Today.

Today I spent 20 minutes staring blankly at myself in the mirror, convincing my reflection that even if the lady at the doctors office told me my BMI is too high I'm still worth something to someone. I'm still pretty. I'm still every bit as funny and interesting and kind and a good person as I was two years ago.

Today I spent thirty minutes crying about the balance in my bank account. Because after skimping, and saving, and trying and clawing and climbing up a never ending mountain, its still not enough. And somehow that is always my fault. I don't spend all the money. But I'm blamed for all the things we can't afford.

Today I spent an hour crying because I feel unimportant again. I feel small again. I feel like a girl trapped in a room, trying to make herself smaller and smaller so that she disappears. This isn't a new feeling. This feeling creeps up on me every few months, right when my good mood is in full swing. I go from standing tall, proud of everything that I am, and suddenly I am crumbling. I fall apart.

And right now I'm falling apart. I hate being an adult. I hate being alone. I hate feeling like I'm screaming and waving my arms and no one notices me.

I AM important.
I AM strong.
I AM an adult.
I AM good enough.
I AM NOT worthless.
I LOVE MYSELF.

I think.

.

The worst thing that anyone ever called me was "anorexic". Not because there is anything inherently wrong with being a person with a serious disease, but because a girl took it upon herself to eliminate every other thing that mattered about me and judge me entirely on the way my body looked. And if you're wondering, yes. I was tiny.

My bones jutted out at odd angles, my head appeared too big for my body and I was barely there. But I wasn't anorexic. I was malnourished. I was the girl who ate scraps off of everyone else's plates because she wasn't fed enough. I was the girl who got to grandma's house on the weekend and ate too fast, then felt sick. I was the girl who tried to hide lunchroom food in her locker and take it home so she would have food for dinner. It worked until a chocolate pudding exploded in my backpack and I got in trouble.

In my life I have become judgmental and harshly critical of others. I cannot decide where this trait came from, because I was the victim of endless criticism from my peers growing up, and I promised myself I would never become the mean girl. But I did. And I wrestle with that endlessly. As much as I try to change and be understanding, there is a part of me that still sits there and picks people apart.

However, I don't know where this judgement is leading me. As soon as I say something negative about someone, whether they be a stranger or an acquaintance, my mind starts to immediately try to justify why they may be the way they are. Just as I was too thin because my mother barely fed me, the person who is chronically late for appointments may be working, or having to find care for their child, or dealing with a crisis at home. And then I sit there and beat myself up for picking on someone else for something they can't actually control. So is being judgmental a weird form of self-torture for me? Is it my brains way of reminding itself that no matter what, I'm still just that little girl on highway 7 who wonders what it would be like to eat a full meal for once?

I don't know.

For so long I have tried to leave my past self in the past. But if I want to grow as a person, isn't it important to embrace what happened to me as a child and learn from it and become stronger from it? I have never thought of being an abuse survivor as a hindrance of any sort, but I have come to realize that maybe it is. In trying to ignore every bad thing that ever happened to me, I have ignored a piece of myself and become the exact type of person who aided in causing me so much grief in my childhood.

I'm not a bad person by any means. Sometimes I'm just not a NICE person. And that sucks to come to terms with, because admitting fault is never fun. But I am here, flaws, and scars, and everything, ready to embrace a better self.

To My Coaches, Teachers, and Directors -

This weekend I watched a group of kids that I helped coach nail a routine we had been working on for two months but then had to rewrite and relearn ten minutes before performance time. They stressed with us, had a brief moment of doubt, but then went on to the mat and took third place with a routine that was nothing less than stellar. I was so happy for them overcoming what must have seemed like a major hurdle for a group of 8-10 year olds that I cried. And so did my head coach, and their parents. That pride was unlike anything else I had ever felt before. I felt so happy my heart melted and I couldn't hold back my emotions. It was too great. And I realized, that that feeling, that insane pride and emotion watching my athletes succeed, was why everything that might not have been so great about the whole experience was SO worth it.

But then, there was a secondary emotion that came through on the way home. A feeling of intense gratitude for every coach, director, or teacher who has enabled me to be successful in some way, both as a student, and as the adult I am today.

So, to all of you, I want to say thank you. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for teaching me the value of hard work and dedication to a larger goal. Thank you for understanding my perfectionism, and my adolescent mood swings, and my inability to just roll with the punches. Thank you for staying late to calm my fears and teach me choreography, over, and over, and over again. Thank you for forcing me to throw my back handspring, over, and over, and over, again, even when I was crying because it just wasn't going to happen, and then celebrating with me when it finally did. Thank you for teaching me to do my eyebrows,  how to stretch my back for a scorpion, how to not look like I'm mid-stroke when I wink, how to open my mouth right when I sing, how to breathe mid-note, and how to sing, act, dance, cheer, and run through the myriad of illnesses that I somehow contracted, whether real or imagined.

I am sorry that I never appreciated how hard you were working for me specifically, until it was too late. I'm sorry that I threw temper tantrums frequently, was never satisfied with anything less than perfection, and stormed off when I didn't get something right. I'm sorry that I fought learning how to properly do an octave jump, and hated the thought of a back walkover out of a queen's chair so much that I whined to the director until it got changed. I'm sorry that I was a diva, a brat, and sometimes just plain rude.

But what I hope all of you leaders in my life know is that in my life there are so many times when I have thought of you. There are so many times when I have looked back on advice you have all given me and used it to succeed as an adult. When I have felt like quitting, I've remembered someone telling me to "prove them wrong", another person telling me to just try again, countless people telling me that nothing is perfect the first time. And some of you are still coaching me, teaching me, and having your lessons finally hit home after all these years.

So to the countless people in my life who have held one of these roles in my life, thank you so much for everything you have ever done for me and continue to do for me in my life. Out of all the people in the universe, I was lucky to be blessed with your presence and instruction.

January Has Come Again

Well, here we are, back in January again, collectively amazed that it is 2016. Time flies. I keep seeing all of these posts about where people went and what they did in 2015, celebrating their awesomeness, or their new children, or their successes and lamenting the losses, the depressions, the sad times. While I normally start each year hopeful and ready for anything, this year I am just - complacent?

I know that I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to in 2015. I didn't go back to school, or learn a back handspring, and sadly still can't play guitar. I didn't participate in NaNoWriMo (who has the time?) and I still eat fast food. I also didn't leave the country, move out of Omak, or get glasses. But you wanna know what I did do?

I learned to drive. I bought my own DSLR camera and booked a wedding. I didn't move out of Omak, but I moved in with the boy who may or may not be the love of my life. I was in a show, worked backstage for another show, and did hair and makeup and emergency crochet work for a third show, then auditioned for a small role for a show that starts rehearsing in February. I got a cat. I learned the joy of painting. I quit my job and got a new one that makes me happy. I attempted to get three separate freelance jobs and none panned out, but I got replies to all of my inquiries that were positive in that they liked my writing but negative in that I didn't get an offer. I went to my little brothers football games, and watched my other little brothers face light up when I let him use a DSLR camera for the first time. I repaired relationships, I may have destroyed a couple of relationships, I quit caring about people who don't care about me, and I went back to embracing my face sans makeup. I started my own photography website, I opened a savings account and it has money in it. I figured out budgeting (in like, October, but still). I learned the value of my own life and the people in it. I figured out how to take a compliment, and how to stand up for myself. I broke up with two separate people and realized when your gut says "don't", you probably should listen. I went to a wedding, I met babies, I took newborn photos and held some of the sweetest babies I've ever met (even if one of them cries whenever I hold her and her mother is in the room. Apparently that's normal, though?) I laughed, I cried, a lot, 85% percent of the time because I get emotionally invested in tv shows, and I got evacuated from my house because a fire came a little too close.

I learned so much about who I am, and what I want, and I learned that I am learning. I don't have it figured out, and thats okay, because I'm 22. I have a road I want to travel down, and I may be stalled out at the crossroads or maybe stuck in a ditch going the opposite direction, but I learned that if I have faith in myself I can accomplish anything. So I've decided to retire my yearly goal list. Because there may be things I hope to accomplish every year, but I feel like lists and resolutions are sometimes limiting. So this year (okay, one goal) I will live unabashedly. I will embrace everything with an open mind and heart. I will be open to adventure, new experiences, and new ways of going through life, and I will continue to work toward the Alexis M. Olmstead I've always wanted to be, to become my own "goals". Also, I will blog more.

Here's to the passing of another year and the beginning of a new one. Thanks for sticking with me through it all.

Songs My Mother Taught Me

The other day I looked in the mirror and lamented my weight. I frowned at the way my stomach rolled when I stood up or sat down or moved or breathed, I cried because my favorite pants didn't fit anymore, and I pinched at the fat under my chin. I hated my reflection, I hated myself. I wondered when I had gotten so large. Why I suddenly took up so much space. And then I remembered being a little girl and watching my mother do the same thing.

I do not admit this often, but my mother influenced my life a lot. After all, I lived with her for 13 years. How could she not? But sometimes, I feel her essence in the way I speak, or the way I look at the world, and more importantly myself. My mother had a hard life. She still has a hard life. I hope some day her life is better. She taught me that sometimes you cannot escape your sad reality. She just lives her life, does she think her life is good? I do not know. But watching her struggle and not work and fall into an endless cycle of depression and drugs taught me one thing. I never wanted to be her. I never wanted to be like her. I would never be content with just existing in my circle of hell. I grew up competitive because I grew up needing to know I was succeeding. Succeeding in ways my mother never would.

My mother constantly changed herself for men. She because skinnier, louder, more quiet, wore more make-up, went without make-up, dyed her hair, did different drugs, ignored her kids, loved her kids, made more kids, it depended on how the guy she was with wanted her. I hated her for it. I never knew the mother I was going to get. So I stopped needing a mother. I taught my brothers not to need a mother. We taught each other how to read, how to tie shoes, ride bikes, cook simple food, do math, write thesis statements, remove lice, wash clothes without a washer or dryer and only a sink. My mother taught me to never want children because I was terrified I would never be able to provide them with love that mothers are supposed to give their children, because how was I supposed to know what that looked like?

I didn't learn to eat fruits and vegetables from my mother, or that you should brush your teeth twice a day, or even how to braid my hair. She taught me that escapism is the solution to a shitty life, parents pick favorites when it comes to children, and men are more important than family. She taught me that fat isn't okay, that to lose weight you should do drugs or diet dangerously, that school isn't important, that children don't deserve fathers, that no one cares about good grades.

We leave marks on peoples lives that we will never know about. I doubt my mother knows she taught me to hate looking out the window or to be afraid of commitment, but she did. I doubt Rose knows that she is the reason I proclaim myself a failure before anyone else can, or that I am a perfectionist to the point that if it isn't perfect, I hate putting my name on it. I cry when I can't learn dances, or songs, or new skills, because I hate feeling like I'm heading down her path. She doesn't know she did this to me, just like I don't know how I have affected someone else's life.

What are we teaching our sons and daughters and mentees? What are we leaving behind?

What songs will they sing about us?

Random Thought Spill

1. Whenever I pass an ex's house or somewhere we used to go together, I get the urge to march up there and tell them how much better I'm doing now. I want them to see that I've become better since I've cut them out of my life. Look at me, accomplishing things I could never do with you. Look at me, challenging myself, facing my fears, finding myself.

2. I always thought that by this point in my life I would be farther along into a career, teaching kids about books and proper sentence structure, while becoming an actress on the side. Now that I'm here and I'm a bank teller and not a teacher, I can say that not accomplishing your dream isn't as bad as you would think. But don't think I'm content with where I am in life. I'm going back to school. I will be a teacher. Don't worry. Never worry. Good enough isn't where I want to exist.

3. When I was younger I always sat in the window, silently waiting for my dad to come home. Now I never open the curtains. The light hurts my eyes.

4. I held my grandmothers hand when we went into the store until I was 14. I was terrified of the crowds. Now I'm 22 and I don't go to Wal-Mart without my boyfriend because the crowds are still there, but my bravery still hasn't appeared. 

5. Boys used to look at me like I was someone to help them grow as a person. Like they could one day say to a different girl "Yeah, I'm sensitive, you should have seen the girl I used to date. I used to hold her after every nightmare and flashback and I didn't even complain. Of course I can handle a few tears when your dog dies". Now I demand they look at me like I'm a force to be reckoned with. I'm more than a stepping stone. I am a destination. 

6. When I was in high school I just wanted to be popular. Now I just want people to appreciate me for who I am, and listen to my opinion. I really like being liked, though. 

7. Most of social media is a lie. I posted on Instagram today that a cupcake made my whole day better. It was a lie. I had a shit day. Most of my posts are like that. Most of your posts are probably like that. We try to have these lives that are effortless, perfect, snap-worthy. No one has a life like that. Yet here we all are, pretending, editing, filtering photos to present our lives in the best light.

8. Drinking hot coffee and/or tea while wearing a baggy sweater over some leggings is a fantastic way to spend an entire day. Or 7 days. Or forever. Why get out of bed, really? 

9. The whole "live authentically" movement is bullshit. If you're trying to do something for something's sake, you're not really doing that thing. You can't be authentic for authenticity's sake. It doesn't work that way. Don't be a poser. 

10. Being on stage alone with a single spotlight and only the orchestra to accompany you is a fantastic place to spend five minutes. Having the stage to yourself during a show is breathtaking. 

11. Sunrise, sunset. The two most beautiful realities in life. 

Dear Younger Me

If I could back in time and tell myself something, I would go back to 1995 and tell two year old me to hug my daddy tighter, to ask him to hold me more, to try to tell him how much I would need him 20 years later. I would tell Baby Alexis how someday she would be singing Over the Rainbow in rehearsal and someone would ask her what her "over the rainbow" was and she would think how it was that time, when he was there, with you, and he loved you more than anything, and you would realize you would never get your "over the rainbow" because that would be like reaching into the void and bringing someone back from whatever lies beyond this life.

I would tell 13 year old me that its not her fault her clothes are too big and smell bad, its not her fault mom uses drugs, there's nothing we can do to stop her. I would tell her not to let that boy kiss her in
the stairwell, to raise her head high when that girl calls mom a crack whore. I would tell her that soon her days will shine a little brighter, but no matter what they say she doesn't deserve any of the horrid things she has to endure. This is not karma from a past life, this is not atonement for sins, this is a horrible sequence of events that she didn't get to choose. I would beg 13 year old me to ignore everyone that called her anorexic, it is a synonym for malnourished, not beautiful, you do not need to strive to hear it everyday.

If I could go back I would tell 15 year old me that just because dad was a cross country superstar and apparently a genius doesn't mean that you have to be either of those things. I would tell myself there is life after not making football cheer freshman year, and to not let that girl do your eyebrows in the locker room between classes. I would explain that anxiety is normal and should be addressed the moment the walls start closing in and the lights go dark and you feel that roller-coaster stomach feeling, just because someone asked you to demonstrate something for the class. I would tell this wide-eyed 15 year old to cherish every friend, every joke, every embarassing moment, every carefree laugh, chance encounter with friends, and smile that experience while in Oroville, soon your whole world will be flipped upside down.

Honestly there are so many moments where I wish I could tell myself to laugh louder, hug longer, speak up more. I wish 19 year old me kept her promise to call Carissa, because 22 year old me

remembers every cancelled coffee date as a regret, a chance to say "I love you, please don't leave me" one last time. Current Alexis wishes 13 year old Alexis told mom how much high school Alexis would need her. Fourteen year old Alexis should have ran back and said goodbye to Uncle Dean before she left for school that day. 22 year old Alexis misses her dad just as much as 20 year old Alexis playing Dorothy did, and just as much as 9 year old me missed him at every ballet recital and every play through the years.

We take so many things for granted.
I took so many things for granted.