Why I Quit Facebook

Recently, my church put out a statement that has created some uproar. When I heard about it, my first thought was, I'm so glad I don't look at Facebook any more so I don't have to see everyone's opinions about this.

I joined Facebook to reconnect with a college roommate I hadn't seen in years. I had no other way to get a hold of her. A friend suggested Facebook, so I finally caved and joined. At first, I enjoyed it. I read about the lives of people I rarely or never get to see. I was able to share events in my life easily (too easily??) to lots of people.

Slowly, my news feed contained less pictures, stories, and life events and more articles that "perfectly expressed" the opinion of the person who shared it. Articles about politics, religion, parenting, lifestyle choices; not all negative but certainly not all positive either. The negative ones always left a black hole in my gut, especially when shared by someone I really care about. And almost every article had its share of negative comments that disagreed with the contents, and sometimes, the commenters became quite nasty and mean.

I unfollowed people. I thought about unfollowing more...like almost everyone but really close friends and family. Turns out, that may not have been an option. My friend started unfollowing a huge amount of her friends. FB issued her several warnings that she was abusing the "unfollow privilege". She ignored them and was eventually blocked from unfollowing anyone!!

I chose to quit FB.

There is a sense of peace that comes to me from not having other people's opinions bombarding me on a "news feed" continually. I get my news from fairly credible news sources (I say "fairly" because I'm not 100% convinced of the media's ability to be impartial or unbiased) so it's not like I'm an ostrich with its head in the sand and having no clue what's happening around it. The difference is that I get the news without all the commentary and opinions and arguments from every Tom, Dick, and Jane. There is so much negativity in the world without me welcoming it into my life by the negative views that routinely showed up on my FB.

Now, I have to reach out to people to find out what's happening in their worlds, to make a little effort instead of just pushing the FB app button on my phone. I email, text, call, and even write the occasional letter to connect with my loved ones. When was the last time you received an email from someone?? An email that was just them telling you about their lives and asking about yours? I bet you can't even remember when someone sent you a letter. I can because I have a wonderful mother-in-law that sends us handmade, hand-written cards once a month. They are lovely to receive. I can't remember the last email I received that wasn't from a business, school, city, or a comment on my blog.

It is sometimes said about science, "just because they can, doesn't mean they should".

Nowadays, everyone has a voice, an outlet to express their opinions about every little thing in this world. It's not a bad thing. Heck, I have a blog partly to express my opinions, to have a voice. It's empowering and special. The problem is that people haven't learned to shut up. There are some things that don't need to be said, especially to everyone on FB. Just because you can, doesn't mean you always should. And so, since there is too much chatter and too little restraint, I choose to be a lot more selective.

I don't foresee going back to FB any time soon, but if I do it will be with a very short friends list.

Thank you for putting up with my FB rant. I promise to be more carefree and happy in my next post.

Julie :)

The Red Coals of Sadness

I wrote this post just a few days after I miscarried. Writing it acted as a release valve for all the pain and sorrow I felt but felt too raw and exposed to actually publish it. Now, a month later, I feel okay about sharing it. I'm not changing a word of it, not even re-reading it so I don't get tempted to edit it, but I am finishing it. When I wrote it, we still didn't have the official results saying I'd miscarried. I didn't finish it that day because I had hoped to receive the call giving me the results at any time. It didn't happen until days later, and by then I didn't feel like writing any more about it.

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Imagine the perfect camp fire for roasting marshmallows - there aren't many flames, just searingly-hot coals; concentrated pockets of heat.

That's how the sadness deep in my soul feels. Not a raging fire that looks intense but isn't really as hot as you'd expect. No, my sadness isn't easy to see, it's buried under partially-consumed logs; red-hot coals that slowly, quietly burning with an intense heat.

I've never felt such sadness. It's unexpected and, like a hot brand, will leave a permanent mark on my spirit. Like a brand, it will heal, I have complete faith in that, but I also know I will never be the same.

Last Wednesday, I stopped feeling sick. I read a few sources that said not to worry if you're not feeling morning/day/night sickness but to be glad you're one of the lucky ones. So, I didn't worry.

Friday morning, while walking around the track during my "wellness time", I started to feel a pain very similar to menstrual cramps...except I shouldn't be getting my period because I was pregnant. I walked slower thinking maybe I was overdoing the exercise.

When I returned to my office, I went to the bathroom and found blood on my underclothes. Even then, I didn't panic. The nurse at the base, the nurse in the health center, and several articles online had all said to call my doctor if I ever experienced pain or bleeding. Well, I didn't have a doctor yet, I would be referred to one the following Monday after the pregnancy orientation on base, so I called Steve. He said he'd call the base to see what we should do and would call me back.

While waiting for his call, I told my coworker what was happening and he said it had happened to his wife during their second pregnancy and all ended up fine, but he agreed that I should see a doctor right away just to be sure.

Steve called back. The base nurse said to go to the nearest ER since we didn't have an OB doctor yet. He was coming to pick me up.

We spent just over three hours in the ER; I had blood drawn to test my HCG level (the pregnancy hormone), a pelvic exam to see if my cervix was closed (it was, and the doctor was glad so it must have been a good thing), and an ultrasound. The end results were that the baby was too small at that time to determine if its heart was beating but the egg sac was present and looked good and my HCG level was where it should be for how far along I was. The ultrasound had discovered a ruptured cyst on an ovary, which explained the cramping and blood loss. Since they couldn't say for sure that the baby was still good, they told us to go back on base on Monday to have my HCG level tested again. If the level went down, it would mean I'd miscarred. If it was the same or higher, the pregnancy was still good. The nurse was very optimistic, sure that the pregnancy would continue and the little baby inside of me would be fine. They sent us home and put me on bed rest for the weekend.

It was a long weekend. I usually pack a lot of activities into our weekends, so it was kind of hard, but kind of nice, to not be able to do anything. I managed to do some homework Saturday morning, but the rest of the day was lazy and restful. My spirits were pretty good, mostly because of a loving husband who always makes me feel better.

Sunday, I awoke to a gray day and my spirits were just as gray, if not more so. I stayed in bed until noon because I felt an overwhelming sadness I didn't want to explain to Steve in case it made the situation more real. I read a silly but entertaining book but would occassionally have to stop reading because I had the sudden urge to break down crying. My body sensed something I couldn't know for sure. Eventually, I joined Steve in the living room where we played games on the wii, watched movies and football, and just enjoyed being together. He kept asking if I was okay, so I knew I wasn't hiding my feelings as well as I'd hoped. I told him I was worried and sad and then he'd hold me close and say all sorts of nice things.

Just before bed, I used the bathroom, and something came out on the toilet paper wad. Something that wasn't a blood clot; there had been a few of those throughout the weekend. I knew what it was but had Steve come in to look so he could give his opinion. He knew too. It was the egg sac. I had miscarried.

That night will be one I will remember. The pain and sadness were unlike anything I'd ever felt and hope to never feel again. However, I will also always remember the closeness I felt with Steve. We were parents who had lost their unborn baby before it was even identifiable as a baby, and that bond strengthened our love for each other immeasurably. I sobbed and he held me tight. We talked of our disappointment and sadness and hopes for the future and our love for each other. It was immensely bitter but twinged with sweetness.

The next morning, we had our appointment on base to get my HCG levels retested. Before sending us to the lab for me to get my blood drawn yet again, the doctor said he'd call later that morning with the results. To keep my mind busy while we waited, I made an appointment to get an eye exam and contacts fitting for that morning. I've been wearing glasses for 6 months because I didn't have a prescription for contacts. Following the appointment, we went home and waited.

Midway through our dog walk, I decided I didn't want to wait any more and called the base clinic. I was then told that they wouldn't have the results for up to 72 hours!!! I told them they were wrong and that the doctor had said he'd call me before noon. The nurse told me the doctor was wrong. The type of HCG test that he'd ordered had to be sent off base so it took awhile to get the results. I hung up the phone and lost it. Again, Steve just held me tight as I sobbed. Even though I pretty much knew I had miscarried, until I got the official results, there was this tiny glimmer of hope that we were wrong. That hope scared me.

Steve suggested we go somewhere else to get the test done again, somewhere that could get the result back in a couple hours instead of a couple days. I thought about it while we finished our walk, but in the end said no. I had spent too much time in the last week at the doctor, too many pokes in my arm, too much time in waiting rooms. Since we were already pretty sure what had happened, we'd just go with that and wait until the base called with the results.

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We ended up not finding out the results for almost a week. A week of not being 100% sure, a week of hope regardless of being fairly sure that the pregnancy had ended. We finally went back to the ER to get a new HCG test since we found out after another call to the base that the test I had on base might take another week to get the results! The lab at the hospital had the results in 20 minutes. The miscarriage was confirmed. It was a relief to finally have the results and I felt we could finally start to heal.

Through it all, I have been grateful for my faith in God, for the love of my wonderful husband, and for the support and kindness of my family and friends. A month later, and I'm still amazed by how much the miscarriage affects me, the sense of loss that I still feel. I don't spend hours upon hours crying (thankfully) and can carry on like normal, but I feel the difference. I'm so thankful for the healing powers of time and for father's blessings that offer hope and guidance. And, whenever I feel down, I find peace in the arms of the man that I plan to love forever.

Ready for Change?

There's something about Autumn that makes me want to be a brunette. Maybe because I like how orange, red, gold, brown, and other typical "Fall color" clothes look on me when I have brown hair compared to when I'm blond. Maybe because brown is a Fall color and blond is bright and better suited for Spring. Whatever the reason, I definitely feel the pull to dye my hair a nice, rich, brown every Fall. This one included.

And yet, I always hesitate before I dye my hair brown.

It's not that I have never dyed my hair brown before. In fact, I started dying my hair brown more than 17 years ago. I like having darker hair. My blue eyes stand out more when my hair is dark. I feel a little exotic with dark hair.

And still I hesitate to do it.

After several years of being a brunette and morbidly obese, I lost 90 lbs and went blond as my "reward". I stayed blond for two years while I was getting skinnier, so now I kind of associate being blond with being skinnier and brunette with being fat (with just me, of course, not everyone). Then last year, I chopped my blond hair off really short then a few months later dyed it brown. I didn't like it. I didn't feel like me. Not a good time to try dark hair again.

Despite that feeling, I feel this strong urge to dye my hair brown. Maybe to prove that I can be a brunette and skinny and look good since my hair has grown out more and I like the cut? I even bought hair dye a few days ago.

Still, I hesitate.

Really, it's about change and how hard it is sometimes for me to adjust to changes. I never struggle with going blond after being brunette because I know how easy it is for me to dye my hair brown if I tire of my color. It's much harder to go blond after being brunette. I can't do it myself, it's a long-ish process, and it's expensive.

This week, Steve and I learned that our life is going to go through a fairly big change by the end of this year. Nothing horrible or even hugely dramatic, just a change. It will affect him more than me, but it will impact both of us. We thought we had the next couple years planned out and it's been a little unsettling to have those plans change and to not know what life has in store for us. Change is a little scary for that very reason. I like to know (or think I know) what's going to happen.

I honestly think that this upcoming change is going to be a blessing, though it may not feel like one right now. Change can be a good thing. It makes us re-evaluate our priorities, sweep away cobwebs, learn, adapt, hopefully improve. As much as I sometimes love being in a rut, change can lead me down paths that are exciting, beautiful, and interesting. I had a hard time adjusting to the change of working full-time again, but now I realize how much of a blessing it was for me to get this job. It makes the upcoming change a lot easier for me to handle. And, I'm meeting lots of great people and learning lots of new things. I'm a better person for having gone through that change.

So, tonight, I'm dying my hair.

Me as a Woman

This morning (sooo early!), like every Tuesday and Thursday morning this semester, I walked across the covered bridge between Weber State's student union building and its student services building. I noticed as I walked that there were posters celebrating Women's History Month hung up along both sides of the bridge. Each poster portrayed a positive womanly attribute, focusing on how these attributes have influenced history and especially the fight for gender equality. I didn't have enough time to read each poster, but one poster started me thinking. It posed the question, "How will you be remembered in history?". My initial response was, "I probably won't be." I reconsidered because I may never make it in the History books, but I will be remembered, at least by some of the people whose paths cross mine. As I asked myself how I wanted to be remembered, it made me think about the kind of woman I am and the kind of woman I want to become.

I'm the kind of woman who likes to wear dresses. I'm wearing one right now. It's new and I love it. While wearing dresses, I feel feminine and confident and tend to act a little more gracefully.

I like feeling feminine. Growing up with three brothers and a dad who liked to teach them how to wrestle, I learned how to play rough with the fellows. Luckily, I also liked to read and loved Jane Austen books. They instilled a desire in me to be a lady; to be graceful and gracious, to speak and act properly, to have manners and etiquette. I can still play rough and hold my own with the guys, but I get a big thrill out of being womanly, feminine, lady-like.

In my opinion, being womanly, feminine, and lady-like are not synonymous with being "high maintenance". Up with my goal to be a lady is the goal to not be a high maintenance broad. There are as many different definitions of high maintenance as there are women, but mine (thought up just this very moment) comes down to not requiring more from others than I'm willing to put up with. My husband recently informed me that I require some maintenance (my response - "All ladies do") but that I'm definitely not high maintenance...at least not according to his standards, which are the ones I care about the most. I may like to wear dresses and be fancy sometimes, but I'm just as comfortable wearing jeans and a t-shirt - and getting my hands dirty when the occasion calls for it.

I'm the type of woman who hosts. (Hostesses?) Anyway, I throw parties. I organized get-togethers at my house clear back in high school - it helped that we had a big living room. For various reasons, I left the world of hostessing for awhile, but I'm back into it full swing. Every so often I have the urge to invite people over to our house for dinner or games or to watch Utah Utes football. I spend hours joyously thinking about what to make for consumption, what we need to clean beforehand, and what other preparations we need to make. During the event, I carefully gauge if people are enjoying themselves and make adjustments as needed. A part of my psyche eats it all up and revels in it. I also love having stay-over visitors. We have a guest bedroom and a futon in the study, both upstairs, along with a full bathroom upstairs. We've been told that it makes for a very comfortable stay. Yay! Again, I love making sure my guests' needs are being met.

At 34 years old, I'm pretty happy with how I've turned out so far, but there are certainly attributes I'd like to develop and/or fine-tune. I'd like to be more patient with myself instead of demanding perfection all the time. This is one of the rough edges that Steve is helping me smooth. I think that one improvement would help with so many other problems - my sometimes too-tight focus on my weight, bad haircuts causing a brief decline in self-esteem until it grows out, coming close to tears when I burn the crust of a quiche meant for a party, my anxiety when even a minute late to anything, etc.

Every morning, an alarm goes off on my phone reminding me to make the world a happier place. Its intent is to remind me to be a nicer, kinder, more generous and compassionate person, because sometimes I'm not, especially compassionate or generous. Again, these are things that Steve is helping me with, unbeknownst to him. He always amazes me with his generosity and compassion to me, to people in our lives, and even to complete strangers. He inspires me to develop those attributes more fully.

There's no wrong or right way to be a woman, as long as we're comfortable in our own definition of womanhood, and as long as we treat others respectfully. It's enjoyable for me to see the diversity of women on campus and to know that we're all unique and we're all special. We're imperfect, in so many ways!, but there is beauty in our imperfections.

I love being a woman.

Miscellaneous Thoughts (and some Rantings) While At Work

How am I ever going to lose weight (or not gain weight) if the women in my office keep bringing goodies? It's not their fault that I have weak will-power when it comes to chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake, and practically anything else that has sugar/chocolate in it. I type this while eating chocolate cake with vanilla frosting while a tangelo from home sits in the fridge, ignored.

I wonder what trouble Sadie is getting into. Our poor dog. She has separation anxiety. Who can blame her? Steve and I are wonderful - I'd hate being apart from us, too, if I were her. Yesterday, I arrived at home to find she had chewed the bottoms of the horizontal blinds in our kitchen. Was I mad? No. I know it's not her fault. Was I frustrated? Yes. I feel bad for her and don't want her to feel panicked and out-of-control. I don't know what to do, though, because now that Steve works days and I'm at school/work, she has to get used to being alone for a few hours every day. I hope she adjusts soon...before she eats our whole house. We looked online for ways to soothe separation anxiety in dogs and put them into practice this morning. Fingers crossed that they help!

I'm lucky to have such a good job. The people I work with are so nice, the hours can't be beat, it's close to home, I can do homework (if I so choose), and I get all the holidays off. I'm so glad I got this job and plan on keeping it until I finish my degree.

Why do people cheat? Cheat on papers and tests, cheat the system, cheat themselves, cheat on spouses. You would think that only the young would cheat, not knowing or understanding the consequences of doing so. Not true. I'm amazed at how many people who should know better cheat. It comes up almost daily at work. People who once were students want to get free medical care and so lie about being a current student. Some slip through, most don't. They all make me mad. We're 100% funded by student fees - fees which are really high - so these people are cheating the students who work hard to pay for tuition and fees and every person who pays taxes that fund scholarships, grants, and loans.

I drink more water the few times I have to go to the water jug. Today I brought a Detriot Lions 10oz glass to work to replace using the 2oz paper cups we have at work. On a typical day, I'd refill those cups once, totalling a grand 4 ounces of water for the 4 hours I worked. Already today I've drank a whole glass of water and have drunk half the refill. That totals 15 ounces in just 3 hours. Vast improvement!

I'll do anything to get out of reading my Intermediate Accounting textbook at work - even write a blog about what I'm thinking about at work. Never fear...in about 6 minutes I'll buckle down and read.

Not everyone should go to college. Did you know that there is a shortage of plumbers, HVAC personnel, and similar trade professionals? A college degree can be a great thing for many people, but it doesn't guarantee a great paying job. If someone went into trade, there's a good chance they'd be paid well because not very many people would want to do it (ie crawling under houses looking for dead animal carcasses - thank you Dirty Jobs for that wonderful episode). Also, it kind of frustrates me that people who can't spell "throat", "problem", "find", "cost", and other every-day-type words will someday have the same degree that I currently hold - a Bachelor's degree from an accredited university. I know because they come into my office daily and misspell the most common words in the universe. Do I feel like it cheapens the degree? Yeah, a little.

I hope the Lions make it to the playoffs again next year and make it a little further. Like the Super Bowl. Like winning the Super Bowl. That would be awesome.

Alright. Time to hit the books. Just an hour before I head home, so it shouldn't kill me to do a little homework. If it does, please don't wear black to my funeral. Red is my favorite color.