon/barber shop duo and the other set ran a propane and petroleum distribution company on Prospect (still ran by my family ♥️). Despite my roots, when I was 16 (almost 17), I made the decision to leave Sturgis Public Schools and the city as a whole. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I'm writing because I think ignorance is not bliss. I'm writing because I hope someone will read my story and help to better our community for those that come up after us. And truthfully, I think people will just find it interesting. Or they're nosey and want to see how bad I'm gonna wreck this. I realize my story is controversial. I also realize my story is not unique. And then there is always the possibility that I will receive backlash from the potential of this being published. But that would never even come close to outweighing the grief of what I have endured from just living this out some 12 years ago. So, bring it on.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was just about to turn 17 and wrapping up my Junior year of high school at SHS. It was a Sunday evening and I was sitting on the public access dock at Lake Templene. I was likely awaiting a text from some random kid I was "dating" at the time. I had a Motorola RAZR cell phone (duh). And instead of a juvenile text from what's-his-face, I opened it up and I had 10 or 12 text messages from some friends at school. And they continued to roll in, one after the other, as the night progressed. There was a common theme among all of them. All these messages allowed me the displeasure of learning that a photo of myself that was inherently risqué (nude, people) had been distributed and was spreading wildly throughout my entire school district and all of the surrounding ones. I can't exactly walk you through my emotions at that exact moment in time. I only remember calling McLaine expressing, to the best of my ability, through tears and screams that I was fearful of returning to school the next day. This was my first battle with suicidal ideation. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For so many years, I placed the blame of that photo being leaked on myself. Even though my reasoning skills were still developing, I definitely knew better. I am sure that when I first pressed send, I felt a sense of guilt. I grew up in church, anyway. But back then, the promise of an 18 year old senior guy saying he would keep this to himself...that was enough to ease my distress. The promise that he would delete it soon after was enough for me to feel like I wasn't risking much. But the trust was broken and we know now that what becomes viral can never be undone. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">LISTEN. I am not a saint and I never have been and I likely never will be. I had made plenty of mistakes up until that point, I've had lapses in good judgment all my life. I'm not here to proclaim my innocence to the lot of you.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But what I DO know is in that moment, the shame and vulnerability I felt and the shame and vulnerability I have continued to feel for years following was something I'm still not even able to navigate confidently. It slowly transformed into insecurity and doubt. There was no bouncing back, only a scary evolution of these gut wrenching thoughts and feelings. Even after the person who sent it out had the guts to apologize to my face about 3.5 years ago, I still struggled with self-loathing and deep insecurity. I was not in a healthy place when I received the apology. And it didn’t improve after the apology. It only solidified my belief that privilege will hold the power over the victim every time. Reconnecting with him was a horrible decision. But I kept seeing him everywhere I went. Because out of ALL the places and cities and out of all of the homes his family owns—he chose to live and work and become a doctor in the city I moved to in order to escape the hell that was Sturgis. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now… when I’m out picking up takeout from Shakespeare’s or at One Well with my coworkers, I see him enjoying a wonderful life and he completely ignores me and my experience and has done nothing to make reparations or advocate for me. He ignores that I exist and maintains the facade of a social justice advocate while ignoring his own victim. My family once saw his parents at 600 Kitchen. We were celebrating the completion of my Master of Science. My parents knew his parents. They were on a first name basis and once his mom gave my dad a whole ton of Notre Dame gear because she knew they were fans and volunteered at the stadium. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember asking my mom who his mother was at a basketball game when I was in the 6th grade because his mom was making fun of a child’s shoes because they were battered and old and worn…with a designer bag on her hip. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2.5 years before the photo leaked (my freshmen year of high school), I had “dated” this man that leaked the photo of me and during that month we “dated” I practically spent all of my time at their mansion on Klinger Lake, nursing him back to health (making out with him) and pushing him around in his wheelchair after a football injury. His mom picked me up and dropped me off from school. Took me shopping. Took me to Chicago. I was 14. I found out later that there was a bet between his friend and himself to see which one could land McLaine’s freshmen younger sister first. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My family drove 15 year old vehicles and I went with him to test drive a BMW and a Mitsubishi Galant and he still had his permit. I never understood how he could date me. I was so dumbstruck by his popularity and status. I remember feeling like I’d won the lottery. His mom told (subtly shamed) my dad when they were at a football game. She let him know that she planned on buying me lots of things now that I was seeing Sean. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We saw his parents in that restaurant in Kalamazoo in 2018 and they completely ignored all of us. As if my family was somehow responsible for this. All 4 of my parents still work in Sturgis. There have been so many opportunities to make amends. Their son and his best friend (who is still his current best friend) leaked the photo to their entire baseball team. And from there who knows. They have to know. And they ignore it. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While this was going on (but I was still unaware) my high school gymnastics team was preparing for regionals (around March-ish 2008). My coach invited the baseball team to sit in the stands and heckle us so that we could be prepared for noise distraction. First of all, why. Toddlers would have been better. It was the most objectifying and humiliating thing. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They all had pictures of my tits on their phones and were responsible for it leaking to countless minors and they proceeded to heckle me and kept repeating “drink some dr. depper”. Which I later found out was a joke the guy responsible came up with. Because all of his friends found out that he would drive me to the Walmart parking lot and pretend to care about me before taking me to a cheap hotel to fuck. His friends found out and he was embarrassed because he spent a lot of time degrading me since we broke up in 2005. They made fun of him for it. In fact, to catch him in the act, they put a phone in there so they could listen in and record us. So, he told all of them that my “pussy smelled”. The joke was that Dr. Pepper causes this in women. He also mentioned that he hated women who didn’t keep it bare and wanted me to make sure mine was. He said that when we dated my freshmen year, it was the one thing he couldn’t stand. I was 14. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These 2 guys are still best friends. I see them together often. And I recently learned that his best friend is employed by the same company I am employed with. Works in the same building as my husband. And he also lived in the same apartment complex as my husband and I did. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I struggled for 10 years with every eating disorder in the world. I hated my body. I have been on every anti-depressant. And now I live in the same city and run in the same circles as the person that took my life, fucked it up, and moved on to become a fake woke social media justice warrior while I have to dodge him at bars and have panic attacks in the bathroom stalls at One Well. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought the apology from him would cure all. I said I forgave him and we hung out a few times as friends (in this elaborate woodsy barn house, and he allowed me to hang out with him and his cousin at The In-Between one night). I couldn’t help but wonder if he was hiding our “repaired friendship” from the people in his life. We had consensual sex and I hate it so much. That I thought he was good because he truly felt bad and actually cared that I had suffered. But, after having sex with me and telling me he honestly hasn’t been turned on or wanted sex in forever and he thought he was gay….he decided to say (out of nowhere) “I ruined my life because I lost Kayla over that. She was the love of my life.” Ok. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last time he ever looked at me, I started my period while having sex with him and, being the feminist that he is, he kicked me out of his house (with an uber ride home to my apartment) and shortly after I decided to ask him the question I didn’t want to know the answer to, “Would you ever be able to tell your family or _____ (his best friend) that you sometimes hang out with me and share your details of your divorce and actually call me a friend? Could you tell them that we have hung out as more than friends?”</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And he got super quiet and looked down at his hands forever and didn’t look up and he said “no”. Nothing more. And so I left. The apology was an attempt to end his own shame. He wasn’t willing to accept all the consequences. So I left to continue this journey on my own. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After all that time…I realized that it will forever be on the victim to grapple with their future, their mental illness, their body dysmorphia, their self-worth, their life beyond being a minor and having her ability to consent to her naked body being shared with thousands of people… ripped from her with no repercussions or remorse no reparations. No responsibility. No accountability. And now I have to wonder if I’ll see him everywhere I go. And I’m too proud to give up my life here that I love so much. But I see that his life is beautiful and perfect and unhindered. And everything worked out great for him. I fought so hard to be here. He skated in. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tried to help him process his recent divorce (empathetic enneagram 2, here) because I had just gotten divorced when we reconnected in 2016. For 2.5 years, I was a victim of domestic abuse until I found the nerve to leave that marriage. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I moved home. To Kalamazoo. Within 6 months, I saw him at a bar and I approached him because the liquor had me feeling brave enough to confront him.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I first asked him how he was and he said he had just filed for divorce and I empathized and couldn’t find the nerve to be mean (when have I ever? Lol). He was lonely, I was familiar and I got sucked in by the fancy houses…the fake apology, the wild (hate) sex. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even after I realized that I could move on and still do great things despite me being weakened by this one short moment of my adolescence, I still questioned my right to be confident in who I am. And the proof of that is right here. I wouldn't be writing this if I had already sorted through this appropriately. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So here we are in this pre-Snapchat, pre-iPhone, pre- BIG social media era (2008). We were navigating a new messy digital realm that was growing bigger and becoming more unknown by the second. Nobody had caught up with the growth yet. Not our parents and definitely not our schools. Technology was moving so quickly and then we put it into the hands of teenagers (?!) and we were immediately presented with these new dilemmas and majorly grey areas surrounding the monitoring of use and what was appropriate and what wasn't. Heck, we are still navigating this grey messy space.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But here is what I know was not a grey area in 2008 and is not a grey area now. According to federal law, here's what I know was and is BLACK and WHITE. In 1996 the Child Pornography Prevention Act was a federal LAW. This restricted child pornography on the internet including virtual child pornography. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was 16 years old. And if anyone wants to fact check that information, the photo was taken in March of 2008. Gymnastics season had come to a close. Track season was beginning. It was distributed just before my 17th birthday by an 18 year old to hundreds and hundreds, hell, maybe even thousands of people (mostly minors).</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To add insult to injury, my family members received the photo. My older brother's and my older sister's friends. Shame. Shame shame shame shame. I lost friends. I lost sleep. I lost strength. I had been reduced to a person that I didn't even know. I had done stupid things and made mistakes and dealt with people thinking of less of me before--but this was next level. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I grew up in a split family. My parents split custody of my sister and I. We spent most of our time with our mom and her amazing husband. When my dad found out what happened, I couldn’t even go to his house. He finally allowed me to resume my visits but ended up screaming that I had pissed on the family name and he threw my things out on the lawn and I had to call my mom to pick me up. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In order to move away from Sturgis, I had to move in with my dad’s family in the Kalamazoo area. Before my senior year was over, I was no longer safe in his home and was living with a trusted friend and her family to finish my senior year. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tried to go to sleep that Sunday night before the Monday I returned to school after learning that everyone knew what I looked like naked. I was too ashamed to tell my dad why I didn't want dinner. Why I didn't talk the whole ride into school and why I opted to sit in the back seat so I could lay down and nap (cry) on our commute to Sturgis. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But, I walked into school Monday morning. I was numb. I made eye contact with no one. I walked up the sidewalk to the double doors. My face was bare. Blotchy. Tear after tear after tear rolled out of both of my eyes. I wasn't ready, but I knew what I had to do. I didn't go to my locker and grab my books and do the usual dance of trying to stuff my backpack into my locker filled with papers, hoodies, and dirty gym clothes and then run off to class. I went straight to the guidance office. I sat with the counselor with my head in my hands and bore everything. I told a detailed account of what I knew to be true. We called my mom together. And 20 minutes later she was there. I didn't go back to school to finish my junior year as I had been planning to do less than 10 hours before that conversation. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could trace it all back to the beginning. I knew when the photo went into the universe and into the hands of an ill-equipped boy. Unfortunately, on that morning in May (and even right now) I have no idea how far the reach was. All I knew for sure was that I couldn't show my face in that school. I was not who I was anymore. I was not a straight A student, I was not the goof ball who always made you smile, I was not even the girl who always had the wrong boyfriend, got caught up in gossip, or crushed on too many guys, or who would sing and dance any chance she got, who would be there for anyone at anytime... I was the girl in the photo. And everyone had something to say about it. Ugly. Slut. Whore. Fake. And even now, I can walk into Wings Etc. for a beer and conversation with my parents...and I look around... and my own insecurity, plus the inevitable twisted perception of who I might be to these former classmates and peers of mine, starts to take root in my soul and I immediately feel trapped in this reduced version of myself. I'm not the person I've fought hard and worked harder to become. I'm just her. That 16 year old girl in the photo. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, if there were laws in place and proof of that law being broken--what happened here?? </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here's what happened. I came forward with my proof to the school as soon as I learned what happened (thank you AJ Wentzel for your radical honesty and for always sticking up for me). I told them the name of the student and my mom showed her the phone records. I didn’t have SMS messaging on my phone. But for some reason I DID have MMS messaging. So you could see the dates and times it had been sent out to him. And later online messages of him asking me to delete the ones I had of him and he would do the same (a conversation he initiated and I, of course, had already deleted his—I’m not a fan of D.P.’s.) And I guess the one thing I applaud myself for here is that I took responsibility. I took the forefront of the blame. I owned up. Because I truly believed this was all my fault. It started with me and if it weren't for me, this would not have happened. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “If you didn’t want the world to see it, you shouldn’t have sent it.” So, I’ll use that logic here. Sean Clark & Shawn Meyers, if you didn’t want the world to know that you’re both menaces to the feminist movement—you should have repaired this years ago. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What solidified my belief that I was a screwed up kid who needed to be punished was the fact that the school district thought it was best to send me away to a center for troubled youth an hour away from my home for an entire week while this guy (who was about to graduate), finished up his classes without me there and to “protect me”. I deserved this. I had to go spend time with kids who were delinquents and I slept in a bed in a room with concrete walls and a padlocked door. It was simple, if I went there, my absence from classes would not be counted against me and I could avoid having to repeat my junior year. I was a straight A student on track to becoming an engineer, an entrepreneur, and a philanthropist, and an advocate! (Yes yes. The subtle brag). So, the best thing to do was remove me from my home, my parents, my security—to accommodate him. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not sure how it all made sense to anyone that this was the correct way of handling this situation. I guess it all happened so quickly. And, like I said, this type of offense was brand new. And somehow I was not a victim here. I was the offender. And, given the response I received from almost all of my peers and their families--they felt that way, too.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, I returned to school after everyone else had taken their exams and took my exams in empty rooms with teachers who graciously allowed me to take them once all other classes had ended. (Thank you, Mr. & Mrs. Green and Doc Lioy for your advocacy and support.) A few weeks later, a decidedly packed up my things and transferred schools. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Quick synopsis of my life since then: A year later I graduated 2nd in my class at a nearby high school in the Kalamazoo area. That same year I was crowned homecoming queen. Then I was given a full ride to Glen Oaks Community College based on merit and extra-curriculars and an interview. After that, I somehow managed to be accepted to one of the top engineering schools in the US. Then I totally lucked out and landed a paid internship at a Fortune 500 company that paid for all of my living expenses, as well. I traveled to Rome for my thesis work. I traveled to Paris for company research. (All while trying to escape and also hide a physically abusive marriage). Then, I got out and moved to Kalamazoo to be closer to my family. I got a full time engineering job and after many sleepless nights and lots of help, I graduated with honors from KU with a BSIE and MSEM and I managed to get 7 job offers after graduation. I now now work for a Fortune 50 company and I own a business that will help people who feel like me right now—but in a much bigger way. We feel unheard. We feel forgotten. We feel trapped in our trauma. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you notice how throughout that entire synopsis, I rarely give myself the credit. Because up until this very moment I HAVE NEVER FELT THAT I DESERVED IT OR EARNED IT. Because I let this stupid situation that happened to me years ago little by little by little scrape away at my confidence and self-respect. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But you know what? I’m damn proud of what I’ve done and who I have become. I have great relationships and a wonderful support system. But listen, I can't lie. When I drive home and I reach the top of the hill on M-66 where Wait Rd. is... I start to allow myself to believe the lie and I am reduced to that girl in that photo on that day. I am naked and weak and nothing. I am the offender. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I later learned he was called into the office and admitted to what he had done. But, his parents were never called. I know this to be a fact because this was part of the apology I received years ago. Details. Selfishly, that's all I wanted. They never even opened up a file with his name on it. A few weeks later, he smiled big and took photos with his friends at graduation and moved on with his life. In fact, this was a blip on everyone else's timeline but my own. I have been drowning in this for years while everyone else sailed away happily. It was just a joke to everyone. I was the punchline to a number of derogatory and disgusting comments. The things I read and the things I heard changed me forever. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my adult life, I received an unsolicited message from someone who was 5 years younger than me saying it was the first person he knew that he saw naked. And was happy about it. He would have been 12 at the time that photo was sent out. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why was I punished? Why am I fighting so hard to be heard even now? It's years later and I'm angry. Was it because my family didn't have enough money? Was it because they didn't volunteer as much as they should have? Did I not have enough pull in the community for something to happen? Was it an inconvenience to run this through the proper channels? Was I being weighed in some utilitarian decision making process? One person's unhappiness was better than upsetting a greater group of people whose happiness and well-being meant more. I was a wayward soul who probably had it coming and it was better to save face and sweep this under the rug than to burn an important bridge. (A BOOSTER?! Never.)</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let's dig into this using an area of comparison. And please, I'm not trying to upset anyone. I am not saying that these two situations are exactly synonymous; however, about one year ago, I read in article in the Sturgis Journal about a former Sturgis Public Schools teacher who was initially charged with two counts of fourth-degree criminal sexual conduct, possession and distribution of child sexually abusive material, sharing sexually explicit material with minors and using a computer to commit a crime. And yes, the charges were dismissed as part of his plea. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But someone came forward with compelling evidence that this had happened, and legal action was taken. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The irony was that they had trouble proving it because snapchats disappear and that is where most of the interaction took place (predators are tricky). But, in my situation, I had no trouble proving anything. The records were right in front of them. Teachers were telling their students that if they had received the photo that they should delete it and not look at it. The varsity baseball coach found out what happened and sat the entire team down and just asked “What the hell happened?” But no one sat out a game.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We no longer know this teacher as a friend or a colleague or a beloved science teacher or a jv football coach. We know him as a registered sex offender who took advantage of girls that were 16. The offender. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So many people have questioned my decision to tell this story publicly. Justice won’t be served and what will I gain from this? Justice doesn’t exist. I will gain my</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">integrity. My truth. And if just one person feels empowered to stand up and speak louder in the future, I will gain everything. That’s Justice. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not saying that the dude that leaked this photo needs to face legal charges and I don't care if you know me for the rest of your lives as that girl in that photo. What I am saying is that something should have been done and I'm starting to see that now as I scroll through my social media. Especially with the current headlines: Christine Blasey Ford, at no benefit to her or her family or their safety, came forward to tell her old and traumatic story involving Associate Justice of the Supreme Court Brett Kavanaugh. And so many people took time to stand up and say WE BELIEVE HER. Despite her lack of accolades or status. People spent a lot of time discussing these abhorrent high profile social injustices. And we are pissed off because it’s undeniably unjust that the victim always bares this burden. It doesn’t make sense that we attack someone when they were only telling their truth. And in the end, the truth bore no weight. We still have Associate Justice of the Supreme Court Brett Kavanaugh. And now we will have Dr. Clark. But, thanks to Christine, I decided it is never too late to speak your truth. It may encourage someone else to. And the more we talk, the more accountability there is. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am overjoyed that marginalized people in our community are NOW starting to experience the freedom of being able to embrace their true selves without judgement or hatred. People are posting about how we need to start fighting to be heard and then left and right there are cases coming out about sexual misconduct because women finally have a voice and we APPLAUD their bravery and we hear their tragedy and feel for them deeply. I APPLAUD that, too. It's incredible. I want MORE of that. Keep sharing their stories on social media. Keep saying their names. Keep believing them. Keep supporting them. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But please, can you PLEASE stop for a minute when you start to voice your opinions about the injustice in our social and political systems in such a broad sense...Believe me you, I want all of these things, too. Desperately. But it starts with us. It starts with supporting those nearest to you. Let me remind you that change happens first in your OWN community. You have the opportunity to impact change by defending the people who live next door to you that face the same types of issues Christine faces. And you can do better. We can all do better. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Change doesn't happen by simply thinking about things. It doesn't happen because you posted a photo or an article on your social media accounts, people! Change happens first with the people you regularly interact with FACE TO FACE. Your job, your school, your community. Our community. That’s integrity. If you want the world to change then start small and maybe start listening without bias, listen to people's stories, be kinder & practice empathy even when it is NOT convenient. Even when it's not easy!</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I should have felt the freedom to come forward knowing that I wouldn't be shamed and that this would have been filtered through the proper channels. In a perfect world, an awareness would have been spread about the severity of what actually happened. He would have been punished and his life should have changed and been tattooed with a felony and a sex offender label forever. He knew better because he knew he had to ask me to delete what I had on him. He knew what he did was wrong. And he didn’t want me to hit back. In a perfect world, my soul would not have been crushed and in a perfect world I would have been giving myself credit for working my ass off a lot sooner than this. I was reduced. But now I am more than I ever was despite whatever label I was given. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is kind of my grand finale of a paragraph here because the other BIG POINT THAT I have been desperate to make for quite some time is this: I WILL NOT hear it anymore when people say I only went through this bad situation so that I could be stronger. Likewise, if it weren't for this happening to me, I might not have gotten to where I am today. Because both of those statements are STRAIGHT UP NONSENSE. And I am not going to apologize for that. What happened to me should NOT have happened and I will never believe that anyone HAS to feel that way to be amazing and so I will NOT claim that this experience is what helped me come out on top. Or that it drove me to succeed or that I needed it to help mold me. For Heaven's sake, NO. NO. That man, that school, that community...they are not responsible for my success, they are personally responsible for putting up every single barrier to try and prevent me from moving forward and doing good. I will only claim that it was ME who got me here (with the unending support of my sister and my mom and step dad). And I will also claim that I did it despite the torment. I didn't need the help of a bad situation to kick ass at life. But thanks for the opportunity to prove to myself that I’m way more than that photo. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'll call this the summary paragraph even though it won't really summarize this mess of a story because there is no way you could possibly take all of this mumbo jumbo word vomit and put it into a summary paragraph...but I will say our world is changing. Technology is evolving. Information is moving faster. My hope is that our schools and communities are investing in the importance of using technology and not abusing it. My hope is that our schools and communities will start investing in the importance of allowing anyone to come forward who feels they've been violated or hurt and my hope is that they have the confidence that their situation will be dealt with in a way that honors them and gives them the right tools to continue to prosper and not lock them away for the sake of not losing the potential for more money in their school system. My hope is that people like me will not be defeated by one hiccup throughout their 28 years of life. My hope is that any victim of this type of offense can later drive up the hill on M-66, get to Wait Rd and just smile knowing full well that they are NOT defined by what an institution or a person has made them into. My hope is that they aren't hardened by the judgement they might have received in years passed and that they forgive themselves. My hope is that they receive justice. Repayment. My hope is that they feel loved and they are damn proud of whoever they are and that they have fairly and rightly earned every single accomplishment and milestone ALL ON THEIR OWN.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks for reading. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">S</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Also, I want to say there were a few people who stood by my side and listened to me. There were a few families that advocated for me and wanted to seek justice for me. Thank you to those people...you know who you are. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" />Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-82489464164914217952019-01-18T13:09:00.001-08:002019-01-18T13:18:33.269-08:00Some Good Days 01.18.2019Year 6<br />
<br />
We walked home from school to find that mom was home early and we had a new puppy. She told us the story about how she had to go to the grocery store after she got her, so she put her in her pocket.<br />
<br />
Year Unknown<br />
<br />
The house smelled like pipe tobacco and dad tied flies with the supplies in the wood chest that grandpa made.<br />
<br />
Year 18<br />
<br />
I walked to my Pontiac Sunfire after finishing my Biology final. It was the end of my first semester of college.<br />
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Year 15<br />
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My baby brother was 4 and we fished off the dock that afternoon. We caught one small sunfish. At dinner, my brother said that his favorite part of the day was fishing with Shelby. Dad said his favorite part of the day was when we called the house phone from the dock so he could come get the fish off the hook for us.<br />
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Year Unknown<br />
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I walked out into the hall before the sun came up. There was a plug in nightlight. I had to walk to the living room to see if Papa and Grandma Trudy were awake yet. The tell was the sound of the chairs squeaking from the kitchen. Papa would make me oatmeal with hot water from the tap.<br />
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Year 6<br />
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On Wednesday nights, we walked across the street to the baseball diamonds together to watch dad coach little league from the dug outs. I thought all the boys were cute.<br />
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Year 15<br />
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Despite the major breach of peace that night, we played Mad Gab without keeping score until she forced a laugh out of me. But sometimes I couldn't help it and I would cry a lot so she held me and cried, too. That night our parents didn't scold us for keeping them up late.<br />
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Year 20 Something<br />
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Mom and I set off on our usual 4 mile walk and about 4 minutes in she realized all her clothes were on backward.<br />
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Year 6<br />
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We didn't pack sweatshirts so we borrowed some. They were too big. We ate tuna fish sandwiches on the beach and watched the sunset. Just the four of us.<br />
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Year 7<br />
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I practiced at the campground with my dad all weekend to learn how to ride two wheels. We got home late Sunday and my dad's friend called our house. I set down the corded phone in the hall to go pick up the cordless so that on my way upstairs to give dad the phone, I could tell dad's friend about my new skill: Two. Wheels.<br />
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Year 14<br />
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I was sitting on the couch and you were in the big red chair. To our absolute shock, he came back inside and he kissed you right in front of me and walked back out through the garage. When his car finally left the driveway we were both losing it.<br />
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Year 27<br />
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We took a Friday off in late September. We split a sub and two bottles of wine and stayed on the water until the moon was high.<br />
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Year 12<br />
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We bought a gallon jug of water with the cash we had and hid in the playground for hours vowing to not be grumpy.<br />
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Year 10<br />
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I wanted to hold my new baby brother the longest. For the first time in my life, I recommended that the oldest go first.<br />
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Year 15<br />
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I turned 15. Dad made 40 hot dogs for all 40 girls I invited to my birthday party. My sister's friends showed up and one guy with super long hair gave me a Hawk Nelson CD as a birthday gift. He's been my brother-in-law for over 8 years now.<br />
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<br />Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-11838308357653506982016-12-13T18:41:00.002-08:002016-12-14T13:23:51.476-08:00Shelby Jones: In Rare Form. (2016: A Year In Review). 12.13.2016 "Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life." -J.K. Rowling<br />
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2016.<br />
New Friends.<br />
Moving.<br />
Independence.<br />
Loneliness.<br />
Travel.<br />
Hangovers.<br />
Failed Relationships.<br />
Bad Dates.<br />
Restoration.<br />
Laughter.<br />
Tears.<br />
Music.<br />
Weddings.<br />
Sleep.<br />
No Sleep.<br />
Confusion.<br />
Realization.<br />
Reading.<br />
Decisions.<br />
Faking It.<br />
Success.<br />
Failure.<br />
Hope.<br />
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So, if you want to skip the rest of the blog, that about sums it up. (But I promise, it's not the fun part!)<br />
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For those of you who've decided to stick around--welcome to another round of Shelby's blogging adventures. Always bound to make you chuckle and think to yourself "at least my life isn't as chaotic as hers". ;) Kidding. Maybe. It's relative. Whatever.<br />
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Alllllright. Where should I start? How about January 1st, 2016? Yeah?<br />
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I woke up to 2016 with a raging hangover. I had no dreams and hopes or certainties about the upcoming year. Honestly, there wasn't much depth to any of my thoughts at that point. I was living fast. I was living day to day with no clue what the good Lord had in store for me. (And it was a LOT!!!!)<br />
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Thankfully, in one short year--I've come a long way! And done a lot of cool things! And met a lot of cool people! And traveled to a lot of places!<br />
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I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants on this one people--I don't have an overwhelming theme for this blog except that I'm not that scared lost lonely sad "January 1st, 2016 Shelby" anymore and I've had a lot of cool/scary/sad/happy/humbling awesome experiences this year that have helped me become a less lost/embracing the uncertainty and chaos "January 1st, 2017 Shelby". ;)<br />
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Let's talk highlights, people. Enjoy.<br />
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On January 24th, 2016--I settled into my apartment. Living alone sucked. Do not recommend. But hey, it was cute:<br />
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On March 20, 2016--I was smack dab in the middle of Paris, France. The company I worked for sent me there for a "Group Integration Seminar". <br />
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On March 20, 2016 I saw the Eiffel Tower. I was eating my meals at a pretty castle outside the city every day.<br />
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On March 21st, 2016.....I'll save this detail until after Paris details.<br />
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On March 24th, 2016 I went to the Palace of Versailles.<br />
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And then on March 25, 2016--I was riding around the city, by myself, on top of a double decker bus, stopping at all of the places I had only seen in movies. Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, The Louvre...ME. I WAS DOING THAT.<br />
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Here are some of the pictures I took:<br />
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Amazing.<br />
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SO. ALSO.<br />
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March 21st, 2016. The cool thing that happened while I was in Paris--I got an interview request for a job at Summit Polymers in Portage, MI. Game changer. Going back home was so close, I could taste it. Screw Paris (not really, not at all), BUT this was a real opportunity to finally be back home. There was a hope stirring within me.<br />
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Shelly or Shelby... whatever. I'm going HOME.<br />
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April 1st, 2016--April Fool's Day! Oh yeah, and my divorce was finalized.<br />
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On April 7th, 2016, I received my job offer from Summit Polymers.<br />
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On April 7th, 2016, I put in my two week notice at Plastic Omnium and cried/laughed my whole drive home.<br />
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April 21, 2016 was my last day at Plastic Omnium. My program managers had a going away party for me. They're dorks.<br />
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On April 27th, 2016--I did what any unemployed person would do--and I took my best friend to Vegas for a week.<br />
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On May 1st, 2016 I moved into my Dad and step-mom's basement and I started work at Summit Polymers as a Manufacturing Technical Leader on May 2nd, 2016. I was finally home. <3<br />
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On May 2nd, 2016--I met my best friend in the whole world. This girl has changed my world. We've been inseparable since that day.<br />
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On May 20, 2016--I turned 25! I had my 4th annual 21st birthday party surrounded by all of my favorite people. Let the quarter life crisis commence!<br />
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On June 25th, 2016, my best friend got married. That was awesome.<br />
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And so began, the free and fast summer of Shelby Jones. Filled with sunsets, bonfires, friends, baseball games, miller lites, and FAMILY. I was adjusting well.<br />
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July 24th, 2016, Linny Lou and I saw Jon Bellion in concert in Detroit. That was radical.<br />
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On August 1st, 2016, I moved in with two of the goofiest, most hilarious, kindest, most loving and beautiful women I have EVER met in my life. I feel like I should write a blog on all of the shit that has gone on in this castle of crazies since I've moved in...we have fun.<br />
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August 11, 2016--my grandma Miki passed away. She was amazing. Gave me one of the greatest gifts on earth-my Daddy D. On August 12th, 2016, DD and I had a few beers together and celebrated her life.<br />
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On September 10, 2016, my best friend(s) got married. Kristin and Nate Thompson. They know how to throw a party.<br />
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On October 13th, 2016--I was in the heart of Guanajuato, Mexico. I was in Silao for work and was able to go into Guanajuato to be a tourist. Beautiful city.<br />
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On November 4th, 2016 I booked a flight to Tacloban City, Philippines.<br />
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On November 25th, 2016 at 6am I landed in Tacloban and on November 26th, 2016--AGAIN--my best friend got married. (I also lost my shoes that day--but that's a minor detail.)<br />
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SO--that brings us to the present. I've done some cool things this year. In the midst of all these blessings--I've been becoming.<br />
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Just becoming.<br />
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I don't have it all together. I'm sitting here eating the last bit of moosetracks out of the carton. God, will I ever? Not likely. But, I've come a long way since the sorry sad hungover "January 1st, 2016 Shelby".<br />
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I'm so thankful for the experiences and the people that have walked in (and out) of my life this year.<br />
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Here's to 2017 being the best year of my life. Thank you to all who have played an integral role in getting "January 1st, 2016 Shelby" off of her sorry ass and back on her feet. I owe it all to you all and to Jesus.<br />
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December 13th, 2016.....<br />
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hahaha. I love you guys.<br />
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Shelby<br />
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<br />Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-80113739667850622042016-04-17T23:32:00.001-07:002016-04-18T06:45:00.370-07:00How to: NOT live life well as a 24 Year Old Female 04.18.2016<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once again, my insomniac brain decided to bring it with another blog. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not my best idea yet but whatevs:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lately: I'm either messing up a crap ton. Or I'm being primed to author a book on how NOT to live life well as a 24 year old female.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I thought... hey all you 24 year old ladies out there, here's some things you should <b><u>NOT EVER (NEVER) do</u></b> this year. And maybe if you do not do them life will go a little more smoothly for you this year. :) I will not say whether or not these actually happened to me. :)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">DO</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> THESE 24 THINGS if you want to NOT live life well as a 24 year old Female:</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Put your coffee mug upside down under your Keurig while it makes your morning coffee at least once a month! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Don't keep a spare set of keys handy on Christmas Day when you're packing up your vehicle to catch a flight to Miami and lock your keys in your trunk. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. While in Miami, get a Margarita the size of your face with your girlfriend and then accept the server's suggestion to take a to-go cup after you've asked for your check.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. No need to plan ahead for getting back home when you go to your first NYE party single. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. You should definitely feel ok about saying "sure" when some guy you're not REALLY that interested in asks for your number. No need to read the manual on your iPhone on how to use the block feature.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Going to the gym after happy hour is a fine idea. The stairmaster isn't that difficult to begin with or anything. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">7. You should totally give blood again even if you pass out every other time. 8 billionth times a charm!</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Don't eat your leftovers. You just made dinner for yourself and you're 24. It's not a huge deal and it wouldn't make sense to appreciate that for a few more days. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">9. Just send text messages without pre-screening who the recipient is. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">10. Throw your laundry in the washer and then get sleepy and go to bed and forget it for 3 more days. Good idea. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">11. Don't put your keys/wallet/phone/charger/bags in the same place every day when you get home. That's way too complicated.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">12. Definitely take an idiot's advice on going to a cheap dry cleaning place. You won't have to get them all done somewhere else...again.</span></span><br />
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13. Wait until the VERY LAST MINUTE to "find a power source" and don't worry about pressing "save" too often. Live life on the edge.<br />
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14. Post one selfie every single day so that you will feel major validation when people like it.<br />
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15. Always finish the bottle of wine in one night if you've opened it. Re-corking is complicated anyway.<br />
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16. Drink a solid 4-5 cups of coffee every day. Skip meals. No harm there.<br />
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17. Go to bed every night after 1am. A good 4 hours is all you need to barely survive.<br />
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18. When you're nervous, the best thing you can do is NEVER STOP TALKING. It makes everyone super comfortable.<br />
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19. You can most likely trust a person even if they sketch you out a little. Don't fact check anything.<br />
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20. Set ALL your alarms for the wrong time of day. Don't double check AM/PM.<br />
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21. Your knees and legs and toes and butt and hips aren't that important. Run them hard into every sharp corner or surface. Big bruises look cool.<br />
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22. You should definitely make decisions without consulting anyone that you trust or value their advice and opinions because what do they know, anyway?<br />
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23. Don't ever take time to step away from life and process your emotions and feelings. Just keep doing whatever and making decisions a little blindly. It won't all catch up with you when you are sitting in an airplane alone with no one around you but this guy who might ask for your number after he watched you cry about not having your life together. I REPEAT: DON'T BE AFRAID TO SAY SURE.<br />
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24. Girl, don't learn a single lesson from all the mistakes you've made. And don't smile every day knowing that everything is gonna be juuuuust fine.<br />
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<br />Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2268250112493879826.post-73164940641176535752014-12-16T08:41:00.000-08:002016-09-06T19:59:12.587-07:00Reflecting on My Undergraduate Career 12.16.2014SO. This is not going to follow my usual blogger format, but if you're reading this you probably won't mind. And if you do mind, stop reading this. Duh.<br />
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I just wanted to give you all an inside look at some very specific and essential things that carried me through 2 years at a po-dunk, sleepy (but, certainly effective) community college and<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">3.5 years at one of the top engineering schools in the country. (Graduating with honors, yo).</span><br />
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(I'm going to brag about it, k?)<br />
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This is in no particular order, because it's finals week and I don't have time to think that deeply. I really shouldn't even be writing this. But I'll do anything to avoid studying, writing a research paper, prepping for a presentation or two, doing HW (Right?! Who assigns homework 11th week--evil professors!)<br />
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Some of the things on this list only Kettering students will understand and some of these things only GOCC folks will understand. And if you understand both, you're either me or someone just like me and that's weird (but you're probably really awesome, smart, pretty, and cool--so, props!).<br />
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ANYWAY--let's get started as I'm sure you are all dying to here the details of my life.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Coffee. </span>Woooo! I was introduced to the world of coffee my second year at community college studying for Anatomy and Physiology (to this day, the most I've EVER studied for a class). I thought coffee was disgusting then. I drank it with loads of sugar and creamer to make it taste decent and I still hated it. But it kept me awake until 4am studying bones, muscles, systems, ATP, etc. Coolest class ever, too. Because it just affirmed my belief in the Lord because he created us with staggering detail and whoa. It just totally blew my mind. (Can you tell I've had coffee this morning?)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Chegg.com</span> I discovered Chegg during Calculus 1 and it's gift from the good Lord above. For those of you who are unfamiliar--CHEGG GIVES YOU DETAILED SOLUTIONS OF ALMOST ALL MATH/SCIENCE RELATED BOOKS (ODD AND EVEN NUMBERS). If you are ever considering going to an engineering school, get a chegg account or find someone who has one. Guess what everyone? I have a chegg account. My own. Using my OWN email address. Yeah, if you didn't know this--it's because I am selfish and I did not want to share all that knowledge with you and you probably used a frat account, anyway.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Running.</span> The one time of the week where I think about nothing else but putting one foot in front of the other. It's beautiful. And also, it helped me avoid gaining 40 pounds in college.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Graphing Calculator. </span>Nobody graphs by hand these days. C'mon, maaaan. Also, I may or may not be one of those people who puts 1+1 into their calculator when doing a long drawn out problem in the event that the world turned on it's side and math changed forever and also in the event that I make the dumbest mistake on 3 page problem and my professor doesn't believe in partial credit (we've all been there!).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Long Awkward White Couch In The Science Wing At GOCC. </span>So. Many. Naps.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Highlighters.</span> Makes your prof think you're paying attention. I'm actually drawing pictures.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Dry Shampoo. </span>I am not going to disclose how many consecutive days I have gone without washing my hair. But I will tell you that drying and styling your hair everyday is for the freaking birds. When you go to an engineering school or really any school or if you're just a really busy person or if you can't find a place to wash your hair, you learn that while showering may be essential every once in awhile, unless somebody barfed in your hair, washing your hair is not essential. And it takes WAY too much time.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Silent Heroes Letting Us All Know That People Actually Made It Out Of Kettering Alive. </span>....Alumni.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Financial Aid. </span>Without it, I wouldn't be here OR I would be in a lot more debt than I am now. Woop!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Library. </span>...occasionally I would actually check out books. During work term, of course.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">iMessaging and What'sApp. </span>WHY DOESN'T THE BASEMENT HAVE SERVICE?!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Excel/PowerPoint. </span>Everyone said that an engineer only needs two skills to succeed...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My Friends. </span>They are amazing. Laughs, food, wine, dancing. I love them all so much. And I feel incredibly blessed to have amazing friends that supported me through this development process.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My Parents/Big Sis.</span> You guys... :)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Work/Study Positions. </span>Supporting my coffee addiction.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jesus. </span>The only consistent thing in my life. Not in the sense that I have been consistent in my pursuit of a relationship with him (because, let me tell you, my first 3 years of college were so confusing and rough--I was bad kid!!)...but consistent in that JESUS consistently loved me and took me right back after I turned my back on Him!! Amazing. :) Also, spending time in the Word and praying every night allowed for minimal number of freak outs and anxiety attacks. Thanks Jesus!<br />
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That's All.... back to studying. ;)Shelby Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05039402282517552198noreply@blogger.com0