Confession #19: I've always wondered, what would happen if...

I have to say I love the "On this day" feature on Facebook. It's fun to see what I was doing or what was on my mind last year or six years ago. Some days I'm surprised by how much I've grown in my faith. Other days I long for the days where I heard so clearly from the Lord. Sometimes I see God's grace and His hand over my life and other times I just laugh at the silliness of my friends and myself. It can also be a not so fun feature, like when I see how much thinner I was five years ago or when I see reference of a friend that no longer is. But no matter what memories or feelings the trip down Facebook memory lane, it serves as a virtual scrapbook and let's be honest, ain't nobody got time to scrapbook (well, at least I don't).

One year ago today I posted a series of questions. Questions that were birthed out of a place of anger and frustration, a place of disappointment in how we treat each other as women. It was birthed out of love. These questions weren't hypothetical but more like a challenge for us to step up as women. We are failing each other and I believe these questions are still worth asking. We need to explore all these "What would happen if" scenarios. So as you read my Facebook post from a year ago I invite you to ask yourself "What if?" but more importantly ask yourself "What now?"

What would happen?

What would happen if women came together and supported each other? If they would encourage and uplift each other? If they would celebrate each others gifts and celebrated each other talents? What if they didn't feel threatened by each others successes and mentored other women so they could also succeed? What if they pulled their resources together and worked along side of each other? What would their ministries, businesses, legacies, and families look like if they did?

What if WE as women committed to try to do some things? If we were intentional on liking, sharing, and supporting the ventures, businesses, and ministries of the women in our sphere of influence? What if we were intentional to include people in our tribe and make them feel significant loved and included? What if we stopped idolizing celebrities and leaders and we celebrated the stay at home mom doing everything to keep it together,the homeless women just trying to make it another day, the teacher that loves and instructs your kids everyday, the beautiful lady that greets you at church, or that one that posts exactly what you needed to read on FB or Instagram? What if???

#womenneedwomen #celebrateeachother

Much Love, 

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Confession #10: I have a tattoo...ok, maybe have 2

So I have a tattoo...well actually, I have two. Both of my tattoos represent very different moments of  my life but they have one thing in common, I got them to commemorate a life change. And that's where the similarities end. 

The one you see in the picture above, I got about three years ago.The anchor represents the security and love I found in my relationship with Christ. Having had gotten a tattoo while I was in college and in a different mindset, I struggled with the thought of wanting one as a born again Christian. I had no judgment towards Christians who did, I just wondered how God would feel about me permanently marking my body again. I was raised to believe that tattoos were a form of mutilation. So between those thoughts (though it didn't stop me before) and me just wanting to live a life that honored God, I found myself in a juxtaposition.

Trust me when I say, I didn't take the decision lightly. I knew what I wanted and where I wanted it. I wanted an anchor, based on some scripture I loved.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, ~ Hebrews 6:19

I knew I wanted it on my wrist because I wanted a constant reminder. I knew the day would come when I'd need to look down and be reminded of God's goodness; reminded that when the waves of life crashed on me and tried to sway me to and fro, that God was my anchor. I knew my faith would want to waver, or that I'd forget in the moment how much He loved me and that I was secure.

I know not everyone needs permanent ink on their body to be reminded of this, but I did. So how did I come to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do [for me]? I asked God and then, I waited. I waited for weeks before that one day at the beach when I finally felt it was time.He gave me the okay and so I went. It's nothing fancy or special but it means so much to me.

Let me tell you a little something about this tattoo. While my other one is hidden and was never meant for the eyes of anyone, this one is just visible enough for the right people to notice. When I get asked about it, it's an open invite to speak life into a person through scripture.See, people can argue about many things but they can't argue with your story. As they ask me, it's because they want to know the story behind it, my story, God's story. 

About my other tattoo...well that one would get me attention when I wore two piece bathing suits on the beach. What story did it tell? I was young, I loved butterflies and the sun (I know...so cliche), and I thought it represented freedom. How silly I was, I didn't even feel free enough to have a tattoo in a visible place. Funny how the enemy and the world deceive us. I had a tattoo that supposedly represented freedom yet I was too ashamed of it to show it.

Yet when I found freedom, I chose a tattoo of a symbol that represents security and being grounded.

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Confession #9: Last night I was too tired to write...so I didn't.

This could be my go to prayer as of late. It seems like lately (past few weeks) I've been tired to the point of exhaustion. It would seem crazy that knowing this I would choose to take on this challenge but I did. There's actually some health reasons along with just what's going in my life right now to make the  exhaustion that has hit me almost bring me to the point of crashing.

Luckily, after first facing this extreme type of exhaustion last year before being properly diagnosed I've learned to pick up on the cues my body starts to send me. I consider it a win that I crash anywhere from 9 - 10 pm  instead of the 2 or 3 pm window. I'll share more about my Hashimotos Thyroiditis in a future post. It's kind of a long story and as you can see from tonight's post, I'm too tired to tell it now. LOL.

So back to last night. I was exhausted. Normally I would push on through and throw together a post. I committed to this challenge and I've pushed through the exhaustion before in order to stand true to my commitment. But not last night. Last night I gave myself the rest I deserved without any guilt whatsoever. As women and moms we sometimes set our expectations and standards so high that we forget to take care of ourselves. That is not ok.

Sweet sister, don't over work yourself. You don't have to be supermom, or wife, or sister, or coworker, or friend. You are perfect just the way you are. You have permission to rest...even God did on the seventh day.

Much Love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Confession #7: No, I'm not ok.

                           

Today I had a friend come up to me at church and ask me if I was ok and I felt free and vulnerable enough to say no, I wasn't. This friend of mine is the real deal. We don't talk every day...to be honest we haven't spoken or even texted in months. I'm not a high maintenance friend and when I say that I mean that when I'm your friend I'm there for you unconditionally whether we spoke to each other last this morning or three years ago. 

Over the years I've come to learn which of my friends are the same way. My friend this morning is one of those friends. I won't mention her name because, she doesn't need or want the attention. She is one of those people that will be your vocal supporter and a knight in shining armor on the down low. She's a hands on problem solver. When she says she loves you and your family, you KNOW she means it. It's something about the look in her eyes. She's safe. I've never seen her turn her noise up at anyone. She's level headed and wise. She's kind and generous and selfless. 

In other words, she embodies and walks out Jesus' love and I'm blessed that she pours it out on me. So when she looked at me today, after not speaking in several months and asked me if I was ok I was able to say no. That is what a safe friendship looks like. She just knew and squeezed my hand and said we would meet up this week. As I fought back the tears, I felt a huge wave of love, relief, and gratitude. Grateful that God has placed a friend like this at exactly the moment I needed it. To be able to be real and genuine and admit you're not ok is a luxury in today's society. You know it. I know it. We live in times where wearing masks and putting up the highlight reels of our lives on social media is the norm. Vulnerability many times equates weakness. And that is not ok.

Without vulnerability and taking off our masks, there is no healing. See, today's two minute encounter reminded me of another time God sent me a friend to ask if I was ok. It was three years ago at the gym. My workout partner, whom I wasn't close with asked me how I was...and I broke down. I was in tears, not knowing exactly what was wrong but knowing that I was not ok. Long story short, that day in the gym was the beginning of my journey of faith. That one conversation led to an invite to a class which the Lord would use to bring me to Him. This memory came flooding back to me today as soon as I said I wasn't ok. And then, all of a sudden I smiled and felt peace and hope. Almost as if God was sending me that sweet reminder that the moment I confront the truth that I need Him is the moment he can come in and bring the most amazing breakthrough. 

Tonight I thank the friends that have created the safe space for me to not be ok. Thanks to them I can open my heart to healing and God's grace. No need to pretend, fake smile, or live in denial. 

Much love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Confession #2: I've battled anxiety ...and I took all the meds

Today's post was inspired by one of the first things I read this morning as I scrolled down my Facebook feed. A poignant status from a friend came attached to a link to an article from The Huffington Post titled, What I Mean When I Say ‘I Have Anxiety’. I was immediately drawn the title and clicked. 

Anytime I see a post on anxiety I always wonder if it will be an accurate portrayal of the hell that it really is. I wonder what voice and point of view it will be written in. Will it be the view of the person living with a loved one with acute anxiety or will it focus on children or teens battling this crippling affliction? One thing is for certain, I will ALWAYS click.

I click because my heart still feels the pain that anxiety brings. I click in hopes to share with someone who might need that sense of encouragement and hope. I click because I don't want anyone to suffer from anxiety, or anything that impacts their emotional, spiritual, or mental health. I click because it's the demon I faced for so long (starting in my childhood all through my teens and most of my adult life). 

A meme because sometimes laughing about it is the best medicine.

Maybe I'll share my story of overcoming depression and anxiety in this space one day. It's a story I love to share because I know first hand the suffering that comes with living through anxiety but I also know what the sweet taste of freedom is like. Today though, it's not about that. This confession is more about one of things that bothers me that comes along with anxiety and all mental health issues and became very apparent today as I read this article and the comments that accompanied it---the stigma.

Though we've made huge strides in fighting the stigma surrounding mental illness, there's one area where people, yes even Christians, are very vocal about judging and ostracizing people about. It's cloaked in shame and secrecy for many. It's the fact about using medication as part of the treatment and road to recovery. 

I won't use this space to debate the use and efficacy of meds. The only purpose of this post is to do my little bit of helping de-stigmatize the topic. How do you start tearing down the walls of stigma on any topic? You remove the shame, by just opening up and talking about it. When you become vocal, and say "Guess what? Me too." you slowly start the dialogue, that brings forth, the healing that brings on the freedom. And freedom, oh freedom tastes so sweet. The more that people feel freedom from the things that shackled them in shame, the more they will share and the less stigma will exist. This is true for any topic.

So today I share, I battled anxiety...and I took all the meds.

Much Love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**