Just Keep Swimming

 

Twenty days ago, I was so excited to start writing again.  I had ideas and wanted to just ride the wave of creativity and then the wave became unsteady, I became unsteady, fell over, and got caught in the waves. 

The “waves” in this instance is depression and anxiety.  I take medication and I see a therapist but sometimes…sometimes it just happens. 

I read this article or post or something that said that when you’re caught in ocean waves, you’re not supposed to fight.  You’re supposed to swim parallel to the shore until you’re out of the current then head for land.  I’ve been caught in ocean waves before and it’s really hard to figure out which way is up when you’re at the mercy of the ocean – swirled around, bobbing to the surface just to be hit in the face by another wave of salty water, eyes stinging, mouth and throat coated in salt, lungs filled with liquid, no room for air.

That’s how depression and anxiety feel.  What makes it harder is you’re supposed to fight it; use your coping skills, remind yourself that it’s your brain playing tricks on you, talk to your therapist, take walks, take your meds…

just. keep. swimming

But it’s exhausting, your limbs hurt, your mouth is coated in salt, you’re choking on water, and your eyes are burning.

So, this is what I decided to write about because there’s nothing else, I can think to say.  It’s not glamorous, witty, thought provoking, or uplifting.  It’s just part of who I am and a part of my life.  I just keep swimming.

Reboot

 

Lately, I’ve missed writing.  I used to write all the time.  Hell, I got a master’s degree in English with an emphasis in creative nonfiction but the experience and the “constructive” criticism I made me doubt myself. I decided I wasn’t really a good writer.  So, I stopped taking it seriously.  I stopped looking for contests and paying attention to how other authors wrote.  I kept writing but I didn’t care.  It was just something I did until I didn’t.    

But lately, I’ve felt this overwhelming desire to write again. 

So, I decided to resurrect my old blog from about 7 years.  It took me about 30 minutes to figure out what Gmail address I’d used and another 30 to get to the blog.  When I saw it, I was kind of shocked because – why did it look like I was a cosmetics influencer when my blogs had nothing to do with makeup?  It felt like looking at an old diary.  Back then, I was desperate to contribute and be seen and validated.  I wanted to be part of the group of creative voices I heard, read, and watched but I got too focused on what the blog looked like versus what I said because again I didn’t really care what I wrote.  Looking at the blog, I remember being exhausted by the decorating and having no energy to put into words.

So, I’m starting over.  I’m not going to worry about background and font colors or what colors a button changes to when you click on it (although I did change the theme to something more me and less “buy this foundation”).  I’m just going to write.  Obviously, I’m going to edit and probably have someone review my writing for grammar and spelling.  So, if something slips by it’s not my fault.  Even if it is, it’s my editors. 

Here’s what to expect – random thoughts and words.  There’s no theme to my blog.  It’s just me sharing insight and thoughts on whatever comes to my ADHD mind to share.  I might write about a sermon from church or share a recipe and pictures of something I’ve cooked or baked.  I might vent about work, friends, family.  I’ll definitely post about my cats and dog.  I just want to share and be part of the writing community again.  I miss it.   

Honestly, I’m not even sure if I’m actually going to post this.  I might just act like a turtle and stick my head back in my shell.  I mean, my shell is pretty nice – internet, TV, two cats, a dog, and valet trash pickup.    

An Alicia by any other name...

My white mother named me after my grandmothers.  She fell in love my paternal grandmother’s name.  My grandmother was delighted when she found out I had been named after her.  Growing up my name was not popular, in truth, most Mexican-American/LatinX names were not popular.  There were no bike license plates with my name on it, no pencils, or pens.  

However, monogrammed bike plates, pencils, and pens were small compared to trying to get people to understand and pronounce my name correctly. 

Trying to get people to understand was always tedious.  The correct way to pronounce my name is Al-lee-C-ya.  Here’s the pronunciation:  Alicia.  When I gave my name, most people inevitably heard:  Elise, Alisa, Lease, or Lisa.  Even when I spelled my name after saying…A L I C I A…they still got it wrong.

So I started using the white American pronunciation:  A-lee-sha which was better except the spelling was butchered.  I became Elisha, Alisha, Aleesha, etc.  But it was easier to have my name misspelled rather than mispronounced.  Then some where along the line a white teacher changed my name to the “American” (really the white) name Alice and by default my classmates followed suit and called me Alice because who are/how dare we questions/correct adults.  Side note:  my mother HATED that I was called Alice.  She would always exclaim, “you’re name is Al-lee-C-a not Alice!”  She didn’t care that it was hard for people to say.  She named me what she named me and in  her mind everyone else needed to get in line.   

Finally, when I went to college, I became Alisha because I wanted to use my name but knew I had to make it easier for white folks before they changed my name again.       

Then my name became popular, the world started to become more inclusive, I became an adult, and people started to ask me, “How do you pronounce your name?”, “Why did you tell me it was Alisha?”  And I had to explain to people the politics of being Mexican-American/LatinX with a Spanish name. 

“It’s easier for white people to say Alisha” which offended some and made others feel guilty.     

The truth is there was more to it than just mispronunciation of my name.  It was about assimilating and making it easier for the majority to accept another Mexican-American and to call me by a name that, even if it wasn’t exactly correct, was more correct than it had been before. 

I’ve started to use my correct pronunciation more often and have gotten to spelling my name right after even though the person still spells it wrong but baby steps, you know?