A bit of faith

I so very badly want to believe in God. When I was younger, I tried so hard every day to have faith. Even though not a lot of it made sense to me, I went through the motions hoping that one day, something would click. I'd have that moment of understanding or calm that I heard people saying religion brought them.

It's strange when I think of my relationship with religion. I remember being frustrated and scared as a kid, praying every night and getting what I considered crickets in response. There are a few nights in particular that I remember small Erica, maybe six or seven, kneeling next to her little twin mattress with her fingers all tangled together, looking out the window at the dark woods and the stars above and just crying because I thought I was doing it wrong. Maybe I was asking in the wrong way, or asking too much, but I couldn't figure out why when I prayed for things to get better, they didn't.

After a while, I figured God was too busy so I moved on and started praying to relatives. My grandfather on my father's side died decades before I was born (and just months before my father was born), but I thought he would have a pretty big stake in how my life turned out -- and I believed through every story I knew of him that he was a good, brave person. I had hoped he would be able to help me. So I prayed to a man I did not really know, hoping he knew me well enough to... I don't know what I wanted exactly. Love, I suppose. Protection or understanding.

At the time, I figured I had hit another dead end. That maybe praying was a waste of my time, so I fell out of it. I fell out of religion. I hadn't had a good run of it when I was in Catholic school, or religious ed after that.

Creeds and psalms didn't matter. Organized religion frustrated me, and many people I knew wielded their texts in ways I found despicable. So I became a more casual observer of faith. Rather be a good person who does their best to love than someone who attends church every Sunday.

About a year or so ago, things changed. Gradually, I fell back toward God. I found myself whispering prayers to myself before falling asleep every now and then, I began remembering the good things religion gave me. I went to a volunteer project with Peter's church (Appalachian Service Project) where I found something close to the silence and calm I'd always wanted to experience and never thought I'd get to.

I started to think that maybe I wasn't getting crickets all those years after all -- I was given something better than a solution to my problems: I was taught strength and courage and how to love in the darkest of circumstances.

Tonight, I'm getting a new tattoo on my right wrist. It's one of the only Bible verses I've held in my heart all these years, no matter how far I've walked away from the church. Ironically, the verse is 1 Peter 4:8. (Peter's birthday is the 8th of April and this dual meaning of the verse has been spinning me for a while now.)

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.

There are days when I look around at all the love I am surrounded by and find it hard to consider it anything but a miracle. I may not still be exactly where I want to be with my relationship with religion, and it still makes me uncomfortable at times to talk about God, but things are growing. I have a little bit of faith opening me up.

"Today we are speechless"

I'm a writer. I was (and sometimes still am) a journalist. Reporting the news and covering a community is a tough job to do in a balanced yet empathetic way when such events occur. I can only imagine the difficulty of doing that on a day like today, but journalists do not rest. They report the news, even when it is unbearable, even when they are speechless.

I did not grow up in Annapolis but it has become my home. I read The Capital Gazette (and its parent paper the Baltimore Sun) growing up. I ate crabs on these newspapers, used them to wrap gifts in or clipped articles from them to pin to my walls. I studied these papers in journalism class.

I could have been working there -- I wanted to work there. But I was not. I got to go home and hug my loved ones, unlike the five journalists who lost their lives. We can honor them by remembering their names and tuning in more consciously to the news.

The first amendment is the first for a reason: the best way to fight back against injustice and evil is to arm the public with information. Stay informed, support the press.

Gerald Fischman | Rob Hiaasen | John McNamara | Rebecca Smith | Wendi Winters

Where you're loved

Don't stay where you are needed. Go where you are loved. Lang Lev

Abuse is strange. There's a cycle to the violence: tension builds up (verbally, non-verbally) and then there's an attack, followed by this strange period of apologies and loving gestures and remorse. And during that "after" period, you start to think things like... Maybe I was over reacting, maybe this won't happen again, maybe they were having a bad day and made a mistake and maybe I did something wrong that brought it on so next time -- next time I won't act like that and that could stop it from happening again.

But then it happens again and you try to look for how you were wrong during this one. And you do it over and over and over again, because you want to believe the love the abuser promised you they have.

A lot of people ask survivors of abuse why they stayed. Answers vary, of course, because no two situations are the same. Some people have no option but to stay, no money to leave or no one to go with for help. Some people believe it will get better, eventually. Some people stay because they feel they have to, out of obligation. I relate to all of the above but belong especially to that last one.

In my experience, the tension that built up to the physical abuse made me feel like I couldn't leave because I needed to stay, despite whatever came next. It was sometimes anger and yelling and hatred, but it was also lethargy and sickness and desperation. I witnessed depression and mood swings and complete absence from life and substance abuse. It was me seeing things I couldn't in good conscience turn my back on and walk away from, letting it continue (or get worse).

I was needed: to fix things, to cover up, to make things function like nothing was wrong. Every day, I felt I had no choice but to stay, even when it was at its worst.

The truth is, it never should have mattered if I was needed. I was a child and nothing that happened was my responsibility to fix. It was never mine to carry. Being needed is not the same as being loved. It's not enough, and does not ever excuse such behavior.

On hard days, I still get upset at myself for not finding a way out. Or, on the other hand, I get upset that I didn't do enough to make it better. Some nights I am devastated remembering the abuse I saw, and other nights I am a wreck wondering why my abuser didn't love me. It's possible for me to have both of these feelings, but it is a tumultuous storm to carry inside.

I still have trouble talking openly and honestly with people about everything because I know it upsets some people and makes them uncomfortable. But it's no longer a secret I'm burdened to keep. Opening up makes it all a little lighter for me.

Don't stay where you are needed. Go where you are loved. (And go there, in love, yourself.)

Violet

April 27th was a very, very exciting day for our household. Peter and I love our new little home in the woods, and now with all this space we realized... We needed a dog. We desperately wanted a dog, to run around the yard or go on walks or play at the park with. So we began looking. At first, we were looking for older pups that might have had a little training behind them. I fell in love with a German Shepherd mix named Atlas but he was off to another forever home.

It's funny how timing works out, because the moment I heard Atlas was gone, I heard back from another dog I had emailed a foster about. Her name was Violet. She was a pale little Australian Shepherd, and she was blind and deaf (a double merle). I texted Peter right away, explaining I know it's a hard pitch, and I realize we were looking for a dog that was older (not puppy puppy) and trained, but... What about a little puppy who cannot see or hear?

He texted me back a few minutes later saying: "I love you dearly. Let's go see Violet."

The rest is history. We met her in a park in Baltimore on a surprisingly cold day in April, said we'd love to have her in our home for a trial, and a week later she came to stay with us. It took maybe a day (really, a few hours) for us to realize we couldn't let her go. This wasn't a trial anymore -- we loved her, and we needed her.

She's now about four and a half months, and has been with us almost three weeks. I can't imagine life without her. She's sweet, she loves naps and biting fingers, and her favorite thing is to zoom around in our yard on her leash. She's so smart, and gives gentle little kisses. My phone is now so full of photos of this little peanut, and she has an Instagram so I can document her whole adventure with us.

Peter works so well with her, and since he works around our home now, she's getting full Dad days of outdoor play and baths. It is the most amazing thing to come home to. They are, simply, my entire world. I've never been so happy.

Photos by Sarah Sykora

Gentleness

Recently, I drove an hour across the bridge in the gloomy rain to Easton. I was meeting up with my new dear friend Annie to take some pictures at a foggy farm. The challenge of the day was articulating trauma and anxiety. Annie asked me before I came to think about all the things I no longer need to mentally carry, and to burn them away when I got there. With anxiety, that's a lengthy list.

I've had anxiety for as long as I've known. My parents got divorced literally on my eighteenth birthday, and while part of me realized this was a chance I had to distance myself from my mom and that toxic relationship, I couldn't help but feel like I had more reasons to be nervous.

All of my life, I've tried to take care of everyone around me. The abuse I experienced, I took on alone. When my dad or sister needed me, there was nothing I wouldn't give up to help. I think this is one of my greatest strengths: being there for people when they need someone, healing them however I can. But it also makes me feel very vulnerable sometimes. My circumstances growing up have instilled in me a nervousness of people leaving me -- because I'm not enough for them, or not worth the trouble, or not someone who deserves their love. My mom put that fear in me. It's hard to quiet it.

    

I'm very lucky to be living a much different life now. I am with someone who makes me feel, everyday, loved and like I am good enough, strong enough, more than capable enough. When I was little, I never thought my life could be so gentle. In dealing with the trauma that comes from growing up with abuse, I've learned that anger, violence and fear is the last thing I want to be associated with. Rather, I want to give out love, understanding and warmth.

Every day I tackle that voice in my head that tries to drag me out of the present and convince me I'm not worth the effort of love or the trouble my anxiety sometimes brings. I must remind myself that I am enough. Again, I'm lucky to have someone by my side to help me remember that when I'm having a hard time with the PTSD that comes from almost 20 years of abuse. Even if it doesn't always feel true, or even if it isn't true for everyone, I am allowed love and gentleness.

That's one thing I can let go of: needing approval from people who don't deserve mine. I'm growing, and learning to accept the parts of me that have callused over. Some days are harder than others but in the cold, in the rain, there's always warmth to be found. Even flowers grow in winter.

So how do I find peace during difficult times? I return to nature, love -- to gentle kindness and happiness. I return to Peter, who is all of these things to me. In a world that is often so harsh and abrasive, one of my greatest personal triumphs is always finding the time, room, and energy for kindness. I take heart in that and know that no matter what, I'm going to make a beautiful life for myself. I'm going to leave my campsite cleaner than I found it.

Compassion is such an underrated attribute that we nearly dismiss it altogether. Imagine if we paid better attention to sympathy and grace. What would happen if we all tried a little harder to be soft? I think the world would be a much nicer place if we valued gentleness as the strength it truly is.

"Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength."