2/11/23

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Hey.

So... I started a photo challenge for Megan Kenyon’s The Women’s Chapel project - all the way back on the first of November. I did it consistently and diligently for three days. On the fourth day, I knew exactly which photo(s) I would use and what I would write. But I’ve procrastinated till now, which is interesting since the prompt is “something constant.” Ha ha. I guess “something constant” about me is that I almost always procrastinate... so.... it’s perfect! Ha ha.

I’ve been procrastinating for a lot of reasons. One is that this is hard to “say out loud.” But I’m going to “say” it because I think it’s important.

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*Trigger warning (for those of you who appreciate that sort of thing - I know I do). This addresses some traumatic moments from my past. If you are currently working through deep trauma, perhaps choose not to read this. Or proceed with gentle caution.

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This is a photo of a building in downtown Chicago called the Riverview. Well technically it’s a photo of the Chicago River reflecting the Riverview. Which is so meta. *Which one is the actual Riverview!?*

Anyway... that’s not what we’re here to talk about.

In 2011, I got my first smartphone, and immediately fell in love with photography for the first time. I was living in Chicago. My absolute favorite thing to do was to take the 20-minute train-ride downtown and walk the streets alone, while at the same time very much not alone. This photo is a remnant from one of those glorious days.

I took photos of a number of subjects, but skyscrapers were front and center. I loved learning about the architects and the history of the buildings. I fell in love with Chicago. I became so inspired by the moment in time when the entire city went up in flames. But even moreso the moments following, during the extreme inspiration and growth proceeding the tragedy.

Then, in 2013, my life went up in flames. The year started when I broke up with my fiance. A month later, I got into a car accident on the highway, during which my car spun about 13 times - I believed I was dying. The feeling is still branded in my brain. That was probably the start of my PTSD. Three months later, I had a gun pointed at me and was then held hostage for a short time in the back of the AT&T store where I worked. This just fed the flames of my PTSD. Over the next several months, my hair started to fall out, I lost a lot of weight and I was thirsty and hungry all the time. That fall, I was diagnosed with a rare and strange case of diabetes, which apparently can sometimes happen to people who experience high levels of stress. At that time I was also formally diagnosed with said PTSD.

Besides all of these terrible physical and emotional experiences, I had also been slipping from my faith for some time. It wasn’t a conscientious thing. It was a slow decent away from God. I just had stopped listening to Him. I remember a very clear moment in January of that year. I realized that I couldn’t hear my conscience anymore... and then I didn’t do anything about that. I just ignored the realization and kept going slowly into the dark.

I lived at home with my parents that year. They watched me. They saw me acting like... a shell of myself. I don’t know just how much of a change they could see from the outside, but I’m sure they saw it. And now that I’m a parent, I can’t imagine having to watch something like that.

The diabetes diagnosis thrust me into a deep deep depression. It was really hard. Getting diagnosed with a chronic illness is really hard you guys.

A week later, I quit my job at AT&T, deciding it probably wasn’t healthy for me to work in that physical space anymore.

Over the next year I worked hard to make ends meet freelancing full-time as a graphic designer because I was too afraid to go back to work in a physical space. It was exhausting. I was hardly making any money. At the same time, I never knew how much my medication was going to cost. It was constantly a different amount. But if I didn’t take it, I would die. It was terrifying. Plus, I was battling PTSD at the same time and did not really know who I was anymore. So many new hormones held the reins of various parts of my brain. And as I said earlier, I had stopped listening to God long before this. I was very lost, slowly descending into a deeper and deeper depression.

Despite the fact that I was living at home, my parents didn’t actually see much of me. It’s pretty easy for me to get distracted by other people, so I mostly avoided them, in order to keep a high focus on my freelance jobs that were paying pennies. I think I was probably also using that as an excuse for the deep shame I felt about my life. I just didn’t know how to climb out of the darkness that I was in and it was hard for me to look people in the eyes. Especially people who knew me well and knew what I was going through.

So I pretty much confined myself to my room. I barely went anywhere. I certainly didn’t go downtown by myself anymore (to be honest, I don’t know if I have since my diagnosis). I was scared of the world now.

My parents did the best they could for me during that time. My mom did a lot of work educating herself on my new disease resulting in extremely delicious diabetic-friendly meals on a regular basis. My dad offered small moments of encouragement towards my art. And I did my best to avoid both of them.

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Back around the time I started this photo challenge, I was organizing my studio. I found a small pile of newspaper clippings saved from this desolate chapter of my life. And now here is where “something constant” comes in.

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Day after day, while I shut myself up in my room, hardly looking at or speaking to anyone, my dad would cut out newspaper clippings of photos of downtown Chicago and silently slide them under my door. He gave me one almost every day for I don’t know how long.

At the time, above my subconscious, I didn’t know how to feel about these small gestures of love. I never said anything about them. And I felt so cold within my regular lack of response. But I believe my subconscious was collecting the gestures, and storing each one in its own bullet-proof safe, deep in my soul.

My dad believes in God. He believes that Jesus loves us and He taught me that from the moment I was born.

Every time he silently slid a newspaper clipping under my door, the action said, “please don’t ever forget that I love you and that Jesus loves you.”

But I had forgotten. At least the Jesus part. And with that, it was like the rest of my capacity to receive or show love had fallen away.

There’s a lot more to this story. But for now I’ll just jump ahead to the good part.

A year and a half after my diabetes diagnosis, my heart stopped for ten seconds during diabetic ketoacidosis. Over the next several months, as I recovered from this traumatic event, I started attending a church in St. Louis called Reliant. I loved it. The pastors were loving and wise. I felt more alive than ever and the truth and love of God was pouring into my soul. It soon became pretty clear to me that I had almost died by shutting God out. But He still loved me and He brought me back. There’s a lot more that goes into that last part. But we’ll just leave it at that for now.

The little bullet-proof safes in my soul that held the memories of each newspaper clipping lit up like little fireflies and rose above my subconscious. They have been very present in my memory ever since and I will never forget that Jesus loves me ever again.

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One last thing.

If there is someone that you love, who can’t look at you right now, just keep giving them the newspaper clippings.