Self-Professed Insanity

It's very easy to see just by looking at me, who the people are that I live my life for and who I used to live my life for. If you look close enough, you'll see the physical signs and symbols and if you ask the right questions, nothing will remain a mystery about me. It's so obvious to see what drives and has driven me in the past. It's so simple to identify where my heart has been invested and where it continues to dwell. I'm an open book really, if you ignore the fake lock that pretends to bind me,like a pretentious child's diary.

There's a girl around my neck. She's my sister and she's made of gold. I always have her with me because I've never met her. It was through her death that I was given the opportunity for life and thus to her I feel indebted, guilty almost, because I know things would have been so very different had she lived - had life been fair. I think about her every day and I wonder what it was that caused God to take her away and leave me here instead. I call her my guardian angel because it only makes sense to do so - I'm sure she's saved me more times than I am even aware of. I live for her because it wasn't in God's design for her to do so herself. It may be somewhat strange to say this of a five week old baby, but she's my role model. In the five weeks that she was on this earth, she touched and changed more people than I probably have in my 19 years of life. She has taught me that love knows not the bounds of mortality but rather it transcends all that which is strictly human and all that is bound within time. I didn't even need to know her or meet her yet she is one of the closest people to my heart.

There is a boy on my wrist. He didn't ask to be there... rather I crossed a psychotic line of sorts and drew his name in blood on the parchment that was my flesh. It has proven to be one of the stupidest things I have ever done. However, I do not regret having done it. I look down at the fading scars and I still see the blood mixed with my own tears as my mind reeled from the pure torment that raged within my head. I had told him that I couldn't love properly - this was at a time where I was seemingly devoid of all feeling. Everything felt fake, posed and enveloped in numbness - I could not have lied to him at the time by saying that I truly loved him because I really didn't know if I did. He tried to make me see that there was love within our friendship even though I was stubborn in not just immediately believing him. He did everything that a good friend ought to have done in that situation... And then later that night, my twisted mind went on some psychotic rampage in an attempt to prove to myself that I did in fact love him as well as every other friend of mine. So now I have his name on my wrist with nothing much more to show for it except a lost friendship and an awkward question to answer when people happen to look closely enough to see the scars. It seems as though his name on my wrist did the exact opposite of cementing the love between friends but rather it set me up for the downward spiral that would become my life in the following year. I created a world of hurt for myself that proved to be completely stupid, immature and unnecessary. I can apologise a million times to him and to those close to him for the drama I brought about but it won't take back what it did to him, to our friendship, to me. I can't go back in time and change the course that ensued after one misguided action. I can only look back now and be thankful for the lesson it has afforded me - as hard as it has been.

I have a number of old friends etched into my skin - fading memories of all who I've pushed away and all those who simply ran from my idiocy and borderline psychotics. I've often gone too far... I've pushed too much, done little good and manipulated people far too explicitly. I can sit hear and say these things about myself for days on end because I know of all my mistakes and all of the horrible things I've done to people who have done nothing but expect normality from me. In essence, I look back on what my life has been comprised of for the past few years and I cringe at the desperation that it reeks of. I don't know who that miserable, complicated, twisted little girl was. I don't want to remember myself as the monster I once was... even though it probably still lurks within me, waiting to pull me back into an infinite regress of depression and self-inflicted suffering. I don't want to be that way ever again. I don't want to live my life on the edge if it means at any moment I could look over the railing of a balcony as I once did and decide it would be a good way to die. I don't want to ever look at a bottle of painkillers and mentally calculate the amount needed to overdose. I don't to cause my friends to worry about me to the extent that they feel the need to stage mini-interventions and check my wrists every so often for fresh scars. I don't ever want to be that selfish ever again. 

Perhaps I'm schizophrenic and the voices in my head have become somewhat restless. Maybe that's what it is that pulls me back into myself. Maybe that's what I can credit my moments of pure insanity to. It would make so much more sense to me if I were to be diagnosed with some mental illness. I suppose it would make so much more sense to the people around me as well - it would explain so much and, I'm sure, confirm some of their suspicions. Also, then some psychiatrist could give me a concoction of pills that would make me better. So that none of the people who I have come to love, cherish and adore would ever have to be subjected to the overflow of my warped mind. It would be a guarantee that I would no longer hurt or annoy anyone. Would being classed as insane not just make everything that much easier? Or do I have to further grapple with the task of balancing the expectation of normality or conformity with the nature of my not-so-normal mind?

--J.

Casting The Burden

I hate looking at a scale. I hate knowing that my goals are no where near to being realized. It feels as if all I've done - the healthy eating, the gymming, etc. - it's all been for nothing. It feels useless and I feel so incredibly stupid because I actually thought I was getting somewhere.

It is so bizarre to me how I can feel healthy and happy and amazing in a physical sense but one stupid little number can just cause every shred of pride in your accomplishments to completely dissipate.  My mother used the word 'fixated' to describe my current association with my weight and physical appearance as I stood glaring at the scale. She's so very right though - she often is. I don't know what it is with me and my horrid relationship with my body. I don't know what I ultimately want to look like, I don't know how far I want or need to go until I'll be satisfied... All I know is that I don't want to look how I look right now. I just don't want to look like me.

I suppose that I sound grossly superficial in this instance... I know it's such a petty thing to allocate so much time and attention to. I don't know if it can currently be helped though. I've been insecure about my body ever since I can remember being aware of my physical appearance. I've always been the fat, ugly kid who always stood a part from her gorgeous friends with perfect figures. Especially when I was younger, I felt as though it was so unfair that I looked the way I did and that because of my physical appearance it meant I was allowed to be the victim of verbal bullying from my peers as well as from people who were really close to me. So I've always grown up with this massively skewed self-concept aided by my negative and dismal self esteem and my unrealistic idea of my ideal self. That's just how it's always been and I suppose then it's needless to say that my insecurity surrounding my physical appearance directly influenced my emotional and psychological health as well.

I struggled for a while with an eating problem - I'm not quite sure whether I have the liberty to call it a disorder. I still don't have the healthiest of relationships when it comes to eating... It's not about what I eat so much as it is about how much I eat. I generally eat very healthily i.e. low in carbohydrates, low in sugar, low in sodium, high protein, lots of tea and water, minimal junk food or takeaways, etc. Unfortunately, I go through this back and forth - a vicious cycle if you will. Either I eat far too little or far too much. It's always been like that. However, my phases of binge or excessive eating are far shorter than my almost anorexic approach to food. I wrote a poem about a year or so ago that very aptly portrays my view of my body as well as my view in regards to eating or the lack thereof as a means to solving my physical crises. I have grown up somewhat since having written the poem but there are still definite correlations between my self esteem and self concept of both then and now.

Oh To Starve - By Jillian Lawrence

When I happen  

To steal a glance at the mirror…

I cringe. 

My dignity and sanity,

Slowly unhinged.

I don’t see a person

I don’t see me…

I don’t even see what you think

That you see.

I see all of my failures-

They’re scars across my face.

A mark of the disgrace.

I see the overwhelming evidence

Of a girl unwanted.

Unneeded and defeated.

I look big, like a giant of sorts

Every blink is a thunderous roar

Every step is a trembling quake.

It must be a mistake…

Why does reality seem so fake.

Why do you see a person

While I see a mountainous ruin.

Grotesque and obscene

Obesity of note

A fat joke…

Oh murder was all that she wrote

But never could do it.

I can’t do it.

Oh to die would be too easy

It seems too good to be true

The only downside would be

Not saying goodbye to you.

All I see in the mirror

Is the mess-

What I've confessed.

I can’t face it 

I can’t beat it.

It’s too big to beat.

The only solution is to starve

So that the shell of my adversity

Dwindles and dies

That way nobody cries…

Because there’s no blood,

Only my face in the mud.

Oh to starve so that I 

May fade away

Until I wish to be seen someday

The more I see

The more I'm reminded 

Of all I've done

Of all they did.

Oh to starve…

It seems the only way

To disappear a little more

Each day…

So that I may not be reminded

Of my darkest desires

To give up completely

To starve my body of air-

To kick the chair…

Oh to starve...

And to rid myself of life.

I found it quite morbid to read that and also somewhat chilling to recall my own state of mind when I first penned that poem. I've grown somewhat more confident in myself but I am still far from content. I think that's going to take a lot more work on my part as well as a lot more spiritual growth. I can go on these intense body bashing trips and then I suddenly realise that I am hating on something that God created and that He finds beautiful. At present, I don't understand why I was created to look the way that I do but I do know and believe firmly that God's plan and reasons for doing things is far beyond mortal comprehension. I feel so guilty at times when I look in the mirror and still hate what I see - I want so badly to be okay with not being the thinnest or the prettiest person on the planet. I want to say that I'll be okay with looking average... but I hate complacency and I hate the idea of mediocrity. That's why I have this raging inner conflict... because I'm fighting with myself and I get angry with myself for not being amazing at everything. I hate not being good at things and I hate thinking that I have not lived up to the expectations that I have of myself and that other people have of me.

I look in the mirror and I feel like I'm losing. It doesn't seem to matter that I eat healthily and exercise. The change or the difference that is supposed to come about is not apparent to me. Even when I somehow think that it is and for a split second I am happy with myself, there is something that ruins it for me... Like a snide comment from my sister or someone takes a photo of me and I don't look as good as I thought I felt. Inferiority is something I've always had to grapple with and it often wins as a result of it being so overwhelming at times. My physical struggle is perhaps most prominent because it's something I face continuously and I am most aware of it... I'm constantly caused to compare myself to everyone else - mentally deciding that they're prettier than me because they're thinner, because they have blue eyes, because their hair is longer, because their nose is sharper. I know I shouldn't but it's become inherent and that's why I call what I face an inner struggle because I loathe the fact that it has become habitual for me to knock myself down. It's like an out-of-body experience at the moment - I watch myself self-destruct at the fault of my own venomous words... And I can't run from myself. All I can do is try to distract myself from the screaming in my head - the sheer torment that I'll always be this way; that I'll always feel the pain of inadequacy.

I want more than anything to just be better. I want to keep getting better until my dying day... I just feel so blocked and frustrated at the fact that my efforts fall short. For those of you who have ever watched A Knight's Tale (if you haven't, go watch it - you have not yet lived until you do)... I feel like there's this voice inside of me that I can only assimilate to Adhemar. I keep hearing that line where he says, "You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. In what world could you possibly beat me?" In what world could I ever be good enough? Whether it be physically, academically, creatively... Will I ever be as extraordinary as I have always dreamed to be? My biggest fear is that I will die and no one will care... I want to be remembered, I want to make a difference yet this overwhelming sense of mediocrity has me doubtful and worried about whether I'll die with integrity or in the depths of despair.

I don't want this baggage and the burden of all of my toxic insecurity any more. I'm clinging so desperately to faith and to God right now. I'm trusting so blindly and with such indignation because I have no choice but to refuse the suffering and to rather choose the peace that comes with resting in the assurance of Christ. I can't love any one fully until I stop hating myself. I can't ever be in a healthy relationship until I'm able to affirm myself instead of expecting to have all of my insecurities be somehow miraculously cured by some poor mortal man - only my God can do that. 

I just want all the hurtful words of the past to die and to slip from my memory... I don't want to see the faces of the people who verbally abused the shy and overly-sensitive primary school Jill as raging distortions that choke me as I sleep. I don't want to look at my own sister, someone who I've always naturally looked to as a role model and looked for affirmation from, wishing that I had never existed to her so as to escape her criticism of me. I just want to be able to love my friends, family and God as they ought to be loved... and while this hate rages within me and eats away at my very soul, I cannot do that - I cannot be better.

I want to look at myself and see something beautiful - it doesn't matter what 'beautiful' actually looks like, I just want to feel as though I no longer have to change or attempt to be someone or something that I am not for the sake of the acceptance of others. I don't want the number on a scale or carelessly tossed insults to define the way I view myself. I want to be proud of the fact that I was moulded and shaped by a loving God who made me the way that I am for reasons that are good and perfectly in contribution and accordance with His plan and His will. I want to delight in the fact that I have been fearfully and wonderfully made instead of dwelling in the self-imposed misery surrounding my feelings of inadequacy. I want to smile instead of inwardly scowling at the mirror - I want to be thankful instead of melancholy to point where I am blind to my blessings.

--J.

Sweet Rosé

So I sat in your room for the first time in a very long time. Ever since you first randomly messaged me, I had been dreading that very moment - sitting on the edge of your bed, clutching my bag which held a bottle of Four Cousins Sweet Rose' and wondering whether I was going to say something that would ruin everything all over again.

Of course my mind was just causing me to over-think everything as it usually does but I was not aware, until that moment, just how much fear I had been holding inside of me up in anticipation for this encounter with you. As we talked things flowed and I was able to be chilled and open once I finally got out of my own head. It was weird speaking to you as though nothing had ever been estranged between us but I loved it - I loved being back in that place where you showed a genuine interest in my life and were also willing to tell me about yours. A part of me kept on wanting to ask you 'Why?' ... 'Why did you suddenly want to speak to me again?'. You told me the answer I suppose but I guess I'll never grasp an understanding of it because I'm not used to people leaving and then coming back like you have. I'm not complaining, rather I'm embracing it but that doesn't mean I don't harbor some kind of natural curiosity as to what it was that made you want to talk to me, of all people, again.

After talking to you, I've realized just how many unanswered questions have taken up residence within my mind without my awareness. I suppose though that they are the sort of questions that one doesn't want to hear the answers to... even though what you'd have to say would probably be exactly what I need to hear. It's just so difficult being reminded of all the mistakes you've made and their thorny consequences. There were a couple of times where I felt so sore as my chest and throat pulled tight when you mentioned his name - I spoke of him as briefly as I could manage and then let you say all of the rest because talking about him and even thinking about him to a certain extent puts me on the verge of a depression that I cannot afford to sink into. I know that you'll understand what I mean but perhaps to most I sound like I'm speaking of someone I was once in love with... but I'm not. You know I don't love him like that... but I cannot dispute the fact that I love him so much no matter what any says about me or about him or about the type of friendship we had. I love him - and I know you love him too. So you can understand (I hope) where I am coming from when I say that losing him has shattered me to no end. Knowing that he practically loathes my existence rips me apart every day if I let my mind wander too far in the direction of him. So I don't think about him because I can't stand to live my life as a blubbering, dramatic mess of a girl who once again has let her emotions consume her. I wish I could have brought myself to ask you what he's said in regards to me so that I would know how I appear to him - but I can't do that mostly because of the fear that you'll confirm all of my assumptions about what he thinks. It hurts me so much to think of him hating me when all I can do is love him like I always have... 

I wish I could have asked you every question imaginable... not in the expectation that you would be able to answer them all but rather in the hopes that I would have someone to ponder and debate with about those 'deep, meaningful everythings'. I really needed today - it's been a really long while since I've had a conversation quite like the one I've had today - time spent with you is not easily comparable or equatable to any other experience I would have with any of my other friends. So thank you for today and just know that I'm proud of you always. I love you. I think I'm going to go read your blog for a bit now... (http://www.vividartilante.blogspot.com/ for those of you who don't know)

"Welcome To My World: ***Please leave all judgement and arrogance outside."

--J.

I Tried To Write You A Letter...

I started writing you this letter, you see. I probably shouldn't have because I don't know if it will ever truly be finished. I just have too much to say about you and to you. I started writing you a letter full of feelings and sweet nothings until I realised that we're so much more than just all of that - YOU are so much more than all of that.

I've mentioned that I love you in practically every line because there is nothing that will make me feel as though I've said it enough times. Every stroke upon each page is dark with the conviction that I have in my pure adoration and surrender to you. I tried writing a letter that would do you justice but I can't do that because nothing would ever be good enough... Just as I will never be good enough to deserve you.

I wrote you a letter and lost count of how many pages piled up beside me as I attempted to put into words what I was feeling in my heart and in my head. I feel as though there are not enough words or rather, there are no words that can capture the essence of who you are. The jumbled mess within my spirit that encompasses what I feel for you has never truly been put into words that I can confidently say reflect you. Every time I open my mouth or attempt to decipher my mind, all that comes out is "I love you."

I wrote a letter for you even though I know you'll never read all of it because you'll get bored or run out of hours in the day. I wrote you a letter so that, quite selfishly, I would feel better in having tried to somehow describe or quantify the beauty of your soul, the strength in your existence, the shivers I get at your gentle touch, the intelligence you so often try to downplay... I wrote a letter to you because I feel it's the only thing I could do that would fool me into thinking that I've begun to understand you.

It is highly probable that what I have attempted to write makes little to no sense at all. My letter to you is probably filled with mindless repetition and awful clichés perhaps from being to distracted by the thought of you to actually write anything down that would facilitate comprehension. In fact, perhaps it would be best if you didn't read my mindless ramblings and pathetic confessions.

I tried writing you a letter - or rather, I wrote you a letter but I'll never be satisfied enough with it to declare it to be complete nor worth the read. All that it has taught me is that sometimes words are not enough and the only adequacy one can find in the description of true and epic love is the moments in which that love grows. It can't be about what I say or what I write, it'll have to be in what I do. I will never be able to write you a letter that'll fully assure you of my affections for you but I can try every day to make it all the more clearer as a lifetime gently passes me by. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you see that your love is my lifeblood and that your complete beauty is the joy that I delight in every day. It won't be in my words any more - My love for you has surpassed my mere, meagre, mortal words... My love for you dances in my eyes and beats fiercely within my chest for you make me who I am.

I love you.

--J.

P.S. Even though my words will never be enough and despite my inadequacy, I'll never cease to write of all the wonders of your existence to the best of my ability...

I Can't Run The World

It's not that I don't like running... It's that I hate running. I'm not saying that out of laziness and I'm not saying that out of lack of determination to reach my goals. It's just that if there was one thing I could by-pass in my plan to lose weight it would be running. There is nothing in this world that makes me feel more useless as a human being.

Before I say anything further I would just like to say that I know that I'm being a melodramatic about this entire thing and I should prob just deal with my issues and get over it already. That, however, takes time. It also takes a bit more understanding, on my part, of myself. I have such a skewed self-concept and self-esteem that it's going to take a lot to just simply understand the root problems that have resulted in the petty issues I seem to have in regards to my body.

Okay, running. Running is an extremely good way to burn calories, lose weight and get fit in a healthy way. I've heard that countless times and I don't dispute the fact that it is true (there is too much evidence to prove that it is, in fact, true). It's just something that I have not yet been able to bring myself to do voluntarily. Yes, I sound utterly ridiculous right now but it's true. 

Running is deeply uncomfortable for me so on a physical level it isn't something I particularly enjoy doing. I've been told so many times that I will get used to it as I run more often and more consistently... I know all that cool stuff and whatever but it doesn't mean anything to me at the moment. I'm not a completely stagnant, inactive person and it's not like I've never attempted to run in my life - that's so far from the truth. I was forced, all throughout primary school, to take part in athletics days that would result in me feeling humiliated after finishing last in some stupid 200m race. I played sport like netball in primary school and then in high school I played cricket - the sports in themselves were fun and enjoyed the exercise in that way... but when it came to the compulsory fitness i.e. a lot of running, I went back to despising what I was doing.

To me, running is symbolic of failure and if you know me relatively well you know that I hate and fear failure and the very idea of failing at something. I hate doing things I'm not good at and yes that means I am somewhat denying myself multiple opportunities and new experiences but I don't do things in the same way other people do anyway, okay... I'll stop being a baby and I'll get over it eventually. I just need to take my time in getting to a place where I'm unashamed of who I am and of my body.

Right now, with the frame of mind that I have right now... I would say that I am not as confident as I'd like to be in order to start running. I wouldn't be able to run anywhere out of the fear that someone may see me and judge me - that fat girl trying to run herself skinny but to no avail. I wouldn't be able to run with  friends out of the fear of being to slow and letting them down as well as appearing useless and unfit to them. I just can't afford to feel useless at anything else - just let me stick to what I know for a while until I stop being a girl and get over myself.

So this blog post, funnily enough, has been helping me to procrastinate instead of going for my daily gym session - you see, I do exercise! I just really don't want to run... Sigh, I know I'll probably end up running eventually and when I do, I shall keep you posted on my progress and my journey to a skinnier and fitter me.

Off to my running-free gym session for the day!

--J.

Embracing the Uncomfortable

I think it is safe to say that I have never been so wholly uncomfortable in my entire life. Emotionally, mentally, socially and physically - I am in an indefinite stage of unease. The strange thing is that I'm kind of okay with not being within my comfort zone and I now have reason to believe that this is where I need to be right now in my life's journey and the apparent lack of comfort ought to be welcomed and embraced.

I was sitting in church yesterday morning after having volunteered in the children's ministry in the first session. My body was sore (it still is sore actually) as a result of my daily exercise routine - which has recently become intensified - and I couldn't help but inwardly express the thought, "I feel so uncomfortable right now." My church's head pastor walked onto stage after the worship session (which made my legs stiffen up because of having to stand in essentially the same position) and he began speaking about giving. Now, this is a usual precursor in my church before the offering is taken up so I naturally didn't think it necessary to pay any more attention to it than I usually would've. That being said, as soon as he asked the question, "Is there anyone who feels uncomfortable?", I knew God was speaking. He began speaking about how one should be thankful and embrace being uncomfortable because it is in those times of life that God works within us best and grows us for His cause. So I think I'm in that growth phase. I thank God for answering me even when I didn't ask to be answered - He is so great.

Okay, so don't get me wrong now... Physical or muscular pain is not my only source of uncomfort - it just happens to be a contributor. I've been feeling emotionally alienated for an extremely extensive period - in fact, I can probably pin point the beginning of this alienation to the start of this year. My emotional unease is not conventionally a bad thing - in fact, normal people would consider me practically insane for feeling uncomfortable with my current emotional state. You see, the the thing is that I'm happy. I'm happy, I'm content, I feel loved... yet I don't know what to do with myself as a result. Prior to university, the last two years of my life had been so incredibly dark and depressing... and numbing to a point where I got used to it and  began to expect nothing else for myself except pain and perpetual unhappiness. I thought I was doomed to a life of sadness and quietly suffocating despair. The change of this year and the incredible people I have met have forced me to shed the negativity that I had been carrying around for years. I'm surrounded by positivity and love to a point where I don't know how to react any more. I can't act in the same way as I used to, my relationships are bound to change as well as a result. As much as I am thankful for the phenomenal change in my life, I cannot help but be afraid of everything that has become so different. I can't help but fear that which I know absolutely nothing about as of yet. I am open to learn and I know I will have to but it's a daunting task - it requires me to rewire my own mind and my heart that have been so haunted and heavy for so long. I fear more than anything that, ultimately, I won't be able to manage, accomplish or sustain this change and that I'll simply relapse into what I have so long known to be comfortable and normal. It's scary to think just how easy to would be to go back to where I'm most comfortable and where I learnt how to do life - that dark place. Therefore, I pray and I beg and I plead to remain uncomfortable.

When I say mentally uncomfortably, I mean in terms of my academics. I have recently been very internally conflicted in regards to the work I'm doing at varsity. I don't know if I'm working hard enough. In fact, I know I could work harder but then there's the dilemma of motivation. I work hard but if I spent less time blogging, social networking, spending time with friends and family etc. one can assume that I would do better academically. Where does one draw the line between work and play? I've always been the type of person who expects a lot from themselves. I can't help but have high standards and therefore I also can't help being extremely disappointed to the point of devastation when I somehow don't achieve my personal goals. I can't stand failure - I despise it. I fear feeling stupid and inferior even in the event of having worked hard at something. I hate the feeling of not being good enough. So right now, I'm in this state of unease at university where I am just under a lot of self-inflicted pressure to achieve and to do well. I am praying that this will be more of means of motivation than a source of  unnecessary anxiety or depression.

Socially, I don't quite feel on par with everybody else around me. I'm reaching the stage of life now where I'm supposed to be investing time in looking for a long-standing, intimate relationship. I just really couldn't care less at the moment. In fact, the prospect of a relationship puts me off to a surprising degree. I don't know whether it's because I'm subconsciously a coward or consumed with the fear of rejection. I just know that I don't want what the people around me seem to want. I know that shouldn't define me and that I don't have to want to be in a relationship but due to the circumstance and the expectations others have for their lives, I feel slightly out of place and once again subject to alienation of some kind. It is no means to say that I feel uncomfortable in that I don't want to be around people who feel differently to me - it's more of a personal struggle that I am pursuing. For the longest time, I've wanted to be in a relationship and I've wanted that personal attention from a significant other and now all of a sudden I've done a complete 180 where I cringe at the idea of a relationship. I feel so strange but I'm taking it as it comes rather than trying to analyse anything too severely. Perhaps this is a time of preparation. So for now I shall be patient and see what God has in store in this regard.

I don't mind being uncomfortable if it means that I will be better off for being this way. God has a plan that I am unaware of and have no hopes of ever grasping so I shall trust in Him to shape me for the purpose of His glory. For now, I shall embrace the uncomfortable.

--J.