September 27, 2016

Basic & Loving it

Remember that really basic white girl thing Kira and I do when our facebook profile pictures get out dated?
It's something we try to keep pretty secret but let's be honest... it's so not a secret.
There isn't anyone else I would be able to drive up the canyon with on a Saturday and feel comfortable enough to let them take iphone pictures of me. I'm so grateful for Kira.
I'll own up to my super basic Saturday activity without too much embarrassment LOL (see I just used lol, which has actually become a bad habit as part of my vocabulary. We started saying it as a joke but now it just happens)
Fall is my most favorite season. I love the leaves when they change color. It makes me miss the big Canadian maple leaves. It is beautiful and cozy.
Oh yeah... and I have blonde-ish hair. I needed something to motivate me to do my hair again. Just trying to look like Haley :)

We will probably do this again once the snow comes or one of us cuts or dyes our hair again cuz why not? Sometimes being a basic white girl isn't all that bad xoxo

Cloud 9

The feels are a little unreal + I am using every bit of self-control I have not to write the most sappy, corny, cliche love-struck post known to this blog...
I'll leave it at this-
I haven't stopped smiling since the minute I met him. I haven't laughed this much in maybe forever. I haven't felt this pretty, special or important since who knows when. I am so content with the world when I'm with him and it feels weird and wrong when I'm not. Staying up all night waiting in line for the football game or sitting in my apartment doing homework I am as giddy as a girl gets.
His name is Thomas. (or T$ if you're squad)
My family is responsible for this relationship and my new favorite T-shirt is the one Dad bought in the Grand Canyon for the purpose of giving him my number and an excuse to meet me when he got back to Provo. Thanks Dad :) I can't believe that actually worked haha
I'm yet to hear a negative review from anyone who has met him. He sure has a way with people. He won me over in about 10 minutes and I'm sure glad he called me after that. We went to Liz and Eric's house one Tuesday night for a homemade ice cream double date and Liz texted me after saying he was perfect for me. I think I would have to agree with her.
So cheers to the forehead kisses and butterflies and the fact that I can say a big fat YES when people ask me if I'm dating that cute boy in all my snapchats.
okay so maybe the post was a little sappy anyway but trust me... it could have been sooo much worse. Cheers also to my roommates who listen to me fan girl over him everyday. Bless them. It is a darn good thing they really like him.

September 20, 2016

you are enough

I've thought about this post for months and months on end. I've debated writing it at all and seriously debated sharing it.
I need to write it. For me.
I need to share it. For anyone else who has been there.

I don't know when it all started. It very well could have been while I was still on my mission. I know I was truly carried those last couple of months by angels. I was pretty broken on the inside when I stepped off that plane. Heartbroken and tired I came home completely terrified of what was waiting.
When I came home from my mission no one was surprised (especially not me), by my emotional and kind of up in the air state of being. As the weeks turned into months I wondered how long it would take for me to come back down to earth. A lot of missionaries struggle returning to normal life. A lot of people break up with people they really care about. A lot of people have a hard time fitting in at BYU. I wasn't traveling down a path that was too difficult, it was just life.

At first I was able to live with the weird feelings and frustration at my social situations. I celebrated 2 weddings, Christmas, a family vacation and moved to school. I was busy busy busy and that was a blessing. When life slowed down for the Frodsham family and I didn't have any more weddings to look forward to, I realized more each day that I wasn't okay.
I was tired a lot but it was college and everyone is tired right? So I took long naps. Those naps turned into all day. Then I stopped going to class. I stopped trying to make friends. I just slept because when I was sleeping I didn't feel. When I was sleeping I didn't social media stalk people from my past or look through old pictures or read old blog posts from when I was happy. When I was sleeping I was safe. My Professors probably thought I was lazy. My roommates knew more about what I was avoiding and did all they could to love me. My grades began to slip because I was so anxious going to campus- afraid of who I would see and how I would feel. I stopped trying feeling like I would never catch up on the work I slept through. I couldn't eat without getting sick. I felt completely unmotivated to exercise. I don't remember now what it was that prompted me to call home but I knew I needed help.

I sat in soft chair with a box of tissues on my lap. Two kind, concerned faces looked at me as I cried until my head throbbed. I will never forget the grip on my stomach as she said the word 'depression'.
Depression? but I'm a happy person... Megan is happy and loves life and people. I can't have depression.
Situational depression is different from a chemical imbalance. I was told I would get better with time and attention. The process of healing began there.
I was scared of the idea of a mental illness. I couldn't take an antibiotic and kill the infection. My mom couldn't take the disappointed, anxious or sad feelings out of me and make me better. It had to be me and my choices.
Over the last 9 months I have sat with 3 different therapists, kept a feelings journal, read articles and books about grieving and cried more than I thought was possible. I have prayed and fasted and prayed and hoped and struggled. I've been decently open about it because I needed people who truly cared about me. I indeed am blessed with good friends and family.
There were more times than I care to remember that I put it all back in a box and pushed it into the deepest darkest corners I could find. It always found its way back out again and I would start the process of accepting it all over again.
This time last year I was just starting the hardest part of my mission. I remember those days and thinking that I would trade anything in the world to just go home. I didn't know then what coming home from a mission would really be like.
I would like to say that it is important to warn missionaries but people told me it was hard to go home. People told me that it was hard to adjust. People told me that they would have gone back in a heart beat. It is just one of those things that if you haven't experienced it, you won't get it.
I think the same can be said about depression. I can try to explain it- the feelings and ups and downs but until you've been there, you won't get it.
It is different from having a bad day or feeling sad or not getting what you had really hoped for although those kinds of feelings apply.
And for that reason I am writing this. Far more people than we realize pass through times of their life when there really is no other way to describe it but depressing. For those people who are currently struggling...
I've been there.
I write in hope. I write in faith. I write believing with all of my heart that one day you will be okay. One day I will be okay. That is the promise of the atonement. Our Savior Jesus Christ is the only person who will truly get it because my depression is different from yours. Our life experiences are unique.
I went back to one of those soft chairs with another box of tissues on my lap at the beginning of the semester. I left that day without using a single tissue. And for the first time in probably over a year- I feel like Megan. I haven't yet felt the need to go back there.
I think that promised peace has come. I still like to take naps but they are now naps full of dreams not avoidance of real life. My heart still hurts when I think about my time as a missionary or my failed romance or my undetermined life plan. However, that hurt doesn't stay and engulf or paralyze me like it used to. It doesn't cause me to stop trying to feel. There are even times I am grateful for that hurt because it offers me a stark contrast to how I know I should feel when I think about my mission or dating or the future.
My Aunt gave me a bracelet at the end of last semester and written on it were the words "you are enough". I wore that bracelet every single day over the summer. Recently the bracelet began to crack and I have found it pretty poetic that it lasted me until now. I no longer wear it everyday because I am afraid of it breaking. There are plenty of moments as a 21 year old girl that I still need reminding that "you are enough". But today and yesterday and I have high hopes that tomorrow- I remember.
I am enough. My life is good. And I am happy.

September 2, 2016

Room of Hearts

I walked into a room that I would now call mine.  While I had been away my younger, funnier, smarter brother had moved his things into my bigger, darker, and more grown up room and my things into his.  I knew it was going to happen and wasn’t surprised when he followed me downstairs to see my reaction to the switch.
When I opened the door to what I consider his room but everyone else considers my room I was hit by sensory overload of color. Covering every inch of every wall were paper hearts.  There were hearts attached to strings hanging from the ceiling, hearts strung to the fan and hearts lining the window. They were all a little different. Each had been hand cut and lovingly stapled into the wall. I was surprised to hear that Dad not only approved but helped staple hundreds of holes into the walls.
Michael, the same brother who had commandeered my room was given credit for the hours and hours that had gone into this part of my welcome home. Michael told me that he had cut hearts late into the night watching endless episodes of The Walking Dead for weeks leading up to my return until Mom and Dad made him stop. I chuckled a little as I pictured my over six foot tall, basketball is life mindset, 18 year old brother sitting in his room late at night with a set of scissors and stack of paper. The image still sends a warm fuzzy feeling to my stomach.
I had been gone for a year and a half and along with the hearts a big Canadian flag hung on my wall, right above my bed. I had spent 18 months away from my loving family on a religious mission. One of the best parts of the time I spent away from them was hand cutting and taping hearts on the every door of every member of my church who lived within a 40 minute driving range. I remember my hand aching and blisters beginning to form from cutting countless hearts. I had sent many pictures and e-mails home to my family about the activity. It had impacted me a great deal.
That was what I thought of each time I walked into my new room and looked at all of the hearts. That is why 9 months later not a single heart has been taken down. The fan still hasn’t been turned on -even in the hundred plus desert heat. The cool air wasn’t worth the risk of knocking hearts down.
As the hearts that had been tied to string and taped to the ceiling began to fall down I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away but instead stacked them carefully on the dresser. I wanted to keep every heart.
Those hearts brought peace to my soul as I came back to a new world and a new room. They reminded me that even when he was sassy, my younger brother loved me. They symbolized the two parts of my life that are most important to me- the love of those who welcomed me home and the love I had for those I had to leave behind.

***I'm in a creative writing class this semester. One of my most favorite things to do is write in this blog. It is the reason I decided to explore that part of myself and take this class. It is going to seriously challenge my not always so creative writing. I'm excited.
Words are powerful. I wrote about the hearts in my bedroom because they meant something to me. In class we exchanged papers in small groups and talked about everyone's pieces. I was struck by how each piece said something different to each person. I think that is why as humans we like creative writing or music or visual art. We don't have to be the author for it to speak to us.
I write very honestly. There isn't a whole lot of guessing. I'm going to work on that vague or mysterious part of writing. It'll be hard for me because I'm not vague. I'm a say it how it is kind of girl. Hopefully over the course of the semester I'll learn to write more deeply and powerfully. You'll have to be the judge because what better place to keep a few of the things I write than my corner of the internet.

September 1, 2016

Keep Dreaming

As I near the end of my first week of the semester I'm feeling grateful for the opportunity I have to go to school.
Today is September the 1st. 10 years ago today I cried and cried because my letter never came and I wasn't on the Hogwarts express headed toward my dream school.
Instead I find myself sitting the the library of my childhood daydream's second choice. BYU has a different feel this time around. Or maybe I'm just different this semester.
I feel excited about my classes, interested in the things I'm learning and looking forward to what lays ahead.
Now Spanish and Creative Writing aren't exactly charms and transfiguration but they're pretty cool so far.
I signed up for a beginners level Spanish class looking for some easy credits and practice at a language I feel extremely un-confident in. It was a bad idea because I got kicked out. My Professor told me I spoke too much Spanish and then I found myself SUPER stressed day 2 of school rearranging all of my classes so I could take a Spanish class suggested for returned missionaries.
I was afraid of the challenge. I was afraid of pushing myself. I was afraid of the possibility of failing.
It is sad really because growing up I was so much of a Hermione- over achiever. Somewhere along the path of adulting I've lost some of that ambition.
But the truth is... I don't want to be a Ron. I want to be a Hermione (or Ginny.. she is my favorite with her spunk and sass).
In my back to school blessing Dad blessed me to KEEP DREAMING. I was blessed with many beautiful things but that line was my favorite.
It's my new semester motto.
I can do hard things. I can take hard classes and succeed (or learn a whole lot trying). I can balance work, school and a social life. I can dream dreams and turn them into realities.
Life is beautiful
School is Cool.