(dance... devil)

​I have a confession to make.

Suicide Squad hits theaters this weekend and I will not be among the hundreds of movie-goers sweltering in lines for their first peek at the latest DC franchise.

it's very simple. the main reason I will not be supporting the movie with my money is the main reason most people I've talked to are looking forward to the movie...otherwise known as Harley Quinn and the Joker.

Why, you ask?

Well see, I kind of have this thing where I'd rather not give my money to perpetuate stories about abusive psychopaths preying on the women who love them.

Now, before you jump on my case, vehemently protesting that 'it's just fiction! everyone recognizes that, and no one actually thinks their relationship is goals!', do us both a favor and look up 'Joker and Harley memes'.

Still don't believe me? here. take a look at some of the results.

um...excuse me...perhaps i didn't catch that....the JOKER and HARLEY as relationship goals? the only way those two ought to go together in a sentence is as relationship goals of what to be avoided at all costs. 

.....I don't care who you are, if the man you love backhands you across the face, then he doesn't love you. This isn't romance. This is abuse. 

..okay, this actually makes me sick....I could go on citing examples... but at this point it would just nauseate me further, and I think you get my drift. At least, I hope so. 

And my goal here is not to condemn anyone who watches Suicide Squad. But the difficulty with portraying relationships like Harley and the Joker's as a love story, is that it teaches young people that dysfunctional abusive relationships are love.

See, somehow we are being taught as a society, through media and books, that "screw Romeo and Juliet...the true love stories are the Joker and Harley...Christine and the Phantom....Gideon and Ana....Bella and Edward", which simultaneously breaks my heart and terrifies me. 

Have we become blind to the point of failing to recognize abuse when it's staring us right in the face? Or, even worse, justifying it under the banner of love? 

After all, Harley's famous quote?: 'He's a little rough sometimes, but he loves me...really!'.....How can we not see the enormous damage that this phrase, with its justification of abuse, does to women in abusive relationships? I can't count the number of times I've heard abuse rationalized with that phrase, or some variation of it.. I can't count the number of times I've rationalized abuse with that phrase, or some variation of it.

'he really isn't all that bad' / 'he loves me, he just has anger issues'.

'that's just the way he is..he's been hurt in the past, so it isn't really his fault he's the way he is. it's the fault of those who have hurt him'.

But no. love and dysfunction aren't equivalent. If you truly love someone, you will want what is best for them. You will want what is good and right and true and healthy to be in their lives. You do not manipulate the ones you love. You do not abuse them. And you never ever ever hit the woman you claim you love.

Love is not abuse. Love is not controlling and manipulative and distrustful. Love is not destructive. Love will not beat you and leave you in a corner. Love is not perverted. Love is not a backhand across the face while he's drunk or death threats in a fit of rage. 

True love is patient. True love is kind. True love does not envy or boast. It isn't arrogant or or rude or willful. True love isn't resentful. It doesn't fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. True love is hopeful, faithful, enduring, steady. True love builds up. It restores what is broken and heals the wounds of the heart. It does not create further scars.

True love is not abuse. True love is never abuse. It is not psychopathic devilry disguised as intense and damaged and a bit overbearing. And while it looks alluring in movies - painted as romantic, passionate, and exciting - every time you say that you want what the Joker and Harley have, this is what you're really saying you want:

You're saying you want blood and bruises and cuts and scars. You're saying you want to be backhanded across the face for any minor infractions. You're saying you want to be tied up and beaten, chained and left hanging in the basement for hours on end. You're saying you want to walk on eggshells all the time, to be terrified to cross him or make him mad. You're saying you want physical, mental, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse. You're saying you want slavery. You're saying you want pain and humiliation....you're saying you want death.

And trust me. you do not want a relationship like they have.

Because in real life, women like Harley and Ana and Bella and Christine don't end up Happily Ever After. The end of abuse is not romance or marriage or love or happiness or health. The end of those relationships is a woman lying dead in a puddle of blood on the floor because her lover got out of hand one too many times, and she fell final victim to his cruelty. That is the dark side of our obsession with the romanticization of abusive relationships. That is what we are asking for when we romanticize relationships like Harley & the Joker or Ana & Christian or Bella & Edward.

Now obviously I shan't shun you for going to see Suicide Squad, but just remember, when your beloved daughter comes home from college with a controlling boyfriend and new bruises only to refuse to listen to your concern because 'I really love him!', or you have to watch as your daughter-in-law slowly fades away before your very eyes and you are too afraid of your son to venture recriminations, it's because we as a society teach them no better. It is because we support media which romanticizes abusive relationships, depicting them in glowing exciting terms.

And it's time to to stop. It's time to call a halt, to take a stand, to say no. 

A dance with the devil, no matter how charming initially, is living hell, ultimately resulting in a death sentence. It is not life you teach every time you hold this up as an ideal - every time you show the movie industry that romanticizing abuse makes good money. It is not life. And it is never, ever, ever love. 

A dance with the devil is death. And I opt out. 

An Open Letter to the Guy Who Slapped My Butt and Told His Friend He Would F**** Me

Dear boys, 

I am not your toy. 
I am not your plaything, your pawn, your pretty little painted doll to push around. 

I am not sub-human. 
I am not un-human. 
I have feelings and thoughts and emotions and fears surprisingly similar to your own. 

I am not blind. I saw the once-over you gave me, lecherous eyes scanning every curve. 
I am not deaf. I heard the "mmm that's nice", mentioned in an aside to the other guy with you, as though I wasn't even there. 
I am not made of stone. I felt your grasping greedy hand reach over to grab what wasn't yours to touch. 

I have been catcalled many times, touched in passing, groped and abused, but never - never - never - have I felt dehumanized to the extent that you made me feel today when you behaved as though I wasn't even there. When you acted and spoke as though I was a pixelated woman in a porn reel; unable to hear your commentary, unable to see your glances, or to feel your touch. 

You will probably never know that as i walked away from you, head held high, my finger sharp nails dug into the soft palm of my hand until they drew blood, to avoid throwing my steaming chai latte at your face. I bitterly regretted forgetting my pepper spray. 
You will never witness the panic attack I had, ten minutes later, finally off the streets and back inside the building where I worked. There, unable to dismiss the feel of your hand and the look in your eyes from my mind, I finally broke down in solitude - yet couldn't shake the fear that I still wasn't safe. 

I couldn't shake the feeling of being nothing more than the sum of my physical parts, the sway of my hips, the shape of my breasts. I couldn't shake the haunting lingering knowledge that a person looked at me and didn't see a person. They looked at me and saw a walking sex object, a less than human, lower than even an animal. They saw an opportunity to slake their lust, a body with nothing that feels; a shell, no soul a-tremble. 

And I? I am so much more than a mannequin. I am made of stronger stuff than a store-bought sex toy. I am a fierce heart and a soul forged from steel to survive; and just like you, I am human.

I am alive. 

I exist. 

I think and feel and love and bleed and cry and laugh and there are those I would die for and those who would die for me. And should you dare try to dehumanize me, I will stand up and I will shout loud enough for the whole world to hear that I am here and I am alive and I will not be made any less than I am by someone such as you 

And, in truth, I half pity you. I pity you a culture which has taught you that women are nothing more than objects to be used and discarded at your pleasure. I pity you eyes which view a woman with less respect than you would grant an animal, and a strength wasted in worthless sensuality. I pity you a life lacking in the shared love and mutual respect between equals as man and wife. 

But...while I pity you, while I decry and disdain your attitude and actions towards me, I also challenge you. I challenge you to defy them. I challenge you to look me in the eye and see me. I challenge you to remember, when you look at me, that I am so much more than an inanimate object for your wandering eyes to rove. 

I am ambitions and I am dreams. I am hopes and I am plans. I am late night laughter and early morning sunrise sneaking over the mountains in the distance. I am the books that have changed me forever and the songs that move me to tears. I am summer night blazing bonfires and winter hot cocoa curled up in my father's oversize armchair. I am awed wonder at the tender touch of a newborn's silken skin and I am sitting silent soaking in ancient wisdom. 

I am war and I am peace and I will fight to the death for what I believe in. I am opinions on everything from high heels to heartbreak and I am nothing if not human. 

I am every inch a woman, every inch human. 

And I dare you to treat me as such.

{on Freedom and the Fourth}

{for freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm, therefore, and
do not submit again to a yoke of slavery}

does anyone else have moments of fervently wishing that they could go back in time and tell their younger self things that they now know to be true? 

because i do

see, this day in 1775, a document was formally adopted, signaling the end of America's allegiance to England, almost a year into what would later be known as America's "War for Independence"

but in that moment, the signers didn't know the extent of the struggle which would soon ensue. they didn't realize the sacrifices which would have to be made, the hopeless nights far from victory, the battles lost and battles hard-fought won. 

all they knew, in that moment, was that we are endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, and among these rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; and as soon as a government becomes detrimental to those aims, it is no longer one which promotes freedom, and thereby categorizes itself as unqualified, and it is our duty to protect and preserve and fight for freedom. 

therefore they were willing to pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor in pursuit of freedom, not knowing whether they would live through the upcoming war, but believing that it was worth it. 

freedom was worth any sacrifice, countless danger, endless fear, wars won and wars lost, fortunes wagered, lives lived in turmoil until peace was wrought at last.

it would always be worth it. 

fast forward 239 years to a young girl standing in the lobby of a Virginia college, leaving summer camp, looking up into luminous blue eyes regarding her with infinite compassion, as he continues to maintain that she is still 'unhealthily thin' because remaining trapped in a mindset of 'must not eat' is not freedom;

and she turns away with tears streaming down her cheeks, unwilling to believe him when he says that health is incomparably more attractive than a gap between her thighs; that recovery is hard but it is possible.

 it is worth it. 

because that same girl, a year later, joins her family for their annual Wimbledon marathon, a smile on her face, bowl of popcorn in her open hand. 

that same girl has lived through the same thirty pounds lost and gained, a back and forth battle between the light and darkness, dancing on the edge of giving up, and only grown stronger.

that same girl enters the house yesterday to her mother commenting that 'you look...happy', and hugging her mom with the reassurance that 'it's because i am'

that girl....is me. 

and if i could go back in time, to the girl that i was only a short year ago, there is so much i have learned that i wish i could tell her. 

i wish i could tell her that freedom feels so much better than bondage in the long run, even though it's so hard now, even though it will be the hardest fight of your life to try to be free... it's worth it. 

.....above all, i wish i could tell her that it's worth it. 

it's worth it for days like yesterday. days of love and laughter and conversation, catching up over bubble tea and frozen yogurt and Chinese food and Starbucks. 

it's worth it for the week i spent with Matthew and Amy without our lives revolving around what i could and could not would not eat. 

it's worth it for the week spent at camp without Brandt babysitting me to make sure i consumed enough calories to avoid passing out on the field trip, in stark contrast to last year, and thereby taking one more responsibility off his already-overloaded plate.

it's worth it for first tastes of venison at the Edmonstons and partaking of normal portioned meals without worrying whether or not it would make me fat. 

it's worth it for foregoing the isolation of spinach salads in favor of a burger and lunch with Leah, learning to make new friends, to take advantage of the time we have together

it's worth it for fresh fruit and yogurt after early morning runs, the feeling of strength infused through arms and legs stretched to endurance peak

it's worth it for lunch at the cafeteria of the state Capitol with co-workers and senators' chief of staff without packing 'safe' foods, sharing in companionship and camaraderie, fully partaking in conversation and merriment.

it's worth it for watermelon with little siblings since it's so hot outside; teaching myself to make bread from scratch; first successful pie and pie filling; molasses cookies at friends' requests

it's worth it for late night laughs and snacks, Oreos and Twizzlers, as i come to better know the girls i am spending camp week with; as opposed to last year's cornered isolation staying a safe distance away from foods too 'fattening' to be indulged in at such a late hour

it's worth it for ordering from Starbucks for the first time without counting calories to choose the lowest option 

it's worth it for Saturday morning brunch beside Dad, devouring french toast, made with fresh homemade bread, slathered in maple syrup.

it's worth it for spring nights with my brother, climbing out on the roof just before dusk, a bag of Swedish fish between us, and giggling at the way he always bites the head off first. 

it's worth it for finally feeling warm again, pirouetting in the kitchen on legs strong enough to stand, horseback rides and hope.

it's worth it for running up the stairs, and tears of joy that day, remembering times when i was too weak to walk up those same stairs without passing out. 

it's worth it because the best is yet to come, and i still believe that, despite all claims to the contrary. 

because after all that we've been through, and after all we've left in pieces, i still believe our lives have just begun; cause now the past can be outrun, and i still believe the best is yet to come 

the best is yet to come

there are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind, and i am finally tasting the sweetness of this freedom, and i swear that it has been worth it. 

it has all been worth it.

it was worth it all along. 

{when oceans rise}

wednesday we went to the ocean. Leah, Amy, Anna, Emily, and I. 

endless sea met endless sky as the laughter of friends, old and new, floated across the waves. 

we stood in the shallows, close enough to shore to touch the ocean floor, and when the swells came, if the wave did not break, you would jump and the momentum carried you over without taking you under. 

but while the momentum carried you over, it also moved you backwards, closer to shore.

and at one moment during our time there, i caught up with Amy in time to hear her cheerfully challenge the two standing by her to a game of 'stand straight and don't move your feet when the waves come!'

i flung back, laughing, unthinking, 'that's impossible! you'd need an anchor!' 

she swung around and smiled at me. 'mhmm. it's hard because it sucks you in and pulls you back'

so for the next few minutes we tried, unsuccessfully, to stand our ground despite the buffet of the ocean, eventually giving up and giving in to the push and pull of the water which surrounded us.

and as i mused on the unpredictability of the ocean, and how hard it was not to move when the swells were so strong, i was suddenly reminded of a line from a song. 

'we have this hope as an anchor for our souls. our God will stand unshakeable'. 

my eyes widened as realization struck. 

see, it is impossible to stand up straight, without moving, in the middle of the waves. but. we have this hope as an anchor for our souls, that God will stand unshakeable. 

we, in ourselves, cannot help but move when life's waves buffet us. when trouble and fear and failure and pain and sorrow roll like billows over the place where we endeavor to stand. 

it is hard enough to stand straight, even when there are no waves! 

but add the waves, and it is impossible.

you would need an anchor. something to grab hold of, something which cannot move and will not shift when the waves swing your way. 

but what is our anchor? 

Hebrews 6 and i have the answer. 

'it is impossible for God to lie...we have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain'. 

God will not...God cannot lie. God cannot change. He is steadfast, He will never waver. He is faithful. He is our refuge, He is unshakeable. 

that is our hope. that is what anchors us when the waves come crashing down. 

because our God is unshakeable, we need not be greatly shaken. 

so when the waves come 'to attack a man, to batter him like a leaning wall, a tottering fence', we have an unshakeable stronghold which will always stand.

and if we remember, and run to Him, we will not be shaken. 

Because He is not shaken, we do not need to be shaken.

we can plant our feet; firmly anchored in the hope we have in Him - the hope that He is strong, that He will hold us - and because of that hope, we will not be shaken when the wind and waves rise against us. 

when oceans rise, we have this hope as an anchor for our soul: our God will stand unshakeable.

and because of that? He alone is my rock and my fortress.

so i will not be shaken. 

{Bravery and Omaha Beach}

"...years ago in the thin light of grey dawn, more than 1,000 small craft took to a rough sea on a day that will be forever a day of bravery. On that June morning the young of our nations stepped out on those beaches below and into history. As long as freedom lives, their deeds will never die"

- former British Prime Minister Gordon Brown

because today is the 6th of June, 72 years to the day since the Allied invasion on the beaches of Normandy, the beginning of the end of the war which had ravaged Europe almost beyond recognition.

the day men charged for the cliffs while caught in the carnage of unspeakable slaughter, and with their sacrifice won freedom for those of us to follow.

because bravery doesn't mean the absence of fear.

bravery doesn't mean that you feel fearless.

bravery means throwing your all into the fight, despite the urge to run and hide. bravery means running as fast as you can into the fray while your comrades drop round you, and not turning traitor in the opposite direction.

and the end result of the brave...perhaps not the immediate result, but the end result.. is freedom. freedom that thousands of them never lived to see, having given their all to purchase ours.

see, Normandy was when the free world fought back. Normandy was when the war turned, the tipping scales favored the right. 

it wasn't the end - not yet. there was still another year of fighting. but it was the beginning. it was when men stood up and said 'no more', willing to prove with their deaths that evil would not have the final word, and ruin would not reign supreme. 

so may we live worthy of that sacrifice.

may we be brave and strong and may we walk free, and may the memory of their courage call us to dare to never give up, no matter the odds, no matter how hard the fight, no matter what part of us dies in the struggle. 

because freedom is worth it. freedom is always worth it. 

they believed that. 

do we? 

{...that you may obtain}

it was beautiful this morning - the perfect temperature with a touch of sunlight breaking through the clouds - which i gladly welcomed after yesterday's damp drizzly chill. 

and after a hastily scribbled note, 'gone running. be back later. (hopefully 7-ish)', i was out the door by 6 am, only to spend the next hour basking in its resplendent beauty. the glory of the morning soothed and revived me after yesterday's terrible horrible no-good very bad day. 

but as i rounded a corner to turn onto another street, i was accosted by a neighbor. 

and the first words out of her mouth are a question. 

'Are you training for something or just running?'

now, this is not quite so strange to begin a conversation with, when you consider that she is one of the rare neighbors whom we actually have a relationship with, but the question itself stopped me cold. 

she went on to compliment me on my 'excellent form', a common compliment i have begun to receive, which never ceases to amuse me since i have always been the most un-athletic person in my entire family. 

but after chatting with her for a few moments....and answering her question with an ambiguous shrug, since my pipe dream of completing a half-marathon is still just that.. a pipe dream... i continue on my way, running, the wheels in my head spinning. 

her question is one of those rare, universally applicable ones.  

'Are you training for something, or just running?'

are you working towards a goal or just aimlessly wandering in a holding pattern? is there a destination you aim towards? something you are trying to reach? 

this doesn't just apply to running... this doesn't just apply to material accomplishments in life... my mind leapt immediately to the spiritual application of this question 

are you training for something or just running? 

are you hit-or-miss kind? are you only partly patient?

and granted we are human, and we are not perfect, and we will have bad days and make mistakes (take it from a girl coming off of one of the worst days in the history of ever...) but do we have a goal?

Is there an end against which all our decisions and choices here on this earth are weighed? 

is there a reason to be patient? to be kind? to train ourselves to look past the surface and reach out to the lost? do we work past our awkwardness in witnessing? do we love, do we give, without thought of reward? do we pray to be made more like Jesus consistently, day in day out, come rain or shine or hell or high water? are we committed? are we training? is there a goal?

or are we just...running. half-hearted lackadaisical running. only when the weather is perfect and the sun is shining and birds singing? without commitment. without discipline. without training. only nice when it is convenient, only giving when it costs us nothing, only seeing what we want to see in the people we want to see it in? 

because i know what i am training for. i know what my goal is. i know what the ultimate achievement is which i seek, and it is to reach heaven and hear my Father say, 'well done, good and faithful servant. well done. enter in', as opposed to, 'you were running well...who hindered you? depart from me!' 

we are not called to a Christian life of aimlessness.

Paul says it best. 

'Do you not know that in a race, all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? so run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable crown, but we an imperishable. So i do not run aimlessly. I do not box as one beating the air. But i discipline my body...' (1 Cor. 9:24-27)

we are all running this life-race. we are all on foot, fighting the odds, jostling for place; some falling behind while others forge forward. 

not all finish....but we all run. 

the question therefore remains:

'Are you training for something, or just running?'

what is your goal? what is the prize? on what have you fixed your eyes? 

or are you just running? aimlessly? 

i don't know about you, but lately the cry of my heart has been to be faithful to finish the race. to run on till the end, to reach heaven and be welcomed in. to be able to say i have finished the race and i have fought the fight and therefore there is a crown which awaits me. to train towards that end in very practical ways here on earth, but i do not want to be 'just running'. 

i have an end in sight, i know my goal. and although sometimes it is difficult to fix my eyes and keep them fixed... i know what i am training for. 

do you? 

do we? 

do we make discipline our habit? do we train to forgive, to fight, to never give up? do we teach our souls to run to Christ when overwhelmed? do we habitually strive to be kind, to be patient, to be loving, to be joyful, to be faithful, to be honest, to be upright? 

because if we do not have heaven in our sights, if we are not training for eternity, then it is so easy to lose heart. we have been given a standard to set our choices up against, and then to determine whether the decisions we make on this earth will draw us closer or take us further from our ultimate aim. 

so what are we living for? 

even more importantly, are we living for something? 

do we have a goal? is there a prize on which we are willing to wager our all? 

will we risk rejection and misunderstanding and mockery and the scorn of others who will cry, 'crazy!', cry 'obsessed!'? 

and so, dear reader, 

i must ask. 

'are you training for something?

.....or just running'

{rest}

who knew that rest requires discipline?

i don't know about you, but when i think discipline, i think more. not less. i think pushing myself harder and faster and longer.

i do not think relaxation. i never think rest.

a very wise friend once told me that i do not rest. i do not allow myself to rest, whether that rest is letting my soul rest in God....or just physically resting in general.

and at the time i laughed, but i am growing to see the truth in that rebuke.

my body is exhausted Friday morning, sore and nursing a pounding headache. i still run, because running is prayer time, peace time, alone time and i need that.

however, there is no need to run five miles, a relatively new milestone achievement. the first mile is always hell - pure torment. and i loathe running laps. but by the time i was through two miles, God and i determined that it was not laziness to *only* run 5k this morning.

and He whispers that to rest requires just as much, if not more, discipline than running five miles.

thing is, i could spend forever justifying rest, and still not be satisfied. i could spend all day trying to convince myself that i did the right thing. but what good is it if i preach to others on the practical necessity of rest, and yet... in my book, there is no such thing as a rest day.

i am constantly engaged in a war with myself to do more, be more, strive more, push harder... and in some ways that has saved my life. in other ways, it drives me to the point of breaking time after time after time.. i start out enthusiastic, push myself far too hard, break, mend, and then repeat the cycle all over again.

running every morning. rising at 5am to workout before i run. it has been a constant for at least the last three weeks, probably more.

just yesterday i reminded my mother, reminded my boss, that to rest is not wrong; and to push yourself too hard means burnout, means failure, seals surrender. i would rather run slow and steady and long than to sprint short and sweet only to peter out within sight of the finish line.

so i shut down my mind, and run. run for freedom and hope and faith....and run to rest.

see, we live in a world so consumed with activity. everyone is constantly moving, in motion, doing something going somewhere, that we forget to just...be. we forget the necessity of rest.

we spend our lives living at breakneck pace. (where is the peace in all that? where is the allowance for the fact that our bodies are not machines which can run indefinitely... and if you know anything about technology, you'll know that even machines get overwhelmed)

the kids' track Coach says that you do not get stronger while running. you get stronger while resting. when your body is given the chance to recover, recuperate, restore and repair torn muscles and ligaments.

but that takes discipline.

it takes discipline to ignore the voices which call me lazy, call me weak, scream that if i just had enough willpower - if i had enough strength - i would be working instead.

and for this overachiever, it is more difficult to accept that i cannot constantly push myself to breaking point on no food, no sleep, no rest.... i have spent years living like that, and it is easier to exhaust myself than allow myself to do what i have always seen as lazy, unproductive, counterproductive, useless...rest is a foreign, unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

'who needs sleep?' has been my mantra for literal years, and it is a learning curve to let myself rest, to go to bed at a decent hour, to train myself to take rest days.

and yes, there are times and will be times when you have no choice than to push through the unendurable exhaustion, but in the main?

it is harder for me to rest than to run.

which again goes back to that incurable stubbornness ingrained in who i am.. ask my family, ask my friends. they have stories.

rest, to me, equals weakness and lack of willpower, and i am not weak, will not be weak, refuse to be human.

but the verse of the day stops me in my tracks, renders me speechless.

'Take heed to yourself..everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown. Therefore, i run thus: not with uncertainty...i discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest when i have preached to others, i myself should become disqualified....meditate on these things, give yourself entirely to them, that your progress may be evident to all'

it is the same words which He gave me in the morning, that rest is not wrong, rest requires discipline, practice what you preach.

'my soul finds rest in God'.. my body runs a little more than three miles and then rests.

i am learning to take my own advice.

i am learning discipline in what is easily the hardest area for me:

i am learning to rest.