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Date:
February 16, 2016

Author:
Ashlyn Carter

filed in:
Lifestyle

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Hey! Ashlyn here, OG copywriter for creatives—reporting for duty. 

Let's get you a message so tight you can bounce a quarter off of it. Around here, we serve up science-based storytelling strategies the creative set.  Even while raking in more than 1.26M in agency work since I've been at it, I firmly believe working from a place of rest (not hustle) IS possible—and I want the same for you. Words matter. Best be sure they work (and oui, with math) ... and know how to party while they're at it. 

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Reading time: 2 min.

Today marks about a month out of the safe cocoon of the clinic and consistent therapy. A warm little cocoon where women whose minds have the same twisted neuro pathways so I felt less bizarre about panic attacks and disordered thoughts. Therapists who know how to push me. And out here, it’s harder than I thought it would be. You see, recovery doesn’t mean cured as much as it means equipped.

In His infinite mercy, the Great Physician knew where to place the knife. Where the festering, oozing mess of control, pride, and perfectionism was wrought in my life. Like a hospitalized wordless infant in getting shots, I glare at Him confused and agonized and He looks back lovingly, tearful-eyed, too. “Oh, if only you knew my love, daughter.”

In Joshua, twelve stones, representing respective tribes, stood by the Jordan River. They served as a remembrance sign. “In the future,” leader Joshua declared, “when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ Tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord … these stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.”

This morning I scrawled in my journal to the Lord how I need so many stacks of stones. So many. I need to be reminded of the pride. The idolatry. The partial hospitalization. The panic attacks. The tears. The nightmares. The remember the sweet fall, lest I forget how He gave me life to the fullest through His Christ, and how stripped to nothing, my God taught me Christ is truly all I have.

He answered.

My three stacks of stones:

  1. My journals. Moleskin ballpoint-pinned with thoughts and prayers. Scriptures and promises, chronicling it all, from first doubts, to questioning life, to redemption.
  2. Art affirmations. Making designs with words helps me. Whether it’s on a post-it by my mirror or hanging on a wall, seeing them — drawing them — helps.
  3. This outlet. I need this, sweet friend. Classic ENFJ: I think BY talking. BY using words. I lace thoughts by talking it out.

Thank you for letting me pile some rubble over here, sister. I pray He uses my sharing of things I learned to minister to you.

Want a link to more word affirmations? Click here to see my full Pinterest board.

Reading Time: 2 Minutes

Today marks about a month out of the safe cocoon of the clinic and consistent therapy. A warm little cocoon where women whose minds have the same twisted neuro pathways so I felt less bizarre about panic attacks and disordered thoughts. Therapists who know how to push me. And out here, it’s harder than I thought it would be. You see, recovery doesn’t mean cured as much as it means equipped.

2/16/16

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