Archive for friendship

Thank You

Posted in Writing with tags , , , , , , , on April 23, 2018 by Jessica Crichton

As I type, my beauteous friend Kitty is editing the first chapter for Scribbler’s Storytime. I’m feeling a strange kind of anxious, like this is the precipice of something huge that will change my life forever.

I’m at work. The day job. And everything here is as it should be. Calm. Collected. Organized. Just as it has been since I started here last July. There is no indication that today is any more special than any other day.

And yet, I’m feeling the universe… shift.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t done videos before so it’s exciting. Maybe it’s the whole new everything I’ve been working on these last few months.

Or maybe it really is the start of the rest of my life.

In any case, this feeling has given me thoughts of those who brought me to this place. I haven’t done this alone, and while it may be a bit premature, I want to make sure that I acknowledge those who have worked side-by-side with me through this journey.

From the very beginning to today.

So here is a list of people to whom this is a shout out, from earliest in my life to most recent. Thank you — so much — for your part in this great adventure I am on. Without you, some vital steps would never have happened. You have encouraged me, supported me, and cheered me on, and I will never, EVER forget that.

  • Sue Edmiston (AKA Mom)
  • Joanna Crichton (AKA Grandma)
  • Jill Charles
  • Beth Engelhard
  • Misty Robins
  • Anthony Sandoval
  • Cisily Sandoval
  • Conrad Sandoval
  • Jessica Suzanne Turner
  • Kim Thacker
  • Deby Fredericks
  • Kelly Milner Halls
  • John Bladek
  • Jairus Kelley
  • Erin Greene
  • Ronnie Ryno
  • Tim Martin
  • Shelley Martin
  • Nick Jensen
  • Molly Severns
  • Kaye Thornbrugh
  • Debi Schwartz
  • Robert McDonell
  • David Morris
  • Stephanie Regalado
  • Jill Roberts
  • Lesley Sabga
  • Roget Rachford
  • Ksenia Anske
  • Jessica Douglas
  • Brandie Maxwell
  • Kitty Keighley

Please realize that this is not an exhaustive list. It does not include the myriad of teachers, professors, professionals, friends, and family who have, at one time or another, given me encouragement, read my book(s), taught me how to be a better writer, and a billion other things. Those listed here are simply the ones who I can say have cheered me on the most consistently through the years, started me on a major part of my career path, and / or worked hard to edit, draw, paint, and otherwise perfect my worlds. If you’re listed here, it’s because I remember you as someone who gave me hope and help when I most needed it. If you’re on this list, you know why.

And you are thanked beyond words. Truly. Thank you.

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Finding Me

Posted in Mental Health, Writing with tags , , , , , , on October 19, 2017 by Jessica Crichton

Today, I’m thinking about paying it back.

Over the course of the last year, I have had some wonderful friends step up and help me out WAYYYY more than I ever wanted to need. Oftentimes this help came in the form of money, especially when I lost my job back in March. (Did I forget that part yesterday? Yeah… it was pretty easy to believe I’d lost every ounce of good luck I ever had for a while there!) I spent a great deal of time feeling guilty for that, and trying to figure out how to pay them back. For me, money was the only way to repay money, and I had none, so you can imagine how frustrating it became. A vicious cycle of feeling not good enough. One wonderful friend even made me promise NOT to pay her back. “I don’t want this to become a burden on our friendship,” she’d said. I’d appreciated that at the time, but didn’t understand how my presence in her life was at all beneficial to her – or anyone else, for that matter. In the darkest times, while I never considered suicide (because I refused to put my kids through that) I did seriously consider removing myself from everyone’s life for their own good. After all, the only thing I ever seemed to do anymore was take. I desperately wanted to give, but I literally had nothing to offer. For a long while, I didn’t even have the emotional energy to be there for them when they needed to talk about their own lives for once.

So why did my friends still want to be my friends?

Coming out of the dark has been a slow processes, but one big step up in it was finally landing a great, stable job with benefits in July. I now have an income again, but I’m still struggling a bit to get stabilized from the financial blast effect. For that reason I still can’t pay my friends back in money.

But if there’s anything I have learned this past year, it’s that money isn’t the most important thing in life.

Finding myself again has meant a lot of inner contemplation, meditation, therapy, and other hefty mental and emotional exercise. All to answer a question that some find easy to solve, but far too many struggle with:

What is GOOD about me?

I have always been GREAT at self-deprecation. Nobody has been better at owning my flaws than me. Even when I was shown this past year just how awful those flaws can be, while it was hard to see, it was soooo easy to accept. After all, I’d spent my whole life practicing the art of self-abuse. Self-hatred was only a natural next step in that processes.

And I have never hated myself more than I have this past year.

Healing doesn’t happen when you keep ripping off the scabs. Reliving my flaws every day, hating myself more and more, I could barely breathe, let alone heal. But for a long time I didn’t think I even had the right to. And that’s where any kind of hope to do so ended. In order to even begin healing, I had to learn to believe I deserved it, and I just didn’t have that in me. My self-hatred was so strong that I literally couldn’t come up with anything positive to say about myself without automatically adding a million “buts” and negative caveats to it.

I couldn’t SEE myself.

But my friends could.

Why did they keep helping me when all I deserved was pain? Why did they stay in my life when all I could give them was a burden? If I was such a terrible person, why did they still care about me?

Knowing the answer, I realized, was VITAL in finding a way to even begin crawling out of that terrible black hole.

And so I asked them. Sometimes on Facebook, sometimes in person, but never just once. I didn’t believe the answers. I desperately wanted to, but just… couldn’t. So I kept asking. It was almost a desperation, and not at all logical. Some people got tired of it, and more than a few unfriended and even blocked me. Many stated that I was needy, overly emotional, and shared too many personal things. Others never would be able to answer at all. My first ex, and father of my children, asked me “do you even HAVE friends anymore?” (I still don’t blame him for that, but to understand why you have to know details, and I won’t be giving any.)

But there were a few very special, wonderful friends who refused to give up on me. They answered my questions every time, always with the same answer, though sometimes stated differently.

Why did they keep helping me when all I deserved was pain?

Because I helped them in the past.

Why did they stay in my life when all I could give them was a burden?

Because I deserved friends and light in my life.

If I was such a terrible person, why did they still care about me?

Because I wasn’t a terrible person at all. Because I was a good person, and they loved me for me.

After a while, the questions and answers turned into conversations. They reminded me of things I did for them in the past: Listening to them when they needed me. Giving them food or helping them clean their homes, or teaching them things. Even being a source of inspiration as a writer and – and this was the hardest to accept – as a mother. Most of these things I had entirely forgotten about. I was good at remembering every terrible thing I had thought, done, and felt, but terrible at remembering anything good. My friends were my memory, and they helped me begin to see myself as a whole human again.

In the end, though, it was one of my children who finally broke through and let the full, glorious light in, by showing me a video he said he thought I needed to see. You can find it here, but warning: it may trigger some deep pain if you have ever hated yourself. That said, it is mighty in the healing department too. It’s funny though; I didn’t cry until my son turned to me and said, “Don’t listen to the demon, Mom.” Then everything came pouring out, and my children held me as I cried.

Even now, writing that brings tears. But they are good tears. Healing tears.

I’m still pulling myself out of the shadows. Some days they overwhelm me, even now. But my friends, and my children, have shown me how I not only CAN pay them back, but how I have paid them forward in the past. Not with money, but with the Me I forgot I was. The Me they reminded me of.

And you know what? I kinda like her, too.

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