hashtag hope

for the hope-full, and the hope-filled, and the hope-less (and a giveaway!)


“Aliza,” he said, and his voice sounded full so I craned my neck to listen closer and she was there, too, smiling, looking directly into my heart as he spoke. “It’s okay to not be okay.” I sat back, and the tears welled up behind my sunglasses. Because no one had ever said those words to me before. And maybe, even if someone had said them, maybe I wouldn’t have believed them, because doesn’t being broken scream to people that you’re weak?

So my friends, Nick and Sarah, they say this to me, on a six-hour road trip to the capital city of Canada. While the trees roll by, and the silence seems holy, and these words are the kind that sit in the pit of your soul just aching to be spilled out of your lips and given as a precious offering to others.



We are twenty-three, and twenty-two, and nineteen, and we are Generation Y.

I once read that “Y” is the worst letter. It’s the wishbone, it’s the fork in the road, it’s the empty wineglass. It’s the question we ask ourselves over and over, as our worlds seem to shatter around us. A fitting description for my generation.

I believe that Generation Y is hurting. And broken. And hopeless. And maybe there are times where you feel hurt and broken and hopeless, too.


I'm writing over at (in)courage today where we're hosting a Hashtag Hope GIVEAWAY... join me? 


the we are enough movement (come join in?)


I was standing there in my dress and my thighs were touching beneath the fabric.

They were touching.

I could hear the music swell around me, and I could feel the people on both sides of me, and I just wanted to stop thinking about my thighs.

I just wanted to stop thinking.

But as I started noticing my touching thighs, I started glancing at my stomach that isn’t flat like the girl that stood beside me, which led me to think about how squinty my eyes become when I smile, and maybe that’s why that boy doesn’t like me…

And in that moment, I tried to think about how much weight I needed to lose in order to feel pretty.

In order to feel beautiful.

In order to feel enough.

Because a thigh gap, and a flat stomach, and large blue eyes would make me happy – wouldn’t they?

I'm over at Hashtag Hope today... join me?