a friend recently remarked that in this age, to give life to herself she created a habit of creating before consuming. so before she hops on social media, before she reads the articles about the must haves... she creates something with her own hands, eyes, heart.
the simplicity in this rocked me. how often do i look to consume to fill my heart rather than creating. art is truly an expression of God. yesterday, i had a heavy day in counseling and my feelings were getting the better of me, add in a rainy day and grey skies and i felt overwhelmed. so i sat down an did some lettering... fo the first time ever. my mom did beautiful calligraphy and i've always wanted to try.
in this moment i have about 6 blog posts that i want to read. but i challenged myself to write here first. to share even though i don't feel there is much to share. but sometimes that is what we need. someone to say, not much is going on, but i am still taking small steps. i'm improving in small ways.
i had such a soul filling conversation last night. a reminder that small things can make or break big things. a reminder that we are meant to create and sometimes the very things that we turn to in order to "help" us are the things that are holding us back.
i love self-development books. i love people telling me how to let that shit go and saying i am a badass. but i'm done with it for a while. the first step of trusting yourself is to let the opinions of others fall by the wayside, and i need a break. i need a break of trying to get through the next step, of following other people's plans, coaching, or courses. what i need to do is lean into myself. into the God in me, to get quiet and listen.
to spend more time journaling and less time reading.
to spend more time doing and less time thinking.
2020, i am ready.
Carry the Weight
Saturday, December 14, 2019
Sometimes it gets heavy. The feeling on my chest of just not quite being able to breathe as freely as I should. The slight trembling in my hands. The wracking of my brain—— what did I do differently
Today? Why am I upset today? What is wrong with me that I can’t get a grip on myself. Why am I so mean? Why do I shut down?
Don’t touch me
Leave me alone
I’ve read 101 books on positive mindsets, on shifting your perspective, on turning trials into triumphs and still sometimes I get stuck in this mud. I can’t seem to pull myself out. The thoughts are there. You’ll always be like this Bria. It’s not going to get better.
So I sit with those thoughts. I invite them in and give them a cup of coffee. I ask why they made their entrance today. We sit and cry together. It’s dark today and I need a blanket to stay warm.
He feels left out, they feel left out.
I don’t know how to let anyone in. I am a prisoner - I don’t have the keys (you think they’d give them to me?). I sit quietly in my cell- sometimes I get tired of trying.
Wats the point in trying when trees can strike you down?
What’s the point in trying when you still have bad days?
Today? Why am I upset today? What is wrong with me that I can’t get a grip on myself. Why am I so mean? Why do I shut down?
Don’t touch me
Leave me alone
I’ve read 101 books on positive mindsets, on shifting your perspective, on turning trials into triumphs and still sometimes I get stuck in this mud. I can’t seem to pull myself out. The thoughts are there. You’ll always be like this Bria. It’s not going to get better.
So I sit with those thoughts. I invite them in and give them a cup of coffee. I ask why they made their entrance today. We sit and cry together. It’s dark today and I need a blanket to stay warm.
He feels left out, they feel left out.
I don’t know how to let anyone in. I am a prisoner - I don’t have the keys (you think they’d give them to me?). I sit quietly in my cell- sometimes I get tired of trying.
Wats the point in trying when trees can strike you down?
What’s the point in trying when you still have bad days?
happy birthday dear one
Thursday, March 7, 2019
elly,
another birthday apart. i hope you are having a fabulous time. it seems very very unfair that a mom wouldn't get to be with her child on their birthday but i am doing my best to trust that it will all work together.
we only had one birthday together, the precious one where i met you and laid eyes on you for the very first time. i miss you so much.
i gave away most of your baby things, i wanted them to go to little babies who could fill them out now. i tried so hard to remind myself of you after you left elly, tokens and gifts and material things... but the reality is, no material object comes close to touching that loss. they are well meaning- but misguided.
my longing for you is different, i never catch myself wondering where your stuff is. but when we are all in the car and my heart skips a beat because i feel like we left something, that's when i feel the pang for you. the knowledge that something (someone) is missing.
i hope to spread some kindness today, i hope your birthday kicks me into being generous instead of a self-pity party. i hope to show extra love to Addy, Lane and Nyah in honor of you.
i hope you experience kindness too, i hope my mom or another maternal person wraps you in a great big hug today until i can get to do it myself. i hope you get to see a rainbow or fresh dew on flowers and feel breezes in your hair.
I love you Ellery Ann,
I will choose hope,
Love,
your mom
another birthday apart. i hope you are having a fabulous time. it seems very very unfair that a mom wouldn't get to be with her child on their birthday but i am doing my best to trust that it will all work together.
we only had one birthday together, the precious one where i met you and laid eyes on you for the very first time. i miss you so much.
i gave away most of your baby things, i wanted them to go to little babies who could fill them out now. i tried so hard to remind myself of you after you left elly, tokens and gifts and material things... but the reality is, no material object comes close to touching that loss. they are well meaning- but misguided.
my longing for you is different, i never catch myself wondering where your stuff is. but when we are all in the car and my heart skips a beat because i feel like we left something, that's when i feel the pang for you. the knowledge that something (someone) is missing.
i hope to spread some kindness today, i hope your birthday kicks me into being generous instead of a self-pity party. i hope to show extra love to Addy, Lane and Nyah in honor of you.
i hope you experience kindness too, i hope my mom or another maternal person wraps you in a great big hug today until i can get to do it myself. i hope you get to see a rainbow or fresh dew on flowers and feel breezes in your hair.
I love you Ellery Ann,
I will choose hope,
Love,
your mom
less
Friday, March 1, 2019
2019 is my year of less.
of less noise, distractions, and scheduling conflicts. less fights with my kids, less toys to step on, less clutter, less hurt, less less less.
the ironic thing is, in getting less- i have more. more time with my kids when i'm not worried about my things, more time for myself after the kids go to bed. i've spent the better part of the last two-three months devouring books on minimalism. i have given away hundreds of pounds of possessions. an extra comforter we don't need, books i haven't read in years, toys that aren't played with.
i've dumped out drawers and donated clothes, pulled out almost every item and realized the weight of the responsibility of bringing an item into my house.
this is not ground breaking information but it is a groundbreaking movement in my life. i am not the first one to realize the complete overwhelm of the american lifestyle that we work endlessly to achieve. the feeling of "if we had a little bit more..."
if we had more money we could finally get out of debt
if we had more time we could finally spend some time with our kids
if we had more more more
i think grief is such an interesting place to approach minimalism from because possessions can mean so much when you go through grief. you get these things because green was their favorite color, or elephants remind you of them.
it's been in giving my items away though that i have felt truly free. Marie Kondo said one of the most freeing things in her book The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up
essentially
it is not the memories that we need to treasure but who we have become because of those experiences that we need to embrace.
It was so freeing to me. Freeing to let go of my past because I am no longer in it. Free to let go of duplicates and trust that when the time comes I can find a replacement. Free to let go, let go, let go. Every closet in our house has extra room in it right now. Lane's room is the last to be fully decluttered as we are in the process of adding shelves to his closet. My house takes ten minutes to get picked up at night. I know where most of our stuff is (the garage is still a little bit of a mess and we still have some work to do overall).
There is room, room in our house for people to walk in and be themselves, for messes to get made because the surfaces are clear, for art projects that before had pieces scattered everywhere.
I have gotten more of what matters by giving up what didn't.
Minimalism and Healing
Sunday, February 10, 2019
This past week, I dropped off loads and loads of things. Things kept in boxes and duffel bags for the past three years.
The things that I was gripping onto so tightly, in fear that's what I needed. Six copies of Ellery's memorial service on DVD, two swimsuits she never wore, a baby blanket that never touched her, stuffed animals she never played with.
The things that I thought would keep me close to my daughter, but were really just gathering dust in my closet.
I had the unique experience of being 28 and coming face to face with realizing what exactly you get to take with you when you die, which, spoiler alert, is nothing and also our current mortality rate, which seems to still be peaking at 100%. After Jim died, I was so overwhelmed, we like most families, had accumulated a four bedroom house full of stuff and he loved his things.
I was faced with going through box after box, drawer after drawer, pile after pile. Sorting, surrounded by the things that couldn't save him and empty tokens of a life that far surpassed his mass of things. A job most people go through for the first time when sorting through their parents things.
The feeling of overwhelm, of anxiety, of being frozen to the spot, I believe this is linked to holding onto our possessions far beyond when they serve us.
Every moment is lived once. There are so many moments I would love to live again but it's not the case and no amount of mementos or snapshots or baby booties can bring me back to them. We take these possessions with us as if they are time travelers, able to convey us back to the moment at will but it's all a falsehood.
I believe in confronting our physical things, we confront our emotional beings, the hurt, the trauma, the past. Hurt for a while, is like a wet blanket. It's not comfortable, but it seems better than nothing. Eventually though, it starts to feel itchy, uncomfortable, we wonder what a life without it would be like but are too scared to part with it.
We stockpile and we hoard, we can't imagine without so we never go without. We buy in bulk, we take two handfuls when one would do.
I'm linked to my daughter because I'm linked to her through energy and connection that I'll never be able to understand. I'm linked to her because I have faith that we will be together again, I'm linked to her because she was made in me, I gave her life. The sad pile of things though? The items I bought over and over again, thinking they would give me a greater connection to her? Those were robbing me of space, space to move on, to heal.
The truth is, immediately following I felt great. I was glad to know that another baby would be using those items I had picked out with such care. And then I've kind of crashed. I am struggling, sad and upset. Did I push too fast? Did I get rid of too much? Did I pull the bandaid off before I was ready?
No, but I made space, space in my heart and in my life. I was immediately faced with a fight to fill that space. I think the devil is trying to fill that space with doubt and disappointment and fatigue, but it's mean to be filled with contentment and grace and love. But damn is it a hard fight.
James 1:17 Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
Ephesians 6:12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
The things that I was gripping onto so tightly, in fear that's what I needed. Six copies of Ellery's memorial service on DVD, two swimsuits she never wore, a baby blanket that never touched her, stuffed animals she never played with.
The things that I thought would keep me close to my daughter, but were really just gathering dust in my closet.
I had the unique experience of being 28 and coming face to face with realizing what exactly you get to take with you when you die, which, spoiler alert, is nothing and also our current mortality rate, which seems to still be peaking at 100%. After Jim died, I was so overwhelmed, we like most families, had accumulated a four bedroom house full of stuff and he loved his things.
I was faced with going through box after box, drawer after drawer, pile after pile. Sorting, surrounded by the things that couldn't save him and empty tokens of a life that far surpassed his mass of things. A job most people go through for the first time when sorting through their parents things.
The feeling of overwhelm, of anxiety, of being frozen to the spot, I believe this is linked to holding onto our possessions far beyond when they serve us.
Every moment is lived once. There are so many moments I would love to live again but it's not the case and no amount of mementos or snapshots or baby booties can bring me back to them. We take these possessions with us as if they are time travelers, able to convey us back to the moment at will but it's all a falsehood.
I believe in confronting our physical things, we confront our emotional beings, the hurt, the trauma, the past. Hurt for a while, is like a wet blanket. It's not comfortable, but it seems better than nothing. Eventually though, it starts to feel itchy, uncomfortable, we wonder what a life without it would be like but are too scared to part with it.
We stockpile and we hoard, we can't imagine without so we never go without. We buy in bulk, we take two handfuls when one would do.
I'm linked to my daughter because I'm linked to her through energy and connection that I'll never be able to understand. I'm linked to her because I have faith that we will be together again, I'm linked to her because she was made in me, I gave her life. The sad pile of things though? The items I bought over and over again, thinking they would give me a greater connection to her? Those were robbing me of space, space to move on, to heal.
The truth is, immediately following I felt great. I was glad to know that another baby would be using those items I had picked out with such care. And then I've kind of crashed. I am struggling, sad and upset. Did I push too fast? Did I get rid of too much? Did I pull the bandaid off before I was ready?
No, but I made space, space in my heart and in my life. I was immediately faced with a fight to fill that space. I think the devil is trying to fill that space with doubt and disappointment and fatigue, but it's mean to be filled with contentment and grace and love. But damn is it a hard fight.
James 1:17 Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
Ephesians 6:12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
when 2016 hit me, i knew what was going to happen after that. and it's interesting, as we enter 2019 to sit back and share this, what has made me the most vulnerable.
more vulnerable than losing my child and my husband was that in the aftermath, i felt it had been wasted.
after it all happened, i spent the next year making plans, plans about how it wasn't going to break me, plans on how to share my story, plans on breaking silence and stigma, building a successful career out of hardship, using my story to provide for my children, being an entrepreneur.
and then, on the very last day of 2016, 9 months since i lost my husband, i wrote in my journal that i wanted to find love in the next year.
my steps since then have been so different than what i thought. i suddenly found myself in a very serious relationship and 6 months after that, found out i was expecting. Christian and i are about to celebrate our two year (dating anniversary) next month and in that year we have, moved in together, bought a house together, gone through pregnancy, had a baby, and gotten married.
and through all of those amazing steps, i wondered why i'm not speaking, why i'm not writing my book, why is my story being wasted.
since the new year started, i have had powerful lies revealed in my life. lies that i believed the narrative of without questioning.
that the pain was all a waste
that i am squandering my time
that i was meant to do something different
in all honesty, i was having a hard time being content in this season. because as unexpected as those losses were, the follow up steps have been JUST AS UNEXPECTED. and that is the crux of it all, that we as humans, can get knocked completely on our asses and still get up and feel that we can figure it out.
but i cannot figure it out. i cannot figure out why so many of my dreams have been put on hold. and to be honest, i am done trying. and so i sit, i sit in my season. today i wrote these truths on the mirror
"God has equipped me"
"my children are my ministry"
"the power within me is greater than the forces outside of me"
I have been devouring Bible verses about self-talk, about fixing our thoughts, focusing on what is joyful and mindful. I am striving to hold every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ. I have written my reminders everywhere, reciting them as often as I can. First thing in the morning, last thing at night.
I am done with the lies about myself and my story. I am done with striving to make the pain have a purpose.
Because that energy? that energy could be put to my babies, to my partner, to myself. To joy, to laughter, to contentment. I am content in my season.
more vulnerable than losing my child and my husband was that in the aftermath, i felt it had been wasted.
after it all happened, i spent the next year making plans, plans about how it wasn't going to break me, plans on how to share my story, plans on breaking silence and stigma, building a successful career out of hardship, using my story to provide for my children, being an entrepreneur.
and then, on the very last day of 2016, 9 months since i lost my husband, i wrote in my journal that i wanted to find love in the next year.
my steps since then have been so different than what i thought. i suddenly found myself in a very serious relationship and 6 months after that, found out i was expecting. Christian and i are about to celebrate our two year (dating anniversary) next month and in that year we have, moved in together, bought a house together, gone through pregnancy, had a baby, and gotten married.
and through all of those amazing steps, i wondered why i'm not speaking, why i'm not writing my book, why is my story being wasted.
since the new year started, i have had powerful lies revealed in my life. lies that i believed the narrative of without questioning.
that the pain was all a waste
that i am squandering my time
that i was meant to do something different
in all honesty, i was having a hard time being content in this season. because as unexpected as those losses were, the follow up steps have been JUST AS UNEXPECTED. and that is the crux of it all, that we as humans, can get knocked completely on our asses and still get up and feel that we can figure it out.
but i cannot figure it out. i cannot figure out why so many of my dreams have been put on hold. and to be honest, i am done trying. and so i sit, i sit in my season. today i wrote these truths on the mirror
"God has equipped me"
"my children are my ministry"
"the power within me is greater than the forces outside of me"
I have been devouring Bible verses about self-talk, about fixing our thoughts, focusing on what is joyful and mindful. I am striving to hold every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ. I have written my reminders everywhere, reciting them as often as I can. First thing in the morning, last thing at night.
I am done with the lies about myself and my story. I am done with striving to make the pain have a purpose.
Because that energy? that energy could be put to my babies, to my partner, to myself. To joy, to laughter, to contentment. I am content in my season.
failing.
Thursday, January 3, 2019
its 2019. and i, always a resolutionist, have scoured and wracked my brain for what i want. what i want to do, to accomplish, to be this year. and to be honest, i haven't come up with much yet.
1. run our local towns race in June
2. a night away with Christian (havent done this yet in our two years of being together)
3. slow down
and maybe that's why i haven't tacked things on, maybe i don't want to look at a long list of things i didn't accomplish or didn't get to, things i failed at again.
i'm on a break from instagram. i am terrible with instagram, for some reason i can see past so many social media platforms- i don't use snapchat anymore, facebook is a rarity, but man that instagram gets me.
the beauty, the hilarity, the poignant. it's all there. inspiration and life tips, cardi b, it's all so accessible. and i spent a lot of time on it.
then christmas season started. and my feed was suddenly 50 trees all lit with garlands, families posing and smiling, and so in a moment of "if i see one more freaking gingerbread house before christmas comes, i will lose it! NO ONE EVEN LIKES MAKING GINGERBREAD HOUSES AND THEY TASTE LIKE TRASH" i deleted the app and it's not reinstalled yet. although in all honesty, i hopped on after christmas via safari and scrolled, caught up on kulture, you know the important things.
but my break from instagram went deeper than just a break from other peoples highlight reels. because something embarrassing happened when we moved into this house and i have just realized it in the past month or so.
when we moved, i paid for our bedroom walls to be painted white, because everyone i follow on instagram had white walls and they are the BEST, right boo? the best, so clean and pristine.
guys - i hate my white walls. hate them. i can't rest, they feel sterile, like my eyes are constantly bouncing because it's so reflective. and because i have lofted ceilings, it's not really like a paint it yourself kind of deal. so here i am 31 years old and painting my house to be like someone else, to emulate someone else. and that's embarrassing, and messed up.
and i need a break, i need to know who i am, at my core. without the distraction of looking at everyone else's capsule wardrobe, toddler meals, wall colors (LOL), book list to read.
what does bria weigle barber want? because somewhere along the way in this journey, i started censoring myself again. i came out of my pain a little bit and honestly, just desperately wanted to return to normal. i wanted to be normal. i let what i think other people think about me LIMIT my own actions.
are you getting that? i let what i think other people think limit me. i spend more time thinking about what other people will think about what i post, like, follow, or write than i do actually posting, liking, following, or writing.
i didn't want to be the girl whose first husband passed away from suicide. i didn't want to be the girl whose ex-father in law writes her emails about how her children suffer under her care. i didn't want to live all these uncomfortable and painful truths that somehow i found myself living. i didn't want to be the prodigal girl that returned to the church. i didn't want to be the girl that still drinks to much even though she always regrets it. i didn't want to be the girl who hasn't seen half her family for most of her life, whose mom passed away, the girl who felt unlovable, who still feels that way, the girl who wished not to be here, the girl who sometimes feels like she can't move because of depression.
who i don't want to be can go on and on. but i have to own my truth. and for whatever reason (i like to think it's because God works through suffering and he is going to work through me) this is my story.
pain is still pain, and sometimes when it becomes manageable pain. when you aren't drowning in pain, it becomes easier to stifle, to ignore, to pretend. in the beginning, i had no choice but to be raw, to be vulnerable, to be real. and sometimes when you have been in really deep pain, going back into it seems scary, like there is anything else i would rather do than sit in my pain and be okay with it and then come tell you about sitting in it via blog and public platform where people can pick it apart and ask me questions about it.
and so this is my resolution. in 2019, i'm not going to be afraid of pain. i'm not going to limit myself by what i think others will think (that phrase gets me every time), i'm going to hit publish on my raw and on my real, and i am going to stay the fuck off instagram.
here's to 2019!
1. run our local towns race in June
2. a night away with Christian (havent done this yet in our two years of being together)
3. slow down
and maybe that's why i haven't tacked things on, maybe i don't want to look at a long list of things i didn't accomplish or didn't get to, things i failed at again.
i'm on a break from instagram. i am terrible with instagram, for some reason i can see past so many social media platforms- i don't use snapchat anymore, facebook is a rarity, but man that instagram gets me.
the beauty, the hilarity, the poignant. it's all there. inspiration and life tips, cardi b, it's all so accessible. and i spent a lot of time on it.
then christmas season started. and my feed was suddenly 50 trees all lit with garlands, families posing and smiling, and so in a moment of "if i see one more freaking gingerbread house before christmas comes, i will lose it! NO ONE EVEN LIKES MAKING GINGERBREAD HOUSES AND THEY TASTE LIKE TRASH" i deleted the app and it's not reinstalled yet. although in all honesty, i hopped on after christmas via safari and scrolled, caught up on kulture, you know the important things.
but my break from instagram went deeper than just a break from other peoples highlight reels. because something embarrassing happened when we moved into this house and i have just realized it in the past month or so.
when we moved, i paid for our bedroom walls to be painted white, because everyone i follow on instagram had white walls and they are the BEST, right boo? the best, so clean and pristine.
guys - i hate my white walls. hate them. i can't rest, they feel sterile, like my eyes are constantly bouncing because it's so reflective. and because i have lofted ceilings, it's not really like a paint it yourself kind of deal. so here i am 31 years old and painting my house to be like someone else, to emulate someone else. and that's embarrassing, and messed up.
and i need a break, i need to know who i am, at my core. without the distraction of looking at everyone else's capsule wardrobe, toddler meals, wall colors (LOL), book list to read.
what does bria weigle barber want? because somewhere along the way in this journey, i started censoring myself again. i came out of my pain a little bit and honestly, just desperately wanted to return to normal. i wanted to be normal. i let what i think other people think about me LIMIT my own actions.
are you getting that? i let what i think other people think limit me. i spend more time thinking about what other people will think about what i post, like, follow, or write than i do actually posting, liking, following, or writing.
i didn't want to be the girl whose first husband passed away from suicide. i didn't want to be the girl whose ex-father in law writes her emails about how her children suffer under her care. i didn't want to live all these uncomfortable and painful truths that somehow i found myself living. i didn't want to be the prodigal girl that returned to the church. i didn't want to be the girl that still drinks to much even though she always regrets it. i didn't want to be the girl who hasn't seen half her family for most of her life, whose mom passed away, the girl who felt unlovable, who still feels that way, the girl who wished not to be here, the girl who sometimes feels like she can't move because of depression.
who i don't want to be can go on and on. but i have to own my truth. and for whatever reason (i like to think it's because God works through suffering and he is going to work through me) this is my story.
pain is still pain, and sometimes when it becomes manageable pain. when you aren't drowning in pain, it becomes easier to stifle, to ignore, to pretend. in the beginning, i had no choice but to be raw, to be vulnerable, to be real. and sometimes when you have been in really deep pain, going back into it seems scary, like there is anything else i would rather do than sit in my pain and be okay with it and then come tell you about sitting in it via blog and public platform where people can pick it apart and ask me questions about it.
and so this is my resolution. in 2019, i'm not going to be afraid of pain. i'm not going to limit myself by what i think others will think (that phrase gets me every time), i'm going to hit publish on my raw and on my real, and i am going to stay the fuck off instagram.
here's to 2019!
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