I'm writing again...
Early last year, I started writing.
I was about to turn 30, and after staying mostly quiet about my experiences in the LDS church (and leaving it), I began to share.
I wrote about things I experienced in my childhood and my teens, and then about my mission experiences that altered the way I saw myself for years. I still feel like I'm picking up pieces from that time, although I believe they've mostly been patched together again-breathing joy and expression and life back into my existence.
Several sweet humans were kind enough to suggest I write a book (a few were a bit more demanding than that 😆), to which I felt both surprised and honored.
I stopped writing though.
Susceptible as I am to my own inner critic as well as the criticism of others… I felt overwhelmed and the joy of writing and weaving words into stories started feeling heavy-and stayed that way for months.
I'm happy to say, today it feels good to write again.
And I want to. I want to finish those stories, and the book that one of you may have threatened to formally riot if it wasn't finished 😆
Can't have that, can we? 😉
So without further adeu, here's the next section (following my Facebook series ♥️ I can start posting those here too if anyone would like them all in one place!).
I washed my hands nervously in the airport bathroom. My entire body filled with anxiousness as I peered in the mirror, fixing stray hairs, ensuring I looked as missionary-like as possible before heading out to greet my family.
I hadn't seen them in a little over 17 months.
The distance from the bathroom to the doors where i'd be able to see everyone felt long and slow. I took several deep belly breaths, attempting to soothe my nerves. No luck.
Regardless, I walked around the corner and heard squeals, cheers, and felt the smiles and teary eyes of the group waiting to greet me.
My mom hugged me tightly for a while and we both cried, and then I was whisked away to hug different family members and friends, even Tyler's family who'd come to show their support.
Tyler wasn't there.
My mom, as soon as she'd learned that I would be coming home, arranged a surprise for Tyler. Everyone but Tyler knew I was coming home early.
I was grateful for the few hours after the airport to gather myself and take more unhelpful deep breaths before surprising Tyler.
I talked with my mom and brothers at home, after being released by my stake president, while getting ready. I remember putting on my mom's fancy jeans she used to lend me in highschool, the ones that were awarded the nickname, "sparkle butt" by Tyler because of the rhinestones on the back pockets. I smugly assumed he would enjoy seeing those jeans again.
I stared in the mirror back at myself, finally landing on an outfit after several changes, thinking how strong I looked. I'd been biking for several hours a day for over a year, and had no idea my body looked so toned-I'd always worn loose skirts and longer clothing. I felt proud of how strong I looked.
My stomach was in knots as I thought about seeing Tyler. By that time, it had been nearly three years since I'd seen him last. Since I'd hugged him last.
It was time. Time to surprise Tyler with my early arrival home. Time to finally hug him again.
My mom drove me to my future in-laws' house, and I waited in the basement with my mom and Tyler's mom as they called for him to come downstairs.
I hid behind the counter. It was too much, the nerves were too much. What would he think? Would he be happy to see me?
I hoped he would be.
The anticipation was suffocating-but finally, Tyler sauntered down the stairs, taking his time, and I sheepishly stepped out from behind the counter.
I didn't wait to see his reaction. I went straight up and hugged him.
