Wedding Planning

 It’s a tale as old as time: wedding planning is stressful. No matter how excited you are or how laid-back you claim to be, planning a wedding will always come with some amount of stress and anxiety.

 

In the beginning, I was excited to plan things because I’m a planner and love to be organized. I still feel that way, but that feeling is now accompanied by a constant lingering amount of stress. It’s so easy to get caught up in the world of wedding planning, and sometimes it can make you lose sight of what’s really important in this whole process: your love.

 

I had been so focused on booking vendors and building my wedding Pinterest board, that I began to feel burnt out and detached from the whole experience. I started getting in my own head and worrying about things that I hadn’t even thought of before. I was worried that I would get tired of my fiancé and that we would lose the spark of our love. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle spending all of my time with someone because of my introverted and independent nature. Panic began to set in, and my head was spinning faster and faster with each negative thought that crept its way into my consciousness.

 

But then I took a deep breath and decided to look back at some old journal entries from when I had first started dating the man who would become my fiancé. The girl in those journal entries talked about how her love for him was eternal, how nothing could break them apart because no matter what argument or problem got between them, their love was strong enough to overcome it. She said that he was her best friend, the person she had been waiting for her whole life.

 

Tears pooled in my eyes as I read about this love. Back then, we were in the honeymoon phase; everything was beautiful and seemingly perfect. As time went by, the real world caught up to us, and with it, the anxieties of life. But in that moment, I understood something very important.

 

Love isn’t a fairytale. Love is real. Love is not perfect; it’s beautifully flawed. Love doesn’t mean you have to have it all together and have everything figured out; it’s about the journey. Sure, there will be highs and lows, peaks and valleys, but that’s the beauty of it. That’s what makes it all worth it in the end.

 

For me, getting married is so much more than a ring or a piece of paper. I’ve always wanted not only a place to call home, but a person. It’s exciting to plan the Big Day, but when it’s all over, when the party ends and the guests go home, it’s just the two of you. The day will come to an end, but your love will last forever, and that’s what’s most important.

 

Same Goal, New Mindset

First off, happy 2021, everyone! At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I’ll spare you the typical “2020 was awful” speech and get right to the main event.

 

One of the most common New Year’s resolutions is something along the lines of exercise more, lose weight, stick to a diet, etc. For the past few years, I had always started off the New Year with the intention of exercising more. I started off really strong, working out 3-5 times a week for at least 30 minutes each time. But after about a month or so, like most people, my motivation began to fade, and my goal became nothing more than a numbered bullet-point on a list.

 

I wanted this year to be different, but I didn’t know where to begin. Around December 2020, I discovered a woman on Instagram named Mik Zazon. Her motto is “normalize normal bodies,” and on her Instagram, she posts photos of herself, emphasizing and embracing what society would consider flaws. She praises her curves, rolls, cellulite, acne, etc. I am amazed at her ability to not only be so open about these imperfections but also that she sees them as beautiful. I wanted to be able to think like that too.

 

Towards the end of December, I saw on her Instagram story that she was having a sale on her HIIT 30 workout program (HIIT stands for high-intensity interval training), so I checked it out. The whole goal of the program is not to lose weight or tone your muscles or cut all unhealthy foods out of your diet. Although those things may inevitably happen along the way, what Mik suggests we focus on is feeling confident and strong in our body. We should exercise because we want to, not because we feel like we should or we have to. She encourages you to listen to your body, rest when it needs it, eat that cheeseburger and fries, and not to pressure yourself into having a perfectly regimented and scheduled exercise routine.

 

I am shocked at how well this new mindset has worked for me so far. My schedule can change day-to-day, so it’s always been hard for me to make a set schedule for working out. Now, I work out when I have time and when I feel excited to. On the days that I don’t do a full workout, I try to do something small like dance around in my room for a few songs, do a few squats or crunches, or go for a walk.

 

Sure, I’d like to lose a couple of pounds, get some abs, strengthen my legs, and get a booty, but even more than that, I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin. When I step into my dream dress on my wedding day this fall, I want to feel nothing less than a confident, sexy, and beautiful goddess. Exercising can be a chore, but it doesn’t have to be. Mindset is everything.

 

(This is not an ad for Mik Zazon’s HIIT 30 program, but I highly recommend it. The workouts are fun, challenging, and customizable. Plus, she has a big Facebook group for those in the program, and the ladies in the group are so incredibly supportive and lovely.)

Mental Health Awareness Month- My Story

Since May is mental health awareness month, I want to force myself to be brave and step out of my comfort zone by talking about my own mental health issues in the hope that this will inspire others to be brave as well.

As some of you already know, I struggle a lot with anxiety and depression. Honestly, it’s hard these days to meet someone who doesn’t. My anxiety has gotten worse over the years, really hitting its peak in college. Little things make me irrationally anxious, like not wanting to walk into a building I’ve never been in before because I won’t know where I’m going and I’ll look awkward and people will judge me. Or dreading talking on the phone with someone because I’m afraid I’ll have to ask them to repeat themselves a million times. There are many nights when I would lie awake in bed, consumed by my own thoughts, replaying conversations and interactions from the day over and over in my head, thinking of all the things I could have said or done better. 

Then there are the waves of depression. I like to think I am a generally happy and optimistic person, but sometimes everything just hits me all at once and I can’t stop it. Sometimes I will just feel completely emotionless, losing all interest in my hobbies or talking to people. I just sit and stare blankly at the wall. Sometimes I cry hysterically, but a lot of the time I just feel empty, useless. It’s nearly impossible to pull myself out of these moods.

However, last December, I started taking anti-depressants, and these depressed and empty moods went from several times a week to maybe once a month. All I had to do was ask my doctor if I could try them. I’m not ashamed that I need medicine to make me feel normal. I’ve learned that SO many people take some form of anti-depressant or anti-anxiety meds. It’s far more common than you’d think. 

Don’t get me wrong, I still have my days when I feel completely lost (usually pertaining to my career goals), alone (even though I know I have friends and family who love me), and trapped (in my own negative thoughts). But instead of staying stuck in these awful moods, the medicine makes it possible for me to get out of them. From there, I use my hobbies (reading, writing, guitar, video games, running, watching YouTube/Netflix) to lift my spirits and give me purpose and hope.

I’m not telling you all of this to gain your sympathy. Rather, I want anyone out there who is struggling with their mental health to know that it can get better. Seeking help is really scary, trust me, I know; it took a lot of courage for me to speak up to my doctor, and even more to publish this blog post. But I can’t tell you enough how glad I am that I did. If you’re too afraid to talk to a doctor, try talking to a trusted friend or family member first. Hell, even message me if you want. Sometimes the small action of just talking about how we feel can help. Do yourself a favor and speak up for yourself. You’ll be glad you did.

Social Media

First off, I want to start by saying that this past February marked 5 years of doing this blog! When I made my first post back in February of 2015, I had no idea how crucial this blog would be to my growth and development as a writer and a person. I have learned a lot about myself through my reflective writing, and I am glad to be able to share it with you all. If you’ve ever reached out to me to tell me how much my writing has impacted you, know that that means more to me than I could possibly put into words. Thank you for sticking with me through the years.

Now, let’s get down to business.

Social media is a blessing and a curse. I love being able to keep up with my friends’ lives and stay in touch with those who no longer live near me. I enjoy sharing my life with people through pictures and posts. However, it’s very easy to fall into the comparison trap that social media often instigates. It can be a really unhealthy addiction and a hard one to break.

This year for Lent, I gave up Facebook and Instagram. For me, those two social media platforms in particular do more harm than good. I would spend hours every day, aimlessly scrolling through them, seeing pictures of everyone else’s seemingly perfect lives and envying them greatly. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t true, that they didn’t have perfect lives; this was just the side they chose to portray to the world. But when you’re in a melancholy state of mind, it’s easy to fall into that trap, and you begin to feel useless, like a failure.

Since I spent hours every day scrolling through each of these apps, I figured I would go through intense withdrawals. The night before Lent began, I laid in bed an anxious mess, rapidly scrolling through the apps in one last frantic attempt to take in as much as I could before I had to give them up. Looking back, I see how ridiculous I must have looked, but in that moment, I was about to give up something that I relied heavily on, my crutch.

However, after a couple of days, I almost completely forgot about Facebook and Instagram. I had deleted the apps from my phone, so I wasn’t receiving notifications. It was like they had been erased from my brain. Sure, every once in a while someone would say to me, “Did you see what so-and-so posted on Facebook?” and I would have to remind them of my hiatus. But overall, I felt liberated and free. It gave me a lot of time to reflect on why I had felt so attached to them in the first place.

Social media can be very deceiving. All too often, people post only what they want others to see. They don’t show their cluttered living room, messy morning hair, or the secrets behind their smile. Yes, it’s true that it’s more fun to share the good parts of our lives, but that leaves our followers with only half of the story, the seemingly perfect half.

I’m not claiming to be exempt from this. In fact, I definitely do it too. If you scroll through my Instagram, you’ll probably see a happy girl who smiles all the time. I hate to break it to you, but that’s just not true. No one smiles all the time; everyone has moments of sadness, but it’s not always easy to open up and talk about the tough times.

But how do you portray these hardships in a pretty photo? The simple truth is that you can’t. In order to share our whole selves with the world, we might have to post about the things that are hard to talk about: depression, anxiety, grief, stress, a disorganized life. I know it’s so much easier to share our triumphs with our followers, but if we share our hardships too, it opens up the door for others to do the same. If there’s anything I’ve learned from writing this blog for the past five years, it’s that people find comfort in hearing that other people are struggling just like they are.

Now, don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m not asking you to post about your struggles every day, week, or even month. But every once in a while, take the time to talk about the things in your life that aren’t necessarily going as you planned. Perhaps someone else is going through the same thing, and you can unite together in your struggles, just as humans were designed to do.

Rebuilding Faith

I’ve written and rewritten this blog post so many times over the last year or so. I’ve never been able to find the right words to describe my faith, but now I’m realizing that maybe I never truly had the words until now.

I’ve always been a Christian. I was baptized as a baby, went through Sunday school, vacation Bible school, Confirmation, and senior high youth group. But I never truly made the decision to pursue a relationship with God until around August of 2018.

My boyfriend Dalton took me to this thing at Concordia University in Seward called Praise. It’s basically a mini church service led by students. We sing some songs, hear a message from a student, and have designated prayer time. I was a bit hesitant to go, but I kept an open mind, and I am so glad I did. One of the first songs we sang was my solo song from church, “What a Beautiful Name.” In that moment, I felt God’s presence for the first time in many years. I knew that I was in the right place with the right people, doing exactly what I was destined to do.

I will admit, I’ve fallen off the wagon a few times since them. It’s easy to forget about God when your life is so busy. It’s easy to convince yourself that you don’t need Him, that you can do it without Him. But that’s so not true. On the days when I feel like nothing can cheer me up, when it feels like my life is not even worth it, that’s when He shows Himself to me the most. I want to be angry with Him for making me feel that way, for bringing such heartache into my life, but in those moments, God says, “I am here. Talk to me. Let me in.” And even thought it hurts like hell, even though I want nothing more than to push Him away and continue to dwell on my pain, I pray. I open up to Him. It’s in those moments that I can feel Him with me. It’s in those moments that I weep, and God weeps with me.

A couple of months ago, I learned about a little group called The Devoted Co. (TDC) through a friend’s Instagram. I heard that they are a group of women gathering every other week to worship Jesus and support each other. When I went for the first time, I was a giant ball of anxiety. I knew no one there, and I was terrified to meet new people. But God met me in that place and gave me the courage to open up to those ladies. I haven’t been the same since.

Most people don’t understand why people have faith. They wonder how we can believe in something we can’t even see. But what they might not understand is that we can see God. We see Him in the sun peeking over the horizon in the mornings. We see Him in the love of a parent or friend or significant other. We see Him in the perfect song coming on the radio when you need it most. God shows Himself to us all the time, in numerous ways; we just have to be open to seeing those things as God’s blessings.

But to have faith, you can’t just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don’t, as well. In times of grief or struggle, it can be hard to see God’s presence. We are blinded by our heartache and cannot see that it is all part of God’s plan. Everything happens because God makes it so. From the second we are born, He knows every sin we will commit, every lie we will tell, every heartbreak we will suffer. But if we stay strong in our faith, He will reward us with the greatest blessing of all: a ticket up to heaven to meet with Him and be with our loved ones again.

Rebuilding my faith has not been an easy journey, and I don’t think it ever will be, but so far it has been 100% worth it. My relationship with Dalton is built on faith, and I think that is one of the big reasons why we have such a strong connection. I am far from where I want to be, but in the last year or so, God has shown me how loved I am and how important it is to spread that love to others. I am excited to continue to grow in my faith and share my transformation story with others.

Misplaced Passion

I recently re-watched the movie A Cinderella Story with Hilary Duff. It was one of my favorites growing up; I couldn’t even tell you how many times I’ve watched it. Anyway, there is a mantra that comes up throughout the movie, originally spoken by Babe Ruth: “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.” This resonated with me as a kid, and it does even more so today.

I’ve always been more of a head-in-the-clouds kind of person. I’m very practical and rational and grounded, but when it comes to my future, I’ve always been a big dreamer. I had many things I aspired to be growing up including singer, dancer, teacher, mother, and most notably, writer. When I was younger I used to just write little stories for fun. I didn’t care if anyone liked them. I didn’t even care if anyone wanted to read them. I just wrote for me. It was fun. Then in high school, I took my first creative writing class, and while it was a bit more structured than my personal writing time, it allowed me to get actual feedback on my writing and learn how to make it better to read and more fun to write.

Then college happened. I decided to major in creative writing because I wasn’t really good at anything else. I had short stories due every week, and while most of the feedback I received from my classmates and professors was productive, some of it was hard to hear. I was offended when people didn’t like my characters or my voice. For so long, my writing had always been for my eyes only. I didn’t have to care about what other people thought. As long as I liked it, that was all that had mattered. But college hit me with the reality that if I really wanted to be a writer like I had always dreamed as a kid, I had to relinquish some of my control over my writing. It was really hard. My stories were my children, and I wasn’t ready to let them out into the world. But by the time my four years had come to a close, I was grateful for all the things I had learned, and I knew that I was a better writer because of the constructive criticism I had endured.

I graduated a little over a year ago, and not a day has gone by since that I haven’t thought about what I want to do with my life. I haven’t written any solid fiction since college; I just haven’t felt the drive to write. I feel like no matter what I write, it won’t be good enough to publish, so what’s the point? But today I realized that I’ve lost myself a bit. I’ve lost the love I had for writing for myself, for not caring what other people would think. I’ve been so focused on writing something for publication that I’ve lost my love for the art and beauty of it all. I’m letting the fear of striking out keep me from playing the game, and that’s not what a young Hope Schreiner would do.

I would absolutely love to find a full-time job doing something related to my degree, but I haven’t found anything that piques my interest yet. And you know what? I think that’s okay. I am young, I am passionate, and I am determined, so I have no doubt that I will do whatever it takes to find a career path that makes me happy. And until then, I will write.

Sparky

I had to say goodbye to my best friend today. Words cannot express how heavy my heart feels, but I know this is for the best. He is not in pain anymore, and he is up in doggie heaven chasing rabbits and eating lots and lots of grass.

Sparky went by many names around our house. Spark. Sparkles. Spooky. Pookie. Dog. I had many names for him as well. Lil’ Bean. Lil’ Nugget. Baby. Old Man. Cow (he ate a lot of grass). Kitty (he licked his paws like a cat grooming itself). Turd (he ate his own poop…). Lil’ Potato. Sweet Boy. Peanut. I always called him my best friend. Because he was. But it didn’t start out that way.

We got Sparky when he was really little, probably a few months old. I was about seven years old. He was a little firecracker, hence where the name Sparky came from. Being the anxious child that I was, I hated him. He had too much energy for my liking, so I avoided him at all costs. We kept him penned up in the kitchen, and if I wanted to play in the backyard, he had to be chained up to the fence. I was absolutely terrified of that little dog. While this fear gradually decreased over time, it wasn’t until maybe middle school that I started to feel comfortable around him.

As I entered into my angsty teenage years, I found comfort in going on walks to quiet my sad or nervous thoughts; so naturally, I would take Sparky with me. All the way through high school, we went on a walk nearly every day after school. Sometimes we would just go the park and sit on the merry-go-round (he was not too fond of this, but he put up with it as long as we didn’t spin too much). Sometimes one of my friends would join us. I worked on training him to not bark so wildly at other dogs, and he taught me that sometimes a good walk can do wonders for the mind.

He was a great listener. Even though it often seemed like he barely tolerated my constant physical affection, I always felt better after cuddling with him on the kitchen floor for a while. If I was ever home alone, I would let him out of the kitchen and bring him into my room to hang out for a bit, feeling rebellious. I spent more time with that dog than any human. He was there through every boy who broke my heart, every family death, every time I felt insecure or unsure of what to do in a situation. We became inseparable.

I know people will say, “He’s just a dog. It’s not like you’re losing a family member.” But I strongly disagree. Sparky was as much a part of my family as anyone. He was with us for almost seventeen years. Seventeen years of long walks, tearing up Dad’s yard by eating grass, countless caught rabbits, struggling to take baths, barely tolerating hugs and kisses from me, and so much love. I bought him treats on his birthday and kissed his little head every night before I went to sleep. I could sit here for hours, telling you all kinds of stories about him.

Even though I knew it was coming for a while now, saying goodbye to Sparky is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I will miss my pupper more than anything. Nothing can replace the bond we shared. He taught me how to love someone with your whole heart and soul, and I will always be grateful for that. He taught me that I can overcome even my biggest fears. Thank you for everything, Sparky.