The Beauty in Belief

We grew up with the idea that there are three things that should not be discussed. Politics, religion, and money. And while I can agree to that to a certain extent, I think we have been trained to not talk about those things because they can become quite uncomfortable to talk about. With that being said, typically the most uncomfortable topics are the ones that need to be discussed the most. So, on today’s episode of “What the fuck is on Brookana’s mind today?” I would like to introduce you to the world of religion. 

My dad was never a religious person. He doesn’t believe in God, or any deity for that matter, and that is totally fine. My mom identifies as a Christian, and she tried to get my brother and I involved in the church at a young age. I briefly mentioned in another piece that I was confirmed as a methodist, but I never have believed in God. I don’t believe in the Devil, resulting in me not believing in Hell. Truthfully, I think I mostly went through with confirmation because I wanted to hang out with the other kids, and I thought it was fun. I was actually so against the idea of God and Heaven and Hell that I actually used to mock the people who believed in it. I wanted to rebel against it for some unknown reason, and I never shied away from making my opinion known.

I used to have very little respect for Christianity. I honestly thought that it was a religion where people could pretend to be amazing individuals in the church so that they could feel better about being horrible in the real world. I thought that Christianity was nothing more than a hypocritical, thieving, and conniving institution where people could get away with everything because “Jesus died for our sins.” Now, I still think that there are some people who lean more towards the questionable side within Christianity, however, you can say that about every single religion. There are always going to be a few bad seeds no matter where you go. 

There were points in time where I felt the need to believe in something. I had always been open to there being something beyond this life. I would research different religions and think to myself “yes, that is absolutely correct!” or “wow, that makes a lot of sense.” There were times where I thought “maybe I should just be a Christian.” I would find myself praying to God, trying to connect, but there was never anything. I never felt a connection. My heart was never in it. I never believed in God, and yet I was trying to because I knew I believed in something but I didn’t know what it was. 

You see, I had always had a special relationship with the universe. I have always walked outside barefoot on the grass so that I could feel the Earth’s vibrations shooting up into me. I used to feel an incredible amount of peace by lying on the grass (despite my extreme allergies) or by touching a tree or holding a flower. Animals have always been attracted to me and I have always been attracted to them. I feel the most wholesome when I am outside and I can hear the wind blowing past me or the birds chirping. 

I have always felt that I could see and feel souls from beyond. I used to have premonitions when I was younger. The dream that I remember the most was my brother and I playing in our playroom in the basement of our home, having a conversation at the same time. I played with specific toys, I said specific things, and then a few days later, it all happened exactly how I dreamt it. I remember in high school I once told a classmate of mine that I could see and feel spirits. He laughed at me and told the whole class. It didn’t bother me though, because people don’t necessarily know how to handle something that seems too out of the ordinary. Some people aren’t capable of accepting the things that are right in front of them. Another thing that I have known about myself is that I am EXTREMELY sensitive to energy. I can tell you if someone has more good or bad intentions. I know when someone is lying to me. I know when someone isn’t feeling well. I can feel what others feel. I can easily figure out who a person is within moments of being within their presence. I used to think that I hated people, but as I have gotten older and have learned about my gifts I have learned that I do not hate people, I just hate the energy that radiates off of them. I am trying to learn how to not allow others’ negative energy to penetrate me, but it takes time and skill, both of which I need more of. (By the way, if you were curious about what gifts I have I am a Clairsentient Empath with a dash of telepathy.)  

Anyway, I have written an article about my religion and my beliefs, but in case you didn’t read it I am a Wiccan and I practice witchcraft. I have never been more at peace in my life, and I have never felt so sure about myself or my path. This is what I am supposed to be doing, and just like I have said before all the beliefs that I have ever had finally have a home. Another beautiful thing is that I don’t believe in God, but I have found my deities. My deities have been so helpful to me and my path, and I truly have a deep connection with them. I work with Brigid and Hades, and thinking of them brings pure bliss into my soul. 

This leads me to why I am writing this. I have noticed that a lot of people think that what I am doing is nonsense. A lot of times, people voice concerns over me reading Tarot, talking about spirits, or even doing rituals. I like to talk a lot about Wicca and witchcraft and make videos explaining it because I think there is nothing to hide. In fact, if I could, I would teach everyone about my beliefs. This is only because I know that I find all belief systems so intriguing, and I thought that maybe others would like to learn as well. I refuse to ever be the type of person who gatekeeps my beliefs or the type of person that pushes my beliefs on to others. 

Many moons ago, my mom said something to me that has stuck. It has been something that I have often reflected upon, but haven’t fully appreciated until the past few years. When I was a teenager and in my “rebellious” years, she once sat me down and told me that it doesn’t matter what others believe in as long as it brings them peace. She said that, as a Christian, believing in God and in Heaven is comforting to her, and it isn’t anyone’s place to judge what brings people happiness. And you know what, she is absolutely correct. Now that I have found my spirituality and my “home” I understand what it feels like to be attacked for your beliefs. In my eyes, as long as you are not harming anyone or anything then I would want you to find peace with your beliefs or even a lack of them. Even if you don’t believe in anything at all that is fine! 

It boils down to this, no one, no matter what religion or belief system you belong to, can say with one-hundred percent certainty that their belief system is factual. There are thousands of religions out in this world, and any one of them could be what actually happens, or none at all. There is even a possibility that once we die that’s it. It could just be blackness and nothing. We don’t know. But that is the beauty of belief. There is something so special in the feeling of believing and resonating with something so much that your soul feels at peace when you think about it. There is nothing that feels better than strengthening your spirituality, and for me, working on my gifts. 

I am a human being, and I have had to learn a lot about respect and appreciation over the years. When it comes to others and their beliefs, especially with Christianity, I have had to learn to allow others to believe what they want to believe if it makes them happy and if it helps their soul. I don’t think that there is a single person on this planet that should judge someone else’s belief system, or tell them that it is not real. Those people are the people who are somewhat empty on the inside because anyone capable of tarnishing something so precious to another person has some life lessons to learn. 

So, with that being said, no matter what belief system you believe in never allow someone to make you feel bad about that. Take pity upon them, because they are lacking while you are thriving. There is a little bit of magic within us all, and that magic stems from the soul.

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Salem: Part One

I always think about traveling. A lot of times, just for fun, I hop on Expedia and plan trips that I know I will never be able to take. I plan out the flights, the hotel, and the activities. I look at restaurants and I deep dive into the history of where “I am going.” There are so many places that I could only dream of going to when it comes to international travel, and there are places within my own country that I have always wanted to explore. So when the opportunity presented itself for my very first solo trip, I jumped on that quicker than a cheetah going after its prey.

The good news was this: I was finally going to be able to go on a trip! But the dilemma was this: I am literally the most indecisive person that has ever existed, so choosing a place to travel to put me in distress. (Wow, what a problem to have you spoiled brat.) I briefly thought about the pacific northwest, but ultimately decided to pass on that. If I were going to go on a domestic trip I wanted to make sure that I chose a place that I have always wanted to go. I then narrowed it down to three choices: Washington DC, New Orleans, and Salem. I decided that I wanted to save Washington DC so that one day I could go with my dad, so now it was between New Orleans and Salem. New Orleans has always intrigued me, and during my time in Texas, I always wanted to go on a road trip there. My husband had been there many years prior to our relationship and wasn’t a fan, so he never wanted to go with me. Salem is a place that I have often thought about. Its deep and morbid history always seemed to have some sort of calling to me, so I finally made the decision to make my way east.

I had been to Massachusetts once before, and it was probably the best trip that I have ever been on. A week after my twenty-first birthday my best friend and I went to Boston to visit her sister, and it was such a memorable trip. We saw the Freedom Trail, we went whale watching, and we drank like fish. It was incredible and I remember it fondly. I always talked about making my way back to Massachusetts, so when I made my final decision about traveling alone to Salem, I was beyond excited. Like, embarrassingly excited. The moment I booked my flight and my hotel, my body became mostly adrenaline and I couldn’t stop telling my family and friends about the plans that I had just made. After a couple of hours of nonstop talking, jumping, and screaming, “I’m going to Salem!” I finally wore myself out and needed to go to bed. It is safe to say that I made the right choice.

When I woke up I was still massively excited, but for another reason other than the vacation aspect of it. Of course, I was incredibly eager to visit a place that I have always wanted to visit; however, I was also excited because I saw this solo trip as an opportunity to explore self-love. You see, as independent as I like to think that I am, I still think that there is a part of me that relies on others for certain things. Take New Orleans for example. I never road tripped there because my husband never wanted to go with me, and I honestly don’t think I ever thought about going on my own. When it comes to big things such as travel, I have always had it in my head that if I can’t find someone to go with me then I just won’t go at all. But after thinking about that mindset, I started to become upset with myself. This is my life. This is the one chance that I have to learn and to explore and to do things that will bring me happiness. So why have I always thought that I couldn’t do something as incredible as traveling on my own? Why have I put aside the places that I wanted to experience just because I couldn’t find another person to experience it with me? So when I booked this trip to Salem, a place that I have always wanted to go to, but no one else that I was close to was interested in, I started a new chapter in my life. The chapter where I actively make an effort to do things for myself that will bring me joy.

I think that there is a difference between being selfish and making sure that you are being kind to yourself. So far in my life, I have never seen myself as a priority. My husband, my animals, my family, and my best friend have always been the most important to me. I became so used to being shut down when it came to experiencing things with the people that I care about, that whenever I asked someone to do something with me I became numb to the feeling of my desires being put to the side. But the funny thing is, I never had to do that. I have had the power all along to follow through with the things that I have wanted, but I guess I just never saw it that way. I suppose I thought that experiences such as traveling would be more meaningful or special if it was experienced with someone you care about, but then that made me think, “Wait a minute, I care about myself. I could do with some quality time alone.” And the moment I had that epiphany was the moment that I changed my life for the better.

I didn’t really have any fears about traveling alone. Although my family, my husband, and my best friend were worried about my safety, that was never a concern of mine. My two biggest concerns were being away from my animals and, as silly as this may sound, eating alone at restaurants. Yeah, the thought of possibly getting hurt in a freak accident or being sliced and diced by a stranger never crossed my mind, but eating alone… Frightening. I am proud to say that I conquered my fear of eating alone like the true champ that I am, but leaving my animals and not having control over their safety is still anxiety-inducing. But whenever I get too worried, I just have to remind myself that they are safe and are in good hands and that I am allowed to enjoy myself while I am away.

I booked my trip pretty last minute, so the seven days between booking the trip and leaving were filled to the brim with buzz and eagerness. I spent hours upon hours planning out the areas that I wanted to explore, looking into tours, browsing the shops, and researching nearby restaurants. I wrote out everything that I wanted to do and figured out how far it was from my hotel. I made an organized list of each place with the addresses, hours, prices, and what kind of activity each place was. (Everyone, meet Brookana. She is type a.) The more I planned, the more ready I was to start this new adventure.

I woke up at four in the morning the day that I left, and all of my excitement turned into anxiety and sadness. I couldn’t believe that I was going to go to another state all by myself. What if something happened to the animals? What if something happened to my husband? What would I do if someone got hurt and I was a thousand miles away? What about eating alone?! I looked down at my dog, Luna, as I was about to leave and just saw betrayal in her eyes, and I felt immediate guilt. All these fears and insecurities crept back in, and they kept intensifying the closer I got to the airport. While I was sitting at the gate, I spoke to my husband on the phone as he was driving to work and all I felt was longing for him. I missed him and the furbabies already. For a moment, just a brief moment, I thought about leaving the airport and going back home. But then I realized that I was allowing my fears and my doubt to control the amazing thing that I was about to experience, and I shut it down as fast as I could.

When I boarded the plane I was feeling pretty confident and I felt my excitement starting to creep back in, but I was still slightly worried. But with that being said, the moment the plane started to accelerate down the runway and I felt that we were off of the ground, I caught myself smiling.

You Don’t Know What Is Possible Until You Try

Growing up, my Mema would always tell me that I should publish a book when I was older. I was very fortunate when my parents divorced because I would spend a lot of time at my grandparent’s house, and every night Mema would read me story after story until my eyelids felt heavy and my busy mind was feeling at peace. Mema would also tell me stories that she would come up with herself, as well as stories about where our ancestors came from. I soaked up every story like a sponge, and I am convinced that Mema’s gift for storytelling was passed down to me. 

I have always been quite imaginative. When I was young I was obsessed with American Girl dolls and Barbies, and the elaborate backgrounds that I would give each doll would often leave the adults in my life in awe. Someone, although I can’t remember who at this exact moment, recently told me that they would listen in on my play sessions because they were fascinated with the stories that I would put my dolls through. I could come up with stories in an instant, and they would be full of depth. My favorite time of year was when we could participate in Young Authors, which was where we were given a blank book that we could write down stories in as well as illustrate them ourselves. That made me feel so alive. Coming up with a pretend world with pretend people and bringing it all to life brought me so much joy and elation, and it also made me feel really proud of myself.

As I became older I learned of different ways to write down stories. One of my fondest memories was in third grade when we started to learn how to write an essay, and I remember writing a nonfiction essay about my aunt’s wedding. Apparently, I did well because my teacher read it aloud for all of my classmates to hear, and you could imagine how elated I was during that moment. My teacher loved what I had to say so much that she wanted everyone else to hear it, and that is one of the greatest feelings in the world. Although I am typically a humble human being, I do love when others enjoy my pieces. I always have loved it, and I always will love it. When someone loves and enjoys one of my pieces, it is one of the biggest compliments that you could ever give me. It brings more value to my life than platinum. 

As I got older, I never strayed away from writing. I would always type out little stories here and there, I would make an attempt at poetry every now and again, or I would just journal. In high school, I participated in journalism for three years, and although it was different than what I was used to it gave me life during a time where I felt like I wasn’t living at all. It gave me purpose, it taught me about deadlines, and it still gave me that feeling of happiness whenever I would see one of my articles in the school paper. It was magic for me. It was an outlet, and it showed me what gave me passion. Journalism was the best part of high school for me, and I will always be grateful for that. 

Once I graduated high school I went on to college, where I changed my major more times than I can count. At first, I wanted to go into journalism, but I was told it was a dying career and that I should avoid doing that at all costs. Then I wanted to go into education, but after speaking with a middle school teacher during my observational hours, she told me to run for the hills. I realized that education wasn’t for me, so I moved on to the next thing. My parents really wanted me to have a career in something that would pay well, but more importantly, would provide excellent health care. Being a type one diabetic is not cheap, and I need the best insurance plan in order to afford my doctor’s visits and medications. So for years I took classes and went into programs for different healthcare fields, and I was unhappy with every single one. It got to the point where I was spending all of this money on school and books and I finally just stopped going to school. I didn’t want to continue with school until I figured out what it was that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. In the back of my mind, I always think about going into a field that will pay me well and offer good benefits, but at the end of the day, nothing was going to give me that happiness that I desired. That is until I realized that there was something that I could do that I could love and be proud of. 

I love writing. I always have loved it, and I always will. I love having thoughts and writing them down, and reading it back feeling totally captivated. I revel at that moment when my family and friends read my pieces and enjoy them. Every time I press publish on my blog, that spark that keeps me alive gets a little bit bigger. I love creating and sharing, and I love connecting with others when I write something that they might relate to. What I am doing now is what I should have been doing all along, and although I can’t get the time back that I wasted trying to figure out what I should do I can embrace the fact that I have finally figured it out and I am doing it now.

You see, a big life lesson that I have learned is that you can hear and accept what people have to say to you when you are given advice, but you are the only one who knows what is truly best for you. Had I stuck on the path that I had originally taken, I would have not wasted all of that time in between. I always had that gut feeling that I would find my way back to storytelling, and it brings me so much happiness that I have found my way back to my passion. To me, hating my job and my life is too steep of a price to pay for having loads of money in my bank account. I am not oblivious to the fact that money is essential to living, but if you are willing to work at it, then following your dream can be possible. You don’t know what is possible until you try. This whole story leads down to one thing: Follow your instinct. Follow your passion. Follow whatever keeps giving your spark life.

The Magic of Holidays

This holiday season was the first time in four years that I was able to spend it with all of my family members, and it truly was spectacular. When I was younger I would always correlate joy, happiness, love, and peace to the holiday season, and that was mostly because that meant that I was going to be able to spend quality time with my family. The number of laughs that we all share, the conversations about past stories that kept me completely enthralled, and just spending time with my loved ones always felt so special. The magic of Christmas was never about the gifts for me, it always stemmed from the love that I felt when I had my loved ones around me.

When Stephen and I made the decision that we were going to move down to Dallas we didn’t even think about what the holidays were going to be like. We had a dream to move and we were willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen, but little did we know that the cost of the dream of moving was exorbitant. We knew that leaving home and everyone else behind was going to be sad, but nothing prepared us for how truly soul-crushing and lonely that whole experience was.   

Being away from family was always difficult, but nothing made you realize how alone you truly were until the holidays would come around. I went from having an immense amount of excitement starting at the beginning of October to being filled with sorrow and dread. I am already a severely depressed person, so the thought of being alone during the time of the year that I used to crave just made me even more devastated. I had Stephen and my furchildren, with whom I cherish more than my own life, but sitting alone watching movies while everyone else was enjoying one another always made me sink into another low. Perhaps being alone made me realize as much as I always loved spending the holidays with my family maybe I also took it for granted. I missed the magic, I missed my family, and I missed that wholesome feeling that I felt whenever it was the holiday season. 

When Stephen and I made the decision to move back home to Chicago in March one of the first thoughts I had was “I can’t wait for the holidays!” The thought of being with all of my loved ones and feeling all of that love fueled me with eagerness and excitement. When the beginning of October came around, I started to feel that magic that I always used to feel growing up. When Thanksgiving finally arrived, it felt superb to actually get in the car and drive forty-five minutes to my grandparent’s house. Seeing my dad making mashed potatoes and having my Mema squeeze me the moment she saw me filled my heart with so much happiness. This is what I have been missing. This is what I have been wanting. This is what I have been desperate for. Then it was Christmas time. I have been filled to the brim with that magical feeling for a few months now, and this was the moment I have been waiting for. Christmas Eve and Christmas day was the happiest I have been for a very long time. I was with my parents, my grandparents, my husband, my in-laws, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Hell, people who I didn’t really know. But it was incredible being surrounded by all of these people just celebrating one another. When I was with everyone I found myself laughing again, telling stories about the past that kept me completely captivated and spending quality time with the people who I love so incredibly much. This year, the holidays felt exactly like I remember them feeling before we moved away, and for that, I will always be grateful and appreciate this time of year. 

The magic of the holidays doesn’t stem from the gifts you receive. No. It stems from the love that you feel when you are with the people you adore and cherish.