Light From Glass




Unexpected words

A sharp sense of disbelief

Letting Go


Fast and Unforgiving

No Time

But I was just getting started!



I’ll never touch you like that

You can trust me

He said to keep me from flinching and cringing

You’re so beautiful

They’re crazy not to want you

I was suspicious and skeptical

And rightly so

As the first goodbye was the last



Grief and reflection followed

But so did instinctively grabbing a shield

 “I feel a little bit guarded” permeated every-day language

Unusual for a believer in vulnerability and connection

But it’s natural for a bruise to want to heal

And to seek shelter when the bruising becomes too much

Too many bruises leads to too many cracks


Fear is not the central concern, or even avoiding pain

For heartbreak is proof that you’re living life

But you can’t live if your health is in a detrimental state

As I became aware of once before


Discouraged and unmotivated

I allowed the familiar urges to rise and regurgitate

Until I felt empty and nothing else could come out

Fuck it, my tired self said

Who cares what happens?

I cried tears of confession

Praying for mercy and compassion

In those moments I felt unlovable

Slip up and backtrack




Brokeness is not a sight to see at first

And a caution to touch

It’s not a burden to bear alone

But not everyone can walk that road

Yet when the light gets in

When connection happens

When truth is spoken over lies

There is an unmistakable beauty

In realizing that humanity still exists


It’s like a prism of color

A story

Not a cautionary tale

But one of Grace and redemption

So let the black cloud come

Yet it will not overcome me

Let the voices speak

May that be tender and gentle

Let love be known

The kind of love we all need

And I will stand unashamed

Knowing that I will grow, evolve, and become

Go where the light is

Even if it’s just a little bit




I recently had another birthday, a rather low-key affair filled with wine and cupcakes and weighted blankets. For a long time, February 1 was a day of anxiety and trying desperately to keep my expectations low. It was hard to not keep track of who remembered to call/text, or worry about a possible blizzard putting a damper on dinner or weekend party plans. Getting worked up over either of those things would ultimately suck the joy out of the real, most meaningful part of celebrating.

I’m here and I’m alive.

A few people have asked me if I feel old(er), and I can’t say that’s the case. I feel lighter, less focused on my age and more on my personal well-being. At twenty-five, I was in the grips of an eating disorder that I had yet to come to terms with, along with constant anxiety regarding my professional and personal life. I’ve gotten a lot better at putting my mental and physical health first, focusing less on perfection and more on presence.

Whenever I’ve picked a word for the year, I went with something flashy and appealing. It would motivate me at first, but then the expectations would become heavy, which resulted in a lot of discouragement. As 2018 began, I knew I needed to go back to the not-so-fluffy, the not-quite feel-good, and perhaps a little cliched basics.

I needed to learn how to trust. Genuinely and whole-heartedly.

Trust God.

Trust myself.

Trust the process.

In some respects I’ve appeared too trusting, depending on the situation. But it was less about trust and more about ignorance. There have been numerous times where I’ve made a choice and my entire being is practically screaming at me that it’s not a good idea. I would lose sleep and then wake up feeling sick to my stomach.

The quest for perfectionsim and reassurance makes trusting anyone or anything an uphill battle. ‘Hold on loosely’ would render a sense of passivity and helplessness. I could either be in control or be a doormat, and as the years went by I grew tired of being the latter.

But you can only cling to certain things for so long before your hands start to blister and bleed. Infections set in. Eventually, you have to choose between either living or dying.

Trust. Vulnerability. Resilience. Those are all muscles, and the only way you make them stronger is to exercise.

As much as I’ve questioned Evangelical Christianity over the years, my faith in God alone is truly the only consistent thing I have. Relationships will take different shapes. Careers take different directions. And physical beauty changes.

I’ve taken a lot of time to get to know myself, to acknowledge and not sugar coat what’s healthy and what isn’t. Intuition is a powerful voice, and I will not allow anyone to silence it.

And some answers are not meant to be found right away, if at all. Sometimes “I don’t know” is the only thing that makes sense. You have to let the map unfold before you can fully trace the path.

This is still fairly new to me, and I’m not sure how to end this post. I pray that those closest to me will keep me accountable, reminding me that what is already here is what is meant to be experienced.

Here’s to twenty-six.


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What You Say




It started with him and I


A seemingly typical experience for strangers

Beginning in hope and ending in silence


With a superficial sense of comfort

I confided in him what haunted me

Explaining that I’d preferred to go in small steps

Relieved when met with a response of compassion and understanding

The same wavelength

Which we seemed to be on through the following night (and into morning)

Not one of regret, but not one without lessons

Deep enough to soul search


In living in the tension

No verbal response of what was next

With the news of the days, weeks, and months swirling around

I began to ponder

Whose responsibility is it,

To ensure not just an avoidance of attack

But a positive coming together


And upon reflection came the realization

Such responsibilities are for both partners

A responsibility to communicate needs, wants, and boundaries

And to respect said boundaries without guilt, shame, or coercion

A perhaps awkward but necessary conversation

That happens before doors close

And clothing removed


Language. Words.

They matter

Even in a culture of anything goes

Which lately, is seeming to be anything but fun or empowering

Especially for those who are deep and emotional

With desire to know their partner, and be known


But we cannot blame cultural norms entirely

Or fault expectations or standards in leu of personal choices

Yes, it’s challenging

And one might not be sure

Until they’ve walked that path or mile

Yet society is fleeting

Always changing

One cannot let it blow like the wind

Letting these broken norms do anymore damage

To those who navigate the taboo and silence


Let’s not simplify by idolizing marriage or previous ideals as the answer

Relationships and interactions as a whole

Only successful with conversation



And a willingness to grow and evolve


Maybe I can’t change the world

But I can be better than I’ve been

I can honor my body

I can honor my heart

That which I truly want

By acknowledging it

Out loud in prayer, and to others


What you say

(or don’t say)

May not hold you responsible for what happens

But by staying true to that which you hold dear

May it set you free

After Midnight



It’s easy to hope before midnight then it is to have faith afterward.

Ringing in 2018 was calm and low-key, the majority of the celebration spent with family or family friends. We sipped drinks, played games, and I discovered the deliciousness of assorted macaroons on one of the dessert tables. I was in no rush for the current year to be over, savoring time with my loved ones and trying not to fall asleep before the clock struck midnight.

When the years-end rolls around, there’s a massive fixation on goal-setting and trying to do things differently. There’s nothing wrong with that as a whole, but too often they come attached with life-size expectations and are rooted in people-pleasing. I’m a huge advocate for growth and self-improvement, but not to the extreme where I believe that I missed the mark (in most areas) every single year.

2017, despite its hurdles and unexpected challenges, was one of the most transforming years that I’ve experienced since my teens. I got out of head and faced some uncomfortable truths, and once the initial sting wore off, I realized that I’ve become more like myself than ever. I won’t deny that mistakes were made and resulted in taking responsibility for my own crap, yet I’m not going to cower in shame either. I became a better writer, owning my words and beliefs and perspective. I slowly learned about self-compassion, and that being your own best friend doesn’t mean being alone.

It’s why I chose to set intentions, which focuses on one’s mindset as opposed to being dependent on what one can or cannot accomplish. Not a formula for solving problems or a quick fix for happiness, but something I strive to take with me each day; it’s not about where you start, but how you walk through what you go through.

I know I won’t always stick to it, but I intend to:

-Hold myself to a standard of grace instead of perfection.

-Live in the tension and confusion of the unknown instead of seeking immediate answers or a fix.

-Be fully present when in the presence of people I care for (i.e. take a breather from social media, which I need for the sake of my emotional health).

-Choose love, compassion, tenderness, and trust.

Let it be so.

One day at a time, one foot in front of the other.

Taking My Body Back



Dear Al,

2017 has been a long year for you, hasn’t it? It’s been a lot at once, which is what you normally tell people in order to keep yourself out of the pity pit. It’s not hard necessarily, but it has been a lot.

First came the tidal wave of depression; you were let go from a job unexpectedly, after only working there for a month, and in the same week were emotionally blindsided by a personal decision that hurt more than you thought it would. You didn’t want to get out of bed, your mind either in the twilight zone or going completely blank. You knew it was bad when you didn’t even want to write, but forced yourself to in order to keep track of what was or wasn’t going on inside your head so that you’d be taken seriously.

Then came the diagnosis: a combination of clinical depression and anxiety, which you were given medication for by a caring and helpful psychiatrist. Simultaneously, you got real with your counselor and admitted that you’ve been battling an eating disorder since college (or perhaps even longer than that). Definitely bulimia, and you’re not sure if it’s anorexia or something called Restrictive Avoidant Food Intake Disorder.  Labels aside, you haven’t been healthy for a long time, although I know you’re hesitant about calling yourself “sick” or saying that you have a disease. You’re afraid to refer to it as “my eating disorder” because you don’t want it to become your identity, even though you might struggle with this for the rest of your life.

Saying it out loud was more than a relief. It was comforting to finally know the exact nature of the battle you’ve been fighting, though admitting that you wanted and needed help was only half of it. A lot of people don’t realize that properly addressing mental health struggles isn’t just about overcoming stigma. There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking medicine, getting counseling, or going into a treatment program, because it’s no one else’s business how you choose to take care of yourself. But what happens if you get evaluated, only to be told that no hospital or recovery center in the state will take your insurance? How should you respond when the initial hospital tells you “oh, we don’t do charity” when inquiring about scholarships? What if heaven forbid, you just can’t afford certain things financially, but aren’t sure how to make the most of the resources that you do have?

It takes one hell of a person to keep fighting when you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, and you did just that. You went to, and continue going to meetings despite being terrified of the judgement you might face because of the unconventional way you go about the recovery journey. You asked for guidance, but trusted your intuition enough to set boundaries when you sensed that people were either trying to oversimplify what you’re going through (“just eat more and you’ll be fine!”) or trying to fix you to the extreme (unprofessionally diagnosing, imparting shame instead of grace, and insinuating that their way of recovery is the only way). You’ve grown in your relationship with God because of how you’ve had to lean on Him in the tough moments: crying out during a coughing/gagging fit, learning how to breathe and meditate after a large meal when your stomach feels weird, and allowing yourself to rest when your body is tired, rather than force it to work out.

Asking for support is challenging because you’re not entirely sure what that looks like. Six months ago you asked friends and family to be patient with you, allowing you to be human and imperfect as you navigate this path. Sometimes you need to vent and get your feelings off your chest so you’re not isolating yourself emotionally. Sometimes you just want a hug or a hand on your shoulder while your grit your teeth through the urge to engage in behaviors. But it’s also nice when people take the initiative and offer to attend a meeting with you or ask questions in order to learn more about eating disorders, anxiety, and so on. Education over ignorance always, even if it starts with, “I have no idea what this is and I want to learn more.”

Honey, I am so unbelievably proud of you, both for who you’ve become and who you’re growing into. You might have been through hell (and sometimes it still feels that way), but at the same time you’ve embraced who you are and feel more like yourself than ever before. You’ve learned that it’s not just about loving your body and the amazing things it can do, but recognizing you’re more than that. You have a big heart, filled with compassion and love and kindness. You have a curious mind and a sense of adventure, always wanting to explore new places and create new memories. You’re deep, genuine, and real, willing to talk about life in a way that is actually a gift. And you have so much to give beyond what you’ve been told or taught.

It’s hard for me not to get emotional as a write this; you’ve spent most of your life not wanting to believe these things for the sake of being humble, but there’s a big difference between humility and not giving yourself enough credit. Doing the best you can doesn’t mean that you’ll always do the right thing, but give yourself permission to make mistakes, and then you do the next right thing. One at a time, one foot in front of the other.

You might think you’re not justified in sharing your story because it’s not typical, but that’s actually the opposite. Not only do you have every right to talk about it so that you don’t go it alone, but the world needs to know that eating disorders can and do tend to have many layers. They can develop regardless of gender, ethnicity, or size. They can stem from trauma and anxiety, where everything builds up and nearly consumes you.  And the root is often perfectionism, or the fear of not being enough. For you it was never about gaining or losing weight, but feeling like your body (and mind) had to be perfect because it was the sole focus of your life. And that’s why recovery is just as much about the emotional and psychological as it is about the physical.

But know that you can talk about it as little as much as you want, and you don’t have to do it until you’re ready.

Alyxandra Rose, know that you are LOVED. So loved more than you can even comprehend. You’ve got this, darling. Even on the days when you think you don’t, you’re strong and tough and capable. We’re in this together, you and me and everybody who has stepped up to root for you and support you.

With all that I am,

Alyx (the you on a good day)

Are You Tired? Me too.


I first saw it circulating on Facebook as a copy and paste message, figuring that it was related to the Harvey Weinstein scandal. I hadn’t been following the news that closely because it seemed overwhelming, but I knew enough to understand what was going on. I typed it out and shared it within my newsfeed, but something in me was screaming that generics weren’t enough. So I went a little bit deeper on Instagram, detailing certain nights that I had experienced in college, and that I’m still dealing with repercussions to this day. Soon after I was asked about why I had posted something so personal, and that I needed to focus on letting it go. Trying to keep my emotions in check, I explained that it was about more than the things that were said to me, detailing how I had been groped and followed on a number of occasions. This was not our first conversation on the subject, but I was still vulnerable to intimidation, rejection, and inadequacy

All of the reading and processing left me emotionally drained. My head was in a fog, and there were times where I had to close my computer and walk away, the details of another horrifying yet courageous story too much to bear. I could feel the anger rising: anger that my mind feels at peace with what I went through, but my body apparently is not.  Anger that we have a president in the White House that perpetuates such disgusting behavior. Anger for having received multiple of versions of sex education growing up that ultimately left me confused and frustrated.

Recalling the first incident nearly five years ago, I blamed myself until I broke down and told my closest guy friends what had happened. They were compassionate and protective, assuring me that it was not my fault and that they didn’t look down on me or think less of me. It was almost as if I needed permission to stop beating myself up, which I do when I sense that I’m about to be judged or abandoned. I didn’t know what do think or how to feel back then, and that same kind of wrestling continues now.

I’m tired of bearing all of the responsibility.

“Cover up” so men don’t lust after me and want to touch me.

Don’t go out or walk back alone. Watch the alcohol.

Be careful not to send mixed signals (i.e. dancing, kissing, or even just showing interest).

Make sure keys and pepper spray are visible.

And so on.

To live in such a way where you’re constantly watching and disciplining yourself for the sake of others is to barely live at all. It’s perfectionism, which I’ve taken on in other ways already. Perfectionism is a disease in itself, which lead to other illnesses in both mind, body, and soul. But there’s a difference between doing these things to honor someone’s humanity, and doing such because you have or fear having yours taken.

I can’t do it anymore, yet I’m not sure where we go from here.

However, I do know this:

It is NEVER the victim’s fault, and they’re not responsible for anyone else’s actions. Alcohol, sex drive, location, and clothing are no excuse for taking what is not yours to take. Being powerful does not make you a man. It does not make you a woman. It’s not about gender, but about being a decent human being and treating others the same.

Whether or not one chooses to share their story doesn’t make them any less brave or honorable. Trauma is complicated, and so is sharing it with others. Whenever you’re ready, whether it’s telling one person or telling the world, know that you’re loved and supported.

“If it’s not actually rape, then it doesn’t matter.” That’s a load of crap and we must do better than that. Surviving harassment and assault are not olympic sports, competing to see who’s experience is more painful and more deserving of validation. If anyone disrespects your boundaries, it’s wrong. If it leaves you feeling violated, it’s wrong. Full stop. 

Instead of saying “Not all [insert gender, religion, ethnicity, etc] are like that,” sit with the one baring their soul to you and actually listen. Sit with them and share their pain, the multitude of feelings and emotions. Then stand with them. Instead of being angry at others for being “lumped in” as a response to trauma, cast your anger toward sexism, racism, misogyny, and overall dehumanization by calling it out when you see it. “Not all,” is a cop out and a refusal to take responsibility for what we might contribute without knowing it. “No more” is acknowledging that it’s not about you, but it’s about doing whatever you can to help redefine the toxic cultural standards that are killing us as a whole.

Let’s talk about sex. Without shame, judgement, or disgust. Let’s talk about consent, getting to know our bodies, and having difficult but necessary conversations. Instead of preaching and teaching, let’s discuss and be willing to admit that we don’t know everything. Forget the sermons and Cosmo articles. Put away the porn. From extreme scare tactics to extreme silence, none of its working. Sex is real, beautiful, and deserves to be truthful.

Healing is necessary. Healing is agonizing. And it takes as long as it takes.

We can’t go back. But if the decades of walls, empires, and old ways of doing things are going to come tumbling down, we have to be willing to do the work and rebuild.

Old-Fashioned Developments


“I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you.”

It was during a phone call with one of my closest friends from college, after I had tearfully vented some frustrations about my life situation at the time. 2017 has very much been an inside job, where it wasn’t necessarily what what happening to me, but what I had to reckon with as a result. His words stuck with me, as they do quite often, and it’s something that quite honestly I’m still processing.

As I’ve pondered and prayed, my response became twofold: we live in a culture that essentially trains us to dislike ourselves and tells us that we need to be better, whether that’s in the form of changing appearance or acting a certain way to blend in. And because of that, God gives us opportunities to engage in life-giving and healthy relationships/friendships in order to show us what we can’t see, both the good and the not-so-good.

But even with the affirmations and reassurance from loved ones, the concept of feeling good about and believing in myself isn’t exactly cut and dry. I’ve always had a quiet confidence, but have shied away from it for a fear of coming across as unrelatable. I still want to connect with people, to need them and for them to need me. I want to practice humility and gratitude.. And I’ve never been interested in owning a room the second I walk into it or getting people to instantly like me. I’m sure already get enough attention as it is without even trying, probably for reasons that aren’t exactly flattering. Having power and/or control does not equate to being the best person.

So what do you do when self-love and sugar-coated platitudes seem ridiculously hokey?

How do you love yourself when you inner critic (or the critics around you) are so loud to the point where you can’t hear anything else?

Instead of trying to have it all together beforehand, maybe we can learn how to extend compassion inward as we go along.

Maybe the key to self-confidence is not necessarily believing that we’re awesome all the time, but being kind and gracious to ourselves in the moments when we think we’re not. Or at least that’s a start.

For instance, on my first day at my new job I had very little direction due it being Thanksgiving week and not many people were in the office. There was an initial mix up upon receiving my badge and computer, which had me waiting an hour longer than expected, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and fear that I would make a bad first impression. Once I set up and settled in, I spent a lot of the the time introducing myself by saying, “I’m Alyx and I’m new here, can you show me where the bathroom is? The microwave?” and so on. I’m not shy about taking the initiative, but doing so on a regular basis can be overwhelming after a while.

When I overthink, that’s where I have to be my own best friend. I’m a softie, so I speak to myself in a way that’s tender: Honey, you’re okay. You’ve got this. Take a deep breath and just do the next right thing.

Am I enough?

Yes, you are.


You’re a human being and a child of God.

But what about–?

Shh. Lists aren’t necessary for being lovable.

It’s like the way we take pictures: the sugary, caffeine like boost is similar to taking a selfie, where you simply hit a button and then you can immediately look. Self-compassion is old-fashioned development; it takes time, patience, and the right equipment. It’s not a quick fix, but something more sustainable.

I’m not just digging inside until I’m hallowed out as though I have nothing left; I allow love and grace to pour down on me as a reminder that it’s not just about me.

Compassion. For self. For others. A work in progress and an aim for growth, so that I’m no longer beating myself up over doing the best that I know in that moment.

Broadening Horizons

sunrise-1634734_1920.jpgLately I’ve been thinking of publishing longer essays on different platforms, and this week decided to venture over to Medium at Delightful today. This is something that I feel very passionate about, and have had to put into practice in order to grow in order to get to where I am right now. It’s not an us verus them, or at least it shouldn’t be. We’re in this together.

Read More »

I Will Go


I haven’t known a world without tragedy

Since I was ten years old

Hearing about a crash and buildings in a city

Sitting a class not understanding a thing

I didn’t grasp it then

What it would mean


Where were you when the plane went down?

Where were you when the bomb went off?

Where you when the sky got a little bit darker,

When innocence got lost


Now every year it seems that shots ring out

Echoed by cries of “no more” and “change NOW”

We shout, debate, argue, grieve, and then go on

Then it happens again

The same cycle

Same tears

Same words

More lives lost

More questions than answers


It was a little more personal this time

In the city of lights, games, and dollar signs

A little more closer to “it could have been me”

Or friends or family

To which I wept regarding proximity

Numb with the realization

Of being stuck between frustrated anger

And reality


It’s true that no place is safe

Or only as safe as it feels

Why bullets rain

Down on those who come together to share common threads

Music, education, community

Because one filled with enough hatred

Blinded by what, we may never know

Used a weapon to take lives


I don’t have the answers to such devastation

This complex thread

Involving mental health, gun control, and how we relate to one another

But I will not live in fear of the possibilities

As I travel, dance, and sing

At these celebrations of music, love, and life

These staples of the summer season

Now treasured memories

I will go

Cautious, but not cowering

Mindful, but not unaware

I refuse to let darkness cloud my thinking

That’s how evil wins

The Thing about Therapy


October has always been a special month for me, beyond the colors and the coziness. It marked my first official visit to Iowa, and the beginning of the most transformative chapter in my life. I have met some amazing people, and even fallen in love (more than once) as the leaves have changed and the air turned crisp. But it was also the time when I decided that I could no longer do it on my own; I needed hope, and I needed help.

I went back to therapy.

There’s a lot of truth in not being able to do something until you’re genuinely ready; though I had seen professional counselors as a child, I didn’t have a ton of autonomy over who I talked to, and I was too young to even begin to remotely process the real struggles, much of which were still going on around me back then. And sometimes we’re not genuinely ready until we hit the bottom, until we realize that we have nowhere else to go and nothing left to lose. That took about seven years, where finally at the beginning of my sophomore year of college I hit the floor, threw my hands up, and then picked up the phone. I don’t remember how long it took to get in for an appointment, but sooner rather than later I was trudging over to the University Counseling Center.

I’ve done individual and group sessions, non-religious and Christian counseling, depending on the season I was in and what I needed at the time. In the past three years, I’ve gone from learning how to adjust to the transition period of post-grad to navigating and battling against demons that I never believed I would have to face in life. And with it, I’ve grown more than I ever would have outside of it, and it’s incredibly possible that I wouldn’t be writing this today had I not reached out for another studier and well-trained hand. While inner circles and friendship are necessary, one’s personal home team isn’t typically trained to navigate the depth and complexities of their loved one’s psyche. There comes a point where everyone says, “I love you and support you one hundred percent, but I only know so much.” It’s not a matter of choosing between one and the other, but allowing them both to enrich life and compliment it.

Society says we shouldn’t need help, and that it makes us weak.

Churches say to pray more or simply have faith.

Skeptics in general accuse the entire field of only being after money and making a situation worse.

A good, professional counselor will understand that their job is to listen, to guide you without shame in order so that you may unpack the past in order to create a better future. They should accept who you are and affirm that you’re human, but also be willing to challenge your way of thinking when appropriate, and encourage you to trust the process rather than dig your heals in. God can speak to you through that person, but you have to be willing to open your heart and mind to what they’re saying. And it might take a few times to figure out if you and that person mesh well, or it might take a few people to find somebody that you click with; but when all is said and done, it really does come down to you.

That’s right: in order for therapy to work, YOU have to be willing to show up and do the work.

You have to tell the truth, but also be willing to acknowledge that your version of the truth might be just that. And you also might be wrong.

You have to take responsibility for your life, your actions, and your overall well-being. No one else can, nor should they do that for you.

You should embrace who you are fundamentally, but also allow yourself to grow and evolve.

You have to get out of your head, and get out of your own way.

And you have to want it. If you seek help purely for the sake of pleasing people or trying to be the person they think you should be, it’s not going to do any good.

This kind of transformation is often uncomfortable, even brutal. It does get lonely, because those on the outside might not understand, or they don’t want to have to face their own crap. It might become a pressure cooker here and there, a race to get to the finish line and get back to normal. But it takes as long as it takes, and it’s nobody’s business as far as why or how you go about that time.

It’s not limited to a one-on-one or group discussion; healing also involves writing, music, painting, and any kind of creativity. It’s what allows you to speak and live out your truth, to feel closer to yourself, others, and even to God. I tend to share my writing as a way of communicating with my therapist and with others, otherwise I’m probably be fumbling over my words and nothing would come out the way I intended.

And while there are a lot of resources and spaces dedicated to finding help, overcoming stigma and a willingness to start is only half of the battle. There’s dealing with cost and having the ability to afford it, as has been my battle when seeking out both psychological and physical medical care. I’ve been fortunate where most of my therapists have allowed me to pay on a sliding scale, because it typically has been out of my own pocket. From the research that I’ve done and what I can grasp, insurance companies typically don’t like to pay for mental health services because they don’t recognize depression, anxiety, and so forth as legitimate health concerns. For whatever reason, some can’t take a broken heart or a chemically imbalanced brain as seriously as they would a broken leg.

I’ve never liked the term “broken,” one that’s tossed around in Christianity, or the concept of needing to be “fixed.” We’re not robots, or the sum of our many and complex parts. We’re human beings, all with different stories and backgrounds bound by the common thread of desiring love, connection, and validation. We need to grow, learn, heal, and become who we are meant to be.

What other alternative is there?