Wakeboarding & Anniversaries

In my early 20’s, a friend invited me to go to the lake for the day. Packaged into the invite was also an offer for me to learn how to wakeboard. I quickly snatched that up. A day on the lake in the middle of blazing summer? Yes. A chance for me to show how easily I can learn something brand new? I’m there. 

I’ll let you know very quickly, it did not go well. Time after time, I kept falling down once the boat picked up speed to pull me. I couldn’t get the balance right. I’d pop up too fast or lag way too far behind. To say I was frustrated is an understatement. Embarrassed? Check every single embarrassed box. I had a boat full of people watching me fail over and over, and it was awful. 

So like most people do, I overcorrected. 

I decided that I wasn’t falling down in that water one more damn time. I held on. I figured that even if I did fall, I could will myself back up if I just kept holding on to the rope. The problem was that I was still clutching to that rope with every fiber of my pissed off being with the boat picking up speed and me being completely underwater with a wakeboard attached to my feet. I’m sure some knowledge of physics would be helpful here, but suffice it to say, those things did not combine well together. They actually mixed together terribly. 

I lost the use of my hands for the remainder of the day. It felt like every muscle and tissue down to the tiniest arm/hand atom got ripped out from my fingertips and torn out of my fingernails and left me with nothing. I couldn’t pull myself up on the ladder of the boat because my hands could not close. I couldn’t hold a fork at dinner that night because my fingers were in so much pain.  And... I never get up on that damn wakeboard. 

Like my experience “wakeboarding,” I found myself in a similar position in my first marriage. I was holding on underneath the water, losing good parts of myself, and near drowning. But the idea of letting go was gut wrenching. There were people watching. People judging. I had my own judgment. My own stubbornness to not “quit.” The pressure to get it right despite struggling to even keep my head above water. Until I remembered the lesson from the lake: 

Sometimes you have to let go to save yourself. 

Because there are times you can win and still lose. And today, on what would have been my 10th wedding anniversary, I can now look back see how I was “winning” the game of marriage from the outside but losing myself on the inside. Just like me clinging to that rope, holding on, and trying to win, somehow not realizing that was the very thing ripping me apart. (I am not here to promote or endorse divorce. Divorce sucks. Divorce is hard. I still grieve it, and I don’t wish that pain on anyone.) Losing myself is a non negotiable for me now. No number of years married or amount of achievement could possibly justify me losing who I am then, now, or ever again. 

So while I try to rest in grace every day, I’m making snow angels in it today. I’ll take the L if it means preserving who I am. I get to be fully carrie anne every day now. There’s no amount of anniversaries that can touch what it’s like to have your soul intact. I am so very grateful to have mine whole again.

The Waiting.

This morning I walked around an empty park that was filled with kids’ laughter and shrieking just a month ago. I pondered about how much life has changed these past few weeks and tried to imagine how we will all come out of this once it ends. 

I thought about Easter. 

I thought about what this weekend means and what was going on 2,000 years ago on this Saturday. 

Then I wondered what today is called. We have Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter. But what about the Saturday in the middle? What does today mean? Step after step, I scratched every surface of my brain trying to recall if today had a name. Coming up with nothing, I decided to research later and examine what it means to me now. 

What was happening to the people on that Saturday? 

Mourning.

Grieving.

Lamenting.

Despair.

Heaviness.

Hopelessness. 

Waiting… 

Waiting…

Waiting…

For what would be next. For what life would be like again. For something. Anything. Unable to see the final chapter. Inhabited in the waiting. 

It made me think of the life we’re in now. We are in the waiting. This pandemic didn’t pause the life we had before and make a new one. It entered our lives right where we were and added all new problems, weights, and worries. This is life in the waiting. We don’t know the finish line, and neither did anyone after Jesus died. 

This all reminds me of one of my favorite authors, Glennon Doyle. She’s passionate about reminding us that we can do hard things and how pain is a gift that gives us what we need for what comes next. She often says, “First the pain. Then the waiting...” 

Isn’t that the pattern of Easter weekend? The pain of death and then the waiting. 

Isn’t that the pattern we’re in now? The pain of our lives being turned upside down and waiting for what is yet to come. 

Today is actually called Holy Saturday, and when I learned this, everything I had been examining made perfect sense. There’s a deep holiness in the waiting. A sacredness in lamenting the time between the loss and new life. There’s goodness in the divine protest of what was and the unknown of what will be. The waiting is a necessary and holy metamorphosis our souls must experience to get us to what’s next. 

There’s a third line in Glennon’s message:

“First the pain.

Then the waiting.

Then the rising.” 

What a beautiful picture of Easter. 

Pain. Waiting. Rising.  

What a hope-filled promise for our current circumstances. 

What a vital reminder for us as we march on and endure in our holy waiting. 

A rising is on the way.

Have a Bad Christmas.

December hasn’t always been this hard. As a kid, it was filled with Christmas lists and moments bursting with joy on Christmas morning. But I lived long enough, and things got complicated. Days approach now that pile weight on my shoulders and capsize my eyes with tears. Anniversaries of hard moments. Reminders of people no longer in my life. The realization that my Christmas season isn’t perfect anymore. 

Maybe it’s not anniversaries of hard days for you. The hard days might be now. Maybe the diagnosis just came. The job just got lost. The family just broke apart. The person just passed away. The distance is still ever reaching. The finish line is still far away. Losses in December, in whatever form, seem to hit us harder than the rest of the year. 

So have a bad Christmas. 

The first Christmas was an incredible string of makeshift accommodations and plan B’s and C’s. They made do with what they had, and welcomed heaven to earth in a manger in a stable. It wasn’t exactly what they intended for that season in their lives either.

But the expectation that Christmas should be perfect and joyous only exacerbates the pain that December can bring. 

So have a bad Christmas. 

Maybe your December feels a little like mine. A little cold. A bit tense and stressed. Overwhelming and painful. Sad and painted with strokes of heartache and longing. 

Feel the aches. Mourn the people. Miss the old days. Long for something different.  Endure this new season of life. If you feel an ounce of merry, then feel it. If not, it’s okay. It’s why Christ is called Immanuel; He’s with us wherever we are.

So if you have a bad Christmas this year, I know He will be there with you, too. 

I am so proud of my husband who wrote this song about the harder side of this season. We both have loved ones who have gone before us, and Christmas draws out a yearning and an ache to have them close again. His voice and words bring me comfort, and I hope the same for you, too.

It's More Than a Fish.

My fish died today. His name was Jawes (after one of my favorite bands, Dawes), and he was a beautiful, blue Beta. My luck with fish in the past was less than ideal, but I reached a point in my life a couple years ago when I needed something to take care of. The beeping on my emotional heart monitor was slow and soft, and I needed some metaphorical paddles to come in and jolt me. I needed signs of life. I needed Jawes. 

Our first few weeks together were stressful. I got him a tank way bigger than a Beta needed. I wanted room for error, and more space was apparently a plus on the fish survival checklist. I got the chemicals for his tank and joked that I needed a chemistry degree to keep him alive. He started to stress (not good for fish), and I freaked out thinking that my new undertaking would become another loss in my life during a time when I couldn’t afford any more. 

I genuinely think I willed that fish to live. 

He survived, and I survived. We made it through together. He was a reminder to me that I could do hard things, and as time passed by, I realized how long I’d kept Jawes alive. Our first full year together, I sat in front of his tank and told him that I never thought we’d share that day together. But we made it. And miraculously, we shared another year together, too. 

Jawes and I survived a lot together. We shared two and a half years, when I thought it was amazing that we made it to two and a half weeks in the beginning. So when I came home today saw that he had died, I started immediately crying. Then I questioned my crying: “It’s just a fish, Carrie. It’s just a fish.”

But it’s more than a fish. Isn’t it? 

He’s a reminder that I survived excruciating things when I didn’t think I could. He’s a symbol and image of life, a heartbeat when mine was unsteady. So his death is painful because he mattered to me. The thing he represented mattered, and still matters, to me. And losing him is a reminder of those excruciating times, but also the resilience I had to get through them. 

Sometimes emotions catch us off guard. We react to things, like I did with Jawes, in ways that don’t make sense on the surface. We think “It’s just a _________. Why am I upset about a _________.” When it’s really more than that. If you sit with it long enough, you’ll hopefully begin to see how your reaction makes sense when you look under the surface of it all. You’ll see that it’s not about a fish.

It’s so much more than just a fish. 

The Therapist with the Elephant Tattoo.

“Why an elephant?”

It’s one of the most common questions I get asked. Elephants are all over my house and my therapy office and now, even my left arm. They are my absolute, favorite animal, but not just because of their sheer size and majesty. The honest truth is that I love elephants because

They grieve better than humans do.

I’ve always been in awe of elephants and how unique they are; but, years ago, I watched a documentary on a herd of elephants, and it changed my life forever. This documentary followed the daily routines and ins and outs of this group of elephants. I especially loved finding out that herds of elephants are matriarchal, and the oldest and largest female elephant leads the herd (#GirlPower). But an important storyline in this film was how this herd lost an elephant to predators. What this group of elephants did next absolutely blew me away: they grieved.

They circled up around their loved one and cried. The elephants cried. (Unless you are emotionally prepared, do not YouTube elephants crying. You might not make it out of your own puddle of tears). It was so interesting to me, though, that each elephant stayed a different length of time, but when they were done with their crying, they simply walked away. It’s like they knew when they were done, and it was okay that it was different from the elephant next to them.

This fascinates scientists. From what I’ve read and studied, no other animal cries or exhibits the grief process quite like the elephant does. And while scientists can’t officially call it “grieving,” they can’t deny the odd changes in elephants’ behavior. For instance, elephants eat the majority of the day (Another point for them being my favorite animal. Amen.), but when they’re in this grief process, they don’t eat. They stop their normal day-to-day things, even eating, and mourn.

If that wasn’t enough, what happened next in the documentary is what sealed the deal for me. They continued to follow this herd as they traveled on, after all the elephants had grieved and walked away. They left that area to find more food and after much time had passed, they ended up back at the site where their loved one had died. Now, there were no remains, no bones, nothing to alert them that this is where this event took place; however, they knew. And they didn’t do what most of us humans do and pass by the hard memory and move on. They circled right back up and grieved again. The same process over again. Each one, taking as much time as she needed, and then simply walking away when she was done.

So why an elephant? They are literally my spirit animal for how to grieve well. I think of them when I go through hard things and want to get away. I remember them when I want to sneak by my sadness and not honor it with my tears. I glance at my tattoo when I think that I’m taking too long to get over something and that other people have bounced back from this sooner. They are my model for how to acknowledge and honor my pain without judgment or comparison to the person next to me. They do this so much better than we do, and we’d live a much more wholehearted and authentic life to take their lead… and stop… and grieve.

Thirty-Three Percent.

The fluorescent light keeps flickering on the floor, and you start to wonder why this is taking so long. This was a routine visit, and you’ve got lunch plans coming up soon. Suddenly, the door cracks open, and the look on her face tells you this might not be so routine. “Great,” you think, “She’s probably going to give me another pill or scare me into exercising again.” She sits down, crosses her legs, and positions her tablet over her white coat and begins to speak: “I’m so sorry to have to give you this news. Your results from the tests we ran came back this morning, and it’s not good. It’s very serious, and since we’ve always been open with each other, I’m going to be upfront. You have a 33% chance of surviving this.” She keeps talking, something about treatments and lifestyle changes, but your mind wanders off, in complete shock.

What’s your next move? Who do you call? Who do you want with you in that room? Who isn’t invited to that room? Who’s your support? And what lengths are you going to go to in order to outlive this prognosis and have more time with them? Is there any hurdle you won’t jump over, anything you won’t try? It’s fight or flight, and I imagine you are geared up to fight. The odds are not in your favor, but you are willing to give it a hell of a shot and try.

Did you know that second marriages have a fail rate of 67%?

That’s a 33% chance of survival.

I haven’t been in a doctor’s office and lived out the above scenario, but I’m wrestling with these odds as I’m currently planning to get married again. I wonder what changes we all would make in our lives if we thought about this prognosis more often. How would we live and interact differently if we considered this reality? First time marriages have a 50/50 shot at survival; so it’s not great from the beginning, but second marriages drop drastically to 33%.

Thirty-three percent.

It’s a staggering number, and while my fiancé and I aren’t pessimists who study and stare at failure rates on the daily, we are realists who want to be prepared for what’s ahead, what will be challenging, and how we can combat it. For us personally, the realization of this percentage changes who gets to come into the doctor’s office with us, who gets to sit with us at treatments, who gets to see our struggles and sickness, who we let see our fears, where we go and when we go there, who we share victories with, and where we spend our time. Some people “get it,” and some people don’t. But we won’t apologize for protecting our relationship when we’re in this life or death scenario. With these odds, if you aren’t for us, you’re against us. There’s simply too much at stake, too much to lose, and too much to carry to be keeping up appearances and checking off boxes just to keep other people happy.

The liberating piece of this mindset is that we get to determine what help and support look like to us. Some people may claim to be helping, but in reality, they might just be causing us more problems. If we’ve requested peace and quiet and solitude, and someone ignores that and decides to bring over chicken noodle soup, then that person is not being helpful or supportive, no matter how “helpful” it might appear from the outside.

We are building our family and a life together against odds that hardly any person would put money on, and we need all the love and support we can possibly get. This is also a time for celebration and joy; a new family is about to be created, and we genuinely, wholeheartedly love each other. This should be cherished and positioned proudly. A lot of people have seen us get married before, but they’ve never seen us marry each other. We are ecstatic and anxiously anticipating the day we become husband and wife, and we have little tolerance for anyone attempting to take that away from us. We’ve waited a long time, not only for this day, but for this relationship where we can truly be ourselves, trust in each other, and be happy. We deserve as much, if not more, celebration and support. We are fighting an uphill battle and have many things working against us; we can’t make space for questioning, criticism, or lukewarm affection. There’s too much at stake. So we choose to protect our circle and our relationship from anyone who makes the 33% any harder than it already is.

While this is very specifically written regarding second marriages, it can be applied to many different situations where it feels like the odds may be against you: death/grief, divorce, job loss, transitions, separations, substance abuse, dealing with rebellious teenagers, life changes, imprisonment, illness or injury, cutoff from adult children, pregnancy, financial strain, and countless others. The odds can be against anyone, but we are all responsible for finding ways to navigate them well. First, figure out who’s in your circle. Who do you want with you when crisis hits? Who supports you? Who has the hard conversations and loves you despite all the things? Do you have someone like that in your corner? If you do, cherish them and utilize them. If you don’t, find a good therapist. I’d be thrilled to be the person who helps you tackle what’s ahead and give you a soft place to land. Second, figure out what help and support look like to you, make that known, and protect your circle from anyone who doesn’t uphold it. Finally, take care of you and yours and enjoy the moments of joy when you can. It’s not all about survival. You need to rest in the joy as well.

So. What’s my next move? I’ve got my circle around me, protected and intact. There isn’t any hurdle I won’t jump over, nothing I won’t try. It’s fight or flight, and I am geared up to fight. The odds are not in my favor, but I am willing to give it a hell of a shot and try.

And we aren’t just going to survive.

We are going to live.

When Divorce is Not the Easy Way Out

It was a beautiful, sunny, Thursday morning.

I walked into a courtroom, took a seat on the witness stand, walked through a decree, and filed paperwork to make it all official. The entire experience seemed grossly inappropriate in relation to the process and events that led up to it. There were years of memories and pain and heartache and anguish that flashed through my mind in that courtroom, and a simple stamp from a clerk’s office officially ended the marriage I fought so hard to keep. 

In the time leading up to my divorce and in the time since, I’ve sat through sermons listening to pastors speak about divorce being the easy way out. I’ve heard pointed comments from strangers, friends, and colleagues about people who are divorced being somehow less than. There are many with the opinion that those who get divorced are quitters, weak, or selfish, perhaps without realizing the internal sting this causes those of us who are divorced.  I understand there are different circumstances for every person and in every marriage, and my intention is not to argue when it is permissible to get divorced. My intention is to shed light on how we treat those who are divorced; ultimately, whatever the reason, it is a major life change, and all major life transitions, in my opinion, should be categorized as grief. We would better serve those who are divorced by responding to their loss instead of our own judgment about how or why the loss occurred.

In her podcast 'Hebrews week 11: Offer Pleasing Sacrifices' from April 7, 2016, Jen Wilkin describes a Christian view of marriage and divorce. Starting just after the 10 minute mark, she states: 

So when things begin to press in from the outside, we ought to within the church have relationships that are whole and that are faithful so far as it is possible for us. But I want you to understand that when it says 'Let marriage be held in honor by all,' I believe that this does not mean that we walk around shouting, 'God hates divorce' to the shame and sorrow of people who have experienced divorce firsthand. You know that I come from a broken home. We've talked about this. I've brought it up before. So I feel a great deal of compassion for those who have this in their past or who are facing a difficult marriage now. And I believe that when the Scriptures speak about how we are to think about divorce, what they are calling us to do so, because, again, it's always about what we are thinking about and what we are feeling in here, right? The Scriptures are calling us to hold a high view of marriage. So what would be a low view of marriage? A low view of marriage is when as soon as things get difficult, I head for the exit. What's a high view of marriage? When I do everything that I can to hang on to that marriage relationship. But there is a point at which we would be merciless to ask someone to stay in a marriage if they have had a high view of it, and the marriage has reached a point where it so mars the image of Christ and his Church. That it is an injustice to the individual to be held in the institution. These things have to be so carefully evaluated, and there is not a one size fits all rule. But the Church must be a place that is more than just anti-divorce. We must be a place that is pro-marriage in the sense that we hold a high view of marriage, and a high view of marriage values not just the institution. It values two very different individuals who have engaged in the institution. So this is an area where we need to proceed with care and caution, that we would best minister to those among us. There are people among us who have handled marriage lightly in their past, and I tell you, every time I have to talk about divorce, there is some sweet woman who sits at the back of the room and sobs her eyes out the whole time. You know why? Because the Church has handled her as though she's permanently damaged goods. There are many sins from which we allow people to move on, but that is not one that we often do. So as brother/sisterly love continues among us, may we be a place that is marked with charity with regard to this issue where we hold a high view of marriage, where we strive for faithfulness in those relationships. That's what the brothers and sisters would do for one another.  

I am a marriage therapist. I am pro-marriage. In my office, I am the last one to ever give up on my clients’ relationships. I have a very high view of marriage. But I also have a high view of individuals. When a marriage begins to erode away who someone is as a person, it deserves our attention. God loves us, and He gave us marriage in His design for many things, sanctification being one of the most important; however, marriage wasn’t designed to take away our personhood. 

I am not a quitter. I did not take the easy way out. Divorce is not easy. Divorce did not erase the pain of my marriage or all of the memories I still carry with me. Divorce was and is painstaking, and the decision to pursue it, especially given my career, was torturous. When I hear pastors or those in spiritual leadership say that divorce is the easy way out, it casts shame on an already devastated part of my heart. Those who were closest to me during this process know the anguish I felt and still feel. I’ve sat weeping behind my computer screen listening to sermons online with pastors casting judgment, even indirectly, on the divorced. I’ve sobbed on many shoulders and on many couches in agony about what divorce would mean for my life and what it would mean about me as a person. I’ve wrestled with what this means for the rest of my life, the family and future I had planned. All of that changed when I got divorced. 

And if I feel this way when I had a high view of my marriage, I can only imagine how these statements must land for someone who had a low view of marriage that ended in divorce. It comes down to what is most helpful. Even if what you say has some truth, is it helpful? Is it beneficial? If someone is already grieving a marriage that ended in divorce, is it helpful to tell that person that he or she took the easy way out? Absolutely not. It's the equivalent of rubbing our nose in an emotional pile of poop. It stinks already. We don't need a closer vantage point, certainly not from those in spiritual leadership above us. It's important to remember that you can be right but still be wrong. 

Perhaps it’s easier to put divorce in a box, seeing it as simply as the stamp on my decree, but it is so much more than that. A narrow or marred view of divorce only adds to the depths of a divorced person's pain. We owe it to each other to expand our experiences and try to understand each other's worlds. Our attitudes and perspective change when we look beyond the surface and walk into the reality of what divorce actually means for a person’s life. I hope reading a fraction of my experience gives you enough understanding to at least pause the next time this comes up in conversation and consider how your comments might land if I was sitting next to you. And if you’ve gone through a divorce or are going through one right now, I see you and your pain. 

You are not tainted. 

You are not cursed. 

You are not damaged goods. 

You are loved.

You are accepted. 

You are precious.

I claim you. 

God claims you. 

Divorce is not who you are.

While divorce may be a lot of things, it definitely is not the easy way out. 

Emotions: The Ultimate Truth Tellers

"Don’t listen to your feelings. Feelings lie to you.”

I’ve had this message peppered throughout my life. From pulpits and classrooms to coffee shops and private conversations, there's been an overwhelming sense that emotions were evil, untrustworthy, and malicious, and the best course of action was to not only ignore them but demonize them. Block out feelings because they will lie to you. Hold them prisoner because they are wrong.

But it’s a dangerous message to declare that feelings lie to us. It indirectly (or even directly) shames us for experiencing something beyond our control and leaves us in a powerless state for how to move forward. If someone is experiencing dissatisfaction and sadness in her life, telling her that her feelings are lying to her leaves her in quite the dilemma. For one, how does she make sense of her unhappiness if she’s being told that her feelings are untrue? And two, how does she begin to address and unpack her feelings if all that’s there to uncover are lies? This gives her no traction to address her experience, only more dissatisfaction and sadness than she had before. 

The sweeping generalization that feelings lie to us keeps us a prisoner in an already overwhelming and confusing position, especially when emotions are supposed to be the ones held prisoner in the first place. Without accepting and working with these emotions, we are left in the thick of them, with shame added on top for not being able to control them. The sad part about spreading the message that feelings lie is that it has the opposite effect of its intention: the more we shame emotions or negatively interpret their existence, the more deeply we experience the difficult emotions we were already feeling. We get caught in a loop of pain all while being told they aren’t true and then end up blaming ourselves for the entire experience. What a tragedy. 

We’d do better to work with our emotions and find new ways to respond to them rather than holding on to the assumption that they are inherently bad and working against us; emotions are our bodies’ best attempts at communicating how we are experiencing the world and at finding the greatest ways to protect us. Sometimes that protective response is more exaggerated than we would like, but it is certainly not a lie. Emotions are the most accurate barometer of truth. Sue Johnson, her book Love Sense, states, “The simple act of naming an emotion calms the emotional center of the brain... Naming an emotion begins the process of regulating it and reflecting on it… What we name, we can tame; when we give meaning to something, we can tolerate it and even change its impact.” It seems counterintuitive, especially in a culture where avoiding emotion is so highly valued, but listening to emotions, trusting that they are there for good reasons, and responding to them with compassion can provide us with a less overwhelming emotional experience and the relief we so desperately crave. 

Emotions make sense in the context of the world we are experiencing at any given time. To tell someone that feelings are liars would be the same as saying that fevers are imposters, reflexes are deceivers, and heartbeats are frauds. Emotions are our bodies’ ultimate truth tellers. Let’s honor them and accept them, working with instead of against them. When we do, we create a more securely connected and shameless world. That’s a world I want to live in.

To My Dad on His 70th Birthday

I originally wrote this post on my Dad’s 68th birthday, but I wanted to make some additions for this monumental 70th celebration of my Dad, William Oscar Craig.  I consider myself blessed to have this man in my life this long. I have more than a handful of friends who have lost their parents long before this time in their lives. I try extremely hard to make memories and be intentional with the days I have with my Daddy now. When I called to talk to my dad about a party for his 70th, his reply was, “It’s just another damn day.” He didn’t want anything special… maybe a nicely cooked steak with a baked potato and his favorite dessert. A simple man, but someone who deserves to be honored, and I’m blessed to shine the spotlight on him to make sure he knows how much he is loved and respected by our family.

As I re-read this blog from a couple years ago, I felt like it was a pretty accurate depiction of my dad. It brought back memories and even some things I had forgotten. I wondered what was different for me as I looked at my dad from my perspective now, two years later. I think what I’ve noticed most is how much more I appreciate and value who my Dad is and the impact he’s had on my life. Perhaps that’s portrayed in the previous post, but I think that appreciation and love is much deeper now.  

And even still, I’m so thankful that my dad is my dad. I take so much pride in him. Despite all the eye rolling and shoulder shrugging as a teenager, I love all of his quirks and stories, sayings and jokes, and routines he has. They are what make him, him. It’s what makes him my Dad, what colors my childhood and growing up years… it’s seasoned my family with the best flavors. Dad is hilarious and kind. He’s tough as nails but will still get on the ground to play with his granddaughter. He’s my big, bear hand to hold walking down the sidewalk and my favorite missed call because I know I’ll have his funny and cute voicemail to listen to later. He’s my dad.

And I’m SO proud and blessed that he is.

Most kids didn't get the same upbringing that I experienced as a child. I had the greatest privilege of having a stay at home dad beginning in elementary school. Even then, it was still a little odd for many families to have a mom who worked and dad who stayed home, but that was how things worked out in our family. I never realized, until recently, how special that setup would mean to me. You see, today my dad turns 70 years old. Since I'm just 28, you can see how my dad was (and is) considerably older than most of my friends' dads. 

I used to think that this was a very bad thing. UntilI realized that dad got to stay home with me, come to all my school performances and games, and had ample time to teach me to swing a bat or throw a ball outside when I was young. I got the benefit of having an "older dad" in all the best ways. Where my friends' dads weren't around a lot because of work, I had a dad who had retired when I was young and could give me all the time in the world. 

If there's a downside, it's the fact that my dad is the same age as my most of my peers' grandparents now. Where some of my friends think about their parents being great-grandparents one day, I dream and hope to have my dad be a grandfather to my kids. I could sit and worry and fret all the time, or I can do what I'm doing now... and be so thankful and blessed to have spent 28 amazing years with my dad and to have more time together in those years than a lot of daughters get with their fathers. 

So on this 70th birthday of William Oscar Craig... I would like to highlight some of the best moments, favorite memories, and things I love about my daddy. 

My dad is a southern man to the core. We're not talking boots and cowboy hats, but we are talking growing up in a house with a dirt floor, no electricity, and taking care of animals on the farm type of southern. Dad is "old school" to say the least and is proud of his roots. One of dad's funniest jokes (that he didn't know he was making) was when he told our family how he sold his pig on the farm to buy his family their 1st color TV. I bought Dad his first cell phone for Christmas last year.

Is there a bigger razorback fan than my father? It's highly doubtful. Our family spent our Saturdays watching the hogs on TV or at the stadium in the Fall, our winters full of hog basketball in Bud Walton, and springs/summers listening for those crackin’ bats at Baum. I can vividly remember the night we won the 1994 NCAA Basketball Championship. I ran out of our house screaming and yelling, and I think where most people in the neighborhood thought I was a strange 7 year-old girl, dad couldn't have been prouder of his hog lovin’ daughter. 

Growing up, dad had an old blue Izuzu pup truck. There were many times where he, Casey, and me would squeeze in and ride together. Of course, I got the middle seat, and one of the best memories I have is moving the stick shift like I was really driving the truck. It wasn't until I got older that I realized I only had my hand on the stick, and dad was moving my hand to shift.

Speaking of cars, there's not a time I can remember my father coming to pick us up, take us home, or pulling in the driveway when his radio wasn't blaring full blast. Imagine the teenager's embarrassment of their father coming to get them in front of all their friends blaring "Fat Bottomed Girls," and you knew it was only going to get worse when you opened the door to get in.

My dad is a pretty quiet guy, not known for being extremely loud. He's very talkative and has never met a stranger, but he's not a "loud" type... until he gets to sporting events. Yes, my dad was "that dad" at the game, yelling at the Ref/Ump, yelling at one of us playing, or just yelling. I could always hear my dad in the stands when I batted or when either of my siblings was out playing. Let's just say there may or may not have been a time where dad got thrown out of a softball game/entire ballpark for yelling a little too much.

My dad is very thoughtful. During my childhood, there were always flowers on the table that he had picked up for our mom, brought me treats to school when I was having a bad day, and he pretty much always made us "stuff" when we asked him ("Stuff" is a special recipe made only by my dad. It includes peanut butter and other sweet and fattening things - perfect for emotional teenage girls). On my birthday a couple years ago, dad pulled me aside and said, "Well, I know how much you like elephants, so I figured you'd probably like this." Nothing loud and showy - just a sweet and thoughtful gift he pulled down from his closet to give to me. When I asked him where he got this amazing bronze elephant statue, he said, "Oh, I picked it up when I was in Bangkok. I had one about 5 times the size of that, but I dropped it in the water when I was getting on the ferry. I dove in and looked for that thing for probably half an hour and never found it." There's always a story.

I left out a pretty big part of my dad's story: He was a NAVY SEAL and served in the Vietnam War (hence the elephant from Bangkok). As a little girl, you take pride in your dad's ability to be able to beat up other dads... it's just what you do. They protect you, and you think about who they could save you from. I didn't have much fear of anyone hurting me when my daddy was around. Knowing that your dad went through SEAL training and fought in a really ugly war, you take pride in feeling protected and taken care of. Dad can also swim like a fish (go figure). Swimming was the best because daddy could hold his breath for so long and stay down on the bottom of the pool for forever.

There are lots of war stories... some daddy hasn't and probably won't ever tell us, maybe anybody. We do get to hear the R&R stories. That's a separate blog post I may write in the future, with his permission. Let's just say that you shouldn't punch the Burgermeister in a German bar, even if he takes a swig of your boot.

You'd think all that training and military expertise would make my dad a fairly coordinated and agile man. I cannot count the number of times my dad has banged his head on anything and everything around. Closet rods, doors, cabinets, walls, etc etc etc. Daddy seems to always have a wound on the top of his head. There was also this one time at Sunday lunch after church where Dad was telling a story to another table about a football game, threw his hands up in the air shouting "TOUCHDOWN!!" and nailed the sweet waitress in the face with his elbow. It was funny until we realized she really did get hurt.

Dad has also had a whole lot of falls: down the stairs in the house we grew up in (with the laundry basket, nonetheless), down the icy sidewalk at the neighbor's after putting their newspaper on their doorstep, and that one time he was home alone and decided to cut branches off the tree in the backyard... his ladder moved and inched off the tree, leaving him hanging on this branch until he finally had to just let go and fall. He gets irritated with us laughing about these falls, but I'm crying while I type this I'm laughing so hard.

Dad is also known for his little sayings. Here are just a few.

When asked how he's doing:

"If I was any better, I'd need a twin."

"If I was any better, I'd have to take something."

When asked if there's anything else he needs (restaurant, etc):

"How bout a shoebox full of $100 bills?"

When threatening someone else who is starting a fight (ex: us kids) :

"You'd rather french kiss a rattlesnake"

"That'd be your second mistake today"

"There ain't but 2 things stoppin you..." (fear and common sense)

"You gotta sleep sometime"

"I outta bust your chops"

When ordering food:

"Yunyins" (onions)

"Me-gium" (medium)

When yelling at his kids playing sports:

"Keep your elbow up"

"Keep your shoulder up"

"You're dropping your shoulder"

"Keep your eye on the ball"

When meeting anyone in particular:

"Where ya from?... I'm from Central Arkansas in a little town called Beebe."

When talking to younger folks:

"When was the last time you had your ass kicked by a 70 year old man?"

I am really good at giving good gifts. A good gift requires a simple thing: meaning. It has to mean something to the person receiving of the gift. Dad has given me one of the greatest gifts I've ever gotten....

Music.

It wasn't until I got older that I realized where my love of music comes from. Dad has ALWAYS had music playing and not just any music... GOOD music. I'm a 28 year old gal who can sit for hours and listen to classic rock and oldies like I lived in that era. Gimme some Eagles, Doobie Brothers, Three Dog Night, Steve Miller Band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jackson Browne, ELO, Led Zeppelin, Queen, Billy Joel, Joe Cocker, any Motown, Fleetwood Mac, Boston, Foreigner, CCR, Chicago... and on and on it goes -- and I'll be the happiest girl around. There's something so sweet and special to me that my dad blessed me with the love of music from a realllllly early age. I remember rides in his truck with him always asking, "Who's this, Carrie?" when a song came on the radio. I'd venture to say that dad passed on his love of music to us kids, and I know that I'm proud to have such an eclectic taste. These songs will be something that remind me of daddy for the rest of my life.

I think what I love about my dad more than anything, though... is that fact that he's a changed man. Have you ever met someone whose life had truly been changed? I've only known my father the past 28 years, and he's pretty much been the same man; however, before I was a blink of an eye, my dad was a different person. He would be the first to say that he wasn't living a good life, not making good decisions, and not planning for a future that was anything worth having. It means something to me that I've had grown men come up to me as I was becoming an adult myself and say that my dad has been the only person they've ever known who has turned his life completely around when they thought there wasn't any hope of change. It speaks to the character of my father now, but it speaks even more so to the grace and redemption God brings. My dad was touched and changed by the grace of God.

That change allowed me to have the childhood and upbringing that I did. I was blessed to have a father who was present and engaged with his kids, who didn't drink or do drugs. My dad was and is a loving and thoughtful father. The change in his life changed mine. There actually probably would be no Carrie Anne if William Oscar hadn't turned his life around, and I wouldn't be the same person if he hadn't continued being that same good man all my life. I know there are probably many people who gave up on my dad and some other people who didn't. My deepest and heartfelt gratitude goes out to those who didn't. My life would have been dramatically different if you had lost hope. My greatest thanks goes to God Himself, who is the only reason I'm able to type out my love for and warm memories of my daddy and his life. God has blessed me overwhelmingly with this amazing dad of mine, and I am unbelievably thankful that God's goodness and mercy hunted my father down and left him a changed man.

I printed this post out yesterday and gave it to my Dad to have since we celebrated his birthday a day early. Much to our surprise, he read every word aloud to our family. He had moments of tearing up, long pauses, and chuckling. When he was finished, he put the papers down and said, "This is great, but there ain't but one thing missing. I'll tell ya. I'll probably cry, but I'll tell you." Dad then began to share about coming home from the Vietnam War. He said to us, "It was 1977, and I flew back home to the Little Rock airport... I had 2 real good chances of getting killed over there. My mom hugged me and said 'I prayed for you every single day.' Then my dad hugged me and told me he loved me... I was 32 years old, and that was the first time my dad had ever told me he loved me." So in all my pondering and processing about my Dad's life and the people in it, this attachment-based therapist missed the two most important: his parents. It shouldn't be any surprise to me that when my Dad thinks about his life and the steadfast love he received that precipitated his life change, he thinks about his parents' love and this key moment between him and his father. That's the power of attachment. It changes us.

There are so many other parts and stories and memories and things I love about you, Dad... too many to ever get down on paper. You have been my biggest hero and quiet strength all of my life. I take pride in a few titles in my life. Very few can match the honor I have of being called your baby girl.

I love you, Daddy.

Happy Birthday.

Four Reasons Why You Won't Go to Marriage Counseling

Therapy can be a tremendous asset for your personal life and relationships. It can bring clarity, security, connection, and forgiveness that some never thought was possible. It can breathe new life into tired souls, repair hurts that seem too difficult to mend, and connect people who thought the time on their relationship had run out. It's a process that I find so meaningful that I've devoted my heart and professional life to helping others strive toward these seemingly impossible outcomes. 

So why do people put off counseling for so long? Statistics show that the average length of time a couple waits until they begin seeking therapy for a broken marriage is seven years. SEVEN YEARS. Imagine the hurt and bitterness that can grow in seven years that wasn't there in year one. Imagine the task of the therapist (or most therapists given the statistic) of trying to manage the amount of pain and anguish between this couple who have been trying to live with/fix/avoid the broken pattern of their relationship for so long. So why the wait? When someone has a broken arm, we go to the doctor for help immediately. We don't stay home reading books, looking up articles on the Internet, or trying our own medical expertise from the Boy Scouts to set the bone ourselves when there's help available. So why do we do that same thing with our broken marriages?

I think for a lot of couples, one or both partners deny a problem is even there. Perhaps one or both partners see a problem but try to keep up appearances of having a good marriage. It's hard diving into those issues, especially if you aren't confident that your partner will respond lovingly or openly. Sometimes starting therapy individually and adding a spouse in later can work; it shows your spouse that you're serious about working this out, even if that means just you working on it for a while if the other is unwilling. 

Another reason is fear. What happens if someone sees us going to therapy? What happens if I have to become vulnerable and share parts of myself/our marriage that I want to stay hidden? What if therapy doesn't work and I put in all of this effort for nothing? All are valid fears. Even in today's culture where therapy has become more socially acceptable, it can still be embarrassing to be seen in a therapist's office. It's also a pretty scary experience to go and sit with a stranger and share parts of your life that aren't pretty and have hurt you tremendously. And I think that it makes sense to be weary of putting in so much effort without getting the results you want. But what if therapy does work? What if things get better? And what happens if you don't seek help? Where does that leave you and your marriage? 

Money can be a barrier to most anything. Therapy isn't the most affordable thing in the world, and it makes sense that people don't want to risk throwing money into therapy when it might not end up how you wanted. However, we spend money on some crazy things and then turn right around and say therapy is too expensive. Cancel your cable for a few months. Stay in and eat instead of going out for a while. Rent a movie instead of going to the theater. Have a spending freeze where you don't buy clothes/makeup/sports equipment/etc. Maybe even work out at home instead of keeping up that gym membership/workout classes. Eliminating one or a few of these expenses would give you more time together with your spouse and the money you might need for therapy. When you consider what's at stake (marriage, family, legacy), therapy really shouldn't ever sound that expensive anyway.

I know for many people in the River Valley area, the quality of therapy has been a major reason to avoid making an appointment. Who wants to go see a therapist when what you've heard about him or her hasn't been great? Or maybe you've seen a therapist before, had a bad experience, and won't ever go back. When we realize what's at stake or what might be lost if this doesn't work, we don't just run to the first clinician we can find and trust him or her with our deepest hurts and wounds. It makes sense to be cautious and to find a therapist who is properly trained, caring, empathic, and understanding... and not only that, but also confident that you can find connection with each other again. It's one of the main reasons I stepped out to begin private practice in this area this year after almost 4 years of working in an agency: I want to be able offer quality therapy to help couples and have them know that reconnection and repair is possible. 

If you are struggling in your marriage or in your own personal life (or you know someone who is/couples who are), please urge them to seek counseling. As mentioned before, therapy can foster changes in relationships and individuals that seemed impossible before starting the process. And hopefully hearing from a therapist and seeing that I understand the struggle to get into my office and start the process will help make it in someway easier to take that step for yourself or your marriage. There are still a few eager and hopeful therapists in this area (especially at Relationship Solutions) committed to helping you and your partner get your marriage where you want it to be. 

I'm honored to get to say that I am one of them.

How I Learned to Risk: Part One.

In 8th grade, I decided to try out for drill team. I was done with majorettes (that's baton twirling for all you non-band folk), and I wanted to be a Chaffin Charmer. An important fact to point out is all of my dance class history, which was zilch. Another important fact was my athletic ability; I was at the point of my life that I classify as the "awkward phase." Not my best few years. But, nevertheless, I signed up anyway. I went to the classes that taught the tryout dance, and my best friend at the time, Keely (who was 100% athlete and grace combined) helped me many afternoons to perfect my skills. I'll never forget her telling me how great I was at pointing my toes. 

So tryouts came, and even back then, they were a BIG deal. I got in my group of girls, headed into the gym, and did my best. I remember thinking in my head as a 14 year old chubby girl, "Do your best," "Smile," "Show your personality!" I walked out of the gym feeling like I had done what I could, and I felt secure in that, whatever the results came out to be. 

So back at this time, the Internet was not was it is today. The results of who made drill team and cheerleading were read after tryouts in the gym with everyone there to see your face and hear your cries. Spoiler alert: I did not make Chaffin Charmers that year. I didn't bust into tears or sob in my t-shirt. I was simply ready to exit the gym and get home. The only thing worse than being around all my peers in that gym to get those results was facing the barrage of screaming, hysterical, ridiculous moms waiting outside the glass doors outside. I will never forget one mom literally grabbing me and screaming, "DID SHE MAKE IT? DID 'SARAH' MAKE CHEERLEADER?!!!?" She shoved me aside before I could even answer. It was as close to a circus that I have ever been to. (Read Kevin Thompson's Blog What a Child's Mistake Reveals About a Parent for more insight on that area).

My tears didn't come until I walked up to my mom and had to tell her that I didn't make it... with all my green and gold good luck balloons, flowers, cards, and candy in my hands. I remember her hugging me, saying, "Oh baby. I'm so sorry. I'm sure you did your best and that it was great." We went home, and we talked more about the tryouts and the day I had getting these gifts and notes of good luck and a gigantic card signed by everyone I loved at the time wishing me the best. Even in my moment of "failure," my mom comforted me, supported me, and loved me without making me feel any shame. 

This memory came as a fleeting thought last week, and I cried as I began to think of how powerful this has been for me in my life. I started thinking about how I had NO business trying out for a dance team - what was I even thinking? How did I even think I had a chance? How many times in my life did I attempt something that was completely out of my reach? How was I able to do that?

It's because of my mom. 

When I had a grand idea or some lofty dream, she was there to tell me I could do it and do it well. There was no doubt or discouragement when I said I wanted to try out to be a Charmer; she sent me the biggest good luck balloon there was. When I said that I wanted to to try out to give a speech at my high school graduation (when really I should stick to just writing and not really ever public speaking), she was my audience for a mock performance giving me the standing ovation in the living room. When I wanted to move across the country to spend a summer in Atlanta, she threw me a goodbye party, rode with me halfway, kissed me goodbye, and said I'd be fine. When I wanted to go to graduate school, she was there to say I could do it and that she was already so proud. When I wanted to go skydiving, she said I love you and be safe and watched as I got on a plane.

                                                     *Photo by Stuart Lippincott

Mom, you were my safety net when I stepped out on unsteady tightropes. You were my parachute when I jumped out of tiny, beat up planes. You have been my safe place of loving support for my entire life, and it's because of you that I learned to leap and not fear the fall. You have given me a gift that many kids don't get... that will last all of my life and into my future children's lives. To say thank you is not enough, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. So many times I swung for the fences, not even knowing that I was a t-ball player in a major league game... all because you confidently held up a pendant reading "YOU CAN DO IT!" from the bleachers.

You are the reason I risk... because I know that you will be there if I make it or not, saying I did my best and that you love me no matter what.

I love you, Mom.

How Taylor Swift Nails It When it Comes to Counseling

If I could go the rest of my life without hearing the words "coping skills," I think I would be a much happier therapist. In the counseling world, this little phrase is rampant. And don't get me wrong; I don't despise coping. But much like John Oliver's recent spotlight on the use of the "prosperity gospel" in the church, I find the same issue with "coping skills" in the therapy office. It simply doesn't preach across the board. 

In my graduate school training, if I were to combine ideas from differing models, I had to ensure that they fit together and worked toward the same goal in a similar way. I find the same to be true with how to address different problems that come up in therapy. I like to believe that my model (or at least my framework for change) is the same for any particular issue that might arise in my therapy office, which is where coping skills become an issue for me. I never thought I'd use Taylor Swift as a reference for anything to do with counseling, but, in her recent hit, "Bad Blood," she has a line that speaks perfectly to this idea:

 "Bandaids don't fix bullet holes." 

Simple. Poignant. Perfect example of how some therapists use coping skills in therapy. In my course of therapy, I will ask questions about attachment, how my client has felt safe over the course of his/her life, and how someone provided that safety. I am yet to hear someone say, "Yeah, my deep breathing really helped me feel safe after my sexual abuse" or "You know, nothing really helped except that thought stopping. I just didn't think about it, and I felt so much better. It never came up again." You know what I do hear? "I felt so scared. I didn't know what to do, but when I went to my grandmother's house, she would make me pancakes and let me sit on her lap. She'd hold me and say she loved me, and I just felt like everything would be all right" or "I didn't have anybody there. I didn't know how to handle anything going on, but I would go ride my horse. He was the only thing I had that made me feel not so alone." Whether it's trauma or abuse, loss, depression, or marital strain, my clients have genuine pain. John Green says, "That's the thing about pain; it demands to be felt." I cannot and will not sit with someone in her/her pain and apply a bandaid to a gaping, untreated wound. There is already so much pain and shame surrounding events in my clients' lives; how could I even add to it the responsibility to cope with it on their own? 

Connection is vital to coping. 

Clinicians are spending ample time treating symptoms of a problem that can only be "fixed" by connection and secure attachment. We are not designed to handle pain alone. There are brilliant reasons for for recommending these skills, though: when someone is securely connected, his breathing naturally slows down just by thinking of a safe person. We become more resourceful, more creative to solve problems, and more able to access skills (Johnson, 2010). So here we are again attempting to assign what only comes naturally from secure connection. It doesn't go both ways. While it makes sense to tell someone to use a coping skill because that's what happens to healthy people when they are able to cope, it won't work over the long haul. That need for connection is still there and will inevitably come up, which will then signal the therapist to inquire about using coping skills, which then shames the client for not being able to handle her/his own emotions, which triggers more emotional instability because of the lack of secure connection, which carries this cycle on and on... until that client is labeled "crazy" or "borderline" or "too much." That's what Bandaids do to bullet holes; they may hold back the bleeding for a little while, but they won't ever address the pain. 

We have to stop blaming our clients, even indirectly, for hurting. Isn't it why they come in in the first place? Our culture is obsessed with coping with problems but never actually dealing with them. Our job is to step into their pain with them, not to apply bandaids, but to feel it with them and say, "This hurts so badly. How are you able to deal with this every day? I want to fight for you in these places. You deserve to have someone there with you when it comes up like this." That is the fix: jumping into the pain with them, validating their experience, and making sure they know that someone is there for them in the middle of their struggle. 

That's what will preach across the board. 

And though pain demands to be felt, the fix is not to feel it alone.