Messpirational

Way-too-long-vulnerable post warning ahead:

I have a new term: messpiration. 

I discovered it this weekend when I thought I broke. 

As many of you know, one of the things I do is write and speak on inspirational topics for women. I am all about perspective and choice laughter and the power of will and resilience and God. 

This can be a tricky thing, for teaching about inspiration and empowerment means I know a lot about it. And in my mind, I equate knowledge with performance. If I know these things, then I shouldn’t struggle with them. 

But I do. 

Not all the time. But I sometimes I do. 

Sometimes I wonder if I am enough. I wonder if I’ve failed my kids. I wonder what people think of me. I hurt and doubt and am afraid.

Then I beret myself because I feel like I should know better, and this means I should do better. I should think and feel better. 

I do. But sometimes I don’t. 

So then I feel like a fraud. How can I advocate and inspire when I feel like this way? How can I have anything to offer when I have moments of struggle myself? Why can’t I keep it all together all the time?

I was talking to a friend the other day and I said, “You know, after all this time studying and writing and speaking, I’ve realized something. I’m a mess.”

I love a perfect God and His perfect plan and principles. But, man do I trip all over them. I love hope but sometimes I lose it. I hate fear but sometimes I cling to it. I trust Him but sometimes I get frustrated and impatient. I understand I have control over my reactions, but sometimes I want to ram my car into the guy in front of me who cut me off (just a tap, really.) Damn slips from my lips too often and I love sleeping in and eating ice cream for breakfast. I think waaaay to much and over analyze everything-except the dumb things I do and say without thinking at all. I’m complicated and messy. 

Circumstances were a bit challenging and I dipped pretty low this past weekend. The weight of fear and pain pushed my thoughts down. I began to doubt my contribution to my family, my church, my writing and speaking. How can I help anyone when I feel so broken? (I have soooo many thoughts on “broken”, but that’s for another long-winded post.)

I was bemoaning my state of messiness to my daughter who, after listening to me whine and cry said, “So, you’re human then?”

I suppose I am. Very much so. 

You won’t find anything close to perfection here. I’m no example.

But, I believe in God and what He can do for and with me. I get excited when I think about progression and problem-solving and who we really are and second and third and thousandths chances. I love that the Savior gets me and has the power to ease my pain and strengthen me if I let Him. I love laughter and cookie dough and organizing. I love to make people happy. And I love real. 

So often we see people trying to inspire us with perfect appearances and programs (for a small price). They post their best as proof their answers will solve all your problems too. 

But here’s what I’ve discovered. We are all a mess. Even them. And anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you something. Sometimes literally. 

We buy into the idea that happiness and joy are the “right” places and if we feel anything other than complete faith and serenity somehow it’s wrong and we are deficient. Pain and struggle have turned into sources of shame. We see them as weaknesses, proof we can’t cut it. Proof we aren’t enough. 

Look, life sometimes is really hard. It’s messy. And we struggle. This is part of our experience. We don’t wallow in it, glorify it, or use it for attention. But we shouldn’t be ashamed of it either. Pain is pain. It’s not our enemy or our friend. What we do with it is.

I’m almost always happy, but when I’m not, I’m really not. 

In my lowest moment this weekend after I had cried on the shoulder of my 21-year-old daughter, I looked at her and said, “I want you to remember this moment- the moment your mom broke.” 

She nodded. 

Then I said, “And I want you to remember what I’m going to do next.”

She nodded. 

“I’m going I let you help me today. I’m going to wipe my tears. I’m going to seek God’s help because there is some pain that only He can lessen and some strength only He can give. And I’m going to chose to be okay.” Then I smiled and got up. 

Even though I’m a mess, I’m going to continue to teach and write inspirational stuff because I believe in Who I’m teaching and writing about. I’m not an inspirational person. I’m messpirational. And I like it. And I love Him. 

So, why share all this? And why post this pic of me that’s not smiling and joyous? Why not keep such personal matters to myself?

Because I hurt still. It’s getting better- but there’s still a struggle to be had. And maybe you’re hurt or are struggling too. And because I hope we can still believe that we all have something to give even when we feel like we are small and broken. 

I don’t think we need to be happy and perfect all the time to contribute or inspire. I just think we just need to be real about it all. Life is hard and wonderful and painful and lovely and scary and fantastic. 

We don’t need to bask in the low times, allowing our struggle to define our capacity or value. Acknowledge it. Accept it. And move on with it. Wipe our tears. Let others help. And choose to keep going. 

I choose to believe we all have something to offer, in happiness and pain, in joy and sorrow. 

I believe we are all messpirational.

A real anything

This has been my view for the last three days. I'm here at my annual writers retreat in the beautiful Northwest.

The ocean, the people, the creativity. . . they are the balm for my soul and the sugar for my muse.

The great and wonderful Kaylee Baldwin was the special guest. She is kind and witty and wise. She was also my roommate. And I have to tell you, she is authentic--the same person when she is "on" in front of a crowd as she is in her pajamas at midnight chatting away.


Kaylee gave three presentations for our lucky group. The first was a brilliant class on editing. Seriously. I will never edit the same. Her second presentation, which she called "Writing for Such a Time as This" not only changed my writing but how I see myself. Her last presentation was on hope--which we all need--and how it begins in the darkness.

She is a lovely person and a fantastic writer. You should go by her books now. Like, right now.  HERE.

In her presentation last night she talked about something that resonated with me, not just as a writer, but as a person.

She talked about the word "real'. Especially when we attach it to our worth.

She said, "I wish we'd all stop using the phrase 'real writers.'  It has too much baggage. It doesn't matter if you have a dozen published novels or write poetry no one will see beyond yourself. Real writers write. It doesn't matter how much or when. If you write, put words on a paper or screen, you are a writer."

I stopped and thought about how often I have used that phrase myself. I wanted to be a "real writer". And I never felt like I was. 

In my true spirit of self-analysis (flirting with a healthy dose of borderline neuroses), I tried to figure out why, why didn't I feel like a real writer and would I ever be a real writer.

At this time, I had been writing blogs and books for a while. I had "proof" I was a writer, but I still didn't feel like it. Why?

Kaylee's words last night echoed and confirmed my conclusion.

The problem wasn't in my goal or desire of being a real writer, but it was my definition of what a real writer was.

I took the beautiful word "writer", opened it, and packed it with all my own things: my interpretations, my definitions, my perceptions. My baggage.

And that baggage changed as changed. It got heavier as I achieved more.

In the beginning, I had decided being a "real writer" meant to have people read my words.

When people began to read my words, the definition changed to putting my words into a book.

When I put my words into a book, the meaning changed to publishing a book.

When I published a book, the definition changed again to publish multiple books.

And when I published multiple books, it changed again.

Being a "real" writer became a goal I feared was unreachable.

What I couldn't see was why it was unreachable. I couldn't see that I was one the who was pushing it back farther and farther. I was the one who kept opening the words "real writer" and packing it with more and heavier expectations.

I was the antagonist in my own story.

It was a shocking realization. But empowering.

I put the baggage there, and I had the power to unpack the word.

I pulled out my expectations--which many were false--and changed the definitions. Until all that was left were seven words:  "I am a real writer because I am." No qualifiers. No goals. No benchmarks.

It wasn't about what I did, but who I was.

Who I am.

Most of you reading this aren't writers. But many of you struggle with being a "real" something.

A real:

mother
friend
artist
woman
daughter of God
ministering sister
baker
wife
person
________ (Insert your "real_____" here)


I am guilty of having packed doubt and fear and false expectations of perfection and success into a lot of these words on a time or two or hundred. It never works out well. The only "real" thing I feel like is a failure.

How sad I am what this happens.

I also know it affects the people around me. And I'm pretty sure it makes Heavenly Father sad. He celebrates with us when we celebrate, and He mourns with us when we mourn. Even if it's mourning our perceived failures. But, I believe He mourns not because we've failed, but because we are causing ourselves so much pain.

Women are that they might have joy.  But ladies, we often don't allow us to have joy. It's almost as though when euphoria and success permeate our lives, we must irradicate them, like pest exterminators, with lethal--but almost imperceptible--spray of doubt, fear, guilt, new definitions, harder goals, and unhealthy expectations.

You are real.

Let me repeat. YOU ARE REAL.

If you breathe, you are automatically a real person, a valid person--a daughter of God who is deserving of ALL of His love. All of it.  No qualifiers.

You have many roles who play. Some are similar to mine and some are different. I hope you can look at each of these roles through God's eyes, packing the word "real" with His definitions and expectations.

I hope you and I can strengthen our ability to allow ourselves to feel good about who we are and what we do. Imperfection is our expected mortal state. Growth is our goal.

Our job isn't to reach perfection here. If that's what we are striving for, we are missing the mark.

Our job is to trade our will for His and love others. It's a simple as that.

That included loving ourselves, and trading our definition of success, "real" anything, achievement, and expectations for His.

If we do this, I think we will find that we are more real than we ever knew.  And then we need to allow ourselves to claim that. To feel joy in that. Yes- WE CAN FEEL JOY IN WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE DO.

Seeing ourselves through His perspective, coupled with our determination to learn grown and our efforts to seek His will and trade it for ours will lead to greater peace in our lives, a more accurate understanding of ourselves and God, and joy in our imperfect state.

This applies to any role in our lives.

For me, this weekend, it applied to me being a "real" writer.

I've allowed publishers to tell me I am the next big thing and believe them.

I've allowed publishers to tell me I'm gimmicky and believe them.

I've allowed the success of other writers to define my success.

I've allowed my definition of what God's expectations were for me to feed my sense of failure.

I've allowed so many things to be packed into that "real" word that there was no possible way to ever be a real writer.

But I am.

I write words. I am a writer.

And God doesn't expect me to get published. Not even once. He gave me a gift and He wants me to find joy in it. That's it.

And if I take this gift of a love of words coupled with righteous effort and healthy goals and expectations, topped with gratitude, I know I can have joy in saying "I am a real writer" now and always.

Thank you, Kaylee, for the real reminder.

Now I'm going to go write some more words. Because I am a writer. :)

Yoda lied. But not really.

Yoda lied.

My father is going to disown me for saying that.

He loves Yoda and thinks he's brilliant. Probably because he is. He is a master of emotion and force, knowledge and will. Aside from the Clone Wars where he, uncharacteristically and in poor CGI form, fought from a place of rage, he was typically spot on with the nuggets of wisdom he handed out.

I've heard one of his most famous quotes tossed around for years:"Do or do not. There is no try."

It's usually accompanied by a motivational speech about never giving up, putting forth your full effort, or succeeding at all cost. Here's a hard thing. Now do it. Don't try. Don't fail. Just do it.

That's a lot of pressure.

I really don't like these interpretations of this quote. I get the whole, "do or do not". Indecisiveness is not a strength. Do it or don't. Hot or cold. Make up your mind. God doesn't like it either. "So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold or hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth" (Revelation 3:16)

So yeah, I get the "do or do not part."

The part that I cringe at is the "there is no try." What the wha?

Of course there is a try.

MY ENTIRE LIFE IS ONE BIG TRY.

Even when I do or do not, my TRY matters.

Don't believe me? Take Elder Holland's word for it:

"With the gift of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the strength of heaven to help us, we can improve, and the great thing about the gospel is we get credit for trying, even if we don't always succeed."

Oh, sweet relief. Because I don't always succeed or do. In fact, if I'm being honest, I unsucceed more than I succeed. (Failure is such a negative word. I've decided to nix it from my vocabulary. That and kale.)


I understand that Yoda most likely meant that you should go into a scenario with confidence, with the intent of succeeding. That it was probably more about the mindset rather than the outcome. I'm sure he was trying to teach whiny Luke that our attitude can determine our altitude (that sounds like an Elder Uchtdorf analogy...)


Still. I wish Yoda would have had said something different Why couldn't he have said,  "Try or try not. You, it's up to."

That's what it boils down to, for me. Am I willing to try? And try? And try?

Because IF I am, then it counts.

I want my tries to count.


Perhaps Yoda wasn't lying, but was simply misunderstood. I think a new meme should clear things up. Because if it's in a meme, then it's true.

I love that I get credit for trying.

Yoda and Elder Holland are on same page as the Amulek. (It's a good page to be on.) When teaching the Zoramites, a rebellious and prideful bunch, he said, "I would that ye would come forth and not harden your hearts any longer. . . therefore, if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you."

There are so many things I love about this verse. I love that Amulek let's them know that

1- It's their responsibility. It's up to them to come forth and harden their hearts.

2- Just by trying, IMMEDIATELY the Atonements begins to work in their lives.

He didn't say, "after three weeks of perfect performance, you'll be blessed." No, he said immediately.

The Zoramites got credit for simply trying to have a softer heart and repent allows the great plan of redemption to affect them.

And so do we.

The theory that we get credit for trying (and do I really need to specify that it is trying to do GOOD things with GOOD and HONEST intent?) is pleasing to me.

If perfections was achieved by perfect performance, I'd be in petrouble.

I'm the first to admit that I am faaaaaaaaaaar from perfect and never will be perfect, not in this life. I will never do that. If my only choice was to "do" perfect I would epically fail. But, I don't have to give up and "do not" perfect. I simply have to try.

And not even try to be perfect. According to Amulek, I simply have to try to have a soft heart and repent. That's what trying is.

Trying is the direction we face, a step we take, a choice of light over darkness, and the getting up after we fall down.

Trying is hope and kindness and love.

Trying is choosing to grow rather than wilt.

Trying is choosing is casting your eyes on Him.

Trying is our perfect desire in imperfect action.

Trying is the reflection of the contents of our hear.

Trying is the way we get to and become like God.

Trying is everything.

I love that we can try and try again. And then try and try again.

As long as I try to keep on trying, I'm going to make it, if we want to.

So, Yoda, I get what you're sayin. I'm gonna do. I won't do not. But, in the mean time, there have been and will be about a million tries to get me there.

And every single one of them counts.

My kid hates me, and that's ok

Note: This is not my real child, though it very well could have been today. So, this perfect mom thing. The other day I released my e-booklet, THE PERFECT MOM, about how we aren't perfect but we are perfect for our kids. I want you to know that I really believe it. Even today. The day my thirteen-year-old hates me. And honestly, right now, I'm not a fan of her either. I had a talk with God today. More like, I talked at Him and gave Him my thoughts on everything (and perhaps complained a bit. Okay, a lot.) He didn't say much back. In part, I'm sure, because I didn't give Him time to. And, I'm sure, I wasn't in the right mood for answers. But, here's my take away anyway. God gave her to me to raise. I know there are other mothers who are more patient and kind, more intelligent and resourceful. But in His infinite wisdom, He wanted ME to raise her. He must have His reasons, and even though I don't always understand them, I choose to believe that He has faith in me, imperfections and all. I choose to lean on that fact right now, when the warm fuzzies and giggles are gone, because I know tomorrow will be better. And I know that He will help her in the ways that I can't. He and I, we're a good team. Still, it's so easy to doubt ourselves when things are hard, especially when the little ones we love struggle or are angry. We may even think that we are horrible mothers, thinking that if we were good moms our children will always make good choices and be happy. But that's a pile of dirt laundry. Our job is to teach them well. They have the right to choose. We can't force them, but it is our responsibility to enforce what's right. I told a good friend my daughter was upset with me today. She said, "Well, you're doing something right then." Most kids don't like chores, homework, discipline, or even natural consequences. They don't often like rules or limitations. And when parents enforce them, kids get frustrated. Especially as they enter the teenage years. The way I see it, I love my daughter. I'm her mom. Not her friend. Not her buddy. It's my job to teach her right and wrong, to teach her action and consequences, to teach her that doing what's right is better than being right. And sometimes that makes her mad. I've heard that if your kids don't get upset with you once in a while, either you're lucky or not doing your job. I believe it. So, I'm getting the scowls tonight. And that's ok. Being a mom is hard for a lot of reasons, your kids being mad at you is one of them. My kids hates me right now, and that's okay. I'll do my best and trust in God. She'll get over it. And I'll get over it. And we will learn together. In the meantime, I'm going to eat some carrots because today I started a healthy eating plan and I just sent all my ice cream and candy home with some missionaries who stopped by (pretty sure this has to be the most ill-timed diet ever), and repeat the mantra while clicking my heels three times: I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for her. I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for her. I'm no perfect, but I'm perfect for her. . . ​ Next day update: In the morning light she loves me again. I will bask in it while it lasts. Ah, teenagers. :)