I'm having an existential crisis. My kids are all growing up and I did not consent to this!

"Mom, when are you NOT having a crisis?" That's my 14 year old son, James. We call him the lawyer. Go away, James. I'm talking to my blog friends who understand me, thank you verrrrr much.

ANYHOO. I'm having a crisis because I'm almost 40. I refuse to call it a "mid-life crisis" though because that sounds like Mrs. Rodanski who lived next door when I was a kid and whose husband bought her a 1987 Pontiac Trans Am when she turned 40. But this did not make her a nicer person. She was still the same grumpy old lady always yelling at me over the fence to stop staring at her and for godsakes stop sucking on those bleepity-bleep dandelion stalks don't you know bleepity-bleep dogs pee on it?

"MOM, DID YOU JUST SAY A BAD WORD?"

"No, Joss. I bleeped it out."

She gives me the side eye. Meet Joss. She's 8 now and our resident theologian, Expositor of the Mysteries and Chief Executive Enforcer of the Rules. On Good Friday: "Mom, mom, mom. It's Good Friday and that means NO SAUSAGE for breakfast. And James? You need to make a sacrifice for Jesus, too. No video games after school today. Right, Mom? No video games for James today?"

So, I don't want to be like Mrs. Rodanski but then again, maybe I do. Maybe I do want to waddle about my garden in my robe and slippers with my hair up in ridiculous huge rollers while I smoke a cigarette with one hand and water my roses with the other. Maybe I do want to roar off to lunchin my flashy Pontiac Trans Am and lunch with the ladies just because I can!

Well, nope. I can't be Mrs. Rodanski because she only had one kid and I have twenty-five kids and none of them are named Bobby. To be fair, we never knew if Mrs. Rodanski's son was named Bobby. We just called him that because we thought he looked like a Bobby. That sounds terrible. What does a Bobby look like? Well, he looked like a pudgy boy with curly blonde hair, thick glasses and an affinity for wearing dark red polo shirts. He also wore his pants high tightly belted over his belly so that he resembled a double-link sausage. A double-link sausage wearing glasses.

Sausage appears to be a recurring theme of this post so I might as well tell you that I can no longer eat sausage without getting heartburn. Now, THAT is a crisis.

"Mom, can I borrow the car?"

Oh, hey. Say hi to Jewel. She's 16 now and a newly minted and licensed driver. I can't let her drive with me in the car because I gasp and shriek and pump an imaginary brake. Last time I tried to let her drive, we only made it half a block before I had her pull to the curb. Because I was about to have a heart attack. Good thing I went to Confession a few months ago and can die with a clear conscience.

"Mom, can I go to Bible study tonight? I finished all my homework."

There's Jude. Awwwwww, Baby Jude. He's not a baby anymore and I totally don't approve. He just turned 13. Thankfully he hasn't really hit his growth spurt yet so I can still pretend he's my adorable little round-cheeked baby. Jude is the entrepreneur around here. He runs a little coffee roasting business out of our garage. He's still refining his signature roast with input from the Professional Taste Tester by which I mean myself. And he spends most of his spare time going to church, going to Bible studies and feeding the homeless on skid row. I know I'm making him out to be a saint but he kinda IS a saint. I swear to you, butterflies land on him whenever he stands in our garden. It's become something of a family joke: St. Jude. The Butterfly Whisperer.

Now, I can't mention Jude without mentioning his little disciple: Jorai. Or, Jo, as she prefers to be called these days. Jo adores her big brother Jude. She follows him around. She wears his hand me down clothes. She laughs at all his jokes. She started skating because he was skating. She started playing basketball because he played basketball. They have such a close and unique relationship.

OK, wow. So maybe I'm not Mrs. Rodanski with her flashy Trans Am but I think I like my full, crazy life. And I've missed blogging. I really have. Why did I ever stop? Well, I wrote two books, that's why. I was kinda tapped out. Burned out on words.

But I'm back now. I hope. I even made my blog my home page again because I LIKE BLOGGING. So, there. Crisis solved. And all the peoples said amen.

(I've missed all of you. Would you please leave a comment telling me who you are? Maybe just where you're from, how long you've been reading? I would SO LOVE to reconnect with you again!)

For Lent, I gave up honking my horn at other drivers. Had I known how difficult this would be, I would have given up something more hip like single origin coffee. Or gruyere cheese. But no, I chose No Honking because, well, honking has become something of a problem for me.

I am a gratuitous honker. A honker for all seasons and reasons. I honk pre-emptively and post-emptively. Heck, migrating geese don’t honk as much as I do. Hi, I’m Elizabeth and I’m a honk-aholic.

Something needed to change and Lent seemed like a good time to address this bad habit.

Truth is, I needed a more challenging Lent this year, something closer to the path I’m walking—a path I call “spiritual sobriety.” This way of living means I don’t get to take the easy way out anymore and it requires a combination of rigorous honesty and daily accountability.

The first week without honking was the worst. I just couldn’t stop. My hand kept darting to the horn involuntarily—Father, forgive me I know not what I do—which is to say, I failed a lot before I started making progress. Little by little, though, my honks decreased.

I went from repeated blasts to one-tap-toots to half-strangled-beeps. But it wasn’t easy. I wanted to quit my fast every time I got in the car. This was a Lenten fast for hermits! monks! saints!—not sweaty, frazzled mothers of five just trying to get to the library before it closes because OF COURSE MY KIDS DIDN’T TELL ME ABOUT THEIR BIG SCHOOL PROJECT UNTIL THE NIGHT BEFORE IT WAS DUE. Breaking up with honking felt impossible! But why? WHY was it so hard?

The epiphany came slowly. I began to realize that normal, healthy people honked occasionally—only for a “good reason” or an “emergency.” But for a honk-aholic like me, every honk was for a “good reason” and every reason was an “emergency.” Healthy people might be able to honk without a problem. I, on the other hand, I couldn’t honk without honking myself into full-blown road rage. It was better that I abstained altogether.

The second epiphany was when I discovered that honking rarely changed things anyway. Basically, people were going to drive however they were going to drive regardless of whether I blasted my horn in their ear. This was especially true about my biggest peeve: waiting behind drivers who were looking at their cell phones when the light turned green. I’d always, ALWAYS honked in this situation. Now that I couldn’t, I was shocked to discover that even without honking, the distracted driver eventually realized the light had changed and started moving. My horn didn’t control other people’s behavior? WHAT A REVELATION.

The more I practiced not honking, the more I realized that even if other people were driving badly, I didn’t have to react. Who knew? Apparently, there were other options like:

1. Go around the bad driver
2. Slow down
3. Relax until whatever had annoyed me was over—usually about five seconds later. Most of the time, all I had to do was wait. Aye, there’s the rub. Waiting.

Since when had I become convinced that waiting 5 seconds was absolutely IMPOSSIBLE?

To my honk-aholic mind, waiting wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was unfair, unjust. It was PERSECUTION! During the third week of Lent, I began to wonder if my my addiction to honking was actually an addiction to punishment. Startling other drivers with my horn is a kind of punishment, isn’t it? I mean, when someone honks at me I always gasp or jump in my seat. So why did I do this to others?

Herein lies the crux of my whole addiction to honking: a deep-seated belief that I—and everyone else—deserve punishment.

I grew up in a high-demand religious environment where our beliefs were used as punishment against others and ourselves. We believed we were inherently wicked, vile creatures and that God’s love for us was conditional. But despite rejecting that theology long ago, this year's Lenten fast has reminded me how much it still impacts my life today—like while driving.

In many ways, punishing other drivers for their bad driving is also a way of punishing myself. Honking is just another way of saying there’s no room for mistakes, there’s no room to be human, we have to get it right all the time, we have to explode off the starting line as soon as the light turns green.

The unexpected grace, though, was that the more I didn’t honk my horn, the more I became aware of how often others didn’t honk at me—even when I “deserved” it.

Basically, refraining from using my horn taught me the power of pausing, of giving others a break. It’s ok—in fact, it’s good—for us to slow down. Indeed, if we are to break any kind of bad habit, the first thing we have to do is become aware that it’s a problem and then, learn to pause after we experience the urge to engage it.

By the end of Lent, the practice of abstaining from honking had created many moments for self-reflection. After each Urge To Honk, so to speak, I had the opportunity to reflect on why I wanted/needed to use my horn. Most of the time it was because I hated being inconvenienced and viewed minor delays as a personal affront. In a lot of ways, I worshiped at the altar of Convenience. When other drivers inconvenienced me, I had a RIGHT to lean on my horn because they deserved to know they were bad, bad drivers! I hated waiting and I especially hated it when OTHER PEOPLE made me wait. If had to be inconvenienced, it better be on MY terms!

How silly of me. Couldn’t I see that most of the time I honked at someone it just made them angry and more likely to flip me off? And didn’t this make me even more offended and more likely to speed up, try to pass/cut them off so I could arrive at the next stoplight a whole 2.5 seconds before they did? Why not just chill out?

This is what I’ve learned: how I drive is a reflection of how I live my life.

How I drive is not an isolated, compartmentalized area of my behavior. In many ways, my integrity (or lack thereof, ha!) is mirrored back to me every time I honk my horn, every time I cut someone off, every time I yell at another driver to pay attention.

My Lenten fast provided a convicting and humbling view of my impatient, often emotionally volatile behavior. And it also provided me with the opportunity to change it.

 The catch is that life—and traffic!—is just so LIFE-Y sometimes. It helps to remember that life is this way for everyone—not just me. Everyone has problems and struggles and character defects. We are all just human. It’s good to give ourselves and other people a break, to lay off the horn and be hospitable.

As for me and my horn, we are giving it a rest. And not just until Easter, either. To practice my spiritual sobriety I won't be honking for the rest of the year. Oh, I’m still a honk-aholic. But I’m a sober honk-aholic. A dry honker, if you will.

Hi, I’m Elizabeth and if you need to change lanes, I’ll let you in.

While earning my bachelor's degree in English, I took several graduate level classes in poetry writing and explication. Poetry has always been my first love. I dream in couplets. I can't say I'm very good at it; my poetry always falls short of the image, feeling, event I'm trying to capture. I haven't written much poetry in the last five years. In January, though, I started writing it again. And I thought maybe I'd share a little something with you. I've been working on this poem for a couple of weeks. I'm not sure it's exactly where I want it. But it's getting there. This is about my relationship with God and words. xo. EE.

 

The Inceptive Soliloquy

These, my words, burned up like chaff,

burned out like the sleep deprived mother of a newborn baby.

Words broken like bread,

poured out like blood,

shed for you.

Words sweet as honeycomb

and damning as fire,

all given, all-all, until one word remains—

                           your name, set as a seal on my heart

seared into my soul.

Year after year pressing deeper, jealous

after every jot and tittle

gathering colloquies, vernaculars, dialects to yourself,

giving and taking away

from conception to grave; You: the inceptive soliloquy

bespeaking every alphabet

every elementary particle,

entangling me in the fundamental question:

In the beginning was the word,

would you have spoken it knowing

we’d reject You?

EE
March 13, 2016

My second book, "Spiritual Sobriety: stumbling back to faith when good religion goes bad" is being published on April 19, 2016 and is NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!

Amazon

Barnes & Noble 

Powell's

BAM

Hudson Booksellers

Indie Bound

WalMart 

But since it's my birthday, I wanted to celebrate by giving away TEN signed copies to my loyal blog readers!

To enter this giveaway, simply share this post on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram using the hashtag #SpiritualSobriety.

You can share this post by linking to it directly OR by using one of the free graphics below. Or, if you're an ENFP like me, maybe you'll just gush about how wildly excited you are to read my new book. ;-)

Note: Please include the hashtag #SpiritualSobriety so we can track all entries. Winners will receive their books a few weeks before the official release date.

#SPIRITUALSOBRIETY INFOGRAPHICS!

To receive insider news and a quarterly EE Newsletter, please enter your email below.

I have a new book arriving in two months and I am a bit of a mess about it. I despise self-promotion. I hate asking people to buy my words. And yet, I truly believe in the message of my new book and that means readers must buy it to read it….sooooo...Hi. Here's my new book. Wanna pre-order it?  CLICK HERE. :)

You can also purchase my book by visiting one of these fine retailers:

Barnes & Noble 

Powell's

BAM

Hudson Booksellers

Indie Bound

WalMart 

And here's a little gift from my publisher: if you pre-order my book, I get to send you the complete first chapter NOW. Just email me your purchase confirmation number and I'll get it to you ASAP. Email me at: elizabeth at elizabeth esther dot com.

OK. Phew. That wasn't so bad.

And I mean, yes, I'm full of self-doubt but then I read something like this that I wrote in my new book and I feel just a wee bit better:

When someone tells me they love my writing I am always surprised. What?! Really?! But then again, you don’t see what I see: all the mistakes I made, all the ways I could have said it better. Truth: when I get a box full of the final copies of my book I don’t open the books because I know what I’ll see: how the reality of my art falls so short of how I imagined it.

But then I remember that saying it imperfectly is better than not saying it at all.

Still, my fears are loud and I've been doing a lot of nailbiting. I am a sensitive person with some obsessive tendencies and I can keep myself awake at night worrying about minutia. Sometimes I have to read my own words to remind myself what I believe.

“You are learning to feel your feelings without reacting to them,” my 12-step sponsor says to me. “Welcome to emotional sobriety.” She is right and I hate that. FEELINGS. They might be the death of me. “That’s a little dramatic,” my sponsor says. “You won’t die from your feelings. The bad feelings will pass, I promise.”

Yes, but WHEN?!

“Go take your dogs for a walk,” she says.

So, I do. And I notice the birds, the sky, the angle of winter sunshine through the trees. And it helps.

I remember that my worth isn't found in Facebook likes or 5-star reviews on Amazon. I've been down that road. And it didn't end well. In fact, I talk about that a lot in my new book:

My worth exists because I exist. I am so deeply loved. And so are you. And this, really, is the message of the book:

People say Southern California doesn’t have seasons but it’s not true. We have seasons, they’re just very subtle. You have to really look for the signs. Yesterday I noticed that my rose bushes were showing the tiniest signs of new life. Tiny, paper-thin leaves now adorn the stark, barren stems. It isn’t much. But it is something. And I felt the usual thrill. I so love my roses. If I could, I’d wear them in my hair everyday and fill my home with overflowing vases of roses, roses, roses.

There’s another sign, too. The Mourning Doves have returned to my garden. It must be mating season. They don’t eat from the bird feeder so I sprinkle seed along the ground and fill the bird bath with water. They are quite shy. So I must wait quietly. They come tentatively, gently. Perhaps I shall see their babies this spring.

Art teaches me to let the seasons change.

What I write now is different than what I wrote five or ten years ago. And what I say in five or ten years will be different than what I’m writing now. Perfectionism will kill me, if I let it. I need to give myself permission to be in process.

My new book is the very best of 2015 EE. And I think you may find it helpful. I hope you’ll read it. And maybe even consider pre-ordering it? Thank you. So much. XO. EE.

If you're a mom like me, you dread the day your child comes home from school with a head full of lice.

This happened to my family when my twins were in kindergarten. It was an epic, itchy disaster.

Ever since that fateful day, I've been on the lookout for an all-natural lice repellent. Last summer I found the PERFECT solution in Fairy Tales hair care products and my girls have been using them ever since.

And just in time, too. This past October, lice broke out again—this time in my twins' 2nd grade classroom. But guess who DIDN'T get it? My twins! We were so relieved that I reached out to Fairy Tales to let them know how much I appreciated their Rosemary Repel shampoo and conditioner.

Today, I am thrilled to announce that Fairy Tales is offering a package of their all-natural hair care products to FIVE of my readers!

To enter this giveaway:

1. LIKE OR FOLLOW Fairy Tales on either Twitter, Facebook or Instagram

2. and then LEAVE A COMMENT here for me. Winners will be notified via email.

Follow Fairy Tales on Twitter HERE

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Like Fairy Tales on Facebook HERE

NOTE: don't forget to use a valid email address when leaving a comment below!

When I was a little girl I dreamed a wild, improbable dream. I wanted to be an actress.

My favorite pastime—after reading and writing—was playing dress up. When I invited friends over to my house to play, we would spend hours playing dress up up and inventing elaborate stories for our characters. I loved fully immersing myself in a make-believe world. It felt absolutely delicious.

But, of course, being an actress was out of the question. It was "too worldly," they said. It was "too dangerous." Good, Christian girls didn't become actresses.

I gave up on the dream of being an actress and became a writer instead.

I don't regret it. Writing was (and is) a gift to me. Writing is my art. Writing is my passion. But I miss PLAYING. I miss the child-like wonder of imaginary worlds.

After sewing Joss's Victorian costume for Halloween, I fell in love with an adult costume pattern (McCall's pattern no. M6911) and purchased it on an impulse. I still wasn't sure I would actually make it for myself. For awhile, I was just content to look at the pattern and dream about it.

Actually sewing it—purchasing fabric and notions—that seemed....impractical. And impractical was wrong, wasn't it? WHERE would I even wear it?

But then it hit me: why I waiting for permission to do something I love doing? Why NOT just let myself PLAY?

So, I did.

I just finished sewing the costume and I'm incredibly happy. I had forgotten how much FUN it was to do something I loved JUST BECAUSE I loved it!

The hardest part of this costume was the bolero jacket. I was so worried about messing up that I decided to take the pressure off myself by using "practice fabric." I scrounged around in my stash and found some old drapery fabric I'd planned on using for kitchen curtains....NINE YEARS AGO. For whatever reason (read: TWINS!), I never got around to making those curtains. But I held onto the fabric (three cheers for people who don't like to declutter!) and NOW? That old drapery material was PERFECT "practice fabric" for my Victorian costume.

Taking the pressure off myself worked like magic. I wasn't stressed at all because I was PLAYING. And the jacket turned out far better than I expected. In fact, now now I can't imagine it made up in anything other than the drapery fabric.

Here's another funny thing: I figured the zipper on the back of the skirt would be covered up under the bustle. So, I just used an old purple zipper I had in my stash instead of buying a black zipper or an invisible zipper. Welp. I ran out of "practice fabric" and didn't have enough to make the bustle. SO. If you look closely, you can see my exposed purple zipper. HA! It may not be "authentic Victorian" but I guess you could say I'm just keepin' it real.

I know this might sound strange, but sewing is so HEALING. In many ways, sewing is a microcosm of life. If you let it, sewing—or any art form—can teach you how to live a good life. 

For example, I was having trouble with the black lace I wanted to use on the collar. I was afraid it wouldn't lay flat.

But I told myself not to worry and just sleep on it. After all, it was just PLAY. The next morning I woke up and knew just how I could get the lace to lay flat. I experimented a bit and it worked!

Here's what I learned: taking pressure off myself RELEASED my creativity. New ideas came to me when I allowed myself the freedom to use the "practice fabric" and PLAY with with pattern instead of following it exactly.

This process reminded me that I loved-loved-LOVED writing until I wrote my first book under a deadlines. Although I'm very proud of that book, working under pressure (and writing about such intensely personal subject matter) was exhausting and killed the joy of writing. At least, temporarily. On my second book, my editor knew me well enough to know that I didn't NEED TO KNOW the exact deadline. In fact, he took all the pressure off of me and just let me write as the ideas came to me. He gave me permission to PLAY. And so, I did. I read as many books as my little heart desired. I took copious notes with lots of different colored pens. I journaled. I doodled. I took long walks by the ocean.

And, you guys, my second book is AMAZING. (More on that next week!)

Here's the thing I learned: Sure, I can PERFORM under pressure. But it's not GOOD for me. I can Get Things Done but that doesn't mean I take any joy in doing them.

In fact, performing under pressure is damaging for someone like myself. It evokes a trauma reaction. I'm a sensitive, artsy, bookish person. If someone starts cracking the Whip of Productivity I either either burst into tears or completely freeze up.

Recently, several people have asked if I will sell my artwork and costumes. I've given that some thought. And I think maybe I will. At some point. Once I feel comfortable. But maybe not. I don't know. The thing is? If I try to set up an Etsy account or start sewing professionally, I'll start feeling PRESSURED. I'll want to make YOU happy. I'll worry that I'm not doing a good job. It will become WORK.

I am sewing and drawing because *I* love it. Because it brings me back to my true self. Because it is ME. For now, would it be ok if I just sewed and colored and painted for MYSELF? Would it be ok for me to just take care of ME?

This brings me to another lesson I've learned from sewing an "impractical" costume.

Someone asked me: "But where will you even WEAR that costume?" It was the question I was dreading. I felt instantly guilty. I didn't have ANYWHERE to wear it. I was sewing it because...well, just BECAUSE I wanted to! Was that OK?

Still, that question bothered me for awhile. And here's why:

Underneath that question is a kind of accusation. It's an accusation that says "unless you're doing something USEFUL, it's wasteful." We live in a society where the bottom line is EVERYTHING. As Brene Brown says, we wear exhaustion like a status symbol. We don't let ourselves PLAY anymore.

I'm beginning to think it's actually a radical act of self-care to do things we love simply because we love them. In fact, it's EMPOWERING.

I'm creating art because creating art makes me happy.

I'm creating costumes because it reminds me that PLAYING is vital to my happiness and well-being.

Guess what? We have permission to enjoy our lives!

And be happy!

Sewing is my happy.

That is enough. That is everything.

(During the photo shoot, I was just so incredibly happy that I started giggling uncontrollably and prancing around in the leaves and twirling and dancing all by myself. This next pic is just a candid shot but when I look at it, I'm so happy. Because LOOK! That's ME! Smiling! HAPPY! This is what happens when we allow ourselves to do EXACTLY what makes us happy. This is what happens when give ourselves permission to be child-like. And full of wonder. And "impractical." And "ridiculous." This is what happens and oh my goodness, it is beautiful. Please, friend. LOVE YOURSELF today and do something you LOVE doing just BECAUSE you love doing it!) xoxo. EE. #ThisIsMyHappy

To celebrate New Year's Eve, I sewed a maxi skirt and a matching scarf. Because sewing makes me happy and why go out to a fancy party when you can sew away to your heart's content and then put on your PJs at 3pm and watch the Lord of the Rings marathon on TV? I mean. Does life get any better than that? I think not. Also, I fell asleep at 10pm because my tired, little, old-lady eyeballs just couldn't stay open until midnight. (And anyway, who wants to feel all groggy and tired the next day? NOT ME!).

Yep, my hair is blonde now. Did I mention that? I like it. If the year 2015 was a Broadway show I could call it "EE & The Technicolor Dream Hair." These were just a few of the colors:

Playing with hair color was a journey of self-expression for me. I gave myself full permission to experiment. It was so much fun. It felt like different facets of my personality came out to play. Dark & Mysterious. Purple & Playful. Pink & Pretty. But I've settled into blonde now and I think it's here to stay awhile.

This morning I woke up and it was New Year's Day and everyone was still asleep. So, I shuffled downstairs in my slippers, fed the dogs, started the coffee pot, sneezed a few times and then curled up on the couch to read my daily devotional and write in my journal.

The twins were up first, as usual. "Mom, your coffee is ready!" Joss informed me when she heard the coffee pot beeping in the kitchen. I fixed myself a cup and settled back down on the couch while Jor nestled in beside me. This is happiness, I'm sure of it.

After breakfast, we went for a long ramble in the hills.

Sunshine and birdsong and wild bunnies. It did my soul good.

In years past, the New Year found me full of plans, goals, ambitions and the sharp ache of dreams unfulfilled, hopes deferred. But now, this year...my soul is at rest. I know who I am. I know how far I've come. I know what is important in life and what is NOT important. I know how to be happy. I don't need a list of resolutions or a diet plan or anything, really, than what I already have. I have found that gratitude opens my eyes to the beauty of the life I already have and isn't that a miracle?

We walked and walked until our legs were tired and our lungs heaving for breath. Then we got juice smoothies and pretzels. We sat in the bright sunshine and talked about Charlie Brown and Peppermint Patty and even though Linus looks like a baby carrying that blanket he always has something profound to say. We laughed at the little birds hopping around our feet, chirping. We tossed the little birds a few pretzel crumbs.

This is my life now and I am so grateful for it.

Let's love our lives together this year, shall we?

We don't have to wait until things are perfect before we allow ourselves to enjoy the lives we already have. Things may be broken. But there is still beauty. And love. Always love.

From my heart to yours, Happy 2016.

Seven years ago I began a journey and now it is coming to an end. Something wild and free needed to be released. And so, I let it be. I love this picture of me. This was right in the middle of the most painful part of my journey. This was when I wasn't sure I would make it. This was when I didn't know where I was going or where it would end. I love this picture because it isn't photoshopped or filtered. It is just me. A little messy. No makeup. Unsure. Determined. Hurting. Taking it one day at a time.

And now, here I am. I have written two books. I have deconstructed, advocated and told the whole story. Now, something is changing inside me. I can feel it happening. My art is calling. And it looks a little something like this....

OK, let me back up a bit.

I've spent the last seven years of my life deconstructing my past and advocating for victims of spiritual abuse. It's been hard work. I found myself often fighting two battles: those in religious power who wanted me to be quiet and sometimes, the victims themselves who wanted me to say more, do more or do it differently.

Sometimes, helping those who have been spiritually abused feels like rescuing a drowning person—the victim may lash out and struggle against their own rescue. The rescuer can sometimes drown alongside them.

The point is, I know what it’s like to make mistakes while advocating and deconstructing. I have often been too reactionary to those in power and I have often taken personally the lashing out of drowning victims. There were times when I should have done more. There were times when I should have done things differently.

What I have learned is that I cannot fight every battle and I cannot save everyone. I wish I could. But I can’t. If I try, I will drown, too.

In the past year I have stepped away a bit from advocacy work—to reflect on my involvement in it, to check my motives and to ask myself where I need to go from here. My focus was beginning to shift from deconstruction and advocacy to rebuilding and recovery.

I wrote a second book (more about that in the New Year!).

I am so very proud of this book. It is the culmination of everything I have learned in the process of recovering from spiritual abuse, religious addiction and finding my way back to healthy, thriving, sustainable faith. 

Since finishing my 2nd book, I have taken a rest from writing. The last seven years of intense writing and blogging and speaking about fundamentalism, religion, faith, finding my out of abusive relationships….all of it had utterly exhausted me.

I needed a break.

In some ways I have felt like an artist who was called away from her art and home to fight a battle she never wanted, a war she never started, called to clean up a mess she didn’t make. I answered the call. And now, I’ve returned home to my art and while the war isn’t over, my part in it HAS been completed.

It is time for me to move on.

It is time for me to be human again.

Yes, the world is broken and darkness threatens to overwhelm, but in my own little corner of the world, there are books and Beethoven and sewing.

Here in my corner of the world, we are focused on recovery. We are focused on building connections.

I am done deconstructing.

I am ready to enjoy my life.

I am giving myself permission to be happy and enjoy my life.

I'm giving myself permission to wear silly, fun Christmas sweaters. EEK! The cuteness.

sweater from the wonderful Tipsyelves.com

I'm giving myself permission to re-discover my passion for long-forgotten hobbies.

For example, a couple of months ago, I came downstairs one morning to find that my husband had set up my sewing machine. “I just thought maybe you’d like to tinker around with this,” he said.

So, I did.

What happened next took me by surprise. A well of creativity bubbled up. My burned out, exhausted brain began releasing new ideas—not for writing, but for art, costumes, dresses, pillows! What started out as: “Well, I guess I’ll just finish this dress I started seven years ago” became a full-fledged Victorian costume complete with detachable bustle.

And then, suddenly, I was on a roll. I sewed all these other things:

And also, I began drawing and painting greeting cards:

All this to say, my art is calling. I have to answer.

It is another avenue of storytelling that I am excited to explore.

I am not built for sustained warfare. Although I have spoken loudly and fought fiercely when necessary, the very truth of who I am is much different. Under my hard shell, I am a cuddly, soft, gentle little bookworm. I don’t like fighting. I like making pot roast. I don't like arguing. I like baking chocolate chip cookies. And painting pictures of dancing hippos. And sewing Victorian costumes. I don't like deconstructing what's wrong with the world. I like watching "The Sound of Music" and singing along. I like going to Mass and praying the Rosary. I like sitting quietly in front of the Blessed Sacrament and resting on the heart of Jesus. I like talking on the phone with my sister. I like cuddling with my twins on the couch and watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” I like making up nonsense songs for my dog, Darby. She's a good listener.

As I go in this new direction, I see glimpses of my writing future. I have a few ideas percolating quietly. I am content to let them take their time to develop.

I think I will keep blogging. I do like this medium so much.

Most of all, I want to thank all of you who have stuck with me through all these years. Thank you for growing with me. Thank you for emailing me and talking to me. The time you spend here is a beautiful gift to me and I don't take it for granted.

I am excited to see where my art takes me! I hope you'll come along.

And most of all, I'm very excited to share my new book with you very soon! STAY TUNED!

Much love and peace to you. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

*big thank you to "tipsy elves" for letting me pick out a super cute christmas sweater!*

Welcome to Day 4 of the EE Christmas 2015 Book Giveaway!

Is there anything more wonderful than a good book? I think not. Well, the only thing better than ONE good book is a BUNCH of good books, amen? :)

So, I've done a lot of reading this year (over a hundred books) and to celebrate YOU, my faithful readers, I'm giving away a few bundles of my favorite books! Merry Christmas!

Friday, 12/18: THE SPIRITUALITY BUNDLE

To win this 3-book bundle, simply subscribe to my "EE Newsletter" (in the form below) and you will be automatically entered to win!

*If you are already subscribed to my "EE Newsletter," you may enter the giveaway by leaving a comment. NOTE: the "EE Newsletter" is DIFFERENT than a subscription to my RSS blog post feed. The "EE Newsletter" only arrives a few times each year whereas the RSS blog post subscription arrives every time I publish a new blog post. Winners will be notified via email by Saturday, December 19th. One bundle/bundle-type per winner.

Welcome to Day 3 of the EE Christmas 2015 Book Giveaway!

Is there anything more wonderful than a good book? I think not. Well, the only thing better than ONE good book is a BUNCH of good books, amen? :)

So, I've done a lot of reading this year (over a hundred books) and to celebrate YOU, my faithful readers, I'm giving away a few bundles of my favorite books! Merry Christmas!

Thursday, 12/17: THE HISTORICAL BUNDLE

To win this 3-book bundle, simply subscribe to my "EE Newsletter" (in the form below) and you will be automatically entered to win!

*If you are already subscribed to my "EE Newsletter," you may enter the giveaway by leaving a comment. NOTE: the "EE Newsletter" is DIFFERENT than a subscription to my RSS blog post feed. The "EE Newsletter" only arrives a few times each year whereas the RSS blog post subscription arrives every time I publish a new blog post. Winners will be notified via email by Saturday, December 19th. One bundle/bundle-type per winner.

Welcome to Day 2 of the EE Christmas 2015 Book Giveaway!

Is there anything more wonderful than a good book? I think not. Well, the only thing better than ONE good book is a BUNCH of good books, amen? :)

So, I've done a lot of reading this year (over a hundred books) and to celebrate YOU, my faithful readers, I'm giving away a few bundles of my favorite books! Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, 12/16: THE MEMOIR BUNDLE

To win this 3-book bundle, simply subscribe to my "EE Newsletter" (in the form below) and you will be automatically entered to win!

*If you are already subscribed to my "EE Newsletter," you may enter the giveaway by leaving a comment. NOTE: the "EE Newsletter" is DIFFERENT than a subscription to my RSS blog post feed. The "EE Newsletter" only arrives a few times each year whereas the RSS blog post subscription arrives every time I publish a new blog post. Winners will be notified via email by Saturday, December 19th. One bundle/bundle-type per winner.

Is there anything more wonderful than a good book? I think not. Well, the only thing better than ONE good book is a BUNCH of good books, amen? :)

So, I've done a lot of reading this year (over a hundred books) and to celebrate YOU, my faithful readers, I'm giving away a few bundles of my favorite books! Merry Christmas!

Today, Tuesday 12/15, I'm giving away THE FICTION BUNDLE!

Come back on Wed, Thurs. and Fri. for the Memoir, Spirituality & Historical bundles!

Tuesday, 12/15: THE FICTION BUNDLE

To win this 3-book bundle, simply subscribe to my "EE Newsletter" (in the form below) and you will be automatically entered to win!

*If you are already subscribed to my "EE Newsletter," you may enter the giveaway by leaving a comment. NOTE: the "EE Newsletter" is DIFFERENT than a subscription to my RSS blog post feed. The "EE Newsletter" only arrives a few times each year whereas the RSS blog post subscription arrives every time I publish a new blog post. Winners will be notified via email by Saturday, December 19th. One bundle/bundle-type per winner.

This year I read over one hundred books. My main focus was fiction, spirituality and recovery. Today I'll share with you my favorite fiction books from 2015!

AND COME BACK TOMORROW FOR THE BEGINNING OF MY FOUR DAYS OF BOOK GIVEAWAYS!

 

FICTION:

The Girl on the Train: couldn't put this one down. Page-turner. Dark. A bit depressing. No positive takeaway but compelling and gripping read.

All Fall Down: one of Jennifer Weiner's best books. An overwhelmed mom's struggle with addiction to painkillers. Redemptive. Real. Beautiful.

All The Light We Cannot See: the quick-shifts between narrators, settings and times was interesting but also required a level of alertness I couldn't sustain while reading before bed. Best read when fully awake! Ha! Amazing WWII story. Gorgeous descriptive writing.

Goldfinch: worlds-within-worlds. Densely packed narrative and in-depth character development. Rich, languid pace. Will read again and again.

Lila: slow-moving redemptive story, Marilynne Robinson does not disappoint. This is a master writer at the peak of her craft. Such a treat.

Life After Life: very intriguing premise, a bit repetitive at times but well-drawn characters keep it interesting throughout.

The Signature of All Things: probably my favorite book of 2015. Elizabeth Gilbert is a genius. This book is expansive, well-researched, a transport into a different world and time period. Highly recommend.

A Delicate Truth: a subtle examination of the fog of war. Le Carre's understated characters contain all the stiff-upper-lipedness you'd expect from Bristish soldiers and undercover agents, but this only enhances the dire state of the war on terror.

Everything I Never Told You: an enlightening portrayal of an Asian-American family, the ties that bind, tthe unspoken—and yet heavy—expectations upon immigrant families and their children. Heartbreaking. Raw. A bit of a tragic read.

Among the Ten Thousand Things: I finished this book mainly because the author is such a good writer, not because I was terribly interested in the book. It got too depressing for me. A father's affair leads to the disintegration of a family. Beautiful writing, dark subject matter.

Orphan Train: loved this book so much. An eye-opening look into a forgotten piece of American history. Orphaned children separated from any remaining relatives and shipped to the Midwest on trains. Heartbreaking and beautiful.

Elders: an in-depth look into the life of a young Mormon missionary. Utterly fascinating. Tragic. While this is a fictional narrative, it is probably the closest, real look into the life of Mormon missionaries. I came away wondering why in the world ANYONE would send their young 18 or 19 year old kid on a 2 year mission. It also made me think that the Mormon church is way more cultish in practice than I realized.

COME BACK TOMORROW FOR THE BEGINNING OF MY FOUR DAYS OF GIVEAWAYS! :)

*post contains affiliate links*

via GIPHY

Guys, it’s hard disliking Adele’s new song. Hello—what’s wrong with me? When I tell people I don’t like it they say stuff like: “Oh. So, what DO you like? KILLING BABY ANIMALS?” They are THAT horrified about it. I wish I could like it. I feel so alone. Hello from the outside, indeed.

So, I got to thinking. Maybe I'm not the only one? Maybe there are a few of us out here who aren't all swoon-y about this song? I mean, how does Adele's ex feel about "Hello"? Does he forgive her for breaking his heart? DID HE EVER GET OUT OF THAT TOWN WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED? These are important questions. We need answers!

Well, you're in luck because Adele's ex got in touch with me and gave me all the answers I wanted to know.*

*this is a lie. i don't know Adele's ex. i am making up the answers. please don't sue me.*

Hello, it’s me—Adele’s ex-lover. I've been wondering if you'd like to go over everything that happened? Yeah, me neither. But it don't matter. We're here now, aren't we? There's a reason why I "never seem to be home." This is how it really happened. Hello from the other side of the story. 

1.     “Hello, it’s me…”: Yeah, I know.

2.     “I must’ve called a thousand times” : That’s how I knew it was you. Stalker, much?

3.     “But when I call you never seem to be home” : Oh, I’m home. I’m just screening your calls. Caller ID. It’s a thing. P.S. you’re not tricking me by calling from an “Unknown Number.”

4.     “I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to go over everything” : NOW you want to go over everything? It’s been YEARS, Adele. Years. And no, I don’t need to go over ANYthing. I’m pretty clear about what happened, thanks.

5.     “I must’ve called a thousand times” : Yes, we’ve established this. Repeating yourself isn’t creepy AT ALL. Do I need a restraining order? Look, I’m not the bad guy for ignoring you. I’m trying to keep myself safe FROM A STALKER. See #2.

6.     “It’s so typical of me to talk about myself” : Yes, it is typical. This is why we’re no longer in a relationship. I quit dating narcissists. P.S. Only YOU would write a line saying sorry for talking about yourself while STILL TALKING ABOUT YOURSELF.

7.     “It clearly doesn’t tear you up anymore” : Actually? I'm not torn up because you can’t make me feel bad about myself anymore. But I AM annoyed. Stop calling me.

8.     “Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened?” : Oh, so now you’re insulting my hometown? Ohhhkaaay. You should stay in California. Pretentiousness suits you.

9.     “It’s no secret that both of us are running out of time” : Speak for yourself, lady. Time is on my side. I’ve never felt better.

10. “At least I can say that I tried” : If by “trying” you mean exploiting our breakup to write a song all about yourself then, yep. You really “tried.” Congratulations. Here’s your trophy. Now get the hell out my life.

My words have abandoned me—book writing burnout, I suppose. I know better than to try and force it. My writing muse needs to rest and so I'm giving her a much needed sabbatical.

I've turned my creativity toward sewing: one of my first loves. I decided to make a "Victorian Lady" Halloween costume for Jasiel.

I learned how to sew in 7th grade on my mother's old sewing machine from the 1970's. But before that, I'd always loved dresses—especially period costumes. One of my favorite pastimes as a child was playing dress up and playing with paper dolls. I had a paper doll book from the Smithsonian Museum which showcased dress styles from the 1800's. I adored it. I practiced drawing the costumes I saw in the book. 

I've always been fascinated by clothing rituals. In college, I wrote a huge semester research paper on  the intricacies of Victorian and Romantic-era dresses and how it related to the status, wealth and ownership of women. Aside from the intellectual and feminist implications of female dress, I've always maintained a deep admiration for the artistry of handmade garments. 

About seven years ago, I purchased a simple flower girl dress pattern. My idea was to sew up a nice special-occasion dress for my oldest daughter, Jewel. She was 9. Well, I only got as far as cutting out the fabric for the skirt. My twins were eleven months old. What was I thinking trying to sew when I had baby twins? HA.

Fast forward to last week. I took out my sewing things—just for fun. I needed to PLAY. I came upon the long neglected, unfinished dress. And I had an idea. Why not tweak the pattern and create a Halloween costume for Jasiel?

My sewing philosophy: keep it simple and PLAY. Believe it or not, this costume was incredibly easy to sew. It LOOKS complicated, but it's not. Anyone with basic sewing skills can make this costume. 

Here's how I did it:

This is the pattern I used: McCall's MP295 (it looks like McCall's no longer carries this pattern). 

But that's ok. All you really need is a simple, straightforward "special occasion" dress pattern. I would go with something like this from Simplicity. 

Now, let me explain my process. I always look for ways to make things simpler. In my opinion, dress patterns are ridiculously difficult to understand. All the symbols, dots, arrows, wrong-side/right-side, double-thickness fold...ACK! It's just too much. It kills the joy of creating! Remember my philosophy? KEEP IT SIMPLE AND PLAY! 

Trick #1: Sew the skirt first! I always cut out the skirt and sew up the side hems because BOOM! Hardly any time at all and I feel like I've accomplished something. Then I cut out the remaining fabric pieces and begin work on the bodice.

Trick #2: Play with the sleeves! For a costume piece, nobody is gonna see the inside of the sleeves, so instead of lining the sleeves, I used the lining (which is just a second piece of sleeve fabric) and added it to the cap sleeve. Voila! A fancier, "more Victorian" 3/4 length sleeve. To make it even fancier, I sewed PRE-MADE hair bows to the bottom of the sleeves (see above pictures).

Trick #3: Tulle covers a multitude of sins. Got a messy seam? Cover it with an explosion of tulle. Also, tulle is amazing. It adds mystery and whimsy. I tore apart one of Jewel's old dance costumes and bunched it up on one of the shoulders as a kind of flowing, side-cap (note in the pictures, I also used it as a collar/shawl around her shoulders). I hand-stitched the tulle to the shoulder and fancied it up with a sequined, flower hair clip.

Trick #4: Why use zippers when you can just use velcro? Zippers are annoying. For me, at least. I mean, sure. I'll USE a zipper if I have to. But in a costume, we are PLAYING. So, instead of a zipper in the back of the dress, I just stitched in a long strip of velcro.

Trick #5: DETACHABLE bustle, yo. Nobody has time to sew a bustle ONTO the costume. I used a large square of fabric, stuffed it with a whole bunch of excess tulle (TULLE IS AMAZING!), gathered the fabric toward the center and used a rubber band to secure it. Above the rubber band, I created draping and folds in the fabric, securing with pins and later running a straight stitch over a few places to keep it together. Below the rubber band/fabric knot I folded a separate rectangle of fabric to create the bustle "tail." I sewed the top of the bustle to a half-circle of fabric that I'd made stiffer using iron-on interfacing. Then I attached the half-circle to a sash that could be tied around the waist.

Trick #6: A pretty sash makes everything pretty. I folded a long piece of rectangular fabric in half and attached a pouf of tulle on the inside. This sash sits on top of the bustle sash (to hide the bustle sash) and is attached UNDER the bustle in the back. 

I purchased a "mini top hat" and black lace fan from Amazon. To make the dress pouf out, I used an old "southern belle" costume. I cut off the bodice and ruffles until all that was left was the wire hoop skirt which Jasiel wore under her costume.

I had SO MUCH fun putting this costume together. I kept coming up with new ideas and just PLAYING as I went along. When we took some pictures, Jasiel really got into it—as you can tell from her facial expression in this picture. HA. It was a blast. I can't wait to sew something else!!

I'm no sewing expert, but if you have any questions about this costume I'd be happy to answer them! Thanks for reading! XO. EE.

Writing is lonely business. Especially for those of us who haven't received the "validation" of a book contract or thousands of blog readers, we may wonder if we can even call ourselves "writers." I was there. I wrote in obscurity for decades before people started reading my words with any regularity. Today, I want to use my space to encourage you. To highlight the beautiful work you are doing. This past week I posted a call for submissions and am happy to present these fine pieces to you. Please take the time to leave a comment and follow these writers on Twitter. Here's what my agent always tells me: "If you can't NOT write, then you are a writer." Keep writing, friends. Your words MATTER.

Dear Congress, I write you this letter so that you can see the face of a survivor.  I write you this letter as someone who saw with my own eyes the horror of a mass shooting, a shooting that took the lives of my twin and younger sister and injured my father at New Life Church in December 2007. And most importantly I write this letter to open a dialogue about the role that gun violence has played in our country. —Laurie Works (blog) and @LaurieWorks (Twitter)

When a woman tells you her story, please don't ask why she never spoke up before, what she could/should have done to avoid it, or why she didn't press charges...If they tell you their story now they are being brave and need you to listen, believe them and don't search for a way to make their sexual abuse or rape their fault. Please just allow them a safe place to free that painful, awful secret. —Carole Turner Smith (blog) @CaroleTurner (Twitter)
 

These are lovely Scriptures, really, and they make such lovely memes when superimposed over pictures of babbling brooks, majestic mountains, or sandy shores. And for some people, that's what they need. But when you live with chronic anxiety sometimes those verses are a reminder that you've failed. You are a Bad Christian. —Rea Tschetter (blog) @ReaTschetter (Twitter)

While time seems to fly by, a lifetime can be pretty long. Our paths may once again cross with people we have shut out years ago. We might even need to ask for help from a person we'd long forgotten. —Stephen Robles (blog) @StephenRobles (Twitter)

Racism’s heritage still exists in theological institutions beyond the issue of slavery or inerrancy. Whenever we associate purity with whiteness (the song “Whiter than Snow”, for example); when students of color feel uncomfortable in chapel service; when a majority of the faculty do not reflect the diversity of our nation; such racism continues to manifest itself. When white students aren’t challenged to read people who are different and think differently from them, they believe their theology and practices are correct and the norm, thus implicitly presuming a white perspective is the best perspective. —Kate Hanch (blog) @KateHanch (Twitter)

With God on their side, many Christians take the liberty afforded to them from on high to run roughshod over any boundaries I’ve set, even over boundaries set by societal norms, in order to convince me to change my ways. After all, the Word of the Lord will not return void. So who cares if anyone has a problem with it, amiright? —Dani Kelley (blog)  @danileekelley (Twitter)

Bravery is waking up each day and still being here.  The gift of a day has become almost a curse with a body that is not willing to cooperate; however, he still opens his eyes to face the day. It's the face of a ninety-one year old veteran, who still shares stories of life in Italy.  It is this man who has bravely lived life fully despite the loss of a wife and son many years before.  —Janene, Everyday Extraordinary @Everydayeo (Twitter)

What I needed was not to figure out what to do in the silence, but how to be at peace with it. How to be at peace with empty arms, a quiet house, no cradle in the nursery, no stroller on the sidewalk, no baby at my breast. How to be at peace in the silence..."LORD God, please look upon your servant's misery and grant her a child. I am your servant. May it be to me according to your will." This prayer has changed me. Yes I still long for a child, deeply. But when I pray this prayer, the excruciating hollowness inside me floods with peace. True peace. —Jillian Burden (blog) @jillian_burden (Twitter)

The church is supposed to be a safe haven for the hurting, a hospital for the sick, a lifeline for the drowning. People should be able to walk through the doors of every single Christian church and feel accepted, loved, and a sense of belonging. They should be safe. An overwhelming “we are so glad you are here” should be the church’s response. People should be able to bring their doubts, fears, insecurities, and baggage and find refuge,  peace, and protection. —Angela Clavijo (blog) @angelaclavijo (Twitter)

Modesty culture teaches men that women are scary. All of them. All the time. Yes, you should “treat them like sisters,” but really, you should be terrified of them. They could “reduce your life to a loaf of bread.” It’s really best to domesticate them. We don’t want any wild and free women roaming the countryside, luring unsuspecting holy men.Women are powerful, a force to be reckoned with, and if you’re not careful, they will ruin you. That’s why women need to dress modestly, cover their power. So be cautious. Keep them at a distance, lest you be snared. —Jonathan Trotter (blog) @trotters41 (Twitter)

Depression is not fair. I hate that I find both relief and unspeakable loneliness in isolation. I hate that I struggle to connect with people, to find deep friendships. I hate that asking for help sometimes feels like putting a burden onto people I love, so sometimes I don't ask. My depression cycles always end at some point. That gives me great hope, or at least enough oomph to carry on. —Brenda Marie (blog)  @justbrendap (Twitter)

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to be a guest on the Drew Marshall show. We discussed everything from the definition of a cult to warning signs of abusive churches. And then I got all fired up about how other people don't get to tell us how to feel about our own experiences. If your experience as abusive, nobody gets to tell you otherwise! Take a listen and let me know what you think. BIG PROPS TO ALL THE SURVIVORS OUT THERE. xo.

My lovely, whimsical, soul-deep friend, Erika, has written a beautiful book called Bandersnatch: an invitation to explore your unconventional soul. 

I'm so proud of her! It's the kind of book we ALL need. The kind of book that encourages us to ask ourselves who we are. Erika has generously offered a free copy of her book to one of my readers.

To enter the giveaway, simply leave a comment. But first, watch this GORGEOUS book trailer for sneak peek at the surprise that awaits you in Bandersnatch.

I'm always open to sharing the sacred, tender stories of abuse survivors. Sharing our stories helps us know we are not alone. Today's post was written by a young woman named "Ellie" who grew up in conservative Christianity. Please honor her bravery by leaving an encouraging comment. If you'd like to submit a story to be published on my site, please email me through the contact form on my contact page. All my love to you, courageous ones. xo. EE.

These are the lessons I learned from being spanked as a child:

1. I am not strong enough or good enough to make wise choices on my own.

Spanking was framed as a way to train out the sin and rebellion in our hearts and remind us to do better next time. But by relying on punishment rather than respect and teaching me that I was sinful and rebellious at my core, spanking taught me I could never be trusted to do the right thing on my own. I learned to follow the rules out of fear of punishment, even though I called it love for God.

I did not learn that I was capable of examining a situation and making good choices until I was 25 years old. This led me to stay in several very painful situations, including a job with an abusive boss, rather than recognizing my gut instinct that the situation wasn’t healthy.

2. It taught me that I was a passive recipient, not a person with agency.

Parents have responsibility for their children, so they do have some authority. But authoritarian parenting goes further. It says that parents have total authority over their children—physical, emotional, and spiritual—and that they are stand-ins for God’s authority.

This taught me that I couldn’t leave a bad situation, set boundaries with people to keep myself safe, or defend myself when I was unjustly accused. I had to wait for God or another authority figure to do it for me. If they didn’t magically fix things, then God was using the situation to teach me something, and I needed to submit to it to learn my lesson as fast as possible.

This taught me a lack of agency, which is not something that is unlearned when they turn 18. I had no idea that I had the power or the right to take steps to improve my own life (other than pray more for God to intervene, or change my heart so that I could be happy in a toxic situation).

3. It taught me that pain is healthy and loving, not an indication that something is wrong.

I genuinely believed that everyone should endure pain patiently because it’s for our own good. I embraced this philosophy wholeheartedly and buried my emotions and feelings. I stopped listening to my body because I believed it would lead me astray. I stayed in painful situations that damaged my health because I thought I was supposed to—and because I thought the pain was making me holy.

This belief was so ingrained that I didn’t even realize I was being emotionally abused by my boss. I was so trained to obey authority that I had no idea he had crossed the line from unpleasant to unhealthy. I simply wasn’t aware of the toll it was taking on my mental and physical well-being.

4. Spanking taught me that perfection is more important than resilience, and that the consequences of mistakes are bigger than grace.

Resilience says that even if I make a mistake, I can recover and do better. Perfectionism, on the other hand, says that nothing but Plan A will ever be good enough. Mistakes are disastrous.

In perfectionistic systems, any deviation from Plan A means I have to pay penance, experience guilt and shame, and be punished so that I don’t deviate again. Then, an external agent (community, church, Jesus, society) has to restore me to Plan A—as a “sinner,” my only job is to suffer obediently.

True grace says that mistakes don’t ruin us. It says that life after mistakes can be great, even though it may be complicated or require a little extra work to repair things. And to tell the truth, none of us are living Plan A. It’s much healthier to teach kids how to make Plan B (or X, or ZQF, or WTF) awesome than to tell them they’re second best if things aren’t ideal.

Understandably, growing up under perfectionism led to hypervigilance and anxiety for me, because I was constantly making sure I didn’t forget a rule or make a mistake. I learned that there was no grace for mistakes—people who make mistakes deserve to suffer and be punished. This leads to both shame and judgmental vindictiveness can instill a permanent sense of shame in a child, as well as lead to a judgmental, vindictive attitude towards the people around them.

5. Spanking taught me that love—especially God’s love—looks a lot like punishment.

My parents made very clear links between their authority and God’s authority, and they taught me that punishment was an essential part of love. Even though I don’t believe that anymore, my image of a loving God is deeply tied to this system. In some ways, it would have been better if my parents had spanked us only when they were angry. At least then, I would have associated pain with anger (recent research has upheld this as well).

It might have been better if spanking was an erratic, occasional punishment rather than a systematic way to root the rebellion out of our hearts. At least then, I could chalk it up to a mistake they made rather than blaming myself for being broken and deserving of punishment.

I still love my parents, and we are working through these lessons. But they were quite literally beaten into me over more than a decade and are now deeply ingrained in my body and soul. If the research is to be believed, I may deal with them for the rest of my life.

It’s no wonder that I’m afraid of making mistakes or doing what I think is right if it means breaking the “rules.” My mind, soul, and body were trained for over a decade to believe that such a choice would be swiftly rewarded with pain and punishment. And that I deserved it.

Before you spank your child, ask yourself if these are the lessons you want to teach them, too.

Ellie grew up as a conservative Christian who was "sold-out for Jesus." She grew into a very different kind of faith when she studied abroad in Europe for five years. Now, she explores her past, present, and future on http://ellieava.tumblr.com/