The 10th Good thing About Jillian

Jillian. The way I will remember her.

I am still in shock. Today I learned that I lost one of my best friends. I will never hear her laughter on the other side of my phone again. So many shared jokes now have only one person to laugh over them.

I met Jillian when I moved to Nebraska for that fateful winter/spring/summer that would change my life forever. Fresh out of a divorce, with an uncertain future, I had packed everything I had and moved west to research in a laser lab. She worked as a grant writer in that lab. My first impression is that she was quiet. I was not sure what to think. She told me later I did not look like physics. Instead of the mousey quiet girl she was expecting, she met outspoken woman fresh off of 3 months of weight lifting. We were slow to talk but quick to become good friends once we started. Once we become friends, we were almost inseparable during my short time in Lincoln.

That summer we spent together is one of the best summers of my life. We spent many evenings drinking pink wine on her balcony as she smoked cigarettes with the filters torn off. We spent many morning sneaking out of work together to take coffee breaks that may have lasted as much two hours. We ate tacos at the food truck almost every Thursday. We were both hurting people who had grown up to fast. For a summer, we got to be young. We both needed it. She was the first person I told about reconnecting with the love my life.

After that summer, I moved to England to get a PhD. We talked almost weekly. The following summer she flew out to Portland to come my wedding. She was the friend who stayed with me in my hotel room the night before the event. She was there when I woke up the next morning. She was there as I got ready. I went back to England, and our friendship continued through my research and the birth of my daughter. I moved to Kansas when my visa expired. I started writing a thesis. She edited my work. As the end of my program grew closer and I was spending late nights in my office writing. She would take my calls at 2am in the morning to ensure I could walk safely back to my house.

Now, the tears are clouding my vision. I could say so much more, but I am weary. So in memory of the first book I read to help me deal with death The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, here are 10 good things about Jillian.

1. Jillian loved nature. When we talked I heard about blue bird trails and different kinds of plants. As a student of the physical world, I delighted in the education she provided me in understanding the natural world.
2. Jillian was a great conversationalist. Throughout the time I knew her, we talked at least once a month and often once a week. (A few times twice in one day.) No matter the states, or oceans, or time zones or countries that separated us we found time to talk and laugh.
3. Jillian was a great editor. I am sure she would have found many flaws in this post that she would have non-judgementally correct. As a sufferer of dysgraphia, she read my papers, my PhD thesis, my important emails to find the words I had left out or misspelled. She never shamed me for my struggles.
4. Jillian had a wonderful sense of humour. She could always find ways to make me laugh in even the most trying of circumstances.
5. Jillian was the best bandmate I could ever ask for. Yes, we were in a band together. Yes it was called Chains of Humping Snails. No, we never played a show. If we had, it would have featured, the triangle, the open chord of the guitar and science power points. Also lots of silly banter and inside jokes. We would have been a hit. You are all jealous that you never got to see us live.
6. Jillian was kind and knew how to show me she cared. She sent me jeans for my birthday. She sent my daughter a knitted fox. She made me a scarf from the yarn I bought for a project I would never finish. She saved clothing for me from her wardrobe that she knew I would love.
7. Jillian taught me how to make borscht. I know I basically lived on this sour cold soup the summer I spent riding bikes.
8. Jillian believed in me when I could not believe in myself. Even as she was suffering, she still encouraged me.
9. Jillian had a great sense of fashion and wealth of wisdom on skin care. The summer we spent together, we wore each others clothes. When one of us found we could not cope with the trials of life the other would distract by discussing skin care in greater detail than was likely healthy.
10. Jillian was my best friend. I will hold her memories close to my heart. I loved her and she loved me. Friendship is sweetest gift between two people on this side of infinity.

Reblog: It's Time to Have Controversial, Intellectual Conversations in Christian Classrooms

One of my dear friends who also happens to be a brilliant theologian recently shared the following article. In this piece the author describes the theological weakness they have encountered among the Christians with their social group. It opens with a story of a coffee shop barista, who is a professing Christian and attends a Christian university, being approached by an atheist customer who proceeds to ask several questions about how a university can possible incorporate Christianity into classes such as scientist. The barista is quickly overwhelmed and flounders. The author suggests this indicates that she was to as studied in her belief as was her questioner. Based on the details given of this third hand account I am inclined to agree.

You can read the rest of this post on my other blog:

http://stumblingaftermysavior.blogspot.com/2018/03/its-time-to-have-controversial.html

Short Story: Rapunzel - Prologue

The mothers arms clung to her small child. The little girl, not quite two, within her arms stroked her mother face and felt the tears the were wetting the cheeks. Her mother always seems sad. The songs that she sang were melancholy. Even her smile was tinged with sorrow. The child breathed her mothers scent in deeply, feeling secure and loved. The child's father was cold and distant, but her mother could never seem to get enough of holding her.

There was a sharp rap at the door and a woman with glistening white hair held rigidly in place with a hair stick entered the house. The child's mother clung to her more tightly. Her father entered and remained silent. The adults spoke to each other in strained voices. The child did not understand what was being said but sensed that something was amiss.

Her father pulled her from her mother and placed her with this new woman. The woman collected the child, turned heel an immediately left the house. The little girl heard her mother's screams and began to cry. This new woman took no notice, and faster than a human could move they were out of earshot of the only home the child had ever known. They seemed to travel through miles of woods. The child cried herself to sleep. When she awoke she found herself in a small circular room with walls comprised of cold stones. In the years that followed, Rapunzel never forgot her mother and cherished those early memories always.

Reflection: This year I resolve to write more

The morning of New Years Eve 2017, I checked my Facebook and saw the following status from a year ago

"I think I am supposed to reflect on the past year today. What can I say, for me this is has been a cold, harsh year of realities, emptiness, and personal failure. I have my health, my family, some wonderful friends, and shelter and for that I am grateful. I have learned to embrace the lessons in Ecclesiastes. I think that is enough to reflect on."


Last year I began the new year bleak and despondent. This year I feel even more hopeless. Life just has turned out well. My plans have crumbled to dust. Dreams are shattered at my feet. The path I was once following has been obscured by the blowing sands of the desert of life leaving me utterly lost. Each day is a chore and the evenings are filled with sadness. Platitudes have left me weary and nearly inconsolable.

So I have decided to resolve to do something. This year my resolution to write more. Perhaps along the way, maybe I'll eventually write something good. Doing so will not change my circumstances, but  it will provide an outlet to explore meaning. I used to be creative and I need to create again. Even if what I produce is the writing equivalent of a stick figure with a head and no body.

My resolution is try to produce at least 4 post a week. I expect many posts will be less than stellar but as I write more, I might get better. I will not be writing exclusively "blog" style posts. I want to explore writing short stories and poetry as well. So here are the types of posts I will be writing. The labels will be in the title.

Reflection: A standard personal blog post.
Health: A post on fitness or mental health, also written in a blog style
Short Story: Self explanatory
Poetry: Self explanatory
Response: Responding to another post or article
Prompt: A day I feel uninspired and need a journal prompt.
Spiritual: I will not write these here but these can be found at my other blog. I will include links.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. So here one step towards that discipline.

31 things I did, experienced or learned at 31

It has been three years since I last used the day before my birthday to reflect on the previous years. Those years have been challenging and sometimes heart breaking times. As I move forward I am trying to find solace in reflection. So here goes.

1. I saw Niagara Fall and it was worth it.
2. I wrote a dissertation, which is the single most miserable experience I have ever had.
3. I spent 3 days in the front cab of U-haul with my husband and daughter. These are the times that build family memories.
4. I wrote a physics curriculum from scratch for 4 different courses.
5. I got back on my bike. I am slower and I tire more easily, but it feels good to ride.
6. I took a stab at mountain biking and I have a lot of work to do if I want to go more regularly.
7. I started taking a boot camp class.
8. I submitted a non-physics paper for publication written with an incredibly talented co-author.
9. I accepted a post doc at Penn State.
10. I moved away from Kansas.
11. As a result of 10, I will always be grateful for anywhere I live because it is not Kansas.
12. My husband and I drove through a tornado.
13. I defended and the dissertation I wrote and felt weird afterwards.
14. I have come to have a deeper appreciation for the power of strong friendships and am grateful for the women who have stood by through move after move and for whom distance is no barrier for our relationship.
15. I gave talks at IUSB, Stamford, Berkeley and Yale.
16. I bought a pair of (used but still beautiful) Manolo Blahnik's, so I can cross that shallow goal off the list.
17. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge.
18. I saw the St. Louis Arch
19. I went to Lincoln, NE and saw some wonderful friends and rode my old bike paths.
20. I took Esther to visit her first national lab. (Fermilab)
21. I listened to Esther as she sang the songs she makes up.
22. I made a British Trifle
23. I watched some dreams die.
24. I acquired a single speed and then moved to a place with lots of hills.
25. I saw a quantum computing lab in Canada.
26. I joined LZ.
27. I had my hair dyed blonde and I love it.
28. I voted in an historical election.
29. I saw golden waves of grain, and it really is beautiful.
30. I am regularly reminded of how wonderful my husband Piper is to me.
31. I still do not have anything figured out.

So here I am. A little more travel weary as I emerge from the exhaustion of the past three years. I not quite sure where I am going but I am trying to move forward.

PTSD, The Diagnoses I Never Expected

This is my second post on mental health in less than a month. One of my goals this summer has been to recover mentally from past year and half of grueling intensity, self-doubt, and sacrifice. I was prepared to face these anxieties. I was not expecting what happened. I may be many things, but most people, myself included would generally describe my mental strength as being one of my distinctive qualities. The experience I am about to share left my self-perception shaken.

I learned some information and this information triggered a memory that I do not often bring to the forefront of my mind. An event that I had not processed. Moments of incredible cruelty I had unintentionally repressed. In the retrospect of the present I can see that the pictures tell the story I did not want to hear and am being forced to confront now. After this happened there is a period of time for which there are relatively few pictures taken of me where I am looking directly at the camera.

I was not able to find any pictures where I was looking at the camera.

Once brought forward, I was blindsided. Violent nightmares came. Horrendous flashbacks, followed by being completely zoned out and out of touch with reality. I felt confused and disoriented. Why was I struggling with something that had happened long ago? Why was I first making these connections now? Had I not healed already? My life was so different from the time of the events and the years that followed.

Taken years ago and around the time I first knew everything was going to be okay.

 Thankfully, I was already working with someone, who identified my experience and gave it a name. It was PTSD from a series of traumatic events. Event though I had recovered from many of the other negative experiences in my life, this one I had previously incorrectly identified and it had laid dormant and repressed. The reactions I was having were classic and sadly normal for someone recovering a deep pain. These words I never thought I would hear.

 I struggled with feeling mentally weak. I could not will the flashbacks away. I struggled to pull myself to be back in touch with reality. I was embarssed to be dealing with something so far back in my past. I was unable to make progress on my professional goals. Instead, I was mired in a battle with my mind and the memories in contained.

One of my favorite pictures my husband has taken of me. It's a little old now and I am presently working on getting back to that condition. I wish I felt this powerful all the time.

Finally, I conceded. I started to talk about what had happened to those who were close to me. My family was wonderful, loving, and supportive. I eschewed work in favor of taking walks and letting myself heal. I read books I enjoyed. I studied what recovery looks like. Eventually, I came back to reality and my focus returned. The nightmares faded and the flashbacks receded. It took two weeks.

I know that this may happen again, but next time it will not surprise me. I will be ready. If I am fortunate, this may be the only time.

I contemplated writing this piece as it is very personal. I decided to come forward for a few reasons. One, by talking about this, it loses its claim over me. I also lose the feelings of shame and weakness when I am honest about my struggles. Two, I want to shed light on another issue which is not often talked about. Three, this is part of my previous post in that I want to continue the discussion of how one manages a stressful career while balancing mental health. I do not believe that this experience that I have shared is a good example of what to do, only what I did to survive it.

On a further note, I am not ready to come publically forward with what happened. I am working on co-authoring a piece that will explain my experience in more detail as well as what can be done to prevent other stories like mine.

On the Bike Again

In the summer of 2014, I finally rode 1000 miles on my bike in a month. In late summer, I completed an ultra duathlon. In the fall, I added swimming to my weekly routine of cycling, running, and soccer. Then in November, everything changed. I was expecting my daughter. 

I had read about triathletes that trained through their pregnancy. I read the stories about women who ran till the ninth month. I read about how to ride a bike with a larger stomach. I was going to do this and continue my doctoral experiment. I was going to show that women can do it all. Then I didn't.

My blood pressure dropped early and I felt like the world was spinning. I had trouble concentrating. I did not feel safe on the narrow British roads that I cycled daily. Swim practice was at 9 pm and the only way to get there was by bike. Every evening, I was exhausted after a day of trying to concentrate on my studies. I tried to run and my body was so tired that I contracted infection after infection. Then the doctor told me to stop. I could only manage to do my studies and to carry my child. Even then, I did perceive that I did that very well either.

I withdrew with a sense of profound failure. Every question about why I could not continue biking hurt. I heard the stories again about all the women who were able to continue their normal life while pregnant. I wish I could have been one of them, but I wasn't.

Then my daughter arrived and she is wonderful. Then my dissertation deadline came around me like a stranglehold. Then the days of working, followed by writing. The lonely isolation of busyness. The madness of a graduate school. Still, I did not ride. Still, I did not run. My clothes grew tighter. It was all I could do to keep my head above water and the pressure of life threaten to drown my very essence. Finally, I finished and survived a somewhat brutal defense. It was a sloppy finish, but I dragged my bloated corpse of a body across the line. Then came my first gasps of air.

I rested. I started to lift weights. I ran when the weather allowed, slowed by my larger mass. Then the other day, I rode.

Cycling, which had brought me healing in the past came back. I pulled on the jersey which had once hung loosely around my frame, now clung to every curve. I put my old shorts, surprised that I was able to get them up to my waist. I brought out my freshly cleaned bike. I rode with a cycling friend for an hour. 

Once again, I heard the spinning wheels and felt the hot sun on my back. I breathed in the country air. I absorbed the peace that can be found while cycling. I came back with a light euphoria and renewed enthusiasm for living. I made plans for training through the fall. I started thinking of races in which to compete. I will take time before I obtain where I was, but I am now two rides closer.