I will admit that when I first heard about Colin Kaepernick taking a knee during the national anthem before one of the 49ers footballs games, I didn’t quite get it. Part of the reason for this is the way the media and everyone else was phrasing it. Kaepernick didn’t stand for the national anthem. Can you believe it? Does this guy hate America or what?

As I heard more about his actions, I began to understand that Kaepernick was doing it as a protest against racism in America. An understandable action for sure. But during the national anthem? That is a pretty sensitive moment for most Americans. A moment for national pride and respect.

And then I went to a USA Women’s soccer game in Atlanta. On the ride up my daughter, her friend, and I were all taking about our favorite players and how we couldn’t wait to see them in action. My daughter’s friend told me how her favorite player was Megan Rapinoe. She went on to say how she was worried about not getting to see Rapinoe play as Rapinoe had been taking a knee during the national anthem and her coaches weren’t pleased. Just to clarify I asked her, “Why is Rapinoe taking a knee?” Our friend replied, “Oh you know because of all the racism in this country. All the bad stuff happening to black people. She wanted to support Kaepernick in his protest of all that is going on.”

We went on to talk about a girl in her class who is taking a knee during the pledge of allegiance every school day because there isn’t actually “liberty and justice for all” right now. Apparently her teacher is not impressed.

We went on to talk about the Constitution and its Bill of Rights and specifically our First Amendment right to peaceful protest. We talked about our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, what it means to be the land of the free and the home of the brave, and other such things.

And then we got to the game and I forgot all about our conversation. We were so excited to be in the Georgia Dome and see our women play! And then the national anthem was playing. And there before my eyes was Megan Rapinoe silently, humbly, bowing down on one knee while the national anthem was sung.

And I don’t know it if was because she was a white woman or because she was on a soccer field or what, but suddenly I got it.

You see my kids play soccer. My son started when he was quite young. At that age kids often got hurt and fell down. Maybe they tripped or got tripped or were hit by the ball. This happened so much in the game with little kids dropping like flies that the league had a certain practice. When one kid saw that another player was down they immediately took a knee. One benefit of this practice was to alert the ref that there was a hurt player on the field (after all there are ten little kids running constantly, it is hard for one ref to keep track of them all.) Also, it helped to keep any other the other kids from accidentally running over the hurt kid and making things worse (they were little kids, these things happen).

So when I saw Megan Rapinoe taking a knee that night it all  clicked.

She was taking a knee to alert those in charge that there were people in her country, on HER TEAM so to say, that were injured and hurting.

She was letting everyone know that it was time to stop the game, check on the hurt person, and see what was needed to be done to heal their injury. Because we need them to be strong and well. Because they are a part of OUR TEAM and we need all our team healthy and strong to play the best game.

It turns out Rapinoe did play that night. She came in during the second half. And the boos raised the roof of the dome. And the girls got sooo upset. I told them to calm down as Megan had thought through what she was doing and surely knew there would be consequences. She just believed in what she was doing enough to face those consequences. Those are the ropes of social protest. And so they cheered for her throughout the game as loud as they could to counteract all the repeated boos.

Flash forward two weeks later and we are at a high school football game in another town as a part of my husband’s high school reunion. As the national anthem played two things happened. My son put my hand over my heart (To be honest I never quite know what to do during the anthem. I grew up standing at attention to the flag and singing along. I guess things have changed). One second later my daughter turns to me and says, “Should I take a knee?” I looked at her with big eyes and said, “Do what you think is right baby.” I watched as she slowly lowered half way down, panicked, and then stood back up again.

We all talked about the anthem moment in the car later. It turns out my husband was thinking the same thing as my daughter but backed out too. My daughter’s reason was this: She was already in a place where no one knew her or her heart. She already thought she stood out in a sea of pretty conservative white people (she is Chinese adopted and a socially liberal 13 year old). “I think they would have just ended up hating me and not understood what I was trying to do,” she said.” She obviously remembered the boos from the GA Dome. I talked about how I was again surprised it was time for the anthem to play (I really don’t get out enough) and hadn’t had time to think things through.

And such is the dilemma of social protest. Will people understand what you are doing? Will you change the way people see things or will they just hate you?

I guess that is why most social protests are planned well in advance with a lot of thought and with preparation to face the consequences.

So, Now that I have had a few hours to mull things over, I have made up my mind and am prepared to face the consequences.

Here is me belatedly taking a knee.

And it is not because I hate America, or because I don’t respect out veterans or troops.

I love my country. My Dad is a Vietnam vet. Half my friends are either vets or active duty military wives (we live in an Air Force town) and I respect and support them to no end.

I am not taking a knee because I hate America. I love my country. If I hated it I would just leave.

But I love my country and all of its people so much that I know we can do better. We HAVE to do better.

I believe in our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution and our National Anthem so much I want them to ring true for all our fine citizens.

And the hard truth is right now they don’t. Some of my fellow Americans are hurting right now.

And it is not just the police shootings. (By the way I don’t hate police either. My most beloved friend is in law enforcement so I get it is a hard, hard job. Cops have my respect, love, and support too.) The shootings of late are the tip of an iceberg of institutional racism in our country. Racism that manifests itself in many different forms but boils down to the fact that many white people see and treat black people as “other”rather than “neighbor” or “team mate” or “friend.”

I truly believe we can stop the game for a minute to look at the hurts of our black brothers and sisters and then try to all heal the hurts together. I truly believe things can be better if we ALL roll up our sleeves, join together, and do the hard work of trying.

We have done it before. We ended slavery. We stopped many ingrained racist practices in the 60s like segregation and Jim Crow laws. We just need to try again and change the hurts that are happening today.

I believe in our country and I believe in its people and I know we can do better . We MUST do better to be who we say we are.

So here I am down on one knee with my hand over my heart, singing about the land of the free and the home of the brave, hoping, striving for it to be true for all Americans.

Will you join me?

As I’ve written before, I have struggled all my life with anxiety and depression. That being said my symptoms wax and wane. Most of the time I am really functional. And then there have been the few times I have really crashed under the weight of it all.

I had one of those crashes two years ago.

(Thanks Facebook memories for celebrating the anniversary of this. How thoughtful).

The crash was bad enough and I was wise enough that I got some help crawling out of the anxiety and depression filled hole I was in. I got back in therapy. I went to a psychiatrist for the second time in my life. I got on some good anxiety meds and an SSRI (medicine used to mostly to treat depression but that also handily helps with anxiety. OCD be gone!)

Within weeks I was feeling better. Within months I was feeling really better. About six months in I realized I felt better than I had in YEARS.

It was like I had been so low level sick for so long I forgot what having a healthy mind felt like. It was a revolution.

I felt so great I asked my Doc when I could come off the drugs.

You see when I had my first crash in my 20s, I only took Klonopin and Paxil for about a year. I got a lot better and then I got off the meds. I couldn’t wait. The Paxil had several undesirable side effects including causing me to gain about 50 pounds.

The memory of the Paxil year was so strong I resisted medication for decades. Then when I had the bad crash two years ago, I had a long talk with my doctor who reassured me the drugs are better now and that she wouldn’t stick me on something I wasn’t happy with.

Let me tell you how scared and reticent I was two years ago to take that SSRI again after all those years . My Doc was really patient with me and ramped me up slow. To my surprise it was really smooth getting on the med  (unlike my experience with Paxil which aggravated my anxiety. My hands shook for weeks getting on that med. And don’t even get me started on the random dots of light I saw from time to time. Side effect city).

But the new drug was much better. And I was much better. I have gained 50 pounds over the two years I have been on it, my one bad side effect. My Doctor and I go back and forth on if its the medicine that is making me gain weight or my lack of anxiety and OCD that lets me enjoy eating again. Say what you want about OCD but it is a GREAT diet aid.

OCD me: Must not eat cookies. Cannot eat cookies. NO cookies.

Without OCD me: Cookies smell good. Cookies taste good. Eat cookies. Love all the cookies. Cookies best thing ever. Life is Wonderful!

But I digress. About a month ago I heard that there was this genetic test that could tell you which are the best psych meds for you. I figured, “What the heck, let’s try it.” It cost a few hundred bucks but the science of it all totally seduced me and it would give me information (including what pain meds work best for me) that would help me for the rest of my life.

So I swabbed me cheek and sent in the test thinking it would tell me I was on all the right meds. After all, I felt so much better.

So yesterday I had my follow up appointment with my Doc to review my test results and guess what we found. My SSRI fell in the “not as useful for my particular type of DNA” category. It also fell in the “has a lot of side effects for my DNA” category. Maybe it is not just the occasional cookie I now eat that made me gain 50 pounds.

Now I know this is good news in many ways. My Doc immediately pointed to a SNRI med in the “best” category that she loved and wants to switch me to. “You’ll do a lot better,” she said. “I thought I was better,” I replied. She looked me in the eyes, “You’ll be even better than you are now.”

I know this is good news. But a part of me  feels so sad. Not just because I have to come off one med and start another. which I dread (Thanks Paxil. No surprise you were in my “worst” category).

I feel sad because I am starting to realize that I have never known what “Good” feels like. I have never experienced life except through the lens of anxiety and depression. I couldn’t know what normal brain chemistry felt like if I tried.

Now part of me already knew this. I look at people who seem so strong and hearty and happy all the time. People who don’t get crippled by fear or depression. I wonder what it must feel like inside their selves.

And a part of me knows that even as a child I was scared a lot. That fear lurked around every corner. That I was withdrawn and slightly sad most of the time. There is a portrait that hangs in my parents house of me around ten years old. In it I look for all the world like my puppy just died. I have always hated that portrait. Because I know the artist captured something of my essence that day. And that essence’s eyes were so sad.

Not that I have never been happy or carefree. Not that I haven’t learned how to cope with anxiety and depression. Our deepest weakness bring our greatest gifts after all. I have a lot of gifts from my old pals anxiety and depression. I am caring and deep and thoughtful and know about a thousand ways to calm myself and others down.

But at the end of the day I have to admit my best happy and carefree moments were still bordered with anxiety and depression. Even though I am doing better now, when I am truly honest with myself there are days when I still really struggle. It is never as bad or as long as my worst of times, but it is there.

So it is with mixed emotions that I embark on the road to “even better.” Can my anxiety and depression ever really be cured? What will “even better” feel like? Will I even recognize myself?

But the thought of being able to do things I have never done lures me. I want to be able to walk across a swinging bridge with my family and laugh instead of having a panic attack. I want to board an airplane without thinking twice. I want to take a job without worrying how it will impact my anxiety and depression.

I don’t know if “Even Better” will let me do all those things. But I think I have to try.

So here’s to the ongoing uphill road to getting better. To finding my new normal. It is a little scary to think about climbing up this new hill. But hopefully it will be worth all  effort.

Do you have anxiety and or depression stories? Feel free to share. Our common knowledge makes us stronger.

So today marks twenty years that I have been married to my beloved Jason. We have been doing some serious celebrating of this milestone anniversary. We’ve also been pretty reflective of our relationship: what makes it tick, what makes it last, what got it started.

We both agree we thought of each other as marriage material pretty much upon first meeting, certainly upon our first date. A lot of things went right on that date, but none so funny as what has become known in our common lore as the “Fruit Cocktail” story. In a time when much on the internet raises our blood pressure, I hope this story makes you laugh and smile.

On my Anniversary, here is my gift to you:

Once upon a time there was a boy. A nineteen year old boy who was bright and mischievous on the outside but true and kind on the inside. One day the boy met one of his besties for lunch at Chick-fil-A, which made sense as they both were enrolled at a Baptist school together and strongly believed true love waits. The true love waits crowd has always loved Chick-fil-A.

To the boy’s surprise that day the bestie brought a tag-a-long. Another true love waits girl though she did not go to the Baptist school and was a stranger to the boy. The tag-a-long girl made the boy’s heart race and mouth talk fast. But the boy was a good boy inside so instead he just asked for the tag-a-long girl’s phone number a respectable number of days later.

A date was made between the good but mischievous boy and the new heart racy girl. The boy promised a picnic. The girl thought, “how romantic.” What the new girl didn’t know was that the boy was joking with his bestie every day that he was going to have “Fruit Cocktail” with the girl on the first date.

A word about “Fruit Cocktail.” The bestie was very shy and sweet and she blushed every time the word “sex” was spoken out loud. Because the boy was so mischievous he took to saying the word sex in her presence regularly just to make her ears go red. Then one day the bestie’s ex boyfriend walks by and asked, “What is so funny?”

Though the boy was mischievous he was too kind and good to ever really hurt his friend so he said the first thing that came into his mind, “We were just talking about the cafeteria’s fruit cocktail.” This worked out well in the end as now the boy could even just say “fruit cocktail,” and the bestie would blush.

So the boy teased the bestie relentlessly the week before the big date that he was going to have “fruit cocktail” with her friend. What the boy didn’t know is though bestie was his good good friend, girls always stick together. So bestie told tag along/heart race girl the fruit cocktail stories. Heart race girl was bright and a little mischievous too so she just laughed and said, “We’ll see about that.”

The date between the boy and heart race girl was lovely. The picnic was lovely. There were flowers and candles and you guessed it . . . .little cans of fruit cocktail for dessert. Actual fruit cocktail with grapes and pieces of pears and the occasional red cherry. When the boy offered heart race girl a can of fruit cocktail to his surprise she perked up and said, “Oh, I love fruit cocktail. It’s my favorite.” He snickered to himself. Wait until he told bestie what her friend had said.

But then heart race girl went on. She kept talking about how very good the fruit cocktail was and how she only wished she could have had more. It had been so long since the girl had eaten fruit cocktail that was this good.

Now it was the boy’s turn to have red ears and the girl’s turn to snicker to herself as she tucked away the can once filled with grapes and pears and the bright red cherries and wiped her mouth neatly with a napkin.

I will not pretend to know what the boy thought on his way home that night, but what I do know is he never suspected that heart race girl was a prankster too. After all, aren’t all girls just sugar and spice, heavy on the sugar side?

It was a great surprise to the boy when he went back to bestie to tell her all the funny things heart race girl had said, only to see bestie not blush but fall on the floor laughing. “Man, she really got you good,” bestie proclaimed. The boy tried to process this new information. The girl knew what she was doing all along going on and on about fruit cocktail and how much she loved it and how good the boy’s fruit cocktail was.

At first the boy was embarrassed. But then he called the girl to make another date. Because there is nothing this particular prankster liked more than a sweet looking girl who could beat him at his own game.

The End.

Actually, it was just the beginning.