It’s not news to you guys that I’ve been going through a lot of stuff in the last few months/year. I don’t mean for it to sound like my world has fallen apart – no one is dying, no one is getting divorced, no one is being diagnosed with mental illness, nothing like that. Just your average adult human struggles, I imagine: relationships, insecurity, health, money, disappointment, comparison, loss, frustration, control, fear. It’s so weird to even write about challenges or struggles because it seems to somehow instantly amplify them just by typing them out (and sharing them with hundreds of people on the internet lol). By saying “I’m having a rough time” I worry that people think my life is a disaster that I’m trying to cover up, or that I’m a prissy little spoiled brat who is simply undergoing normal adult life and can’t take it. I’d say I’m probably just in the middle, like any typical person.

I hope you guys know I’m ok – I’m generally very, very happy. I don’t ever want to come off as ungrateful, entitled, weak, or wallow-y. I know I’m so so fortunate. I have a beautiful daughter, who is so much more than I ever expected or earned. I have a husband who makes me laugh, stands firmly in my corner, lets me fly, and is my rock of all rocks. Both of my families are the envy of everyone I know, with good reason. I’m surrounded by friends I do not deserve and can’t believe I have. I have a sharp brain, a perfect job, fulfilling skills, and a body I’m proud of (mostly). Overall it’s a pretty picture.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t still have hard things. And I’m learning, sometimes painfully, not to compare them to other hard things. Or good things. I’m just learning not to compare. Hard is hard is hard. Having good things happen doesn’t mean the bad things didn’t. Feeling sad for much of the last year didn’t mean I felt sad for ~all of the last year, or that I want those vibes to define 2016 as a whole. I’m allowed to have hard things that aren’t cancer or divorce or bankruptcy or death. I’m allowed to feel like my world is caving in when in reality everything has kept on spinning. The idea that I can’t talk about them because it’ll sound whiny or that I can’t feel hurt because it wasn’t third-world devastation is not productive or realistic.

I’ve been reading a lot of Brene Brown and self-help books, can you tell? I’ve always loved self-help books, but they’re even more self-helpful now for some reason. The month of September was clear and obvious. The message was “Danica. Get your ish together and learn the lessons you need to learn, become who you need to become, change what you need to change. Or else this crap will keep happening.” I think for the past year whenever weird or bad or painful or tough things happened, they all felt unrelated or only slightly in our control. And to some extent that was true. Sometimes ish happens. Sometimes other people make choices or say or do things that just make you want to set yourself on fire. Sometimes circumstances change beyond your control.  There was plenty of this going on.

But sometimes you mess up. Sometimes it actually IS your fault. Sometimes it’s consequences catching up to you, even if they’re from days ago, months ago, years ago. Sometimes you don’t see all of who you are through an accurate lens. There was also plenty of this going on.

I think either way – we are here to learn and be tested. We’re not here to progress on a predetermined track, although often it feels that way (especially to Type-A, planning, step-by-step people like me – we prefer it that way!). Whether it’s random stuff falling apart in your life or a stupid thing you said to someone or a personality trait that you never thought was bad… trials and challenges are created in our lives, and their purpose at the end of the day is to teach us. If, and it’s a big if, we will be taught.

Well, I wasn’t being taught. You’d think the teacher would have figured this out. When I look back at the last year it’s painfully obvious, but it didn’t feel that way at the time. It always felt like a sequence of weird, random, sucky events. Something weird would happen, I wouldn’t respond to it well, I’d ignore it, I’d treat myself and others poorly as a result, I’d sing songs and make lists and gloss over everything and push through, thinking eventually “this too shall pass.”

The danger in that is I refused responsibility. I omitted ownership. I dismissed direction. By blaming coincidence or other people, we become victims and that’s just not me. My favorite habit of the 7 Habits is be proactive, and I feel like for the most part I get it right. When this variety of tough things happened (and kept happening), I thought I was doing the right thing by saying “Ok let’s make lists. Let’s read scriptures. Let’s wake up earlier. Let’s distract ourselves with fun/good/productive things!” That’s all fine and dandy, except I rarely, if ever, stopped to say “Why is this happening? Maybe it’s me? What am I to learn from this? What am I to change?”

This week I was getting ready while Reese watched an episode of Octonauts (we are learning so much about the ocean, you guys), and they were talking about this creature who molts and grows a new skin. Obviously this isn’t a new concept to me, and I wasn’t really paying much attention, so I was surprised at how much I found myself thinking about when they were talking about why the creature had to molt – days later. They talked about how it can be really raw and uncomfortable to lose that skin and grow a new layer, and it has to be done so carefully. But the creature HAS to shed that outer skin because it’s too small. They’re growing, so the skin has become aged, tight, itchy, restrictive. The entire process of molting can be uncomfortable and quite gross. It takes time, and it isn’t pretty.

There have been a lot of times in the last year where I’d set up one side of the card castle that had collapsed, just as another side tumbled. There would be days or weeks or even a month where the whole thing stayed up, and that was awesome! But, come on, it was a card castle. I have talked often and repeatedly about going through a tough time or figuring something out; y’all have probably gotten sick of it. I know I have. It was just putting out fires and the recovery afterwards was real, but so small and short-lived. And I just know this one is different.

Because this one is molting. I’ve been tight and itchy and uncomfortable for almost a year. I think I’ve shed parts of the skin to free up breathing room, or else just rubbed them completely raw. Finally there is no more mistaking the discomfort. I’ve outgrown this skin, just as I was meant to. We’re all meant to. Just as the skin I’ll grow next will only fit for a certain period of time before another round of molting.

I don’t know why I’ve fought this molting so hard – it’s good. It’s happy. It’s a better, brighter coat ahead of me. I guess it’s because shedding the largest piece, the most restrictive piece, means admitting to mistakes and accepting a humbling reality of growth. Growth isn’t always learning cool new things and developing awesome skills. Sometimes growth is realizing you suck, and embracing it so you can suck less.

There’s still a lot of tight, uncomfy skin surrounding me, and I’ve got a lot of work ahead. But I’m going to get it all off. I’ll peel it off, bit by bit, with tears and help and hope and excitement. Because the new skin will be better. That new Danica is better.

Maybe she’ll even learn to cook. Who knows.